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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e64d5b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55362 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55362) diff --git a/old/55362-0.txt b/old/55362-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e79b5de..0000000 --- a/old/55362-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8846 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXV, No. 1, July -1849, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXV, No. 1, July 1849 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George R. Graham - J. R. Chandler - J. B. Taylor - -Release Date: August 15, 2017 [EBook #55362] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, JULY 1849 *** - - - - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from -page images generously made available by Google Books - - - - - -[Illustration: JULY -GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. -1849.] - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - Vol. XXXV. July, 1849. No. 1. - - - Table of Contents - - Fiction, Literature and Articles - - A Biography of Major-General Stephen Watts Kearny - Jasper St. Aubyn - True Unto Death - Thoughts on the Thermometer - The Foundling - The Neglected Grave-Yard - The Widow of Nain - A Voice from the Wayside - The Dream of Mehemet - Wild-Birds of America - Cross Purposes - Uncle Tom - Editor’s Table - Review of New Books - - Poetry, Music, and Fashion - - I Will Be a Miner Too - The Emigrant’s Daughters - Mary - I’m Thinking of Thee! - The Tulip-Tree - To My Wife - A Daughter’s Memory - From Amalthæus. - To —— - The Omnipresence of God - New Year Meditation - The Image - The Pilgrim’s Fast - To My Mother in Heaven - The Fortieth Sonnet of Petrarca - Lines on Burning Some Old Journals and Letters - Le Follet - What’s a Tear? - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S - - AMERICAN MONTHLY - - MAGAZINE - - Of Literature and Art, - - EMBELLISHED WITH - - MEZZOTINT AND STEEL ENGRAVINGS, MUSIC, ETC. - -WILLIAM C. BRYANT, J. FENIMORE COOPER, RICHARD H. DANA, JAMES K. PAULDING, - HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, N. P. WILLIS, J. R. LOWELL, HENRY B. HIRST. - - MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, MISS C. M. SEDGWICK, MRS. FRANCES S. OSGOOD, - MRS. EMMA C.EMBURY, MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY, - MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN, ETC. - PRINCIPAL CONTRIBUTORS. - - G. R. GRAHAM, J. R. CHANDLER AND J. B. TAYLOR, EDITORS. - - VOLUME XXXV - - PHILADELPHIA: - SAMUEL D. PATTERSON & CO. 98 CHESTNUT STREET. - - - . . . . . . - 1849. - - * * * * * - - CONTENTS - - OF THE - - THIRTY-FIFTH VOLUME. - - JUNE, 1849, TO JANUARY, 1850. - -A Biography of Major-General Stephen Watts Kearny, U. 1 - S. A. By Fayette Robinson, -A Voice from the Wayside. By Caroline C——, 47 -A Memory. By Jane Taylor Worthington, 122 -A Traveler’s Story. By Lydia Jane Peirson, 179 -A Year and a Day. By Caroline H. Butler, 193, 275 -A Harmless Glass of Wine. By Kate Sutherland, 230 -An Adventure of Jasper C——, 239 -A Case of Gold Fever. By John Jones, 356 -Cross Purposes. By Kate, 59 -Colored Birds. The Bullfinch. By Bechstein, 177 -Editor’s Table, 67 -Editor’s Table, 127 -Effie Deans, 244 -Editor’s Table, 248 -Editor’s Table, 307 -Editor’s Table, 372 -General Training. By Alfred B. Street, 133 -Homewood. By P. C. Shannon, 286 -Indian Legend. By Kah-ge-ga-gah-bowh, 80 -Ibad’s Vision. By Richard Penn Smith, 229 -Jasper St. Aubyn; Or the Course of Passion. By Henry W. 7, 82, 140, - Herbert, 204, 253, 322 -Jessie Lincoln. By Miss M. J. B. Browne, 164 -Legend. By Kah-ge-ga-gah-bowh, 155 -Love Tests of Halloween. By T. S. Arthur, 158 -Mary Wilson. By D. W. Belisle, 99 -Minnie Clifton. By Emma C. Embury, 222 -Men at Home. By Mrs. C. B. Marston, 266 -Major Anspach. By Marc Fournier, 282, 343 -Mr. Merritt and His Family. By F. Summers, 293 -My First Love. By Mrs. E. F. Ellet, 360 -Olden Times. By J. R. Chandler, 102 -Sketches of Life in Our Village. By Giftie, 93 -Sketches of Life in Our Village. By Giftie, 151 -Self-Devotion. By Giftie, 349 -True Unto Death. By Caroline H. Butler, 17 -Thoughts on the Thermometer, 25 -The Foundling. By Jessie Howard, 27 -The Neglected Grave-Yard. By Prof. Alden, 36 -The Widow of Nain. By J. R. Chandler, 41 -The Dream of Mehemet. By R. Penn Smith, 55 -The Curtain Lifted. By Caroline H. Butler, 73 -Two Hours of Doom. By Mrs. Juliet H. L. Campbell, 110 -The Captive of York. By Stella Martin, 113 -The Two Paths. By Mrs. Mary B. Horton, 185 -The Engraver’s Daughter. By H. Sunderland, 201 -The Recreant Missionary. By Caroline C——, 215 -The Village Schoolmaster. By C. M. Farmer, 233 -The Battle of Trenton. By C. J. Peterson, 288 -The Life Insurance. By Henry G. Lee, 301 -The Balize, 304 -The Conscript. By Joseph R. Chandler, 313 -Three Pictures. By Caroline C——, 334 -The Two Cousins. By Kah-ge-ga-gah-bowh, 365 -Uncle Tom. By Simon, 61 -Unfading Flowers. By T. S. Arthur, 366 -Wild-Birds of America. By Professor Frost, 57 -Wild-Birds of America. By Professor Frost, 126 -Wild-Birds of America. By Professor Frost, 189 -Wild-Birds of America. By Professor Frost, 245 -Wild-Birds of America. By Professor Frost, 304 -Wild-Birds of America. By Professor Frost, 369 - - - POETRY. - -A Daughter’s Memory. By Mary L. Lawson, 34 -Alice. By Thomas Dunn English, 200 -A Parting Song. By Professor Campbell, 214 -A Thought. By Isaac Gray Blanchard, 232 -Alice Vernon. By E. Curtiss Hine, 342 -Bunker-Hill at Midnight. By E. Curtiss Hine, 303 -Communion of the Sea and Sky. By E. Jones, 176 -Dirge. By Richard Penn Smith, 371 -Elim. By Virginia, 91 -Ermengarde’s Awakening. By F. S. Osgood, 112 -From Amalthæus. By Richard Penn Smith, 34 -Faith’s Warning. By Henry T. Tuckerman, 92 -Fragments of an Unfinished Story. By Mrs. Frances S. 263 - Osgood, -Flower Fancies. By H. Marion Stephens, 306 -Good-Night. By Walter Herries, Esq. 139 -I will be a Miner too. By Mrs. Juliet H. L. Campbell, 6 -I’m Thinking of Thee! By A. D. Williams, 16 -Kubleh. By Bayard Taylor, 120 -Lines. By Walter Herries, Esq. 60 -Lament of the Gold-Digger. By E. C. Hine, 92 -Little Willie. By Mrs. H. Marion Stephens, 98 -Lily Leslie. By Gretta, 156 -Lines. By Forlorn Hope, 281 -Lines. By Sarah Helen Whitman, 303 -Mary. By Mrs. O. M. P. Lord, 15 -My Spirit. By Henry Morford, 125 -New Year Meditation. By Enna Duval, 40 -Northampton. By Henry T. Tuckerman, 232 -Parting. By Miss Phœbe Carey, 265 -Pleasant Words. By Caroline May, 370 -Passing Away. By Annie Grey, 371 -Song. By Thomas Fitzgerald, 228 -Speak Out. By S. D. Anderson, 238 -Spiritual Presence. By Mary G. Horsford, 306 -Summer’s Night. By Sam. C. Reid, Jr. 332 -Song. By Agnes, 342 -The Emigrant’s Daughters. By Gretta, 6 -The Tulip-Tree. By Bayard Taylor, 16 -To My Wife. By S. D. Anderson, 26 -To ——. By Henry B. Hirst, 35 -The Omnipresence of God. By R. Coe, Jr. 35 -The Image. By A. J. Requier, 46 -The Pilgrim’s Fast. By Mary G. Horsford, 54 -To My Mother in Heaven. By T. Fitzgerald, 54 -The Fortieth Sonnet of Petrarca. By F. R. 58 -The Improvisatrice. By Mary G. Horsford, 81 -The Eighteenth Sonnet of Petrarca. By F. R. 81 -To Mary. By Lucy Cabell, 98 -Translation from Sappho. By G. Hill, 109 -This World of Ours. By S. D. Anderson, 124 -To the Lily of the Valley. By Prof. Campbell, 139 -The Spanish Maiden. By Agnes Coleman, 150 -The Angel’s Visit. By Mrs. S. Anna Lewis, 154 -To a Portrait. By Mrs. H. Marion Stephens, 157 -The Odalisque. By Bayard Taylor, 163 -To Inez. By S. D. Anderson, 175 -Time and Change. By Isaac Gray Blanchard, 178 -The Rain. By T. A. Swan, 188 -The Fountain in Winter. By Bayard Taylor, 213 -The Light of Life. By Mrs. O. M. P. Lord, 214 -The Bride of Broek-in-Waterland. By C. P. Shiras, 220 -The Willow by the Spring. By J. Hunt, Jr. 247 -The Broken Household. By Alice Carey, 262 -The Fear of Death. By Mary L. Lawson, 274 -The Seminoles’ Last Look. By Fayette Robinson, 291 -To My Sister E. By Adaliza Cutter, 300 -To My Steed. By S. Anderson, 321 -The Death of the Year. By Henry B. Hirst, 333 -The Cottage. By J. Hunt, Jr. 333 -The Misanthrope. By A New Contributor, 340 -The Broken Reed. By S. S. Hornor, 318 -The Old Wooden Church on the Green. By Henry Morford, 359 -The Death of Cleopatra. By W. G. Simms, 363 -The Fairies’ Song. By Heinrich, 364 -The Undivided Heart. By Myrrha, 371 -Watouska. By Kate St. Clair, 79 -Words of Waywardness. By Prof. Campbell, 100 -Woman’s Heart. By Rufus Henry Bacon, 178 -We are Changed. By Edith Blythe, 247 - - - REVIEWS. - -H. Kavanagh. A Tale. By H. W. Longfellow, 71 -My Uncle the Curate. By the Author of “The Bachelor of 71 - the Albany,” etc. -The Personal History and Experience of David 71 - Copperfield the Younger. By Charles Dickens, -Characteristics of Literature. By Henry T. Tuckerman, 131 -The Earth and Man. By Arnold Guyot, 131 -The History of the United States of America. By Richard 191 - Hildreth, -Dante’s Divine Comedy: The Inferno. By John A. Carlyle, 192 - M. D. -A Second Visit to the United States of North America. 251 - By Sir Charles Lyell, F. R. S. -The Liberty of Rome. By Samuel Eliot, 251 -The Penance of Roland. By Henry B. Hirst, 252 -History of the National Constituent Assembly. By J. F. 252 - Corkran, -Oliver Goldsmith: A Biography. By Washington Irving, 311 -Bulwer and Forbes on the Water Treatment, 311 -The Child’s First History of Rome. By E. M. Sewell, 312 -A Lift for the Lazy, 312 -Poems. By Robert Browning, 378 -Physician and Patient. By Worthington Hooker, 379 -History of England. By David Hume, 379 -Success in Life. By Mrs. L. C. Tuthill, 379 -Sketches of Life and Character. By T. S. Arthur, 380 -History of the French Revolution of 1848. By A. De 380 - Lamartine, - - - MUSIC. - -What’s a Tear? Composed by M. W. Balfe. -Yes, Let Me Like a Soldier Fall. Written and Adapted by - E. R. Johnston. -Oh, Let Thy Locks Unbraided Fall. Words by John W. - Watson, Esq. Music by John A. Janke, Jr. -I Love, When the Morning Beams. By D. W. Belisle. -Wake, Lady, Wake. Music Composed and Arranged for the - Piano, by B. W. Helfenstein, M. D. -My Life is Like the Summer’s Rose. Words by Hon. - Richard Henry Wilde. Music by An Amateur. - - - ENGRAVINGS. - -Cross Purposes, engraved by J. M. Butler. -General Kearny, engraved by T. B. Welch. -Nature’s Triumph, engraved by F. Humphreys. -The Widow of Nain. -Paris Fashions, from Le Follet. -Title Page, engraved by W. E. Tucker. -The Golden Age, engraved by W. E. Tucker. -La Siesta, engraved by Geo. P. Ellis. -Paris Fashions, from Le Follet. -Olden Times. -No Rose Without a Thorn, engraved by J. M. Butler. -The Bullfinch, engraved by F. Humphreys. -Love Tests of Hallowe’en, Nos. 1 and 2. -Paris Fashions, from Le Follet. -Effie Deans, engraved by T. B. Welch. -Rose Carlton, engraved by W. H. Egleton. -The Baggage Wagon, engraved by A. L. Dick. -Paris Fashions, from Le Follet. -The Engraver’s Daughter. -Happy as a King, engraved by J. M. Butler. -Head-Quarters of Gen. Knox, engraved by W. H. Ellis. -Paris Fashions, from Le Follet. -The Balize. -The Death of the Year, engraved by Wm. E. Tucker. -Opera Extravagance. -The Conscript’s Departure and Return, engraved by John - M. Butler. -A Case of Gold Fever. -Paris Fashions, from Le Follet. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: _FROM AN ORIGINAL DAGUERREOTYPE._ - -S. W. KEARNY - -_Engraved by T. B. Welch expressly for Graham’s Magazine._] - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - Vol. XXXV. PHILADELPHIA, JULY, 1849. No. 1. - - * * * * * - - - - - A BIOGRAPHY - - - OF MAJOR-GENERAL STEPHEN WATTS KEARNY, U. S. A. - - [WITH AN ENGRAVING] - - - BY FAYETTE ROBINSON. - - -Few men who have ever been in the service of the United States have -enjoyed a more enviable reputation than Stephen Watts Kearny, or have -left behind them more admiring friends. The recent death of this -excellent soldier, and above all his distinguished services, covering a -space of more than forty years, make his career at this time peculiarly -an object of interest to the country. - -Stephen Watts Kearny was born in the year 1793, in the town of Newark, -New Jersey, in a mansion yet the property of his family. Though not -prone to admit that the adventitious circumstances of birth add any real -dignity to individuals, either in America or elsewhere, it may not be -improper to state that the family connections of the deceased general -were of such a character as to have entitled him to a prominent social -position any where, he being a relation of the well-known Lady Mary -Watts, and a connection of the gallant and noble General Alexander (Lord -Stirling) of the revolutionary army. The grandson of an emigrant, who -settled in New Jersey, before the revolution, the family of Gen. Kearny -had always occupied a prominent position in society, and exerted much -influence in his native state. - -At the commencement of the war of 1811, young Kearny, then about -eighteen, was a student at Princeton College. Contrary, it is said, to -the advice of his friends, he obtained a commission from Mr. Madison, -and reported for duty as a lieutenant in the 13th regiment of infantry, -in which he was attached to the company of which the present very -distinguished General John E. Wool was the captain. - -With two companies of his regiment he was present at the gallant affair -of Queenstown, and with Colonel, since Gen. Scott, was surrendered a -prisoner of war. This was on the 13th of October, 1812. In this affair -the companies of the thirteenth had been long opposed to the greatly -celebrated and highly disciplined forty-ninth British infantry, a -regiment which had stood the ordeal of the Peninsula War, and had won -laurels from the best troops of France. The forty-ninth had occupied, -with heavy reinforcements of Canadian militia, a battery on a commanding -position. The cannonade and musketry from this point was so severe that -every commissioned officer was in the first assault either killed or -wounded, and Col. Van Rensselaer who commanded, was carried from the -field unable to stand. Before he left, however, he ordered every man who -could move to storm the battery. Three more gallant officers than those -who carried his order into execution probably never lived. They were -Captain Wool, Lieutenant Kearny, and 2nd Lieutenant T. B. Randolph, late -of the Virginia regiment. By orders of Capt. Wool the two companies of -the 13th, which originally had numbered but one hundred, all told, were -extended and ordered to close upon the guns. This perilous manœuvre was -executed with brilliant success, the enemy were driven precipitately -from his guns, which were the first trophies to the United States of the -war with Great Britain. This field was young Kearny’s first arms, and -was a brilliant promise of what was to be his future career. The battle -was important to the United States, though, as is well known, Col. Scott -and his gallant command of regulars were forced to surrender. To the -English it was most disastrous, Major Gen. Sir Isaac Brock, the captor -of Detroit, a man thought worthy to compete with Wellington for the -command of the British army in Spain, having been picked off by an -American marksman. Throughout this trying engagement young Kearny -sustained himself with the firmness which he maintained through life. -When driven to the hill selected by the present Col. Totten as the -strongest point, his perseverance was as distinguished as his -impetuosity had been during the charge. - -After the surrender, Kearny, with the other prisoners, was marched to -the Canadian village of Niagara, where, it is said, they were scarcely -treated with the consideration due such gallant soldiers. There occurred -a circumstance of thrilling character often told—the attempted murder -of Col. Scott by the Indian chiefs “young Brandt and Captain Jacobs,” -which, had it proved successful, would have made irreconcilable the war -between Great Britain and the United States. It failed through the great -personal courage of Col. Scott and the gallantry of Captain Coffin, an -aide of Gen. Sheafe, but the would-be murderers were never punished by -the British government. The recurrence of such scenes, and the -probability of long confinement, exercised a most unhappy effect on the -mind of Kearny, who saw as the consequence of his captivity (at that day -there were no exchanges of prisoners) the ruin of his professional -prospects. After a confinement of some weeks at Niagara, Kearny was with -the other prisoners sent to Quebec. For a long time he continued moody -and morose, until a circumstance occurred, which the present -general-in-chief relates, that restored his wonted alertness. The -prisoners were taken to Quebec in a vessel, and from the carelessness -incident to this mode of travel, the idea of a possible escape occurred -to Col. Scott. The plan was to overpower the guard, to march at once to -the nearest division of the United States troops on the frontier, and -take their conductors with them as captives. Col. Scott imparted this -plan to Kearny, who at once entered into it with his whole soul. His -energy returned, and he became again the wild subaltern who had led the -first platoon of the thirteenth at Queenstown. Circumstances prevented -this plot from being carried into execution, but it had gone far enough -to show that the subject of this memoir had as much prudence as valor. - -The prisoners at last arrived at Quebec, and their situation at once -became most painful. They were confined in the old French castle, and -were subjected to many indignities. This was before Niagara and Lundy’s -Lane, and countless other fields had taught the British army that the -American soldiers were worthy antagonists. At that time the British army -was filled with the aristocracy of the country, which could not conceive -or imagine the true position of a country without a nobility. Countless -trivial insults were daily given, and which galled to the last degree -the forbearance of the prisoners. The following anecdote may explain -what they were. - -On one occasion, when the American prisoners dined at the garrison mess, -an officer of the British staff arose, and with a pointed pomposity gave -the toast, “Mr. Madison, dead or alive.” The faces of the American -officers flushed with indignation, which was not diminished when they -saw a young American lieutenant rise from his chair, and in the blandest -manner, and with a most insinuating smile, give thanks for the -remembrance of the Chief Magistrate of the United States. All thought -him drunk or mad, as he proceeded to say, “he felt the weightiness of -the burden imposed on him by the silence of his seniors, that he would -not give thanks for the toast last drunken, but would give another in -return. He was sure the officers of both services present would -understand him when he gave ‘the health of his royal highness, the -Prince of Wales, DRUNK OR SOBER.’” If a shell had exploded under the -table the surprise could not have been greater, and the danger of a -collision became imminent, when the senior officer of the British army -present, a man of tact and taste, interfered, and sent the person who -had given the first toast from the table under arrest. This anecdote is -variously told in the service, and sometimes is attributed to Gen. -Kearny, and sometimes to the late Mann Page Lomax, major of artillery, -who was at the time a prisoner in the castle of Quebec. It is perfectly -characteristic of each of these officers, and whether Gen. Kearny be the -hero or not, aptly enough illustrates this portion of his career. The -American victories in the West, by which hosts of prisoners were -acquired, soon placed the men of Queenstown in a different position, and -they were exchanged. - -Kearny was with Scott at the time the latter officer resisted the -attempt to place in confinement the Irishmen surrendered at Queenstown, -and ably sustained him in his energetic action in relation to this -high-handed measure. He sailed in the cartel to Boston, and immediately -on his arrival, proceeded to rejoin his regiment. He was subsequently -stationed at Sacket’s Harbor, where he acquired the reputation for -discipline and soldiership which never deserted him. While at this post -the British commander, Sir James Yoe, and Commodore Chauncy, were -manœuvring for possession of the lake. On one occasion, when in -possession of a temporary superiority, Sir James appeared in front of -the harbor and challenged the commodore to a fight. This the latter -refused, because he had no marines. When the reason was told Capt. -Kearny, (he had in the interim been promoted) a gallant officer of New -York, a captain of artillery, named Romain, offered at once to go on -board and serve as marine. The offer was not, however, accepted, much to -the chagrin of Kearny and Romain. - -Captain Kearny served through the war, and on the reductions of 1815 and -1821, was retained in the service with his old grade and rank. In 1823 -he received the usual brevet for ten years faithful service, and was -assigned to the command of the beautiful post of Bellefontaine, near St. -Louis, and in that year accompanied Brigadier General Atkinson in his -famous expedition to the Upper Missouri. This was before the -introduction of steamboats into those waters, and the expedition was one -of the most tedious imaginable. The boats were necessarily to be -propelled by poles and oars against the rapid current of the Missouri, -and not unfrequently by the tedious process of _cordelling_. This is -done by extending from the capstan of the boat a cable, which is made -fast to the shore, and thus the vessel must carefully be wound up until -the rope is exhausted. Then a new rope is stretched, and the same -tedious process undergone. Often, when in the midst of _rapids_, the -cable would break, and before the vessel could be brought up, a greater -distance than had been gained in a week would be passed over. In the -course of two years they reached the Yellow Stone river, twenty-two -hundred miles above St. Louis, and displayed the colors of the 1st and -6th infantry where the United States flag had never been seen before. -The Sioux, the Pawnee, the Mandan, and Arickra, were made acquainted -with the government, of which before they had but a vague knowledge, and -the vast resources of that immense country for the first time revealed -to the nation. - -On his return Major Kearny received a full majority in the third -infantry, and was removed to a new sphere, to the southern extremity of -the Indian territory. While major of this regiment he established the -post of Towson, on the banks of Red River. To reach this place, easy of -access as it is at present, it was necessary to pass through what was -then a wilderness of prairie, but which to the soldiers inured to the -incessant storms of the Upper Missouri, seemed almost an Arcadia. After -crossing the northern tributaries of the Arkansas, they were in the -midst of the range of the buffalo, and the countless herds of wild -horses which then abounded even there. The latter, not unfrequently, -amazed at the novel sight of the marching troops, would dash up, as if -to charge the columns, pause with as much unanimity as if they acted by -command, encircle it, and tossing their long manes and forelocks, hurry -out of view. New objects continually met his gaze, and the information -then amassed was among the most valuable ever collected under the -auspices of the government. On this march Major Kearny was accompanied -by his accomplished wife, a step-daughter of Gen. M. Clark, of St. -Louis, whom, about the time of his promotion, he had married. With the -third infantry Major Kearny remained until the Black Hawk war, when -almost all the troops of the country were concentrated in the country of -the hostile Indians. - -While a major of the third, an incident occurred, which, though often -told, will bear repetition. On one occasion, while stationed at -Jefferson Barracks, Major Kearny was drilling a brigade on one of the -open fields near the post. The manœuvre was the simple exercise of -marching in line to the front. An admirable horseman, he sat with his -face toward the troops, while the horse he rode, perfectly trained, was -backed in the same direction, along which the command was marched. At -once the animal fell, fastening the rider to the ground by his whole -weight. His brigade had been drilled to such a state of insensibility, -that not one of them came to his assistance; nor was it necessary. The -line advanced to within about ten feet of him, when, in a loud, distinct -voice, calmly as if he had been in the saddle under no unusual -circumstance, Major Kearny gave the command, “_Fourth -company—obstacle—march._” The fourth company, which was immediately in -front of him, was flanked by its captain in the rear of the other half -of the grand division. The line passed on, and when he was thus left in -the rear of his men, he gave the command, “_Fourth company into -line—march._” He was not seriously injured—extricated himself from his -horse, mounted again, passed to the front of the regiment, and executed -the next manœuvre in the series he had marked out for the day’s drill. - -We are now, however, to see Major Kearny in a new and more important -sphere of action. - -During the whole of the last war with Great Britain cavalry was not once -employed as a battle-piece, and in spite of the great services of the -horse which had been commanded, during the revolution, by Cols. Lee and -Washington, and by Count Pulaski, this great arm had become most -unpopular. Consequently, on the reduction, no skeleton even of a corps -had been retained—the sabres were locked up, the saddles and horses -sold, and the officers and men disbanded. The policy, however, of -disposing the eastern tribes along the western frontier, and the rapid -strides of emigration west ward, brought the army into contact with the -mounted tribes of the prairie, who evidently could never be overtaken or -punished for depredations they at that time used to commit, by -foot-soldiers, armed with heavy muskets, and laden down with knapsacks -and camp equipage. Of this evident proof had been obtained in the -expedition of Gen. Atkinson, mentioned above, and other excursions which -had brought the officers and men of the 6th, 3rd and 1st infantry into -contact with the nomad tribes of the Camanch. If other demonstration -were required, it was furnished by the events of the Black Hawk war, -when it became necessary to raise a body of mounted gunmen for special -service, which was done under the auspices of the present distinguished -Senator from Wisconsin, Mr. Dodge. These troops, called Rangers, did -good service enough to induce Congress to authorize the levy of a strict -cavalry corps called Dragoons. The whole army, with very few exceptions, -was impressed with the necessity of this corps, for which the most -distinguished men in their several grades of the service applied. On its -organization, Major Kearny was appointed lieutenant-colonel of the -regiment, and on him depended almost exclusively the discipline, the -colonel, Dodge, though a brave man, not having the military education or -experience requisite to make him the active head of a new corps, in the -details of which not only men but officers were to be instructed. Col. -Kearny, during his long seclusion in the west, had been a patient -student, and had made himself master of all the theory of his -profession, and in a short time made his regiment one of the best in the -world. Within less than a year after the first muster of the regiment, -it was sent, under its colonel, as a part of the command with which the -lamented Gen. Leavenworth marched to the Spanish Peaks. This disastrous -march, in the course of which so many men and officers died, was most -trying to a new corps, which had no guide to direct them. Here all the -experience of the old world was at fault. Cavalry had there to march but -from one hamlet to another, finding forage and grain everywhere. Here -eight hundred miles of wilderness were to be overcome, and more than -once the jaded horses were without even water. This proved the -perfectness of the regiment, and the thoroughness of the discipline -which induced the gallant and veteran Gen. Gaines to speak, in an -official letter, of the first dragoons as “the best troops I ever saw;” -and the officer who had defended Fort Erie, beaten back a victorious -enemy at Chrysler’s Field, and received the keys of St. Augustine, -certainly knew what a soldier was. - -In 1835, Col. Kearny visited with one wing of his regiment, the Sioux, -on the Upper Missouri, and had the satisfaction at a council to -reconcile the long animosity between them and the Sauks and Foxes. He -also made a long march to the head-waters of the Mississippi, visiting -the village of Wabisha, and effecting a cessation of the trespassing of -the British subjects, from the Earl of Selkirk’s settlement at Pembina, -on the territories of the United States. In July, 1836, he was made -colonel of the first dragoons; and from this period a sketch of his -services would be almost a history of the West, not one trouble on the -frontier occurred in the settlement of which he was not instrumental; -and with six companies of his regiment he was able to protect a line of -frontier eight hundred miles long. Stationed at Fort Leavenworth, be -made himself the idol of the West, and devoting himself to his regiment, -made its discipline perfect. He had now acquired a high rank, and the -qualities he had always possessed became conspicuous. Bland in his -manners, but of iron firmness, kind to his juniors, his equals, or those -nearly so, requiring the strictest obedience, measuring his expectations -by the rank of the officer, his conduct became proverbial. To his men he -was most considerate, so that they looked on him as a protector. It is -believed that during the whole time he commanded the first dragoons no -soldier ever received a blow, except by the sentence of a general court -martial for the infamous crime of desertion. The lash disappeared, and -though probably the strictest disciplinarian in the service, there was -less punishment in his corps than in any other. About this time the -system of drill of the dragoons was changed, and he was long engrossed -in the instruction of his regiment, having the troublesome task of -unlearning them all he had taught of the old system, from which the new -one differed entirely in mode and principle of combination. - -In the year 1839, the two Ridges, father and son, and Elias Boudinot, -chiefs of the Cherokees, were murdered by a hostile clique of their own -tribe, and there seemed imminent danger that a war would originate. -Immediately on the receipt of the news of a possible collision, Col. -Kearny determined to proceed to the scene. The officer of the -quarter-master’s department on duty with him being unable to furnish the -requisite funds, the colonel provided them from his own resources, and -after a very rapid march appeared with six companies of his regiment at -Fort Wayne. Words can not express the difference between his companies -and those in garrison at that post; the beautiful condition of the men -and horses of the first, and the rough-coated nags and unclean condition -of the men of the second. After the difficulty had gone by, he effected -an exchange of garrisons, and with the neglected and abused left wing, -proceeded to Fort Leavenworth, where, in a short time these companies -became equal in discipline to the others of the corps. The companies of -the Fort Wayne garrison which he took with him to Leavenworth, were -those which, under the command of the gallant and lamented Capt. -Burgwin, and the excellent soldier, Major Grier, did such good service, -and so much distinguished themselves in the campaign in New Mexico -against the revolters and the Pueblo and Navajo Indians. - -In 1842, he was appointed to the command of the third military -department, with head-quarters at St. Louis. There he remained until -1846, with the exception of his long march to the South Pass of the -Rocky Mountains in 1845. There is no doubt that this is one of the most -extraordinary marches on record, both from its distance, its rapidity, -and the fact that he passed among semi-hostile tribes nearly two -thousand miles; crossed deep and rapid streams by swimming, gave -protection to the immense army of emigrants _en route_ to California, -and returned without losing a man or horse. - -In 1846, the war with Mexico began, and he was assigned to the command -of the army of the West with orders to occupy New Mexico and California. -To reach Santa Fe an immense march was to be undertaken across a country -but sparsely furnished with wood and water, and where no supplies were -to be met with or obtained until the enemy’s country should be reached, -and in all probability a battle fought and won. To accomplish this, -precisely such a man as Col. Kearny was required. He was familiar with -the service, and possessed the unbounded confidence of the people of -Missouri, from which state the volunteers who were to compose the main -body of his army were to be drawn. In a most unprecedented short time -the men were enrolled, and all necessaries supplied, and before Armijo, -the governor of New Mexico was aware of his approach, the army was in -the capital of the province. Like Cæsar, Gen. Kearny might say, “I came, -I saw, I conquered.” - -Immediately before the capture of Santa Fe, Col. Kearny had received his -promotion to the grade of Brigadier-General, and abandoned to his -successor the standard of a regiment he had borne from the Gulf of -Mexico to the head-waters of the Mississippi, and which was to be the -first flag of the army which waved on the shores of the Pacific. After -obeying his orders, and providing for the future peace of the country, -he proceeded to California, across a country where an army had never -marched before, and which was considered impassable. Cold, a wilderness, -absolute barrenness, were all to be overcome. Scarcely, however, had he -set out on this expedition than he was met by an express, informing him -that California was conquered. Relying on this, he sent back all his -troops except one hundred men, and proceeded to the valley of the Gila. -Of the sufferings of his men, of the almost starvation which forced them -to eat the flesh of the emaciated dragoon-horses which had borne them so -far we will not speak. When he emerged into the fertile country, it was -not until after severe contests against immense odds, and until he had -lost many favorite officers and picked men, to all of whom he had become -endeared by participation in the dangers of a march across the American -continent. - -On the 2d of December, 1846, Gen. Kearny arrived at Warner’s Rancho, one -of the extreme eastward settlements of California. He there learned -certainly what he had previously heard from a party of Californians, -that the population had risen against the invaders and that Andreas Pico -was near San Diego with a superior party, intending to give him battle. -Though exhausted by a long march, and mounted on broken-down mules, Gen. -Kearny hurried to attack him. On the night of December 5, he heard that -Pico was at the village of San Pascual, and on the next morning met him. -At once a charge was ordered, which broke Pico’s line and forced it to -retreat. After a flight of half a mile, however, it was rallied and -charged the head of the American force, and lanced many of the foremost -men. A desperate hand to hand fight ensued, which resulted in the -discomfiture of Pico, not, however, until Captains Moore and Johnston, -and Lieutenant Hammond, and sixteen men had been killed, and fourteen -persons wounded, including the general himself, and all the officers -except Captain Turner, who, though he greatly distinguished himself, -escaped untouched. The inequality of the contest was immense, when we -remember that the Californians, the most superb horsemen in the world, -were mounted on excellent chargers, while the dragoons were on mules -which had marched from Santa Fe. The dead were buried; this sad duty, -and the necessity of making further arrangements, detained the party all -day. On the next day the march was resumed, but encumbered as they were, -they were able to proceed but nine miles when the enemy charged them -again. The needful preparations to receive them were made, when the -enemy wheeled off, and attempted to occupy an eminence which commanded -the route. From this, after a sharp skirmish, they were driven with some -loss, and then Gen. Kearny encamped. As Pico evidently intended to -dispute every pass, the general determined to remain where he was until -reinforcements, for which he had sent to the naval commander at San -Diego, should arrive. Four days afterward a force of marines, under -Capt. Zelin, U. S. M. C. and of sailors, commanded by Lieutenant Gray, -arrived, and with this force Gen. Kearny marched without molestation to -San Diego, a distance of thirty miles. A difficulty about the command -here arose between Commodore Stockton and Gen. Kearny, which could not -be settled in California, where the naval commander had far the superior -force. It did not prevent their undertaking a joint expedition against -Puebla de los Angelos, which was in possession of a strong Mexican force -under Flores. - -On the 8th of January the Mexicans were met six hundred strong, with -four guns, in the face of whom the American force of sailors, marines, -and the remnant of the dragoons, forded the river, and after a short, -sharp, and decisive affair, drove them from the field. On the next day -the enemy again appeared, and, as usual, were beaten, and on the 10th -Puebla de los Angelos was occupied. At these affairs both the naval and -army commanders were present, and the question of who was commander -added somewhat to the difficulty already existing between them. At this -time Lieut. Col. J. C. Fremont, then of the mounted rifles, commanded a -numerous body of volunteers in California. Gen. Kearny ordered this -officer to join him. This Col. Fremont did not do, but on the contrary, -considered Com. Stockton as his commander. Consequently, when on the -arrival of land reinforcements from the United States, Gen. Kearny -assumed and maintained his command, he ordered Col. Fremont to accompany -him home. Col. Fremont was subsequently arrested and tried for this -dereliction of duty, found guilty of mutinous conduct, and sentenced to -be dismissed the service. A portion of the court which tried him having -recommended the remission of the sentence, the President acquiesced, and -he was ordered to duty, but immediately resigned his commission. The -prosecution of the charges against Col. Fremont detained Gen. Kearny in -Washington during a portion of the winter of ’47 and ’48, and was, -doubtless, most painful to him, for no man in the army had previously -borne a higher character for soldiership than Col. Fremont. The court -martial fully sustained Gen. Kearny in every pretension, and but one -person has been found in America to cavil at the sentence. - -In the spring of 1848, Gen. Kearny was ordered to Mexico, whither he -proceeded at once. All hostilities were, however, then over, and though -he was in the discharge of his duty, his service there was uneventful. -On the conclusion of the war he returned home, and was assigned to the -command of the military division of which St. Louis is the -head-quarters. He there had the proud satisfaction to receive the brevet -of major-general for his services in New Mexico and California. He had, -however, brought with him the seeds of an insidious disease which soon -overcame his strength, enfeebled as it was by privations and trials of -every kind. He died at St. Louis, October 31, 1848, leaving a wife and a -family of young sons to regret him. - -In the eventful career of Gen. Kearny he had always been distinguished -as one of the best officers of his grade in the service. From a -subaltern to the highest rank he rose, every step having been won by -service. He was bland in his manners, dispassionate and calm. Quick and -ready in forming his opinions, he yet did not act hastily, and when once -he had decided, was immutable in his course. A great student and -thinker, he never talked except when he had something to say, yet -possessed a fund of anecdote and universal information rarely to be met -with. In the West he was a popular idol, so that the whole population -acquiesced in the apparently arbitrary steps he was often called on to -take in the discharge of his duty. To his subalterns he was endeared by -a thousand kindnesses, and to the whole army by respect and admiration. -He left in all the army list no one superior to him in personal courage, -science in his profession, or the minor qualities which contribute so -much to make the soldier. - -Immediately on the receipt of the news of his death, the Secretary of -War, Mr. Marcy, published an order containing the following high tribute -to his important services. - - “War Department. - _Washington, Nov. 6, 1848._ - - The President with feelings of deep regret announces to the Army - the death of Brigadier-General Stephen W. Kearny, Major-General - by brevet. The honorable and useful career of this gallant - officer terminated on the 31st of October at St. Louis, in - consequence of a disease contracted while in the discharge of - his official duties in Mexico. - - General Kearny entered the army in 1812 as lieutenant, and - continued in it until his death—a period of more than - thirty-six years. His character and bearing as an accomplished - officer were unsurpassed, and challenge the admiration of his - fellow citizens and the emulation of his professional brethren. - His conquest of New Mexico and valuable services in California - have inseparably connected his name with the future destiny of - these territories, and it will be ever held in grateful - remembrance by the successive generations which will inhabit - these extensive regions of our confederacy.” - -He was buried in St. Louis by the 7th and 8th regiments of infantry and -a squadron of that regiment of dragoons which he had made so famous, -commanded by one of his favorite captains, the present Col. E. V. -Sumner, of the 1st dragoons. All the city of St. Louis accompanied the -cortège to pay their last tribute of respect to the general and the MAN. - - * * * * * - - - - - I WILL BE A MINER TOO. - - - BY MRS. JULIET H. L. CAMPBELL. - - - All around me men are delving, - Deep within the troubled earth, - Searching for the darksome treasures - Hidden since creation’s birth. - Wearying toil and ceaseless effort - Bring the buried ore to view;— - Though I be but feeble woman, - I will be a miner too! - - Heart of mine! thou art a cavern, - Sad and silent, dark and deep— - In thy fathomless recesses - Spirit gnomes their treasures keep. - Gems of love, and hope, and joyance, - Bury there their flashing beam— - Wilder passions fret their prison - With the fierceness of their gleam. - - Though unburnished, prized and precious, - To the enraptured poet’s sight, - As the jewels, proudly flashing, - On the brow of beauty bright. - True, unto the sordid worldling - These are gems of little worth, - Yet, for thee, high-hearted poet! - I will strive to bring them forth! - - Lamp of truth, my brow adorning, - Lighting up the weary way— - I, in pain, will probe my bosom, - Bare its treasures to the day. - Wearying toil and ceaseless effort - Bring the buried ore to view;— - Though I be but feeble woman, - I will be a miner too! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE EMIGRANT’S DAUGHTERS. - - - BY GRETTA. - - - I had but two; they were my only treasure, - Two lovely daughters of the imperial isle; - They gave my quiet hearth-stone every pleasure, - They gave my lone heart every sunny smile, - And to your land I brought them o’er the sea, - To hear the tones which tell of Liberty! - - They were twin lasses; one was like the Rose, - With deep, dark crimson on its opening breast; - The other like the Daisy, when it glows - With evening’s pearls upon its snowy crest. - And when they nestled near me lovingly, - They were like morn and quiet eve to me. - - But she, the golden haired, is with the stars! - She, the blue-eyed, the fondest of the twain, - For her was opened heaven’s glorious bars, - Just as the sun was sinking in the main, - And flowers less fair, each in its soft green nest, - On the far shore, had sunk like her to rest. - - Upon the waves she died—the sounding waves— - The sands her pillow, and the weeds her pall; - And there the deepest, tideless water laves - The mortal part of half my little all; - And though I know her soul is bright above, - Still earth is desolate without her love. - - She drooped from day to day—within my arms - I cradled her dear form, so slight, so fair, - And gazed with doating love upon her charms, - While my big tears were glistening in her hair, - Till o’er her upturned eyes the fringed-lid fell, - And soft she said—I know she said—“Farewell!” - - She died without a moan, without a sigh; - A golden day had faded in the west, - And mother Night descending from on high, - Was hushing Nature to her dreamy rest; - And ere another day broke o’er the sea, - Deep rolled the waves between my child and me. - - I chanted o’er her lays of her old home— - And she, the stricken mourner by my side, - Mingled her tears with ocean’s moonlit foam, - And sent her wail upon the shoreless tide. - Oh! it was sad to hear that heart-wrung moan - On the wild sea, so vast, so still, so lone! - - On my own native Scotland’s hallowed ground, - In a low glen, from worldly din afar, - The stars look down upon the grassy mound - Where _she_ is laid—my young life’s morning star— - And in the trackless deep, the bud she gave - From her fond bosom, fills a briny grave. - - And with this one, all that my heart has left, - I raise my altar where your heaven glows; - Here the lone pair, of all they loved bereft, - Would find in you, Bethesda for their woes. - They’ll think of home, with memory’s burning tear, - But turn to meet Hope’s smiling welcome here! - - * * * * * - - - - - JASPER ST. AUBYN; - - - OR THE COURSE OF PASSION. - - - BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. - - - INTRODUCTION. - -In the commencement of the seventeenth century, there stood among the -woody hills and romantic gorges which sweep southwardly down from the -bleak expanse of Dartmoor, one of those fine old English halls, which, -dating from the reign of the last of the Tudors, united so much of -modern comfort with so much of antique architectural beauty. Many -specimens of this style of building are still to be found scattered -throughout England, with their broad terraces, their quaintly sculptured -porticoes, their tall projecting oriels, their many stacks of richly -decorated chimneys, and their heraldic bearings adorning every salient -point, grotesquely carved in the red freestone, which is their most -usual, as indeed their most appropriate material. No one, however, -existed, it is probable, at that day, more perfect in proportion to its -size, or more admirably suited to its wild and romantic site, than the -manor-house of Widecomb-Under-Moor, or, as it was more generally called -in its somewhat sequestered neighborhood, the House in the Woods. Even -at the present time, that is a very rural and little frequented -district; its woods are more extensive, its moorlands wilder, its -streams less often turned to purposes of manufacturing utility, than in -any other tract of the southern counties; but at the time of which I -write, when all England was comparatively speaking an agricultural -country; when miles and miles of forest existed, where there now can -scarcely be found acres; when the communications even between the -neighboring country towns were difficult and tedious, and those between -the country and metropolis almost impracticable; the region of Dartmoor -and its surrounding woodlands was less known and less frequented, except -by its own inhabitants, rude for the most part and uncultured as their -native hills, than the prairies of the Far West, or the solitudes of the -Rocky Mountains. - -The few gentry, and lords of manors who owned estates, and had their -castellated or Elizabethan dwellings, scattered here and there, at long -intervals, among the sylvan scenery of that lonely region, were for the -greater part little superior in habits, in refinement, and in mental -culture, to the boors around them. Staunch hunters, and hard drinkers, -up with the lark and abed before the curfew, loyal to their king, kind -and liberal to their dependents, and devout before their God, they led -obscure and blameless lives, careless of the great world, a rumor of -which rarely wandered so far as to reach their ears, unknown to fame, -yet neither useless nor unhonored within the sphere of their humble -influence, marked by few faults and many unpretending virtues. - -To this general rule, however, the lords of Widecomb Manor had long been -an exception. Endowed with larger territorial possessions than most of -their neighbors, connected with many of the noblest families of the -realm, the St. Aubyns of Widecomb Manor had for several generations held -themselves high above the squires of the vicinity, and the burghers of -the circumjacent towns. Not confining themselves to the remote limits of -their rural possessions, many of them had shone in the court and in the -camp; several had held offices of trust and honor under Elizabeth and -her successor; and when, in the reign of the unfortunate Charles, the -troubles between the king and his Parliament broke out at length into -open war, the St. Aubyn of that day, like many another gallant -gentleman, emptied his patrimonial coffers to replenish the exhausted -treasury; and melted his old plate and felled his older oaks, in order -to support the king’s cause in the field, at the head of his own -regiment of horse. - -Thence, when the good cause succumbed for a time, and democratic -license, hardly restrained by puritanic rigor, strode rampant over the -prerogative of England’s crown, and the liberties of England’s people, -fines, sequestrations, confiscations, fell heavily on the confirmed -malignancy, as it was then termed, of the Lord of Widecomb; and he might -well esteem himself fortunate, that he escaped beyond the seas with his -head upon his shoulders, although he certainly had not where to lay it. - -Returning at the restoration with the Second Charles, more fortunate -than many of his friends, Sir Miles St. Aubyn recovered a considerable -portion of his demesnes, which, though sequestrated, had not been sold, -and with these the old mansion, now, alas! all too grand and stately for -the diminished revenues of its owner, and the shrunken estates which it -overlooked. - -It would not perhaps have been too late, even then for prudence and -economy, joined to a resolute will and energetic purpose, to retrieve -the shaken fortunes of the house; but having recovered peace and a -settled government, the people and the court of England appeared -simultaneously to have lost their senses. The overstrained and somewhat -hypocritical morality of the Protectorate was succeeded by the wildest -license, the most extravagant debauchery; and in the orgies which -followed their restoration to their patrimonial honors, too many of the -gallant cavaliers discreditably squandered the last remnant of fortunes -which had been half ruined in a cause so noble and so holy. - -Such was the fate of Sir Miles St. Aubyn. The brave and generous soldier -of the First Charles sank into the selfish, dissipated roysterer under -his unworthy successor. He never visited again the beautiful oak-woods -and sparkling waters of his native place, but frittered away a frivolous -and useless life among the orgies of Alsatia and the revels of -Whitehall; and died, unfriended, and almost alone, leaving an only son, -who had scarce seen his father, the heir to his impoverished fortunes -and little honored name. - -His son, who was born before the commencement of the troubles, of a lady -highly-bred, and endowed as highly, who died—as the highly endowed die -but too often—in the first prime of womanhood, was already a man when -the restoration brought his father back to his native land, though not -to his patrimonial estates or his paternal duties. - -Miles St. Aubyn, the younger, had been educated during the period of the -civil war, and during the protracted absence of his father, by a distant -maternal relative, whose neutrality and humble position alike protected -him from persecution by either of the hostile parties. He grew up, like -his race, strong, active, bold and gallant; and if he had not received -much of that peculiar nurture which renders men graceful and -courtly-mannered, almost from their cradles, he was at least educated -under the influence of those traditional principles which make them at -the bottom, even if they lack something of external polish, high-souled -and honorable gentlemen. - -After the restoration he was sent abroad, as was the habit of the day, -to push his fortunes with his sword in the Netherlands, then, as in all -ages of the world, the chosen battle-ground of nations. There he served -many years, if not with high distinction, at least with credit to his -name; and if he did not win high fortune with his sword—and indeed the -day for such winnings had already passed in Europe—he at least enjoyed -the advantage of mingling, during his adventurous career, with the -great, the noble, and the famous of the age; and when, on his return to -his native land after his father’s death, he turned his sword into a -ploughshare, and sought repose among the old staghorned oaks at -Widecomb, he was no longer the enthusiastic, wild and headstrong youth -of twenty years before; but a grave, polished, calm, accomplished man, -with something of Spanish dignity and sternness engrafted on the -frankness of his English character, and with the self-possession of one -used familiarly to courts and camps showing itself in every word and -motion. - -He was a man moreover of worth, energy and resolution, and sitting down -peacefully under the shadow of his own woods, he applied himself -quietly, but with an iron steadiness of purpose that ensured success, to -retrieving in some degree the fortunes of his race. - -Soon after he returned he had taken unto himself a wife, not perhaps -very wisely chosen from a family of descent prouder and haughtier even -than his own, and of fortunes if not as much impoverished, at least so -greatly diminished, as to render the lady’s dower a matter merely -nominal. But it was an old affection—a long promise, hallowed by love -and constancy and honor. - -She was, moreover, a beautiful and charming creature, and, so long as -she lived, rendered the old soldier a very proud and very happy husband, -and when she died—which, most unhappily for all concerned, was but a -few months after giving birth to an only son—left him so comfortless, -and at the same time so wedded to the memory of the dead, that he never -so much as envisaged the idea of a second marriage. - -This gentleman it was, who, many long years after the death of the -gentle Lady Alice, dwelt in serene and dignified seclusion in the old -Hall, which he had never quitted since he became a widower; devoting his -whole abilities to nursing his dilapidated estates, and educating his -only son, whom he regarded with affection bordering on idolatry. - -With the last Miles St. Aubyn, however, we shall have little to do -henceforth, for the soldier of the Netherlands had departed so far from -the traditions of his family—the eldest son of which had for -generations borne the same name of Miles—as to drop that patrimonial -appellation in the person of his son, whom he had caused to be -christened Jasper, after a beloved friend, a brother of the lady -afterward his wife, who had fallen by his side on a well-fought field in -the Luxembourg. - -What was the cause which induced the veteran, in other respects so -severe a stickler for ancient habitudes, to swerve from this -time-honored custom, it would be difficult to state; some of those who -knew him best, attributing it merely to the desire of perpetuating the -memory of his best friend in the person of his only child; while others -ascribed it to a sort of superstitious feeling, which, attaching the -continued decline of the house to the continual recurrence of the -patronymic, looked forward in some degree to a revival of its honors -with a new name to its lord. - -Whatever might have been the cause, the consequences of this deviation -from old family usage, as prognosticated by the dependents of Widecomb, -and the superstitious inhabitants of the neighboring woods and wolds, -were any thing but likely to better the fortunes of the lords of the -manor; for not a few of them asserted, with undoubting faith, that the -last St. Aubyn had seen the light of day, and that in the same -generation which had seen the extinction of the old name the old race -should itself pass away. Nor did they lack some sage authority to which -they might refer for confirmation of their dark forebodings; for there -existed, living yet in the mouths of men, one of those ancient saws, -which were so common a century or two ago in the rural districts of -England, as connected with the fortunes of the old houses; and which -were referred to some Mother Shipton, or other equally infallible -soothsayer of the county, whose dicta to the vulgar minds of the feudal -tenantry were confirmations strong as proofs of Holy Writ. - -The prophecy in question was certainly exceeding old; and had been -handed down through many generations, by direct oral tradition, among a -race of men wholly illiterate and uneducated; to whom perhaps alone, -owing to the long expatriation of the late and present lords of the -manor, it was now familiar; although in past times it had doubtless been -accredited by the family to which it related. - -It ran as follows, and, not being deficient in a sort of wild harmony -and rugged solemnity, produced, by no means unnaturally, a powerful -effect on the minds of hearers, when recited in awe-stricken tones and -with a bended brow beside some feebly glimmering hearth, in the lulls of -the tempest haply raving without, among the leafless trees, under the -starless night—It ran as follows, and, universally believed by the -vassals of the house, it remains for us to see how far its predictions -were confirmed by events, and how far it influenced or foretold the -course of passion, or the course of fate— - - While Miles sits master in Widecomb place, - The cradle shall rock on the oaken floor, - And St. Aubyn rule, where he ruled of yore. - - But when Miles departs from the olden race, - The cradle shall rock by the hearth no more, - Nor St. Aubyn rule, where he ruled of yore. - - * * * * * - -Thus far it has been necessary for us to tread back the path of departed -generations, and to retrace the fortunes of the Widecomb family, -inasmuch as many of the events, which we shall have to narrate -hereafter, and very much of the character of the principal personage, to -whom our tale relates, have a direct relation to these precedents, and -would have been to a certain degree incomprehensible but for this -retrogression. If it obtain no other end, it will serve at least to -explain how, amid scenes so rural and sequestered, and dwelling almost -in solitude, among neighbors so rugged and uncivilized, there should -have been found a family, deprived of all advantages of -intercommunication with equals or superiors in intellect and demeanor, -and even unassisted by the humanizing influence of familiar female -society, which had yet maintained, as if traditionally, all the -principles, all the ideas, and all the habitudes of the brightest -schools of knightly courtesy and gentlemanly bearing, all the graces and -easy dignity of courts, among the remote solitudes of the country. - -At the time when our narrative commences, the soldier of the -Netherlands, Sir Miles St. Aubyn—for though he cared not to bear a -foreign title, he had been stricken a knight banneret on a bloody -battle-field of Flanders—had fallen long into the sere, the yellow -leaf; and though his cheek was still ruddy as a winter pippin, his eye -bright and clear, and his foot firm as ever, his hair was as white as -the drifted snow; his arm had lost its nervous power; and if his mind -was still sane and his body sound, he was now more addicted to sit -beside the glowing hearth in winter, or to bask in the summer sunshine, -poring over some old chronicle or antique legend, than to wake the -echoes of the oakwoods with his bugle-horn, or to rouse the heathcock -from the heathy moorland with his blythe springers. - -Not so, however, the child of his heart, Jasper. The boy on whom such -anxious pains had been bestowed, on whom hopes so intense reposed, had -reached his seventeenth summer. Like all his race, he was unusually -tall, and admirably formed, both for agility and strength. Never, from -his childhood upward, having mingled with any persons of vulgar station -or unpolished demeanor, he was, as if by nature, graceful and easy. His -manners although proud, and marked by something of that stern dignity -which we have mentioned as a characteristic of the father, but which in -one so youthful appeared strange and out of place, were ever those of a -high and perfect gentleman. His features were marked with all the -ancestral beauties, which may be traced in unmixed races through so many -generations; and as it was a matter of notorious truth, that from the -date of the conquest, no drop of Saxon or of Celtic blood had been -infused into the pure Norman stream which flowed through the veins of -the proud St. Aubyns, it was no marvel that after the lapse of so many -ages the youthful Jasper should display, both in face and form, the -characteristic lines and coloring peculiar to the noblest tribe of men -that has ever issued from the great northern hive of nations. -Accordingly, he had the rich dark chestnut hair, not curled, but waving -in loose clusters; the clear gray eye; the aquiline nose; the keen and -fiery look; the resolute mouth, and the iron jaw, which in all ages have -belonged to the descendant of the Northman. While the spare yet sinewy -frame, the deep, round chest, thin flanks, and limbs long and muscular -and singularly agile, were not less perfect indications of his blood -than the sharp, eagle-like expression of the bold countenance. - -Trained in his early boyhood to all those exercises of activity and -strength, which were in those days held essential to the gentleman, it -needs not to say that Jasper St. Aubyn could ride, swim, fence, shoot, -run, leap, pitch the bar, and go through every manœuvre of the _salle -d’armes_, the tilt-yard, and the _manège_, with equal grace and power. -Nor had his lighter accomplishments been neglected; for the age of his -father and grandfather, if profligate and dissolute even to debauchery, -was still refined and polished, and to dance gracefully, and touch the -lute or sing tastefully, was as much expected from the cavalier as to -have a firm foot in the stirrup, or a strong and supple wrist with the -backsword and rapier. - -His mind had been richly stored also, if not very sagely trained and -regulated. For Sir Miles, in the course of his irregular and adventurous -life, had read much more than he had meditated; had picked up much more -of learning than he had of philosophy; and what philosophy he had -belonged much more to the cold self-reliance of the camp than to the -sounder tenets of the schools. - -While filling his son’s mind, therefore, with much curious lore of all -sorts; while making him a master of many tongues, and laying before him -books of all kinds, the old banneret had taken little pains—perhaps he -would not have succeeded had he taken more—to point the lessons which -the books contained; to draw deductions from the facts which he -inculcated; or to direct the course of the young man’s opinions. - -Self-taught himself, or taught only in the hard school of experience, -and having himself arrived at sound principles of conduct, he never -seemed to recollect that the boy would run through no such ordeal, and -reap no such lessons; nor did he ever reflect that the deductions which -he had himself drawn from certain facts, acquired in one way, and under -one set of circumstances, would probably be entirely different from -those at which another would arrive, when his data were acquired in a -very different manner, and under circumstances altogether diverse and -dissimilar. - -Thence it came that Jasper St. Aubyn, at the age of seventeen years, was -in all qualities of body thoroughly trained and disciplined; and in all -mental faculties perfectly educated, but entirely untrained, uncorrected -and unchastened. - -In manner, he was a perfect gentleman; in body, he was a perfect man; in -mind, he was almost a perfect scholar. And what, our reader will perhaps -inquire, what could he have been more; or what more could education have -effected in his behalf? - -Much—very much—good friend. - -For as there is an education of the body, and an education of the brain, -so is there also an education of the heart. And that is an education -which men rarely have the faculty of imparting, and which few men ever -have obtained, who have not enjoyed the inestimable advantage of female -nurture during their youth, as well as their childhood; unless they have -learned it in the course of painful years, from those severe and bitter -teachers, those chasteners and purifiers of the heart—sorrow and -suffering, which two _are_ experience. - -This, then, was the education in which Jasper St. Aubyn was altogether -deficient; which Sir Miles had never so much as attempted to impart to -him; and which, had he endeavored, he probably would have failed to -bestow. - -We do not mean to say that the boy was heartless—boys rarely are so, we -might almost say never—nor that the impulses of his heart were toward -evil rather than good; far from it. His heart, like all young and -untainted hearts, was full of noble impulses—but they were _impulses_; -full of fresh springing generous desires, of gracious sympathies and -lofty aspirations—but he had not one principle—he never had been -taught to question one impulse, before acting upon it—he never had -learned to check one desire, to doubt the genuineness of one sympathy, -to moderate the eagerness of one aspiration. He never had been brought -to suspect that there were such virtues as self-control, or -self-devotion; such vices as selfishness or self-abandonment—in a word, -he never had so much as heard - - That Right is right, and that to follow Right - Were wisdom, in the scorn of consequence— - -and therefore he was, at the day of which we write, even what he was; -and thereafter, what we propose to show you. - -At the time when the youthful heir had attained his seventeenth year, -the great object of his father’s life was accomplished; the fortunes of -the family were so far at least retrieved, that if the St. Aubyns no -longer aspired, as of old, to be the first or wealthiest family of the -county, they were at least able to maintain the household on that -footing of generous liberality and hospitable ease which has been at all -times the pride and passion of the English country gentleman. - -For many years Sir Miles had undergone the severest privations, and it -was only by the endurance of actual poverty within doors, that he was -enabled to maintain that footing abroad, without which he could scarcely -have preserved his position in society. - -For many years the park had been neglected, the gardens overrun with -weeds and brambles, the courts grass-grown, and the house itself -dilapidated, literally from the impossibility of supporting domestics -sufficiently numerous to perform the necessary labors of the estate. - -During much of this period it was to the beasts of the forest, the fowl -of the moorland, and the fish of the streams, that the household of -Widecomb had looked for their support; nor did the table of the banneret -himself boast any liquor more generous than that afforded by the ale -vats of March and October. - -Throughout the whole of this dark and difficult time, however, the stout -old soldier had never suffered one particle of that ceremonial, which he -deemed essential as well to the formation as the preservation of the -character of a true gentleman, to be relaxed or neglected by his -diminished household. - -Personally, he was at all times clad point device; nor did he ever fail -in being mounted, himself and at least one attendant, as became a -cavalier of honor. The hours of the early dinner, and of the more -agreeable and social supper, were announced duly by the clang of -trumpets, even when there were no guests to be summoned, save the old -banneret and his motherless child, and perhaps the only visiter for -years at Widecomb Manor, the gray-haired vicar of the village, who had -served years before as chaplain of an English regiment in the Low -Countries, with Sir Miles. Nor was the pewter tankard, containing at the -best but toast and ale, stirred with a sprig of rosemary, handed around -the board with less solemnity than had it been a golden hanap mantling -with the first vintages of Burgundy or Xeres. - -Thus it was that, as Jasper advanced gradually toward years of manhood, -the fortunes of the house improving in proportion to his growth, seeing -no alteration in the routine of the household, he scarcely was aware -that any change had taken place in more essential points. - -The eye and ear of the child had been taken by the banners, the -trumpets, and the glittering board, and his fancy riveted by the -solemnity and grave decorum which characterized the meals partaken in -the great hall; and naturally enough he never knew that the pewter -platters and tankards had been exchanged, since those days, for plate of -silver, and the strong ale converted into claret or canary. - -The consequence of this was simply that he found himself a youth of -seventeen, surrounded by all the means and appliances of luxury, with -servants, horses, hounds, and falcons at his command, the leading -personage, beyond all comparison, of the neighborhood, highly born, -handsome, well bred and accomplished. All this, by the way, was entirely -uncorrected by any memory of past sufferings or sorrows, either on his -own part or on that of his family, or by any knowledge of the privations -and exertions on the part of Sir Miles, by which this present affluence -had been purchased; and he became, naturally enough, somewhat over -confident in his own qualities, somewhat over-bearing in his manner, and -not a little intolerant and inconsiderate as to the opinions and -feelings of others. He then presented, in a word, the not unusual -picture of an arrogant, self-sufficient, proud and fiery youth, with -many generous and noble points, and many high qualities, which, duly -cultivated, might have rendered him a good, a happy, and perhaps even a -great man; but which, untrained as they were, and suffered to run up -into a rank and unpruned overgrowth, were but too likely to degenerate -themselves into vices, and to render him at some future day a tormentor -of himself, and an oppressor of others. - -Now, however, he was a general favorite, for largely endowed with animal -spirits, indulged in every wish that his fancy could form, never crossed -in the least particular, it was rarely that his violent temper would -display itself, or his innate selfishness rise conspicuous above the -superficial face of good-nature and somewhat careless affability, which -he presented to the general observer. - -It was, perhaps, unfortunate for Jasper, no less than for those who were -in after days connected with him, whether for good or evil, that, at -this critical period of his adolescence, when the character of the man -is developed from the accidents of boyhood, in proportion as his -increasing years and altered habits and pursuits led him to be more -abroad, and cast him in some degree into the world, the advancing years -and growing infirmities of his father kept him closer to the library and -the hall. - -So that at the very time when his expanding mind and nascent passions -most needed sage advice and moderate coercion, or at least wary -guidance, he was abandoned almost entirely to his own direction. The -first outbreaks, therefore, of evil principles, the germs of a masterful -will, the seeds of fierce and fiery passions, and, above all, the -growing recklessness with regard to the feelings and the rights of -others, which could scarcely have escaped the notice of the shrewd old -man had he accompanied his son abroad, and which, if noticed, would -surely have been repressed, were allowed to increase hourly by -self-indulgence and the want of restraint, unknown and unsuspected to -the youth himself, for whom one day they were to be the cause of so many -and so bitter trials. - -But it is now time that, turning from this brief retrospect of previous -events, and this short analysis of the early constitution of the mind of -him whose singular career is to form the subject of this narrative, we -should introduce our reader to the scene of action, and to the person -whose adventures in after life will perhaps excuse the space which has -necessarily been allotted to the antecedents of the first marked event -which befel him, and from which all the rest took their rise in a train -of connection, which, although difficult to trace by a casual observer, -was in reality close and perfect. - -The manor-house of Widecomb, such as it has been slightly sketched -above, stood on a broad flat terrace, paved with slabs of red freestone, -and adorned with a massive balustrade of the same material, interspersed -with grotesque images at the points where it was reached from the -esplanade below, by three or four flights of broad and easy steps. - -The mansion itself was large, and singularly picturesque, but the -beauties of the building were as nothing to those of the scenery which -it overlooked. - -It was built on the last and lowest slope of one of those romantic spurs -which trend southerly from the wild and heathery heights of Dartmoor. -And although the broad and beautifully kept lawn was embosomed in a very -woody and sylvan chase, full of deep glens and tangled dingles, which -was in turn framed on three sides by the deep oak-woods, which covered -all the rounded hills in the rear of the estate and to the right and -left hand, yet as the land continued to fall toward the south for many -and many a mile, the sight could range from the oriel windows of the -great hall, and of the fine old library, situated on either hand of the -entrance and armory, over a wide expanse of richly cultivated country, -with more than one navigable river winding among the woods and -corn-fields, and many a village steeple glittering among the hedgerows, -until in the far distance it was bounded by a blue hazy line, which -seemed to melt into the sky, but which was in truth, though not to be -distinguished as such unless by a practiced eye, the British Channel. - -The Hall itself and even the southern verge of the chase, which bounded -the estate in that direction, lay, however, at a very considerable -distance from the cultivated country, and was divided from it by a vast -broken chasm, with banks so precipitous and rocky that no road had ever -been carried through it, while its great width had deterred men from the -idea of bridging it. Through this strange and terrific gorge there -rushed an impetuous and powerful torrent, broken by many falls and -rapids, with many a deep and limpid pool between them, favorite haunts -of the large salmon and sea trout which abounded in its waters. This -brook, for it scarcely can be called a river, although after the rains -of autumn or the melting snows of spring it sent down an immense volume -of dark, rust colored water, with a roar that could be heard for miles, -to the distant Tamar, swept down the hills in a series of cascades from -the right hand side of the park, until it reached the brink of the chasm -we have described, lying at right angles to its former course, down -which it plunged in an impetuous shoot of nearly three hundred feet, and -rushed thence easterly away, walled on each side by the precipitous -rock, until some five miles thence it was crossed at a deep and somewhat -dangerous ford, by the only great road which traversed that district, -and by which alone strangers could reach the Hall and its beautiful -demesnes. - -To the westward or right hand side of the chase the country was entirely -wild and savage, covered with thick woods, interspersed with lonely -heaths, and intersected by hundreds of clear brawling rills. To the -eastward, however, although much broken by forest ground, there was a -wide range of rich pasture fields and meadows, divided by great -overgrown hawthorn hedges, each hedge almost a thicket, and penetrated -by numerous lanes and horse-roads buried between deep banks, and -overcanopied by foliage, that, even at noonday, was almost impenetrable -to the sunshine. - -Here and there lay scattered among the fields and woods innumerable -farm-houses and granges, the abodes of small freeholders, once tenants -and vassals of the great St. Aubyns; and, at about six miles from the -Hall, nestled in a green valley, through which ran a clear, bright -trout-stream to join the turbulent torrent, stood the little market town -of Widecomb-Under-Moor, from their unalienated property in which the -family of St. Aubyn derived the most valuable portion of their incomes. - -Over the whole of this pleasant and peaceful tract, whether it was still -owned by themselves, or had passed into the hands of the free yeomanry, -the Lords of Widecomb still held manorial rights, and the few feudal -privileges which had survived the revolution; and, through the whole of -it, Sir Miles St. Aubyn was regarded with unmixed love and veneration, -while the boy Jasper was looked upon almost as a son in every family, -though some old men would shake their heads doubtfully, and mutter sage -but unregarded saws concerning his present disposition and future -prospects; and some old grandames would prognosticate disasters, -horrors, and even crimes as hanging over his career, in consequence, -perhaps, of the inauspicious change in the patronymic of his race. - -They were a happy and an unsophisticated race who inhabited those lonely -glens. Sufficiently well provided to be above the want of necessaries, -or the fear of poverty, they were not so far removed from the necessity -of labor as to have incurred vicious ambitions—moderate, frugal, and -industrious, they lived uncorrupted, and died happy in their unlearned -innocence. - -It was the boast of the district that bars and locks were appendages to -doors entirely unusual and useless; that the cage of Widecomb had not -held a tenant since the days of stiff old Oliver; and that no deed of -violence or blood had ever tainted those calm vales with horror. - -Alas! how soon was that boast to be annulled; how soon were the details -of a dread domestic tragedy, full of dark horrors, and reproductive of -guilt through generations, to render the very name of Widecomb a terror, -and to invest the beauteous scenery with images of superstitious awe and -hatred. But we must not anticipate, nor seek as yet to penetrate the -secrets of that destiny, which even during the morn of promising young -life, seemed to overhang the house, - - And hushed in grim repose, - Expects its evening prey. - - - CHAPTER I. - - _The Peril._ - - I say beware— - That way perdition lies, the very path - Of seeming safety leading to the abyss. - —MS. - -It was as fair a morning of July as ever dawned in the blue summer sky; -the sun as yet had risen but a little way above the waves of fresh green -foliage which formed the horizon of the woodland scenery surrounding -Widecomb Manor; and his heat, which promised ere midday to become -excessive, was tempered now by the exhalations of the copious -night-dews, and by the cool breath of the western breeze, which came -down through the leafy gorges, in long, soft swells from the open -moorlands. - -All nature was alive and joyous; the air was vocal with the piping -melody of the blackbirds and thrushes, caroling in every brake and bosky -dingle; the smooth, green lawn, before the windows of the old Hall was -peopled with whole tribes of fat, lazy hares, limping about among the -dewy herbage, fearless, as it would seem, of man’s aggression; and to -complete the picture, above a score of splendid peacocks were strutting -to and fro on the paved terraces, or perched upon the carved stone -balustrades, displaying their gorgeous plumage to the early sunshine. - -The shadowy mists of the first morning twilight had not been long -dispersed from the lower regions, and were suspended still in the middle -air in broad fleecy masses, though melting rapidly away in the -increasing warmth and brightness of the day. - -And still a faint blue line hovered over the bed of the long rocky -gorge, which divided the chase from the open country, floating about it -like the steam of a seething caldron, and rising here and there into -tall smoke-like columns, probably where some steeper cataract of the -mountain-stream sent its foam skyward. - -So early, indeed, was the hour, that had my tale been recited of these -degenerate days, there would have been no gentle eyes awake to look upon -the loveliness of new-awakened nature. - -In the good days of old, however, when daylight was still deemed to be -the fitting time for labor and for pastime, and night the appointed time -for natural and healthful sleep, the dawn was wont to brighten beheld by -other eyes than those of clowns and milkmaids, and the gay songs of the -matutinal birds were listened to by ears that could appreciate their -untaught melodies. - -And now, just as the stable clock was striking four, the great oaken -door of the old Hall was thrown open with a vigorous swing that made it -rattle on its hinges, and Jasper St. Aubyn came bounding out into the -fresh morning air, with a foot as elastic as that of the mountain roe, -singing a snatch of some quaint old ballad. - -He was dressed simply in a close-fitting jacket and tight hose of -dark-green cloth, without any lace or embroidery, light boots of -untanned leather, and a broad-leafed hat, with a single eagle’s feather -thrust carelessly through the band. He wore neither cloak nor sword, -though it was a period at which gentlemen rarely went abroad without -both these, their distinctive attributes; but in the broad black belt -which girt his rounded waist he carried a stout wood-knife with a -buckhorn hilt; and over his shoulder there swung from a leathern thong, -a large wicker fishing-basket. - -Nothing, indeed, could be simpler or less indicative of any particular -rank or station in society than young St. Aubyn’s garb, yet it would -have been a very dull and unobservant eye which should take him for -aught less than a high-born and high-bred gentleman. - -His fine intellectual face, his bearing erect before heaven, the -graceful ease of his every motion, as he hurried down the flagged steps -of the terrace, and planted his light foot on the dewy greensward, all -betokened gentle birth and gentle associations. - -But he thought nothing of himself, nor cared for his advantages, -acquired or natural. The long and heavy salmon-rod which he carried in -his right hand, in three pieces as yet unconnected, did not more clearly -indicate his purpose than the quick marking glance which he cast toward -the half-veiled sun and hazy sky, scanning the signs of the weather. - -“It will do, it will do,” he said to himself, thinking as it were aloud, -“for three or four hours at least; the sun will not shake off those -vapors before eight o’clock at the earliest, and if he do come out then -hot and strong, I do not know but the water is dark enough after the -late rains to serve my turn awhile longer. It will blow up, too, I -think, from the westward, and there will be a brisk curl on the pools. -But come, I must be moving, if I would reach Darringford to breakfast.” - -And as he spoke he strode out rapidly across the park toward the deep -chasm of the stream, crushing a thousand aromatic perfumes from the dewy -wild-flowers with his heedless foot, and thinking little of the beauties -of nature, as he hastened to the scene of his loved exercise. - -It was not long, accordingly, before he reached the brink of the steep -rocky bank above the stream, which he proposed to fish that morning, and -paused to select the best place for descending to the water’s edge. - -It was, indeed, a striking and romantic scene as ever met the eye of -painter or of poet. On the farther side of the gorge, scarcely a hundred -yards distant, the dark limestone rocks rose sheer and precipitous from -the very brink of the stream, rifted and broken into angular blocks and -tall columnar masses, from the clefts of which, wherever they could find -soil enough to support their scanty growth, a few stunted oaks shot out -almost horizontally with their gnarled arms and dark-green foliage, and -here and there the silvery bark and quivering tresses of the birch -relieved the monotony of color by their gay brightness. Above, the -cliffs were crowned with the beautiful purple heather, now in its very -glow of summer bloom, about which were buzzing myriads of wild bees -sipping their nectar from its cups of amethyst. - -The hither side, though rough and steep and broken, was not in the place -where Jasper stood precipitous; indeed it seemed as if at some distant -period a sort of landslip had occurred, by which the fall of the rocky -wall had been broken into massive fragments, and hurled down in an -inclined plane into the bed of the stream, on which it had encroached -with its shattered blocks and rounded boulders. - -Time, however, had covered all this abrupt and broken slope with a -beautiful growth of oak and hazel coppice, among which, only at distant -intervals, could the dun weather-beaten flanks of the great stones be -discovered. - -At the base of this descent, a hundred and fifty feet perhaps below the -stand of the young sportsman, flowed the dark arrowy stream—a wild and -perilous water. As clear as crystal, yet as dark as the brown -cairn-gorm, it came pouring down among the broken rocks with a rapidity -and force which showed what must be its fury when swollen by a storm -among the mountains, here breaking into wreaths of rippling foam where -some unseen ledge chafed its current, there roaring and surging white as -December’s snow among the great round-headed rocks, and there again -wheeling in sullen eddies, dark and deceitful, round and round some deep -rock-brimmed basin. - -Here and there, indeed, it spread out into wide shallow rippling rapids, -filling the whole bottom of the ravine from side to side, but more -generally it did not occupy above a fourth part of the space below, -leaving sometimes on this margin, sometimes on that, broad pebbly banks, -or slaty ledges, affording an easy footing and a clear path to the -angler in its troubled waters. - -After a rapid glance over the well-known scene, Jasper plunged into the -coppice, and following a faint track worn by the feet of the wild-deer -in the first instance, and widened by his own bolder tread, soon reached -the bottom of the chasm, though not until he had flushed from the dense -oak covert two noble black cocks with their superb forked tails, and -glossy purple-lustered plumage, which soared away, crowing their bold -defiance, over the heathery moorlands. - -Once at the water’s edge, the young man’s tackle was speedily made -ready, and in a few minutes his long line went whistling through the -air, as he wielded the powerful two-handed rod, as easily as if it had -been a stripling’s reed, and the large gaudy peacock-fly alighted on the -wheeling eddies, at the tail of a long arrowy shoot, as gently as if it -had settled from too long a flight. Delicately, deftly, it was made to -dance and skim the clear, brown surface, until it had crossed the pool -and neared the hither bank; then again, obedient to the pliant wrist, it -arose on glittering wing, circled half round the angler’s head, and was -sent thirty yards aloof, straight as a wild bee’s flight, into a little -mimic whirlpool, scarce larger than the hat of the skillful fisherman, -which spun round and round just to leeward of a gray ledge of limestone. -Scarce had it reached its mark before the water broke all around it, and -the gay deceit vanished, the heavy swirl of the surface, as the break -was closing, indicating the great size of the fish which had risen. Just -as the swirl was subsiding, and the forked tail of the monarch of the -stream was half seen as he descended, that indescribable but well-known -turn of the angler’s wrist, fixed the barbed hook, and taught the scaly -victim the nature of the prey he had gorged so heedlessly. - -With a wild bound he threw himself three feet out of the water, showing -his silver sides, with the sea-lice yet clinging to his scales, a fresh -sea-run fish of fifteen, ay, eighteen pounds, and perhaps over. - -On his broad back he strikes the water, but not as he meant the -tightened line; for as he leaped the practiced hand had lowered the -rod’s tip, that it fell in a loose bight below him. Again! again! again! -and yet a fourth time he bounded into the air with desperate and -vigorous soubresaults, like an unbroken steed that would dismount his -rider, lashing the eddies of the dark stream into bright bubbling -streaks, and making the heart of his captor beat high with anticipation -of the desperate struggle that should follow, before the monster would -lie panting and exhausted on the yellow sand or moist greensward. - -Away! with the rush of an eagle through the air, he is gone like an -arrow down the rapids—how the reel rings, and the line whistles from -the swift working wheel; he is too swift, too headstrong to be checked -as yet; tenfold the strength of that slender tackle might not control -him in his first fiery rush. - -But Jasper, although young in years, was old in the art, and skillful as -the craftiest of the gentle craftsmen. He gives him the butt of his rod -steadily, trying the strength of his tackle with a delicate and gentle -finger, giving him line at every rush, yet firmly, cautiously, feeling -his mouth all the while, and moderating his speed even while he yields -to his fury. - -Meanwhile, with the eye of intuition and the nerve of iron, he bounds -along the difficult shore, he leaps from rock to rock, alighting on -their slippery tops with the firm agility of the rope-dancer, he -splashes knee deep through the slippery shallows, keeping his line ever -taut, inclining his rod over his shoulder, bearing on his fish ever with -a killing pull, steering him clear of every rock or stump against which -he would fain smash the tackle, and landing him at length in a fine open -roomy pool, at the foot of a long stretch of white and foamy rapids, -down which he has just piloted him with the eye of faith, and the foot -of instinct. - -And now the great salmon has turned sulky; like a piece of lead he has -sunk to the bottom of the deep black pool, and lies on the gravel bottom -in the sullenness of despair. - -Jasper stooped, gathered up in his left hand a heavy pebble, and pitched -it into the pool, as nearly as he could guess to the whereabout of his -game—another—and another! Aha! that last has roused him. Again he -throws himself clear out of water, and again foiled in his attempt to -smash the tackle, dashes away down stream impetuous. - -But his strength is departing—the vigor of his rush is broken. The -angler gives him the butt abundantly, strains on him with a heavier -pull, yet ever yields a little as he exerts his failing powers; see, his -broad, silver side has thrice turned up, even to the surface, and though -each time he has recovered himself, each time it has been with a heavier -and more sickly motion. - -Brave fellow! his last race is run, his last spring sprung—no more -shall he disport himself in the bright reaches of the Tamar; no more -shall the Naiads wreathe his clear silver scales with river-greens and -flowery rushes. - -The cruel gaff is in his side—his cold blood stains the eddies for a -moment—he flaps out his death-pang on the hard limestone. - -“Who-whoop! a nineteen pounder!” - -Meantime the morning had worn onward, and ere the great fish was brought -to the basket the sun had soared clear above the mist-wreaths, and had -risen so high into the summer heaven that his slant rays poured down -into the gorge of the stream, and lighted up the clear depths with a -lustre so transparent that every pebble at the bottom might have been -discerned, with the large fish here and there floating mid depth, with -their heads up stream, their gills working with a quick motion, and -their broad tails vibrating at short intervals slowly but powerfully, as -they lay motionless in opposition to the very strongest of the swift -current. - -The breeze had died away, there was no curl upon the water, and the heat -was oppressive. - -Under such circumstances to whip the stream was little better than mere -loss of time, yet as he hurried with a fleet foot down the gorge, -perhaps with some ulterior object, beyond the mere love of sport, Jasper -at times cast his fly across the stream, and drew it neatly, and, as he -thought, irresistibly right over the recusant fish; but though once or -twice a large lazy salmon would sail up slowly from the depths, and -almost touch the fly with his nose, he either sunk down slowly in -disgust, without breaking the water, or flapped his broad tail over the -shining fraud as if to mark his contempt. - -It had now got to be near noon, for in the ardor of his success the -angler had forgotten all about his intended breakfast; and, his first -fish captured, had contented himself with a slender meal furnished from -out his fishing-basket and his leathern bottle. - -Jasper had traversed by this time some ten miles in length, following -the sinuosities of the stream, and had reached a favorite pool at the -head of a long, straight, narrow trench, cut by the waters themselves in -the course of time, through the hard shistous rock which walls the -torrent on each hand, not leaving the slightest ledge or margin between -the rapids and the precipice. - -Through this wild gorge of some fifty yards in length, the river shoots -like an arrow over a steep inclined plane of limestone rock, the surface -of which is polished by the action of the water, till it is as slippery -as ice, and at the extremity leaps down a sheer descent of some twelve -feet into a large, wide basin, surrounded by softly swelling banks of -greensward, and a fair amphitheatre of woodland. - -At the upper end this pool is so deep as to be vulgarly deemed -unfathomable; below, however, it expands yet wider into a shallow -rippling ford, where it is crossed by the high-road, down stream of -which again there is another long, sharp rapid, and another fall, over -the last steps of the hills; after which the nature of the stream -becomes changed, and it murmurs gently onward through a green pastoral -country unrippled and uninterrupted. - -Just in the inner angle of the high road, on the right hand of the -stream, there stood an old-fashioned, low-browed, thatch-covered, stone -cottage, with a rude portico of rustic woodwork overrun with jassmine -and virgin-bower, and a pretty flower-garden sloping down in successive -terraces to the edge of the basin. Beside this, there was no other house -in sight, unless it were part of the roof of a mill which stood in the -low ground on the brink of the second fall, surrounded with a mass of -willows. But the tall steeple of a country church raising itself -heavenward above the brow of the hill, seemed to show that, although -concealed by the undulations of the ground, a village was hard at hand. - -The morning had changed a second time, a hazy film had crept up to the -zenith, and the sun was now covered with a pale golden veil, and a -slight current of air down the gorge ruffled the water. - -It was a capital pool, famous for being the temporary haunt of the very -finest fish, which were wont to lie there awhile, as if to recruit -themselves after the exertions of leaping the two falls and stemming the -double rapid, before attempting to ascend the stream farther. - -Few, however, even of the best and boldest fishermen cared to wet a line -in its waters, in consequence of the supposed impossibility of following -a heavy fish through the gorge below or checking him at the brink of the -fall. It is true, that throughout the length of the pass, the current -was broken by bare, slippery rocks peering above the waters, at -intervals, which might be cleared by an active cragsman; and it had been -in fact reconnoitered by Jasper and others in cool blood, but the result -of the examination was that it was deemed impassable. - -Thinking, however, little of striking a large fish, and perhaps desiring -to waste a little time before scaling the banks and emerging on the high -road, Jasper threw a favorite fly of peacock’s back and gold tinsel -lightly across the water; and, almost before he had time to think, had -hooked a monstrous fish, which, at the very first leap, he set down as -weighing at least thirty pounds. - -Thereupon followed a splendid display of piscatory skill. Well knowing -that his fish must be lost if he once should succeed in getting his head -down the rapid, Jasper exerted every nerve, and exhausted every art to -humor, to meet, to restrain, to check him. Four times the fish rushed -for the pass, and four times Jasper met him so stoutly with the butt, -trying his tackle to the very utmost, that he succeeded in forcing him -from the perilous spot. Round and round the pool he had piloted him, and -had taken post at length, hoping that the worst was already over, close -to the opening of the rocky chasm. - -And now perhaps waxing too confident he checked his fish too sharply. -Stung into fury, the monster sprang five times in succession into the -air, lashing the water with his angry tail, and then rushed like an -arrow down the chasm. - -He was gone—but Jasper’s blood was up, and thinking of nothing but his -sport, he dashed forward and embarked with a fearless foot in the -terrible descent. - -Leap after leap he took with beautiful precision, alighting firm and -erect on the centre of each slippery block, and bounding thence to the -next with unerring instinct, guiding his fish the while with consummate -skill through the intricacies of the pass. - -There were now but three more leaps to be taken before he would reach -the flat table-rock above the fall, which once attained, he would have -firm foot-hold and a fair field; already he rejoiced, triumphant in the -success of his bold attainment, and confident in victory, when a shrill -female shriek reached his ears from the pretty flower-garden; caught by -the sound he diverted his eyes, just as he leaped, toward the place -whence it came; his foot slipped, and the next instant he was flat on -his back in the swift stream, where it shot the most furiously over the -glassy rock. He struggled manfully, but in vain. The smooth, slippery -surface afforded no purchase to his gripping fingers, no hold to his -laboring feet. One fearful, agonizing conflict with the wild waters, and -he was swept helplessly over the edge of the fall, his head, as he -glanced down foot foremost, striking the rocky brink with fearful -violence. - -He was plunged into the deep pool, and whirled round and round by the -dark eddies long before he rose, but still, though stunned and half -disabled, he strove terribly to support himself, but it was all in vain. - -Again he sunk and rose once more, and as he rose that wild shriek again -reached his ears, and his last glance fell upon a female form wringing -her hands in despair on the bank, and a young man rushing down in wild -haste from the cottage on the hill. - -He felt that aid was at hand, and struck out again for life—for dear -life! - -But the water seemed to fail beneath him. - -A slight flash sprang across his eyes, his brain reeled, and all was -blackness. - -He sunk to the bottom, spurned it with his feet, and rose once more, but -not to the surface. - -His quivering blue hands emerged alone above the relentless waters, -grasped for a little moment at empty space, and then disappeared. - -The circling ripples closed over him, and subsided into stillness. - -He felt, knew, suffered nothing more. - -His young, warm heart was cold and lifeless—his soul had lost its -consciousness—the vital spark had faded into darkness—perhaps was -quenched for ever. - - [_To be continued._ - - * * * * * - - - - - MARY. - - - BY MRS. O. M. P. LORD. - - - Humble Mary! thus in breaking - Vows I never meant to keep, - Who will blame me for forsaking, - Though a love-sick girl may weep? - - Humble Mary! high born maiden - Must my name and honors share, - With ancestral glory laden— - Matters not less good and fair. - - . . . . . . - - Angel Mary! sadly pleading, - Sinking low on bended knee, - See remorse to scorn succeeding— - Mary! Mary! pardon me. - - Angel Mary! lost forever! - What are name and fame to thee? - Cursed the pride that bade us sever— - Angel Mary! pardon me. - - Mary! cold the earth above thee, - Cold and calm thy broken heart— - Canst thou not to him who loved thee - Something of thy peace impart? - - * * * * * - - - - - I’M THINKING OF THEE! - - - BY A. D. WILLIAMS. - - - When the wild winds are howling, - Now distant, now nigh, - And the storm-king is growling, - And clouds veil the sky; - When the tempest is foaming, - O’er ocean and lea, - My thoughts are not roaming— - I’m thinking of thee! - - When the mild, gentle showers - Distil from the sky, - And the bright blooming flowers - Delight the glad eye; - When the zephyrs are playing - So blandly and free, - My thoughts are not straying— - I’m thinking of thee! - - When the beams of Aurora - Are flooding the earth, - With morn’s radiant glory - And day’s jovial mirth; - When the gay birds are singing - In innocent glee, - As their clear tones are ringing, - I’m thinking of thee! - - When day’s fading sky-light - Wanes slow from the west, - And the shadows of twilight - Steal soft o’er its breast; - When Luna is shimmering - O’er land and o’er sea— - While the bright stars are glim’ring, - I’m thinking of thee! - - Amid gay festive pleasure, - Where mirth lends the song, - There my heart has no treasure— - Thou’rt not in the throng. - But forgetting the present, - Its wild merry glee, - My communings are pleasant— - I’m thinking of thee! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE TULIP-TREE. - - - BY BAYARD TAYLOR. - - - Bounds my blood with long-forgotten fleetness - To the chime of boyhood’s blithest tune, - While I drink a life of brimming sweetness - From the glory of the breezy June. - Far above, the fields of ether brighten; - Forest leaves are twinkling in their glee; - And the daisy’s snows around me whiten, - Drifted down the sloping lea! - - On the hills he standeth like a tower, - Shining in the morn—the Tulip-Tree! - On his rounded turrets beats the shower, - While his emerald flags are flapping free: - But when Summer in the fields is standing, - And his blood is stirred with light, like wine, - O’er his branches, all at once expanding, - How the starry blossoms shine! - - Through the glossy leaves they burn, unfolded, - Like the breast of some sweet oriole— - Filled with fragrance, as a joy new moulded - Into being by a poet’s soul! - Violet hills, against the sunrise lying, - See them kindle when the stars grow dim, - And the breeze that drinks their odorous sighing - Woos the lark’s rejoicing hymn. - - Then all day, in every opening chalice - Drains their honey-drops the reveling bee, - Till the dove-winged Sleep makes thee her palace, - Filled with song-like murmurs, Tulip-Tree! - In thine arms repose the dreams enchanted - Which in childhood’s heart were nestled long, - And, beneath thee, still my brain is haunted - With their tones of vanished song. - - Oh, while Earth’s full heart is throbbing over - With its wealth of light and life and joy, - Who can dream the seasons that shall cover - With their frost the visions of the boy? - Who can paint the years that downward darken, - While the splendid morning bids aspire, - Or the turf upon his coffin hearken, - When his pulses leap with fire! - - Wind of June, that sweep’st the rolling meadow, - Thou shalt wail in branches rough and bare, - While the tree, o’erhung with storm and shadow, - Writhes and creaks amid the gusty air. - All his leaves, like shields of fairies scattered, - Then shall drop before the Northwind’s spears, - And his limbs, by hail and tempest battered, - Feel the weight of wintry years. - - Yet, why cloud the rapture and the glory - Of the Beautiful, that still remains? - Life, alas! will soon reverse the story, - And its sunshine gild forsaken plains. - Let thy blossoms in the morning brighten, - Happy heart, as doth the Tulip-Tree, - While the daisy’s snows around us whiten, - Drifted down the sloping lea! - - * * * * * - - - - - TRUE UNTO DEATH. - - - BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER. - - - PART I. - -A gentle breeze swept through the vine-latticed casement of a small -apartment, filling it with all the balmy odors of a June evening, while -the moonbeams stealing softly on its track, broke through the leafy -screen in fitful shadows. The sighing of the wind through the long, -slender branches of the willows—the plaintive cry of the -whip-poor-will, and at a little distance the murmuring sound of water, -as the waves of the lake broke gently upon the shore—all were in unison -with the sad hearts of the two—a youth and maiden, who, in that little -room bathed by the moonbeams and the breeze, were now about to be -parted, perhaps forever. - -Deep anguish was depicted on the countenance of the young man—calm -resolve and pious resignation on that of his companion, who, with her -hands clasped before her, and her deep mournful eyes fixed tenderly upon -his, said, - -“No, Richard, it cannot be—urge me no more to a course which seems to -me both cruel and unnatural. Think you this sacrifice is not as painful -to me as to you, dear Richard?” she added, taking his hand and pressing -it to her lips, while a tear trickled slowly down her pale cheek; “then -reproach me not—call me not heartless, unfeeling; rather encourage me -to fulfill faithfully the part which duty allots me—will you not, -Richard?” - -“And thus destroy my own happiness and yours, Margaret! It is, indeed, a -cruel task you would impose on me. No—I cannot make our future life so -desolate as to sanction your cruel decision. Believe me, dearest, your -resolution is but the delirium of a moment—grief for the loss of your -beloved mother, and sympathy with your afflicted father renders you -morbidly sensitive on that point alone. I entreat you, then, dearest, -beloved Margaret—I entreat you by all our hopes of happiness, revoke -your cruel words, and reflect longer ere you consign us both to misery.” - -“I have well deliberated, Richard, and my decision is unalterable. Call -it not delirium, or the shadow of a grief which a moment’s sunshine may -dispel; every hour, on the contrary, will but strengthen my resolution, -and convince me I have acted rightly. My poor father—can I leave him in -his sad bereavement! who else has he now to love but me—and shall I -selfishly turn from him in his loneliness! Ah, Richard, ask me not—for -never, never will I leave him or forsake him.” - -“And have you, then, no care for my wretchedness?” exclaimed her lover -with bitterness, as he rapidly paced the floor; “no sympathy for my -disappointment! Think, Margaret, how long I have waited to call you -mine—how many years I have cheerfully toiled, looking to this dear hand -as my reward. O, Margaret, Margaret!—and now, even now, when that -joyful hour was so near—when but a few days more would have made you -mine forever—it is you who speak those bitter words—it is you who -place a barrier between our loves!—cruel, cruel girl!” - -“It is the hand of Death, not mine, which has placed the barrier between -us, Richard—she who would have blessed our union is no more! ‘_Forsake -not your father, my child!_’ were her dying words—and so long as God -gives me breath, I never will! Come here, Richard, listen to me, and -pity me—for not a pang rends your bosom but finds an answering pang in -mine; nor do I hesitate to confess it to you in this sad moment—there -shall be no concealment from you—I will not wrap my heart in maidenly -reserve, but confess alike my tenderness and my grief. No longer, then, -dearest Richard, accuse me of coldly sacrificing your love to filial -duty—for God knows the agony with which I have decided.” - -“Forgive me, my beloved.” said Richard, “I have been too selfish. I -should have known that pure heart better. However my own feelings may -dictate, Margaret, I will no longer oppose the course to which the most -devoted filial piety leads you, in thus unselfishly renouncing love and -happiness that you may devote your days to a beloved parent. God bless -and reward you, dearest.” - -“Richard, how much your words comfort me,” replied Margaret; “you no -longer oppose but encourage me. Thank you, dear Richard; yet one thing -more, when you leave me, you must be free from all engagement—nay, do -not interrupt me—many long years may intervene ere I shall be free to -give you my hand; nor would I have its disposal linked with such a -dreadful alternative as my father’s death. The few charms I may possess -will ere long have faded, and I would not bind you to me when the light -of youth has passed from cheek and eye. No, Richard—go forth into the -world, it claims your talents and your usefulness, and in time some -other will be to you all that I would have been.” - -“Margaret, you do not know me,” he replied. “Think you another can ever -come between me and your image. I go, but the memory of our love shall -go with me—your name shall be my star, and for your dear sake I will -devote all my energies henceforth to the happiness of my fellow-beings; -your noble example shall not pass without its lesson. But promise me one -thing, Margaret—let there be one solace for my wretchedness—one hope, -though faint, to cheer my lonely path—promise me that should any thing -hereafter occur, no matter how long the flight of years, which may -induce you to wave your present decision, you will write to me—will -you—will you promise me this, my best beloved?” - -Margaret placed her hand in his: “Yes, Richard, I promise you—should -that time come you shall be informed; and I ask in return this, if your -feelings have meanwhile changed, if through time and absence I may have -become indifferent to you, Richard, then make no reply to my -communication—let there be forever _silence_—or _joy_—between us.” - -And thus parted two fond devoted hearts—a noble sacrifice to filial -love. - -Never, perhaps, was there a more striking illustration of the frail -basis on which all human hopes are placed, than was presented by those -sudden events overwhelming the inmates of Willow Bank Cottage with -affliction. Thus our most ardent expectations are frequently met by -disappointment, and our most promising joys blighted. Even when -happiness and peace irradiate our hearts, and on the buoyant wing of -hope our fancy soars into a future of unclouded bliss, even then -desolation and wo may be at our very threshold. - -Thus it proved with those whose history I will briefly relate. - -Willow Bank, for many years the residence of the Gardner family, was -delightfully situated near the borders of a lovely little lake, whose -circling waters rippled gently to the shore beneath the deep shadows of -the maple and sycamore—occasionally weeping willows swept with their -long golden pendants the bright water, or the branches of some stately -pine in green old age, rose proudly above the lowly alder and silvery -birch here and there skirting the bank. Thus rocked in its cradle of -green, lay this beautiful little lake, as blue as the blue sky above it -were its waters, now dimpled by the passing breeze, now breaking in tiny -wavelets, each with its cap of pearly foam, sportively chasing each -other like a band of merry children to lose themselves at the feet of -the brave old trees. From the windows of the cottage the lake was seen -spreading itself out like some broad and beautiful mirror, and then -gently diverging into a narrow rivulet, winding through meadow and -woodland, until it sprang joyously into the bosom of the Ohio. Nature -had done much to beautify the spot Mr. Gardner had selected for his -residence—taste and art had also united their skill; the three combined -had created almost a Paradise. - -But it is to those who dwelt therein, not to its local beauties, my pen -must confine itself. - -Early in life Mr. Gardner had married a lovely and amiable woman, and -removed from Virginia, his native state, to the beautiful residence I -have described, a few miles from the town of S——, Ohio. Blending his -profession of the law with that of agriculture, a few years saw him one -of the most influential men in the country; and had he offered himself -as a candidate for office, he would have been almost certain of success, -such was his popularity; but his ambition took not that course. Domestic -happiness was to him worth more than all the perishable honors of public -life—to Willow Bank and its beloved inmates were all his wishes -centred; and uninterrupted and continued for many years were the smiles -of Providence. It seemed, indeed, as if this favored spot was exempt -from all the ordinary ills of life—sickness came not to fright the -roses from the cheek of health, neither did strife, envy, or sullen -discontent intrude upon this earthly paradise. - -Mr. and Mrs. Gardner had but one child—it was Margaret. When about -seventeen, chance led to an acquaintance with Richard Lelland, employed -by an eminent firm at the South upon business connected with the sale of -lands in Ohio. Among other letters of introduction he brought one to Mr. -Gardner, who, favorably impressed with his appearance, invited him to -pass a few days at Willow Bank. - -Upon what slight chances does our happiness or misery rest. _A few -days_—how simple their signification; and yet from their brief circle -how many hours of bitter anguish may take their rise. Little did Lelland -or Margaret dream of the untold future, whose all of earthly weal or wo -these few days decided. - -To know Margaret was to love her—yet she was not strictly beautiful; -there may be features more regular, complexions more dazzling, and forms -of more perfect symmetry than she possessed. She was one of those whose -gentle and winning manners stole into your heart, and then only you saw -her loveliness, or acknowledged the light of love and tenderness which -beamed from her large, dark hazel eyes. Her beauty was not that which -attracts the eye of every careless observer—it was the beauty of the -mind and heart. - -Richard Lelland was at that time twenty-one, rather above the ordinary -height, and of graceful, polished manners, with a frank and open -countenance, at once a passport to your favor and respect. His -complexion was almost as delicate as a girl’s, a large, full, dark-blue -eye, and hair of rich wavy brown. - -Business detaining young Lelland in the vicinity of Willow Bank for some -weeks longer than he had first anticipated, he took frequent -opportunities of improving his acquaintance with Miss Gardner, and the -interest she had first awakened in his heart soon ripened into a deep -and fervent attachment. But he possessed a firmness and decision of -character seldom met with in one so young; and he resolved to bury his -love for Margaret in his own breast, until he could produce such -testimonials as to family, etc., as should warrant his openly paying her -his addresses. He therefore returned to the South leaving his love -unspoken; but there is a language more eloquent even than words, and -this had already made known to Margaret the sentiments of the young -stranger; this, too, had whispered in the lover’s ear, thrilling his -soul with ecstasy, that when he should ask the love of the pure and -gentle girl, it would be his. - -Within the year the lovers were betrothed, with the full sanction of -Margaret’s parents, with the proviso that their marriage should not be -consummated until Lelland, who had now nothing but his salary to depend -upon, should be in a situation better calculated for the maintenance of -a family. This was as much his wish as theirs, for he loved Margaret too -well to take her from all the comforts and luxuries of the paternal -roof, only to offer in exchange the embarrassments and privations -attendant upon a narrow and straitened income. For three years, -therefore, early and late did he cheerfully give all his energies to his -business, and at the end of that time became a partner in the mercantile -house in whose employ he had so faithfully exerted himself. There was no -longer, as it would seem, any impediment to his union with his adored -Margaret. The wedding-day was appointed, and the happy Lelland, with all -the rapture of a bridegroom, flew to claim his bride. - -Had the hand of misfortune been so long withheld but to crush with one -fell blow so much of love and happiness? - -The very evening of his arrival at Willow Bank, Mrs. Gardner was seized -with a sudden and violent illness, which, alas! baffled all medical -skill, and in less than twenty-four hours the beloved and idolized wife -and mother was no more. To depict the anguish of the bereaved husband -and daughter were a vain attempt. To those in whose dwellings the -destroyer has never come, who have never read that fatal sentence, -“_Thou art mine!_” imprinted by his icy fingers on the brow of the loved -and cherished, or followed to the dark and silent chambers the lifeless -forms of earth’s treasured ones, to them death is, indeed, a fearful -thing. To _them_—yes, to all; and did not our Heavenly Father -graciously extend to us the hand of mercy, and bid us, with smiles of -ineffable love, turn to him for consolation in this hour of despair, how -could we sustain the anguish of separation, as one after another the -loved ones go home. - -To Margaret the death of her mother at once opened a new path of duty, -and however painful the sacrifice to herself, she hesitated not a moment -as to the course she should pursue. But when she thought of Lelland—of -the anguish her decision would cause him—of the bitter -disappointment—of fond hopes all blasted—then, indeed, she faltered, -and her heart shrunk from inflicting a blow so terrible. And again as -she thought of her unhappy father, her resolution strengthened. Could -she leave him; no! better sacrifice love, happiness, and with them -perhaps life itself, than forsake him in his desolateness. - -Stupefied as it were with amazement and grief, Lelland listened at first -in silence to the cruel words of his beloved Margaret—then -remonstrated—entreated—all in vain. Reproaches were alike unavailing -to alter her decision, until touched at length by her grief, and filled -with admiration of her self-sacrificing devotion to her parent, with an -almost breaking heart he yielded to her persuasions. - -A new character must now be introduced. Henry Wingate was an orphan -nephew of Mr. Gardner, and since the death of his parents, which took -place when he was quite young, Willow Bank had been his home. As a boy -he was artful and selfish, passionate and cruel. As he grew up to -manhood he still retained the same foibles, with the double art of -veiling them under the most specious and insinuating address. If he -loved any one when a child, it was his Cousin Margaret—she only had -power to quell his wild storms of passion. With years this love (if it -be not profanation to call it so) increased, until it took possession of -his whole being—yet, characteristic of himself, it was purely selfish; -so that he could make her his, it little mattered to him whether his -love was returned. - -That he should hate Lelland followed of course, and that his soul should -be filled with jealousy and rage, as he saw the time so rapidly drawing -near when another should snatch from him the charms he so much coveted. -The sudden death of her who had ever been as a kind and tender mother to -him, gave him therefore but a momentary pang. Her grave only opened to -him new hopes, new machinations, and with such joy as filled the Tempter -at the destruction of Eden, did his heart leap at the wretchedness of -his hated rival, thus doomed to see his long cherished hopes all -blasted, and to part, perhaps forever, with her he so devotedly loved. -And now all his sophistry and cunning were brought to bear. Carefully -concealing his own fiendish joy under the mask of deep sympathy and -sorrow, he breathed only to Margaret words of tender pity—stabbing his -own ears by dwelling upon the virtues of Lelland, and assuring her that -his own life would be a cheerful sacrifice if thereby he might advance -her happiness. Thus artfully did he begin his course, trusting in time -to supplant his rival in her affections. But he little understood the -heart of a faithful woman, or he would not have undertaken a task so -hopeless. Margaret was grateful for his kindness, and it was a relief to -unburthen her heart to one who seemed so truly to sympathize with her; -nor did she hesitate to speak of Lelland, or conceal from her cousin the -sorrows which sometimes oppressed her when reflecting upon their -reparation. Like hot molten lead did her every word seethe and scorch -his jealous soul, yet resolved to win her, he persevered in the artful -course he had marked out. - -Thus passed two long weary years to Margaret, sustained by the -consciousness that she was administering to the happiness of her father, -and by that Higher Power to whose never-failing support affliction had -taught her to look. But now another trial even more severe awaited her. - -Ah, poor return for such filial love and piety. A thankless boon, young -Margaret, did you offer, when for a father’s happiness you so devotedly -sacrificed your own! A sacrifice, however, not the less to be -admired—for where is the heart that does not reverence such a beautiful -trait of filial love. - -Mr. Gardner suddenly announced to Margaret his intention of marriage -with a young, thoughtless girl of rather doubtful reputation, who had -been occasionally employed to assist in the work of the family. A cruel -stroke was this, to which all that had gone before seemed light in -comparison. What though it released her from all obligation of duty; -what though she was now free to accept the hand of Lelland, the thought -gave her no satisfaction—not a ray of happiness gleamed from out the -darkness of her despair. To have retained her dear father _her own_; to -feel that in her all his happiness was still treasured, she would have -deemed almost any sacrifice too poor; or had he been about to unite -himself with one more worthy to fill the place of her sainted mother, -she would have schooled herself to resignation. But that her father -should have selected for a wife one so unsuited by birth and education, -and of a character so vain and frivolous, filled her with dread for the -future. - -It was a strange hallucination of Mr. Gardner. There is no way of -accounting for a procedure so at variance with the whole tenor of his -former life, and it can only be regarded in the light of insanity. - -Margaret shrunk not from the task to which duty impelled her, namely, to -remonstrate and warn her father against the step he was taking. The -winds which hurled the dead leaves of autumn in fitful showers against -the window, as she thus tearfully besought his consideration and -forbearance, would have yielded to her voice as soon. - -Passing over the further grief of Margaret, I will only say that in a -few weeks this ill-assorted marriage took place, and a system of petty -tyranny and malice commenced on the part of the new Mrs. Gardner as -almost broke her heart. Captive to the arts of an intriguing woman, her -father heeded neither her tears or her complaints, until at length -Margaret finding all remonstrance vain, passively yielded herself to the -cruel yoke. - -Thus repulsed as it were from the affections of her father, all her -domestic happiness destroyed, and subjected more and more to the insults -of a low, vulgar-minded woman, it would seem the time had come when -Margaret might redeem the promise made to Lelland, that should any thing -occur which might induce her to waive her decision, she would write to -him. A doubt of his constancy had never darkened her mind; she judged of -him by her own true heart, which never could know change. If at first -she hesitated, it was from maidenly timidity, not distrust; but when she -reflected what happiness those few brief lines would cause him, she -hesitated no longer. The letter was written. To her cousin, the specious -Wingate, she frankly confided her resolution, and asked his assistance -in forwarding her letter safely and surely to the hands of Lelland. -Skillfully as he wore the mask, he was almost betrayed as he listened to -the artless details of Margaret, who faithfully related to him the -promise each had made at their last sad parting. Recovering himself, -however, he promised to secure the safety of her letter, even if it -should include the necessity of journeying himself to place it in his -hands. - -With thanks warm and sincere for his kindness and sympathy, the -deceived, trusting girl gave her letter to his charge—that precious -letter, which thus, like the dove, went forth to seek rest for her weary -soul. - -“Ah! think you, my pretty cousin, I value my own purposes so lightly as -to risk the work of years within the delicate folds of this envelope!” -exclaimed Wingate, as he entered his own apartment, and crushing the -letter of Margaret in his hand as he spoke. “I should be a fool, -indeed—no, no, fair lady, content you that my eye alone may read this -pretty sentimental effusion. Now, thanks to my lucky stars, this letter -proves almost a sure passport to my desires—ha! ha! pretty little fool, -how she will wait for an answer! And what then? Did she not entreat -_silence if he no longer loved_—‘let there be forever silence or joy -between us’—were her words—_silence_—ay, of that I will take care, -and then she is mine—mine as surely as yonder setting sun will rise -again! With your leave, Mr. Richard Lelland—” and thus violating every -honorable principle, Wingate tore asunder the seal of affection, and ran -his eye over the sacred contents: “D—n him!” he exclaimed, hurling the -letter across the table with a look almost demoniacal: “I could tear his -very heart out—his heart!—why here it is—yes, fond fool, why here is -his very life—his soul!”—once more snatching the letter—“and thus I -hold him in my power!—if more were needed to spur on my revenge of a -hated, detested rival, I have it here in these tender, trustful lines. -By heavens it turns my very blood to gall to find with what fidelity -that man has been loved—while I—but no matter—your letter goes no -further, fair cousin, and thus do I annihilate your fond hopes and -devote you mine!” thrusting as he spoke poor Margaret’s epistle into the -flames, and watching it with a fiendish smile until of those tender, -confiding lines, nothing but a blackened scroll remained. - -At the expiration of a week he informed her that he had heard from the -friend to whose care he had enclosed her letter, stating that he had -delivered it into Lelland’s own hand. - -Poor deceived girl! O the wretchedness of hope deferred, as day after -day flew by, and still no answer came! It was only by her more pallid -cheek, her drooping eyelids, and the wan smile by which she strove to -hide her dejection, that Wingate saw his hellish scheme was succeeding, -and his victim sinking under the belief of her lover’s inconstancy—for -she never again mentioned to him the name of Lelland. Nothing could be -kinder, or better calculated to touch the heart of Margaret than the -demeanor which her cousin now assumed. His countenance wore a look of -such subdued pity—such heavy sighs would now and then burst from his -heart—and then meeting her inquiring glance, he would turn from her, or -perhaps rush from the room, as if to conceal the tears her sorrows -called forth. - -Thus another six months passed—bringing no change for the better in the -alienated affections of Mr. Gardner for his child—they were all -engrossed by the artful woman he had so unhappily married. He did not, -it is true, treat her with visible unkindness, but with a coldness and -jealousy which stung the heart of Margaret perhaps more deeply. - -Wingate now resolved to delay no longer the avowal of his _love_! And -accordingly most adroitly opened the subject to Margaret—he told her -for how many years he had loved her—of the silent grief which he had so -long endured under the conviction that her affections were given to -another—and how by many bitter struggles he had schooled his heart to -relinquish her at last to a happy rival. He did not ask her love in -return, but the privilege to protect her! Her pity and kindness were all -he dared to hope for _now_—but perhaps at a future time his long-tried -devotion might be rewarded with her affection—and for that he was -willing to wait—too happy if he might look for such a priceless -recompense. - -Not doubting for a moment his sincerity, and touched by his kindness, -Margaret yielded to the tempter’s wiles and became his wife. - -And here we must leave her, allowing for the lapse of some sixteen years -ere we again take up the story. - - - PART II. - -In the summer of 1840, a gentleman embarked at Albany, on board one of -those magnificent steamers which ply between that city and New York. The -morning was one of unrivaled loveliness. A soft haze curtained the -landscape, veiling the shores and the silvery outline of the river in -one dim, undefined perspective of beauty, through which the sun like a -huge ball of fire floated on the verge of the eastern sky. As the -morning wore on, a gentle breeze was seen curling the smooth surface of -the river, and then fold after fold of the beautiful curtain was lifted -from the landscape. The silvery vapors circling, dividing, re-uniting, -and wreathing themselves into a thousand fantastic shapes, floated -lightly away, leaving the charming scenery of the Hudson unveiled to the -admiring eye of the traveler. - -The gentleman to whom allusion has been made, was apparently near or -over forty years of age, of a most prepossessing exterior. He was tall, -finely built, and his countenance denoting benevolence and peace with -all men. A shade of sadness, however, evidently of no recent origin, was -stamped upon his fine features, involuntarily claiming your sympathy and -respect. Such was the person who now slowly paced the deck—now stopping -to admire some beautiful point of scenery, now communing with his own -thoughts. - -The boat was crowded with passengers, presenting the usual variety -composing the “world” of a steamboat. But with these the stranger held -no communion—not a familiar face met his in all that motley assemblage. -It was already near the dinner hour, and many of the passengers had -descended to the dining-saloon, or gathered around the companion-way -waiting the deafening stroke of the gong, when his attention was -suddenly drawn to a little group seated under the awning aft of the -ladies’ cabin. Reclining on cushions spread over one of the settees was -a lady whose hollow, racking cough betokened the last stages of -consumption. A large shawl carefully enveloped her figure, and one pale, -attenuated hand rested heavily upon her bosom, as if to stay the rapid -pulsation of her heart caused by those violent paroxysms of coughing. A -thin veil was thrown lightly over her head, screening her marble -paleness. Two young girls, almost children, sat by the couch—the -eldest, whose profile only could be seen as she sat with her back nearly -turned to the passengers, was gently fanning her mother, and now and -then moistening her fevered lips with the grateful juice of an orange, -or when seized with coughing, tenderly supporting her head, and wiping -the perspiration from her throbbing temples. The younger, a sweet little -child of perhaps ten years, had thrown off her bonnet, and thick masses -of rich brown ringlets fell over her neck and shoulders. She was seated -on a low ottoman by the side of the settee, reading from a small Bible -which she held in her hand—pausing whenever the terrible cough racked -the poor invalid, and then stooping over her would kiss her pale lips, -and the little white hand, and again in sweet low tones resume her book. - -The stranger found himself deeply interested in this little group—it -was in harmony with his own melancholy thoughts, and stirred the deep -waters of kindness in his soul. Mechanically he stopped in his walk, and -leaning over the rail continued to muse upon the sick lady and the -affectionate little girls, occasionally resting his eyes upon the -unconscious objects of his meditation. When the deck was nearly deserted -for the dinner-table, the youngest of the two girls finding her mother -slept, softly rose and without putting on her bonnet drew near the spot -where the stranger was still standing, and bent down her beautiful head -over the railing as if to peer into the depths of old Hudson. At that -moment one of the river gods (possibly) in the shape of a large -sturgeon, his scaly armor all flashing in the bright sunbeams, leaped up -some twelve or fifteen feet above the surface. An exclamation of -surprise burst from the little girl. - -“O, sir, what was that?” she asked, turning her large black eyes upon -the stranger. - -At that sweet face, and those deep, earnest eyes, sudden emotion -thrilled his heart, and sent the blood coursing rapidly through his -veins. That face—it was so like—so very like one with whose memory -both happiness and misery held divided sway! Scarcely could he command -himself to answer her artless question; and after having done so, in an -agitated voice he asked— - -“Will you tell me your name, my dear?” - -The child hesitated a moment, as if doubting the propriety of giving her -name to a stranger, but there was something so kind and benevolent in -his looks that compelled her irresistibly to reply. - -“My name is Margaret—Margaret Wingate.” - -Richard Lelland took her small slender hand, put back the beautiful -curls from her forehead, and gazed long and mournfully into her face, -then turning away walked slowly to the opposite side of the deck and -soon disappeared. And the little girl, wondering at his strange -behaviour, returned to her seat by the side of her mother. - -It was more than an hour ere Lelland again made his appearance. He was -pale, and it seemed as if an age of sorrow had in that brief hour swept -over his soul. Again he took his station near the little group. - -In the mean time the sick lady had remained quiet, and the sisters still -retained their position by her side. Margaret soon raising her eyes met -those of the stranger, who smilingly beckoned her to approach. Rising -very softly, the child glided to his side, and placed her little hand -confidingly in his. - -“Will you ask your sister to come to me, my dear, I would speak with her -a moment?” said Lelland, laying his hand tenderly on her head. - -Margaret returned to her sister, who, in a few moments, timid and -blushing, drew near. She seemed about fourteen, of a slight, graceful -figure, and with the same expression of countenance, only more -thoughtful, as her younger sister. - -“You will excuse the presumption of a stranger, young lady,” said -Lelland, “but unless I greatly err, I see before me the daughter of a -much loved friend. Tell me, was not your mother’s maiden name Margaret -Gardner?” - -“Yes, sir, that was her name,” she replied in evident surprise. - -“I knew I could not be mistaken,” continued Lelland, sighing -deeply—then after a pause—“and your—your father—is he with you?” - -“He is not—but will meet us on our arrival in New York.” - -“Has your mother been long ill?” inquired Lelland, his voice faltering -as he spoke. - -“She has been declining for several years,” replied the young girl, “but -for the last six months her strength has rapidly failed. O, my dear -sir,” she added, bursting into tears, “if she should die!” - -Lelland could not answer—at length he resumed. - -“And are you then traveling alone, my dear young lady?” - -“We came as far as Albany under the protection of a neighbor, and the -captain of the boat has promised to take charge of us to the city.” - -“Can I do any thing to aid you? Is there not something you would like to -have for your mother? if so, consider me in the light of an old -acquaintance, and frankly tell me. My name is Lelland, Richard -Lelland—I knew your dear mother when she was but a few years older than -yourself;” he paused, and overcome with emotion turned away. - -Mary took his hand. “I have often heard her mention you. O let me tell -her at once that such an old and valued friend is near—she will be so -glad to see you!” - -“No, my dear girl, not now—the surprise might prove too much for her in -her present weak state—but allow me to be near you, and call upon me if -need require.” - -Mary thanked him, and then resumed her faithful care of her mother, who -was now apparently in an easy slumber; and walking lightly around the -settee, Lelland took a seat near the head of the invalid. - -Who can describe the anguish of his soul as he thus watched over the -dying form of his first and only love. And yet, with its bitterness was -mingled a strange feeling of happiness, and his heart rose in -thankfulness to be near her—even in death! - -The day was now nearly spent, and the boat shooting rapidly past the -beautiful Palisades, when Mrs. Wingate awoke, and complaining of a -slight chilliness proposed retiring to the cabin. With difficulty she -arose and leaning on the arm of Mary attempted to walk, but she was so -feeble she could scarcely stand, and the slender strength of Mary seemed -all too frail a support. Lelland immediately advanced, and, averting his -face, proffered his assistance. Thanking him for his kindness, Mrs. -Wingate placed her arm in his, and carefully supporting her to the -cabin, and placing her in an easy commodious seat, he left her to the -care of her children. - -Ah, little did the poor invalid dream whose arm had so tenderly -sustained her feeble steps! - -When the boat was nearing the wharf, Mary came out of the cabin and -joined Lelland, who was standing close by the door, and taking his arm -crossed over to the side, that she might recognize, and be recognized at -once by her father, whom she was expecting every moment to appear among -the crowd collected on the wharf. Once or twice she thought she saw him, -but it proved not. The boat stopped at length, and the passengers group -after group dispersed, until scarcely any one was left on board save the -officers of the boat. Still Mr. Wingate did not appear, and overcome by -disappointment and their lonely situation, poor Mary burst into tears. -Lelland strove to comfort her, and having ascertained from her the hotel -where her father lodged, he offered to go himself in search of him. -Bidding her return to her mother, and calm any uneasiness she might feel -at the nonappearance of her husband, he left the boat and proceeded to -the hotel. Mr. Wingate was not there. He had been gone some days, nor -could they give any information respecting him. - -What was to be done?—something must be decided upon at once. It was -getting late—already the street lamps were lighted—and hastily -retracing his steps to the steamboat, Lelland sent for Mary. She turned -pale when she saw he was alone. - -“My father—where is my father?” she cried. - -“No doubt, my dear, your father has been called away unexpectedly—you -will see him I am sure to-morrow. In the mean time don’t be uneasy—you -are with one who will not desert you for a moment—but lest your mother -may hesitate to entrust herself to the protection of an apparent -stranger, I think it will be necessary for me to reveal myself to her.” -Taking a card from his pocket he wrote a few lines upon it, and handed -them to Mary, who quickly glided back into the cabin. - -Lelland now strove to calm his agitation, that he might meet his still -beloved Margaret with firmness—without betraying more than the pleasure -one naturally feels at meeting with an old friend. - -It was half an hour ere Mary again appeared, and informed him her mother -would be pleased to see him. - -He entered the cabin. The light of an argand lamp fell gently upon the -pale countenance of Mrs. Wingate, who was partially reclining upon one -of the settees, with her head resting against the crimson silken panels. -She had thrown off her little cap, on account of the heat, and her -jet-black hair was swept back from her brow by the slender little hand -which pressed her temples. Little Margaret was kneeling at her feet, and -looking up into her face with an expression of childish pity. - -The step of Lelland faltered as he drew near—as his eye fell upon that -countenance so changed from its youthful loveliness,—so pallid, so wan, -and on which it seemed Death had already stamped his seal—scarcely -could he command himself to speak. - -“Margaret, you will trust yourself with me?” he said at length, forcing -a smile and extending his hand. - -A slight color for an instant suffused her pale cheek, and her still -beautiful eyes were lifted to his—she attempted to speak, but could -not, and placing her thin, feverish hand in his, she burst into tears. -For a few moments no word was spoken. Mrs. Wingate was the first to -recover herself. - -“My nerves are very weak, as you see,” she said, with a sad smile, -pressing his hand, “and the sight of an old friend quite overpowers -me—but I am very glad to see you, and thank you for your kindness. Mr. -Wingate must have been unexpectedly detained from us, or—” she -hesitated. - -“And you will allow me, I trust, the pleasure of attending upon you, and -of procuring lodgings for you until the arrival of your husband,” said -Lelland. “You must be very much fatigued—a carriage is in waiting, and -if you will allow me, I will soon place you in a more comfortable -situation—if you will point out to me your trunks, Miss Mary, I will -take care of them.” And Lelland gladly left the cabin, that he might -school himself to more fortitude ere meeting the poor invalid again. - -When all was ready, he tenderly lifted the frail form of Mrs. Wingate -and placed her in the carriage, Mary and little Margaret sprang after, -and then giving the driver the necessary directions Lelland himself took -a seat therein. The carriage in a short time stopped before one of the -large private hotels in the upper part of the city, where he was certain -both quiet and comforts of every kind might be obtained for the invalid. -They were conducted at once to a pleasant, retired little parlor, -opening into a commodious sleeping-room, and after attending to all -their immediate requirements Lelland left them for the purpose of again -seeking Mr. Wingate; resolving to leave a note for him at the hotel -where he had boarded, and also to drop another into the post-office. -Meeting the maid-servant in the hall, he put some money in her hand, and -charged her to be very attentive to the sick lady, promising her she -should be well rewarded for her kindness. - -Upon returning to the hotel early in the morning, he was inexpressibly -grieved to find that Mrs. Wingate had passed a wretched night, and was -now so ill that it had been thought advisable to send for a physician. -Doctor M. soon arrived, and after visiting his patient, returned to the -saloon where Lelland was anxiously awaiting him. His opinion was but a -sad confirmation of his worst fears—he pronounced Mrs. Wingate in the -last stage of decline, and that in all probability a few days or weeks -at furthest must close her life. “Was there nothing could be done to -save her?” Lelland asked—nothing—she was past all human aid; and now -all there was left to do, was to smooth her passage to the grave by kind -and tender care. The doctor promised to see her every day, and -expressing much sympathy for the little girls took his leave. That day -Lelland did not see Mrs. Wingate, yet he heard her low stifled moans, -and occasionally the faint tones of her voice, for he had taken an -apartment adjoining hers, that he might be near in case his services -were required. Once or twice during the day and evening he passed out -the hotel, and jumping into a cab, sought the former lodgings of -Wingate, in the faint hope of meeting him, and then returned to his sad -and lonely watch. - -For some days Mrs. Wingate remained nearly the same, during which time -nothing was heard of her husband. No doubt the agitation of mind this -caused her had a most injurious effect upon her, and probably hastened -her death. Finding herself growing weaker, Lelland was at length -admitted to her room; and from that time until her death a portion of -every day was spent by him at her bedside. He calmed her apprehensions -when speaking of the strange absence of her husband, and strove to -remove those delicate scruples which she entertained that herself and -children were so entirely dependent upon him, assuring her he thanked -God it was in his power to be of service to her. He read to her from the -sacred Scriptures, and as much as her feeble strength would admit -conversed with her of that unrevealed future into which her soul must so -soon take its flight. Of her husband she never spoke but in terms of -kindness, nor by her words gave him reason to suppose he was not the -best of husbands and fathers. - -Days passed on. Mr. Wingate did not come. - -And now the last sad hour was at hand. Upon going into her room one -morning, Lelland was shocked at the alteration a few hours had made in -her appearance. Death was there. Not as a tyrant—not armed with terrors -to seize the shrinking soul—but as some gentle messenger, clad in robes -of peace and joy, sent to bear her to the arms of her Father. Lelland -was at first too much overcome to speak, and walked to the window to -recover composure. In a faint voice she called him to her. - -“Richard,” she said, pressing his hand, “there is but one pang in -death—it is that I must leave my poor children unprotected.” - -“Dearest friend, do not suffer that thought to disturb your peace of -mind,” he replied tenderly; “they shall be mine; until their father’s -return I will be a parent to them, and if he come not, Margaret—still -they will be mine. I have wealth, and how freely it shall be used for -their advantage and happiness you surely cannot doubt. My life has been -a lonely one—they will cheer its decline”—he paused as if irresolute -whether to proceed—“I waited long and in vain for that letter, -Margaret—it came not!” - -It was the first allusion made to their former love. - -She feebly pressed the hand which held hers: “It was written, -Richard—there came no answer.” - -“It _was_ written then—thank God for that!” he exclaimed. - -A cold shudder crept over the frame of Margaret. - -“Ah! I see it all,” she said. “Richard, we were betrayed! but may God -forgive him, as I do!” - -There was no reply; but stooping down Lelland imprinted a kiss upon her -cold brow, and turning away, the strong man wept as a little child! - -Once more he approached the bed. - -“Give your children to me, Margaret; I swear to you I will faithfully -protect and cherish them. I shall never marry, and my whole life shall -be devoted to them.” - -A sweet smile illumined her features. “Yes, Richard, they are yours. For -my sake forgive their father, and should he return, O, I beseech you, -lend him your counsel, and say to him all that I would say—” she -paused—“perhaps he will tear the children from you; if so, at a -distance watch over them, and protect them when they require it. Now, my -friend, call them to me; I would say a few words to them, and I feel my -strength rapidly failing.” - -Mary and Margaret remained with their mother near an hour, and then -Lelland was hastily summoned to the chamber of the dying. She was -already speechless, but with a look of ineffable sweetness, she turned -her eyes first upon her children, then upon Lelland; with her little -strength she placed their hands within his, her lips moved as if in -prayer, celestial beauty overspread her countenance, and the weary soul -of Margaret was at rest in the bosom of her God. - -Soon after the last melancholy rites Lelland placed the girls at school, -under the care of a most excellent woman whom he engaged to accompany -them. Not a day passed that he did not see them, and on Saturdays he -took them on pleasant excursions into the country, as much as possible -striving to divert their minds from dwelling upon their recent loss. In -the meanwhile he took every measure he could possibly devise to discover -Mr. Wingate—but for many months in vain, his disappearance was veiled -in impenetrable mystery. - -It was nearly a year after the death of Margaret, that one day business -took Mr. Lelland to one of the slips on the North river. As he passed -along, his attention was suddenly drawn to a man who stood leaning -against one of the piers. He was very shabbily dressed, and held in his -hand a small faded well-worn carpetbag. Giving no heed to the moving -crowd around him, buried in thought, he stood with his eyes fixed -vacantly on the river. There was something in his features which seemed -familiar. Turning, Mr. Lelland again passed him, fixing his eyes -intently upon him as he did so, and more and more confirmed that his -suspicions were correct, he stepped up to him, and touching him lightly -on the shoulder, said, - -“Excuse me—but is not your name Wingate?” - -“Suppose it is—what the d——l is yours?” replied the man sullenly, -without turning his head. - -“My name is Lelland, Mr. Wingate—for such you are, or I greatly err.” - -With an expression of malignant hate, the man suddenly turned, and shook -his fist almost in the very teeth of Lelland. - -“So we have met again, Mr. Richard Lelland, have we! Well, we shall see -who will be the better for the meeting, that’s all—d——n you!” - -“Your words are idle,” replied Lelland, calmly. “Answer me one -question—do you know aught of your wife and children!” - -At the mention of his family, Wingate grew suddenly pale, and seemed -much agitated. - -“And you—what—what do you know of them?” he demanded, but in more -subdued tones. - -“If you will go with me into the hotel yonder, I may perhaps give you -some information respecting them,” he replied. - -Without a word Wingate mechanically followed Lelland, who, ordering a -private room, sat down to the melancholy duty before him. - -“You spoke of my wife and children,” exclaimed Wingate, the moment they -entered the room, “if you know any thing of them, for God’s sake tell -me, for it is many months since I heard from them.” - -“Prepare yourself for the most melancholy tidings,” said Lelland, in a -sympathizing voice and manner. “You have no longer a wife—it is now ten -months since her death.” - -The wretched man buried his face in his hands. - -“Dead—dead—dead! and without forgiving me—_dead_!” he exclaimed. - -“With her latest breath she forgave and blessed you,” said Lelland, -taking his hand kindly. - -“But my children—where are they—are they dead, too!” - -“Your children are here—here, in the city; you may see them in an hour -if you will,” replied Lelland. - -“_Here!_ here in the city—here, with _you_!” cried Wingate, starting -up, every feature distorted by passion; “with _you_, do you say! how -came _you_ near _her_ death-bed—ha! _did you dare_—” seizing Lelland -by the breast as he spoke. But shaking him off, Lelland placed his hand -on his arm, saying, - -“First listen to me, Mr. Wingate, and you will see how little -provocation you have for such anger.” - -He then briefly related his unexpected and providential meeting with -Margaret and her children, and the painful scene which so soon followed -it. He spoke of Mary and Margaret—of their loveliness, their sweet -dispositions, and of the consolation and happiness Wingate might yet -receive from their affection. - -When he had done speaking, the unhappy man seized the hand of Lelland, -and pressing it fervently, said, - -“Wretch—wretch that I am! how little have I merited such goodness. It -is, indeed, more than my guilty soul can bear. I had rather you would -stab me to the heart than thus pierce my soul with deeds of -kindness—for I deserve it not. It was I, Lelland, who robbed you of one -of God’s choicest treasures. When driven almost to despair by the unjust -treatment of her father, who should have been to her more than father -ever was, poor Margaret wrote you that letter which would have confirmed -your happiness and hers. It was _I_, who, goaded on by hate for you, and -a determination to make her mine—it was I who destroyed it! I watched -the struggle of her pure heart; I saw her cheek pale day by day, and yet -I repented not—nay, I gloried in my revenge. At length she became my -wife—and an angel she ever was to me, always so kind, so patient with -my follies; but I knew she loved you—I knew her heart was silently -breaking, her strength wasting, and instead of moving my pity, it only -drove me to madness. I was jealous even of my sweet babes, that they -were loved more than me. For years I ran a wild career of riot and -debauchery, and only came to my senses to see my poor injured wife was -truly dying; then came remorse—but it was too late. My business had -been neglected—my affairs were in ruin, and I saw myself on the brink -of poverty. The doctor had said that change of air would do much toward -her restoration; and now, as anxious to restore as I had been to -destroy, I resolved to come to New York and find some employment which -should warrant my removing my family here. I did so, and was so -fortunate as to obtain a situation as book-keeper, with a handsome -salary. In a few months I wrote my wife and children to join me. I -received for answer that she was now too feeble to journey. This made me -angry, though why, God only knows, except that I would not let her die -among scenes your love had hallowed—and I immediately wrote a -peremptory command for her to come, naming the day I should expect her. -In this wicked frame of mind I went out into the streets, and, -unfortunately meeting a gay companion, was induced to enter a -gambling-house, and ere I left, every dollar I possessed in the world -was swept from me. In the vain hope of winning back my money, I again -sought that den of destruction; need I say, so far from retrieving, I -left it hundreds in debt. Then, then, Richard Lelland, I became a -_forger_—yes, forged the name of my worthy employer—was detected, and -fled with my ill-got gains. The day I had appointed my poor Margaret to -arrive in the city I was on the way to the West Indies. From thence I -went to Paris, where, as long as my money lasted I led a mad career; -that expended, I was forced to the most menial offices to obtain my -daily food. At last driven by remorse, I determined to return to my -native country, see Margaret and my children once more, and then give -myself up to the laws I had outraged. I flattered myself that my wife -still lived, and that not finding me in the city on her arrival, had -gone back to Ohio. I arrived last night, and was even now about to take -passage in a sloop for Albany, thinking I should be less likely to meet -any acquaintance, when you so unexpectedly appeared before me.” - -To this dreadful recital Lelland had listened in silence. When it was -ended, he took the hand of Wingate, - -“Wretched man,” said he, “I forgive you for the misery of a lifetime, as -did that suffering angel, now in heaven; and may God extend to you his -peace and mercy!” - -Then calling for pen, ink and paper, he drew a check for the amount -Wingate had forged, and placed it in his hand. - -“There, Mr. Wingate, take that; in the morning see your late employer, -and restore him the money of which you defrauded him; in the meantime I -will see what can be done for you—rely upon me as your friend. But -remain here for the night, and on no account leave the room; have -patience, for to-morrow you shall see your children.” So saying, Lelland -took leave, promising to call for him in a carriage at an early hour in -the morning. - -Immediately after breakfast, therefore, he proceeded to the hotel. But -Wingate had already left—had been gone some hours. On the table was a -letter directed to Lelland. Hastily breaking the seal, he read: - -“Burthened with grief, and overwhelmed with remorse, life is -insupportable. I can no longer endure the torments of self-reproach, and -I fly to end alike my wretchedness and my life. Heaven is dark—but -earth is hell! Protect my innocent children!” - -The next day the body of Henry Wingate was exposed in the Dead-House. -Lelland recognized and claimed it for burial. - -Mary and Margaret were told their father was no more—but of the manner -of his wretched death they never knew. - -Facts have often the appearance of fiction—such is the story I have -given. If it has called forth any interest in the minds of my readers, -the assurance that its principal incidents were gathered from real life, -will not, I trust, lessen that interest. Names and scene are, of course, -fictitious. - -In a splendid mansion on the banks of the Potomac, Mr. Lelland still -resides with the two fair daughters of his adoption. They are beautiful -and accomplished, beloved by all who know them, and most tenderly -protected and cherished by their more than father; while those gems of -early piety implanted in their minds by their mother, have, under the -careful culture of Mr. Lelland, put forth the most lovely and Christian -graces. - -Thus in the happiness and the virtues of her children, has God rewarded -the filial piety of poor Margaret. - - * * * * * - - - - - THOUGHTS ON THE THERMOMETER. - - -Climate is said to have much influence on the physical, moral, mental, -political and social condition of mankind. Experience and observation -certainly give force to such an opinion. The difference in manners, -customs and character of the Russ and the Italian is as much owing to -latitude as lineality. One’s happiness, and even one’s destiny in life, -depend alike on Seasons and on Self. - -The iron constitution, the sharp wit, the keen sense, the peculiar -individuality, the guessing and bartering of the man of Maine, contrasts -with the singing, siesta-seeking, music-loving, rich intellectuality of -the Mexican of the hacienda. Even in religious sentiment the difference -is striking. Look upon the cold, austere meeting-house worship of the -Puritan, and side by side behold the rich, voluptuous cathedral service -of the Catholic. These at least indicate the extremes of the influence -of the climate. The whole physical, mental and moral constitution of man -is operated upon by the temperature of his location, and thus affecting -not only his individual existence but the ultimate condition of his -race. - -What would have been the fate of “The Colonists” of the “May-Flower” had -they landed at San Francisco or St. Domingo? If instead of the stern, -bracing, labor-requiring, excess-denying latitude of Plymouth, the -Pilgrims had rested in the land of the palmetto and the pomegranate? Or -who would have ventured on an unknown ocean, in search for a new world, -if the hope, the imagination, the enthusiasm, the poetry, the mental -excitement, the superstition even of Columbus, the child of the South, -had sunk in despair, or yielded to first disappointment? Where would the -close calculation of the North, founded on a philosophical hypothesis, -have sought for continued animation, after error has resulted from -experiment? - -Where would the literature of the Past have found admirers, and even -devotees, if the mythology of the East had not been nursed in the soft -lap of a congenial temperature? - -Why is it that the Latin classics yet hold a place as familiar as -household words, if a Southern sky had not invited to the rich -developments of the highest mental creations? - -Where could the painter and sculptor have sought models and studies, if -the winter of the Mediterranean had been as relentless and as rigid as -that of Moscow? - -Can it be maintained that Solon and Lycurgus would have alike given -their fame in trust to immortality, if the genial influences of the land -of their nativity had not been the same “at Rome as it was at Attica”? - -Who will venture to assert that a similar fate would have followed the -siege of Troy in a land of snows, or that Marathon would have been a -northern Moscow? - -Science, too, has felt the force of the benefit of its more northern -home. With a temperature unshocked by extremes, the highest mental -industry yields more, or rather different, fruit than the richest -intellectual soil. The wheat and the corn of the necessaries to -progress, are gathered only where the wine and the oil of luxury do not -grow. - -That Tyre and Sidon were marts for the cosmopolite, and now are but the -refuge for the wanderer, while Boston, New York, New Orleans were the -seaboards of the savage, and are now the emporiums of a hemisphere, is -as true as that the causes are to be found in some degree dependent upon -the influences of climate. - -That Rome was the mother of nations, the terror of thrones, and the -great entrance into eternity, and now is the dismantled wreck of her -illustrious past—while the hunting-grounds of the “Six Nations” are -transformed into a mighty empire, is but the melancholy picture of the -past, gorgeous in its dilapidation, under the luxurious warmth of an -Italian sky, while the other is the picture of the present, more -magnificent and vigorous, tinted by the rays of a western sun. - -Climate was not alone in producing these changes, yet its influence was -potent. - -The Religion of Nazareth took its metaphors from the land of Aristotle, -its enthusiasm from the nations on the “seacoast,” its energy from the -Northmen, but _its divinity from God_! - -The songs of labor are heard loudest and sweetest where the valley and -forest yield an annual tribute over the grave of all that is beautiful, -born of the spring; while the songs of the sentiments take their -melodies from the land of soft sunlight, scented with perennial -perfumes. - -In considering the Future let us look at the Past, and among the most -remarkable of physical causes which have marked their existence on the -history of nations and of men, climate will be found to have exercised -by no means an inconsiderable influence. - - * * * * * - - - - - TO MY WIFE. - - - BY S. D. ANDERSON. - - - Gladly to thee, amid the wreck of years, - Will memory’s pinions wing their eager way; - To thee, who ever through this life of tears - Has lit its darkness with thy sunny ray; - Thou wast my empress in the morning hours, - The star amid my dreams of poesy; - The single rose amid the dewy bowers, - That lured my soul to thoughts of purity. - - As rivers glancing in the glorious sun, - Voice out their gladness to the perfumed air, - So ’neath the presence of that treasured one - My hopes were mirrored in a world more fair; - A magic world, within whose blesséd light - All things the richest and the best did come, - Bringing unto the weary dreams as bright - As those that flit around our quiet home. - - And I did love thee, not a transient flame, - Burned on the altar of an early dream; - No, I have dwelt upon that cherished name - Till it became the priestess and the beam, - And softly came around our household hearth, - The angel wings of woman’s ministry, - Rich hopes, as wild and joyous in their birth - As were the early dreams of loving thee. - - And ever thus has been the full, deep tide, - Upheaving from this ocean love of mine; - A memory forever by my side, - To lead me onward to a nobler shrine; - The calm, hushed voice still sounding in my sleep, - Like to a strain of distant melody, - The holy light from out those eyes so deep, - That shines on all so clear and tranquilly. - - Amid my dreams of human faith and love— - Of _love_, that stems the tempest and the blast— - Of _faith_, that in its tenderness shall prove - Its holy office even to the last, - Thou hast been present with thy watchful care, - Guarding a heart too prone to _dream_ at best, - Too much forgetting _one_ whose sinless prayer - Has lingered round his home a heavenly guest. - - But brightly now the sun of promise shines, - The dark and stormy waves of time along, - With all some token of thy virtue twines, - Sweet as the cadence of the evening song; - And truly now, when youth’s wild day is o’er, - And every fancied passion’s hushed to rest, - I give this song to _thee_ from memory’s shore, - The echo of the tide within my breast. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE FOUNDLING. - - - BY JESSIE HOWARD. - - - CHAPTER I. - -The March winds blew chillingly over a wide and barren moor in the -Highlands of Scotland, and howled fiercely around the isolated dwelling -in the middle of it, from whence gleamed a faint light like a beacon in -the midst of that desolate waste. Black majestic clouds gathered darker -over head, and the wild whistle of the coming tempest grew every moment -more shrill; but little were the boding sounds noted within the cottage -of Donald McLane, for sterner and fiercer was the storm of sorrow -gathering in the human heart of the one lonely watcher, bending over the -low pallet where lay, in a still dreamless slumber, the forerunner of -one more dreamless yet, the form of her only child. Long silken curls -fell on the white pillow, from the still whiter brow of the little -sufferer, and pearly lids, with long, dark fringes, drooped over the -fair cheek. The coverlet had been cast aside, as by some restless -motion, and the snow-white drapery fell in careless folds, -half-covering, half-revealing those round and dimpled limbs. - -The light from a solitary candle flickered over the child’s face, so -marble-like in its quiet beauty; oh! there is a touching loveliness that -waking life never bestows in that death-like slumber which precedes the -parting hour of a young, sinless spirit! Angels waited to bear it -upward, and the shining light from their own immortal faces, was -reflected upon the form of clay it was so soon to leave. Close beside -the couch, with clasped hands and a fixed gaze, motionless as the object -of her solicitude, knelt the young mother—so very young and so fair; -surely it was early for such sorrow to weigh down her happy heart. - -The dull moments wore away, and still those two pale faces gleamed in -the half-darkness, silent and still. The embers on the hearth burned -low, louder howled the tempest without, and the white snow-flakes dashed -against the window with a startling sound—but the mother heard it not, -until the door softly opened, and a light touch upon her arm roused her -to consciousness. - -“Oh, Donald, Donald, I’m glad ye’re come,” was her tremulous salutation. - -“And yet, Maggie,” he said, “I’m not so sure o’ that when you see what -I’ve brought you. I would not add to your cares if I could help it, but -I could not leave a babe to perish in the cold snow to-night,” and -unfolding his plaid, he displayed to her astonished eyes, a fair and -beautiful infant, richly dressed, who, as she took it tenderly in her -arms, opened its large dark-blue eyes, and smiled in her face. - -“Oh, Donald, how lovely!” she exclaimed, almost forgetting for the -moment her sorrow; but a glance toward the couch again brought the tears -to her eyes, and again she sunk beside it, with the little stranger in -her arms. - -By the exertions of Donald, a brisk fire was soon burning on the hearth, -and the bright blaze disclosed the table, with its neat white cloth, on -which his frugal repast was spread; but he seemed to think little of his -supper that night, for drawing near to the bedside, he bent over his -child with an earnest, anxious expression on his manly features. - -“How long has she been so, Maggie?” he asked, in a low tone. - -“Since noon,” was the reply, and her breath came more quickly as Donald -bent closer and closer to the quiet face, placing his hand softly on the -still breast, and his lips to the dimpled mouth whence no breath seemed -issuing, then, with a stifled sigh as he gazed lingeringly on those -beautiful features, he turned to his wife, who was looking up in his -face with that gaze of mute terror which says so much more than words, - -“Maggie, God has taken our Ally to be an angel in Heaven.” - -No loud exclamation of grief followed his words. Tearless she stood with -her eyes fixed upon her husband’s face, as if unable to comprehend his -meaning, but, sinking on his knees beside her, and enfolding her in his -arms, he prayed from a full heart that God would be with them in this -their first trial. The low, soothing tones of his voice unlocked the -fountains of the mother’s heart, and blessed tears came to her relief. -Long might she have indulged in this luxury, but a faint cry awoke her -maternal sympathies. She had forgotten the babe so strangely thrown upon -her care, but now her gentle nature could not think of self, while -another was suffering and in preparations for the comfort of her charge, -the first wild burst of anguish was passed through. - -“We will call her Ally, after our own lost one, Donald. Surely God has -sent her to soften this sore trial to us, and we will love her as our -own. May He help us to submit. Oh, my Ally! my darling, my precious -one—can any one ever fill thy place? God help us!” - - - CHAPTER II. - -The simple funeral was over; the last look had been taken, and little -Alice McLane was hidden from the weeping eyes that still turned toward -her lowly resting-place, as if yet unwilling to leave her alone beneath -that cold, cold sod. - -Donald and Margaret McLane had been very happy until now—too happy -perhaps. They had loved each other in early years, and when Donald had -earned enough by his own honest labor to purchase the cottage on -Burnside Moor, they were married without a shadow on their young, -hopeful hearts. - -Margaret was a careful housewife, and Donald had ever a warm welcome and -comfortable home when, wearied with his daily toil, he came back to her -whom he had promised to love and cherish; and when little Alice came to -gladden the young mother’s lonely hours while he was away, sunshine -reigned in the household. In all their happiness they never forgot who -gave them all their blessings, and daily was their morning and evening -sacrifice of praise sent up to their Heavenly Father in confiding and -child-like simplicity. - -A cherished flower was Ally McLane, with her bright blue eyes sparkling -with joy and affection, her round, dimpled, rosy cheeks, and baby tones, -so sweet to a parent’s ear; her mother’s sunny spirit seemed hers from -her very birth until the heavy hand of sickness came down to hush those -happy notes, and dim the light of health and joyousness that ever danced -around her. - -Perhaps she was too fondly loved; perhaps their hearts clung with too -much of idolatry to their only one; and a watchful Father saw that the -ties must be loosened. While yet her lisping tones seemed ringing in -their ears; while yet the flush of health lingered on her cheek, the -dart of the spoiler came, and with scarce a pang of suffering to rend -the mother’s heart with deeper anguish, little Ally was taken away from -the ill to come. - -Overwhelming as was the blow, a mitigation was sent with it. The -stranger babe thus thrown upon Margaret’s tenderness, proved a solace -which nothing else could have afforded, and in the cares attendant upon -her new charge, the dreary sense of loneliness, following the loss of a -loved one, was robbed of half its power. - -Many were the wondering surmises of Donald and his wife, in reference to -the manner in which the babe had been thus given to them. The dark -mantle in which it had been closely enfolded, had first attracted -Donald’s attention amid the snow-drifts, for the little forsaken one was -already wrapped in that fatal slumber which, if not soon broken, knows -no waking—and the young man’s heart was melted with kindly sympathy as -he thought of his own darling, so he raised the light burden from its -soft but dangerous resting-place, bore it to gentle and tender -hands—and as days, and weeks, and months wore away, no one appearing to -claim the lost one, closer and closer their hearts were wound about her, -till their love seemed even as that they had borne their _own_ angel -Ally—as they called her. - -Sometimes Margaret would almost forget that her second Ally was not, -indeed, the very same as that one they had laid with such -heart-yearnings beneath the snow-clad turf; and yet the two were very -unlike. The face of the stranger was full of earnest thought. Her large, -dark, liquid eyes, so full of dreamy tenderness, beamed with almost -spiritual beauty; and a hasty word would bring the tears to her eyes, -the warm blush to her cheek, and a strange imploring expression over her -whole countenance; whereas her elder namesake was ever a joyous child, -light and graceful, full of the heedlessness so natural to her tender -age—and few things there were that had power to dim her sunny spirit. - -Year after year sped on unmarked, save by the introduction of one little -stranger after another into the once lonely household of Donald McLane. -Alice, their eldest and loveliest, had ripened gradually from the -beautiful child, their pet and plaything, to the gentle, thoughtful girl -of sixteen, watching with unwearied care the slightest wish of her -parents, (for she knew not that they were otherwise,) and striving by -every means in her power to lighten their burdens. The secret of her -history had been carefully kept from her as well as the fair-haired, -happy flock around them; for why should they sadden a life so unshadowed -as hers, with thoughts that must bring suffering to her loving nature? - -The promise of rare beauty which her infancy had held out was more than -realized. There was a spirituality about those dark-blue eyes, in every -graceful movement—a native ease and sweetness of manner so unusual -among the classes in which she moved—so unlike the frank, noisy ways -and ruddy countenances of her younger brothers and sisters, that -Margaret often gazed upon her with a wondering sigh and a trembling of -heart, she could not tell why. Alice had been reared with more than -maternal tenderness—a fond yearning over her deserted helplessness—a -sympathy for those who must have mourned the loss of such a child, -together with her own irresistible winningness, had led Margaret -unconsciously to indulge the child of her adoption even more than the -members of her own little flock; but Ally was one of those rare natures -in whom indulgence only brings forth warmer, purer feelings of love and -gratitude, and even from babyhood, as Margaret would often say, she -seemed like an angel sent down to them from Heaven. - -Sweet Alice McLane had not arrived at the age of sixteen without -admirers. Lonely as was the situation of the cottage, many had been -attracted thither by the fame of such a jewel. But there was a quiet -dignity and purity about the gentle girl that repulsed the most -presuming; and Ally was still, child-like, happy in her home, without a -wish to leave it, at least so far as was known to her own heart. - -There was, indeed, one, who had been a play-fellow from childhood, being -the son of their only neighbor within many miles, who was ever a welcome -guest at the cottage, beneath whose glance her own never drooped, nor -the painful blush rose to her transparent cheek—and why was it? Because -Dugald Lindsay had never spoken of the trembling hopes that lay nestling -at his heart, though they had wandered together for hours over the -hills, or sat side by side before the bright fire, in the winter -evenings, while he entertained them with merry tales; and though Ally -loved him dearly, yet it was with the pure, happy love of a sister. So -they lived from day to day, unconscious of the cloud that was gathering -over the future happiness of one, and the brightest hopes of the other. - - - CHAPTER III. - -Donald McLane was a hard-working man, and seldom was any recreation -beyond the quiet enjoyment of his fire-side and home-circle indulged in. -It was therefore an occasion of no little joy among the little folks, -and perhaps not less so with the older heads who showed less boisterous -happiness, when, on the return of the annual fair, a whole holyday was -promised with a visit to the village where it was held. - -On the evening preceding the day so long and anxiously looked for, a -handsome traveling-carriage, with servants and outriders, drove up to -the inn door of the village, creating an excitement among the good -people unheard of before. A tall, majestic, and beautiful lady was -assisted from it by a youth whose noble and elegant appearance spoke of -rank and wealth. - -The poor landlord, confused, and almost paralyzed by the unexpected -honor conferred upon him, with difficulty recalled his scattered senses -in time to receive his guests, and provide them with the best his poor -house could afford; but they, smiling at his consternation, retired -immediately to their apartments, where, at their own request, a simple -repast was served, and they appeared no more that evening. The servants -were surrounded and eagerly questioned, but nothing could be elicited -from them, except that the strangers were the Countess of Weldon and her -son, who were traveling for the benefit of their health, impaired by the -close air and dissipation of London. - -The next morning, just as the party from Burnside Moor had reached the -village, after a weary walk of many miles, the coach drove up once more -to receive its noble inmates. Donald and Margaret were foremost, and had -already passed by, the younger children following them; but Ally had -lingered somewhat in the rear, for Dugald was beside her, and in earnest -conversation they had unconsciously slackened their pace, thus arriving -opposite the inn door just in time to see the carriage drive up and the -noble pair preparing to enter it. Surprised out of her usual quiet -demeanor, Ally gazed eagerly at the novel sight. Her hood had fallen -back, and her soft brown curls came clustering around her face, -generally so pale, but now with the warm blood tingeing its snowy -surface, and her dark, dreamy eyes turned wonderingly toward the -strangers, she was lovely beyond description. At this moment the -countess turned her eyes in the direction where Ally stood leaning on -the arm of her companion, and with a thrilling cry, stretched out her -arms toward her, then fell back insensible. In an instant all was -confusion. - -The lady was borne into the house, and all intruders waved off; but Ally -had never yet seen suffering without endeavoring to relieve it, and -springing impulsively forward, she entered the inn, followed by Dugald. - -When the countess again opened her eyes, a sweet, loving face looked -into hers, and an arm, soft and white as her own, supported her head. -Another wild exclamation burst from her quivering lips, and again she -sunk back, murmuring, “Adela, my sister—have you come back from the -spirit-world to bless me!” - -“What ails you, dear lady,” said Ally, tenderly—“can I do any thing for -you?” - -For the first time those who stood around the couch, anxiously waiting -the solution of this mystery, observed a striking resemblance between -the noble stranger and the lovely peasant girl, who stood pale and -bewildered by her manner, yet unwilling to leave her while yet she -seemed to need assistance. - -“Tell me, child,” said the countess, suddenly rising from her recumbent -position, “tell me, who are you?” - -The question was hasty, the tone almost harsh, and Ally’s face flushed -again, as she replied timidly, “My name is Alice McLane, lady—my father -lives on Burnside Moor.” - -“Where is your father?—I must see him instantly.” - -Dugald turned in search of him, but Donald, having quickly missed his -daughter, had come back in search of her, leaving the rest of his charge -in a booth near by, and was even now at the inn door. - -As soon as his eye fell on the pale, agitated countenance of the -stranger, and from her to his idolized daughter, every trace of color -left both cheeks and lips, and unable to support himself, he sunk into a -chair, covering his face with his hands. - -In that brief moment he comprehended it all. Sometimes, in past years, -the unwelcome thought would painfully force itself upon him, that his -precious Ally was not, indeed, his own. Hearts that must have mourned -her loss, might again rejoice over their recovered treasure, but as year -after year went by undisturbed, Donald grew strong in hope, and had -almost banished every fear of the kind, when this terrible realization -of the worst came so suddenly upon him. - -No wonder that his strong frame was bowed, and his stout heart wrung -with anguish, as he felt that even resistance would be vain. No wonder -that Ally stood by him terrified at the sight of grief such as never in -her whole peaceful life had met her eyes before. Her arms were thrown -around him, her warm kisses fell upon his cold brow, as she implored him -to unfold this mystery. The countess watched him silently, yet a wild -gleam of triumph flashed from her dark eyes, as she exchanged glances -with her son, who stood looking on with no less appearance of interest -than herself. Dugald, fearing he knew not what, only showed by his -varying color, the thoughts that thronged rapidly upon him. - -The story was soon told, and none present could doubt that Alice, the -poor cottage-girl, was the orphan niece of the proud countess, and -through her, heiress to untold wealth. And how did Ally receive the news -of her sudden elevation? With agony that moved the little circle of -auditors to tears, as she clung wildly to the only father she had ever -known, and implored him not to send her away from him. - -Donald looked up with a sorrow-stricken expression on his manly face, -saying, “See you not the child’s distress, lady. Say no more now. Let -her go home with us once more. Time will reconcile her to it, perhaps, -but do not torture her now. God help us! for He only knows how great is -the love we bear each other.” - -He motioned to Dugald, whose countenance, like his own, was ashy pale, -but who, summoning the strength that in these few brief moments of -anguish seemed to have deserted him, raised the almost insensible form -of the weeping girl, and bore her away without resistance. - -[Illustration] - - - CHAPTER IV. - -“Forget you, Dugald! and do you think Ally so changeful as to be carried -away by the high-sounding titles and useless baubles of this wicked -world? Could I be happier anywhere than I have been in my own dear -mountain home. My aunt has promised that I shall return if I am not -satisfied, and in one twelvemonth we will meet again. Nothing shall keep -me from you if life is mine.” - -“Ally, dear Ally, you do not know the world you are about entering. The -rich and the great will be there to court you, and the splendors that -will glitter around you, have dazzled many a stronger head, though not a -purer heart, Ally. But I ought not to murmur, since this parting has -brought me joy as well as sorrow—since it has told me that you love me, -darling. God keep you in temptation, and bring you back to us -unchanged.” - -And so they parted. When did they meet again? - -Let us now turn back in the page of by-gone years, and trace the history -of our little foundling so suddenly raided to a station that the -proudest might envy. - -Clara and Adela Dundas were the daughters of an English nobleman; their -mother dying before they had emerged from the school-room, they were -left without that guiding hand so necessary to the maiden ignorant of -the world, and heedless of warning from less beloved lips. - -Clara, the eldest, married, at an early age, a wealthy earl, the choice -of her father, and departed to her princely home, with a father’s -blessing, leaving her young, gentle sister more lonely than ever. Adela -had ever been of a clinging, dependent spirit, loving with her whole -heart the few objects she had as yet found in life worthy or unworthy; -and was it, then, to be wondered at, when in the solitary hours after -her sister’s departure, her affectionate nature should pine for some new -companion on whom to pour out the rich treasures of a heart that could -not be satisfied in selfish ends. Unhappily, the one on whom her choice -fell, was a poor, untitled gentleman, holding an honorable office in her -father’s household, but on whom Lord Dundas looked as so far inferior to -his beautiful daughter in every respect, as never to dream of danger in -allowing the occasional intercourse which passed between them. - -Knowing as they both did the proud and immoveable spirit of Lord Dundas, -and hopeless of gaining his consent to what in their own young hearts, -full of the romance of first love, seemed necessary to their very -existence, they fled—and the lovely Lady Adela Dundas, who had never -known one hour’s privation from luxury, became, in a poor Highland -cottage, the wife of him for whom she had forsaken all—father, friends -and home. A letter was written more from the warm feelings of affection -and respect than from any hope of moving the stern parent whom, as Adela -felt, they had offended past forgiveness—and so it proved—an answer -came, only to announce her disinheritance, and exile for life from her -father’s home and heart. Then was it that Adela for the first time felt -the fearful consequences of her rash step, and it needed all the -persuasions and soothing caresses of a husband whom she loved tenderly, -to bring her to any degree of composure. - -After many months of suffering and privation, during which time her -sister had privately sent her aid whenever she could do so with -impunity, Mr. Moreton obtained employment which again raised them to -comfort if not affluence. A lovely infant now brought new hopes and new -feelings into poor Adela’s sorrowful heart, and to her husband’s delight -she became once more cheerful. Sorely had they suffered for their sin, -yet kind and gentle and loving to each other they had ever been. Poverty -had not had power to dampen the pure affection of earlier days, and its -calm light shone upon their paths with a hopeful radiance even in the -darkest hours of their probation. - -The little Adela was but a few months old when a letter arrived from the -steward of Lord Dundas, with a hasty summons to the death-bed of the now -relenting parent. Sorrow and joy struggled for pre-eminence in Lady -Adela’s bosom, as she hastily prepared to obey; but a new difficulty now -arose. The winter had just set in with great severity—the journey was a -long and fatiguing one; Adela spurned all objections on her own part, -but her babe, how could she expose it to the inclemency of the weather, -and the dangers that must attend them. Brief and bitter was the -conflict—but the child was left in the care of a faithful nurse, who -promised to watch over it as her own. - -They arrived only in time to receive the parting blessing of their -beloved father, and after the requisite arrangements of the estate, -which was equally divided between the two sisters; it was settled that -Adela should now remain at the castle, at least until some further -disposal of the property should be made, and that Mr. Moreton should -return for the child, as the spring would soon open with sunshine and -air, balmy enough even for the little traveler. - -Days and weeks dragged slowly their way along to the young wife, now, -for the first time since her hasty marriage, separated from her husband. -He came at last—but he came alone! Short and terrible was the tale his -pale lips had to utter. - -The woman in whose care the babe had been left, faithfully watched over -it, never resigning her charge to another, save when necessity required. - -One cold but bright, sunshiny day, having occasion to go to the -neighboring village, she wrapped the child carefully in a heavy mantle, -and set out with it in her arms on her errand. - -From that time neither nurse nor babe had been heard of. A violent -snow-storm came on toward night, and it was feared that both had -perished, yet singular to tell, no trace of their bodies had been -discovered on the road wherein their way led. - -Silently the young mother listened to these crushing words. Hope itself -was extinct, and from that day, though every endearing care that love -could devise was lavished upon her, sweet Lady Adela drooped like a -frail lily, growing paler and weaker, yet ever gentle, patient and -loving to the last—for ere the spring flowers had faded, a husband and -sister wept bitter tears over her early grave. So young and so lovely, -thus Ally’s fair mother died. - -Comparing this sorrowful tale with Donald’s account, it was inferred -that the woman, returning from the village, became bewildered by the -snowstorm, and turned in the direction of Donald’s cottage instead of -that leading to her own, which was directly opposite, and losing her -way, had wandered on until wearied with her heavy burden, and hopeless -of saving both lives, had deserted her charge, and proceeded, -unencumbered, to find shelter for her own exhausted frame. In this, -perhaps, she succeeded; but with the consciousness of safety came the -harrowing reflections of her faithlessness, and unable to meet those she -had so wronged, she had most probably left the country, for no trace of -her was ever discovered. - -Mr. Moreton did not long survive his idolised wife; and now, when our -gentle Ally awoke to the proud consciousness of rank, wealth, a new name -and new relations, the tidings brought only sorrow and suffering to one -so loving and happy as she had been—for was she not an orphan? Bitter -tears flowed at the recital of her mother’s history, but turning from -all the allurements and persuasions that were lavished upon her by her -new aunt and cousin, she flung herself on Margaret’s bosom, saying, “I -have one mother still! oh, let me stay—let me stay!” - -Yet as we have seen, Ally did go at last, pale and sorrowful, but with a -kind word for all, and bidding them not to weep, for she would soon -return—“She knew she would not love the great world of London. Oh, no! -she would soon be back, never, never to leave them again!” - - - CHAPTER V. - -Twelve months had passed by, lingeringly to the little lonely band on -Burnside Moor, and sunshine seemed to spring up afresh in every heart -when the first tiny green leaves and blue-eyed violets peeped through -the snow. “The spring is coming,” shouted the children, gleefully, “the -spring is coming, and Ally will soon be here.” The shadow passed off -from the mother’s thoughtful brow, and Donald looked happier than he had -yet since the parting, but Dugald grew more and more silent—as each -budding tree put forth its tiny sprouts and the verdure became brighter -and fresher on the hill-side, the flush paled on his cheek and his dark -eyes grew heavy with thought. Week after week glided on, and the -children wearied with watching turned with eager questions to their -elders, but mournfully, eyes dim with tears, met theirs—still Ally came -not. - -The warm harvest days stole on—the grain was all gathered in—the cool -autumn winds blew chillingly—the snow flakes again robed the earth in -their pure mantle, and still Ally came not. - -Bitter as was the disappointment, it fell not on unsubmissive hearts. -The children alone were clamorous in their expressions of regret, but -like the summer cloud, the sorrow passed from their memories and they -found in present amusements that forgetfulness which others sought in -vain. - -“Sick with hope deferred,” they mourned unceasingly their lost one—yet -upheld by that faith in a Heavenly Guardian, to whose care they had -given her, and who would be faithful to the trust though all earth -should conspire against them. - -And where was the object of this fond solicitude? What fate had been -hers since she tore herself away weeping, yet strong in hope and -confidence, fearless of the temptations, whose power she had yet to -learn? Was she indeed changed? Could not the shield of love and -innocence, so close about her, guard every avenue of that guileless -heart? Alas! no; Ally had been too trustful in her own strength, and so -insidious was the approach of the evil-spirit that she was unconscious -of danger until bitterly awakened to self-reproach, to feel that it was -too late! - -As the Lady Adela Moreton, co-heiress with her cousin of their -grandfather’s broad lands, she was courted, caressed and flattered by -the noblest and most wealthy—her own rare loveliness adding new -attractions to her proud triumph, and though at first pained—then -disgusted—sad to tell—she at length learned to love the adulation that -followed her steps. Her cheek would flush and her eye brighten with -conscious pride—yet beautiful as she then was in the eyes of a gazing -world, Dugald would almost have failed to recognize in her his own -pure-hearted love. - -Her aunt had been steadily pursuing a scheme which had been busy in her -brain since the first unlooked for recognition of her sister’s long lost -child, which was the union of her eldest son, Sir Frederic, to his -beautiful cousin, and thus preserve undivided the family estate. Poor -Ally little dreamed of the snares that were laid for her. The kindness -of her aunt won her gentle, affectionate heart to implicit obedience, -and her handsome cousin, possessed of every art of pleasing—beauty, -rank, wealth, grace, (few could resist their united influence,) moved -her by every loving device. - -Was Ally happy? Those who saw her in the festive halls, brilliant and -animated, the centre to which all eyes, all hearts turned, might have -deemed her happy—but in the solitude of her chamber, when lights and -flattering tones had fled, pale, sorrowful faces would rise up, as if -upbraiding her; memories of the past would so flit before her, searing -her brain as it were fire, and remorseful tears would flow through the -long sleepless nights, stealing away the freshness from her fair cheek, -the brightness from her eyes. Was this happiness? - -Yet the golden chains were close around her, and Ally asked not to break -their glittering links. - -Donald—Margaret—Dugald—a fearful snare is weaving around your darling -one—a little longer and she may be lost to you forever—save her if yet -you may—God speed your efforts, for man is powerless now. - -[Illustration] - - - CHAPTER VI. - -Another spring had come. Calmly and gently as on the heart-sick watchers -fell the last rays of the setting sun on Ally’s weary brow as she sat by -the window of her boudoir listlessly gazing into the street. Gay dresses -were strewed around her—jewels flashed from their velvet cushions upon -the dressing-table beside her, and ornaments of rich and varied style -lay beside them—yet Ally’s thoughts seemed far away. Her sweet face was -paler and thinner, and on her dimpled mouth lay that peculiar expression -of suffering which the lips only can show forth—her dark-blue eyes -seemed larger, and a wild look had taken the place of the soft dove-like -glances which had won Dugald’s heart. Oh! Ally was fearfully changed. - -Suddenly, as though an ice-bolt had stricken her, the young girl started -from her dreamy posture. The color faded from her parted lips and she -clung to the window sill as she gazed at some object below. - -A young Highlander, in the garb of his native hills, had just passed by, -and even now paused before the arched gate-way of that princely mansion. -Ally looked no longer, but sinking upon her knees, she wept. - -A few moments afterward, her slight form might have been seen gliding -down the wide staircase and entering a small library adjoining the -drawing-room, with which a glass door communicated—softly the curtain -was lifted, while with clasped hands and a frame shivering with the -intensity of her agitation she saw and heard all that passed within. - -Dugald, her own wronged Dugald was there—she had not been deceived then -in that hasty glimpse of his figure from the window. A chill crept over -Ally’s heart as she saw his pale face and sorrowful look—but this was -as nothing to the agony that thrilled through her ere long. Dugald sat -in one of the richly embroidered chairs, with the graceful ease so -natural to him in any society, while directly opposite, in a large -arm-chair with a cushion beneath her feet, sat the countess. An air of -haughty indifference was meant, perhaps, to check the young man’s hopes, -for well did the proud lady know the object of his long journey, and -sorely did she tremble lest her plans should yet be defeated. Leaning -carelessly on a massive table close by, with an air that affected to be -contemptuously easy, while the working of his fine features betrayed an -inward conflict, stood Sir Frederic. - -“I assure you, sir, Lady Adela is too much indisposed to see any one -this evening,” were the first words that the trembling girl heard. - -“Oh, if she is ill, lady, do not refuse to let me see her. Surely, -surely, news from home would do her good—oh, never was she too ill yet -to see Dugald! - -“Only let me see her for a moment—let me hear from her own lips that -she has forgotten us.” And the young man grew eloquent as he pictured in -the simple language of exquisite pathos, the more touching as it came -every word from a full heart, the distress of those who loved and -watched for their absent one till their hearts grew faint within them. -He told of their bitter disappointments—their home now over-shadowed -because the sunbeam that once lighted it was gone. He spoke not of his -own feelings for they were too sacred to be displayed before the cold -natures that listened unmoved even now—and Dugald ceased with a sinking -heart as he watched their haughty brows grow darker with suppressed -anger. - -The countess rose and with a frigid salutation left the room, and her -son, with an expression of withering scorn, demanded how he dared to -expect that _his_ cousin remembered or wished to know aught of such low -associations—then followed his mother, leaving Dugald stunned and -motionless. - -In those few brief moments the evil spirit had departed from Ally’s -misguided soul and the good regained its influence over her. - -With the last echoing sound of the departing footsteps, she opened the -door against which she had been leaning, with that temporary strength -excitement ever gives—she beckoned to the startled youth, who, -half-dreaming, obeyed the signal, and found himself face to face with -her whom he had just deemed lost to him forever. - -“Ally, dear Ally, what have they done to change you thus,” he exclaimed -as he stretched out his arms toward her. She threw herself weeping upon -his bosom, clinging to him as if fearful of being again torn away. “Take -me home, Dugald, take me home. Thank God I am not quite heartless yet.” - -Tenderly as a mother soothes her restless child, did Dugald caress and -whisper sweet words of comfort to the trembling one he folded to his -heart—and at last she looked up through her tears with her old familiar -smile, so that she seemed almost herself again. - -By a side-door Dugald reached the street, unobserved by those who deemed -him long since gone—a light was in his eye, his step was free and -elastic, and his whole face beamed with the inward delight that caused -his heart to throb wildly as he traversed the streets toward his -temporary residence. - -A few hours passed and he came forth again—when he returned he was no -longer alone. Like her gentle mother, Adela Moreton fled from wealth and -rank to share the lowlier lot of him who had won her heart. But unlike -that mother our sweet mountain flower fled from the evil to the stern -yet blessed path of duty, and the blessing of Heaven followed upon her -steps. - -Great was the amazement of the countess and her too sanguine heir when -on the following morning they discovered that their dove had escaped -from the net laid for her. Bitter were the curses that descended on -Dugald’s now unconscious head, but the affectionate little note left on -the table of the vacant boudoir, showed too plainly by its gentle but -decided tenor that further hope was vain. - -The sunshine came back into Donald’s cottage—laughter and mirth were no -longer strangers there, for Ally, their “lost and found,” had returned -to them, paler and thinner it is true, and with a deeper shadow on her -fair brow, but with her loving heart and gentle voice unchanged. - -Ally well knew the sacrifice she made, but it was made willingly. Her -wealth was all in the power of her aunt, and she hoped for no concession -from the disappointed schemers—but Dugald had not been idle during the -years of his probation, and he was no longer a poor man. - -One bright summer’s day when all nature seemed rejoicing and human -hearts were filled with thankfulness, in her own simple cottage-dress, -and under her old name of Alice McLane which she had again adopted, -Ally, now blooming and happy, stood before the altar in their own dear -kirk, and promised to be the wife of him who had loved her so long and -so faithfully. Joy beamed from every countenance, as they now felt that -no power on earth might rend these ties, and Ally, their own beautiful -Ally, was theirs till death should part them. - -Only once did the proud countess seek to recall her flown bird to her -glittering but uneasy nest, and the day on which she arrived with Sir -Frederic, eager and hopeful, was Ally’s wedding-day, and so they became -unwittingly sharers in that beautiful scene—the only angry spirits in -all that peaceful band of worshipers. Baffled again, they left without -even seeking an interview with the object of their long journey, and -Ally never heard of them again until the arrival of a strange-looking -epistle many years after, announcing the death of her aunt, and her own -accession by right of birth to the half of Lord Dundas’ princely -fortune. - -Sweet Ally McLane! would that more angels like thee in the likeness of -sinful flesh might dwell among us—raising our hearts to higher, holier -purposes, and fitting us while here for a better home above, where envy, -malice, pride, or sorrow never may be known or felt. - - * * * * * - - - - - A DAUGHTER’S MEMORY. - - - BY MARY L. LAWSON. - - - I listened then with eager ear - The tales of other days to hear, - For oft thy voice would lead me back, - From life’s insipid daily track, - To wild romance and warfare rude, - That mingle in old Scotland’s mood, - For thou didst know and paint them well, - And wandering fancy warmed the spell. - - My father, how the tear-drop swells - As o’er the past my vision dwells, - When I have stood beside thy chair - And smoothed and kissed thy silvery hair, - Whose silken threads are dearer now - Than hope’s gay dream or lover’s vow, - For life can hold no joy for me - More cherished than my thoughts of thee. - - And thou hast left a name behind - That Art must prize and Science find; - Thy talents to the world are known, - But dearer memories are my own. - Though all approve the stainless worth - That sleeps beneath this spot of earth, - The kindness that awakens love - Thy children’s hearts alone can prove. - - No gorgeous tomb in words proclaim - Thine honest truth and well earned fame, - Nor sculptured urn, nor heartless praise, - The stranger’s studied care betrays; - But thou wert fondly laid to rest - Where tender tears thy grave has blest, - Embalmed in feelings pure and high - That soar from earth beyond the sky. - - * * * * * - - - - - FROM AMALTHÆUS. - - - BY RICHARD PENN SMITH. - - - There were three distinguished Latin poets of Italy of this - name, whose compositions were printed at Amsterdam in 1685. The - following epigram was occasioned by the affliction of two - children of remarkable beauty, though each had lost an eye: - - - Lumine Acon dextro, capta est Leonilla sinistro; - Et poterat forma vincere uterque deos, - Parve puer, lumen quod habes concede sorori, - Sic tu cæcus amor, sic erit illa Venus. - - - TRANSLATION. - - Of his right eye young Acon was bereft; - His sister Leonilla lost the left; - Still each in form can rival with the gods, - And, though both Cyclops, beat them by all odds. - Spare her, my boy, your blinker, be not stupid, - She then will be a Venus, you a Cupid. - - * * * * * - - - - - TO ——. - - - BY HENRY B. HIRST. - - - I have had my days of sadness: youth, which we review in age, - Spelling once again its syllables, was a blurred and blotted page. - - Drifting down the tide of Time my tiny barque, unguided, passed - Toward the Mäelstrom of Manhood, puppet both of wave and blast. - - But an all-protecting Providence watched the craft, when tempest-tost - On the Atlantic of Adversity; and the vessel was not lost. - - Through the distance, when the clouds were lifted by the eddying - breeze, - Sunny sapphire skies shone on me, with, beneath, Pacific seas. - - But the gloom came down around me, and the billows rolled and moaned, - And the little laboring ark with more than human agony groaned. - - Shoals and sunken rocks around it,—like a frenzied steed that flies, - Terror burning, like a beacon, in his wide-distended eyes,— - - Through this Archipelago of danger such as no one knows, - Save the wanderer in a wilderness, filled with savage hungry foes— - - Rode the Argo of my Destiny; for what storm could overwhelm - When God’s holy hand, or else His angel’s, held the fragile helm? - - Suddenly from the desperate darkness stole the tender, trembling light - Of a luminous, blushing planet, gleaming gently on my sight. - - And the gloom fell down before it, and the billows knew surcease, - And the horrid howling winds reclined in slumber, breathing peace. - - Night by night the sun descended, and I saw the moon arise, - With that luminous planet near it, like a deity, in the skies. - - Then said I unto my spirit—“Reigning in those realms above, - O, my soul, behold at last the unassuming star of love. - - “Like a queen she walks the infinite, saying softly, ‘Peace; be - still!’ - And the lion winds and waters crouch, submissive to her will.” - - Now in safety rides my vessel, for that luminous, blushing star - Sits forever in my “House of Life,” a ruling Guardian Lar; - - And the haven it has entered lies encircled by a shore - Green as Eden was, calm as Heaven is; and the storm is known no more. - - There with one whose type is Beauty, Adam-like, I dwell in dreams, - Whose realities were delirium, sleeping by love’s silver streams. - - Eve, my angel, always with me, leads my spirit by the hand - Tenderly from its painful memories toward the Better—Happier Land. - - And like ghosts, when, clarion-tongued, proud Chanticleer salutes the - dawn, - All my ghastly recollections flit, like shadows, and are gone. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE OMNIPRESENCE OF GOD. - - - BY RICHARD COE, JR. - - - Come! Come! Come! - Nature, teacher sweet, will tell - Where the Lord of all doth dwell, - He who doeth all things well, - And in glory reigns! - - In the mountain—in the stream— - In the hushed and charmed air— - In the working of a dream— - God is everywhere! - - In the star that decks the sky, - Shining through the silent air; - In the cloud that saileth by— - God is everywhere! - - In the lily of the field— - Or in floweret more rare— - In the perfume roses yield— - God is everywhere! - - In the sunbeam clear and bright— - In the rainbow wondrous fair— - In the darkness of the night— - God is everywhere! - - In the gentle summer breeze— - In the rushing winter air— - In the rustling of the trees— - God is everywhere! - - In the organ’s solemn sound— - Or in music’s lighter air— - All above—beneath—around— - God is everywhere! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE NEGLECTED GRAVE-YARD. - - - BY PROFESSOR ALDEN. - - -“Uncle, have you a fowling-piece to lend me?” said Henry Deforest, on -the morning after his arrival at Beech Grove, whither he had come to -enjoy a brief interval of rest from his professional studies. - -“Yes,” replied Mr. Woolcott, “as fine a one as you ever handled.” - -“What do you want to do with it, pray?” said Aunt Martha, Mr. Woolcott’s -maiden sister and housekeeper, who, like a sensible woman, believed that -guns and gunpowder were infernal inventions, and dangerous in every -possible shape and shade of combination. - -“I have some thoughts of taking a gunning excursion,” said Henry. - -“Are you a good shot?” said Mr. Woolcott. - -“About equal to Mr. Winkle.” - -“I don’t know him—where does he live?” - -Henry was happily relieved from the necessity of replying to the -question of his matter-of-fact uncle, by Aunt Martha, who declared her -somewhat exulting belief that the gun was lent. - -“No, it is at home—it came home last night. Here it is,” said Mr. W., -bringing it forth from a secure hiding-place constructed under Aunt -Martha’s sole direction and authority. - -“Is it loaded?” said Henry. - -“No, I guess not,” said his uncle. - -“I’ll warrant it is,” said Aunt Martha. - -“What is there to shoot in these parts?” said Henry. - -“Boys,” replied Aunt M., rather sharply. “Mr. Johns shot one last week.” - -“Boys are not good to eat, my dear aunt, and I cannot in conscience -shoot any thing not good to eat.” - -Aunt Martha uttered an inarticulate aspiration which signified that she -should lose her temper if she said any thing more. - -Mr. Woolcott, who had been quite a rustic sportsman in his younger days, -furnished his nephew with a liberal allowance of powder, shot and -wadding, and the said nephew sallied forth with murderous intentions -toward all feathered bipeds possessing the attribute of being good to -eat. - -It was early in June. The sweet breath of the morning spoke so lovingly -of peace and gentleness, that he began to question the propriety of his -savage purposes. His conscience, or his good sense, or his humanity, or -something else, suggested, that to pollute the flower-laden breeze with -sulphurous vapors, and to hush the sweet music of God’s innocent -creatures, was not the most fitting employment for one proud of his -immortality. He had not a very definite idea of the pleasures of -bird-murder—in fact, that it might be a source of pleasure to him at -all, it would be necessary for him to “make believe” with as much -intensity as did “the small servant,” when she used orange-peel water -for wine. - -He soon reached a beautiful meadow. In consequence of his admiration of -the lilies and daisies which adorned it, he failed to observe the -meadow-larks that frequently rose before him, and uttered their notes of -gladness to the mounting sun. At length one rose from his very feet. In -an instant his finger was upon the trigger; but the sweet note of his -intended victim charmed him. While he listened, the bird passed beyond -the range of his weapon. Perhaps he mentally compared the pleasure of -listening to its song with that of witnessing its dying gaspings. - -The murmuring of a streamlet fell upon his ear. In a moment he was -bending over its pure, bright waters. A large, smooth stone, shaded by a -clump of willows, invited him to a seat. He laid aside his weapon, and -sat down, baring his forehead to the breeze, and fixing his eyes upon -the tiny inhabitants of the rivulet, his thoughts took the peaceful hue -of the objects around him. It was not till the changing shadows of the -willows exposed him to the rays of the sun, that he became conscious of -the flight of time. He then rose and went to a small grove which clothed -the summit of a gentle elevation in the vicinity. The grove was composed -of saplings, about twenty feet in height. As he entered it, a false step -led him to cast his eye downward. He had planted his foot in the hollow -of a sunken grave. On looking around him, he found he was in the midst -of an ancient grave-yard. The headstones which marked the resting places -of the sleepers, had apparently been taken from a neighboring ledge. -Only one bore an inscription, or had received the impress of the chisel. -He looked in vain for a new-made grave. It was long since the -funeral-train had entered that grave-yard—long since the mourner had -come thither to weep. - -Deforest had visited cemeteries in which wealth had lavished its -treasures, and art exhausted its resources in order to disrobe death of -his gloom. No splendid mausoleum, no carefully penned epitaph, so -disposed him to reflection, as did the leaf-filled hollows and rude -stones of that neglected grave-yard. He spent an hour in serious -thought, and was about to leave the place, when the sound of approaching -footsteps arrested his attention. He turned and saw an aged man entering -the grove. The stranger approached the grave near which Deforest was -standing. He appeared slightly embarrassed when he perceived that he was -not alone. He returned the courteous salutation of Deforest, and seemed -disposed to converse with him. - -“You do not live in these parts?” said he. - -“I am on a visit to my uncle, Mr. Woolcott. I reside in the city,” said -Deforest. - -“Your uncle came into the place after I left it. I was born here, in a -house that stood on the knoll yonder. That cluster of bushes stands -where the hearth-stone used to lie.” - -“I noticed, as I passed the spot this morning, that a building once -stood there. It must have been a long time ago.” - -“Sixty-nine years ago, last March, I was born in that house, or rather -in the house which stood there then. This country then was a wilderness. -There was one log-house where the village now stands, and one between -this and the river. I have not lived here for more than forty years. -Latterly I go through the place once a year, as I go for my pension, and -I always come to this spot. My father lies here, and—another friend. I -always come and look upon the place of their rest. They do not know it. -It does not do them any good, but it does me good. This is the grave of -my father,” laying his hand on the stone noticed above as being the only -one which bore an inscription. The inscription was as follows: “James -Hampton, died July 16, 1777, aged forty-five years.” - -The old man uncovered his head as he laid his hand upon the stone, and -gazed in silence upon the earth which lay above the remains of his -parent. Deforest felt that he was an intruder, and was about to retire. - -“Do not go,” said the stranger. “I never met any one here before. It -seems like meeting with a friend. That is a feeling which persons as old -as I am seldom experience.” - -Deforest, whose warm heart was strongly interested in the aged stranger, -gladly accepted his invitation to remain. - -“You were young when your father died,” said he, looking again at the -inscription. - -“I was in my fourteenth year. He was killed by a rifle-ball, in an -attack made upon the house by a party of Indians. I have no doubt they -were led by a tory who lived in a house which stood behind the ridge -yonder, to the east. My friends wished to have it put on the tombstone -that he was shot by the Indians. I believed that the shot which killed -him was fired by a neighbor. I would not have the stone tell an untruth; -so nothing is said about the manner of his death.” - -“I should be greatly interested in hearing an account of the matter, if -it be not painful to you to relate it.” - -“Come and sit down on this rock and I will tell you all about it. It -happened more than fifty years ago, yet it is as fresh in my mind as if -it had happened yesterday.” - -He led the way to a large moss-covered rock, which afforded them a -comfortable seat under the shade of a thicket of young chestnuts. Near -it was a grave on which the old man’s eyes were fastened. He did not -seem disposed to resume the conversation. A tear ran down his furrowed -cheek. Deforest sympathized with him in silence. - -“You must ask me questions, my young friend,” said he, somewhat -abruptly, “or my mind will wander away from the things you wish me to -speak of.” - -“Did your father build the house in which you were born?” said Deforest. - -“Yes, he came here about ten years before the war, when, as I said -before, there was only one house between this and the river. I was born -the year after the house was built. I was but a little over ten years -old when the troubles with England came on. My father and mother had -many consultations upon the question, whether it was best for them to -return to the east or not. There were no Indians near, and there was -nothing to call them—for nearly all the people along the river were -friends to the king. My father was from Massachusetts, and of course, -liberty was natural to him; but he had said little or nothing about -matters in dispute, for the very good reason that there were but very -few persons to converge with. So he concluded to remain here. I could -see that my mother did not feel easy. She grew thin and pale, and seemed -unwilling to have us out of her sight. - -“Once in a while, a rumor of what was going on reached us, though the -accounts were always in favor of the king’s troops. - -“In June of the year ’77, one day, as my father was in the cornfield, he -saw an Indian skulking behind a large tree in the woods, that then stood -where those oats are now growing. He continued at his hoeing for an hour -or two, and was careful not to indicate by his appearance that he had -seen any thing unusual.” - -“Was he not afraid that the Indian’s bullet might put an end to his -work?” said Deforest. - -“No, he reasoned in this way. If the object of the Indian had been to -kill him on the spot, he would have done so before he was seen. When my -father came to the house, he was not disposed to say any thing about -what had occurred, for he was not willing to give unnecessary alarm to -his family. His anxious countenance led to inquiries which revealed the -true state of the case. He began at once to make preparation to resist -an attack, which he anticipated would be made in the night. I was -employed in casting bullets, while he was busy in barricading the -windows, and in making openings between the logs to serve as port-holes. -Night at length drew near, and we sat down to supper, sad and silent, -feeling that in all probability it was the last meat we should ever take -together. The night passed slowly on. None of us were disposed to sleep. -About midnight my father persuaded my mother to lie down, with my -sister, who was sleeping unconscious of danger. Very soon there was a -gentle knocking at the door. We had no light burning. My father had his -rifle in his hand, while I held a musket, ready to exchange with him as -soon as he had fired. He crept silently to the port-hole that commanded -the door. He saw an Indian, with a rifle, standing before the door. The -moonbeams fell full on his face, the expression of which left no doubt -on my father’s mind respecting the object of the visit. The knocking was -repeated. The answer was the discharge of the rifle from the port-hole. -The Indian bounded high in the air, and fell to the earth a corpse. A -yell from about half a dozen voices in the vicinity revealed the -probable number of our foes. We were greatly encouraged, for it seemed -well-nigh certain that their numbers would be so far diminished ere they -could effect an entrance, as to render the result of the conflict by no -means doubtful. The opening from which the shot was fired did not -command the approach to the door. This was probably observed by our -enemies, and after some time, apparently spent in consultation, two of -them took a long, heavy pole from the fence, and drew near with the -evident purpose of using it as a battering-ram to force the door. My -father placed himself before an opening which he had made for the -purpose of commanding the approach to the door, and when they were near -enough to make the aim sure, he fired, and the hindmost man fell, never -to rise again. I instantly gave my father the musket, and he fired at -the other man, who had made a brief halt before he commenced his -retreat. Either because the smoke prevented a good aim, or the musket -carried ball less accurately than the rifle, the Indian did not fall, -but from the blood that marked his retreat, it appeared that he was -severely wounded. - -“We could see a group of four or five persons in the distance. They were -not quite near enough to make a sure shot, and my father thought it of -the utmost importance that every ball should tell. While our attention -was fixed upon them, a light shone in from a crevice on the side of the -house opposite to the door. On that side there was neither door nor -window. The enemy had sent one of their number, who had procured a -bundle of straw from the barn, and placed it against the side of the -logs, and set fire to it. It was their object to burn us alive, or to -shoot us down when attempting to extinguish the flames. From the crevice -which revealed the fire, my father saw an Indian grinning like a demon -as he watched the progress of the flames. The good rifle soon put him -out of the way of doing any more mischief. He then seized a pail of -water, and ran to the chamber, and removed a board from the roof, and -poured the water upon the fire. He had loosened the board in the course -of his preparations for defense, thinking it possible that the opening -might afford a means of escape. Fortunately the opening was immediately -over the spot where the fire was kindled. Three of our foes had now been -killed, and one of them wounded, (though we did not know it till the -next day,) and we hoped they would become discouraged and retire. We -heard nor saw nothing of them for an hour or more, though we kept watch -in every direction. - -“A new danger revealed itself. The fire had not been wholly -extinguished; it had caught in the logs, and now began to blaze. My -father took a bucket of water and went to the roof as before, but the -moment his head appeared, three or four rifles were discharged from the -grove near by. One of the balls slightly grazed his cheek. He had the -presence of mind to make immediate application of the water before they -had time to reload, but he did not succeed in applying it to the spot -where it was most needed. Before another pailfull could be procured, -they had loaded their pieces. He raised his hat above the opening in the -roof, in hopes that they would all fire, that he might then extinguish -the flames before they could reload. Only one shot, however, was fired. -It pierced the hat, which fell. A savage yell of triumph caused our -blood to curdle. The hat was raised again, and another shot fired, and -another, both of which missed it. The water was then poured on the fire; -but just as he was descending the stairs, a ball, apparently fired at -random, passed through the clay between the logs, and entered his neck. -He told us that he should bleed to death in a few minutes, but -encouraged us to hope that the enemy would retire without any further -efforts. He told me to keep a vigilant watch, and to shoot down those -that came near the house. ‘Take care of your mother and sister,’ said -he, ‘take them to the east if—’ he never finished the sentence. He bled -to death in spite of all we could do.” - -The old man paused in his narrative, and again fixed his eyes upon the -grave noticed above. - -“Was the attack renewed?” - -“No, they went off before daylight, leaving their dead unburied. I dug a -grave in the cellar, and buried my father. We then took our horses, and -were on the other side of the river before night.” - -“Were you not afraid of being waylaid and murdered?” - -“We were, chiefly from the fact that so many of the Indians had been -killed. We felt safe when we had crossed the river. We went to my -mother’s native place, and remained there till the war was over, when we -returned here. I was in the army during the last year of the war.” - -“I should hardly have thought that your mother would have been willing -to return here.” - -“We had a good farm here, and several families from her native place -concluded to come with us and settle here. By cultivating the farm I -could fulfill my father’s command to take care of my mother and sister, -and I did not see how I could do it in any other way. The first thing I -did was to bury my father in this place. Several years afterward this -stone, which marks his grave, was brought on from the east.” - -“You told me you thought the shot which killed your father was fired by -a neighbor.” - -“We had no suspicion of any such thing at the time. As was natural, I -kept the ball that caused the death-wound. It was of a peculiar size, -and had a singular mark upon it. After my return, I happened one day to -be present where there were a number of persons shooting at a mark. -Alter they had finished their sport, the boys began to cut the balls out -of the tree on which the mark had been placed. I was standing near and -happened to hear one say, ‘that was Sawyer’s ball. I can always tell his -ball by this mark.’ I looked at the ball, and saw that it bore the same -mark as the one that was taken from my father’s neck. I put it into my -pocket, and went home and compared it with the ball I had preserved. The -size and marks corresponded perfectly. I then went to the boy and found -that all Sawyer’s balls had the same mark. There was something in the -bore of the rifle that made a peculiar crease in the ball as it was -forced out. I then got a neighbor to inquire of Sawyer how long he had -owned his rifle, and I found that it was in his possession before the -war came on. My suspicions were then strongly excited. It was not -probable that there were two rifles that would make the same impression -upon the ball discharged from them. I remembered, too, that Sawyer had -expressed great surprise at our return, and had appeared somewhat -embarrassed when he met me. I met him in the street one day, and took -the ball out of my pocket and held it before him, and fixing my eye -fully upon his, asked him if he had ever seen it? He turned very red, -and then came near fainting. I laid my hand upon him. He trembled like a -leaf. I repeated the question in a louder tone, for I was sure that the -murderer of my father was before me. His lips moved, but he could not -speak. ‘Do you think,’ said I, ‘that it is safe for you to stay in this -country?’ I flung him from me, and went on my way. The next day he left -for the west, and some time afterward sent for his family.” - -“How long did you live here after your return?” - -“Nearly ten years; I lived here till my mother died.” - -“Is she buried here?” - -“No, she died while we were on a visit to the east. She was buried among -her kindred. After her death, I returned here and remained till I helped -fill up that grave,” pointing to the one which he had gazed at so -earnestly when he took his seat upon the rock. “Then I felt there was -nothing more to keep me here—in fact, I felt that I could not live -here. My sister was married at the East; so I sold the farm and became a -wanderer. I did not visit the place for nearly twenty years. When the -pension-law was passed, I had occasion to come here, for one who was in -the same company with me lived here. Since then, I have commonly passed -through the place once a year, and I always visit this spot. This is the -first time I ever met any one here. I once thought of having the bushes -cut down; but on the whole, I concluded to let it grow up to wood. It -will shield the graves from the gaze of the careless passer-by; and I -like, too, the idea of having the birds sing over her grave. Farewell,” -said he, rising and extending his hand. Henry returned the warm pressure -of his hand, and was retiring, that he might be left alone by the -sepulchre of his parent. The stranger, however, kept by his side till he -reached the stone wall which separated the grove from the meadow. He -seemed unwilling to part with his new acquaintance. Henry laid his hand -upon his shoulder, and said, “Will you not tell me about _her_?” - -After a moment’s silence the stranger replied, “Young man, I will, -though it is many a year since I have pronounced her name aloud, unless -I have done so in my dreams. They say I often talk in my sleep. I often -dream of her, and sometimes it seems so much like reality, that I cannot -help weeping when I awake, and find it nothing but a dream. She lived in -a house which stood beyond the hill yonder. I have never seen it since -the day she was carried out of it, and I shall never see it again.” - -“Her name?” whispered Henry. - -“Mary Everson lies in that stoneless grave—I wanted no stone to keep -her in my memory, and I wanted nothing to call strangers to her -resting-place. The world never contained a purer and warmer heart. She -came here with her uncle about a year before my mother’s death. Her -father had been wealthy, and had taken great pains with her education. -He lost his property in time of the war, and died soon afterward. His -wife soon followed him, and Mary became dependent upon her uncle, who -removed here, as I said, about a year before my mother died. I saw her, -for the first time, at a meeting in a log school-house. She was seated -opposite me, and I thought I never set eyes on so fair an object. I have -seen countenances which would form better subjects for description, but -I never saw one which spoke to the soul like hers. It was transparent. -It seemed as though you could see the flow of her pure thoughts and the -beatings of her warm heart. - -“It so happened that on the next day I had occasion to see her uncle on -business. As I drew near the house, I heard the loud and angry voice of -a female. I soon saw Mary coming down the foot-path. She was sobbing. -‘O, mother,’ said she, ‘I am glad that you do not know what your poor -child has to suffer.’ She looked up and saw me with tears in my -eyes—the words she had spoken brought them there—and felt, as she -afterward told me, that I sympathized with her. I passed her without -speaking, transacted my business with her uncle, and took my leave as -speedily as possible, hoping to meet with her on my return. But I was -disappointed. She had gone into a retired thicket to unburthen her grief -by prayer. The truth was, her aunt treated her with great cruelty. Her -uncle had little power to protect her. I made an errand there the next -day, and found Mary alone. We sped rapidly in our acquaintance, and our -parting was like that of old familiar friends. I became a frequent -visiter at Mr. E.’s house. He received me cordially, but his wife, I -could see plainly, disapproved my visits, and the more as it became -evident that Mary and I were attached to each other. When it was known -to her that we were engaged to be married, she became outrageous in her -treatment of the poor orphan. She caused her many days of bitterness, -and many nights of weeping. - -“We were to be married on my return from a visit with my mother to the -east. My mother never returned. As soon as she was buried I hastened -here, and found Mary ill of an inflammation of the lungs. The disease -was brought on by exposure occasioned by the cruelty of Mrs. E. - -“I watched by her bedside till she died. When she was laid in the grave, -I felt that there was a void in my heart that could never be filled. -Nearly half a century has passed—the shadow of no earthly attachment -has ever fallen for a moment on the place in my heart which belongs to -her. The grave, as you see, is no longer a hillock—the coffin has -fallen in—the heart that loved me so truly has mouldered, but her -memory is as fresh as when I felt the last feeble pressure of her hand, -or when I passed the whole night on her grave before I left the place. -Men have called me indolent, irresolute, weak; but they knew not of the -shadow which rested upon my path. - -“Of late, I trust, I have known something of the higher life which her -dying lips entreated me to live. I am waiting for my appointed time, -when I shall meet her in a world where affection is never blighted, and -separation is unknown. - -“I have never said as much as I have now to any mortal; you seem to be -capable of sympathizing with one. May your young heart find one whom it -may love as entirely as I loved her; and may she be spared to you, that -your life may not, like mine, be wasted. Farewell!” - -He turned and walked into the grove. Henry set out on his return to his -uncle’s house. On his way, he thought of his gun with which he was to do -such execution. He returned to the place where he had left it. It had -fallen into the water, and was apparently an object of great curiosity -to the shiners who surrounded the lock in great numbers. A frog sat -resting on his elbows on the opposite bank, surveying the examination. -When the gun was lifted from the water, he disappeared with a sound -rather indicative of contempt either for the gun or its possessor. - -Aunt Martha received Henry with smiles, when she was assured that he had -not silenced any innocent songsters, and her complacency was positive -when she learned the manner in which the gun had been disposed of during -the morning. She suggested that it would be an improvement if it were -kept under water all the time. - - * * * * * - - - - - NEW YEAR MEDITATION. - - - BY ENNA DUVAL. - - - ’Tis midnight. - Lo! the Old Year stands upon - The threshold of the Past. To God it speeds - Its way, but bears a burden, for I see - Its form bend drooping with the weary weight - Of evil deeds, and feelings harsh and cold. - Farewell, Old Year! With light heart full of joy - I greeted thee, before thou mad’st thy sad - And bitter revelations to my soul. - Temptations, grievous trials thou didst bring, - And sorrow’s blinding, overwhelming tide. - And yet I leave thee with a grateful heart, - Thou stern but blest Instructor! Lessons harsh - Of thee I’ve learned, but strength’ning have they been: - And though thou bearest with thee record sad - Of my poor deeds, and goodness left undone, - That fills my heart with sorrow for the past, - Bright blessed hopes like angels hover round - This coming year. - - Hail, then, thou unknown one! - I see proceeding from thee spirit forms; - They are my future hours, good or bad. - Mysterious shapes are they. Their mantles hang - Around them dark and heavy—hooded, veiled, - They give no sign of sorrow, nor of joy. - Slowly each form advances; and to me - Alone is given the right to raise those veils; - But as I lift each hood, upon the face - Beneath, my spirit traces there a mute - But yet unchanging record of my thoughts— - A faithful impress of my inner self— - Then past recall the hour floats away! - - A gift these hours have in charge for me. - My weal or wo they hold—my light—my shade. - Dark sorrow they may bring me—bitter tears— - Or sunny joys—bright Laughter’s merry crew - May playful lurk behind those gloomy folds - But if to me the right were given to lift - Those veils, before the ordered time, and know - The gifts they bring—I’d pause. I do not seek - To know my future. This I humbly ask, - In joy or wo, that God may give to me - A firm, strong faith, and purity of heart. - With gifts divine like these, my future years - Might come unfeared, and pass without regret - Or sad remorse. - - And now, my soul, regard - This new-born year, just launching on the sea - Of life. Twelve moons will roll around, and thou - May’st stand as now, with sad and heavy thoughts, - Upon its brink, and see with hopeless tears - This year float from thee. Dark and mist-like shapes, - Dim spirit forms may hover o’er the past. - Forms that were once, like youth’s sweet visions, bright - And filled with glory—resolutions, hopes, - And thoughts of what thou purposed to have been; - But unfulfilled and fading there may float— - These are the forms that spectre-like may haunt - And darken then thy past. - - Think well of this, - My soul, and ere within the portal dark - Of this unknown and silent future thou - Dost float, remember that within thyself - No power lies. Thou may’st have brilliant dreams, - And aspirations grand and holy thou - May’st cherish—aimless, futile all, without - The aid and strength which God alone can give; - Pray then to Him for faith, confiding, true, - And strength to make thy resolutions firm— - For all the good that in thy future thou - Wouldst purpose to perform ask aid of Him. - Then with this help divine thou need’st not dread - Dark Sorrow’s form, nor Pleasure’s tempting smiles, - And when the future years which God may give, - Have each their changing cycles rolled around, - Then floated off unto the solemn Past— - When life’s last hour comes, with drooping wing, - And thou art borne unto the judgment seat - Of God! Eternity’s dread bar! o’er thee - No shadows dark will hang, but Faith’s bright form, - And heav’nly Love, will clasp thee round, and bear - Thee up unto thy Father, God! - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: THE WIDOW OF NAIN.] - - * * * * * - - - - - THE WIDOW OF NAIN. - - - BY JOSEPH R. CHANDLER. - - - [SEE ENGRAVING.] - -How little can we of this latitude, or rather of this country, for -latitude seems not to rule in all cases with regard to temperature; on -one side of a continent, that parallel which gives agreeable winters and -dry, healthful summers, is marked on the other side with cold, snowy -winters and most unhealthful summers; what the variant circumstances are -which produce this difference it is not easy to tell; the difference -_does_ exist, and ingenious theories have been constructed to suit those -results; we say then again, how little can we of this latitude, or this -country, judge of the enjoyments which others at a distance from us, but -with the same shadows, have in the dry coolness of their evenings, or -lassitude to which they are subject by the peculiar warmth which -prevails during most of their summer days. The habits and customs among -us are soon made conformable to the circumstances of our climate; though -it must be confessed that people will always pertinaciously insist on a -warm day on the first of May, and a stinging cold one on the 25th of -December, while actual experience has shown that the thin floral garb -adopted for the first has often led to consumption, and the winter furs -and the great Yule-log that have distinguished the latter, have been -considered rather _seasonable_ than pleasant. So much for a poetical -conformity, but in the every-day business of life things are better -disposed of; people do not think in this country of sitting under their -own _vine_ till mid-summer, and then they look out for spiders; and as -to their fig-trees, nobody gets under them unless it be the house-cat -for a summer _siesta_. While eastward of the shores of the -Mediterranean, people stretch themselves out upon the house-top for a -comfortable night’s sleep, and spend a warm summer’s day beneath the -cording shadow of the fig or the olive, and make life itself a blessing, -not the means of enjoyment, but enjoyment itself; life and its -accidents, the gratification of simple appetites—eating, drinking, and -sleeping. Leaving to others the profitless toils that accumulate heaps -of gold, only a portion of which can ever be used, and that portion will -buy little more than what may be had and enjoyed without it. In this -country we retreat away from an oppressive heat or a stinging cold, and -make the absence of either an excuse for our merriment. In that other -land to which we have referred, positive enjoyment is had in the uses of -the evening air, and the contemplation of the heavenly hosts. Stars and -planets twinkling in the clear blue ether above, not larger than seen -from this continent, but far, far more intensely brilliant in the -atmosphere, which allows of little refraction, and whose purity makes an -upward gaze like the contemplation of some sanctified enclosure. - -Sitting on a bank that faced westward were observable two human figures -in the closing twilight of an autumn day. They were gazing out upon the -gorgeous west, and marking the successful struggles of the starry host -to obtain visibility above. In all the rich flush that marked the -pathway of the sun, and hung a glory around his place of exit, only one -light had strength enough to be visible; and so pure was the atmosphere, -that when the flush in the heavens retired, the splendid planet Venus -seemed a delicate crescent—a diminutive moon, sinking downward to the -western waters. - -“How beautiful, dear Reuben,” said the young female, as she pressed -closely the hand of her companion; “how beautiful the heavens above us -are to-night. It seems as if a peculiar brilliancy were observable; and -I hope it is not sinful for me to say that the glorious array of stars -seems to have communicated to my bosom something of their own -transparent light; an unusual serenity seems to descend from them to me, -and I feel now as if I owed to them sensations of inexpressible -delight—quiet, gentle, but full. Whence is this, Reuben?” - -“May you not, my dear Miriam, have mistaken a cause for an effect? Is it -not the quiet, peaceful delight of your heart that makes all outward -objects more lovely to you? And, as the stars are the most brilliant and -the most distant objects at the present moment, your feelings have -connected themselves with those ministers of _Him_, and allowed that -deep, mysterious connection of the planetary world with ours to work -upon your imagination, as if the stars had a direct influence upon your -condition.” - -“Perhaps so; but I alluded to my feelings and not my condition. How -beautifully did our Prophet King refer his own elevated sensations to -the planetary world, ‘The moon and the stars which Thou hast ordained.’” - -“True, true, my dearest Miriam; but you will recollect that while he -made himself, and man generally, small in his _contemplation_ of the -heavens, it was not in _comparison_ with them, it was comparing or -contrasting man with Him who garnished the heavens, and wrote ‘all our -members in a book.’ But are not your feelings, like mine, elevated with -a hope, nay, with almost a certainty, that the elders will persuade my -mother that the rights of our family can be retained, even though I -marry you, or rather that the argument against our union was as -unsustained by our laws as the attempt to give you to Salathiel was a -violation of your affection and my rights.” - -“I know not but that may be the case. I feel it, Reuben, warmly at my -heart. Let me say it without violating the delicacy of a maiden’s -feelings, that such was my love for you, that even the alternative to -which I consented, though of no moment, gave me a severe pang.” - -“What was that alternative?” asked the young man, with importunity. - -“Simply, that if you should not live to marry me, then Salathiel might -take me to wife.” - -“I would haunt him with terrible bodings,” said Reuben, “even as Samuel -frightened the falling Saul.” - -“And I, dear Reuben,” said the maiden, with a smile, “should, I suppose, -be the Witch of Endor to call up your wandering and jealous spirit.” - -“And it is settled, then,” said Reuben, “and you are to be mine with the -consent of our families. And the next new moon shall see us one.” - -“It shall be thus if your mother consents. I have none to consent or -refuse, save my aunt. But let it not wound your feeling or excite -suspicion in your mind, Reuben, that I ask you not to cherish feelings -of unkindness against Salathiel. He is my kinsman and my early friend.” - -“Has he not sought to supplant me in your possession?” - -“Have you not supplanted him in my heart? Is it so much, my dear Reuben, -for you to fear to lose me, and is it nothing for him to see me given to -another?” - -“He tried for your possessions, Miriam, for your wealth only.” - -“Does not my wealth, little as it is, go with my hand—and why may not -he have designs honorable as well as others?” - -“Because he would not leave it to your decision, to the arbitration of -your affections. He could not love you and be willing to do violence to -your love.” - -“May he not, dear Reuben, say the same of you?” - -“Of me! Miriam, you plead the cause of Salathiel. You wish the -alternative—you would be free.” - -“Reuben, you may wound my pride by your injustice, but you cannot make -me cease to love you. You may hereafter learn that woman may esteem a -man for his virtues without loving him as a husband; and that for me to -wish that you were less unkind to Salathiel, is no evidence that I love -you less. I have heard within a few weeks such lessons of forgiveness, -such preaching of high virtues—high, though always practical—that I -desire to conform in some measure to them, and to have him whom I love -and respect, augment my affection, not by any new _love_ on his part, -but by a new exhibition of greatness of mind. Reuben, though protracted -maidenhood is a reproach in Israel, be assured that my love is stronger -than death—as I feel that your jealousy is more cruel than the grave.” - -“I will not be jealous. I will forget what I have deemed the wrongs of -Salathiel. I will learn of you to respect myself. But, Miriam, what -teaching is that to which you allude—what lessons of forgiveness have -you received, and from whom? Is not the law of Moses sufficient for the -daughters of Israel?” - -“I suppose the laws of Moses are not sufficient, else why have kings and -prophets written and preached? But you know that several times within a -year the teacher from Nazareth hath been in the synagogues of Nain, and -has, indeed, spoken in the houses of our relatives, whither he hath come -and broken bread.” - -“I have heard of his visits, and that his teaching had been eminently -attractive—how _instructive_,” continued Reuben, with a sneer, “how -instructive may be inferred from the proportion of women among his -immediate followers.” - -“There were more women than men, undoubtedly, at his household -instruction, because more women had leisure to listen. But let me tell -the truth, Reuben. There _are_ many women among his followers, for he -speaks to the heart of woman. He recognizes woman as the equal of man in -the necessity for salvation, and he appeals to her affections, her -experience, her wrongs and her neglect. What other prophet has come -among us, that has thought it needful to recognize even his descent from -woman, while He of Nazareth soothes our sorrows, elevates our hopes, and -sanctifies our human relations? As I listened of late to him when he -reproved but encouraged our sex, my heart said ‘this teacher’s doctrines -may _save_ man,’ but how they _elevate_ and _purify_ woman. And then the -lessons of love, of forbearance, of forgiveness, that he inculcates, -belong to what I have deemed woman’s nature and man’s _necessity_.” - -“You have followed the teacher, then, Miriam?” - -“He is a prophet, Reuben, and he attests his divine mission by miracles. -He has healed the sick, he has cured the lame, and made the blind see -and the deaf hear.” - -“Has he raised the dead, as did the bones of Elisha?” - -“I have heard that he has wrought _that_ miracle, but do not know it, -though I have such faith in his mission as to believe he might.” - -“_If he would raise me from the dead when I come to die, I would have -faith too!_” - -“I should think, Reuben, that this act would be the consequence rather -than the cause of faith. Though many others believed, in Jerusalem, as -my Cousin Jacob says, in consequence of the restoration of blind -Bartemus to his sight, yet the Master said, ‘_Thy faith_ hath made thee -whole!’” - -“I have, nevertheless, no faith in this teacher as a prophet—why, whose -son is he, Miriam?” - -“He is of the house of David, Reuben, and even though his parents are -poor, are they much poorer than David’s parents? May there not be -something in the great truths which he teaches, that is not dependent -upon the parentage of the teacher?” - -“These things are important, Miriam, I confess, and we will confer of -them together, but not now. We are about to part, let us mark the -separation by a recurrence to a subject on which we both agree. The next -new moon sees us united, and my joy at the anticipation is doubled by -the belief that you share with me in the pleasure.” - -Miriam pressed the hand of her lover as they rose to descend the hill; -and as they entered the gate of Nain, the rising moon poured its strong -light through the gorges of the mountain, the pair wended their way -through the broken streets of the city to the residence of Miriam, -blessed in their mutual affection, and refreshed by the dry, cool breeze -of evening, which had fanned them on the elevated seat which they had -just left. - -Reuben turned toward home with a resolution to discuss the doctrine -which he had heard imputed to the new teacher. Miriam, with woman’s -humility, “kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.” - -Miriam and Reuben met daily as espoused people; and frequent allusions -were made to the doctrines of the teacher; and the pride of a Hebrew man -was a little touched at the evidences of the elevating effect of a -doctrine upon women, which Miriam’s language and conduct presented. Yet -Reuben loved her too well to regret any circumstance which pleased and -benefited Miriam. The customs of the country were too well fixed to lead -him to fear the assumption of any inappropriate position by his future -wife; indeed, it is believed that men do not begin to grow jealous of -the authority of women until after marriage. - -“I do not find in the teaching of the new master,” said Reuben, one day -as they were conversing on the subject now so important to her, and so -generally interesting to him, “I do not discover any denunciations of -our creed or our system and form of worship—why may not his doctrines -prevail without danger to the Hierarchy?” - -“I cannot guess of that, Reuben; but certainly the teacher, while he -refers to particular virtues and special sins, seems to desire a -purification of the motives. He has conformed to all the requirements of -our religion, but seems at times to be above it. I wish I understood him -better. And yet how simple, how comprehensible are all his teachings. -Why should I seek to know more? Why should I desire aught but that which -shall make me better—happier—more hopeful? How the poor, the afflicted -in body and in mind seek him out, and sit in joy at his teaching.” - -“Miriam, I will hear him—I will hear him soon,” said Reuben. - -It was only a few days before the new moon that Miriam had from the -widow mother of Reuben an intimation that her only son and heir was -prostrated by sudden and very severe sickness. The young woman hastened -across the town to be in attendance upon Reuben, and to cheer him into -health by her presence. But when she reached the house, she learned -rather by the appearance than the words of the widow, that the sickness -of Reuben was not of a kind to yield to such remedies as she had to -offer. - -The attention of Miriam to Reuben was all that her feelings would permit -her to give. She sat by his side and bathed his temples, and moistened -his feverish hands, and listened with painful satisfaction to his -unconscious utterance of her name. - -On the seventh day of Reuben’s sickness all awaited the crisis, and a -few hours before sunset he awakened from a protracted sleep, and turned -his eyes on the hopeful countenance of Miriam. The members of the family -present saw with inexpressible pleasure that his consciousness had -returned, and they _hoped_. - -But the physician pronounced against them. It was but a restoration of -mental light before the darkness of death should set in. - -“Miriam,” said Reuben, “let me speak to thee alone one moment”—and the -family retired. - -“I am dying, and the truths which you announced to me as we sat upon the -hill-side some nights since—truths which the new teacher uttered, come -home with strange distinctness to my heart. But is he, as his disciples -would have us believe—is he the Messiah?” - -“Do you believe it, dear Reuben?” - -“I do not know, but I forgive all who have injured me, and I ask pardon -of all whom I have injured.” - -“Surely that is the spirit of the Master’s teaching, Reuben, and what -can you more.” - -“But, oh, Miriam, where are the blessings which I had promised myself in -thy love? Where the years of happiness in thy possession—when thou -shouldst have been only mine?” - -“Are these regrets, my beloved, suited to one who leans upon the verge -of the grave? Oh, look forward, Reuben, and look upward. In heaven we -can meet again—meet without fear of separation, without doubt of love.” - -“But in heaven, where, oh, where shalt thou be, Miriam?” - -“Reuben, dear Reuben?” - -“Nay, my beloved, let me show my affection for you and my sense of duty -to God at this last moment. I know, my Miriam, that by the customs of -our people you should have been the wife of Salathiel, and I feel that -next to me, (I do your love no injustice, my betrothed,) _next_ to me, -Salathiel has your affection. Hear me out. When I am gone, it must be -your duty. Oh, then, let it be your pleasure to receive him. Who better -than he can be your protector? He is your nearest kinsman, and the laws -and customs of our people are in his favor—promise me.” - -“Reuben, shall I call in your mother?” - -Reuben turned his eyes again toward the west, and the sun was sinking -with all his evening glory into the great sea. A gentle breeze swept -into the window, and blew the hair of the kneeling maid upon the pale -face of her lover. - -“Turn my face, Miriam, to the east, let me pray thitherward. Let me hold -you thus, ‘though the sorrows of death compass me about—’” - -When the widowed mother entered the room the dead form of her son was -resting in the arms of the unconscious Miriam. - -Stricken with grief, and with a sense of her utter loneliness, the widow -lifted up her voice and wept. - -Miriam was conveyed away—to be purified from the legal uncleanness that -results from contact with the dead. - - * * * * * - -It was the morning of the third day from the death of Reuben, and Miriam -was sitting lonely in her chamber. - -“And this,” said she, as she looked forth from her darkened room, “this -was the day appointed for our marriage; and to-day they will take my -beloved and carry him forth from the city, and lay him in the earth with -his fathers; and his beautiful form shall moulder into the dust, and the -worms shall feed sweetly on him. Yes, he shall return to the dust again, -and his spirit to God who gave it.” - -“Oh, Father,” said the anguished maiden, as she kneeled with folded -hands and upturned, streaming eyes, “oh, Father, receive his spirit!” -And she poured out her soul in prayer for the dead, “after the custom -that is among the Jews, even unto this day.” - -Shortly afterward the relatives of Miriam came in to comfort her before -they went to assist in the funeral of Reuben. They respected her grief -too much to make open allusion to a subject which was occupying their -minds. - -One of the elders of the family, before going out, took aside the -afflicted girl and attempted to console her with those cold arguments -that interest suggests, and a want of respect for woman’s position -warrants. - -“Still, Miriam,” continued the old man, after disregarding her requests -to be left alone, “still the possessions of your father’s family remain -with you; and these may now, as they ought to have been before, be, with -you, the property of our Cousin Salathiel.” - -“Nay, my Uncle Achan, you trouble me, indeed; spare me that, let the -possessions of our house go whither you list, to yourself or to -Salathiel, but let me remain as I am. Give me peace—give me peace and -time for my tears, and I will endure the reproach of maiden-widowhood, -and let my name be lost from the family of our fathers.” - -Achan and his friends departed to meet at the house of the widow, and to -be of the company of those who should assist in the funeral of her son. - -Miriam sat in her chamber, looking forth from the closed lattice to mark -the first approach of the funeral-train which would pass her aunt’s -dwelling on its way to the burying-place that lay beyond the walls of -the city. - -The solemn train at length approached, and the cold, insensible form of -her lover lay upon a bier, wrapped round with grave-clothes, and borne -forth by men. - -As she gazed down upon the appalling sight, her heart seemed ready to -burst with the grief that had no utterance, and she fell insensible to -the floor. - -When Miriam opened her eyes, they rested upon the forms of her aunt and -of Salathiel bending over her. - -“Was this well, Salathiel? Could you not have spared me one day for -grief, must my affections for another be outraged, even in the presence -of his passing remains?” - -“Miriam, my cousin,” said Salathiel, “I came in hither only to assist -your aunt. No selfish feeling brought me into your presence. I know -where your affections are, I know how deep-seated is your grief. Let me -rather, my Miriam, be to you a means of consolation, than an occasion of -offence, since my love to your person is less than my sympathy in your -grief.” - -Miriam placed her hand in that of Salathiel, and a gentle pressure -signified her appreciation of his feelings—and such a sign, at such a -moment, too, told him how hopeless would be his love. He obeyed the -sign. - -“The funeral has passed on,” said she. - -“It is now near the gate of the city,” said Salathiel. - -“We shall see it once more,” said Miriam, “as it ascends the hill that -overlooks the valley of tombs.” - -“What is that faith, Miriam,” asked her aunt, “of which you spoke to me -yesterday?” - -“It is but confidence in the promises and power of the teacher.” - -“Confidence that he will grant your wishes?” - -“Yes, if they be right, or that if he grant them not, then confidence -that the refusal is best.” - -“Have you that confidence, Miriam?” - -“Oh aunt, oh my mother, do not tempt me. I would believe; my heart tells -me that miracles such as his, could only be performed to attest a -momentous truth. But do not tempt me, the body of Reuben is scarcely -passed, in him my heart, my affections, my hope were centered—and he is -taken from me. Why? is it good for me to be afflicted?” - -“Could the Master have saved his life, my child?” - -“Did he not yesterday save the life of the Centurion’s servant at -Capernaum,” answered Salathiel, struck with the coincidence of the -woman’s question with the recent fact. - -“Did you ask him, Miriam?” - -“I saw him not, and if I had seen him, what am I to him?” - -“If you had asked him, might he not have done it?” - -“I believe, aunt; I believe, Salathiel, that he _could_ have saved the -life of Reuben.” - -“Would he not, then, raise him now?” - -“I do believe he _could_—I have faith in his _power_. But I would not -be presumptuous. Yet, yet—oh, that Reuben might be restored to me?” - -“Amen!” said Salathiel, “Amen!” and the deep tone of voice, and the -upward turn of his eyes, told how truly his heart responded to the -prayer of his cousin. - -Two hearts were then united in solemn petition. There was _faith_, but -none thought of _hope_. - -After a few minutes of solemn silence, the eyes of Miriam were turned -mournfully, and yet eagerly, toward the hill beyond the city’s wall. - -“They are passing upward,” said Deborah to her; “the procession moves -toward the brow of the hill, but, alas! the dust of the road conceals -the train.” - -They all looked forth to follow with their eyes as long as possible the -mournful procession. - -“But what is there?” exclaimed Deborah, pointing to a column of dust -which denoted a crowd of people descending the hill toward the funeral. - -“The procession has passed,” said Miriam. - -“Both parties have stopped,” exclaimed Deborah. - -Salathiel looked earnestly out and said, in a low voice, but with much -feeling, “Do the Romans come to insult us even when we bury our dead? We -are a _conquered_ people, but we are not _slaves_.” - -“Hush!” said Miriam, “hush, my brother! let us not at this moment forget -the teaching of the Master.” - -Salathiel leaned forward and kissed the brow of Miriam. - -“I thank you, I thank you, Miriam, for the monition, and I bless you for -the term, brother; henceforth, my sister, know me for such. But let me -go forth to learn what hath turned our people from their sepulchral -rites.” - -Salathiel went forth, and Miriam, kneeling, buried her face in the lap -of her aunt, and poured out her soul in prayer—deep, anguished, -heart-engendered, heart-and-heaven-moving prayer. - -It was some time before the low voice of Miriam ceased. But her feelings -had been overwrought, and at length she lay silent yet suffering, with -her head still on Deborah’s knees. - -The quiet of the street and even of the chamber was at length disturbed -by the confused footfall of a multitude who seemed to press onward with -few words, and those uttered in a subdued tone. The multitude at length -paused in front of the dwelling of Miriam, and the opening of the front -door intimated that the procession of the people had some connection -with the inmates of the house. - -The door of Miriam’s chamber at length opened, and Salathiel stood -before the two women pale and agitated. - -“My sister, praise the Lord! A miracle has been wrought.” - -The agitated maiden shrunk into the arms of her aunt as she gazed toward -Salathiel. - -“What,” exclaimed the aunt, “what is it, Salathiel? Speak?” - -“Reuben—” - -“Reuben!” exclaimed Miriam. - -“Reuben lives!” - -“Where—where is he?” - -“He has been borne back to the house of his mother.” - -“How has this been wrought?” asked Deborah. - -“There is our Cousin Asher, who was a witness of the whole. Shall he -come in and tell you all?” - -Asher was admitted with one or two others of the family, and briefly -stated the facts. - -“The rear of the very long procession that followed the corpse of Reuben -had scarcely left the gate of the city, when I, who was assisting to -bear the bier upon which rested the beloved remains, discovered a vast -crowd of people coming down the hill. I soon, however, perceived that -there was no intention on the part of the approaching mass to offer any -offence or discourtesy to the funeral party; and, indeed, the -expressions of grief by our widowed and bereaved kinswoman were so loud, -that it was difficult to hear whether any word was uttered by the -descending party. I have never seen a Hebrew woman so distressed; and -though few have had such cause for grief, few have been more deeply -wounded, yet I had hoped that she would have been able to repress her -feelings. But as we grew nearer the grave, her lamentations were -increased, and it was heart-rending to hear her exclamations. The whole -procession seemed to have lost their own sense of bereavement in the -presence of one the utterance of whose anguish was so impressive. To me -it seemed almost an arraignment of Providence by our kinswoman. I cannot -tell you how every one was affected; each seemed to wish silently but -heartily that some event might occur to soothe the sorrows of the widow. - -“At length the descending party, which was very large, met our -procession; and almost every member of that company manifested deep -sympathy for the suffering of the chief mourner. In a moment the -principal of the company stepped forward and took our kinswoman by the -hand, and whispered to her words of comfort. What they were I could not -hear, but the effect was instantaneous—the clamor of grief was -hushed—and our kinswoman walked quietly on, gazing with a sort of rapt -awe upon the comforter, whose countenance though marked with sympathy -for her suffering was yet majestic and dignified. - -“The mother’s eyes for a moment wandered from the face of the visiter, -and fell upon the form of her son stretched out before her, and again -her agony found vent—again the _mother_ was heard, again the mountain -seemed to echo with her lamentation. - -“He who was walking at her side did not rebuke the mourner, but a new -and more intent feeling of compassion was evident in his look and -manner, and taking the hand of the afflicted one, he said in a tone of -deep consolation, ‘Weep not.’ - -“Almost immediately afterward he left the widow standing where she was, -and approaching us ‘came and touched the bier,’ and we who were carrying -it stopped; for there was a sort of authority in the air and movement of -this person, or let me say the effect rather than the assumption of -authority. When the eyes of all were turned toward the dead body, and -toward him that stood by it, the person with a mild tone, with no -ceremony, with a simple utterance of the words, said, - -“‘_Young man, I say unto thee, Arise!_’” - -“And Reuben, dear Asher, Reuben!” exclaimed Miriam. - -“And Reuben sat up on the bier, and began to speak of the sensations -which crowded upon him. - -“But He who had restored him to life, seemed to comprehend that the -mother’s feelings should be first consulted, her rights first respected, -and so ‘_He_ delivered him to his mother.’” - -“And he lives now?” - -“Yes now, and with his mother. But what an awe came upon those who -witnessed that august scene. There was no shouting at the success of the -effort, no cheering that human life had been restored. But with an -overpowering sense of divine visitation, the people, in devout fear, -kneeled, and ‘glorified God,’ saying ‘a prophet has risen up among us.’” - -It was not deemed safe to the convalescent Reuben that Miriam should -visit him immediately. His life not his health had been restored. And -the effect of a too early interview, might be too much for both. A few -days afterward Salathiel conducted Miriam to the house of Reuben, and as -they proceeded thither he cautioned her against the indulgence of too -much feeling, lest her own frame should yield. Leading her to the door -of the chamber, the young man felt that his presence would be too much -of a restraint, so knocking lightly he heard a voice from within bidding -them enter, and he turned and went to the mother in another part of the -house. - -What was said by the young lovers, separated as they had been by death, -and thus restored this side the grave, we shall not now repeat. It was a -sublime colloquy, for it included the experience of a heart in which -hope had contended against hope—and the awful experience of a soul that -had been freed from the trammels of flesh. But it was still Reuben and -Miriam. Death had not destroyed the identity, for the same love that had -animated them in his former life was felt and reciprocated now. - -“I did fear, Reuben; indeed, for a moment I feared, when I heard of your -restoration, that the love which had been a part of _our_ lives, would -have been quenched in you by death, or sublimated beyond the uses and -comprehension of earth.” - -“Oh, Miriam love is the immortal part of our affections—it is the soul -of the mind—it is stronger than death—and that which is pure and -rightly placed on earth is indestructible, and thousands of years, my -beloved, passed in separation would work no change. We should at our -renewed communion find the same love that had existed in past centuries -in full and satisfactory operation. You know that the seeds which our -travelers bring from the mummies of Egypt are as fruitful as those which -are sown from the last year’s harvest, so, my beloved one, is the love -that is worthy the soul’s cherishing.” - -“But, Reuben, has it struck you that you have received the testimony -which you almost impiously challenged as a ground of faith?” - -“It has, it has, and while I have been struck with shame at the impiety -of such a thought, I have yielded the faith which I promised, and am -henceforth a follower of the teachings of Him of Nazareth.” - -“Oh, my prayers, dear Reuben—” - -“They were pure, and effective to _your_ good, Miriam, undoubtedly, but -it was from compassion for my widowed, childless mother that the miracle -was wrought.” - -“Who shall tell the motives of Him that can work miracles? What we call -ends, dear Reuben, may be means with him, and the babe that is sent in -answer to the Hebrew mother’s prayer, may be the saviour or the -destroyer of his people.” - -Salathiel then knocked for admittance. He entered and kissing both of -his cousins he wept with joy—“And this, this is the consummation of my -highest earthly wish,” said he. - -“Is it indeed? Can _you_ rejoice, Salathiel, that I am come to take -Miriam from you; is it indeed thus, my cousin?” - -“I have loved Miriam as dearly as you could love her, Reuben. I will -yield in that to none. I will not affect to conceal _that_. But the -miracle that has raised you to life has shown me that I have a higher -duty to perform, a more glorious mission to fulfill. Be yours, my -cousin, the enjoyment of domestic love and peace and happiness, which -virtue ensures; and let your home and your lives illustrate the power of -the Master’s doctrine to purify and multiply home affections. -Henceforth, if permitted, I will sit at the feet of the teacher and -learn; and when _sent_ I will go, and offer his doctrines and my life -for the good of our people.” - - * * * * * - -The new moon had again come, and the house of the aunt of Miriam was -filled with her kinspeople, who had come to the marriage; and when the -feast was over, and parties had formed in different rooms, and some, -with the bride and bridegroom, were on the housetop enjoying the -delightful air of evening, as it swept down the hills loaded with the -scents of roses and acacia, some drew the attention of the party to the -brilliancy of the slender moon in the west, and the stars that were -scattered through the heavens. - -“It is a good omen,” said Asher, “when the planet that is so near the -moon assumes with her the crescent shape at a marriage, or when at this -season the Pleiads and Orion are peculiarly brilliant.” - -The newly married ones looked up smilingly toward the heavens, as if -they recognized the doctrine of stellar influences. - -Salathiel, who had been looking upon the pair with deep interest, then -stepped forward, and taking a hand of each, he said, “My cousins, I am -called away—not again to mingle in this delightful scene—called to a -higher duty; pray that it may be as delightful—it cannot be more -dangerous. Keep the faith—mark the signs of the times in the conduct of -man and in the instigations of your passions, but look not to the stars -for your instruction. Oh, my beloved one,” and he stooped and kissed the -lips of Miriam, “oh, my dear brother,” and he pressed his lips to the -forehead of her husband; “oh, Reuben and Miriam, ‘seek Him that maketh -the Seven Stars and Orion, and turneth the shadow of death into morning, -and maketh the day dark with night,’—the Lord is his name.” - - * * * * * - - - - - THE IMAGE. - - - BY A. J. REQUIER. - - - Thou dwellest in my thoughts - As shines a jewel in some ocean cave, - Which the eye marks not and the waters lave; - A ray of light imprisoned! which none save - The soul that shrines it knows—its temple and its grave. - - Thou bathest in my dreams; - A form of dainty Beauty—something seen - At cloudy intervals, through a gauze-like screen— - A voice of gentle memories—a mien - Too tender for an angel’s, yet as fair, I ween. - - Thou sparklest through my fears; - A hope which bloometh as an early flower, - Shines in the sun nor droops beneath the shower; - A holy star that glides at vesper hour - Into the dusk-hung sky—and, saintly, seems to lower! - - In daylight and in dreams, - ’Mid hopes that beckon and ’mid fears that frown, - Thou art the juice that every care can drown; - A rose amongst the thorns—the azure down - Of the meek-brooding dove—the halo and the crown! - - * * * * * - - - - - A VOICE FROM THE WAYSIDE, - - - ABOUT GRACE GERMAIN’S LIFE-ROMANCE. - - - BY CAROLINE C——. - - - ’Tis as easy for the heart to be true - As for grass to be green, or skies to be blue— - _’Tis the natural way of living!_ - Vision of Sir Launfal. - -The school was dismissed, and a multitude of boys and girls came rushing -out from the old frame building, and tore pell-mell down the streets of -a country village, just like merry, care-naught mad-caps as they were. -Of all ages and sizes were these little folks—they were the life and -the care of a great many homes; some heirs of poverty, and some, but -these were few, heirs of wealth—but each and all had brought with them -into the world enough of love to secure for themselves a welcome place -at the board, and by the hearth. They resembled very much any other -congregation of children in the world—some of them remarkable for their -stupidity, and presenting always to their teachers the same thick -skulls, which it appeared nothing could penetrate—others again, quick -at learning, to whom it was a relief for the weary Mentors to turn, and -to whose mental wants they attended with a glad alacrity. - -But I am not going to generalize any more at this time; and shall only -add to the foregoing remarks, that this school was a marvel in its -way—the teachers prodigies in learning, and all the parents thought -their young children’s acquirements actually verging on to the -miraculous—which state of things, I will add as a P. S., is remarkably -pleasant for all parties concerned. Is it not teachers, and parents, and -you poor little scholars? - -Several girls, from nine to twelve years of age, were walking homeward -leisurely, and talking loudly and earnestly on some important topic, as -school-girls sometimes will, when a young boy, also one of the scholars, -passed by them. With singular boldness he turned his handsome face full -toward the little party as he passed, and one of the girls, whose name -was Grace Germain, must have seen something remarkably expressive of -somewhat in the boy’s black eyes, for very suddenly she seemed to have -lost all interest in the conversation, in which, by the way, she had -been one of the chief participators the moment before—and the little -girl’s step grew slower and slower. Finally, taking one of her -school-books from under her arm, Grace seemed all at once to be seized -with a decidedly studious fit, (for the first time that week,) and then -her shoe-strings must needs unloosen, and she must stop to fasten them, -till at last, as might be expected, her companions were far beyond her -in the homeward way, and she was left quite alone. When the child passed -by a little lane her face became quite suddenly and unaccountably -flushed, and Grace grew decidedly nervous in her movements, and she -turned away her head, as though it were forbidden, and a sin for her to -look down that narrow by-way where Dame Corkins and the little lame -child lived. - -But these mysterious movements were all explained when, a moment after, -some one came marching, to a tune of double-quick time, up the lane, and -when he appeared on the main-street again, lo and behold! it was that -same black-eyed urchin Hugh Willson, who had a few moments previous -passed by her, and he called out, - -“Grace, Grace Germain, wait a moment; I want to tell you something!” - -Grace of course blushed, and looked sideways, and down, and finally at -the boy, but for the life of her she could not summon up a look of -astonishment at his appearance, finally she said, - -“Well, what do you want, Hugh?” - -“I’m going home, Grace, to-morrow, and—and—I wanted to see you just to -give you this; perhaps you’ll think I’m a fool for my pains. I wish -though it was worth its weight in gold!” - -Oh! you would have certainly thought that the poor girl’s face was on -the point of blazing instantly, could you have seen it, and Hugh thought -there were really tears in her eyes too, as she put out her hand for the -little package he had brought her. For some distance they walked on -together, and neither spoke. - -At length, as she drew near home, Grace found courage to look up and -say, “Hugh, what are you going home for?” - -“Father has sent for me, I am to go to an academy, but—” Hugh did not -finish the sentence, and after waiting an unconscionable time, and -speaking at last as though a “drag” were fastened to every word, Grace -said, - -“You will come to see us again sometime, wont you, Hugh?” - -“Yes, if I ever can. I can’t bear to go away now, Grace, but, as father -says, I _am_ getting old. I’m almost fifteen, and it’s a fact I ought to -know more than I do. Perhaps I’ve staid in the country too long already; -but I hate a city, and I shall come back here just as often as I can, -for I love this place better than all the world.” - -And that, reader, was rather a strange confession to be made by a spirit -so active and stirring as was Hugh Willson’s, for of all country -villages on the face of the earth, “Romulus” was certainly the dullest, -and least attractive. - -“I’m coming down by here to-night, Grace,” said the lad, as he opened -the gate for the child, “if you would like to see me, come out here—I -cannot bid you good-bye now—will you be here?” - -“Yes, Hugh,” was the reply given sadly—and this time it was a great -deal more than she could do to keep back or hide her tears—for Grace -Germain thought Hugh Willson the handsomest and kindest boy she ever -knew, and she could not bear to think of his going away. So she left him -with little ceremony, and went into the house. And the boy saw her -grief, and he could have wept also—he _loved_ Grace Germain! - -Well, what do you think made up that unpretending package—the parting -gift? First and foremost, there was a little box, and it contained—not -a gem, not a book, but—a fresh, beautiful rose-bud; and Grace did not -laugh when she saw it, neither did she smile as she unwound the strip of -paper from the stem, and read thereon, - - “Give _me_ but - Something whereunto I may bind my heart— - Something to love, to rest upon, to clasp - Affection’s tendrils round!” - -She did not laugh, I say, for sorrow was in her heart, the first deep -sorrow she had ever known. Hugh was going away—and how much better she -liked him than all other boys she had ever known in her life! But the -rose-bud was not all the contents of the box; there was beside it a -magnificent sheet of blue paper, gilt edged, and “superfine,” and on it -Hugh had copied the “Parting Song,” by Mrs. Hemans; and perhaps, good -reader, though you be not fresh from Yankee land, you may guess how the -child’s heart beat faster than ever it had before, as she read the -words— - - When will you think of me, dear Grace? - When will you think of me? - When the last red light, the farewell of day, - From the rock and the river is passing away, - When the air with a deep’ning hush is fraught, - And the heart goes burdened with tender thought? - Then let it be! - - When will you think of me, sweet Grace? - When will you think of me? - When the rose of the rich midsummer time - Is filled with the hues of its glorious prime, - When ye gather its bloom, as in bright hours fled, - From the walks where my footsteps no more may tread; - Then let it be! - - Thus let my memory be with you, Grace— - Thus ever think of me! - Kindly, and gently, but as of one - For whom ’tis well to be fled and gone; - As of a bird from a chain unbound, - As of a wanderer whose home is found; - So let it be! - -And what had Grace to give to Hugh? What had she among her few treasured -possessions a _boy_ would care for? The dolls maimed for life—the -broken china—the picture-books—the bits of lace and ribbons, what were -they to him? Grace never realized her poverty before that day—and then -the very thought was humiliating. If she could only buy a knife, or a -pocket-book, or a pencil-case; but the child had no purse, and, -unfortunately, no money either, so that thought was speedily abandoned. -It grew quite dark while she stood in her little room, still before the -opened drawer which held all her keepsakes and treasures, but no good -fairy was nigh at hand to lay before her the thing she wished, and at -last, quite in despair, she went and stood by the parlor window, and lo, -there was Hugh already passing by, whistling, and looking for all the -world as though the inmates of that particular house were nothing in the -least to him. - -In a few moments, side by side, the boy and girl were walking in the -garden. - -“I have read your note, Hugh,” said Grace, for the “shades of evening” -creeping over them, gave her a wonderful and unnatural boldness to -speak, “but what shall I give you for a keepsake? I haven’t a book in -the world _you_ would give a fig for.” - -“Don’t talk about books,” replied he, hastily, “there is something that -wouldn’t cost you much, I’d give more for than for all the books in -Christendom!” - -“What is it, Hugh, tell me quick?” - -“Just that curl on your forehead! Give me that, Grace, and I never will -part with it.” - -In a moment it was separated from the thick curls that adorned her head, -and stooping down, Grace laid a forget-me-not in it, and gave it to -Hugh. He—what? kissed it, and kissed Grace, and then put the curls -safely in his vest-pocket, and told the child she was the prettiest and -best girl he ever knew, and that he should miss her more than all the -boys and girls of the village together. - -But while the lad was in the very midst of his ardent protestations, a -voice from the house called to Grace, and the children parted—to meet -again, how and when you shall not be so long learning as they were. - -Hugh went to his city home, Grace to her school. He dreaming of Grace -Germain as a woman, and wondering if she would not then be his wife—she -to resume her studies with no great interest, to wish day after day that -Hugh would only come back again, and to wonder if he would be so -handsome when he was a man as he was then. - -Years passed, Grace was no longer a child but a beautiful girl—a bride; -and yet Hugh Willson was not her bridegroom. - -A rich young merchant of a neighboring town, captivated by her -loveliness and charming manners, had “wooed an won,” and a nine days’ -wonder in the village of Romulus, was the wonderful good fortune of the -orphan—for of late years Grace had been dependent on her relatives, her -parents having died while she was yet very young. - -Grace had never seen or heard of the boy of rose-bud memory since their -first parting, but her thoughts of him had always been those we have for -a pleasant unforgotten dream. And she kept the little gift that Hugh had -given her most religiously. The very night before her bridal, though she -had wept happy tears over the noble, tender note that Clarence Lovering -sent her with a splendid ornament—a wedding-gift—still she had it in -her heart even then, to look with no ordinary interest on the little -pasteboard box that held the withered flower, and to read, not -carelessly, the verses Hugh had written her in a large, boyish hand so -long ago. - -Yet it was not faithlessness to later vows that prompted her to kiss the -rose-bud, and to preserve still longer the blue note and the little box, -for Grace with all her heart respected Clarence Lovering, and she loved -him well, too. She was a lofty, true-spirited girl, and when she married -the young merchant, for better or for worse, as it might prove, she did -it with a true and loyal heart; and it was in all respects a union in -which might well be asked, and without doubt or fear, the blessing of -Heaven. - -But there were bitterer tears to be shed, and deeper griefs to be borne -than Grace Lovering had yet known; six months after her marriage she -followed her young husband to the grave, and there was none on earth -that could sustain or uphold her in that day of terrible visitation. -Voices and forms with which she was scarcely familiar came to comfort -her, but the friend whose companionship would have made any place in the -wide world a pleasant home for her, was dead; and the bereaved woman -longed to return once again to her early home—the village where all her -early life was passed—to bury her husband and lover beside her parents, -under the willow-tree in the old burial-ground, and then to mourn in -quietness, and alone, away from the scenes of the bustling, noisy town. - -And all her desires were speedily complied with—her old guardian and -uncle from the little village came to her to assist, and conduct her -back to Romulus; and before the year was passed, Grace was again at home -in the old house where she was born, and in the grave-yard near by, on -which she could daily, hourly look, her husband slept. - -Kindly and tenderly the old neighbors welcomed back the mourner to their -midst; and there, where in her childish heart love had first awakened, -there, where in later years she had watched in agony the dear ones of -the household “passing away” silently into the “silent land;” there, in -the old dwelling, which, during the few past years had stood tenantless, -and looking so broken-hearted; there, in her early womanhood, Grace -Lovering, the desolate and stricken, came back to make it her -abiding-place, her lonely _home_. She felt that to her a cold twilight -of existence only was remaining, that the sunshine which rests so richly -and revivingly on the young and the beloved, would be henceforth faint -and weak as her own heart. But it was not wholly so, time the great -soother, as well as destroyer and chastener, took the sting and the -poignancy from her grief, and, like the dove with its olive branch, -there spread through her soul that trust in Heaven’s infinite goodness, -that makes the wilderness even to blossom. - -Placed far above the reach of poverty, the miseries and cares of want -did not mingle their bitterness with her heart-sorrow. And in all, save -those few natural but dread experiences, Grace bade fair to be a “babe -at seventy,” in that unwelcome wisdom which continued misfortunes only -can impart. - -It was her thirtieth birth-day, and the anniversary of her marriage. The -widow sat alone in the pleasant parlor of her cottage; she had remained -alone that day, and with tears dedicated it to her heart’s sacred -memories. Every thing about the room and the house, was pleasantly -indicative of a refined and peaceful way of living, and of cheerfulness, -too, save and except the sorrowing woman, who, at nightfall paced the -room, and looked so sadly into the past. The curtains of the windows -were drawn and the door closed; Grace had been looking again over the -treasures of her casket. It was in that very room, twenty years before, -she had laid down on that night of their parting, to dream about Hugh -Willson, and to pray for his happiness; and now she stood there a widow, -sad and desolate, in her prime of life, thinking of the love of her -later life—and weeping as she thought—for Clarence Lovering was worthy -to be so remembered and loved. - -In the beautiful casket, _his_ gift, were laid the bridal ornaments -which he had given; she had never worn them since his death, but kept -them where no eye but her own could gaze upon them, and think of his -loving kindness, but with them was preserved still a withered flower -whose fragrance had fled quite away, and _never_ with a heart quite -calm, had Grace been able to look upon it; neither had she ever been -able to think with indifference, or a mere _idle_ curiosity of thought, -on the probable worth of Hugh Willson’s manhood. - -At length, as the night came on, the letters, and the jewels, and the -rose, were laid away, but the miniature of her lost husband was lying -next her heart then—for the love of the woman was vaster and deeper -than that of the child; and Grace had dried her tears, for the hope that -consoles the Christian mourner had conquered the agony of spirit that -for a time overwhelmed her. - -The evening proved dark and stormy, the pattering of the rain upon the -window-sill, and the still softer and more dream-like sound with which -it falls upon the grass, which is so pleasant to hear when all within -the house is bright and cheerful, was a melancholy sound to the lonely -woman, for it fell upon the graves in the burial-ground, where the damp -earth was the only shelter of her beloved ones, and its echo fell upon -that grave in her heart where lay buried the hopes of her youth—she -might have, and I know not but she did, draw from it a hope and a -promise of resurrection and of life both for her lamented dead, and for -her vanished joy in life. - -The quiet of the chamber was for a moment broken, a servant entered, a -letter laid upon the table, and then the door was closed, the post-boy -gone, and all was still again. - -Mechanically the widow tore off the envelope, and opened the epistle. -Let us read it with her, for Grace Lovering is born to a new life when -those contents are made known to her—she dwells no longer in the so -lonely present, or the sad past. For her also the future is alive again. -She did not look for a resurrection so sudden and so strange—did you? - - “Grace, dear Grace Germain, from the sands of the desert my - voice, perhaps long, long forgotten, comes to you again. It is - night, ‘night in Arabia,’ and I am for a moment alone; my - traveling companions are gone to their rest, but I—I cannot - sleep, and so have come from out my tent to write by the light - of the burning stars once again to her who _was_ the little girl - I knew and loved in childhood. You may think my man’s estate has - been reached unworthily, because I still love to think of boyish - hours, and long so to recall them—yes, that is it, _long to - recall them_. Are you yourself unable to think of them as the - very blessedest days you ever knew? If it is so, Grace, how idly - will my words fall on your ear. - - “I know nothing of what has been the fate of the child I loved - so well. I know not if you are the bride of another, or, - perchance, I may be addressing myself to one who no longer has a - name on the earth; but even if the idol of my boyish years is - living for, and to another, I can pray for and bless her. Yes, I - pray God to bless you, Grace Germain. I cannot and will not - believe that the _woman_ to whom I address myself, is no more. - There is something whispering to my spirit now, it is not so. I - feel to-night a strong conviction, an irresistible presentiment - that you and I will meet again. I dare not think _how_, but this - I know, if it is not in this world, we shall know one another - hereafter. - - “If you remember me at all, I know it is only as the wild and - trifling boy who loved you better than his books, better than - all children he ever knew. You know me not at all as the stern, - time-tried, care-worn man, who has fought fierce battles with - fortune and life, who finds himself wasting the powers of his - manhood, far severed from all domestic, humanizing ties, - treasuring in his heart only one name that makes the joyful - recollection of his youth—careless, cold, and selfish perhaps, - but never losing hold of that one, dear link to the affection, - the lasting, undying affection that was born of you in my - youthful soul, and still, still preserves its strength _through_ - you. - - “Perhaps, indeed, you do not in the faintest degree remember me. - You may have to recall with an effort the time of childhood, or - at least that time when I was your school-companion; nay, it may - be an effort for you to recall my name. Oh, if that is the - truth, how very different is it to the memory I have treasured - of you, dear Grace. My home has been upon the oceans and in the - deserts, and mid the wilds of nature every where. Many years - have passed since I left my father’s house, and my feet have - never from that time touched upon my native shores. During these - years of absence I have had opportunities to try my heart. I - have learned who are the friends most dear to me, and over the - vast sea of the desert sand, across the great ocean, let my - voice come and whisper in your ear, Grace, there are none, none - whose memory is so treasured now as is your own! The longing - which is so often felt by the wanderer for the scenes and - familiar faces of his native land, has never before pressed so - heavily on me as this night; and now I wish, oh, how eagerly, to - revisit, if it be only for an hour, that quiet place where a - portion of my school-life was passed; and yet it is only because - it is, or may be still _your_ home; and were I there again, I - might tread with _you_ along the race-course, and over the old - bridge to —— Grove, and through all the haunts now treasured - in my memory. Do you remember the gifts we gave at parting? and - did you fling away the bud as a worthless, trifling thing, even - before it was faded? Or—what madness, you will think, prompted - such an idea—do you keep it still? Perhaps you had not then so - fully awakened to the life of the heart, you may not have - dreamed that with that simple memento I gave to you the dreams - of my boyhood, the hopes of my youth. Grace, I gave you MY HEART - with the flower. I have never since recalled it. And now, if - memories are returning again to you, if you are looking half - tremblingly into the past, you will think of the little curl and - the frail forget-me-not. Oh, you will not need that I should - tell now how in danger and in suffering, and through all the - most varied experiences I have preserved them—and how I have - _not_ forgotten. - - “Last night I dreamed that you kept the rose-bud yet, and, will - you believe it, when I awakened, and recalled to mind the - proverb about the truthfulness of dreams, and their - _contrariness_, it troubled me. Thousands of miles lie between - us, and we may never meet again, all recollections of my native - land save those relating to you only, are hateful to me; but, - could I only hear your voice assuring me this night, or could I - believe that you would welcome me back, and say to me with your - own sweet voice that you were glad to see me, oh, I should run - and could not weary nor grow faint, and neither day nor night - should look upon my lagging feet until I stood once more beside - you. Thou, beautiful joy of my childhood, say, wouldst thou - welcome me? - - “Perhaps you will think I have taken an unwarrantable liberty in - so addressing you, for the friendships and loves of children - are, I know, usually evanescent as dreams, yet I cannot, will - not, think that whatever may be your position in life now, or - whatever may be the relations you sustain in life, I do not - believe that you will scorn me for the words I have written, or - that you will read carelessly this record of my thoughts. - - “Time has dealt with no light hand to me, he may have given you, - perhaps, with every passing year, a blessing. He has laid no - caressing arm on me; possibly he has guided you thus far - tenderly as a mother would lead her child. I have bowed beneath - his frown, and you, you may have grown to glorious perfectness - in the light of his smile. I have known deep sorrows—it may be, - oh, I pray it may _not_ be—that you also have not escaped the - universal heritage. It might be far beyond your possibility to - recognize in _me_ the bright boy filled with glad expectations - that you once knew; but I cannot but believe that I should know - you, and recognize you amid a multitude—the mild and beautiful - blue eyes—the meek, gentle, and so expressive countenance—the - smile, so sweet and winning, that rested so often on the face of - the dear child; oh, they are not yet forgotten. I am convinced - the _woman_ whom I love has a face whose expression is heavenly! - Do not censure me, I pray, for daring to _tell_ my love. The - hope of being with you once again, and of speaking with and - looking upon you, is like the hope of heaven to the pilgrim, - weary and out-worn with earth-striving. - - “Months will pass away before these words, uttered from the - fullness of my heart, reach you—the heart from which they come - may have ere then ceased its beating, may be cold and dead; but - will it be nothing for you to know that its beatings were ever - true to you, even though you never have, and do not now need my - homage? Will you care to think that when I wrote these words it - was my highest hope that I might one day follow them to the home - of Grace Germain, to beseech at least her friendliness, to hear - the tones of her dear voice again, and then perhaps to lie down - to rest in the grave-yard near her home, where it would be no - wrong for her to come sometimes, even from a circle of beloved - ones, to think of days gone by, the days of merry childhood. - - “I have written too much—too much; the day is dawning, we shall - journey far through the desert before to-morrow morning, but - to-night, with every word I have written, thoughts and great - hopes have awakened which will never be stilled again—they will - be with me till I stand once more before you; and if there be a - dearer one on whom your eyes will rest as you lift them from - this page, to whom you will confide this folly of an old man, as - you perhaps will call it, yet still remember me, and let him - think of me with forgiving kindness. - - “May the rich blessing of heaven be with you now and ever. - - “Hugh Willson.” - -And had Hugh Willson, indeed, committed an unpardonable trespass in -writing thus, after the lapse of so many years, to his old schoolmate? -No, no! bear witness the sudden flashings of color, and the as sudden -paleness which swept over the lady’s face as she read on; bear witness -the occasional smiles, and the long and passionate weeping in which the -lonely woman indulged, when her eyes rested so tenderly and sadly on the -name affixed to the strange epistle. They were not tears of anger that -she shed; it was not a smile of derision and mockery, at the sudden -betrayal of affection the man had given, after a silence of years; they -were not words of scorn which escaped her lips when she laid down to -rest that night; ah, no! he had powerfully touched a chord in her soul, -that from her childhood had ever vibrated even at the mention of his -name. - -There were eyes that were not closed in sleep during the hours of that -night—but it was not grief that caused the widow’s wakefulness. There -was one who listened till the morning to the heavy falling rain—but not -in sadness; there was a lady who arose when the sunlight streamed once -more through her chamber, who looked out on the blue heavens whence all -the clouds had vanished, and hailed then a new era in her life-history. - -From that day there was a marked change in the existence of Grace -Lovering. That message of love which had come to her from the desert, at -a time when life pressed heavily upon her, and death seemed the only -hope of relief; that message aroused and cheered her, and made her to -look more thankfully on the life yet vouchsafed to her, and the -blessings which had been given along with the sorrows. Though the hope, -and the thought even, seemed a wild one, that Hugh Willson would ever -again return, the idea that he even remembered her, and thought still -with interest on their childish years was grateful to her heart, and -made her feel that neither for her nor for any one in the wide world is -life _utterly_ lonely and worthless. - -True, the widowed and orphaned woman never forgot that she had _buried -her dead_, that all her nearest of kin slept the long and quiet -death-sleep; but a serenity and cheerfulness quite usurped the past -frequent melancholy, and smiles were oftener seen upon her lovely face -than tears. And not only in herself was the change visible; her -household, and the little cottage seemed to share in the awakened -happiness; and then, too, the poor and the needy had oftener cause to -bless the widowed woman. The sick and suffering shared her loving care; -and they blessed her—well might they—when she stood so often like a -ministering angel beside them. The old and the weary mingled her name in -their thanksgiving, for she failed not to make their downward path easy, -and her voice was the voice of a comforter to them. - -And this, as it were, instantaneous rousing up to active life, was a -blessed thing for Grace. Time, after that great change, sped on no -leaden wing; the clouds began to break, and stars came out, even when -she had thought nothing but midnight darkness was forever her portion. -The heart of the widow grew strong then, for she knew that when those -stars were set, or hid again as they _had_ been from her eyes, that the -great sun itself would arise, and the never-ending daylight would break -for her. - -Ten years thus passed away. The shadows of forty winters had crept over -the wife of Clarence Lovering; and still she wore the garments of -mourning, in remembrance of the husband of her youth; but it was not a -repining, murmuring spirit that dwelt beneath those doleful robes. - - “Her faith had strengthened in Him whose love - No change or time can ever shock;” - -and she dwelt on the earth blessing and blest. - -Many times her hand had been sought in marriage; strong-willed men had -bowed themselves, and sued humbly for her love—but she had none to -give, and no prospect of increased worldly prosperity could influence -her to utter with less of truthfulness and honesty of soul than she had -once spoken them, the marriage vows! - -Grace had her treasures still, and there was an unfinished romance -connected with her life, of which I would not say she did not at times -long to know the conclusion—for she felt it was not concluded. - -There were gray hairs—only a very few, my gentle reader—visible among -the beautiful brown locks, and the clustering curls Hugh Willson -treasured the memory of so well, were all vanished; there was no bloom -upon the pleasant face—the blue eyes were less bright—but the -“features of the soul” remained unchanged, or if at all changed, only in -their nearer approach to perfection. And amid her kindly charities, and -the thousand love-inspired duties had Grace forgotten the letter ten -years old, and its author! Very far from that; and it had been a source -of happiness deeper than she cared to acknowledge even to herself, to -look once again on Hugh Willson, and to hear his voice. But none save -that one letter had ever reached her from him; he might have forgotten, -though that to her seemed a thing impossible. The depths of feeling -revealed in that letter _might_ have existed no longer, or at least -might have ceased to bear _her_ reflection and image, when he had fully -exposed it to the light. He might be dead! - -Once or twice she harbored the wild idea of answering his letter, to bid -him come back—to assure him that there was at least one who would most -heartily welcome him; and at such times Grace could but smile at her own -folly—for the wanderer had no settled home, and there was no -possibility of knowing where, even for a moment, his abiding place was; -and so her natural good sense dispatched that fancy with a multitude of -others to the land of shadows and dreams. - -There came round in the natural order of things a sacrament Sabbath. - -It was one of those heavenly days in the month of all months, that is, -the “month of roses,” when, - - ——“If ever come perfect days; - Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, - And over it softly her warm ear lays; - Whether we look or whether we listen, - We hear life murmur, and see it glisten! - Every clod feels a stir of might, - An instinct within that reaches and towers, - And grasping above it blindly for light, - Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers.” - -Thus describes Lowell one of those “perfect days” I am speaking of. -(And, by the way, have you yet read that, the most exquisite poem -produced in these latter days? If you have not, I prithee leave my -romance unfinished, and inflict whatever other penance on yourself you -may deem proper for neglecting so long that “gem of the first water,” -whether regarded as a _luxuriously printed_ book, or as a poem beyond -all praise or—criticism!) - -Well, it was on a Sabbath in June, as I began to tell you when the -remembrance of “Sir Launfal” startled me from my story-telling -proprieties; the windows of the little church were opened wide, and -doubtless troops of invisible angels had entered in, to see how the -congregation would commemorate His death—and probably the assembly had -a faint idea of this, for solemn was the expression of every face, and -reverent and humble every voice, that joined in the so beautiful and -appropriate responses of the liturgy of “dear mother church!” - -In one of the slips nearest the door, a stranger had seated himself -shortly after the opening of the service; though his voice joined with -those of the congregation in the supplications and thanksgivings, he -seemed at times to be lost in other thoughts than those which _should_ -fill the minds of them who gather themselves together to worship -Jehovah. - -He was a man of middle age, and his hair was slightly tinged with -gray—exposure, or hardship, or sorrow had made him prematurely old—his -form was slightly bent, and his face was brown, as though the burning -sunlight of the East had rested long upon it. - -When the priest turned to the people at the conclusion of the service of -the day, and said— - -“Ye who do truly and earnestly repent you of your sins, and are in love -and charity with your neighbors, and intend to lead a new life, -following the commandments of God, and walking from henceforth in his -holy ways, draw near with faith, and take this holy Sacrament to your -comfort; and make your humble confession to Almighty God, devoutly -kneeling”; the stranger arose, but seemed as he did so, overcome with -strong emotion; but in a moment more he had mastered it, and followed a -portion of the congregation to the altar. And he knelt there beside -Grace Lovering, and partook with her the consecrated elements; his hands -trembled when they grasped the cup filled with the Saviour’s blood, but -I do not think that was because of the emotion arising from the thought -that he might be partaking unworthily, so much as from the fact that he -was once more standing and kneeling in the village church, where since -his boyhood he had not trod; it was because he was kneeling beside a -woman who as a child had been his embodied dream of all perfection. - -He had sought her amid the many faces totally strange around him; and -when his eyes had turned from one to another, and he knew that thus far -they had sought in vain, when they had fallen on her face at last, he -knew that it was she—the little girl—the woman middle-aged—whom he -sought, and a thrill, and a thought of thanksgiving swept through his -soul, as he looked on her still so lovely face. He felt that he had come -_home_—he dared to hope that he should never be a wanderer again—and -even in that sacred place his wild thoughts finished the romance which -had been so long in its narration. - -When the congregation went from the little church, and Grace turned -alone toward her pleasant cottage home, the eyes of the stranger -followed her—and—his feet, as of necessity, followed too. There was -very little in the quiet village that seemed familiar and dear to Hugh -Willson, as he walked down the almost noiseless street. Prosperity had -not come with its years to Romulus, and the little town had, I confess, -a decided broken-down appearance; but it was not for love of the village -Hugh had sought it; it was not because of _its_ beauty he thought it a -very Paradise! He was dreaming still a dream that had haunted him, or -rather that he had been dreaming for a score of years, and how, what if -this day he must awaken from it forever? - -When he had reached the house he had seen the lady enter, he paused a -moment, hesitatingly, for the heart of the stern man beat wildly. If it -should not prove to be her after all—though he knew _that_ was an idle -fear—but, would she care to remember him—must he look upon her, and -see her at last slowly and coldly recognize him? Must he listen to her, -and then depart again to laugh at his own folly, and to curse at the -madness and stupidity of his day-dreaming? He might find her bound by -ties lasting as life to another. But _if_ was never decisive, and Hugh -Willson must speak with Grace Germain. - -He knocked at the door of the cottage, and the widow, who had preceded -him by a few moments, answered his call immediately. - -“Does a lady called Miss Germain live here?” asked the stranger. - -“That was once my name,” replied Grace. - -_Once_, thought Hugh, and he had but little heart to proceed when he -heard that answer. - -“May I come in and ask of her father and mother? It is many years since -I left this place, and I do not find many of my old friends here.” - -There was a momentary light illumining the face of the lady as she heard -these words, but it passed, and she did not speak; but leading the way -into the parlor, she motioned the gentleman to a seat, then she said— - -“My father and mother have been dead these many years. I do not wonder -that the village seems altered to one who has been long a stranger here, -for the little life it once had is now quite gone, and there are but few -of the old settlers left here now.” - -There was a pause, and the stranger seemed to have forgotten the -inquiries he had intended making. While she was speaking he seemed lost; -but he was only living so intensely in the present, and the rush and -confusion of thought was so great he knew not what to say. The chief -thing that he longed to know, was not who had grown rich, and who poor, -who was dead, and who married, and who had moved away, but—did Grace -Germain remember an old playmate who had given her a rose-bud ever so -many years ago? - -The longer he thought, only the more embarrassing grew the stranger’s -situation. Would she not laugh to hear that he had come, when the -summer-time of life was well nigh passed, weary, and worn out with -worldly trials and sorrows and doubts, to simply ask a woman if she -remembered him? - -“I do not know that you remember,” he said at last—but having proceeded -thus far he stopped. “Have you ever heard—” he began again, and then he -broke off suddenly, seemingly forgetful of the question he had meant to -ask. But this hesitation would not do—and the man knew it would -not—and so he started up, and, as though the time was short, and they -the last words he ever intended uttering, he approached the lady, -exclaiming, - -“Grace Germain, don’t you remember a boy who went to school here long -ago, in the old frame school-house, whose name was Hugh Willson?” - -“Yes—yes—I do indeed! How could I have been so stupid! Hugh, I welcome -you back with all my heart,” was the frank and generous answer, and -Grace and the _boy_-lover shook hands heartily. - -The Rubicon was fairly passed; he was remembered, he was welcome! and in -his gratitude Hugh forgot to wonder if Grace had a husband living still, -and if he had gone off on a journey! He forgot all, save that the child -had grown to be a woman he could both love and honor—and for a moment -so complete was his happiness, that the words would not have been an -empty sound from his lips, “Lord, now let thy servant depart in peace!” - -And what thought Grace as she looked upon the face of which but one -feature, the dark and thoughtful eyes, seemed familiar? _She_ thought, -“Does he remember the letter he wrote me from Arabia—and was it truth -he wrote?” - -The Sabbath bell rung vainly in the ears of the long parted boy and girl -that afternoon, but at night-fall the wife of Clarence Lovering led the -way to the old burial-ground, and showed Hugh Willson the graves of her -parents and of her husband. And he on whose arm she leaned then, felt no -pang of jealousy when her lip faltered and her eyes wet, as she spoke of -the bridegroom of her youth—for Grace had not listened coldly or -carelessly to her companion as he had spoken to her such words as -these— - -“Grace, we are neither of us young any longer. I have grown gray in my -hard struggle with life—but there is nothing gray or dead about our -hearts. I know that by the strong and joyous beating of my own, I know -it by the heavenly peace that marks your life, surrounding you as it -were with a very halo of glory. But the passionate glow of feeling is, I -am equally confident, with neither of us any more. The noise of the -bounding brooks has gone—like the quiet, deep flow of the river is the -course of our existence now. The waves leap not so brightly in the -sunlight, but still the broad beams of the sun fall down as warmly and -as cheerily upon us. And is it too late, because I am old, for me to -find a realization of that dream which has haunted me so long? I have -been wild and fickle in the eyes of men; perhaps my way of life, could -you know it all, has not been such as you would look approvingly upon; -but, in the midst of all worldly excitements, I have always borne a -talisman in my heart that has preserved me honorable and true—the -thought of you, Grace! I have come here, not expecting to find the -little girl I left, neither altogether a woman who has known nothing of -sorrow and care; I have come to pray that I may, even at this late hour, -become your husband, your life-companion. My prayer is fraught with no -ordinary hope—it is not the bewildering dream of youth I am now -indulging—it is the highest, strongest, noblest desire of my manhood! -Have I sought in vain, or must I go forth once more a wanderer, and -friendless, with another and dearer image than has heretofore been -impressed on my life, the image of the matchless woman I have lost—or -rather cannot win?” - -And Grace had listened to his words with tears of gratitude; she had -given him her hand, and nobly said, - -“You have not sought in vain, dear Hugh. I thank God that you are here, -and if you again become a wanderer, a pilgrim, ready to give up all but -you in this life, will tread beside you! Henceforth, there are no -mountains, nor deserts, nor oceans that can divide us—the lengthening -shades of years falling around us are grateful and pleasant—the quiet -paths of life we will pursue together. Thank God that you are here!” - -Grace Lovering was not, it is true, a very youthful bride when she was -made Hugh Willson’s wife, but had she been more beautiful than “Grace -Greenwood’s” most exquisite dream of womanly loveliness, she had not -proved more lovable to the wanderer, who, when the shadows of years were -folding round him, found in her a friend, and a wife, and a worshiped -ideal! - -There were some who laughed, to be sure—there are always some that -laugh and poh! at romances in real life—and some there were who said it -was all fal de ral, the idea of a man and woman of _such_ an age -marrying for _love_. I only wish in its marvelous “progress” the world -had not journeyed up to that icy peak whence all human love, and love -matches among humans, is to be regarded as the folly of fools, and the -madness of delusion! - -Let the miserable woman now reading this page, who in her girlhood -wedded wealth—or the wretched man who in his youth was led captive by -the deceitful smiles of beauty—let these, if there be any such—and I -know very well there are multitudes—look for once within the peaceful -cottage where our hero and the dear heroine live, and if they do not -speedily begin to think with amaze on their own paltry lives, and wonder -when their romance is to begin, then—why then—I will not strive any -more to teach the people! - -Look you, reader, and more especially if you be young and beautiful, do -not sell your birthright for a tasteless mess of pottage—ah, in that -case you may as well begin to look for a tragedy, and a fearful kind of -denouement, instead of a romance and a pleasant closing of the scene! - -And furthermore the Wayside Voice saith not. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE PILGRIM’S FAST.[1] - - - BY MRS. MARY G. HORSFORD. - - - ’Twas early morn, the low night-wind - Had fled the sun’s fierce ray, - And sluggishly the leaden waves - Rolled over Plymouth bay. - - No mist was on the mountain-top, - No dew-drop in the vale, - The thirsting summer-flowers had died, - Unknelled by autumn’s wale. - - The giant woods with yellow leaves - The blighted turf had paved, - And o’er the brown and arid fields - No golden harvest waved. - - And calm and blue the cloudless sky - Arched over earth and sea, - As in their humble house of prayer - The Pilgrims bowed the knee. - - The gray-haired ministers of God - In supplication bent, - And artless words from childhood’s lips - Sought the Omnipotent. - - And many a brave and manly heart, - And woman’s gentle eye, - Inured by discipline to wo, - Were raised in suppliance high. - - No wild bird’s joyous song was heard, - No sound from shore or height, - With mute but mighty eloquence - Had Nature joined that rite: - - The drooping corn and withering grass - Upon the hot earth lay: - The lofty forest-trees had stooped - Their aged heads to pray. - - The sultry noontide came and went - With steady, fervid glare; - “Oh! God, our God, be merciful,” - Was still the Pilgrims’ prayer. - - They prayed, as erst Elijah prayed - Before the sons of Baal, - When on the waiting sacrifice - He called the fiery hail. - - They prayed, as prayed the prophet seer - On Carmel’s summit high, - When the little cloud rose from the sea - And blackened all the sky. - - And when around the spireless church - Night’s length’ning shadows fell, - The customary song went up - With clear and rapturous swell: - - And as each heart was thrilling to - That simple chant sublime, - The rude, brown rafters of the roof - Woke to a joyous chime. - - The rain! the rain! the blessed rain! - It came like Hemnon’s dew, - And watered every field and wood, - And kissed the surges blue. - - Oh! when that Pilgrim band came forth - And pressed the humid sod, - Shone not each face as Moses’ shone - When “face to face” with God? - ------ - -[1] For the narrative of the historical fact related in this poem, the -reader is referred to “Cheever’s Journal of the Pilgrims.” - - * * * * * - - - - - TO MY MOTHER IN HEAVEN. - - - BY THOMAS FIZGERALD, EDITOR CITY ITEM. - - - Dear mother, in the silent hours of night, - When stars around me shed their chastened light, - I think of thee, and mourn thou art not here, - With smile to bless, and kindly word to cheer. - - Ah, mother, life is but a thorny way; - When longest, ’tis at best a little day; - A gleam of sunshine, and anon a cloud, - The bridal robe, soon followed by the shroud. - - Dear mother, sadness fills my sleepless eye, - And tears fast follow the unconscious sigh, - But still the heart, o’erwhelmed with heavy grief, - In thought of thee, dear mother, finds relief. - - Dear mother, be thou still the watchful guide, - In honor’s path, of him who was thy pride; - So shall my feet, from snares of error free, - Tread only paths of truth, toward Heaven and thee. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE DREAM OF MEHEMET. - - - AN APOLOGUE. - - - BY RICHARD PENN SMITH. - - -Thus spoke the gray-haired dervise. Selim was left to my care; his dying -parents bequeathed him an ample fortune, and their example of virtue and -affection. Such was his inheritance. - -He was a dreamy boy, in whose soul the opposite passions reveled. Gentle -as the dove, yet, under aggression, fierce as the tiger. He loved as -angels love; hated as fiends hate. Framed as delicately as the gazelle, -yet every sinew was endowed with the tenacity of steel. At the age of -manhood, I, his old preceptor, bowed to the superior endowments of my -pupil, but knew not the fountain of his knowledge. - -I have said he was a dreamy boy, yet he had made the broad pages of -nature his book of knowledge, even while dreaming. The fertile earth -presented her abundant lap overflowing with fruit to delight his palate; -the flowers peered in his face with their variegated eyes, and sent -forth their incense, even while he trod upon them. The cadence of the -waterfall, the low twittering of the wearied bird as it flitted to its -fledglings in the nest, and the murmuring of the passing breeze as it -struggled through the grove, were to him a lullaby that charmed to sleep -as the angels sleep. Nature was his mother, and she nursed him with -play-things as her child. - -I have seen him by the small streams composing songs to the music that -the dimpled waters babbled, until his rosy cheeks dimpled and laughed in -concert with the rippling brook, as if it were a thing of life, -rejoicing in its existence, as his own pure heart rejoiced. They laughed -and babbled together. - -On the wood-clad mountains, at midnight, when the elements battled, I -have seen him straining his feeble voice to sound the master-key that -attunes to universal harmony; and having caught it, he would spring like -the antelope to a lofty waterfall to discover the same note there; and -then turn up his bright face to the stars that smiled upon him, and -laugh, expecting to hear them respond to his note as they revolved on -their eternal axes. His dark eyes smiled, and the conscious stars smiled -back in the heaven of his dark eyes, which danced with delight in the -diamond rays of the stars. - -Flowers were books to him, and from every leaf he read wisdom fragrant -with truth. He cultivated them as a father would his last child. The -little birds were his companions, and every morning he joined their -concert until the tiny minstrels seemed to imagine that he was the -leader of their orchestra. All nature was to him one mighty minister, -bestowing all, while he asked from nature no more than the blessed -privilege of imitating her, by bestowing on his fellow man all in -return. He had a dog, whose former owner had thrown into a stream to -drown as worthless. Selim swam and saved the ill-looking cur, who -followed him ever after until it appeared that instinct trod close upon -the heel of reason. Selim in his turn, while bathing, became exhausted, -and sinking beneath the stream, the dog plunged in and saved his dying -master. Was this instinct or reason? It matters not, but Selim perceived -that the Prophet had made his humanity toward a friendless dog the means -of prolonging his own existence here. Despise not little things, cried -Mehemet, for the smallest is of magnitude in the sight of the Prophet. A -straw may break the back of the overburthened; one word may consign a -man to poverty or prosperity, one deed to hell or heaven. - -Selim’s wants were few, his fortune ample, which he bestowed upon the -deserving with as liberal a hand as it had been bestowed upon himself. -Still he labored in the pursuit he had adopted, not for -self-aggrandizement, but to assist others; and he knew not why man -should be a sluggard while all nature is incessantly at work. The bee -and ant work in their season—and even the spider too. - -His garden blossomed as Eden, and the flowers offered up their grateful -incense even as they faded and died upon the universal altar of Nature’s -God. His aviary from morn until night was vocal, and when the flaming -chariot of the bright eye of day was whirled by fiery-footed steeds over -the eastern hills, I have seen him with his flute, surrounded by -nature’s tiny choristers pouring forth their matins until some note in -the universal harmony touched the heart of his poor shaggy cur who -sported around and tried to bark in unison. Then Selim laughed outright, -and the birds stopped their hymns, and seemed to laugh with Selim, and -the poor dog slunk away abashed, and slyly laughed at his miserable -failure. - -He married the dark-eyed Biribi. Selim was a poet; his soul reveled -alike in tempest or sunshine, and his voice was as musical as the wings -of the bee when he distills honey. He possessed the sweets of the bee, -and his sting also. Biribi was abjectly poor, but in Selim’s eyes as -full of truth and as beautiful as the houries. He exclaimed, I will -raise poverty above oppression, and place virtue where all her handmaids -may minister to her enjoyment. Alas! it was but a young poet’s -dream—and such dreams are too frequently disturbed by palpable agony. -Thus spoke Mehemet. - -He had a friend who was his fellow-student while under my charge. Selim -loved him as a brother, and when he married he requested Zadak to dwell -with him. Neither house, garden, nor fields could be more beautiful, -while his flocks and herds were nature’s ornaments. Such was Selim’s -Eden. - -Zadak borrowed a portion of his fortune, which he squandered; but the -poor boy simply replied, “no matter, we require but little, and enough -still remains to make us happy. Thank the Prophet for that which we -still possess, and repine not for that which we have lost. We can labor -with our fellow-men.” - -Biribi became estranged from the pure being who fancied he had made in -her bosom a nest for his dove-like heart to sing in. He awoke from a -dream of repose to battle with the tempest. Zadak had betrayed him, and -the gentle spirit of my boy was crushed between the sledge and the -anvil; but the eternal fire that burnt within him, burst forth in one -mighty blaze as the sledge fell; and even the sledge and the anvil -rejoiced at the fire they had elicited from his heart’s blood. - -What was to be done? The question was soon settled. The dove had winged -its way to heaven, but left the tiger on earth to punish the injuries -done to the dove. Selim slew Zadak, and then walked to the tribunal to -receive his sentence, knowing that an act that was approved by the -immutable principle of eternal justice in heaven, would be pronounced a -damning crime by drones who are fed to dole out punishment for breaking -the conventional rules by which fools and knaves are linked together on -earth. He confessed all before man as he had already confessed before -God. Ignominious death was his sentence in the eye of his -fellow-creature; but God changed his sentence to that of eternal life; -he died of a broken-heart, and escaped man’s justice, tempered with -degradation, and flew to the limpid and overflowing fountain—the bosom -of his Creator for justice—knowing it to be a principle of eternity, -and not of time. - -I buried him beneath a cluster of trees, where he had pursued his -studies. He had no mourners except myself and his dog. The grave of the -rich man is seldom bedewed by the tears of his heirs; while the poor -hard-working man may have many sincere mourners, provided they depended -upon his daily labor for their bread. It was spring-time; I planted -flowers from his garden over his grave, and placed his aviary among the -trees. The birds sang and the flowers smiled as if he were still with -them. One morning I missed his dog, and searched for him until the -impulse of nature guided my footsteps to the boy’s grave. The dog was -there, pillowed on a cluster of fragrant flowers—dying; big tears stood -in his leadened eyes, while the little birds from the blooming trees, -warbled his requiem. They knew the dog, and he knew the birds even while -dying. The flowers were bedewed with his tears, and I buried him beside -his master, beneath the flowers. - -Autumn came; the little birds had taken wing; the grove was no longer -vocal; the flowers had faded, and their fragrance had passed away. Well, -I exclaimed, the rosy-fingered spring will return, leading the birds -back to warble as usual, and the flowers will revive with their former -fragrance and beauty? “And is my boy dead?” my soul shrieked. “No!” -replied a voice, kindly, and it seemed to me as if the lips were smiling -as the judgment passed the lips, “the boy is not dead, but sleepeth, -awaiting his spring-time, when the birds will sing, and the flowers -bloom for him again, and bloom for eternity.” Thus spoke the dervise, -and his old frame chuckled with delight, for he was confident of the -fulfillment of the promise. - -I reposed by his grave, said Mehemet, and had a vision, which was this. -His grave opened, and he arose more beautiful than when in the bloom of -manhood. There was a bright star just over his heart, and methought it -was composed of the tears his dying dog had shed upon his grave, and I -smiled in my sleep at the fantastic thought. The flowers sent forth -their incense, and myriads of birds, as he ascended from his tomb, -fluttered about him, leading the way, warbling their anthems; the gay -flowers smiled at heaven, as if they were the eyes of the teeming earth, -laughing their gratitude. The features of Selim became more benign as he -ascended; the songs of the birds more seraphic, and the fragrance of the -flowers more refreshing. - -Suddenly a cloud of inky darkness covered the face of the earth. Two -ghastly figures emerged from it, with uplifted eyes, that were rayless, -and supplicating hands that trembled with terror. Oh! what must that man -be, exclaimed Mehemet, who trembles before the All-merciful, even while -supplicating mercy! Selim cast a look of compassion upon the guilty -pair, and tried to tear the star from his bosom to throw to them, but -the more he strove, the brighter the star became—it illuminated his -ascending spirit—and finding his efforts fruitless, he raised his -radiant face toward the boundless blue canopy, cheered onward by the -hymns of his little choristers through regions of light, and the teeming -earth smiled as she poured forth her grateful incense, as if jealous -that the disembodied spirit might forget the fragrance of this world -while reveling in the atmosphere of heaven. - -I heard a shriek of despair, and turning to the sea of darkness which -was fearfully troubled, I beheld the guilty pair, desperately struggling -in their agony against the angry billows. They struggled in vain. With a -fiendlike shriek they disappeared, and sunk through a rayless abyss of -doom, without even the tear of a dog to bewail their destiny. Selim -soared upward, and still more effulgent became the heavens as he -ascended. There was one mighty strain of seraphic music that filled the -universe; the blue arch opened, from which issued a stream of light -strong enough to restore vision to the rayless eyes of the ancient dead; -then I awoke as I beheld Selim enter the eternal portals. - -This, continued the old man, may be but a dream at present, but the time -will come when it must be verified. He then slowly tottered to his cell -to dream out the remnant of his existence. - - * * * * * - - - - - WILD-BIRDS OF AMERICA. - - - BY PROFESSOR FROST. - - -[Illustration] - - - THE BLUE-BIRD. - -The Blue-Bird is a great favorite with the farmer. Its principal food -being beetles, spiders, grasshoppers, caterpillars, and other insects, -he affords great assistance to the fruit-trees, and vegetables of all -kinds. He is one of the earliest spring visiters, appearing in -Pennsylvania in the latter end of February, and trilling forth his -feeble though pleasing song more than a week before the other early -visiters. The species ranges over a large extent of latitude, being -found in the forty-eighth parallel, and southward to the tropics. They -probably also migrate to the Bermudas and West Indies, and certainly -pass the winter in our Southern States and Mexico. The common belief -that this bird remains dormant during the winter in Pennsylvania, -appears to be ill-founded; since the few who do not migrate, no doubt -seek out some warmer shelter near man than is afforded by the bleakness -of nature. - -The early song of the Blue-Bird announces to the farmer the approach of -spring. So gladdening is this to the rustic villager, that he generally -takes every method to accommodate his familiar little companion, -building boxes for him, exposing materials, and imitating his plaintive -whistle as he hops along the furrow of the plough. The affection of the -male bird for his mate is remarkable. “When he first begins his amours,” -says an accurate observer, “it is pleasing to behold his courtship; his -solicitude to please and to secure the favor of his beloved female. He -uses the tenderest expressions, sits close by her, caresses, and sings -to her his most endearing warblings. When seated together, if he espies -an insect delicious to her taste he takes it up, flies with it to her, -spreads his wings over her and puts it in her mouth.” On such occasions, -should a rival stray within the hallowed limits he is treated without -mercy, and the victor returns to warble out his strain of exultation. - -The nest of the Blue-Bird is generally made in the hollow of an old -tree, or in the free quarters provided by man. The female lays five or -six eggs, of a pale blue color, and raises two broods in a season. Their -affection for their young is fully equal to that of the male for his -mate, and when the hen is sitting the second time, the former brood is -cherished and reared by the other parent. In the fall, when insect food -becomes scarce, they eat berries, seeds, persimmons and other fruit. -Their song is a soft and agreeable warble, uttered with open quivering -wings. “In his motions and general character,” says Wilson, “he has -great resemblance to the Robin Redbreast of Britain; and had he the -brown olive of that bird, instead of his own blue, could scarcely be -distinguished from him. Like him he is known to almost every child; and -shows as much confidence in man, by associating with him in summer, as -the other by his familiarity in winter. He is also of a mild and -peaceful disposition, seldom fighting or quarreling with other birds. -His society is courted by the inhabitants of the country, and few -farmers neglect to provide for him in some suitable place a snug little -summer-house, ready fitted and rent free. For this he more than -sufficiently repays them by the cheerfulness of his song, and the -multitude of injurious insects which he daily destroys. Toward fall, -that is in the month of October, his song changes to a single plaintive -note, as he passes over the yellow many-colored woods; and its -melancholy air recalls to our minds the approaching decay of the face of -nature. Even after the trees are stripped of their leaves, he still -lingers over his native fields, as if loath to leave them.” - -The Blue-Bird is nearly seven inches in length, with the wings -remarkably full and broad. The upper part of the body, neck and head are -sky-blue, inclining to purple. The under parts are chestnut, the bill -and legs black, with portions of the same color about the wings, tail -and sides. In the female the colors are less bright. The young are -hardy, strong, and highly teachable. The Blue-Bird is not often -subjected to the confinement of the cage. - -[Illustration] - - - THE GROUND-ROBIN. - -This bird is also known as the Towee-finch, the Tshe-wink and Pee-wink, -names derived from its favorite notes. It is found in great numbers in -woods and overgrown meadows, and sometimes along the banks of streams, -and is both familiar and playful. A pair will sometimes roam for a great -distance along a water-course, scratching for insects, worms or seeds, -and encouraging each other by their simple cry of tow-wee, tow-wee. They -sometimes forage along gardens or pea-patches. On such occasions, they -behold the approach of man with but little concern, and fly off only -when in danger of being taken. The species is found in Canada, and -probably farther north among the Rocky Mountains, and southward -throughout the United States. They are, however, more abundant east of -the Alleghanies than to the west. Sometimes, but not often, they pass -the winter in Pennsylvania, but are constantly in the milder States -during that season. - -Their manner of building is rather peculiar; the nest being fixed on the -ground, below the surface, and covered with leaves, or the shelter of an -adjoining bush. It is rarely raised above the ground. The materials are -fine bark, leaves, moss, dried grass and down. Sometimes part of the -adjoining herbage is employed. The eggs are four or five in number, -white, with a flesh color tint, and spotted with brown. In New England -they raise but one brood, but in warm States two, the first in June, and -the second during the following month. During this period they artfully -draw the intruder from their charge, by pretending lameness, and feebly -retreating as he pursues. - -The Ground-Robin is about eight inches long, and eleven across the -wings. The throat, neck, and whole upper part of the body is black, with -feathers of the same color, interspersed with white, in the wings and -tail. The belly is white, with bay thighs. In the female and young the -black of the male is changed for olive brown, and there is less pure -white in the tail and wings. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE FORTIETH SONNET OF PETRARCA. - - - If honest love e’er merited reward, - If worship win the meed of yore it won, - I should be blest, since purer than the sun - The love my sighs and poesy record; - Yet ’tis not so: unwillingly are heard - My vows, and all regardlessly are flung - Her eyes o’er burning lines wherein is sung - Her matchless beauty, and my grief is bared. - But yet I hope that some day she may deign - To hearken to the tribute I have brought - And smile at least return for all my tears. - Still it may be I’ll languish here in vain - Until that dread catastrophe is wrought, - When time shall harvest all its sheaf of years. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: CROSS PURPOSES.] - - * * * * * - - - - - CROSS PURPOSES. - - - BY KATE. - - - [SEE ENGRAVING.] - -It is rather a dangerous experiment, this sporting with the feelings of -a sweetheart, as many a loving swain has found; as Andy Bell and Harry -Lee found, when they indulged in a walk home from church with Lilly -James and Aggy Moore, to the neglect of two sweet sisters, Jane and -Florence May. - -Jane and Florence were the real sweethearts. Of the moonlight rambles -they had enjoyed together; of the loving words whispered in the maidens’ -ears; of the kisses beneath the shadows of old trees, stolen from half -shrinking lips, we will say nothing. But such things had been. And even -more. Mutual pledges of love had passed. Harry had vowed to Jane that, -as she was the sweetest maiden in all the village, so she was to him the -dearest; and Jane had drooped her eyes, and leaned closer to him, thus -silently responding to the declaration of love; and when he took her -hand, she let it linger in his warm clasp as if he had a right to its -possession. And the same thing, slightly varied according to -temperament, had happened with Andy and Florence. For months, the two -young men were untiring in their attention to the sisters. Invariably, -when the little congregation that worshiped in the village church on -Sundays was dismissed, Andy and Harry were at the door, waiting for the -expectant maidens, whom they as invariably attended home, lingering -always by the way, to make the distance longer. And when the evening -shadows fell in the winter, or the sun sunk low toward the western hills -in the spring and summer time, at the waning of the Sabbath, the young -men were sure to make their appearance at the quiet cottage home of the -happy sisters. - -Thus it had been for months, and all the village knew that they were -sweethearts; and it was even said—how the intelligence was gained we -know not—that, at the next Christmas, there would be a double wedding -in Heathdale. Thus it was, when, one bright Sunday morning, as Andy Bell -and Harry Lee were on their way to church, the former, who was in a -gayer humor than usual, said, laughing as he spoke— - -“Suppose we plague the girls a little after meeting?” - -“How?” asked Harry. - -“If you’ll walk home with Aggy Moore, I’ll play the gallant to Lilly -James.” - -“Agreed,” was the thoughtless reply. - -“And yet,” said Andy, “I wouldn’t give the little finger of Florence for -Lilly’s whole body.” - -“Nor would I give Jane’s little finger for a dozen Aggy Moores.” - -Even at this early stage of the affair, both parties half repented; but -neither felt like proposing to give up the little frolick agreed upon. - -During the service the young lovers found their eyes meeting those of -their sweethearts with accustomed frequency. But neither Andy nor Harry -felt as comfortable as usual. Besides being about to deprive themselves -of a long enjoyed pleasure, both felt misgivings as to the effect of -their temporary desertion and disappointment of the expectant maidens. - -At last the benediction was said, and the congregation began moving -toward the door. Andy and Harry were out before the girls. - -“Shall we do it?” asked the former. - -“Oh, certainly,” replied Harry. And yet this was not said with the best -grace in the world. - -“There’s Aggy,” whispered Andy. - -“I see,” returned Harry, moving forward, as Aggy stepped from the -church-door. Just behind her was Jane, with her bright, dancing eyes, -and lips just parting in a smile, as she caught sight of her lover. She -moved forward more quickly, but stopped suddenly. Harry had spoken to -Aggy, and was now walking away by her side. Just then Lilly James came -forth, and Andy, crossing before Florence, who appeared at the same -time, bowed to the maiden, and seeming not to see Florence, moved away -from the church-door, smiling and chatting with a free and careless air. -Neither of the young men looked behind to see the effect of all this -upon the two young girls. But, to some extent, they imagined their -feelings, and the picture fancy presented was not the most agreeable to -contemplate. - -It required an effort on the part of both Andy and Harry to continue to -play the agreeable to the two young ladies they had substituted thus -temporarily, and in sport, for their sweethearts, long enough to see -them fairly home. They did not meet again until toward evening, and then -each was on his way to seek the cottage-home of the one loved most -dearly of any thing in the wide world. - -“I wonder what they will say?” was uttered by Andy, in a doubting tone, -as they moved along. - -“Goodness knows! I’m afraid Jane took it hard,” remarked Harry. “I saw -her countenance change as I turned to walk with Aggy.” - -“It was a foolish prank, to make the best of it. But we must laugh it -off with them.” - -“I rather think we shall be paid back in our own coin,” said Harry. -“Jane, I know, has a little spice about her.” - -And Harry was not far wrong. When the two young men arrived at the -cottage, and entered in their usual familiar way, the room where the -maidens sat, they were received in a manner not in the least agreeable -to their feelings. Both Jane and Florence had been deeply hurt by the -conduct of their lovers; and both had indulged freely during the -afternoon in the luxury of tears. The meaning of what had happened, they -couldn’t tell. Had all this appearance of affection been a mere -counterfeit? Were they the victims of a heartless coquetry? Or had Lilly -and Aggy, through some strange influence, won the hearts of their -lovers? - -Great was the relief experienced by the troubled sisters when, on the -waning of the Sabbath, they saw their truant swains approaching as -usual. But, with this sense of relief, came a maidenly indignation, and -a determination to resent the wanton slight that had been put upon them. -Clouds were on the faces once so smiling and happy, when the young men -entered, and their presence, so far from dispersing these clouds, only -caused them to grow darker. It was in vain that every effort was made to -remove them; not a sun-ray came to dispel their gloomy shadows. -Explanations were made. The apparent slight was acknowledged as only a -merry jest. However this relieved the oppressed hearts of the maidens, -it did not lighten up their sober faces. Forgiveness and smiles were not -to come so easily. - -Andy affected to treat the whole matter lightly, and rather jested with -Florence; but Harry’s sweetheart seemed so deeply grieved and wounded, -that he had little to say after the first few efforts at reconciliation. -Finally, the young men went away, apparently unforgiven; and all -parties, for the next week, were unhappy enough. Sunday came again; and -now the doubt in the minds of the young men was, whether, if they -offered to go home as usual with Jane and Florence, they would be -permitted by the offended maidens to do so. This doubt was, in a -measure, dispelled during the morning service, for more than a dozen -times did Andy catch a stealthy glance from Florence, in which was a -beam of forgiveness; and the same thing happened to Harry as he turned -his eyes frequently upon Jane. At last the service ended; and, as the -young girls passed from the door, their lovers were beside them as -usual. There was no repulse. The maidens were too glad to have them -there once more. But, the feelings of each were sobered. Evening came, -and they met as before. Their intercourse was tender but not joyous as -it had been. And thus it was for weeks ere their hearts lost a sense of -oppression. The reader may be sure that there were no more games at -cross purposes after this. The lovers were cured of all inclination to -indulge further in that species of pastime. - - * * * * * - - - - - LINES - - - ON BURNING SOME OLD JOURNALS AND LETTERS. - - BY THE LATE WALTER HERRIES, ESQ. - - - Ay, let them perish—why recall - Dreams of a by-gone day? - Why lift Oblivion’s funeral pall - Only to find decay? - The heart of youth lies buried there, - With all its hopes and fears, - Its burning joys, its wild despair, - Its agonies and tears. - - A light has vanished from the earth, - A glory left the sky, - Since first within my soul had birth - Those visions pure and high; - Or is it that mine eye, grown dim, - Hath lost the power to trace - The glory of the Seraphim - Within life’s holy place? - - Methinks I stand midway between - The future and the past, - The onward path is dimly seen, - Behind me clouds are cast; - Why should I seek to pierce that gloom - And call the buried host - Of haunting memories from the tomb— - Each one a tortured ghost? - - I could not look upon the page, - With eloquence o’erfraught, - Where, ere my head had grown so sage, - My heart its wild will wrought; - I could not—would not—ponder now - O’er my youth’s wayward madness, - Which left no stain on soul or brow, - Yet shrouded life in sadness. - - Ay, let them perish!—from the dream - Of Passion’s wasted hour - There comes no retrospective gleam, - No spectre of the flower: - The treasured wealth of Eastern kings - Enriched their burial fire, - And thus my heart’s most precious things - Shall build its funeral pyre. - - * * * * * - - - - - UNCLE TOM. - - - BY “SIMON.” - - - CHAPTER I. - -A strange old man was my Uncle Tom. He was my father’s only and elder -brother, and more than all, he was a bachelor; not one of those sour -specimens of humanity who are continually railing at everybody and every -thing—more especially “the sex”—but a hearty, hale, good-natured -gentleman of the old school, straight as a poplar, and his heart had as -many green leaves withal. He was still a boy in feeling, though winter -had begun to spread its snows over his head. He was far from hating -women, though when he talked of them, or thought of them, a look of -sadness would sometimes overspread his countenance; and when he saw some -fairy phantom that had not yet escaped her “teens,” in the full flush of -maiden grace and beauty, old recollections seemed to come over him with -a deep and maddening influence. - -No one ever told me the cause of this temporary dejection, and Uncle Tom -seemed unwilling to be questioned concerning it. There needed no -questioning. From our cottage, a smooth-worn path led across the fields -to the village church-yard, which lay at about a quarter of a mile -distant. Passing through a gap in the wall, it wound among the -grass-grown hillocks, and stopped abruptly before a small, gray stone, -which stood in the corner nearest the church, and on which this simple -epitaph was engraved: Mary, æt. 18. This told his whole story; for the -small, gray stone was overgrown with lichens and mosses, and I remember -the solitary pathway when but a child. - -Uncle Tom was not rich, but he had enough to satisfy all his wants. He -had always lived with us since my remembrance, and we all had a -mysterious love and veneration for him, which we could but half explain. -His little room on the south-west corner of the house we never entered -without a special invitation; not because we stood in any fear of him, -but because we respected his quiet, half-eccentric manner, and were not -willing to disturb his solitary studies and meditations. We were often -invited there of an evening, for Uncle Tom liked to have young, happy -people around him. He used to say it made him young again, and caused -his silver hairs to hide themselves; and he thought a man should always -have the heart of a child, no matter how much experience and life-labor -had whitened his head. - -During our visits to his study, we were at liberty to handle every thing -which came within our reach, and the room was generally in a sweet -confusion when we left it. Yet this did not trouble him, it rather -pleased him the more. In truth he was so good-natured that nothing could -vex him; and I remember one evening when he pulled sister Ruth’s doll -out of his great horn inkstand, where it stood, heels upward, like a -pearl-diver, his only exclamation was, “Just as I used to be—children -all over!” - -Directly opposite the great arm-chair, where he usually sat during the -day, hung a picture; yet it was not for us to see. A plain blue curtain -was always drawn over it, which hung as silently, and always in the same -folds, as if it had not been withdrawn for many years. I knew it was the -portrait of a young girl, and very beautiful; for one evening, when, -according to invitation, we were in the study playing the mischief with -every thing that came under our hands, a slight breeze from the west -window fluttered and raised the curtain, and revealed the picture to me -by the dim light of the study-lamp. I, of course, did not know who it -was intended to represent, but it was always connected in my mind with -the solitary path to the church-yard; and I always thought of her as the -Mary of the little gray stone; yet I never spoke of it to any one, not -even sister Ruth. It seemed something sacred, something which I ought -not to know, and that the knowledge thus accidentally acquired ought not -to be divulged by me. - -But the pleasantest thing of all was, when Uncle Tom came down into the -kitchen of a winter’s evening, and told one of the beautiful stories -which he could relate so well. Ah! no one could tell stories like Uncle -Tom. He would enter into the subject so earnestly, that we took every -thing for truth, and laughed or cried, as the nature of the case -demanded; and many a time in the midst of a sad passage, my father has -let the fire go out of his pipe before it was half smoked, and I have -seen the tears stream down sister Ruth’s cheek, and heard her sob as if -some great misfortune were hanging over some one of us; and I have known -Uncle Tom’s voice to grow tremulous; and his lip quiver, as if something -in the narrative lay near his heart, but by a powerful effort he would -always master his feelings and go calmly on with his story. - -I shall try to report some of these stories at second hand, narrating -carefully as my memory serves, always in Uncle Tom’s words; but they -will be nothing so good as when he, with his low musical voice and -earnest manner, related them to our little family, who, in likening -silence formed a half circle around the huge walnut logs that blazed and -simmered on the kitchen hearth. - -It was the last night of December, and the north wind howled around the -chimney, and the icicles clattered on the eaves and dropped against the -casement with a tip-tap, like wayfarers asking admittance. A great fire -of logs was blazing on the hearth, and the half circle was almost -formed. On one side of the fire-place sat father, double-shotting his -black tobacco-pipe. Next him was mother, just turning the heel of a -stocking. Sister Ruth occupied the next chair, and she was very busy -working a wash-woman’s register on the top of a bachelor’s pincushion; -beside her sat the bachelor for whom this piece of domestic goods was -working. He was a cousin, and bore the family name—Charley, we called -him. He and Ruth seemed to enjoy each other’s society very much, and -passed the greater part of their leisure time together. My place was -next to Cousin Charley, and on my left hand the vacant arm-chair was -waiting for Uncle Tom—to complete the family circle. - -At length the door opened, and the pleasant old man appeared. He entered -rubbing his hands and smiling most benignantly. Every chair moved about -an inch, as if to make room for him, though each one knew there was room -enough already. Father lighted his pipe, and mother turned the heel; -sister Ruth left off her embroidery in the middle of “shirts,” and -Cousin Charley gave his chair a hitch nearer to her, while I sat quite -still. Even the blazing logs on the fire gave an extra hiss and flare, -as if they, too, were making preparations to listen attentively. Uncle -Tom, with a few pleasant words, and a great many pleasant smiles, took -his accustomed seat and commenced the evening entertainment in these -words: - -About five miles from Boston, on one of the great thoroughfares leading -to the city, there used to stand an old-fashioned country-seat. It was -placed somewhat back from the road, and screened from the dust by a -thick-set hawthorn-hedge, which grew as straight and regular as -brick-work. The walks within were laid out with the same regularity and -neatness, and lead with many a labyrinthine turn through the whole -premises. Now it took you by an oval pond, where the bright scales of -gold fish glanced in the sun; now among flower-beds formed into -Catharine-wheels and gothic crosses; then away among groves and -trellises almost impervious to the sun. There were a great many -beautiful things that I shall not attempt to tell you of. Every thing -was beautiful, and proclaimed a wealthy proprietor, even to the silver -plate on the front door, bearing in bold writing-hand, the name, “John -Maynard.” He was rich—John Maynard was a retired merchant. In the full -flush of commercial prosperity, his beloved wife had fallen into the -quiet sleep of death. After that, business grew irksome to him; he could -not bear the busy hum of the city; the home where he had been happy, was -so no more to him; and taking with him his oldest and most trusty clerk, -he, with his only child, Alice, removed to this quiet spot. The care of -his property was left almost entirely to his tried and honest clerk, -David Deans; his own time was occupied either in his study or in the -society of his daughter, who, being an only child, was, of course, -indulged in all her little whims and fancies, until she had assumed the -reins of government, and was nearly spoiled. - -One evening Mr. Maynard, or Old John, as he was familiarly called, sat -on the western piazza as the sun was setting. He looked the hale and -hearty old gentleman, one before whom care and trouble would vanish like -the thin spiral clouds of cigar smoke, which ever and anon he puffed -from between his lips. Yet withal he had a look of determination, -something which said he would have things his own way when he desired -it; and yet he had a way of gaining his ends so pleasantly and adroitly, -that no one knew his intentions until they were accomplished. - -Puff, puff, there he sat smoking away and thinking of something very -pleasant, no doubt, for a smile would occasionally play round the -corners of his mouth, and he would rub his hands together with infinite -satisfaction. - -Soon a light step was heard in the hall, and his daughter, Alice, -appeared. - -Everybody said Alice was a beauty; and so far everybody told the truth. -Her dark hair and dark eyes, and delicate complexion would win many a -heart that had sworn eternal hostility to her sex. And then she was as -full of life as of beauty, and had such winning ways, that nothing could -resist her. She inherited from her father a slight vein of willfulness, -and it was really a pleasure to see them contending together, Old John -in his humorous, quiet way, bringing up irresistible arguments, and she, -dashing them all to pieces by the most illogical processes imaginable; -and he would generally laugh and let her have her own way. - -“Papa,” said she, “why did you send David Deans away? I’m sure it was -very cruel of you. He has lived with us so long, and is so quiet and -industrious! I’m sure it will break his heart. And then, besides, his -poor sister will have to go into service again. It is too bad, I -declare—” - -“Now don’t, Ally,” said Old John, passing his arm quietly around his -daughter’s waist, and talking in the best humor imaginable, “don’t -trouble yourself about David. What do you know about business? You take -care of the women-servants, and see that we have tea on the table by -seven o’clock exactly, for I expect the new clerk every minute. I’ll -take care of David—” - -“I know I shan’t like the new clerk,” said she, pouting. - -“Well, who wants you to like him, little minx?” said Old John, at the -same time drawing her closer to him, and giving her a hearty kiss. - -“But I shall hate him,” continued she, determined to be obstinate. - -“Well, hate him if you will,” replied her father, not in the least -angry; “but I can tell you he is a very lively fellow, and not -accustomed to be hated by the ladies. However, you had better hate him. -You must reserve all your love for Harry Wilson, you know.” - -“Oh, that dreadful Harry Wilson,” exclaimed Alice, struggling to throw -off her father’s arm, by which he still held her in close confinement. -“Pray don’t talk of him again.” - -“And why not?” said Old John; “he is to be your husband, you know.” And -a smile, half merry, half serious, played over his features as he said -this. “His father and I were old schoolmates, and he would die of grief -if he thought we were not to be brothers after all.” - -“His son and I were never old schoolmates, at all events,” exclaimed -Alice, still struggling, but in vain. Old John held her fast, and his -merry face settled into a serious, earnest expression as he added, - -“Besides, he once saved my life.” - -Alice answered nothing. There was something in the manner in which he -said these words, as well as in the meaning of the words themselves, -which completely subdued her. The tears beamed in her beautiful dark -eyes; she threw her arms round his neck and rested her head on his -shoulder; her long, black locks streamed over his bosom—yet she said -nothing. - -Old John drew her closer to him and kissed her tenderly. - -“There, Ally, dear,” he said, “we wont talk any more about it now. I -know you will do all you can to make your old father happy.” - -Still she said nothing, but clung very close to him. - -She was a good girl, was Alice, only a little willful. - -A servant entered, announcing Mr. Davis. This was the new clerk. - -“Conduct him this way,” said Mr. Maynard. “Come, Ally, don’t let him -surprise us in a family quarrel. We must make his first impressions good -ones.” - -Things were put to rights in less time than it takes to tell of it, and -the new clerk approached them. - -“Glad to see you, Walter,” exclaimed Old John, grasping the new comer’s -hand, and looking a cordial welcome. “Ally, this is Walter Davis, the -new clerk.” - -Notwithstanding her determination to hate him, she smiled very -pleasantly as he took her hand, and her welcome word was said with a -very good grace. - -The new clerk was apparently about twenty-two years of age, rather tall, -but well formed; he was dressed in a very plain suit—becoming his -situation; and yet there was something noble about him for all that. You -could see it in the firmly compressed lips, the deep, thoughtful eye, -and the easy, manly bearing. He certainly was not the person one would -choose to hate. - -Alice was much surprised at his general personal appearance and -demeanor. Her ideas of a clerk were all formed from the quiet, -unpretending David Deans, who had almost grown old in their service. She -forgot that the new comer was at present a visiter, not yet having -entered upon his clerkship. At the tea-table, too, she observed how -perfectly easy and composed he seemed. He could answer questions without -blushing, and ask others without stammering. There was a -straightforwardness about him, which seemed to win upon her father -wonderfully, and he never seemed in a more pleasant mood than then. -There was something in his manner so dignified and gentlemanly that she, -too, could not help reacting him, although in her good-night to her -father, she added, “I’m sure I shall hate him for taking poor David’s -place.” - -“Wait a bit, Brother Tom,” interrupted father—“pipe’s out.” - -“Well,” said Uncle Tom, “while Brother Bill is lighting his pipe, we -will glide over two months and make ready for a new chapter.” - - - CHAPTER II. - -Two months had passed away, and affairs went on swimmingly at the -country-seat. Old John seemed to find his new clerk a remarkably -pleasant companion, and passed much of his time in the little -counting-room. He was fast growing into the good graces of Miss Alice -too; for true manliness will always find its way into every heart. She -began to like him very much, and seemed pleased to have him near her; -and indeed would sometimes meet his advances more than half way. -Perhaps, like a dutiful daughter, she followed her father’s example, and -liked the clerk because he did, or perhaps she thought he must be very -lonely, and took compassion on him: How this may be I cannot tell; but I -do know that she liked him, and liked him very well too, as might be -seen by any one who observed her. She often walked in the direction of -the counting-room, which stood at some little distance from the house, -and frequently sat with her embroidery in the trellised arbor that -overlooked it. The flowers, too, which always ornamented her -parlor-mantle, were generally gathered from the beds in this part of the -garden, although they were not half so fragrant or pretty as those which -grew nearer the house. Indeed, she had found it necessary once or twice -to open the counting-room, and actually go in when no one but the young -clerk was there; and at such times he received her with such a frank, -cordial greeting, and talked so pleasantly to her, that she would gladly -have changed her arbor boudoir for this little room, crowded with -business and ponderous ledgers as it was. And once, when the clerk left -her for a moment, she actually climbed upon the long-legged desk-stool, -to see if it were really as uncomfortable as it looked to be; at least -so she said, when he, returning suddenly, surprised her on that high -perch. But he helped her down so gently, and gallantly, that she would -have been willing to try the experiment often, even if it were as -uncomfortable as it looked. - -She was always delighted whenever Walter requested the pleasure of her -company through the grounds. She would take his arm without any -unnecessary coquetry, and full of life and love they would thread every -walk of the labyrinth, not excepting the Catharine-wheels and the gothic -arches. In the grove they would listen to the songs of the birds, and -together wonder what they were saying to each other, and invent many -strange translations, interesting to none but themselves. They would -stand long on the edge of the pond, and Alice leaned heavily on the -clerk’s arm, you may be sure, as they watched the gold-fish darting -across the little basin so rapidly that the whole surface of the water -seemed marked with red lines. He gathered flowers for her, too, as they -walked leisurely along, and each bouquet thus formed was, to her, a -whole book of love, each flower telling its own particular tale. As the -sun touched the horizon they would climb up to the arbor, while the -birds sung their “good-night,” and watch the bright colors grow and fade -upon the western sky, and build landscapes and cathedrals and cottages -of the ever-changing clouds. - -Yet in his conversations with her, Walter was never sickly sentimental -or flattering. He always spoke just what he felt; and sometimes a plump, -downright honest thought would find itself clothed in words, which many -would call coarse and ill-bred; but from him they came so frankly that -she never thought of such a thing, but liked him the more for them. He -never flattered her, never told her how beautiful she was, but his whole -manner was a tacit acknowledgment of her beauty, truer and plainer than -words could express it. And Alice was as simple, and talked as plainly -to him as if he had been a brother. - -O, those evening walks were beautiful to both, but they were laying a -foundation for something deeper and more lasting than common friendship, -notwithstanding Harry Wilson and the two good fathers. Their natures -were gradually blending into each other like two neighboring colors of -the rainbow, and the line between them would soon become extinct, and a -separation must be the destruction of both. It was very strange that Old -John, with his brotherly intentions toward Harry Wilson’s father, didn’t -observe this, for he often surprised them earnestly conversing in the -sunset arbor, long after the dews had begun to fall and the birds had -ceased their evening song. - -He must indeed have been very dull and stupid, not to observe that -something was going on between the two young people, that would play the -deuce with his darling project. But no, he didn’t seem to; for he was -never in better spirits than then, never half so talkative or playful. -He evidently did not think his cherished scheme was about to miscarry. - -One evening he and the clerk sat on the piazza together. The parlor -windows were open, and Alice sat at the piano and played to them. Old -John began to talk about the business transactions of the day, and -seemed particularly delighted at certain good news which he had heard, -and which he had just finished relating to the clerk. - -“Remarkable, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. - -But he might as well have talked to the plaster statue of Neptune which -stood on the green before him, as to the young clerk. He was either -listening attentively to the music, or else his thoughts were far away, -for he took no notice of what Old John said to him, but sat silent, his -head leaning upon his hand and his eyes fixed upon vacancy. - -“Hey! what’s all this?” exclaimed Old John, starting up and shaking the -clerk’s arm. “What! dreaming by moonlight! A bad sign—very bad -sign—too romantic by half! Here, Ally—Ally! come here directly,” he -continued, shouting to his daughter. - -Walter started up and would have prevented him, but he continued to -call, and soon the piano ceased to sound, and Alice made her appearance. - -“What do you want, papa?” she asked. - -“Here is this fellow,” he answered, “falling asleep in the midst of our -conversation; dreaming by moonlight! I want you to keep him awake.” - -“I beg pardon, sir,” said the clerk, attempting an excuse, “but I was -thinking—” - -“O, but that wont do,” said Old John, “I was talking. However, I will -tell you how we will make it up. You shall sing that duet with Alice; -the one you sung last night, and mind you don’t go to sleep before it is -finished, or—” and he finished the sentence with a shake of the finger. - -“I will undertake it willingly,” said the clerk. - -Walter moved his chair closer by the side of Alice, and took his seat. -But there was still a difficulty; neither of them could determine on the -right pitch. Alice ran and struck a note on the piano, and returned -sounding it all the way. She sat down, and her hand involuntarily fell -upon Walter’s; he pressed it in his own, and the duet commenced. - -Both the words and the music were very simple; they were the expression -of love, pure and holy; and never did they sing better. Walter’s whole -soul was thrown into the words, and his heart beat to the sounds his -lips uttered. A slight pressure of her hand expressed to Alice how -truly, how deeply he felt the beauty of love, and her voice trembled as -she sung, adding still more to the music. - -There was silence for a short time after the sound of their voices had -ceased. It seemed Old John’s turn to dream now. The beautiful music had -called up old, happy scenes to his mind; perhaps the thoughts of his -youth and first-love were leading him far away; for he sat silently, -with his hand drawn across his eyes, as if to shade them from the -moonlight. - -Alice approached him, and drew her arm around his neck. He started as if -from a trance, and said—“That was well, very well. I like that music. -There, now, Ally, you and Walter take a walk through the grounds. I’ll -light a cigar, and sit here by myself, and—And dream! hey, Walter!” - -Alice left him with a kiss, and taking Walter’s arm they disappeared -round an angle of the building, and walked onward toward their favorite -arbor. Every thing was silent around them; the glowing leaves hanging -motionless upon the trees, and the many-colored flowers, all seemed -listening, as if to some revelation of the night. The fish-pond was one -entire sheet of silver; not a ripple disturbed its peaceful surface; and -the soft moonlight streamed through the chinks of the vines and gothic -trees, and checkered the pathway and the floor of the arbor, as the -sunbeams shining through stained cathedral windows rest on the pavement. -The arbor was their chancel, and there the two lovers stood side by side -as if before an altar; and there Walter told Alice how deeply, how truly -he loved her; how often he had sat alone since they had known each -other, and yet not been lonely, for her image had always been present to -comfort and to counsel him; how he had longed for the time to come when -he could make this confession to her, when he could press her to his -bosom as the dearly beloved one. - -Alice did not speak. She was always silent when she felt most deeply; -but her silence was singularly eloquent. She did not attempt to withdraw -the little hand which he held so tightly. She did not try to remove the -arm that encircled her waist. Her head lay upon his bosom, and she wept -for very joy. - -Now what had become of Old John’s brotherly scheme? The rainbow hues -were now completely blended. - -Soon after the two lovers had turned toward the house, Old John came -stealing cautiously through a neighboring path, where he had been an -accidental, though perhaps not an unwilling listener. - -“Good!” he exclaimed in a half whisper, rubbing his hands and smiling -most merrily. “I shall hate him, I am sure,” he added, mimicking Alice. -“Good!” And again he rubbed his hands and smiled with infinite -satisfaction. - - - CHAPTER III. - -The summer had passed away, and autumn was spreading its rich mantle of -yellow leaves over the trees and shrubs of the old country-seat. The -birds were collecting together in troops, for their journey to warmer -lands, and their songs above the arbor were sadder than when we last -listened to them. The golden fruit hung temptingly upon the trees, and -on the smooth surface of the fish-pond floated many a withered leaf. The -year was growing old, and its rich covering of foliage was becoming gray -and falling off, yet in the hearts of Walter and Alice love was as green -and as warm as on the bright summer evening when they made their mutual -confessions. - -They had not yet made Old John their confidant; they were waiting for a -convenient season. And he, though he must have known something of their -intercourse, never asked any questions, or seemed at all curious about -the matter, but conducted himself in his usual quiet way. Indeed, he did -occasionally speak of their close communion, but always in a merry, -jesting way, and no one could suspect him of knowing how affairs really -stood with them. At least his knowledge did not make him unhappy, for -the merry twinkle was still in his eye, and the smiles still played -round his mouth. In the little walks and excursions which they took -together, Alice was always assigned to the clerk. Old John said he -preferred to walk alone; then he could swing his cane in any direction -without being scolded, and could climb over a fence, instead of going -half a mile to find a place to crawl through, or a stile, for the -convenience of a lady companion. Walter, as may be supposed, was very -willing to free him from this incumbrance, and did not mind the half -mile walks in search of a stile, as long as Alice was hanging on his -arm. They had a great many things to talk about, which was of no -consequence to any but themselves, and were glad of the opportunity to -remove out of earshot, which this stile hunting afforded. - -One morning the clerk appeared equipped for traveling. Business of some -kind or other called him, for a short time, to another part of the -country. - -He and Alice were alone in the breakfast-room. He explained to her the -necessity of his departure, and consoled her with the assurance that his -absence would not continue more than a week at the most. He had just -time to place a plain ring on her finger, and steal one tender, silent -kiss from her rosy lips, when Old John entered, announcing the coach at -the door. - -In a few minutes he was seated in the vehicle. Good-byes were repealed, -and soon he was rolling away on the dusty road toward the city. - -Alice stood at the window and watched until the top of the coach had -disappeared behind an angle of the road, and the last sound of the -rumbling wheels had died away. Then the thought and feelings that had -followed him as far as the senses could guide them, seemed to fall back -upon herself, and she felt oppressed by the silence and utter solitude -that reigned around. - -That was a weary day to Alice. This was her first love, and their first -separation. Her father was busy with his affairs and could not attend to -her; so she was thrown entirely upon her own resources, and heavily the -hours dragged along in mournful procession. - -Often days had passed and she had not seen Walter but for a few moments, -yet then she knew he was near. And now she sat down and tried to fancy -him sitting quietly at his desk; but it wouldn’t do—she knew better. -She walked down by the counting-room and gathered the flowers as she had -often done before, but they had lost their fragrance, and their colors -seemed faded. The gold-fish stood still in the pond, and she mistook -them at times for the leaves that lay in the water; they too had faded. -She sat in the pleasant arbor, and looked westward over the beautiful -landscape, but a veil seemed drawn before it, and the rich and -variegated hues which, dolphin-like, the forest had assumed while dying, -to her eyes, seemed blended into a dead, cold brown. So true it is that -the sense takes its tone from the soul. - -So the day passed and the belated evening came slowly on. - -“Do, pray, Ally, put off that sad face,” said Old John to her, as they -sat at the tea-table. “Why you look ten times more woful than the -Italian beggars fresh from an eruption of Vesuvius. Do try to smile a -little.” - -She did try to look cheerful, but at first it tasked all her powers, yet -her father’s raillery and merry laugh were not to be resisted, and in a -little while the cloud seemed to have passed entirely away, and she was -as cheerful as ever. Sometimes she would fall back into the silent, -thoughtful mood, yet it was only for a moment, and the evening passed -pleasantly. Then came the affectionate kiss, and the kind good-night. - -To Alice it was a good-night, indeed. Good angels watched by her pillow, -and her dreams were beautiful. One time she was walking along the garden -paths, and heard the birds singing sweetly above her head, and saw the -flowers in their most beautiful dress. She drew near the pond, and it -was all alive with gold fish; and the whole surface seemed drawn with -red lines; sometimes they formed charming pictures—trees, gardens and -villages seemed to pass over the water like a moving diorama. All the -people she had ever seen seemed to be moving about there, some doing one -thing, and some another, but all happy. As she looked attentively, the -surface seemed to grow mysteriously calm, and the red lines to -disappear. Then as mysteriously it began to grow troubled, circular -waves forming at the centre, and rolling toward the shore in every -direction. Then suddenly from the middle of the pond, a most beautiful -fairy figure arose and beckoned her near. The fairy gave her a plain, -gold ring, and told her never to part with it; for she said it was the -gift of happiness, and while she wore that upon her finger, heavy -misfortunes should never visit her. Then a loud voice under water seemed -to call the fairy a “little minx,” and bid her come down immediately, -for breakfast was waiting. Then she disappeared, the water became calm, -and Alice awoke. - -“Was that a dream?” she asked herself, in amazement. There was the ring -on her finger—the fairy’s gift of happiness; and the voice was still -calling some one to breakfast. - -It was a long time before she could collect her scattered senses enough -to realize that she had just waked from a strange dream, and the voice -was that of her father calling her. When the truth did dawn upon her, -she laughed immoderately, and could not help saying repeatedly, that “it -was _very_ funny.” - -It was much past her usual hour of rising, when in her simple -morning-dress she appeared at the breakfast-table. - -“Why, Ally, dear, I thought you never would come down,” said her father. -“I have been waiting this—I don’t know how long, and called you—I -don’t know how many times. The omelet and coffee are both as cold as -Greenland, I’ll be bound.” - -“It isn’t so very late, papa, is it?” inquired Alice; “besides, I have -had such a funny dream—O, it was perfectly delightful.” - -“Well, never mind, dear, pour out the coffee before it gets later.” - -She poured out the coffee, still thinking of her strange dream. It was -so funny that she could not help thinking of it; but her lips would -never have wreathed that happy smile if she could have known the trial -that awaited her. - -“Ally, do you know what day to-morrow will be?” he asked, while his face -wore a very doubtful, half merry, half serious expression. It was -something like the sun trying to break through a fog, for he tried to -look cheerful. - -Alice paused a moment as if in thought, then suddenly exclaimed, “I -declare, it is my birthday, and I had almost forgotten it. It was very -good of my dear papa to remind me of such good news, after I had kept -him waiting so long for his breakfast,” she added, playfully. - -“But do you know who I expect to-morrow?” he continued. - -It was her turn now to look doubtful and perplexed. - -“Yes, Ally,” he said, “this afternoon Harry Wilson and my old -schoolmate, his father, will be here. You must save all your good looks -for Harry, for I expect you will fall in love with him at first sight.” - -It was really with much pain that Old John made this announcement, -though he spoke it in as cheerful a manner as possible, for he knew the -effect it would have on his daughter. He seemed to make it more from a -sense of duty than pleasure, as it were something which must be told -sooner or later; and more clouds gathered about his honest face than had -been seen there since the death of his wife, when he saw the effect it -had upon Alice. The cheerful smiles vanished from her face; the color -came and went, and came and went, and at length left her deadly pale. -Her hand trembled and her voice quivered, as she attempted in vain to -make some cheerful remark. - -“At least you will try to like him, for my sake, wont you, Ally, dear?” -said her father. - -She uttered a faint “yes”—so faint that it might have been “no,” for -all Old John heard; and pleading some excuse, left the room. - -“Bad business, this,” said her father, after he was left alone, and -talking as if to some invisible friend. “Bad business!” and whistling a -doleful strain of a doleful tune, he also left the room. - -And Alice, poor Alice, she felt lonely enough as she sat alone in her -little room. Thoughts of the dream that had made her so cheerful but a -short time before, now pressed like an incubus upon her breast. She knew -how much her father was attached to his old schoolmate, Mr. Wilson, and -how much he desired the union of their two families. It had long been -talked of, but always as something which was about to happen at some -distant, indefinite time; and though many years had passed since they -first began to talk of it, it still seemed as indefinite and far from -accomplishment as ever; and she never thought to trouble herself about -it; but now the event seemed to spring up like a phantom directly before -her; and so sudden had been the announcement that she knew not what to -do. - -And now the hours seemed to glide by as if they were double-winged. The -old entry clock seemed to her as she sat in her silent chamber, to tick -faster and faster until at last it broke into an actual gallop. If _he_ -were only here, she thought, as her eye fell upon the ring which the -clerk had placed on her finger. And more than once she determined to go -down to her father and confess all; then she thought of the old -schoolmate that had saved his life, and her courage failed her. - -She started as the clock told eleven. - -It was past noon, and Old John was waiting anxiously for her appearance -in the drawing-room; and his heart beat with strange emotions as he -heard her light footfall on the stairs. - -She was very pale when she entered the room, and the traces of recent -tears were in her eyes. Yet she had never looked more beautiful, never -more lovely. She was dressed in simple white, and a single white rose -was braided in her dark hair. Old John could not see her thus dejected -without being moved, and the dark cloud spread over his countenance. She -saw it, and assuming a cheerfulness which she did not feel, drew her arm -around his neck, and kissed him affectionately. - -“There, Ally, dear,” he said, “don’t be cast down. It will all come -right in the end. I say it shall. Do sit down to the piano and sing a -cheerful song. Yes, sing the one that Walter liked so well.” - -It was like asking the Israelites to sing songs of their home, while -captives in Babylon; yet she did sing, though her voice trembled so much -that it was with difficulty she finished the song. - -“Don’t take it so much to heart, dear,” said Old John. “I say, if you -don’t like him, he shan’t have you.” - -They were interrupted by the sound of wheels rolling up the avenue. How -her little heart beat and fluttered then. A carriage stopped before the -door. Old John’s eye glistened with delight, as if relief had come at -length. A step was heard in the passage. The door opened, and there -stood—Walter. - -Alice started to her feet, and stood gazing vacantly at him, uncertain -what to do. - -“Wont you speak to Harry Wilson?” shouted Old John, at the top of his -voice, and giving a hysterical kind of laugh. - -Then the truth flashed upon her. With a cry of joy she rushed into his -arms, and nestling her head in his bosom, wept like a child—but they -were tears of joy. Her overstrained feelings found a happy relief. The -dark cloud of sorrow passed away and the sun shone in all its glory. - -Old John capered round the room like a madman, and declared he had never -seen any thing half so pleasant in all his life. - -“But it was very cruel of you, dear papa,” said Alice, kissing him -tenderly, after the first effusions of joy were over. - -“I know it was, Ally, dear,” exclaimed Old John, willing to be blamed -for any thing now. “I know it was. But you are such a willful little -thing that I was afraid you wouldn’t like him, and I had set my heart -upon it. I have been tempted more than twenty times to confess the whole -and ask your forgiveness, when I saw you look so miserable. Yes, Ally, I -came very near spoiling the whole this morning at breakfast. But never -mind, it’s all right now; confess, isn’t it?” - -Yes, indeed, it was all right! And Alice, in her silent, eloquent way, -soon convinced him that she thought so. - -Again the door opened, and Harry Wilson senior entered. He knew the -whole affair, and had only waited on the outside until the first scene -should be over. - -Cordial was the greeting between the old schoolmates. Smiles, -congratulations, and merry words passed freely; every eye glistened with -joy, and all went merry as a marriage bell. - -“Shall I enter that note at five or six per cents.?” asked some one at -the side-door. There stood David Deans, with a pen behind his ear and -another in his hand—his usual way of ornamenting himself—and looking -as blank and cool as if nothing had happened. - -“Don’t enter it with any per cent., you old miser!” said Old John, -patting him familiarly on the back. “We don’t charge interest this -year.” - -David walked off with a broad grin operating powerfully upon his -countenance. - -He understood the trick, did David. - -There was a sweet dream under each pillow that night; and the birth-day -on which Alice thought to be miserable, was the happiest of her life. - -“Bless me, Brother Bill!” exclaimed Uncle Tom, “if you aint smoking -nothing but dust and ashes.” - -“I declare, I believe you are right,” answered my father, somewhat -confused, and making a careful examination of his pipe. - -“Good-nights!” were passed, and we all went to bed with happy hearts. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: Painted by Brockdon Engraved by F. Humphreys - -NATURE’S TRIUMPH. - -Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine] - - * * * * * - - - - - EDITOR’S TABLE. - - - NATURE’S TRIUMPH. - - [SEE ENGRAVING.] - -Great men were they of olden time; men with far-reaching and strong, -grasping minds—men, too, of discrimination in what they -gathered—“teach them selection, not collection,” was the word—and they -prepared for us of this distant age monuments to excite admiration and -insure awe; monuments which, while they exhibit what man is capable of -doing, seem, by the perfection of their form and the adaptation of their -parts, to check all spirit of imitation; monuments which denote all -variety of mental exercise and all the adaptation of physical powers. It -is not alone the chisel of Phidias working out the marble in a thousand -forms, more beautiful than the human pattern—it is not alone the pencil -of Zeuxis that fixed on canvas the flitting beauties of the field and -grove—it is not alone the vast machinery that piled stone upon stone to -finish the pyramids. Mind speaking to mind has uttered its powers, and -has claimed of the present, wonder for the past; History and Poetry have -embalmed the actions of the great, or expressed the devotion of the -good, and assured us of the lofty resolves and great deeds of men of -other years. The beauty of the ancient mind, however, is to be detected -by the uses and adaptation of ordinary incidents—bending them to moral -instruction by making them illustrative of some principle—patriotism, -religion, social duty and domestic relations, or some deeply hidden -power, which sudden emotion, strong impulse, or unexpected dilemma, is -to call into action. - -Take the following, which is some where extant. We give only the -statement of the asserted fact. We have no copy of the narrative. - -Leucippe was gathering the small delicate flowers which blossomed over -the dampness of a rock that beetled far into the sea, and held its cold -brow high above the waves breaking eternally at its base. It was a -lovely spot, cool, fragrant, health-giving, and she took with her her -little child, the only blessing which had been spared. For one moment -the love of the beautiful of nature, the interest of collecting, -triumphed over maternal vigilance. She turned, however, from the little -harvest of sweets, and saw her boy bending over the edge of the rock, -regardless of all danger, hopeful of only a single beautiful flower that -blossomed on the very edge of the steep. One word of fear from the -mother, one sudden movement toward the child would have disturbed his -balance, and he must have toppled down beyond all hope of recovery even -of the lifeless form. No time was left for calculation, no good could -result from active efforts. With unspeakable anguish the mother saw the -danger, with the promptness of woman’s judgment she rejected the -ordinary means of safety; with the instincts of a mother’s heart she -threw herself gently forward, and bared her bosom to the child, and -lured him gently back to nestle on his own home of comfort, and draw -life from the sympathetic founts that gushed to his honeyed lips. It was -the triumph of nature, and the story seems to have inspired the artist -for this month. A beautiful illustration, while the picture itself has -suggested a title happily expressive of the idea conveyed in the -anecdote, “Nature’s Triumph.” - -But such a story, so full of instruction, so pregnant with moral hints, -should not be allowed to pass without an improvement, that may make it -more and more beneficial. The experiment and the result may be properly -styled the triumph of nature, for the deep solicitude of the mother, and -especially her prompt expedient, are as much the movement of nature as -is the affection in which they originated; and the attraction of the -exposed bosom for the exposed child, was as much the gift of nature as -was the hidden food which that bosom secreted and stored. - -But we love to consider the success of Leucippe as the “Triumph of -_Affection_,” not less than the “Triumph of Nature.” It is _both_, as it -is differently considered; it is either, in many ways regarded. - -Would the child, amused as it was with the flowers that jutted out from -the rock’s impending edge, and pleased with the species of independence -which its movements and new position signified, would the child have -been lured by the exhibition of any other bosom than that of its mother? -Had a stranger discovered the little adventurer, and being like -Leucippe, conscious of the danger of calling aloud, of startling the -child by any approach, had she bared her bosom, would not the infant -have turned away without interest from the exhibition, and pursued its -new occupation of flower gathering? Undoubtedly the unknown, who had -from _prudence_ done what _affection_ suggested to Leucippe, would have -seen at once that she lacked the attractive power, that there was no -sympathy between her and the child. She might have felt all that a woman -can feel for the lovely infant of another—thus dangerously -situated—but the infant itself would not have been influenced by a -corresponding sympathy; it would have lacked that affection necessary to -a proper response to the exhibition. - -The triumph, then, is one of affection sympathizing with affection; -corresponding love answering with miraculous organ, and instructing the -great and good of all subsequent times by the promptings of a mother’s -instincts, and the sympathies of an infant’s feelings. “Out of the -mouths of babes and sucklings.” - -I was struck a few months since with the distress that was bearing down -an intimate friend, and he made me the confidant of his sorrows, and of -their cause. The young offender had forgotten the respect due to his -parents; he had forgotten or disregarded the _respect_ which he owed to -the beautiful fame which had come down to him unsullied through several -generations; family pride, instead of exhibiting itself in supporting -the long-descended credit, was visible in a sort of obstinate adherence -to some misconceived ideas of _self_-importance; he was ruining his own -health, and was fast approaching the precipice over which his passions, -or rather let me say, his _passion_, would soon hurry him. His father -had, at times, severely chid the wayward youth, and the mother had, day -by day, warned him of his danger, so that he had by his false estimate -of filial duties and parental care, rather been accelerated in his -progress toward the line of destruction. A change was suggested in the -mode of dealing—his own danger was not pointed out, but his attention -was attracted back upon those whom he had loved—and had left; he saw -whence he had derived all that delight to childhood, and he turned back -to the fountain of affection which had gushed anew; and the birds of -prey that had been hovering round the precipice where he hung were -disappointed of their quarry. Those, who had wheeled around him with -pliant wing and open beak, hopeful of spoil, screamed their -disappointment in their filthy eyrie, and confessed their defeat in the -triumph of nature and affection. - -I know well that the voice of kindness, uttered to the erring, is often -disregarded or despised, but less owing to the want of power in the -instrument, than in the want of preparation in the object. So much of -anger is manifested toward the vicious, that they grow suspicious of -every exhibition of feeling in their behalf. You who would lure them -back to virtue, must not pause at a single token of kind feeling; repeat -the words of consolation; remember that the very fault which you would -correct may have brought a part of the obstinacy which you -deplore—remove the obstinacy by kindness, and thus open a channel to -the source of the fault. He who would reclaim the vicious must lay his -account to find the moral system reached in almost all its parts by -those faults which by their prominency seem to be the only ones that -appeal for remedy; and the failure of one measure must invite to -another; if one experiment lacks effect, strengthen it by another; do -not work with single means—it is false economy. Leucippe bared both -breasts to her wandering infant. - -Conjugal affection disturbed by some occurrences which are unbecoming, -and yet seem unavoidable, is not to be lessened by argument to prove -either party right or wrong. These will, much more readily, create -acerbity by wounding pride, than restore the lapsed passion. Affection -has little to do with the logic of an argument—little to derive from -the temper of discussion. When the evil is evident; when the disturbance -is most oppressive, let not the parties imagine that any thing like cool -reflection is to be had, or is to be made available; let the woman look -back beyond the season of disquietude; let her bare her affections as -they were when all was sunshine in the domestic circle; let her appeal -to the undisturbed peace of such a scene, and by her conduct show her -erring husband that it is possible to make the recollection of early -delight stronger than the memory of present bitterness. Men learn this -lesson easily, and practice it willingly. They need a teacher—they need -precept and example; but they are willing to follow the leadings, and -exhibit and rejoice in the triumph of affection. It is so, apparently in -the great things of religion. Awful as are the dangers of neglect, it -would seem that the terrors of the law are less operative than the -persuasions of love. Notwithstanding the momentous question propounded, -and the alternative made manifest, it would seem to an ordinary thinker, -that the best mode of preventing a course that would incur the terrible -penalty, would be to present the consequences of neglect, and to drive -by terrible denunciations the erring one from the path that leads down -to death. But not so argues the inspired Apostle. “Knowing therefore the -terrors of the law,” (how appalling that thought,) “we _persuade_ men,” -(how gentle, how enticing, how successful in such a cause becomes “the -triumph of affection.”) - -Whenever a triumph is to be achieved over evil passions or vicious -habits, then the appeal to the affections by the affections must be the -means employed. We may check action or delay execution by fear, but we -produce no change in the sentiment, no correction of the motive. We may -prevent the offending one from injuring others, but we do not by such -means lessen his power or his chance of injuring himself. - -Oh, how much of destruction, how much of the waste of human feelings, -human pride, and glorious self-respect are due to the want of care in -attempts to draw offenders from the place of moral danger. Go to the -home of wretchedness and vice, and see how promptly the heart responds -to the voice of kindness, how one touch of nature awakens the memory of -early love, and recalls the hour of peace and virtue, until the heart -aches to contemplate the chasm that vice has placed between the future -and the terrible present. - -Sneer at her who, unable yet to appreciate the consequences of error, -treads the path of danger or dallies on the borders to gather flowers -that blossom near destruction. Sneer at her and she falls; call her back -by the remembrance of home and home joys, by the love of father and -friend; recall to her mind the unfailing affection of a mother, and she -will turn willingly from her false position, be saved the crime, and -only know what the consequences might have been, by marking the fate of -those who had none to lure them back. - -Our picture it is believed will be suggestive beyond our remarks. It -deserves a careful examination; may we not hope that hundreds who gaze -at the work of art will take up the moral lesson which it conveys, and -resolve that vice shall owe no triumph to their unkindness, and that -virtue shall not lose its followers for a want of the evidences of -affection in their lives and conduct. It is lessons such as these that -make art useful. It is lessons such as these that make the pagans -respected—it is the “triumph of nature” over art, and the prevalence of -affection over error, that make Christianity beloved. We are happy to -make this Magazine the vehicle of moral truth, that takes the best of -ancient sentiment and of modern art for its means, and has for its end -the cultivation and triumph of purest affection. - - C. - - - THE RAINY DAY. - -Odd as it may seem, the condition of the atmosphere has a powerful -influence on the animal spirits. It is the mercury in the thermometer of -mind, indicating its buoyancy or depression. Who that is an observer of -human nature under its various peculiarities, has not been forcibly -struck with the vast difference in any one intimate friend, both as to -mental activity and sprightliness, on a beautiful, bright, balmy May -morning, and on a cold, cheerless, comfortless, cloudy, rainy day in the -same “moon”? The whole man is changed—disposition, manner, mind and -temperament have undergone some radical metamorphosis. The very mode of -thought, the sentiments, the opinions even, are inverted. He who was -amiable, instructive, communicative, and lively, is suddenly, by the -veering of the wind, changed into a sullen, sombre, morose cynic, -restless, moody and taciturn. Conversation is abandoned for long sighs, -deep respiration, involuntary growls and lugubrious interjections. The -agreeable companion of a clear atmosphere is the thus altered being on -_a Rainy Day_, and the influence that has wrought a change so inimical -to individual and domestic economy, is that of the atmosphere. To -account for the cause is more the province of a scientific pen. Whether -electricity be most positive or negative in certain conditions of the -barometer, is a subject for professors of the various “’isms” and -“’icities” of the day. The effect is too apparent to doubt the existence -of a cause, and the cause too involved in mystery, to invite discovery -by one unlearned in the theories of Royal “Societies” or Republican -“Schools.” “The Atmosphere: _Its Ingredients and Influences_,” by John -Smith, Fellow of the Royal Society: London 8vo. “Electricity: _Its -Cause, Combinations and Effects_,” by Charles Jones, M. D., Professor of -Natural Science in the Kainbridge University—New York: Harper & -Brothers. “Animal Magnetism Investigated,” by Edward Brown, Member of -the United States Philosophical Society, Late Professor in the -Philadelphia Flight School—Philadelphia: Carey & Hart. “The Analogy -between Mind and Matter, _considered in relation to the Doctrine of -Transubstantiation and Revealed Religion_,” by the Right Rev. Bishop -Berdott—Universal Christian Publication Association, Boston: Complete -in One Volume—Second Edition. These, and the like publications, issuing -almost daily, lasting monuments of the power of the steam-press, are far -too repulsive food for the uninitiated in the art of philosophical -digestion. We leave them to the student, who, with fortitude sufficient -for the effort, will undertake the study of them on _a Rainy Day_. - -But cause undoubtedly there is, existing somewhere; for so powerful an -agent, revolutionizing our very nature, must surely have “a local -habitation and a name.” Do not let us suppose that because the various -Sir John Rosses and Sir John Franklins have failed in their researches -after this _primum mobile_, that it is hidden from the eyes of science. -One of these seasons we shall be delighted by an advertisement in all -the daily papers announcing thus: “Wonderful Discovery! Astounding -Developments!! Thousands unable to obtain Admission!!! The Reverend -Neophyte Frisky will deliver a Lecture at the Great Saloon of the -Chinese Museum. Subject—Atmospheric Influence on Human-Natureology, -showing its Cause and Effects. Experiments will be made after the -Lecture. The Secret will be communicated to classes composed of -Gentlemen and Ladies, at Ten Dollars a ticket. For notice of the hours -of each class see small bills. Admission (so as to bring it within the -reach of all) Five Cents—Children half price—Unbelievers admitted -Free.” Thus faith in the hidden things of science will be made clear to -the eyes of the million, and the singular phenomenon, exhibiting itself -in its manifest effects from a hitherto undiscovered cause, will become -as familiar to men as the horrors of _a Rainy Day_. - -We fear that some will naturally regard these remarks as intended to -cast reproach on scientific investigation, and research into the wide -fields of pathological—naturo-philosophical—moral-philosophical love. -Far from it. We beg to invite volunteers to unite in an overland -expedition after the philosopher’s stone. Let a company be formed on -shares, armed and equipped with revolvers and rifles of the latest -theory, to shoot opposition on the way for food for the -Association—with India Rubber life-boats to cross the streams, and -Gutta Percha tents to repose in on the march—secure a flying-machine on -the last model, to transport the enthusiasts over mountains, and stock -enough at $5 a share to start the _enterprise_, if not the _expedition_. -We would not only invite the formation of such Associations in all the -Atlantic cities, but suggest to rural scientificators to leave the -plough of successful homebred labor, sell out their little all, and -invest at once. Why drudge longer, alone and single-handed, when these -combinations and associations insure the journey to be made in six weeks -from the “Independence” of the first start. But, reader, let us advise -you, if you are seriously impressed with the propriety of the -undertaking and its certain success, don’t dwell on the results to be -attained on _a Rainy Day_. - -Suggestions of unbelief in any novelty are more common than should be. A -course of opposition to the march of mind, camping in its progress at -startling or astounding discoveries, is detrimental to the developments -of science, applied to every day use. We do not desire to be regarded as -cynical or infidel, and therefore avow an attachment to these novelties -_ex limine_. The utter incomprehensibility of any scheme is no objection -to its feasibility. Far from it. On the contrary, the less it is -understood the more it is applauded. Once announced for the -investigation of the masses, a public meeting is called, as follows: -“TOWN MEETING. The citizens of the village of Love-Your-Enemies will -assemble in the Hall where ‘justice is judicially administered,’ on -Saturday evening next, at 6 o’clock, to consider the propriety of -memorializing Congress to grant 100,000 acres of the public domain, for -the purpose of raising a fund to be invested in the capital stock of a -company about to be formed, to construct an Electro-Magnetic Wire -Suspension Bridge from the Narrows, at New York, to Tusca Light-House, -on the English coast. Mr. Amasa Foresight Marblehead, the discoverer of -this wonderful invention for the benefit of mankind, and patent -pacification of nations, will be present and explain its principal -features.” Signed by Hon. Col. Maj. M.D. Rev. Esq. The meeting convenes -at the appointed time. Speeches are made. Diagrams, models, drawings, -lithographs, sections are exhibited. The audience are delighted, -mystified, gratified, magnified, humbuggified, and somnambulified. -Resolutions are offered. A disciple of Roger Sherman objects, and -sonorously desires the _Cui Bono_ in facts and figures. Question! -Question! is shouted by the Esquire who signed the call, the brother of -the chairman, and the gentleman who organized the meeting. These vocular -demonstrations become public opinion, and under its supreme potent -influence the resolutions are adopted, and the assembly adjourns. All is -wonder, amazement and vacuity. One doubts. He is beleaguered by the -President, Vice-President and Secretaries of the meeting, and silenced -with “specific gravity,” “conic sections,” “capillary attraction,” -“latent pressure,” “malleability of metals,” “attraction of cohesion,” -“sinuosity of fluxions,” and the superior capacity of the arch over the -horizontal, to bear weight. The object is accomplished—the probability -assumes the shape of certainty—the unsophisticated are converted—the -community is alive to the absolute necessity of the project—the most -flattering prospects are in the future. The bridge is built on paper, -and on this mid-air viaduct is represented flour and corn pouring into -England, and emigrants and their progeny pouring out. How delightful! -Well, “probably the humbug of the thing” would never have been made -known, had it not been for the morbid disposition of some skeptic, -exaggerated by the atmospheric influence of _a Rainy Day_. - -The atmospheric influence, then, is savagely detrimental to the mature -development of extraordinary discoveries. In this it is -auti-practico-scientific, and will, ere long, be driven from scholastic -favoritism. Unwelcome as we have shown it to be in individual and -scientific economy, we trust our researches into the economy of politics -will prove more favorable. - -The State is a comprehensive word, meaning a conglomeration of voters. -Voters are men presumed to be aged one-and-twenty each—that is, every -voter must be, by law, in a majority before an election at which he -votes, but it is not unlawful for him to be in a minority after he has -voted. At this maturity they are infected with the frailties of -humanity, consequently they agree and disagree with each other. Thus -parties are formed on the basis of “principles, not men,” for the one, -and “men, not principles,” for the other. On the supremacy of one of -these combinations the safety of the State depends—so each -conscientiously believes. To test the question, elections have been -established—a modern republican invention, instead of the old “wager of -battle.” The note of preparation is sounded. Martial music echoes in -city, village, town and valley, in token of the peaceful nature of the -coming contest. The voters of each party are gathered under banners -inscribed with the poetry of politics Speeches are made by the humble -aspirant after public fame in the shape of “spoils,” a figurative -designation for the reward of patriotism. The taverns are filled; -disquisitions on political principles, qualifications for public -servants, the past history of nominees, and the future prospects of the -faithful, are discussed with the blandness and courtesy which mark all -polemic controversies. In order to purify the political atmosphere of -such assemblies in those party craniums called “Head Quarters,” the -fumes of tobacco, flavored with the insensible distillations of “old -rye” or “Monongahela,” are used _ad libitum_. This, by the aid of music, -speeches, rum and tobacco, “the great principles of the party” are -preserved from decay, and made palatable to “generations yet unborn.” As -the contest progresses, it is more and more marked by enthusiasm, -sincerity, patriotism, self-devotedness to those abstractions born in -“’98,” and destined to a green old age, or their immemorial antagonistic -dogmas of a more northern extraction. Music, meetings, speeches and -speculations, banners and bantering, polemics and pyrotechnics, rum and -rows, fights and fabrications, placards and publications, advocates and -anathemas, multiply in proportion to the chances of success. Committees -of vigilance are active—window-committees impatient—voters are -volatile and vicarious—candidates are cajoling, cabaling, convivial, -cautious, curious and concerned. Thus progresses the campaign. The day -arrives—Election Day—big with the fate of patronage and place. “To the -Polls, Freemen, to the Polls!” is conspicuous at every turn, reminding -those who have just awoke to the objects of the day, after weeks spent -in fruitless attempts to convince them of the importance of the “Second -Tuesday” in the political Almanac. Voting is this absorbing business. -“Vote early,” is announced as of the utmost consequence. “Vote for John -Smith,” is pronounced the only miracle by which liberty can be -guaranteed to the nation. Workingmen are informed that John Brown is -alone advised of the most salutary remedy for all their evils. Business -men are warned that prosperity will abound under a Tariff, with the -cabalistic addition of “’42,” and that ruin belongs to that of “’46.” -The timid are startled by the announcement that the “country is ruined,” -and the “constitution has been violated,” while anon is proclaimed that -“the dearest rights of freemen are in jeopardy.” So passes the “Second -Tuesday”—voting, voting, voting, “on age,” “on papers,” “on tax -receipts,” and “on principle.” There must be an end to all things. So -with Election Day. The polls are closed. The counting begins. Majorities -and victories are cheered as published. One party claims success from -figures, the other from numbers. One calculates success, the other votes -it. It is decided, at last, by the indisputable returns. The victors -attribute their triumph to the people; the defeated find consolation in -the fact that they would have been triumphant, had it not been—_a Rainy -Day_. - -Atmospheric influences are suicidal, it seems, in politics. And as it -may seem, the character of the atmosphere has a powerful influence on -other things beside animal spirits. Reader, pause—our task is done. Of -a highly mercurial temperament, affected with despondency or hilarity, -as the sky is cloudy or clear, we were forced to get rid of ourself on -one of those pluvious phenomena in the temperate zone, and hence we -wasted our own time and yours by dedicating our reflections to _The -Rainy Day_. - - * * * * * - -Our New Volume.—We do not think our patrons can fail to be pleased with -this the first number of a new volume of “Graham’s Magazine.” We confess -to feeling proud of it ourselves, and think we fully redeem the promise -we made to increase the claims of our periodical upon popular favor. No -similar publication, it may be confidently asserted, ever presented an -equal array of merits and attractions, whether the artistic -embellishments or literary contents be considered, and we know that our -good friends, the public, will award to us the meed of superiority over -all others, _nem. con._ But excellent as the opening number of the -volume is, the rest shall fully equal if not surpass it in beauty. We -have always held our position in advance of all competition, and the -ground shall be maintained. Let others do as they may, the subscribers -to “Graham’s Magazine” may rest assured that their favorite publication -will never degenerate or forfeit the proud distinction long ago -conferred upon it of being “The Gem of the Monthlies, and the Leading -Periodical in America.” - -Our subscription list is rapidly increasing; new friends sending in -their names every day. This is an appropriate season to commence taking -the Magazine, and the novelties and new beauties we have in preparation -will render the current volume one well worthy of careful preservation. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _H. Kavanagh. A Tale. By H. W. Longfellow. Boston: Wm. D. - Ticknor & Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This volume has been very extensively read, has delighted almost every -reader, and yet has left on the minds of many a feeling of -disappointment. Considered as a novel, it must be admitted that the -story is but slight, the characters hinted rather than developed, and -the whole frame-work fragile; but it would perhaps be more fair to judge -it according to the purpose the author had in view in writing it, and -this purpose was evidently not the production of a consistent novel, but -the illustration of an idea through the forms of a tale. Mr. Churchill, -who is always meditating a romance and never producing one, and while -musing over the idea is unconscious of the romance developing under his -very eyes, is a good illustration of the motto of the work— - - “The flighty purpose never is o’ertook, - Unless the deed go with it.” - -The romance present to Mr. Churchill’s vision, but which he does not -perceive, is, to be sure, a common one, but none the less affecting -because it is common. It is a simple but quietly intense representation -of love in its two great expressions in life—the love which imparadises -and the love which breaks hearts; and it has no reference at all to -time, but is the universal fact of all ages. - -In addition to his lovers, Mr. Longfellow has sketched with much -beautiful humor, the characters and characteristics of a country town. -His mirth is the very poetry of mirth, sly, genial, fanciful, reminding -the reader of Dickens without suggesting the thought of imitation. All -the incidents and emotions of the book are enveloped in an atmosphere of -poetry. It is this magical charm of the poet, investing the commonest -materials with a drapery of imagination, and sending a rich and golden -flush through the whole expression, which constitutes the merit of the -volume. An ideal sweetness, sometimes felt in the music of the words, -sometimes in the fine felicity of the imagery, and sometimes in the -“soft, Ausonion air,” breathed upon the characters, pervades equally the -author’s humor, pathos, sentiment, passion and reflection. The effect of -the whole is not to thrill or exalt the reader, not to inspire terror or -awaken thoughts “beyond the reaches of his soul,” but to fill him with -the highest possible degree of intellectual and moral comfort. There are -no stings in the author’s mind, and he plants none in the minds of -others. He is a mortal enemy to unrest, to all haggard and unhandsome -thoughts and sensibilities, and fuses matter and spirit into a sensuous -compound, calculated to give poetic pleasure rather than to inspire -poetic action. - -There is one fault to the book more serious, perhaps, than any other, -and that is its shortness. The characters are well conceived, but -imperfectly developed. The premises of Kavanagh’s character are -excellent, but no conclusion is drawn from them except his marriage, and -that is something of a _non-sequitur_. The ground is fairly broken for a -long work, for a sort of American Wilhelm Meister, and though the -author’s plan hardly demands its cultivation to the extent of its -capacity, we feel rather provoked that he did not make his plan -commensurate with the elements of his characters. In Kavanagh we have a -reformer who blends cultivated and sensitive tastes with great -aspirations, and to have fully developed such a person, by representing -the modifications of his mind through its contact with the reformers and -conservatives of New England, would have enabled Mr. Longfellow to -produce the most original and striking novel of the day, and one which -would have been a mirror of New England life in its present -manifestations. The ideas and purposes of Kavanagh alone are given, and -he, rather than Mr. Churchill spreads a gulf between intentions and -deeds. To have made the woman he loved non-sympathetic with him as a -reformer, and the woman he did not love his adherent in that capacity, -would have finely complicated the matter, and resulted in many original -agonies, ecstasies, mental struggles, and thrilling situations. Such a -novel, even if, like Goethe’s, it had cost ten years’ labor, would, as -treated by Mr. Longfellow, have obtained an instantaneous and enduring -popularity. - - * * * * * - - _My Uncle the Curate. A Novel. By the Author of “The Bachelor of - the Albany” etc. New York: Harper & Brothers._ - -The mere announcement of any thing from the sparkling brain of the -Bachelor of the Albany, is sufficient to raise anticipations of brisk -and business-like satire, of felicitous expression, and of good-natured -representation of the follies of conventional life. The present work -evinces more of the novelist, and less of the wit-snapper, than any -thing the author has previously written. The story and the characters, -though plentifully bespangled with epigrams, are still not immersed and -lost in them; and there is not that incessant effort after smartness and -point which at one period seemed to be the law of the writer’s mind. Mr. -Woodward, the Curate, has some capital traits of character felicitously -developed, and his wife, belonging to that kind of women known as -everybody’s mother, is drawn to the life. In Mrs. Spenser we have one of -those plagues of mankind, who cause more misery than pestilence and -war—a nervous, fretful, peevish, unsatisfied, vinegar-souled wife, -engaged in slaughtering her husband with pins, and making up for the -weakness of her instruments by the continuity of her attacks. Lucy -McCracken appears to have been suggested by Thackeray’s Becky Sharp, and -she is in every way inferior to the latter in the logic of her -artfulness. Dawson, Sidney Spenser, Markham and Vivyan, are all well -discriminated delineations of young men, though the lover is the least -interesting. The author is something of a bungler in handling the -passions and affections, and considered as a man of wit, is singularly -blind to the ludicrous effect which his serious scenes often produce. He -is a capital laugher at the sentimentalities and agonies of other -novelists, but when he ventures into their region he is as far from -common sense and natural feeling as any of the dabblers in broken hearts -and crushed affections whom he ridicules. - - * * * * * - - _The Personal History and Experience of David Copperfield the - Younger. By Charles Dickens. Illustrated by H. K Browne. New - York: John Wiley. Part I._ - -The announcement of a new work by the most popular novelist of the day, -is quite an event to the famished lovers of his genius. It is difficult -to judge from the first number whether it will be worthy of the author’s -fame, but it promises well both in respect to originality and interest. -With the characteristic traits of Dickens’s style and mode of -delineating characters and narrating events, it starts a new society of -individuals, who may rival the old familiar names in popularity. The -peculiar humor, fancy, sweetness, and verbal felicity, which have -already delighted so many thousands, appear in this work with their old -power, and give no signs of decay. For knowledge of the heart we would -allude to the scene in which Mrs. Copperfield questions Davy as to the -exact words the gentleman at Lowestoft used in speaking of her beauty, -as pre-eminently excellent. For quaint humor, bordering continually on -pathos, the life which Davy led in the queer house on Yarmouth beach, -with Peggotty’s relations, might be triumphantly quoted to silence all -doubts of Dickens’s continued fertility. The knowledge evinced -throughout of the interior workings and external expression of a child’s -mind, is quite remarkable. Indeed, if the author proceeds as he has -commenced, there can be little fear of his success. It remains, however, -to be seen, whether or not his characters will please through twenty -numbers. - - * * * * * - - _Holydays Abroad; or Europe from the West. By Mrs. Kirkland. New - York: Baker & Scribner. 2 vols. 12mo._ - -The accomplished authoress of these elegant volumes has established so -good a reputation by her previous writings, that we opened her present -book with some reluctance, fearing that the subject would be too -threadbare even for her powers to make interesting. Indeed records of -tours in Europe have become so common, so natural an employment of -aspiring mediocrity, that to read them is an exercise in yawning, and to -criticise them an assumption of the office of executioner. We prefer -dullness in almost any other form. It is due to Mrs. Kirkland, however, -to acknowledge that she has triumphed over the disadvantages of her -subject, and produced a really interesting work, avoiding all the -wearisome topographical inanities and stereotyped opinions of most -tourists, and giving a new and vivid glimpse of foreign life. She -appears to understand the wants of her readers, and she tells them the -very things they most desire to know. Her passage on St. Peter’s is one -instance among many which the book affords, of her knowledge of the -ignorance of her readers, and her felicity in suggesting a view of a -whole subject by fixing on a few important details. She generally -succeeds in conveying so warm an impression of the objects she -describes, as to make her readers the companions in the journey. - - * * * * * - - _The Adirondack; or Life in the Woods. By J. T. Headley, Author - of Washington and his Generals, etc. New York: Baker & Scribner. - 1 vol. 12mo._ - -In this volume the dashing and brilliant author of Napoleon and his -Marshals has occupied a new ground. The northern section of the state of -New York, comprising nearly eight counties, is still an unsubdued -forest, “crossed by no road, enlivened by no cultivation, not a keel -disturbing its waters, while bears, panthers, wolves, moose and deer, -are the only lords of the soil.” Into this region Mr. Headley conducts -his readers, and certainly few subjects could be better fitted for his -picturesque pen. The magnificent scenery of the region he has described -with great force, freshness and pictorial effect, and the various -adventures incident to a life in the woods, are narrated with the -author’s accustomed vigor and raciness. The work being in the form of -familiar letters, admits of every style of verbal expression which truly -reflects the feeling of the moment, and the reader is therefore not -troubled by the presence of those occasional audacities of diction -which, in Mr. Headley’s more elaborate works, sometimes offend a pure -taste. - - * * * * * - - _Analogy of the Ancient Craft, Masonry, to Revealed Religion. - Gregg & Elliott._ - -This is the title of a beautifully printed octavo volume, from the pen, -and evidently from the heart, of Charles Scott, A. M., Grand Master of -the Grand Lodge of the State of Mississippi. The literature of the Order -of Masonry is not extensive, for reasons that the members of the Order -probably fully comprehend. It is confined to a few volumes of addresses, -and to some liturgies and handbooks; all, of course, useful to the -craft, but not all interesting to the world. The volume before us is the -result of much deep feeling, which manifested and employed itself in -careful research, close reading, sustained reflection, and an able -exposition of the results of all those processes. - -The Analogy is ably made, and though the uninitiated may not feel the -same interest as do the “craftsmen” in the Analogy, yet many readers -will find on its pages much to admire, much that will instruct, much -that will lead him to reflect and inquire. - -The initiated who sits down to the book with a love of the institution, -will find that love augmented, his respect increased, and his views -greatly enlarged by the developments of the able author of the volume. -We commend the work to the attention of general readers, but especially -to those who share membership with Mr. Scott. - - * * * * * - - _Last Leaves of American History: Comprising Histories of the - Mexican War and California. By Emma Willard. New York: Geo. P. - Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -Commencing with the inauguration of General Harrison, Mrs. Willard -presents us with a clear and condensed account of the events which -followed to the close of the Mexican war. Although most of them are -familiar to the readers of the newspapers, we suppose that few minds -possess them in their order and connection, stripped of all exaggeration -and telegraphic inaccuracies. Mrs. Willard writes in a bold, decisive -style, without any apparent partisan object, and with no other purpose -to serve than to glorify the country as far as it can be done without -any sacrifice of truth. We have found the volume interesting and -accurate. - - * * * * * - - _The Genius of Italy: being Sketches of Italian Life, Literature - and Religion. By Rev. Robert Turnbull, Author of Genius of - Scotland, etc. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This is an exceedingly interesting and well-written volume, full at once -of discernment and enthusiasm, exhibiting considerable knowledge of -Italian literature, scenery, manners and character, and showing a true -Anglo-Saxon sagacity in its views of the present state of Italy. The -work is both descriptive and critical, and many passages have a -pictorial distinctness which prove that the objects described were -visibly mirrored on the writer’s imagination as he wrote. The sketches -of Dante, Tasso, Ariosto, Petrarch, contain many correct opinions, and -are well calculated to convey information as well as to inspire -enthusiasm for the genius of Italy. - - * * * * * - - _History of King Charles the Second of England. By Jacob Abbott. - With Engravings. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 16mo._ - -This is a most useful and entertaining biography of a regal roué, whose -reign is the scoff and jeer of history. Charles was a good-natured -rascal, whose destitution of principle and indifference to shame, -approached the marvelous. The record of his reign is full of matter for -reflection, and Mr. Abbott has presented it with more than his -accustomed felicity in the selection of events, and graceful simplicity -of style. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: -Anaïs Toudouze -LE FOLLET -PARIS, _Boulevart_ S^{t}. Martin, 61 -_Robes de_ Camille -_Dentelles de_ Violard, _r. Choiseul, 2^{bis}—Fleurs de_ Chagot ainé, _r. - Richelieu, 81_; -_Eventail de_ Vagneur Dupré, _r. de la Paix, 19_. -Graham’s Magazine] - - * * * * * - - - - - WHAT’S A TEAR? - - - A BALLAD. - - SUNG BY MRS. SEGUIN, - - COMPOSED BY - - M. W. BALFE. - - - Presented By GEORGE WILLIG, No. 171 Chestnut St., Philadelphia. - - -[Illustration] - - What’s a tear? Mother dear! - Look not thou in sorrow! - As at dawn, from the thorn, - Falls the dew my Mother, - -[Illustration] - - Let this grief find relief, - I’ll not weep tomorrow! - His I’ll be, none shall see - How I love another, - How I love,—love another! - - SECOND VERSE. - - As the rose, while it blows, - Hidden canker weareth; - Sigh shall ne’er whisper here, - How this heart despaireth: - What’s a tear? Mother dear! - His I’ll be, Oh Mother! - Though I die, since on high - I may love another. - How I love another. - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained as well as some -spellings peculiar to Graham’s. Punctuation has been corrected without -note. Other errors have been corrected as noted below. For -illustrations, some caption text may be missing or incomplete due to -condition of the originals used for preparation of the ebook. - -page iii, Story. Lydia Jane ==> Story. By Lydia Jane -page 1, Rensellaer who commanded, ==> Rensselaer who commanded, -page 2, Coffin, an aid of ==> Coffin, an aide of -page 2, escape occured to ==> escape occurred to -page 2, promoted) and a gallant ==> promoted) a gallant -page 2, serve as marines. ==> serve as marine. -page 4, proceeded to Fort Levenworth ==> proceeded to Fort Leavenworth -page 6, accompanied the cortegé ==> accompanied the cortège -page 15, his griping fingers, ==> his gripping fingers, -page 24, them pleasant excursions ==> them on pleasant excursions -page 29, blood tinging its ==> blood tingeing its -page 35, my tiny bark, unguided ==> my tiny barque, unguided -page 41, varient circumstances ==> variant circumstances -page 43, desire ought but that ==> desire aught but that -page 45, sort of wrapt awe ==> sort of rapt awe -page 51, wordly prosperity could ==> worldly prosperity could -page 60, heartless coquetery? Or ==> heartless coquetry? Or -page 61, concering it. There ==> concerning it. There -page 65, John their confident ==> John their confidant -page 65, irruption of Vesuvius ==> eruption of Vesuvius -page 66, kissed him affectionatly ==> kissed him affectionately -page 68, confident of his sorrows ==> confidant of his sorrows -page 68, by some occurences ==> by some occurrences -page 68, (how appaling that ==> (how appalling that -page 70, “mallability of metals,” ==> “malleability of metals,” -page 70, propotion to the chances ==> proportion to the chances - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXV, No. 1, -July 1849, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, JULY 1849 *** - -***** This file should be named 55362-0.txt or 55362-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/3/6/55362/ - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from -page images generously made available by Google Books - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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} - </style> - <style type="text/css"> - h1 { font-size: 1.3em; font-weight:bold;} - </style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXV, No. 1, July -1849, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXV, No. 1, July 1849 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George R. Graham - J. R. Chandler - J. B. Taylor - -Release Date: August 15, 2017 [EBook #55362] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, JULY 1849 *** - - - - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from -page images generously made available by Google Books - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0000' style='width:375px;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i006.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0001' style='width:375px;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span class='bold'>JULY</span><br/><span class='bold'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</span><br/><span class='bold'>1849.</span></p> -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XXXV.</span> July, 1849. No. 1.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>Table of Contents</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>Fiction, Literature and Articles</p> - -<table id='tab1' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#major'>A Biography of Major-General Stephen Watts Kearny</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#jasper'>Jasper St. Aubyn</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#true'>True Unto Death</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#therm'>Thoughts on the Thermometer</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#fling'>The Foundling</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#grave'>The Neglected Grave-Yard</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#widow'>The Widow of Nain</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#voice'>A Voice from the Wayside</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#dream'>The Dream of Mehemet</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#wild'>Wild-Birds of America</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#cross'>Cross Purposes</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#uncle'>Uncle Tom</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#table'>Editor’s Table</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#review'>Review of New Books </a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'> </td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>Poetry, Music, and Fashion</p> - -<table id='tab2' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#iwillbe'>I Will Be a Miner Too</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#emigrant'>The Emigrant’s Daughters</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#mary'>Mary</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#thee'>I’m Thinking of Thee!</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#tulip'>The Tulip-Tree</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#wife'>To My Wife</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#mem'>A Daughter’s Memory</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#from'>From Amalthæus.</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#towho'>To ——</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#omni'>The Omnipresence of God</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#newyear'>New Year Meditation</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#image'>The Image</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#pilgrim'>The Pilgrim’s Fast</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#mother'>To My Mother in Heaven</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#petra'>The Fortieth Sonnet of Petrarca</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#lines'>Lines on Burning Some Old Journals and Letters</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#follet'>Le Follet</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#tear'>What’s a Tear?</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'> </td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'><a href='#notes'>Transcriber’s Notes</a> can be found at the end of this eBook.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:1.3em;font-size:1.3em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:1em;font-size:1.5em;font-weight:bold;'>AMERICAN MONTHLY</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:1em;font-size:2em;font-weight:bold;'>MAGAZINE</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:1em;font-weight:bold;'>Of Literature and Art,</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:1em;font-size:0.8em;'>EMBELLISHED WITH</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:1.1em;margin-bottom:1.1em;font-size:1.2em;'>MEZZOTINT AND STEEL ENGRAVINGS, MUSIC, ETC.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>WILLIAM C. BRYANT, J. FENIMORE COOPER, RICHARD H. DANA, JAMES K. PAULDING,</p> -<p class='line'>HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, N. P. WILLIS, J. R. LOWELL, HENRY B. HIRST.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:1em;'>MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, MISS C. M. SEDGWICK, MRS. FRANCES S. OSGOOD,</p> -<p class='line'>MRS. EMMA C.EMBURY, MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY,</p> -<p class='line'>MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN, ETC.</p> -<p class='line'>PRINCIPAL CONTRIBUTORS.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:1em;'>G. R. GRAHAM, J. R. CHANDLER AND J. B. TAYLOR, EDITORS.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<hr class='tbk100'/> -<p class='line' style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>VOLUME XXXV</p> -<hr class='tbk101'/> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:2em;'>PHILADELPHIA:</p> -<p class='line'>SAMUEL D. PATTERSON & CO. 98 CHESTNUT STREET.</p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>. . . . . .</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>1849.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:2em;font-size:1.5em;font-weight:bold;'>CONTENTS</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:2em;font-size:0.9em;font-weight:bold;'>OF THE</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>THIRTY-FIFTH VOLUME.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:1.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>JUNE, 1849, TO JANUARY, 1850.</p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='iii' id='Page_iii'></span></p> - -<table id='tab3' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 28em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 7.5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 0.5em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>A Biography of Major-General Stephen Watts Kearny, U. S. A. By <span class='sc'>Fayette Robinson</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>1</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>A Voice from the Wayside. By <span class='sc'>Caroline C——</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>47</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>A Memory. By <span class='sc'>Jane Taylor Worthington</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>122</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>A Traveler’s Story. <a id='lydia'></a>By <span class='sc'>Lydia Jane Peirson</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>179</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>A Year and a Day. By <span class='sc'>Caroline H. Butler</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>193, 275</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>A Harmless Glass of Wine. By <span class='sc'>Kate Sutherland</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>230</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>An Adventure of Jasper C——,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>239</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>A Case of Gold Fever. By <span class='sc'>John Jones</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>356</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Cross Purposes. By <span class='sc'>Kate</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>59</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Colored Birds. The Bullfinch. By <span class='sc'>Bechstein</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>177</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Editor’s Table,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>67</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Editor’s Table,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>127</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Effie Deans,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>244</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Editor’s Table,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>248</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Editor’s Table,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>307</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Editor’s Table,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>372</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>General Training. By <span class='sc'>Alfred B. Street</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>133</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Homewood. By <span class='sc'>P. C. Shannon</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>286</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Indian Legend. By <span class='sc'>Kah-ge-ga-gah-bowh</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>80</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Ibad’s Vision. By <span class='sc'>Richard Penn Smith</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>229</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Jasper St. Aubyn; Or the Course of Passion. By <span class='sc'>Henry W. Herbert</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>7, 82, 140, 204, 253, 322</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Jessie Lincoln. By Miss <span class='sc'>M. J. B. Browne</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>164</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Legend. By <span class='sc'>Kah-ge-ga-gah-bowh</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>155</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Love Tests of Halloween. By <span class='sc'>T. S. Arthur</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>158</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Mary Wilson. By <span class='sc'>D. W. Belisle</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>99</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Minnie Clifton. By <span class='sc'>Emma C. Embury</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>222</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Men at Home. By Mrs. <span class='sc'>C. B. Marston</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>266</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Major Anspach. By <span class='sc'>Marc Fournier</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>282, 343</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Mr. Merritt and His Family. By <span class='sc'>F. Summers</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>293</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>My First Love. By Mrs. <span class='sc'>E. F. Ellet</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>360</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Olden Times. By <span class='sc'>J. R. Chandler</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>102</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Sketches of Life in Our Village. By <span class='sc'>Giftie</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>93</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Sketches of Life in Our Village. By <span class='sc'>Giftie</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>151</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Self-Devotion. By <span class='sc'>Giftie</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>349</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>True Unto Death. By <span class='sc'>Caroline H. Butler</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>17</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Thoughts on the Thermometer,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>25</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Foundling. By <span class='sc'>Jessie Howard</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>27</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Neglected Grave-Yard. By <span class='sc'>Prof. Alden</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>36</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Widow of Nain. By <span class='sc'>J. R. Chandler</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>41</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Dream of Mehemet. By <span class='sc'>R. Penn Smith</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>55</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Curtain Lifted. By <span class='sc'>Caroline H. Butler</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>73</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Two Hours of Doom. By Mrs. <span class='sc'>Juliet H. L. Campbell</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>110</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Captive of York. By <span class='sc'>Stella Martin</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>113</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Two Paths. By Mrs. <span class='sc'>Mary B. Horton</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>185</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Engraver’s Daughter. By <span class='sc'>H. Sunderland</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>201</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Recreant Missionary. By <span class='sc'>Caroline C——</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>215</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Village Schoolmaster. By <span class='sc'>C. M. Farmer</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>233</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Battle of Trenton. By <span class='sc'>C. J. Peterson</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>288</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Life Insurance. By <span class='sc'>Henry G. Lee</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>301</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Balize,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>304</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Conscript. By <span class='sc'>Joseph R. Chandler</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>313</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Three Pictures. By <span class='sc'>Caroline C——</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>334</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>The Two Cousins. By <span class='sc'>Kah-ge-ga-gah-bowh</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>365</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Uncle Tom. By <span class='sc'>Simon</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>61</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Unfading Flowers. By <span class='sc'>T. S. Arthur</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>366</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Wild-Birds of America. By <span class='sc'>Professor Frost</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>57</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Wild-Birds of America. By <span class='sc'>Professor Frost</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>126</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Wild-Birds of America. By <span class='sc'>Professor Frost</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>189</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Wild-Birds of America. By <span class='sc'>Professor Frost</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>245</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Wild-Birds of America. By <span class='sc'>Professor Frost</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>304</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle2'>Wild-Birds of America. By <span class='sc'>Professor Frost</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle3'>369</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>POETRY.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='iv' id='Page_iv'></span></p> - -<table id='tab4' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 28em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 7.5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 0.5em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>A Daughter’s Memory. By <span class='sc'>Mary L. Lawson</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>34</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Alice. By <span class='sc'>Thomas Dunn English</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>200</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>A Parting Song. By <span class='sc'>Professor Campbell</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>214</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>A Thought. By <span class='sc'>Isaac Gray Blanchard</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>232</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Alice Vernon. By <span class='sc'>E. Curtiss Hine</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>342</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Bunker-Hill at Midnight. By <span class='sc'>E. Curtiss Hine</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>303</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Communion of the Sea and Sky. By <span class='sc'>E. Jones</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>176</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Dirge. By <span class='sc'>Richard Penn Smith</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>371</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Elim. By <span class='sc'>Virginia</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>91</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Ermengarde’s Awakening. By <span class='sc'>F. S. Osgood</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>112</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>From Amalthæus. By <span class='sc'>Richard Penn Smith</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>34</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Faith’s Warning. By <span class='sc'>Henry T. Tuckerman</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>92</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Fragments of an Unfinished Story. By Mrs. <span class='sc'>Frances S. Osgood</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>263</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Flower Fancies. By <span class='sc'>H. Marion Stephens</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>306</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Good-Night. By <span class='sc'>Walter Herries</span>, Esq.</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>139</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>I will be a Miner too. By Mrs. <span class='sc'>Juliet H. L. Campbell</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>6</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>I’m Thinking of Thee! By <span class='sc'>A. D. Williams</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>16</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Kubleh. By <span class='sc'>Bayard Taylor</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>120</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Lines. By <span class='sc'>Walter Herries</span>, Esq.</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>60</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Lament of the Gold-Digger. By <span class='sc'>E. C. Hine</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>92</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Little Willie. By Mrs. <span class='sc'>H. Marion Stephens</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>98</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Lily Leslie. By <span class='sc'>Gretta</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>156</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Lines. By <span class='sc'>Forlorn Hope</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>281</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Lines. By <span class='sc'>Sarah Helen Whitman</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>303</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Mary. By Mrs. <span class='sc'>O. M. P. Lord</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>15</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>My Spirit. By <span class='sc'>Henry Morford</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>125</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>New Year Meditation. By <span class='sc'>Enna Duval</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>40</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Northampton. By <span class='sc'>Henry T. Tuckerman</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>232</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Parting. By Miss <span class='sc'>Phœbe Carey</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>265</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Pleasant Words. By <span class='sc'>Caroline May</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>370</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Passing Away. By <span class='sc'>Annie Grey</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>371</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Song. By <span class='sc'>Thomas Fitzgerald</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>228</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Speak Out. By <span class='sc'>S. D. Anderson</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>238</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Spiritual Presence. By <span class='sc'>Mary G. Horsford</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>306</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Summer’s Night. By <span class='sc'>Sam. C. Reid, Jr.</span></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>332</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Song. By <span class='sc'>Agnes</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>342</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Emigrant’s Daughters. By <span class='sc'>Gretta</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>6</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Tulip-Tree. By <span class='sc'>Bayard Taylor</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>16</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>To My Wife. By <span class='sc'>S. D. Anderson</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>26</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>To ——. By <span class='sc'>Henry B. Hirst</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>35</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Omnipresence of God. By <span class='sc'>R. Coe, Jr.</span></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>35</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Image. By <span class='sc'>A. J. Requier</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>46</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Pilgrim’s Fast. By <span class='sc'>Mary G. Horsford</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>54</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>To My Mother in Heaven. By <span class='sc'>T. Fitzgerald</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>54</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Fortieth Sonnet of Petrarca. By <span class='sc'>F. R.</span></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>58</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Improvisatrice. By <span class='sc'>Mary G. Horsford</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>81</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Eighteenth Sonnet of Petrarca. By <span class='sc'>F. R.</span></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>81</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>To Mary. By <span class='sc'>Lucy Cabell</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>98</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Translation from Sappho. By <span class='sc'>G. Hill</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>109</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>This World of Ours. By <span class='sc'>S. D. Anderson</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>124</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>To the Lily of the Valley. By <span class='sc'>Prof. Campbell</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>139</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Spanish Maiden. By <span class='sc'>Agnes Coleman</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>150</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Angel’s Visit. By Mrs. <span class='sc'>S. Anna Lewis</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>154</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>To a Portrait. By Mrs. <span class='sc'>H. Marion Stephens</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>157</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Odalisque. By <span class='sc'>Bayard Taylor</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>163</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>To Inez. By <span class='sc'>S. D. Anderson</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>175</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Time and Change. By <span class='sc'>Isaac Gray Blanchard</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>178</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Rain. By <span class='sc'>T. A. Swan</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>188</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Fountain in Winter. By <span class='sc'>Bayard Taylor</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>213</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Light of Life. By Mrs. <span class='sc'>O. M. P. Lord</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>214</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Bride of Broek-in-Waterland. By <span class='sc'>C. P. Shiras</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>220</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Willow by the Spring. By <span class='sc'>J. Hunt</span>, <span class='sc'>Jr.</span></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>247</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Broken Household. By <span class='sc'>Alice Carey</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>262</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Fear of Death. By <span class='sc'>Mary L. Lawson</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>274</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Seminoles’ Last Look. By <span class='sc'>Fayette Robinson</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>291</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>To My Sister E. By <span class='sc'>Adaliza Cutter</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>300</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>To My Steed. By <span class='sc'>S. Anderson</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>321</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Death of the Year. By <span class='sc'>Henry B. Hirst</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>333</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Cottage. By <span class='sc'>J. Hunt, Jr.</span></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>333</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Misanthrope. By <span class='sc'>A New Contributor</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>340</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Broken Reed. By <span class='sc'>S. S. Hornor</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>318</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Old Wooden Church on the Green. By <span class='sc'>Henry Morford</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>359</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Death of Cleopatra. By <span class='sc'>W. G. Simms</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>363</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Fairies’ Song. By <span class='sc'>Heinrich</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>364</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>The Undivided Heart. By <span class='sc'>Myrrha</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>371</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Watouska. By <span class='sc'>Kate St. Clair</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>79</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Words of Waywardness. By <span class='sc'>Prof. Campbell</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>100</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>Woman’s Heart. By <span class='sc'>Rufus Henry Bacon</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>178</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle2'>We are Changed. By <span class='sc'>Edith Blythe</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle3'>247</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>REVIEWS.</p> - -<table id='tab5' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 28em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 7.5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 0.5em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>H. Kavanagh. A Tale. By H. W. Longfellow,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>71</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>My Uncle the Curate. By the Author of “The Bachelor of the Albany,” etc.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>71</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>The Personal History and Experience of David Copperfield the Younger. By Charles Dickens,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>71</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>Characteristics of Literature. By Henry T. Tuckerman,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>131</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>The Earth and Man. By Arnold Guyot,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>131</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>The History of the United States of America. By Richard Hildreth,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>191</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>Dante’s Divine Comedy: The Inferno. By John A. Carlyle, M. D.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>192</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>A Second Visit to the United States of North America. By Sir Charles Lyell, F. R. S.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>251</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>The Liberty of Rome. By Samuel Eliot,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>251</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>The Penance of Roland. By Henry B. Hirst,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>252</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>History of the National Constituent Assembly. By J. F. Corkran,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>252</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>Oliver Goldsmith: A Biography. By Washington Irving,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>311</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>Bulwer and Forbes on the Water Treatment,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>311</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>The Child’s First History of Rome. By E. M. Sewell,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>312</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>A Lift for the Lazy,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>312</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>Poems. By Robert Browning,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>378</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>Physician and Patient. By Worthington Hooker,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>379</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>History of England. By David Hume,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>379</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>Success in Life. By Mrs. L. C. Tuthill,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>379</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>Sketches of Life and Character. By T. S. Arthur,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>380</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'>History of the French Revolution of 1848. By A. De Lamartine,</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'>380</td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle2'></td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle3'> </td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle4'> </td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>MUSIC.</p> - -<table id='tab6' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 28em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 7.5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 0.5em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle2'>What’s a Tear? Composed by M. W. Balfe.</td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle2'>Yes, Let Me Like a Soldier Fall. Written and Adapted by E. R. Johnston.</td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle2'>Oh, Let Thy Locks Unbraided Fall. Words by John W. Watson, Esq. Music by John A. Janke, Jr.</td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle2'>I Love, When the Morning Beams. By D. W. Belisle.</td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle2'>Wake, Lady, Wake. Music Composed and Arranged for the Piano, by B. W. Helfenstein, M. D.</td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle2'>My Life is Like the Summer’s Rose. Words by Hon. Richard Henry Wilde. Music by An Amateur.</td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle2'></td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle3'> </td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle4'> </td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>ENGRAVINGS.</p> - -<table id='tab7' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 28em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 7.5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 0.5em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Cross Purposes, engraved by J. M. Butler.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>General Kearny, engraved by T. B. Welch.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Nature’s Triumph, engraved by F. Humphreys.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>The Widow of Nain.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Title Page, engraved by W. E. Tucker.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>The Golden Age, engraved by W. E. Tucker.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>La Siesta, engraved by Geo. P. Ellis.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Olden Times.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>No Rose Without a Thorn, engraved by J. M. Butler.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>The Bullfinch, engraved by F. Humphreys.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Love Tests of Hallowe’en, Nos. 1 and 2.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Effie Deans, engraved by T. B. Welch.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Rose Carlton, engraved by W. H. Egleton.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>The Baggage Wagon, engraved by A. L. Dick.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>The Engraver’s Daughter.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Happy as a King, engraved by J. M. Butler.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Head-Quarters of Gen. Knox, engraved by W. H. Ellis.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>The Balize.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>The Death of the Year, engraved by Wm. E. Tucker.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Opera Extravagance.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>The Conscript’s Departure and Return, engraved by John M. Butler.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>A Case of Gold Fever.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle2'>Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.</td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab7c3 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk102'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<a href='images/i007f.jpg'> -<img src='images/i007.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0002' style='width:425px;height:auto;'/> -</a> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'><span class='it'>FROM AN ORIGINAL DAGUERREOTYPE.</span></span><br/> <br/><span class='bold'><span style='font-size:x-large'>S. W. KEARNY</span></span><br/> <br/><span class='it'>Engraved by T. B. Welch expressly for Graham’s Magazine.</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk103'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<hr class='tbk104'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol.</span> XXXV. PHILADELPHIA, JULY, 1849. <span class='sc'>No. 1.</span></p> - -<hr class='tbk105'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='1' id='Page_1'></span><h1 class='nobreak'><a id='major'></a>A BIOGRAPHY</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'>OF MAJOR-GENERAL STEPHEN WATTS KEARNY, U. S. A.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;font-weight:bold;'>[WITH AN ENGRAVING]</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY FAYETTE ROBINSON.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Few men who have ever been in the service of the -United States have enjoyed a more enviable reputation -than Stephen Watts Kearny, or have left behind them -more admiring friends. The recent death of this excellent -soldier, and above all his distinguished services, -covering a space of more than forty years, make his -career at this time peculiarly an object of interest to -the country.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Stephen Watts Kearny was born in the year 1793, -in the town of Newark, New Jersey, in a mansion yet -the property of his family. Though not prone to admit -that the adventitious circumstances of birth add any -real dignity to individuals, either in America or elsewhere, -it may not be improper to state that the family -connections of the deceased general were of such a -character as to have entitled him to a prominent social -position any where, he being a relation of the well-known -Lady Mary Watts, and a connection of the -gallant and noble General Alexander (Lord Stirling) -of the revolutionary army. The grandson of an emigrant, -who settled in New Jersey, before the revolution, -the family of Gen. Kearny had always occupied -a prominent position in society, and exerted much influence -in his native state.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the commencement of the war of 1811, young -Kearny, then about eighteen, was a student at Princeton -College. Contrary, it is said, to the advice of his -friends, he obtained a commission from Mr. Madison, -and reported for duty as a lieutenant in the 13th regiment -of infantry, in which he was attached to the -company of which the present very distinguished -General John E. Wool was the captain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With two companies of his regiment he was present -at the gallant affair of Queenstown, and with -Colonel, since Gen. Scott, was surrendered a prisoner -of war. This was on the 13th of October, 1812. In -this affair the companies of the thirteenth had been -long opposed to the greatly celebrated and highly disciplined -forty-ninth British infantry, a regiment which -had stood the ordeal of the Peninsula War, and had -won laurels from the best troops of France. The -forty-ninth had occupied, with heavy reinforcements -of Canadian militia, a battery on a commanding position. -The cannonade and musketry from this point -was so severe that every commissioned officer was in -the first assault either killed or wounded, and Col. Van -<a id='renss'></a>Rensselaer who commanded, was carried from the -field unable to stand. Before he left, however, he -ordered every man who could move to storm the -battery. Three more gallant officers than those who -carried his order into execution probably never lived. -They were Captain Wool, Lieutenant Kearny, and -2nd Lieutenant T. B. Randolph, late of the Virginia -regiment. By orders of Capt. Wool the two companies -of the 13th, which originally had numbered but -one hundred, all told, were extended and ordered to -close upon the guns. This perilous manœuvre was -executed with brilliant success, the enemy were driven -precipitately from his guns, which were the first -trophies to the United States of the war with Great -Britain. This field was young Kearny’s first arms, -and was a brilliant promise of what was to be his -future career. The battle was important to the United -States, though, as is well known, Col. Scott and his -gallant command of regulars were forced to surrender. -To the English it was most disastrous, Major Gen. -Sir Isaac Brock, the captor of Detroit, a man thought -worthy to compete with Wellington for the command -of the British army in Spain, having been picked off -by an American marksman. Throughout this trying -engagement young Kearny sustained himself with the -firmness which he maintained through life. When -driven to the hill selected by the present Col. Totten -as the strongest point, his perseverance was as distinguished -as his impetuosity had been during the charge.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After the surrender, Kearny, with the other prisoners, -was marched to the Canadian village of Niagara, -where, it is said, they were scarcely treated with the -<span class='pageno' title='2' id='Page_2'></span> -consideration due such gallant soldiers. There occurred -a circumstance of thrilling character often told—the -attempted murder of Col. Scott by the Indian -chiefs “young Brandt and Captain Jacobs,” which, had -it proved successful, would have made irreconcilable -the war between Great Britain and the United States. -It failed through the great personal courage of Col. -Scott and the gallantry of Captain Coffin, an <a id='aide'></a>aide of -Gen. Sheafe, but the would-be murderers were never -punished by the British government. The recurrence -of such scenes, and the probability of long confinement, -exercised a most unhappy effect on the mind of -Kearny, who saw as the consequence of his captivity -(at that day there were no exchanges of prisoners) the -ruin of his professional prospects. After a confinement -of some weeks at Niagara, Kearny was with the other -prisoners sent to Quebec. For a long time he continued -moody and morose, until a circumstance occurred, -which the present general-in-chief relates, that restored -his wonted alertness. The prisoners were taken to -Quebec in a vessel, and from the carelessness incident -to this mode of travel, the idea of a possible -escape <a id='occur'></a>occurred to Col. Scott. The plan was to overpower -the guard, to march at once to the nearest -division of the United States troops on the frontier, and -take their conductors with them as captives. Col. -Scott imparted this plan to Kearny, who at once -entered into it with his whole soul. His energy returned, -and he became again the wild subaltern who -had led the first platoon of the thirteenth at Queenstown. -Circumstances prevented this plot from being -carried into execution, but it had gone far enough to -show that the subject of this memoir had as much prudence -as valor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The prisoners at last arrived at Quebec, and their -situation at once became most painful. They were -confined in the old French castle, and were subjected -to many indignities. This was before Niagara and -Lundy’s Lane, and countless other fields had taught -the British army that the American soldiers were -worthy antagonists. At that time the British army -was filled with the aristocracy of the country, which -could not conceive or imagine the true position of -a country without a nobility. Countless trivial insults -were daily given, and which galled to the last degree -the forbearance of the prisoners. The following anecdote -may explain what they were.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On one occasion, when the American prisoners dined -at the garrison mess, an officer of the British staff arose, -and with a pointed pomposity gave the toast, “Mr. -Madison, dead or alive.” The faces of the American -officers flushed with indignation, which was not diminished -when they saw a young American lieutenant -rise from his chair, and in the blandest manner, and -with a most insinuating smile, give thanks for the -remembrance of the Chief Magistrate of the United -States. All thought him drunk or mad, as he proceeded -to say, “he felt the weightiness of the burden -imposed on him by the silence of his seniors, that he -would not give thanks for the toast last drunken, but -would give another in return. He was sure the officers -of both services present would understand him when -he gave ‘the health of his royal highness, the Prince -of Wales, <span style='font-size:smaller'>DRUNK OR SOBER</span>.’” If a shell had exploded -under the table the surprise could not have been greater, -and the danger of a collision became imminent, when -the senior officer of the British army present, a man of -tact and taste, interfered, and sent the person who had -given the first toast from the table under arrest. This -anecdote is variously told in the service, and sometimes -is attributed to Gen. Kearny, and sometimes to -the late Mann Page Lomax, major of artillery, who -was at the time a prisoner in the castle of Quebec. -It is perfectly characteristic of each of these officers, -and whether Gen. Kearny be the hero or not, aptly -enough illustrates this portion of his career. The -American victories in the West, by which hosts of -prisoners were acquired, soon placed the men of -Queenstown in a different position, and they were -exchanged.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Kearny was with Scott at the time the latter officer -resisted the attempt to place in confinement the Irishmen -surrendered at Queenstown, and ably sustained -him in his energetic action in relation to this high-handed -measure. He sailed in the cartel to Boston, -and immediately on his arrival, proceeded to rejoin his -regiment. He was subsequently stationed at Sacket’s -Harbor, where he acquired the reputation for discipline -and soldiership which never deserted him. -While at this post the British commander, Sir James -Yoe, and Commodore Chauncy, were manœuvring for -possession of the lake. On one occasion, when in -possession of a temporary superiority, Sir James appeared -in front of the harbor and challenged the commodore -to a fight. This the latter refused, because -he had no marines. When the reason was told Capt. -Kearny, (he had in the interim been promoted) <a id='noand'></a>a -gallant officer of New York, a captain of artillery, -named Romain, offered at once to go on board and -serve as <a id='marine'></a>marine. The offer was not, however, accepted, -much to the chagrin of Kearny and Romain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Captain Kearny served through the war, and on the -reductions of 1815 and 1821, was retained in the service -with his old grade and rank. In 1823 he received -the usual brevet for ten years faithful service, and was -assigned to the command of the beautiful post of Bellefontaine, -near St. Louis, and in that year accompanied -Brigadier General Atkinson in his famous expedition -to the Upper Missouri. This was before the introduction -of steamboats into those waters, and the expedition -was one of the most tedious imaginable. The -boats were necessarily to be propelled by poles and -oars against the rapid current of the Missouri, and not -unfrequently by the tedious process of <span class='it'>cordelling</span>. This -is done by extending from the capstan of the boat a -cable, which is made fast to the shore, and thus the -vessel must carefully be wound up until the rope is -exhausted. Then a new rope is stretched, and the -same tedious process undergone. Often, when in the -midst of <span class='it'>rapids</span>, the cable would break, and before -the vessel could be brought up, a greater distance than -had been gained in a week would be passed over. In -the course of two years they reached the Yellow -Stone river, twenty-two hundred miles above St. Louis, -and displayed the colors of the 1st and 6th infantry -where the United States flag had never been seen before. -<span class='pageno' title='3' id='Page_3'></span> -The Sioux, the Pawnee, the Mandan, and -Arickra, were made acquainted with the government, -of which before they had but a vague knowledge, and -the vast resources of that immense country for the first -time revealed to the nation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On his return Major Kearny received a full majority -in the third infantry, and was removed to a new -sphere, to the southern extremity of the Indian territory. -While major of this regiment he established the -post of Towson, on the banks of Red River. To reach -this place, easy of access as it is at present, it was necessary -to pass through what was then a wilderness of -prairie, but which to the soldiers inured to the incessant -storms of the Upper Missouri, seemed almost an -Arcadia. After crossing the northern tributaries of -the Arkansas, they were in the midst of the range of -the buffalo, and the countless herds of wild horses -which then abounded even there. The latter, not unfrequently, -amazed at the novel sight of the marching -troops, would dash up, as if to charge the columns, -pause with as much unanimity as if they acted -by command, encircle it, and tossing their long manes -and forelocks, hurry out of view. New objects continually -met his gaze, and the information then amassed -was among the most valuable ever collected under the -auspices of the government. On this march Major -Kearny was accompanied by his accomplished wife, -a step-daughter of Gen. M. Clark, of St. Louis, whom, -about the time of his promotion, he had married. With the -third infantry Major Kearny remained until the Black -Hawk war, when almost all the troops of the country -were concentrated in the country of the hostile Indians.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While a major of the third, an incident occurred, -which, though often told, will bear repetition. On -one occasion, while stationed at Jefferson Barracks, -Major Kearny was drilling a brigade on one of the -open fields near the post. The manœuvre was the -simple exercise of marching in line to the front. An -admirable horseman, he sat with his face toward the -troops, while the horse he rode, perfectly trained, was -backed in the same direction, along which the command -was marched. At once the animal fell, fastening -the rider to the ground by his whole weight. His -brigade had been drilled to such a state of insensibility, -that not one of them came to his assistance; nor was it -necessary. The line advanced to within about ten -feet of him, when, in a loud, distinct voice, calmly as -if he had been in the saddle under no unusual circumstance, -Major Kearny gave the command, “<span class='it'>Fourth -company—obstacle—march.</span>” The fourth company, -which was immediately in front of him, was flanked -by its captain in the rear of the other half of the grand -division. The line passed on, and when he was thus -left in the rear of his men, he gave the command, -“<span class='it'>Fourth company into line—march.</span>” He was not -seriously injured—extricated himself from his horse, -mounted again, passed to the front of the regiment, and -executed the next manœuvre in the series he had -marked out for the day’s drill.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We are now, however, to see Major Kearny in a -new and more important sphere of action.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During the whole of the last war with Great Britain -cavalry was not once employed as a battle-piece, and -in spite of the great services of the horse which had been -commanded, during the revolution, by Cols. Lee and -Washington, and by Count Pulaski, this great arm had -become most unpopular. Consequently, on the reduction, -no skeleton even of a corps had been retained—the -sabres were locked up, the saddles and horses sold, and -the officers and men disbanded. The policy, however, -of disposing the eastern tribes along the western frontier, -and the rapid strides of emigration west ward, brought the -army into contact with the mounted tribes of the prairie, -who evidently could never be overtaken or punished -for depredations they at that time used to commit, by -foot-soldiers, armed with heavy muskets, and laden -down with knapsacks and camp equipage. Of this -evident proof had been obtained in the expedition of -Gen. Atkinson, mentioned above, and other excursions -which had brought the officers and men of the 6th, 3rd -and 1st infantry into contact with the nomad tribes of -the Camanch. If other demonstration were required, -it was furnished by the events of the Black Hawk war, -when it became necessary to raise a body of mounted -gunmen for special service, which was done under the -auspices of the present distinguished Senator from Wisconsin, -Mr. Dodge. These troops, called Rangers, did -good service enough to induce Congress to authorize -the levy of a strict cavalry corps called Dragoons. The -whole army, with very few exceptions, was impressed -with the necessity of this corps, for which the most -distinguished men in their several grades of the service -applied. On its organization, Major Kearny was appointed -lieutenant-colonel of the regiment, and on him -depended almost exclusively the discipline, the colonel, -Dodge, though a brave man, not having the military -education or experience requisite to make him -the active head of a new corps, in the details of which -not only men but officers were to be instructed. Col. -Kearny, during his long seclusion in the west, had -been a patient student, and had made himself master -of all the theory of his profession, and in a short time -made his regiment one of the best in the world. Within -less than a year after the first muster of the regiment, -it was sent, under its colonel, as a part of the command -with which the lamented Gen. Leavenworth marched -to the Spanish Peaks. This disastrous march, in the -course of which so many men and officers died, was -most trying to a new corps, which had no guide to direct -them. Here all the experience of the old world -was at fault. Cavalry had there to march but from -one hamlet to another, finding forage and grain everywhere. -Here eight hundred miles of wilderness were -to be overcome, and more than once the jaded horses -were without even water. This proved the perfectness -of the regiment, and the thoroughness of the discipline -which induced the gallant and veteran Gen. -Gaines to speak, in an official letter, of the first dragoons -as “the best troops I ever saw;” and the officer who -had defended Fort Erie, beaten back a victorious enemy -at Chrysler’s Field, and received the keys of St. -Augustine, certainly knew what a soldier was.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In 1835, Col. Kearny visited with one wing of his -regiment, the Sioux, on the Upper Missouri, and had -the satisfaction at a council to reconcile the long animosity -between them and the Sauks and Foxes. He -<span class='pageno' title='4' id='Page_4'></span> -also made a long march to the head-waters of the Mississippi, -visiting the village of Wabisha, and effecting -a cessation of the trespassing of the British subjects, -from the Earl of Selkirk’s settlement at Pembina, on the -territories of the United States. In July, 1836, he was -made colonel of the first dragoons; and from this period -a sketch of his services would be almost a history of -the West, not one trouble on the frontier occurred in -the settlement of which he was not instrumental; and -with six companies of his regiment he was able to -protect a line of frontier eight hundred miles long. -Stationed at Fort Leavenworth, be made himself the -idol of the West, and devoting himself to his regiment, -made its discipline perfect. He had now acquired a -high rank, and the qualities he had always possessed -became conspicuous. Bland in his manners, but of -iron firmness, kind to his juniors, his equals, or those -nearly so, requiring the strictest obedience, measuring -his expectations by the rank of the officer, his conduct -became proverbial. To his men he was most considerate, -so that they looked on him as a protector. It -is believed that during the whole time he commanded -the first dragoons no soldier ever received a blow, except -by the sentence of a general court martial for the -infamous crime of desertion. The lash disappeared, -and though probably the strictest disciplinarian in the -service, there was less punishment in his corps than -in any other. About this time the system of drill -of the dragoons was changed, and he was long engrossed -in the instruction of his regiment, having the -troublesome task of unlearning them all he had taught -of the old system, from which the new one differed -entirely in mode and principle of combination.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the year 1839, the two Ridges, father and son, and -Elias Boudinot, chiefs of the Cherokees, were murdered -by a hostile clique of their own tribe, and there -seemed imminent danger that a war would originate. -Immediately on the receipt of the news of a possible -collision, Col. Kearny determined to proceed to the -scene. The officer of the quarter-master’s department -on duty with him being unable to furnish the requisite -funds, the colonel provided them from his own resources, -and after a very rapid march appeared with -six companies of his regiment at Fort Wayne. Words -can not express the difference between his companies -and those in garrison at that post; the beautiful -condition of the men and horses of the first, and the -rough-coated nags and unclean condition of the men -of the second. After the difficulty had gone by, he -effected an exchange of garrisons, and with the neglected -and abused left wing, proceeded to <a id='leaven'></a>Fort Leavenworth, -where, in a short time these companies became equal -in discipline to the others of the corps. The companies -of the Fort Wayne garrison which he took with -him to Leavenworth, were those which, under the -command of the gallant and lamented Capt. Burgwin, -and the excellent soldier, Major Grier, did such good -service, and so much distinguished themselves in the -campaign in New Mexico against the revolters and the -Pueblo and Navajo Indians.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In 1842, he was appointed to the command of the third -military department, with head-quarters at St. Louis. -There he remained until 1846, with the exception of -his long march to the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains -in 1845. There is no doubt that this is one of -the most extraordinary marches on record, both from -its distance, its rapidity, and the fact that he passed -among semi-hostile tribes nearly two thousand miles; -crossed deep and rapid streams by swimming, gave -protection to the immense army of emigrants <span class='it'>en route</span> -to California, and returned without losing a man or -horse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In 1846, the war with Mexico began, and he was -assigned to the command of the army of the West with -orders to occupy New Mexico and California. To -reach Santa Fe an immense march was to be undertaken -across a country but sparsely furnished with wood -and water, and where no supplies were to be met with -or obtained until the enemy’s country should be -reached, and in all probability a battle fought and won. -To accomplish this, precisely such a man as Col. -Kearny was required. He was familiar with the -service, and possessed the unbounded confidence of the -people of Missouri, from which state the volunteers -who were to compose the main body of his army were -to be drawn. In a most unprecedented short time the -men were enrolled, and all necessaries supplied, and -before Armijo, the governor of New Mexico was -aware of his approach, the army was in the capital of -the province. Like Cæsar, Gen. Kearny might say, -“I came, I saw, I conquered.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Immediately before the capture of Santa Fe, Col. -Kearny had received his promotion to the grade of -Brigadier-General, and abandoned to his successor the -standard of a regiment he had borne from the Gulf -of Mexico to the head-waters of the Mississippi, and -which was to be the first flag of the army which -waved on the shores of the Pacific. After obeying -his orders, and providing for the future peace of the -country, he proceeded to California, across a country -where an army had never marched before, and which -was considered impassable. Cold, a wilderness, absolute -barrenness, were all to be overcome. Scarcely, -however, had he set out on this expedition than he -was met by an express, informing him that California -was conquered. Relying on this, he sent back all his -troops except one hundred men, and proceeded to the -valley of the Gila. Of the sufferings of his men, of the -almost starvation which forced them to eat the flesh of -the emaciated dragoon-horses which had borne them so -far we will not speak. When he emerged into the fertile -country, it was not until after severe contests against -immense odds, and until he had lost many favorite -officers and picked men, to all of whom he had become -endeared by participation in the dangers of a march -across the American continent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the 2d of December, 1846, Gen. Kearny arrived -at Warner’s Rancho, one of the extreme eastward -settlements of California. He there learned certainly -what he had previously heard from a party of Californians, -that the population had risen against the invaders -and that Andreas Pico was near San Diego -with a superior party, intending to give him battle. -Though exhausted by a long march, and mounted on -broken-down mules, Gen. Kearny hurried to attack -him. On the night of December 5, he heard that Pico -<span class='pageno' title='5' id='Page_5'></span> -was at the village of San Pascual, and on the next -morning met him. At once a charge was ordered, -which broke Pico’s line and forced it to retreat. After -a flight of half a mile, however, it was rallied and -charged the head of the American force, and lanced -many of the foremost men. A desperate hand to hand -fight ensued, which resulted in the discomfiture of Pico, -not, however, until Captains Moore and Johnston, and -Lieutenant Hammond, and sixteen men had been -killed, and fourteen persons wounded, including the -general himself, and all the officers except Captain -Turner, who, though he greatly distinguished himself, -escaped untouched. The inequality of the contest -was immense, when we remember that the Californians, -the most superb horsemen in the world, were -mounted on excellent chargers, while the dragoons -were on mules which had marched from Santa Fe. -The dead were buried; this sad duty, and the necessity -of making further arrangements, detained the party -all day. On the next day the march was resumed, -but encumbered as they were, they were able to -proceed but nine miles when the enemy charged them -again. The needful preparations to receive them were -made, when the enemy wheeled off, and attempted to -occupy an eminence which commanded the route. -From this, after a sharp skirmish, they were driven -with some loss, and then Gen. Kearny encamped. -As Pico evidently intended to dispute every pass, the -general determined to remain where he was until reinforcements, -for which he had sent to the naval commander -at San Diego, should arrive. Four days afterward -a force of marines, under Capt. Zelin, U. S. M. C. -and of sailors, commanded by Lieutenant Gray, arrived, -and with this force Gen. Kearny marched without -molestation to San Diego, a distance of thirty miles. -A difficulty about the command here arose between -Commodore Stockton and Gen. Kearny, which could -not be settled in California, where the naval commander -had far the superior force. It did not prevent -their undertaking a joint expedition against Puebla de -los Angelos, which was in possession of a strong -Mexican force under Flores.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the 8th of January the Mexicans were met six hundred -strong, with four guns, in the face of whom the -American force of sailors, marines, and the remnant of -the dragoons, forded the river, and after a short, sharp, -and decisive affair, drove them from the field. On the -next day the enemy again appeared, and, as usual, were -beaten, and on the 10th Puebla de los Angelos was occupied. -At these affairs both the naval and army commanders -were present, and the question of who was -commander added somewhat to the difficulty already -existing between them. At this time Lieut. Col. J. C. -Fremont, then of the mounted rifles, commanded a numerous -body of volunteers in California. Gen. Kearny -ordered this officer to join him. This Col. Fremont did -not do, but on the contrary, considered Com. Stockton -as his commander. Consequently, when on the arrival -of land reinforcements from the United States, Gen. -Kearny assumed and maintained his command, he -ordered Col. Fremont to accompany him home. Col. -Fremont was subsequently arrested and tried for this -dereliction of duty, found guilty of mutinous conduct, -and sentenced to be dismissed the service. A portion -of the court which tried him having recommended the -remission of the sentence, the President acquiesced, and -he was ordered to duty, but immediately resigned his -commission. The prosecution of the charges against -Col. Fremont detained Gen. Kearny in Washington -during a portion of the winter of ’47 and ’48, and was, -doubtless, most painful to him, for no man in the army -had previously borne a higher character for soldiership -than Col. Fremont. The court martial fully sustained -Gen. Kearny in every pretension, and but one -person has been found in America to cavil at the -sentence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the spring of 1848, Gen. Kearny was ordered to -Mexico, whither he proceeded at once. All hostilities -were, however, then over, and though he was in the -discharge of his duty, his service there was uneventful. -On the conclusion of the war he returned home, and -was assigned to the command of the military division -of which St. Louis is the head-quarters. He there -had the proud satisfaction to receive the brevet of major-general -for his services in New Mexico and California. -He had, however, brought with him the seeds of an -insidious disease which soon overcame his strength, -enfeebled as it was by privations and trials of every -kind. He died at St. Louis, October 31, 1848, leaving -a wife and a family of young sons to regret him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the eventful career of Gen. Kearny he had always -been distinguished as one of the best officers of his -grade in the service. From a subaltern to the highest -rank he rose, every step having been won by service. -He was bland in his manners, dispassionate and calm. -Quick and ready in forming his opinions, he yet did -not act hastily, and when once he had decided, was -immutable in his course. A great student and thinker, -he never talked except when he had something to say, -yet possessed a fund of anecdote and universal information -rarely to be met with. In the West he was a -popular idol, so that the whole population acquiesced -in the apparently arbitrary steps he was often called on -to take in the discharge of his duty. To his subalterns -he was endeared by a thousand kindnesses, and to the -whole army by respect and admiration. He left in all -the army list no one superior to him in personal courage, -science in his profession, or the minor qualities which -contribute so much to make the soldier.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Immediately on the receipt of the news of his death, -the Secretary of War, Mr. Marcy, published an order -containing the following high tribute to his important -services.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;'>“<span class='sc'>War Department.</span></p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;'><span class='it'>Washington, Nov. 6, 1848.</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'>The President with feelings of deep regret announces -to the Army the death of Brigadier-General Stephen -W. Kearny, Major-General by brevet. The honorable -and useful career of this gallant officer terminated -on the 31st of October at St. Louis, in consequence of -a disease contracted while in the discharge of his -official duties in Mexico.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>General Kearny entered the army in 1812 as lieutenant, -and continued in it until his death—a period of -more than thirty-six years. His character and bearing -as an accomplished officer were unsurpassed, and -<span class='pageno' title='6' id='Page_6'></span> -challenge the admiration of his fellow citizens and the -emulation of his professional brethren. His conquest of -New Mexico and valuable services in California have -inseparably connected his name with the future destiny -of these territories, and it will be ever held in grateful -remembrance by the successive generations which will -inhabit these extensive regions of our confederacy.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>He was buried in St. Louis by the 7th and 8th regiments -of infantry and a squadron of that regiment of -dragoons which he had made so famous, commanded -by one of his favorite captains, the present Col. E. V. -Sumner, of the 1st dragoons. All the city of St. Louis -accompanied the <a id='cort'></a>cortège to pay their last tribute of -respect to the general and the <span style='font-size:smaller'>MAN</span>.</p> - -<hr class='tbk106'/> - -<div><h1><a id='iwillbe'></a>I WILL BE A MINER TOO.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. JULIET H. L. CAMPBELL.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>All around me men are delving,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Deep within the troubled earth,</p> -<p class='line0'>Searching for the darksome treasures</p> -<p class='line0'>  Hidden since creation’s birth.</p> -<p class='line0'>Wearying toil and ceaseless effort</p> -<p class='line0'>  Bring the buried ore to view;—</p> -<p class='line0'>Though I be but feeble woman,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I will be a miner too!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Heart of mine! thou art a cavern,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sad and silent, dark and deep—</p> -<p class='line0'>In thy fathomless recesses</p> -<p class='line0'>  Spirit gnomes their treasures keep.</p> -<p class='line0'>Gems of love, and hope, and joyance,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Bury there their flashing beam—</p> -<p class='line0'>Wilder passions fret their prison</p> -<p class='line0'>  With the fierceness of their gleam.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Though unburnished, prized and precious,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To the enraptured poet’s sight,</p> -<p class='line0'>As the jewels, proudly flashing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  On the brow of beauty bright.</p> -<p class='line0'>True, unto the sordid worldling</p> -<p class='line0'>  These are gems of little worth,</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet, for thee, high-hearted poet!</p> -<p class='line0'>  I will strive to bring them forth!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Lamp of truth, my brow adorning,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Lighting up the weary way—</p> -<p class='line0'>I, in pain, will probe my bosom,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Bare its treasures to the day.</p> -<p class='line0'>Wearying toil and ceaseless effort</p> -<p class='line0'>  Bring the buried ore to view;—</p> -<p class='line0'>Though I be but feeble woman,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I will be a miner too!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk107'/> - -<div><h1><a id='emigrant'></a>THE EMIGRANT’S DAUGHTERS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY GRETTA.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I had but two; they were my only treasure,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Two lovely daughters of the imperial isle;</p> -<p class='line0'>They gave my quiet hearth-stone every pleasure,</p> -<p class='line0'>  They gave my lone heart every sunny smile,</p> -<p class='line0'>And to your land I brought them o’er the sea,</p> -<p class='line0'>To hear the tones which tell of Liberty!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>They were twin lasses; one was like the Rose,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With deep, dark crimson on its opening breast;</p> -<p class='line0'>The other like the Daisy, when it glows</p> -<p class='line0'>  With evening’s pearls upon its snowy crest.</p> -<p class='line0'>And when they nestled near me lovingly,</p> -<p class='line0'>They were like morn and quiet eve to me.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But she, the golden haired, is with the stars!</p> -<p class='line0'>  She, the blue-eyed, the fondest of the twain,</p> -<p class='line0'>For her was opened heaven’s glorious bars,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Just as the sun was sinking in the main,</p> -<p class='line0'>And flowers less fair, each in its soft green nest,</p> -<p class='line0'>On the far shore, had sunk like her to rest.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Upon the waves she died—the sounding waves—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The sands her pillow, and the weeds her pall;</p> -<p class='line0'>And there the deepest, tideless water laves</p> -<p class='line0'>  The mortal part of half my little all;</p> -<p class='line0'>And though I know her soul is bright above,</p> -<p class='line0'>Still earth is desolate without her love.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>She drooped from day to day—within my arms</p> -<p class='line0'>  I cradled her dear form, so slight, so fair,</p> -<p class='line0'>And gazed with doating love upon her charms,</p> -<p class='line0'>  While my big tears were glistening in her hair,</p> -<p class='line0'>Till o’er her upturned eyes the fringed-lid fell,</p> -<p class='line0'>And soft she said—I know she said—“Farewell!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>She died without a moan, without a sigh;</p> -<p class='line0'>  A golden day had faded in the west,</p> -<p class='line0'>And mother Night descending from on high,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Was hushing Nature to her dreamy rest;</p> -<p class='line0'>And ere another day broke o’er the sea,</p> -<p class='line0'>Deep rolled the waves between my child and me.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I chanted o’er her lays of her old home—</p> -<p class='line0'>  And she, the stricken mourner by my side,</p> -<p class='line0'>Mingled her tears with ocean’s moonlit foam,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And sent her wail upon the shoreless tide.</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! it was sad to hear that heart-wrung moan</p> -<p class='line0'>On the wild sea, so vast, so still, so lone!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>On my own native Scotland’s hallowed ground,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In a low glen, from worldly din afar,</p> -<p class='line0'>The stars look down upon the grassy mound</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where <span class='it'>she</span> is laid—my young life’s morning star—</p> -<p class='line0'>And in the trackless deep, the bud she gave</p> -<p class='line0'>From her fond bosom, fills a briny grave.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And with this one, all that my heart has left,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I raise my altar where your heaven glows;</p> -<p class='line0'>Here the lone pair, of all they loved bereft,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Would find in you, Bethesda for their woes.</p> -<p class='line0'>They’ll think of home, with memory’s burning tear,</p> -<p class='line0'>But turn to meet Hope’s smiling welcome here!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk108'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='7' id='Page_7'></span><h1><a id='jasper'></a>JASPER ST. AUBYN;</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>OR THE COURSE OF PASSION.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>INTRODUCTION.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>In the commencement of the seventeenth century, -there stood among the woody hills and romantic gorges -which sweep southwardly down from the bleak expanse -of Dartmoor, one of those fine old English halls, -which, dating from the reign of the last of the Tudors, -united so much of modern comfort with so much of -antique architectural beauty. Many specimens of this -style of building are still to be found scattered throughout -England, with their broad terraces, their quaintly -sculptured porticoes, their tall projecting oriels, their -many stacks of richly decorated chimneys, and their -heraldic bearings adorning every salient point, grotesquely -carved in the red freestone, which is their -most usual, as indeed their most appropriate material. -No one, however, existed, it is probable, at that day, -more perfect in proportion to its size, or more admirably -suited to its wild and romantic site, than the -manor-house of Widecomb-Under-Moor, or, as it was -more generally called in its somewhat sequestered -neighborhood, the House in the Woods. Even at the -present time, that is a very rural and little frequented -district; its woods are more extensive, its moorlands -wilder, its streams less often turned to purposes of -manufacturing utility, than in any other tract of the -southern counties; but at the time of which I write, -when all England was comparatively speaking an -agricultural country; when miles and miles of forest -existed, where there now can scarcely be found acres; -when the communications even between the neighboring -country towns were difficult and tedious, and those -between the country and metropolis almost impracticable; -the region of Dartmoor and its surrounding -woodlands was less known and less frequented, except -by its own inhabitants, rude for the most part and uncultured -as their native hills, than the prairies of the -Far West, or the solitudes of the Rocky Mountains.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The few gentry, and lords of manors who owned -estates, and had their castellated or Elizabethan dwellings, -scattered here and there, at long intervals, among -the sylvan scenery of that lonely region, were for the -greater part little superior in habits, in refinement, and -in mental culture, to the boors around them. Staunch -hunters, and hard drinkers, up with the lark and abed -before the curfew, loyal to their king, kind and liberal -to their dependents, and devout before their God, they -led obscure and blameless lives, careless of the great -world, a rumor of which rarely wandered so far as to -reach their ears, unknown to fame, yet neither useless -nor unhonored within the sphere of their humble influence, -marked by few faults and many unpretending -virtues.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To this general rule, however, the lords of Widecomb -Manor had long been an exception. Endowed -with larger territorial possessions than most of their -neighbors, connected with many of the noblest families -of the realm, the St. Aubyns of Widecomb Manor -had for several generations held themselves high above -the squires of the vicinity, and the burghers of the circumjacent -towns. Not confining themselves to the -remote limits of their rural possessions, many of them -had shone in the court and in the camp; several had -held offices of trust and honor under Elizabeth and -her successor; and when, in the reign of the unfortunate -Charles, the troubles between the king and his -Parliament broke out at length into open war, the St. -Aubyn of that day, like many another gallant gentleman, -emptied his patrimonial coffers to replenish the -exhausted treasury; and melted his old plate and felled -his older oaks, in order to support the king’s cause in -the field, at the head of his own regiment of horse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thence, when the good cause succumbed for a time, -and democratic license, hardly restrained by puritanic -rigor, strode rampant over the prerogative of England’s -crown, and the liberties of England’s people, fines, -sequestrations, confiscations, fell heavily on the confirmed -malignancy, as it was then termed, of the Lord -of Widecomb; and he might well esteem himself fortunate, -that he escaped beyond the seas with his head -upon his shoulders, although he certainly had not -where to lay it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Returning at the restoration with the Second Charles, -more fortunate than many of his friends, Sir Miles St. -Aubyn recovered a considerable portion of his demesnes, -which, though sequestrated, had not been sold, -and with these the old mansion, now, alas! all too -grand and stately for the diminished revenues of its -owner, and the shrunken estates which it overlooked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It would not perhaps have been too late, even then -for prudence and economy, joined to a resolute will -and energetic purpose, to retrieve the shaken fortunes -of the house; but having recovered peace and a settled -government, the people and the court of England -appeared simultaneously to have lost their senses. -The overstrained and somewhat hypocritical morality -of the Protectorate was succeeded by the wildest -license, the most extravagant debauchery; and in the -orgies which followed their restoration to their patrimonial -honors, too many of the gallant cavaliers discreditably -squandered the last remnant of fortunes -which had been half ruined in a cause so noble and -so holy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Such was the fate of Sir Miles St. Aubyn. The -brave and generous soldier of the First Charles sank -into the selfish, dissipated roysterer under his unworthy -successor. He never visited again the beautiful -oak-woods and sparkling waters of his native place, -but frittered away a frivolous and useless life among -the orgies of Alsatia and the revels of Whitehall; and -died, unfriended, and almost alone, leaving an only -<span class='pageno' title='8' id='Page_8'></span> -son, who had scarce seen his father, the heir to his impoverished -fortunes and little honored name.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His son, who was born before the commencement -of the troubles, of a lady highly-bred, and endowed as -highly, who died—as the highly endowed die but too -often—in the first prime of womanhood, was already -a man when the restoration brought his father back to -his native land, though not to his patrimonial estates or -his paternal duties.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miles St. Aubyn, the younger, had been educated -during the period of the civil war, and during the protracted -absence of his father, by a distant maternal -relative, whose neutrality and humble position alike -protected him from persecution by either of the hostile -parties. He grew up, like his race, strong, active, -bold and gallant; and if he had not received much of -that peculiar nurture which renders men graceful and -courtly-mannered, almost from their cradles, he was -at least educated under the influence of those traditional -principles which make them at the bottom, even -if they lack something of external polish, high-souled -and honorable gentlemen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After the restoration he was sent abroad, as was the -habit of the day, to push his fortunes with his sword -in the Netherlands, then, as in all ages of the world, -the chosen battle-ground of nations. There he served -many years, if not with high distinction, at least with -credit to his name; and if he did not win high fortune -with his sword—and indeed the day for such winnings -had already passed in Europe—he at least enjoyed the -advantage of mingling, during his adventurous career, -with the great, the noble, and the famous of the age; -and when, on his return to his native land after his -father’s death, he turned his sword into a ploughshare, -and sought repose among the old staghorned oaks at -Widecomb, he was no longer the enthusiastic, wild -and headstrong youth of twenty years before; but a -grave, polished, calm, accomplished man, with something -of Spanish dignity and sternness engrafted on the -frankness of his English character, and with the self-possession -of one used familiarly to courts and camps -showing itself in every word and motion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was a man moreover of worth, energy and resolution, -and sitting down peacefully under the shadow -of his own woods, he applied himself quietly, but with -an iron steadiness of purpose that ensured success, to -retrieving in some degree the fortunes of his race.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Soon after he returned he had taken unto himself a -wife, not perhaps very wisely chosen from a family of -descent prouder and haughtier even than his own, and -of fortunes if not as much impoverished, at least so -greatly diminished, as to render the lady’s dower a -matter merely nominal. But it was an old affection—a -long promise, hallowed by love and constancy and -honor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was, moreover, a beautiful and charming creature, -and, so long as she lived, rendered the old soldier -a very proud and very happy husband, and when she -died—which, most unhappily for all concerned, was -but a few months after giving birth to an only son—left -him so comfortless, and at the same time so wedded -to the memory of the dead, that he never so much -as envisaged the idea of a second marriage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This gentleman it was, who, many long years after -the death of the gentle Lady Alice, dwelt in serene and -dignified seclusion in the old Hall, which he had never -quitted since he became a widower; devoting his -whole abilities to nursing his dilapidated estates, and -educating his only son, whom he regarded with affection -bordering on idolatry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With the last Miles St. Aubyn, however, we shall -have little to do henceforth, for the soldier of the -Netherlands had departed so far from the traditions of -his family—the eldest son of which had for generations -borne the same name of Miles—as to drop that patrimonial -appellation in the person of his son, whom he -had caused to be christened Jasper, after a beloved -friend, a brother of the lady afterward his wife, who -had fallen by his side on a well-fought field in the -Luxembourg.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What was the cause which induced the veteran, in -other respects so severe a stickler for ancient habitudes, -to swerve from this time-honored custom, it -would be difficult to state; some of those who knew -him best, attributing it merely to the desire of perpetuating -the memory of his best friend in the person of -his only child; while others ascribed it to a sort of -superstitious feeling, which, attaching the continued -decline of the house to the continual recurrence of the -patronymic, looked forward in some degree to a revival -of its honors with a new name to its lord.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Whatever might have been the cause, the consequences -of this deviation from old family usage, as -prognosticated by the dependents of Widecomb, and -the superstitious inhabitants of the neighboring woods -and wolds, were any thing but likely to better the fortunes -of the lords of the manor; for not a few of them -asserted, with undoubting faith, that the last St. Aubyn -had seen the light of day, and that in the same generation -which had seen the extinction of the old name the -old race should itself pass away. Nor did they lack -some sage authority to which they might refer for confirmation -of their dark forebodings; for there existed, -living yet in the mouths of men, one of those ancient -saws, which were so common a century or two ago in -the rural districts of England, as connected with the -fortunes of the old houses; and which were referred -to some Mother Shipton, or other equally infallible -soothsayer of the county, whose dicta to the vulgar -minds of the feudal tenantry were confirmations strong -as proofs of Holy Writ.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The prophecy in question was certainly exceeding -old; and had been handed down through many generations, -by direct oral tradition, among a race of men -wholly illiterate and uneducated; to whom perhaps -alone, owing to the long expatriation of the late and -present lords of the manor, it was now familiar; -although in past times it had doubtless been accredited -by the family to which it related.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It ran as follows, and, not being deficient in a sort of -wild harmony and rugged solemnity, produced, by no -means unnaturally, a powerful effect on the minds of -hearers, when recited in awe-stricken tones and with -a bended brow beside some feebly glimmering hearth, -in the lulls of the tempest haply raving without, -among the leafless trees, under the starless night—It -<span class='pageno' title='9' id='Page_9'></span> -ran as follows, and, universally believed by the vassals -of the house, it remains for us to see how far its predictions -were confirmed by events, and how far it influenced -or foretold the course of passion, or the course -of fate—</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>While Miles sits master in Widecomb place,</p> -<p class='line0'>The cradle shall rock on the oaken floor,</p> -<p class='line0'>And St. Aubyn rule, where he ruled of yore.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But when Miles departs from the olden race,</p> -<p class='line0'>The cradle shall rock by the hearth no more,</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor St. Aubyn rule, where he ruled of yore.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk109'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus far it has been necessary for us to tread back -the path of departed generations, and to retrace the -fortunes of the Widecomb family, inasmuch as many -of the events, which we shall have to narrate hereafter, -and very much of the character of the principal -personage, to whom our tale relates, have a direct relation -to these precedents, and would have been to a -certain degree incomprehensible but for this retrogression. -If it obtain no other end, it will serve at least -to explain how, amid scenes so rural and sequestered, -and dwelling almost in solitude, among neighbors so -rugged and uncivilized, there should have been found -a family, deprived of all advantages of intercommunication -with equals or superiors in intellect and demeanor, -and even unassisted by the humanizing influence -of familiar female society, which had yet maintained, -as if traditionally, all the principles, all the -ideas, and all the habitudes of the brightest schools of -knightly courtesy and gentlemanly bearing, all the -graces and easy dignity of courts, among the remote -solitudes of the country.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the time when our narrative commences, the -soldier of the Netherlands, Sir Miles St. Aubyn—for -though he cared not to bear a foreign title, he had been -stricken a knight banneret on a bloody battle-field of -Flanders—had fallen long into the sere, the yellow leaf; -and though his cheek was still ruddy as a winter pippin, -his eye bright and clear, and his foot firm as ever, -his hair was as white as the drifted snow; his arm had -lost its nervous power; and if his mind was still sane -and his body sound, he was now more addicted to sit -beside the glowing hearth in winter, or to bask in the -summer sunshine, poring over some old chronicle or -antique legend, than to wake the echoes of the oakwoods -with his bugle-horn, or to rouse the heathcock -from the heathy moorland with his blythe springers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Not so, however, the child of his heart, Jasper. The -boy on whom such anxious pains had been bestowed, -on whom hopes so intense reposed, had reached his -seventeenth summer. Like all his race, he was unusually -tall, and admirably formed, both for agility and -strength. Never, from his childhood upward, having -mingled with any persons of vulgar station or unpolished -demeanor, he was, as if by nature, graceful and -easy. His manners although proud, and marked by -something of that stern dignity which we have mentioned -as a characteristic of the father, but which in -one so youthful appeared strange and out of place, -were ever those of a high and perfect gentleman. His -features were marked with all the ancestral beauties, -which may be traced in unmixed races through so -many generations; and as it was a matter of notorious -truth, that from the date of the conquest, no drop of -Saxon or of Celtic blood had been infused into the pure -Norman stream which flowed through the veins of the -proud St. Aubyns, it was no marvel that after the lapse -of so many ages the youthful Jasper should display, -both in face and form, the characteristic lines and -coloring peculiar to the noblest tribe of men that has -ever issued from the great northern hive of nations. -Accordingly, he had the rich dark chestnut hair, not -curled, but waving in loose clusters; the clear gray -eye; the aquiline nose; the keen and fiery look; the -resolute mouth, and the iron jaw, which in all ages -have belonged to the descendant of the Northman. -While the spare yet sinewy frame, the deep, round -chest, thin flanks, and limbs long and muscular and singularly -agile, were not less perfect indications of his -blood than the sharp, eagle-like expression of the bold -countenance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Trained in his early boyhood to all those exercises -of activity and strength, which were in those days held -essential to the gentleman, it needs not to say that Jasper -St. Aubyn could ride, swim, fence, shoot, run, -leap, pitch the bar, and go through every manœuvre -of the <span class='it'>salle d’armes</span>, the tilt-yard, and the <span class='it'>manège</span>, -with equal grace and power. Nor had his lighter accomplishments -been neglected; for the age of his -father and grandfather, if profligate and dissolute even -to debauchery, was still refined and polished, and to -dance gracefully, and touch the lute or sing tastefully, -was as much expected from the cavalier as to have a -firm foot in the stirrup, or a strong and supple wrist -with the backsword and rapier.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His mind had been richly stored also, if not very -sagely trained and regulated. For Sir Miles, in the -course of his irregular and adventurous life, had read -much more than he had meditated; had picked up -much more of learning than he had of philosophy; and -what philosophy he had belonged much more to the -cold self-reliance of the camp than to the sounder -tenets of the schools.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While filling his son’s mind, therefore, with much -curious lore of all sorts; while making him a master -of many tongues, and laying before him books of all -kinds, the old banneret had taken little pains—perhaps -he would not have succeeded had he taken more—to -point the lessons which the books contained; to draw -deductions from the facts which he inculcated; or to -direct the course of the young man’s opinions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Self-taught himself, or taught only in the hard school -of experience, and having himself arrived at sound -principles of conduct, he never seemed to recollect -that the boy would run through no such ordeal, and -reap no such lessons; nor did he ever reflect that the -deductions which he had himself drawn from certain -facts, acquired in one way, and under one set of circumstances, -would probably be entirely different from -those at which another would arrive, when his data -were acquired in a very different manner, and under -circumstances altogether diverse and dissimilar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thence it came that Jasper St. Aubyn, at the age of -seventeen years, was in all qualities of body thoroughly -trained and disciplined; and in all mental faculties perfectly -<span class='pageno' title='10' id='Page_10'></span> -educated, but entirely untrained, uncorrected and -unchastened.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In manner, he was a perfect gentleman; in body, he -was a perfect man; in mind, he was almost a perfect -scholar. And what, our reader will perhaps inquire, -what could he have been more; or what more could -education have effected in his behalf?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Much—very much—good friend.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For as there is an education of the body, and an -education of the brain, so is there also an education of -the heart. And that is an education which men rarely -have the faculty of imparting, and which few men -ever have obtained, who have not enjoyed the inestimable -advantage of female nurture during their youth, -as well as their childhood; unless they have learned -it in the course of painful years, from those severe and -bitter teachers, those chasteners and purifiers of the -heart—sorrow and suffering, which two <span class='it'>are</span> experience.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This, then, was the education in which Jasper St. -Aubyn was altogether deficient; which Sir Miles had -never so much as attempted to impart to him; and -which, had he endeavored, he probably would have -failed to bestow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We do not mean to say that the boy was heartless—boys -rarely are so, we might almost say never—nor -that the impulses of his heart were toward evil rather -than good; far from it. His heart, like all young and -untainted hearts, was full of noble impulses—but they -were <span class='it'>impulses</span>; full of fresh springing generous desires, -of gracious sympathies and lofty aspirations—but -he had not one principle—he never had been taught -to question one impulse, before acting upon it—he -never had learned to check one desire, to doubt the -genuineness of one sympathy, to moderate the eagerness -of one aspiration. He never had been brought to -suspect that there were such virtues as self-control, or -self-devotion; such vices as selfishness or self-abandonment—in -a word, he never had so much as heard</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>That Right is right, and that to follow Right</p> -<p class='line0'>  Were wisdom, in the scorn of consequence—</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>and therefore he was, at the day of which we write, -even what he was; and thereafter, what we propose -to show you.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the time when the youthful heir had attained his -seventeenth year, the great object of his father’s life -was accomplished; the fortunes of the family were so -far at least retrieved, that if the St. Aubyns no longer -aspired, as of old, to be the first or wealthiest family -of the county, they were at least able to maintain the -household on that footing of generous liberality and -hospitable ease which has been at all times the pride -and passion of the English country gentleman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For many years Sir Miles had undergone the severest -privations, and it was only by the endurance of -actual poverty within doors, that he was enabled to -maintain that footing abroad, without which he could -scarcely have preserved his position in society.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For many years the park had been neglected, the -gardens overrun with weeds and brambles, the courts -grass-grown, and the house itself dilapidated, literally -from the impossibility of supporting domestics sufficiently -numerous to perform the necessary labors of -the estate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During much of this period it was to the beasts of -the forest, the fowl of the moorland, and the fish of the -streams, that the household of Widecomb had looked -for their support; nor did the table of the banneret -himself boast any liquor more generous than that -afforded by the ale vats of March and October.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Throughout the whole of this dark and difficult time, -however, the stout old soldier had never suffered one -particle of that ceremonial, which he deemed essential -as well to the formation as the preservation of the -character of a true gentleman, to be relaxed or neglected -by his diminished household.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Personally, he was at all times clad point device; -nor did he ever fail in being mounted, himself and at -least one attendant, as became a cavalier of honor. -The hours of the early dinner, and of the more agreeable -and social supper, were announced duly by the -clang of trumpets, even when there were no guests to -be summoned, save the old banneret and his motherless -child, and perhaps the only visiter for years at -Widecomb Manor, the gray-haired vicar of the village, -who had served years before as chaplain of an English -regiment in the Low Countries, with Sir Miles. Nor -was the pewter tankard, containing at the best but -toast and ale, stirred with a sprig of rosemary, handed -around the board with less solemnity than had it been a -golden hanap mantling with the first vintages of Burgundy -or Xeres.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus it was that, as Jasper advanced gradually toward -years of manhood, the fortunes of the house improving -in proportion to his growth, seeing no alteration -in the routine of the household, he scarcely was -aware that any change had taken place in more essential -points.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The eye and ear of the child had been taken by the -banners, the trumpets, and the glittering board, and his -fancy riveted by the solemnity and grave decorum -which characterized the meals partaken in the great -hall; and naturally enough he never knew that the -pewter platters and tankards had been exchanged, -since those days, for plate of silver, and the strong ale -converted into claret or canary.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The consequence of this was simply that he found -himself a youth of seventeen, surrounded by all the -means and appliances of luxury, with servants, horses, -hounds, and falcons at his command, the leading personage, -beyond all comparison, of the neighborhood, -highly born, handsome, well bred and accomplished. -All this, by the way, was entirely uncorrected by any -memory of past sufferings or sorrows, either on his -own part or on that of his family, or by any knowledge -of the privations and exertions on the part of Sir -Miles, by which this present affluence had been purchased; -and he became, naturally enough, somewhat -over confident in his own qualities, somewhat over-bearing -in his manner, and not a little intolerant and -inconsiderate as to the opinions and feelings of others. -He then presented, in a word, the not unusual picture -of an arrogant, self-sufficient, proud and fiery youth, -with many generous and noble points, and many high -qualities, which, duly cultivated, might have rendered -him a good, a happy, and perhaps even a great man; -but which, untrained as they were, and suffered to -<span class='pageno' title='11' id='Page_11'></span> -run up into a rank and unpruned overgrowth, were -but too likely to degenerate themselves into vices, and -to render him at some future day a tormentor of himself, -and an oppressor of others.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now, however, he was a general favorite, for largely -endowed with animal spirits, indulged in every wish -that his fancy could form, never crossed in the least -particular, it was rarely that his violent temper would -display itself, or his innate selfishness rise conspicuous -above the superficial face of good-nature and somewhat -careless affability, which he presented to the general -observer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was, perhaps, unfortunate for Jasper, no less than -for those who were in after days connected with him, -whether for good or evil, that, at this critical period of -his adolescence, when the character of the man is developed -from the accidents of boyhood, in proportion -as his increasing years and altered habits and pursuits -led him to be more abroad, and cast him in some degree -into the world, the advancing years and growing -infirmities of his father kept him closer to the library -and the hall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So that at the very time when his expanding mind -and nascent passions most needed sage advice and -moderate coercion, or at least wary guidance, he was -abandoned almost entirely to his own direction. The -first outbreaks, therefore, of evil principles, the germs -of a masterful will, the seeds of fierce and fiery passions, -and, above all, the growing recklessness with -regard to the feelings and the rights of others, which -could scarcely have escaped the notice of the shrewd -old man had he accompanied his son abroad, and which, -if noticed, would surely have been repressed, were -allowed to increase hourly by self-indulgence and the -want of restraint, unknown and unsuspected to the -youth himself, for whom one day they were to be the -cause of so many and so bitter trials.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But it is now time that, turning from this brief retrospect -of previous events, and this short analysis of the -early constitution of the mind of him whose singular -career is to form the subject of this narrative, we should -introduce our reader to the scene of action, and to the -person whose adventures in after life will perhaps excuse -the space which has necessarily been allotted to -the antecedents of the first marked event which befel -him, and from which all the rest took their rise in a -train of connection, which, although difficult to trace -by a casual observer, was in reality close and perfect.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The manor-house of Widecomb, such as it has been -slightly sketched above, stood on a broad flat terrace, -paved with slabs of red freestone, and adorned with a -massive balustrade of the same material, interspersed -with grotesque images at the points where it was -reached from the esplanade below, by three or four -flights of broad and easy steps.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The mansion itself was large, and singularly picturesque, -but the beauties of the building were as nothing -to those of the scenery which it overlooked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was built on the last and lowest slope of one of -those romantic spurs which trend southerly from the -wild and heathery heights of Dartmoor. And although -the broad and beautifully kept lawn was embosomed -in a very woody and sylvan chase, full of deep glens -and tangled dingles, which was in turn framed on three -sides by the deep oak-woods, which covered all the -rounded hills in the rear of the estate and to the right -and left hand, yet as the land continued to fall toward -the south for many and many a mile, the sight could -range from the oriel windows of the great hall, and of -the fine old library, situated on either hand of the entrance -and armory, over a wide expanse of richly cultivated -country, with more than one navigable river -winding among the woods and corn-fields, and many a -village steeple glittering among the hedgerows, until in -the far distance it was bounded by a blue hazy line, -which seemed to melt into the sky, but which was in -truth, though not to be distinguished as such unless by -a practiced eye, the British Channel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Hall itself and even the southern verge of the -chase, which bounded the estate in that direction, lay, -however, at a very considerable distance from the cultivated -country, and was divided from it by a vast -broken chasm, with banks so precipitous and rocky -that no road had ever been carried through it, while -its great width had deterred men from the idea of -bridging it. Through this strange and terrific gorge -there rushed an impetuous and powerful torrent, broken -by many falls and rapids, with many a deep and limpid -pool between them, favorite haunts of the large salmon -and sea trout which abounded in its waters. This -brook, for it scarcely can be called a river, although -after the rains of autumn or the melting snows of -spring it sent down an immense volume of dark, rust -colored water, with a roar that could be heard for -miles, to the distant Tamar, swept down the hills in a -series of cascades from the right hand side of the park, -until it reached the brink of the chasm we have described, -lying at right angles to its former course, down -which it plunged in an impetuous shoot of nearly three -hundred feet, and rushed thence easterly away, walled -on each side by the precipitous rock, until some five -miles thence it was crossed at a deep and somewhat -dangerous ford, by the only great road which traversed -that district, and by which alone strangers could reach -the Hall and its beautiful demesnes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To the westward or right hand side of the chase the -country was entirely wild and savage, covered with -thick woods, interspersed with lonely heaths, and intersected -by hundreds of clear brawling rills. To the -eastward, however, although much broken by forest -ground, there was a wide range of rich pasture fields -and meadows, divided by great overgrown hawthorn -hedges, each hedge almost a thicket, and penetrated -by numerous lanes and horse-roads buried between -deep banks, and overcanopied by foliage, that, even at -noonday, was almost impenetrable to the sunshine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here and there lay scattered among the fields and -woods innumerable farm-houses and granges, the -abodes of small freeholders, once tenants and vassals -of the great St. Aubyns; and, at about six miles from -the Hall, nestled in a green valley, through which ran -a clear, bright trout-stream to join the turbulent torrent, -stood the little market town of Widecomb-Under-Moor, -from their unalienated property in which the -family of St. Aubyn derived the most valuable portion -of their incomes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='12' id='Page_12'></span> -Over the whole of this pleasant and peaceful tract, -whether it was still owned by themselves, or had -passed into the hands of the free yeomanry, the Lords -of Widecomb still held manorial rights, and the few -feudal privileges which had survived the revolution; -and, through the whole of it, Sir Miles St. Aubyn was -regarded with unmixed love and veneration, while the -boy Jasper was looked upon almost as a son in every -family, though some old men would shake their heads -doubtfully, and mutter sage but unregarded saws concerning -his present disposition and future prospects; -and some old grandames would prognosticate disasters, -horrors, and even crimes as hanging over his career, -in consequence, perhaps, of the inauspicious change in -the patronymic of his race.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They were a happy and an unsophisticated race -who inhabited those lonely glens. Sufficiently well -provided to be above the want of necessaries, or the -fear of poverty, they were not so far removed from the -necessity of labor as to have incurred vicious ambitions—moderate, -frugal, and industrious, they lived uncorrupted, -and died happy in their unlearned innocence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the boast of the district that bars and locks -were appendages to doors entirely unusual and useless; -that the cage of Widecomb had not held a tenant -since the days of stiff old Oliver; and that no deed of -violence or blood had ever tainted those calm vales -with horror.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alas! how soon was that boast to be annulled; how -soon were the details of a dread domestic tragedy, full -of dark horrors, and reproductive of guilt through -generations, to render the very name of Widecomb a -terror, and to invest the beauteous scenery with images -of superstitious awe and hatred. But we must not -anticipate, nor seek as yet to penetrate the secrets of -that destiny, which even during the morn of promising -young life, seemed to overhang the house,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>And hushed in grim repose,</p> -<p class='line'>  Expects its evening prey.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>The Peril.</span></p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>                I say beware—</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>That way perdition lies, the very path</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Of seeming safety leading to the abyss.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'>—MS.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>It was as fair a morning of July as ever dawned in the -blue summer sky; the sun as yet had risen but a little -way above the waves of fresh green foliage which -formed the horizon of the woodland scenery surrounding -Widecomb Manor; and his heat, which promised -ere midday to become excessive, was tempered now -by the exhalations of the copious night-dews, and by -the cool breath of the western breeze, which came -down through the leafy gorges, in long, soft swells -from the open moorlands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All nature was alive and joyous; the air was vocal -with the piping melody of the blackbirds and thrushes, -caroling in every brake and bosky dingle; the smooth, -green lawn, before the windows of the old Hall was -peopled with whole tribes of fat, lazy hares, limping -about among the dewy herbage, fearless, as it would -seem, of man’s aggression; and to complete the picture, -above a score of splendid peacocks were strutting -to and fro on the paved terraces, or perched upon the -carved stone balustrades, displaying their gorgeous -plumage to the early sunshine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The shadowy mists of the first morning twilight had -not been long dispersed from the lower regions, and -were suspended still in the middle air in broad fleecy -masses, though melting rapidly away in the increasing -warmth and brightness of the day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And still a faint blue line hovered over the bed of -the long rocky gorge, which divided the chase from -the open country, floating about it like the steam of a -seething caldron, and rising here and there into tall -smoke-like columns, probably where some steeper cataract -of the mountain-stream sent its foam skyward.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So early, indeed, was the hour, that had my tale been -recited of these degenerate days, there would have -been no gentle eyes awake to look upon the loveliness -of new-awakened nature.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the good days of old, however, when daylight was -still deemed to be the fitting time for labor and for -pastime, and night the appointed time for natural and -healthful sleep, the dawn was wont to brighten beheld -by other eyes than those of clowns and milkmaids, and -the gay songs of the matutinal birds were listened to -by ears that could appreciate their untaught melodies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now, just as the stable clock was striking four, -the great oaken door of the old Hall was thrown open -with a vigorous swing that made it rattle on its hinges, -and Jasper St. Aubyn came bounding out into the fresh -morning air, with a foot as elastic as that of the mountain -roe, singing a snatch of some quaint old ballad.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was dressed simply in a close-fitting jacket and -tight hose of dark-green cloth, without any lace or -embroidery, light boots of untanned leather, and a -broad-leafed hat, with a single eagle’s feather thrust -carelessly through the band. He wore neither cloak -nor sword, though it was a period at which gentlemen -rarely went abroad without both these, their distinctive -attributes; but in the broad black belt which girt his -rounded waist he carried a stout wood-knife with a -buckhorn hilt; and over his shoulder there swung -from a leathern thong, a large wicker fishing-basket.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Nothing, indeed, could be simpler or less indicative -of any particular rank or station in society than young -St. Aubyn’s garb, yet it would have been a very dull -and unobservant eye which should take him for aught -less than a high-born and high-bred gentleman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His fine intellectual face, his bearing erect before -heaven, the graceful ease of his every motion, as he -hurried down the flagged steps of the terrace, and -planted his light foot on the dewy greensward, all betokened -gentle birth and gentle associations.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But he thought nothing of himself, nor cared for his -advantages, acquired or natural. The long and heavy -salmon-rod which he carried in his right hand, in three -pieces as yet unconnected, did not more clearly indicate -his purpose than the quick marking glance which -he cast toward the half-veiled sun and hazy sky, -scanning the signs of the weather.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It will do, it will do,” he said to himself, thinking -as it were aloud, “for three or four hours at least; the -sun will not shake off those vapors before eight o’clock -at the earliest, and if he do come out then hot and -<span class='pageno' title='13' id='Page_13'></span> -strong, I do not know but the water is dark enough -after the late rains to serve my turn awhile longer. It -will blow up, too, I think, from the westward, and -there will be a brisk curl on the pools. But come, I -must be moving, if I would reach Darringford to breakfast.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And as he spoke he strode out rapidly across the -park toward the deep chasm of the stream, crushing a -thousand aromatic perfumes from the dewy wild-flowers -with his heedless foot, and thinking little of -the beauties of nature, as he hastened to the scene of -his loved exercise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was not long, accordingly, before he reached the -brink of the steep rocky bank above the stream, which -he proposed to fish that morning, and paused to select -the best place for descending to the water’s edge.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was, indeed, a striking and romantic scene as ever -met the eye of painter or of poet. On the farther side -of the gorge, scarcely a hundred yards distant, the -dark limestone rocks rose sheer and precipitous from -the very brink of the stream, rifted and broken into -angular blocks and tall columnar masses, from the -clefts of which, wherever they could find soil enough -to support their scanty growth, a few stunted oaks -shot out almost horizontally with their gnarled arms -and dark-green foliage, and here and there the silvery -bark and quivering tresses of the birch relieved the -monotony of color by their gay brightness. Above, -the cliffs were crowned with the beautiful purple -heather, now in its very glow of summer bloom, about -which were buzzing myriads of wild bees sipping -their nectar from its cups of amethyst.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The hither side, though rough and steep and broken, -was not in the place where Jasper stood precipitous; -indeed it seemed as if at some distant period a sort of -landslip had occurred, by which the fall of the rocky -wall had been broken into massive fragments, and -hurled down in an inclined plane into the bed of the -stream, on which it had encroached with its shattered -blocks and rounded boulders.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Time, however, had covered all this abrupt and -broken slope with a beautiful growth of oak and hazel -coppice, among which, only at distant intervals, could -the dun weather-beaten flanks of the great stones be -discovered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the base of this descent, a hundred and fifty feet -perhaps below the stand of the young sportsman, -flowed the dark arrowy stream—a wild and perilous -water. As clear as crystal, yet as dark as the brown -cairn-gorm, it came pouring down among the broken -rocks with a rapidity and force which showed what -must be its fury when swollen by a storm among the -mountains, here breaking into wreaths of rippling foam -where some unseen ledge chafed its current, there -roaring and surging white as December’s snow among -the great round-headed rocks, and there again wheeling -in sullen eddies, dark and deceitful, round and round -some deep rock-brimmed basin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here and there, indeed, it spread out into wide shallow -rippling rapids, filling the whole bottom of the -ravine from side to side, but more generally it did not -occupy above a fourth part of the space below, leaving -sometimes on this margin, sometimes on that, broad -pebbly banks, or slaty ledges, affording an easy footing -and a clear path to the angler in its troubled -waters.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After a rapid glance over the well-known scene, -Jasper plunged into the coppice, and following a faint -track worn by the feet of the wild-deer in the first -instance, and widened by his own bolder tread, soon -reached the bottom of the chasm, though not until he -had flushed from the dense oak covert two noble black -cocks with their superb forked tails, and glossy purple-lustered -plumage, which soared away, crowing their -bold defiance, over the heathery moorlands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once at the water’s edge, the young man’s tackle -was speedily made ready, and in a few minutes his -long line went whistling through the air, as he wielded -the powerful two-handed rod, as easily as if it had -been a stripling’s reed, and the large gaudy peacock-fly -alighted on the wheeling eddies, at the tail of a long -arrowy shoot, as gently as if it had settled from too -long a flight. Delicately, deftly, it was made to dance -and skim the clear, brown surface, until it had crossed -the pool and neared the hither bank; then again, obedient -to the pliant wrist, it arose on glittering wing, -circled half round the angler’s head, and was sent -thirty yards aloof, straight as a wild bee’s flight, into a -little mimic whirlpool, scarce larger than the hat of the -skillful fisherman, which spun round and round just to -leeward of a gray ledge of limestone. Scarce had it -reached its mark before the water broke all around -it, and the gay deceit vanished, the heavy swirl of the -surface, as the break was closing, indicating the great -size of the fish which had risen. Just as the swirl -was subsiding, and the forked tail of the monarch of -the stream was half seen as he descended, that indescribable -but well-known turn of the angler’s wrist, -fixed the barbed hook, and taught the scaly victim the -nature of the prey he had gorged so heedlessly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With a wild bound he threw himself three feet out -of the water, showing his silver sides, with the sea-lice -yet clinging to his scales, a fresh sea-run fish of -fifteen, ay, eighteen pounds, and perhaps over.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On his broad back he strikes the water, but not as he -meant the tightened line; for as he leaped the practiced -hand had lowered the rod’s tip, that it fell in a loose -bight below him. Again! again! again! and yet a -fourth time he bounded into the air with desperate and -vigorous soubresaults, like an unbroken steed that -would dismount his rider, lashing the eddies of the -dark stream into bright bubbling streaks, and making -the heart of his captor beat high with anticipation of -the desperate struggle that should follow, before the -monster would lie panting and exhausted on the yellow -sand or moist greensward.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Away! with the rush of an eagle through the air, he -is gone like an arrow down the rapids—how the reel -rings, and the line whistles from the swift working -wheel; he is too swift, too headstrong to be checked -as yet; tenfold the strength of that slender tackle might -not control him in his first fiery rush.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Jasper, although young in years, was old in the -art, and skillful as the craftiest of the gentle craftsmen. -He gives him the butt of his rod steadily, trying the -strength of his tackle with a delicate and gentle finger, -<span class='pageno' title='14' id='Page_14'></span> -giving him line at every rush, yet firmly, cautiously, -feeling his mouth all the while, and moderating his -speed even while he yields to his fury.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, with the eye of intuition and the nerve -of iron, he bounds along the difficult shore, he leaps -from rock to rock, alighting on their slippery tops with -the firm agility of the rope-dancer, he splashes knee -deep through the slippery shallows, keeping his line -ever taut, inclining his rod over his shoulder, bearing -on his fish ever with a killing pull, steering him clear -of every rock or stump against which he would fain -smash the tackle, and landing him at length in a fine -open roomy pool, at the foot of a long stretch of white -and foamy rapids, down which he has just piloted -him with the eye of faith, and the foot of instinct.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now the great salmon has turned sulky; like -a piece of lead he has sunk to the bottom of the deep -black pool, and lies on the gravel bottom in the sullenness -of despair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jasper stooped, gathered up in his left hand a heavy -pebble, and pitched it into the pool, as nearly as he -could guess to the whereabout of his game—another—and -another! Aha! that last has roused him. Again -he throws himself clear out of water, and again foiled -in his attempt to smash the tackle, dashes away down -stream impetuous.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But his strength is departing—the vigor of his rush -is broken. The angler gives him the butt abundantly, -strains on him with a heavier pull, yet ever yields a -little as he exerts his failing powers; see, his broad, -silver side has thrice turned up, even to the surface, -and though each time he has recovered himself, each -time it has been with a heavier and more sickly -motion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Brave fellow! his last race is run, his last spring -sprung—no more shall he disport himself in the bright -reaches of the Tamar; no more shall the Naiads wreathe -his clear silver scales with river-greens and flowery -rushes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The cruel gaff is in his side—his cold blood stains -the eddies for a moment—he flaps out his death-pang -on the hard limestone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who-whoop! a nineteen pounder!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meantime the morning had worn onward, and ere -the great fish was brought to the basket the sun had -soared clear above the mist-wreaths, and had risen so -high into the summer heaven that his slant rays poured -down into the gorge of the stream, and lighted up the -clear depths with a lustre so transparent that every -pebble at the bottom might have been discerned, with -the large fish here and there floating mid depth, with -their heads up stream, their gills working with a quick -motion, and their broad tails vibrating at short intervals -slowly but powerfully, as they lay motionless in opposition -to the very strongest of the swift current.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The breeze had died away, there was no curl upon -the water, and the heat was oppressive.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Under such circumstances to whip the stream was -little better than mere loss of time, yet as he hurried -with a fleet foot down the gorge, perhaps with some -ulterior object, beyond the mere love of sport, Jasper -at times cast his fly across the stream, and drew it -neatly, and, as he thought, irresistibly right over the -recusant fish; but though once or twice a large lazy -salmon would sail up slowly from the depths, and -almost touch the fly with his nose, he either sunk down -slowly in disgust, without breaking the water, or flapped -his broad tail over the shining fraud as if to mark his -contempt.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It had now got to be near noon, for in the ardor of -his success the angler had forgotten all about his intended -breakfast; and, his first fish captured, had contented -himself with a slender meal furnished from out -his fishing-basket and his leathern bottle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jasper had traversed by this time some ten miles in -length, following the sinuosities of the stream, and had -reached a favorite pool at the head of a long, straight, -narrow trench, cut by the waters themselves in the -course of time, through the hard shistous rock which -walls the torrent on each hand, not leaving the slightest -ledge or margin between the rapids and the precipice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Through this wild gorge of some fifty yards in length, -the river shoots like an arrow over a steep inclined -plane of limestone rock, the surface of which is polished -by the action of the water, till it is as slippery as ice, -and at the extremity leaps down a sheer descent of some -twelve feet into a large, wide basin, surrounded by -softly swelling banks of greensward, and a fair amphitheatre -of woodland.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the upper end this pool is so deep as to be vulgarly -deemed unfathomable; below, however, it expands -yet wider into a shallow rippling ford, where it -is crossed by the high-road, down stream of which -again there is another long, sharp rapid, and another -fall, over the last steps of the hills; after which the -nature of the stream becomes changed, and it murmurs -gently onward through a green pastoral country unrippled -and uninterrupted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Just in the inner angle of the high road, on the right -hand of the stream, there stood an old-fashioned, low-browed, -thatch-covered, stone cottage, with a rude -portico of rustic woodwork overrun with jassmine and -virgin-bower, and a pretty flower-garden sloping down -in successive terraces to the edge of the basin. Beside -this, there was no other house in sight, unless it were -part of the roof of a mill which stood in the low ground -on the brink of the second fall, surrounded with a mass -of willows. But the tall steeple of a country church -raising itself heavenward above the brow of the hill, -seemed to show that, although concealed by the undulations -of the ground, a village was hard at hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The morning had changed a second time, a hazy -film had crept up to the zenith, and the sun was now -covered with a pale golden veil, and a slight current -of air down the gorge ruffled the water.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a capital pool, famous for being the temporary -haunt of the very finest fish, which were wont to lie -there awhile, as if to recruit themselves after the exertions -of leaping the two falls and stemming the double -rapid, before attempting to ascend the stream farther.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Few, however, even of the best and boldest fishermen -cared to wet a line in its waters, in consequence -of the supposed impossibility of following a heavy fish -through the gorge below or checking him at the brink -of the fall. It is true, that throughout the length of the -pass, the current was broken by bare, slippery rocks -<span class='pageno' title='15' id='Page_15'></span> -peering above the waters, at intervals, which might be -cleared by an active cragsman; and it had been in fact -reconnoitered by Jasper and others in cool blood, but -the result of the examination was that it was deemed -impassable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thinking, however, little of striking a large fish, and -perhaps desiring to waste a little time before scaling -the banks and emerging on the high road, Jasper threw -a favorite fly of peacock’s back and gold tinsel lightly -across the water; and, almost before he had time to -think, had hooked a monstrous fish, which, at the very -first leap, he set down as weighing at least thirty pounds.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thereupon followed a splendid display of piscatory -skill. Well knowing that his fish must be lost if he -once should succeed in getting his head down the rapid, -Jasper exerted every nerve, and exhausted every art -to humor, to meet, to restrain, to check him. Four -times the fish rushed for the pass, and four times Jasper -met him so stoutly with the butt, trying his tackle -to the very utmost, that he succeeded in forcing him -from the perilous spot. Round and round the pool he -had piloted him, and had taken post at length, hoping -that the worst was already over, close to the opening -of the rocky chasm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now perhaps waxing too confident he checked -his fish too sharply. Stung into fury, the monster -sprang five times in succession into the air, lashing the -water with his angry tail, and then rushed like an -arrow down the chasm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was gone—but Jasper’s blood was up, and thinking -of nothing but his sport, he dashed forward and -embarked with a fearless foot in the terrible descent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Leap after leap he took with beautiful precision, -alighting firm and erect on the centre of each slippery -block, and bounding thence to the next with unerring -instinct, guiding his fish the while with consummate -skill through the intricacies of the pass.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There were now but three more leaps to be taken -before he would reach the flat table-rock above the -fall, which once attained, he would have firm foot-hold -and a fair field; already he rejoiced, triumphant in the -success of his bold attainment, and confident in victory, -when a shrill female shriek reached his ears from the -pretty flower-garden; caught by the sound he diverted -his eyes, just as he leaped, toward the place whence -it came; his foot slipped, and the next instant he was -flat on his back in the swift stream, where it shot the -most furiously over the glassy rock. He struggled -manfully, but in vain. The smooth, slippery surface -afforded no purchase to his <a id='grip'></a>gripping fingers, no hold to his -laboring feet. One fearful, agonizing conflict with the -wild waters, and he was swept helplessly over the -edge of the fall, his head, as he glanced down foot -foremost, striking the rocky brink with fearful violence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was plunged into the deep pool, and whirled -round and round by the dark eddies long before he rose, -but still, though stunned and half disabled, he strove -terribly to support himself, but it was all in vain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again he sunk and rose once more, and as he rose -that wild shriek again reached his ears, and his last -glance fell upon a female form wringing her hands in -despair on the bank, and a young man rushing down -in wild haste from the cottage on the hill.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He felt that aid was at hand, and struck out again -for life—for dear life!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the water seemed to fail beneath him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A slight flash sprang across his eyes, his brain reeled, -and all was blackness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sunk to the bottom, spurned it with his feet, and -rose once more, but not to the surface.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His quivering blue hands emerged alone above the -relentless waters, grasped for a little moment at empty -space, and then disappeared.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The circling ripples closed over him, and subsided -into stillness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He felt, knew, suffered nothing more.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His young, warm heart was cold and lifeless—his -soul had lost its consciousness—the vital spark had -faded into darkness—perhaps was quenched for ever.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;margin-top:0.5em;'>[<span class='it'>To be continued.</span></p> - -<hr class='tbk110'/> - -<div><h1><a id='mary'></a>MARY.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. O. M. P. LORD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Humble Mary! thus in breaking</p> -<p class='line0'>  Vows I never meant to keep,</p> -<p class='line0'>Who will blame me for forsaking,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Though a love-sick girl may weep?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Humble Mary! high born maiden</p> -<p class='line0'>  Must my name and honors share,</p> -<p class='line0'>With ancestral glory laden—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Matters not less good and fair.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>      . . . . . .</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Angel Mary! sadly pleading,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sinking low on bended knee,</p> -<p class='line0'>See remorse to scorn succeeding—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Mary! Mary! pardon me.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Angel Mary! lost forever!</p> -<p class='line0'>  What are name and fame to thee?</p> -<p class='line0'>Cursed the pride that bade us sever—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Angel Mary! pardon me.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Mary! cold the earth above thee,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Cold and calm thy broken heart—</p> -<p class='line0'>Canst thou not to him who loved thee</p> -<p class='line0'>  Something of thy peace impart?</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk111'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='16' id='Page_16'></span><h1><a id='thee'></a>I’M THINKING OF THEE!</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY A. D. WILLIAMS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>When the wild winds are howling,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Now distant, now nigh,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the storm-king is growling,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And clouds veil the sky;</p> -<p class='line0'>When the tempest is foaming,</p> -<p class='line0'>  O’er ocean and lea,</p> -<p class='line0'>My thoughts are not roaming—</p> -<p class='line0'>  I’m thinking of thee!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>When the mild, gentle showers</p> -<p class='line0'>  Distil from the sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the bright blooming flowers</p> -<p class='line0'>  Delight the glad eye;</p> -<p class='line0'>When the zephyrs are playing</p> -<p class='line0'>  So blandly and free,</p> -<p class='line0'>My thoughts are not straying—</p> -<p class='line0'>  I’m thinking of thee!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>When the beams of Aurora</p> -<p class='line0'>  Are flooding the earth,</p> -<p class='line0'>With morn’s radiant glory</p> -<p class='line0'>  And day’s jovial mirth;</p> -<p class='line0'>When the gay birds are singing</p> -<p class='line0'>  In innocent glee,</p> -<p class='line0'>As their clear tones are ringing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I’m thinking of thee!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>When day’s fading sky-light</p> -<p class='line0'>  Wanes slow from the west,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the shadows of twilight</p> -<p class='line0'>  Steal soft o’er its breast;</p> -<p class='line0'>When Luna is shimmering</p> -<p class='line0'>  O’er land and o’er sea—</p> -<p class='line0'>While the bright stars are glim’ring,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I’m thinking of thee!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Amid gay festive pleasure,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where mirth lends the song,</p> -<p class='line0'>There my heart has no treasure—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou’rt not in the throng.</p> -<p class='line0'>But forgetting the present,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its wild merry glee,</p> -<p class='line0'>My communings are pleasant—</p> -<p class='line0'>  I’m thinking of thee!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk112'/> - -<div><h1><a id='tulip'></a>THE TULIP-TREE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY BAYARD TAYLOR.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Bounds my blood with long-forgotten fleetness</p> -<p class='line0'>  To the chime of boyhood’s blithest tune,</p> -<p class='line0'>While I drink a life of brimming sweetness</p> -<p class='line0'>  From the glory of the breezy June.</p> -<p class='line0'>Far above, the fields of ether brighten;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Forest leaves are twinkling in their glee;</p> -<p class='line0'>And the daisy’s snows around me whiten,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Drifted down the sloping lea!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>On the hills he standeth like a tower,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Shining in the morn—the Tulip-Tree!</p> -<p class='line0'>On his rounded turrets beats the shower,</p> -<p class='line0'>  While his emerald flags are flapping free:</p> -<p class='line0'>But when Summer in the fields is standing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And his blood is stirred with light, like wine,</p> -<p class='line0'>O’er his branches, all at once expanding,</p> -<p class='line0'>  How the starry blossoms shine!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Through the glossy leaves they burn, unfolded,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like the breast of some sweet oriole—</p> -<p class='line0'>Filled with fragrance, as a joy new moulded</p> -<p class='line0'>  Into being by a poet’s soul!</p> -<p class='line0'>Violet hills, against the sunrise lying,</p> -<p class='line0'>  See them kindle when the stars grow dim,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the breeze that drinks their odorous sighing</p> -<p class='line0'>  Woos the lark’s rejoicing hymn.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Then all day, in every opening chalice</p> -<p class='line0'>  Drains their honey-drops the reveling bee,</p> -<p class='line0'>Till the dove-winged Sleep makes thee her palace,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Filled with song-like murmurs, Tulip-Tree!</p> -<p class='line0'>In thine arms repose the dreams enchanted</p> -<p class='line0'>  Which in childhood’s heart were nestled long,</p> -<p class='line0'>And, beneath thee, still my brain is haunted</p> -<p class='line0'>  With their tones of vanished song.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh, while Earth’s full heart is throbbing over</p> -<p class='line0'>  With its wealth of light and life and joy,</p> -<p class='line0'>Who can dream the seasons that shall cover</p> -<p class='line0'>  With their frost the visions of the boy?</p> -<p class='line0'>Who can paint the years that downward darken,</p> -<p class='line0'>  While the splendid morning bids aspire,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or the turf upon his coffin hearken,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When his pulses leap with fire!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Wind of June, that sweep’st the rolling meadow,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou shalt wail in branches rough and bare,</p> -<p class='line0'>While the tree, o’erhung with storm and shadow,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Writhes and creaks amid the gusty air.</p> -<p class='line0'>All his leaves, like shields of fairies scattered,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Then shall drop before the Northwind’s spears,</p> -<p class='line0'>And his limbs, by hail and tempest battered,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Feel the weight of wintry years.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yet, why cloud the rapture and the glory</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of the Beautiful, that still remains?</p> -<p class='line0'>Life, alas! will soon reverse the story,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And its sunshine gild forsaken plains.</p> -<p class='line0'>Let thy blossoms in the morning brighten,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Happy heart, as doth the Tulip-Tree,</p> -<p class='line0'>While the daisy’s snows around us whiten,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Drifted down the sloping lea!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk113'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='17' id='Page_17'></span><h1><a id='true'></a>TRUE UNTO DEATH.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>PART I.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>A gentle breeze swept through the vine-latticed -casement of a small apartment, filling it with all the -balmy odors of a June evening, while the moonbeams -stealing softly on its track, broke through the leafy -screen in fitful shadows. The sighing of the wind -through the long, slender branches of the willows—the -plaintive cry of the whip-poor-will, and at a little distance -the murmuring sound of water, as the waves of -the lake broke gently upon the shore—all were in -unison with the sad hearts of the two—a youth and -maiden, who, in that little room bathed by the moonbeams -and the breeze, were now about to be parted, -perhaps forever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Deep anguish was depicted on the countenance of -the young man—calm resolve and pious resignation on -that of his companion, who, with her hands clasped -before her, and her deep mournful eyes fixed tenderly -upon his, said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, Richard, it cannot be—urge me no more to a -course which seems to me both cruel and unnatural. -Think you this sacrifice is not as painful to me as to -you, dear Richard?” she added, taking his hand and -pressing it to her lips, while a tear trickled slowly -down her pale cheek; “then reproach me not—call -me not heartless, unfeeling; rather encourage me to -fulfill faithfully the part which duty allots me—will you -not, Richard?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And thus destroy my own happiness and yours, -Margaret! It is, indeed, a cruel task you would impose -on me. No—I cannot make our future life so -desolate as to sanction your cruel decision. Believe -me, dearest, your resolution is but the delirium of a -moment—grief for the loss of your beloved mother, and -sympathy with your afflicted father renders you morbidly -sensitive on that point alone. I entreat you, then, -dearest, beloved Margaret—I entreat you by all our -hopes of happiness, revoke your cruel words, and reflect -longer ere you consign us both to misery.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have well deliberated, Richard, and my decision -is unalterable. Call it not delirium, or the shadow of -a grief which a moment’s sunshine may dispel; every -hour, on the contrary, will but strengthen my resolution, -and convince me I have acted rightly. My poor -father—can I leave him in his sad bereavement! who -else has he now to love but me—and shall I selfishly -turn from him in his loneliness! Ah, Richard, ask me -not—for never, never will I leave him or forsake him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And have you, then, no care for my wretchedness?” -exclaimed her lover with bitterness, as he -rapidly paced the floor; “no sympathy for my disappointment! -Think, Margaret, how long I have waited -to call you mine—how many years I have cheerfully -toiled, looking to this dear hand as my reward. O, -Margaret, Margaret!—and now, even now, when that -joyful hour was so near—when but a few days more -would have made you mine forever—it is you who -speak those bitter words—it is you who place a barrier -between our loves!—cruel, cruel girl!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is the hand of Death, not mine, which has placed -the barrier between us, Richard—she who would have -blessed our union is no more! ‘<span class='it'>Forsake not your -father, my child!</span>’ were her dying words—and so -long as God gives me breath, I never will! Come -here, Richard, listen to me, and pity me—for not a pang -rends your bosom but finds an answering pang in mine; -nor do I hesitate to confess it to you in this sad moment—there -shall be no concealment from you—I will -not wrap my heart in maidenly reserve, but confess -alike my tenderness and my grief. No longer, then, -dearest Richard, accuse me of coldly sacrificing your -love to filial duty—for God knows the agony with -which I have decided.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Forgive me, my beloved.” said Richard, “I have -been too selfish. I should have known that pure heart -better. However my own feelings may dictate, Margaret, -I will no longer oppose the course to which the -most devoted filial piety leads you, in thus unselfishly -renouncing love and happiness that you may devote -your days to a beloved parent. God bless and reward -you, dearest.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Richard, how much your words comfort me,” replied -Margaret; “you no longer oppose but encourage -me. Thank you, dear Richard; yet one thing more, -when you leave me, you must be free from all engagement—nay, -do not interrupt me—many long years -may intervene ere I shall be free to give you my hand; -nor would I have its disposal linked with such a -dreadful alternative as my father’s death. The few -charms I may possess will ere long have faded, and I -would not bind you to me when the light of youth has -passed from cheek and eye. No, Richard—go forth -into the world, it claims your talents and your usefulness, -and in time some other will be to you all that I -would have been.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Margaret, you do not know me,” he replied. -“Think you another can ever come between me and -your image. I go, but the memory of our love shall -go with me—your name shall be my star, and for your -dear sake I will devote all my energies henceforth to -the happiness of my fellow-beings; your noble example -shall not pass without its lesson. But promise -me one thing, Margaret—let there be one solace for -my wretchedness—one hope, though faint, to cheer -my lonely path—promise me that should any thing -hereafter occur, no matter how long the flight of years, -which may induce you to wave your present decision, -you will write to me—will you—will you promise me -this, my best beloved?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Margaret placed her hand in his: “Yes, Richard, I -promise you—should that time come you shall be informed; -and I ask in return this, if your feelings have -<span class='pageno' title='18' id='Page_18'></span> -meanwhile changed, if through time and absence I may -have become indifferent to you, Richard, then make no -reply to my communication—let there be forever -<span class='it'>silence</span>—or <span class='it'>joy</span>—between us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And thus parted two fond devoted hearts—a noble -sacrifice to filial love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Never, perhaps, was there a more striking illustration -of the frail basis on which all human hopes are -placed, than was presented by those sudden events -overwhelming the inmates of Willow Bank Cottage -with affliction. Thus our most ardent expectations are -frequently met by disappointment, and our most promising -joys blighted. Even when happiness and peace -irradiate our hearts, and on the buoyant wing of hope -our fancy soars into a future of unclouded bliss, even -then desolation and wo may be at our very threshold.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus it proved with those whose history I will -briefly relate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Willow Bank, for many years the residence of the -Gardner family, was delightfully situated near the -borders of a lovely little lake, whose circling waters -rippled gently to the shore beneath the deep shadows -of the maple and sycamore—occasionally weeping -willows swept with their long golden pendants the -bright water, or the branches of some stately pine in -green old age, rose proudly above the lowly alder and -silvery birch here and there skirting the bank. Thus -rocked in its cradle of green, lay this beautiful little -lake, as blue as the blue sky above it were its waters, -now dimpled by the passing breeze, now breaking in -tiny wavelets, each with its cap of pearly foam, sportively -chasing each other like a band of merry children -to lose themselves at the feet of the brave old trees. -From the windows of the cottage the lake was seen -spreading itself out like some broad and beautiful mirror, -and then gently diverging into a narrow rivulet, winding -through meadow and woodland, until it sprang -joyously into the bosom of the Ohio. Nature had done -much to beautify the spot Mr. Gardner had selected -for his residence—taste and art had also united their -skill; the three combined had created almost a Paradise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But it is to those who dwelt therein, not to its local -beauties, my pen must confine itself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Early in life Mr. Gardner had married a lovely and -amiable woman, and removed from Virginia, his native -state, to the beautiful residence I have described, -a few miles from the town of S——, Ohio. Blending -his profession of the law with that of agriculture, a -few years saw him one of the most influential men in -the country; and had he offered himself as a candidate -for office, he would have been almost certain of success, -such was his popularity; but his ambition took -not that course. Domestic happiness was to him worth -more than all the perishable honors of public life—to -Willow Bank and its beloved inmates were all his -wishes centred; and uninterrupted and continued for -many years were the smiles of Providence. It seemed, -indeed, as if this favored spot was exempt from all the -ordinary ills of life—sickness came not to fright the -roses from the cheek of health, neither did strife, envy, -or sullen discontent intrude upon this earthly paradise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. and Mrs. Gardner had but one child—it was -Margaret. When about seventeen, chance led to an -acquaintance with Richard Lelland, employed by an -eminent firm at the South upon business connected with -the sale of lands in Ohio. Among other letters of introduction -he brought one to Mr. Gardner, who, favorably -impressed with his appearance, invited him to -pass a few days at Willow Bank.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Upon what slight chances does our happiness or -misery rest. <span class='it'>A few days</span>—how simple their signification; -and yet from their brief circle how many -hours of bitter anguish may take their rise. Little did -Lelland or Margaret dream of the untold future, whose -all of earthly weal or wo these few days decided.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To know Margaret was to love her—yet she was -not strictly beautiful; there may be features more -regular, complexions more dazzling, and forms of more -perfect symmetry than she possessed. She was one -of those whose gentle and winning manners stole into -your heart, and then only you saw her loveliness, or -acknowledged the light of love and tenderness which -beamed from her large, dark hazel eyes. Her beauty -was not that which attracts the eye of every careless -observer—it was the beauty of the mind and heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Richard Lelland was at that time twenty-one, rather -above the ordinary height, and of graceful, polished -manners, with a frank and open countenance, at once -a passport to your favor and respect. His complexion -was almost as delicate as a girl’s, a large, full, dark-blue -eye, and hair of rich wavy brown.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Business detaining young Lelland in the vicinity of -Willow Bank for some weeks longer than he had first -anticipated, he took frequent opportunities of improving -his acquaintance with Miss Gardner, and the interest -she had first awakened in his heart soon ripened into -a deep and fervent attachment. But he possessed a -firmness and decision of character seldom met with in -one so young; and he resolved to bury his love for -Margaret in his own breast, until he could produce -such testimonials as to family, etc., as should warrant -his openly paying her his addresses. He therefore returned -to the South leaving his love unspoken; but -there is a language more eloquent even than words, -and this had already made known to Margaret the -sentiments of the young stranger; this, too, had whispered -in the lover’s ear, thrilling his soul with ecstasy, -that when he should ask the love of the pure and gentle -girl, it would be his.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Within the year the lovers were betrothed, with the -full sanction of Margaret’s parents, with the proviso -that their marriage should not be consummated until -Lelland, who had now nothing but his salary to depend -upon, should be in a situation better calculated for the -maintenance of a family. This was as much his wish -as theirs, for he loved Margaret too well to take her -from all the comforts and luxuries of the paternal roof, -only to offer in exchange the embarrassments and privations -attendant upon a narrow and straitened income. -For three years, therefore, early and late did he cheerfully -give all his energies to his business, and at the -end of that time became a partner in the mercantile -house in whose employ he had so faithfully exerted -himself. There was no longer, as it would seem, any -impediment to his union with his adored Margaret. -The wedding-day was appointed, and the happy Lelland, -<span class='pageno' title='19' id='Page_19'></span> -with all the rapture of a bridegroom, flew to -claim his bride.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Had the hand of misfortune been so long withheld -but to crush with one fell blow so much of love and -happiness?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The very evening of his arrival at Willow Bank, -Mrs. Gardner was seized with a sudden and violent -illness, which, alas! baffled all medical skill, and in -less than twenty-four hours the beloved and idolized -wife and mother was no more. To depict the anguish -of the bereaved husband and daughter were a vain -attempt. To those in whose dwellings the destroyer -has never come, who have never read that fatal -sentence, “<span class='it'>Thou art mine!</span>” imprinted by his icy -fingers on the brow of the loved and cherished, or -followed to the dark and silent chambers the lifeless -forms of earth’s treasured ones, to them death is, indeed, -a fearful thing. To <span class='it'>them</span>—yes, to all; and did not our -Heavenly Father graciously extend to us the hand of -mercy, and bid us, with smiles of ineffable love, turn -to him for consolation in this hour of despair, how -could we sustain the anguish of separation, as one after -another the loved ones go home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To Margaret the death of her mother at once opened -a new path of duty, and however painful the sacrifice -to herself, she hesitated not a moment as to the course -she should pursue. But when she thought of Lelland—of -the anguish her decision would cause him—of the -bitter disappointment—of fond hopes all blasted—then, -indeed, she faltered, and her heart shrunk from inflicting -a blow so terrible. And again as she thought of -her unhappy father, her resolution strengthened. Could -she leave him; no! better sacrifice love, happiness, and -with them perhaps life itself, than forsake him in his -desolateness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Stupefied as it were with amazement and grief, -Lelland listened at first in silence to the cruel words -of his beloved Margaret—then remonstrated—entreated—all -in vain. Reproaches were alike unavailing to -alter her decision, until touched at length by her grief, -and filled with admiration of her self-sacrificing devotion -to her parent, with an almost breaking heart he -yielded to her persuasions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A new character must now be introduced. Henry -Wingate was an orphan nephew of Mr. Gardner, and -since the death of his parents, which took place when -he was quite young, Willow Bank had been his home. -As a boy he was artful and selfish, passionate and -cruel. As he grew up to manhood he still retained the -same foibles, with the double art of veiling them under -the most specious and insinuating address. If he loved -any one when a child, it was his Cousin Margaret—she -only had power to quell his wild storms of passion. -With years this love (if it be not profanation to call it -so) increased, until it took possession of his whole -being—yet, characteristic of himself, it was purely -selfish; so that he could make her his, it little mattered -to him whether his love was returned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That he should hate Lelland followed of course, and -that his soul should be filled with jealousy and rage, as -he saw the time so rapidly drawing near when another -should snatch from him the charms he so much coveted. -The sudden death of her who had ever been as a kind -and tender mother to him, gave him therefore but a -momentary pang. Her grave only opened to him new -hopes, new machinations, and with such joy as filled -the Tempter at the destruction of Eden, did his heart -leap at the wretchedness of his hated rival, thus doomed -to see his long cherished hopes all blasted, and to part, -perhaps forever, with her he so devotedly loved. -And now all his sophistry and cunning were brought -to bear. Carefully concealing his own fiendish joy -under the mask of deep sympathy and sorrow, he -breathed only to Margaret words of tender pity—stabbing -his own ears by dwelling upon the virtues of -Lelland, and assuring her that his own life would be a -cheerful sacrifice if thereby he might advance her -happiness. Thus artfully did he begin his course, -trusting in time to supplant his rival in her affections. -But he little understood the heart of a faithful woman, -or he would not have undertaken a task so hopeless. -Margaret was grateful for his kindness, and it was a -relief to unburthen her heart to one who seemed so -truly to sympathize with her; nor did she hesitate to -speak of Lelland, or conceal from her cousin the sorrows -which sometimes oppressed her when reflecting -upon their reparation. Like hot molten lead did her -every word seethe and scorch his jealous soul, yet resolved -to win her, he persevered in the artful course -he had marked out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus passed two long weary years to Margaret, -sustained by the consciousness that she was administering -to the happiness of her father, and by that Higher -Power to whose never-failing support affliction had -taught her to look. But now another trial even more -severe awaited her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ah, poor return for such filial love and piety. A -thankless boon, young Margaret, did you offer, when -for a father’s happiness you so devotedly sacrificed -your own! A sacrifice, however, not the less to be -admired—for where is the heart that does not reverence -such a beautiful trait of filial love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Gardner suddenly announced to Margaret his -intention of marriage with a young, thoughtless girl of -rather doubtful reputation, who had been occasionally -employed to assist in the work of the family. A cruel -stroke was this, to which all that had gone before -seemed light in comparison. What though it released -her from all obligation of duty; what though she was -now free to accept the hand of Lelland, the thought -gave her no satisfaction—not a ray of happiness gleamed -from out the darkness of her despair. To have retained -her dear father <span class='it'>her own</span>; to feel that in her all -his happiness was still treasured, she would have -deemed almost any sacrifice too poor; or had he been -about to unite himself with one more worthy to fill the -place of her sainted mother, she would have schooled -herself to resignation. But that her father should have -selected for a wife one so unsuited by birth and education, -and of a character so vain and frivolous, filled her -with dread for the future.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a strange hallucination of Mr. Gardner. -There is no way of accounting for a procedure so at -variance with the whole tenor of his former life, and -it can only be regarded in the light of insanity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Margaret shrunk not from the task to which duty -<span class='pageno' title='20' id='Page_20'></span> -impelled her, namely, to remonstrate and warn her -father against the step he was taking. The winds -which hurled the dead leaves of autumn in fitful -showers against the window, as she thus tearfully besought -his consideration and forbearance, would have -yielded to her voice as soon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Passing over the further grief of Margaret, I will -only say that in a few weeks this ill-assorted marriage -took place, and a system of petty tyranny and malice -commenced on the part of the new Mrs. Gardner as -almost broke her heart. Captive to the arts of an -intriguing woman, her father heeded neither her tears -or her complaints, until at length Margaret finding all -remonstrance vain, passively yielded herself to the -cruel yoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus repulsed as it were from the affections of her -father, all her domestic happiness destroyed, and subjected -more and more to the insults of a low, vulgar-minded -woman, it would seem the time had come -when Margaret might redeem the promise made to -Lelland, that should any thing occur which might induce -her to waive her decision, she would write to him. -A doubt of his constancy had never darkened her mind; -she judged of him by her own true heart, which never -could know change. If at first she hesitated, it was -from maidenly timidity, not distrust; but when she -reflected what happiness those few brief lines would -cause him, she hesitated no longer. The letter was -written. To her cousin, the specious Wingate, she -frankly confided her resolution, and asked his assistance -in forwarding her letter safely and surely to the -hands of Lelland. Skillfully as he wore the mask, he -was almost betrayed as he listened to the artless details -of Margaret, who faithfully related to him the promise -each had made at their last sad parting. Recovering -himself, however, he promised to secure the safety of -her letter, even if it should include the necessity of -journeying himself to place it in his hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With thanks warm and sincere for his kindness and -sympathy, the deceived, trusting girl gave her letter to -his charge—that precious letter, which thus, like the -dove, went forth to seek rest for her weary soul.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah! think you, my pretty cousin, I value my own -purposes so lightly as to risk the work of years within -the delicate folds of this envelope!” exclaimed Wingate, -as he entered his own apartment, and crushing -the letter of Margaret in his hand as he spoke. “I -should be a fool, indeed—no, no, fair lady, content you -that my eye alone may read this pretty sentimental -effusion. Now, thanks to my lucky stars, this letter -proves almost a sure passport to my desires—ha! ha! -pretty little fool, how she will wait for an answer! -And what then? Did she not entreat <span class='it'>silence if he no -longer loved</span>—‘let there be forever silence or joy between -us’—were her words—<span class='it'>silence</span>—ay, of that I -will take care, and then she is mine—mine as surely -as yonder setting sun will rise again! With your -leave, Mr. Richard Lelland—” and thus violating -every honorable principle, Wingate tore asunder the -seal of affection, and ran his eye over the sacred contents: -“D—n him!” he exclaimed, hurling the letter -across the table with a look almost demoniacal: “I -could tear his very heart out—his heart!—why here -it is—yes, fond fool, why here is his very life—his -soul!”—once more snatching the letter—“and thus I -hold him in my power!—if more were needed to spur -on my revenge of a hated, detested rival, I have it -here in these tender, trustful lines. By heavens it -turns my very blood to gall to find with what fidelity -that man has been loved—while I—but no matter—your -letter goes no further, fair cousin, and thus do I -annihilate your fond hopes and devote you mine!” -thrusting as he spoke poor Margaret’s epistle into the -flames, and watching it with a fiendish smile until of -those tender, confiding lines, nothing but a blackened -scroll remained.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the expiration of a week he informed her that he -had heard from the friend to whose care he had enclosed -her letter, stating that he had delivered it into -Lelland’s own hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Poor deceived girl! O the wretchedness of hope -deferred, as day after day flew by, and still no answer -came! It was only by her more pallid cheek, her -drooping eyelids, and the wan smile by which she -strove to hide her dejection, that Wingate saw his hellish -scheme was succeeding, and his victim sinking -under the belief of her lover’s inconstancy—for she -never again mentioned to him the name of Lelland. -Nothing could be kinder, or better calculated to touch -the heart of Margaret than the demeanor which her -cousin now assumed. His countenance wore a look -of such subdued pity—such heavy sighs would now -and then burst from his heart—and then meeting her -inquiring glance, he would turn from her, or perhaps -rush from the room, as if to conceal the tears her sorrows -called forth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus another six months passed—bringing no change -for the better in the alienated affections of Mr. Gardner -for his child—they were all engrossed by the artful -woman he had so unhappily married. He did not, it -is true, treat her with visible unkindness, but with a -coldness and jealousy which stung the heart of Margaret -perhaps more deeply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wingate now resolved to delay no longer the avowal -of his <span class='it'>love</span>! And accordingly most adroitly opened -the subject to Margaret—he told her for how many -years he had loved her—of the silent grief which he -had so long endured under the conviction that her -affections were given to another—and how by many -bitter struggles he had schooled his heart to relinquish -her at last to a happy rival. He did not ask her love -in return, but the privilege to protect her! Her pity -and kindness were all he dared to hope for <span class='it'>now</span>—but -perhaps at a future time his long-tried devotion might -be rewarded with her affection—and for that he was -willing to wait—too happy if he might look for such a -priceless recompense.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Not doubting for a moment his sincerity, and touched -by his kindness, Margaret yielded to the tempter’s -wiles and became his wife.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And here we must leave her, allowing for the lapse -of some sixteen years ere we again take up the story.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>PART II.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>In the summer of 1840, a gentleman embarked at -Albany, on board one of those magnificent steamers -<span class='pageno' title='21' id='Page_21'></span> -which ply between that city and New York. The -morning was one of unrivaled loveliness. A soft haze -curtained the landscape, veiling the shores and the -silvery outline of the river in one dim, undefined perspective -of beauty, through which the sun like a huge -ball of fire floated on the verge of the eastern sky. As -the morning wore on, a gentle breeze was seen curling -the smooth surface of the river, and then fold after fold -of the beautiful curtain was lifted from the landscape. -The silvery vapors circling, dividing, re-uniting, and -wreathing themselves into a thousand fantastic shapes, -floated lightly away, leaving the charming scenery of -the Hudson unveiled to the admiring eye of the -traveler.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gentleman to whom allusion has been made, -was apparently near or over forty years of age, of a -most prepossessing exterior. He was tall, finely built, -and his countenance denoting benevolence and peace -with all men. A shade of sadness, however, evidently -of no recent origin, was stamped upon his fine features, -involuntarily claiming your sympathy and respect. -Such was the person who now slowly paced the deck—now -stopping to admire some beautiful point of -scenery, now communing with his own thoughts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The boat was crowded with passengers, presenting -the usual variety composing the “world” of a steamboat. -But with these the stranger held no communion—not -a familiar face met his in all that motley assemblage. -It was already near the dinner hour, and many -of the passengers had descended to the dining-saloon, -or gathered around the companion-way waiting the -deafening stroke of the gong, when his attention was -suddenly drawn to a little group seated under the awning -aft of the ladies’ cabin. Reclining on cushions -spread over one of the settees was a lady whose hollow, -racking cough betokened the last stages of consumption. -A large shawl carefully enveloped her -figure, and one pale, attenuated hand rested heavily -upon her bosom, as if to stay the rapid pulsation of her -heart caused by those violent paroxysms of coughing. -A thin veil was thrown lightly over her head, screening -her marble paleness. Two young girls, almost -children, sat by the couch—the eldest, whose profile -only could be seen as she sat with her back nearly -turned to the passengers, was gently fanning her mother, -and now and then moistening her fevered lips -with the grateful juice of an orange, or when seized -with coughing, tenderly supporting her head, and -wiping the perspiration from her throbbing temples. -The younger, a sweet little child of perhaps ten years, -had thrown off her bonnet, and thick masses of rich -brown ringlets fell over her neck and shoulders. She -was seated on a low ottoman by the side of the settee, -reading from a small Bible which she held in her hand—pausing -whenever the terrible cough racked the poor -invalid, and then stooping over her would kiss her pale -lips, and the little white hand, and again in sweet low -tones resume her book.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The stranger found himself deeply interested in this -little group—it was in harmony with his own melancholy -thoughts, and stirred the deep waters of kindness -in his soul. Mechanically he stopped in his walk, -and leaning over the rail continued to muse upon the -sick lady and the affectionate little girls, occasionally -resting his eyes upon the unconscious objects of his -meditation. When the deck was nearly deserted for -the dinner-table, the youngest of the two girls finding -her mother slept, softly rose and without putting on -her bonnet drew near the spot where the stranger was -still standing, and bent down her beautiful head over -the railing as if to peer into the depths of old Hudson. -At that moment one of the river gods (possibly) in the -shape of a large sturgeon, his scaly armor all flashing -in the bright sunbeams, leaped up some twelve or fifteen -feet above the surface. An exclamation of surprise -burst from the little girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“O, sir, what was that?” she asked, turning her -large black eyes upon the stranger.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At that sweet face, and those deep, earnest eyes, -sudden emotion thrilled his heart, and sent the blood -coursing rapidly through his veins. That face—it was -so like—so very like one with whose memory both -happiness and misery held divided sway! Scarcely -could he command himself to answer her artless question; -and after having done so, in an agitated voice he -asked—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The child hesitated a moment, as if doubting the -propriety of giving her name to a stranger, but there -was something so kind and benevolent in his looks that -compelled her irresistibly to reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My name is Margaret—Margaret Wingate.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Richard Lelland took her small slender hand, put -back the beautiful curls from her forehead, and gazed -long and mournfully into her face, then turning away -walked slowly to the opposite side of the deck and -soon disappeared. And the little girl, wondering at -his strange behaviour, returned to her seat by the side -of her mother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was more than an hour ere Lelland again made -his appearance. He was pale, and it seemed as if -an age of sorrow had in that brief hour swept over -his soul. Again he took his station near the little -group.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the mean time the sick lady had remained quiet, -and the sisters still retained their position by her side. -Margaret soon raising her eyes met those of the -stranger, who smilingly beckoned her to approach. -Rising very softly, the child glided to his side, and -placed her little hand confidingly in his.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you ask your sister to come to me, my dear, -I would speak with her a moment?” said Lelland, -laying his hand tenderly on her head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Margaret returned to her sister, who, in a few moments, -timid and blushing, drew near. She seemed -about fourteen, of a slight, graceful figure, and with -the same expression of countenance, only more -thoughtful, as her younger sister.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will excuse the presumption of a stranger, -young lady,” said Lelland, “but unless I greatly err, I -see before me the daughter of a much loved friend. -Tell me, was not your mother’s maiden name Margaret -Gardner?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, sir, that was her name,” she replied in evident -surprise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I knew I could not be mistaken,” continued Lelland, -<span class='pageno' title='22' id='Page_22'></span> -sighing deeply—then after a pause—“and your—your -father—is he with you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He is not—but will meet us on our arrival in New -York.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Has your mother been long ill?” inquired Lelland, -his voice faltering as he spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She has been declining for several years,” replied -the young girl, “but for the last six months her strength -has rapidly failed. O, my dear sir,” she added, bursting -into tears, “if she should die!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lelland could not answer—at length he resumed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And are you then traveling alone, my dear young -lady?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We came as far as Albany under the protection of -a neighbor, and the captain of the boat has promised to -take charge of us to the city.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can I do any thing to aid you? Is there not something -you would like to have for your mother? if so, -consider me in the light of an old acquaintance, and -frankly tell me. My name is Lelland, Richard Lelland—I -knew your dear mother when she was but a few -years older than yourself;” he paused, and overcome -with emotion turned away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary took his hand. “I have often heard her mention -you. O let me tell her at once that such an old -and valued friend is near—she will be so glad to see -you!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, my dear girl, not now—the surprise might -prove too much for her in her present weak state—but -allow me to be near you, and call upon me if need -require.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary thanked him, and then resumed her faithful -care of her mother, who was now apparently in an -easy slumber; and walking lightly around the settee, -Lelland took a seat near the head of the invalid.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Who can describe the anguish of his soul as he thus -watched over the dying form of his first and only love. -And yet, with its bitterness was mingled a strange -feeling of happiness, and his heart rose in thankfulness -to be near her—even in death!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The day was now nearly spent, and the boat shooting -rapidly past the beautiful Palisades, when Mrs. -Wingate awoke, and complaining of a slight chilliness -proposed retiring to the cabin. With difficulty she -arose and leaning on the arm of Mary attempted to -walk, but she was so feeble she could scarcely stand, -and the slender strength of Mary seemed all too frail a -support. Lelland immediately advanced, and, averting -his face, proffered his assistance. Thanking him for -his kindness, Mrs. Wingate placed her arm in his, and -carefully supporting her to the cabin, and placing her -in an easy commodious seat, he left her to the care of -her children.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ah, little did the poor invalid dream whose arm had -so tenderly sustained her feeble steps!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the boat was nearing the wharf, Mary came -out of the cabin and joined Lelland, who was standing -close by the door, and taking his arm crossed over to -the side, that she might recognize, and be recognized -at once by her father, whom she was expecting every -moment to appear among the crowd collected on the -wharf. Once or twice she thought she saw him, but -it proved not. The boat stopped at length, and the -passengers group after group dispersed, until scarcely -any one was left on board save the officers of the boat. -Still Mr. Wingate did not appear, and overcome by -disappointment and their lonely situation, poor Mary -burst into tears. Lelland strove to comfort her, and -having ascertained from her the hotel where her father -lodged, he offered to go himself in search of him. -Bidding her return to her mother, and calm any uneasiness -she might feel at the nonappearance of her -husband, he left the boat and proceeded to the hotel. -Mr. Wingate was not there. He had been gone some -days, nor could they give any information respecting -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What was to be done?—something must be decided -upon at once. It was getting late—already the street -lamps were lighted—and hastily retracing his steps to -the steamboat, Lelland sent for Mary. She turned -pale when she saw he was alone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My father—where is my father?” she cried.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No doubt, my dear, your father has been called -away unexpectedly—you will see him I am sure to-morrow. -In the mean time don’t be uneasy—you -are with one who will not desert you for a moment—but -lest your mother may hesitate to entrust herself to -the protection of an apparent stranger, I think it will -be necessary for me to reveal myself to her.” Taking -a card from his pocket he wrote a few lines upon it, -and handed them to Mary, who quickly glided back -into the cabin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lelland now strove to calm his agitation, that he -might meet his still beloved Margaret with firmness—without -betraying more than the pleasure one naturally -feels at meeting with an old friend.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was half an hour ere Mary again appeared, and -informed him her mother would be pleased to see -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He entered the cabin. The light of an argand lamp -fell gently upon the pale countenance of Mrs. Wingate, -who was partially reclining upon one of the settees, -with her head resting against the crimson silken -panels. She had thrown off her little cap, on account -of the heat, and her jet-black hair was swept back from -her brow by the slender little hand which pressed her -temples. Little Margaret was kneeling at her feet, -and looking up into her face with an expression of -childish pity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The step of Lelland faltered as he drew near—as -his eye fell upon that countenance so changed from its -youthful loveliness,—so pallid, so wan, and on which -it seemed Death had already stamped his seal—scarcely -could he command himself to speak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Margaret, you will trust yourself with me?” he -said at length, forcing a smile and extending his hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A slight color for an instant suffused her pale cheek, -and her still beautiful eyes were lifted to his—she -attempted to speak, but could not, and placing her -thin, feverish hand in his, she burst into tears. For a -few moments no word was spoken. Mrs. Wingate -was the first to recover herself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My nerves are very weak, as you see,” she said, -with a sad smile, pressing his hand, “and the sight of -an old friend quite overpowers me—but I am very -glad to see you, and thank you for your kindness. -<span class='pageno' title='23' id='Page_23'></span> -Mr. Wingate must have been unexpectedly detained -from us, or—” she hesitated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And you will allow me, I trust, the pleasure of -attending upon you, and of procuring lodgings for you -until the arrival of your husband,” said Lelland. -“You must be very much fatigued—a carriage is in -waiting, and if you will allow me, I will soon place -you in a more comfortable situation—if you will point -out to me your trunks, Miss Mary, I will take care of -them.” And Lelland gladly left the cabin, that he -might school himself to more fortitude ere meeting the -poor invalid again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When all was ready, he tenderly lifted the frail form -of Mrs. Wingate and placed her in the carriage, Mary -and little Margaret sprang after, and then giving the -driver the necessary directions Lelland himself took a -seat therein. The carriage in a short time stopped before -one of the large private hotels in the upper part of -the city, where he was certain both quiet and comforts -of every kind might be obtained for the invalid. -They were conducted at once to a pleasant, retired -little parlor, opening into a commodious sleeping-room, -and after attending to all their immediate requirements -Lelland left them for the purpose of again seeking Mr. -Wingate; resolving to leave a note for him at the hotel -where he had boarded, and also to drop another into -the post-office. Meeting the maid-servant in the hall, -he put some money in her hand, and charged her to -be very attentive to the sick lady, promising her she -should be well rewarded for her kindness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Upon returning to the hotel early in the morning, he -was inexpressibly grieved to find that Mrs. Wingate -had passed a wretched night, and was now so ill that -it had been thought advisable to send for a physician. -Doctor M. soon arrived, and after visiting his patient, -returned to the saloon where Lelland was anxiously -awaiting him. His opinion was but a sad confirmation -of his worst fears—he pronounced Mrs. Wingate in -the last stage of decline, and that in all probability a -few days or weeks at furthest must close her life. -“Was there nothing could be done to save her?” -Lelland asked—nothing—she was past all human aid; -and now all there was left to do, was to smooth her -passage to the grave by kind and tender care. The -doctor promised to see her every day, and expressing -much sympathy for the little girls took his leave. That -day Lelland did not see Mrs. Wingate, yet he heard -her low stifled moans, and occasionally the faint tones -of her voice, for he had taken an apartment adjoining -hers, that he might be near in case his services were -required. Once or twice during the day and evening -he passed out the hotel, and jumping into a cab, sought -the former lodgings of Wingate, in the faint hope of -meeting him, and then returned to his sad and lonely -watch.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For some days Mrs. Wingate remained nearly the -same, during which time nothing was heard of her -husband. No doubt the agitation of mind this caused -her had a most injurious effect upon her, and probably -hastened her death. Finding herself growing weaker, -Lelland was at length admitted to her room; and from -that time until her death a portion of every day was -spent by him at her bedside. He calmed her apprehensions -when speaking of the strange absence of her -husband, and strove to remove those delicate scruples -which she entertained that herself and children were -so entirely dependent upon him, assuring her he -thanked God it was in his power to be of service to -her. He read to her from the sacred Scriptures, and -as much as her feeble strength would admit conversed -with her of that unrevealed future into which her soul -must so soon take its flight. Of her husband she never -spoke but in terms of kindness, nor by her words gave -him reason to suppose he was not the best of husbands -and fathers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Days passed on. Mr. Wingate did not come.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now the last sad hour was at hand. Upon going -into her room one morning, Lelland was shocked -at the alteration a few hours had made in her appearance. -Death was there. Not as a tyrant—not armed -with terrors to seize the shrinking soul—but as some -gentle messenger, clad in robes of peace and joy, sent -to bear her to the arms of her Father. Lelland was -at first too much overcome to speak, and walked to -the window to recover composure. In a faint voice -she called him to her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Richard,” she said, pressing his hand, “there is -but one pang in death—it is that I must leave my poor -children unprotected.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dearest friend, do not suffer that thought to disturb -your peace of mind,” he replied tenderly; “they -shall be mine; until their father’s return I will be a -parent to them, and if he come not, Margaret—still -they will be mine. I have wealth, and how freely it -shall be used for their advantage and happiness you -surely cannot doubt. My life has been a lonely one—they -will cheer its decline”—he paused as if irresolute -whether to proceed—“I waited long and in vain for -that letter, Margaret—it came not!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the first allusion made to their former love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She feebly pressed the hand which held hers: “It -was written, Richard—there came no answer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It <span class='it'>was</span> written then—thank God for that!” he exclaimed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A cold shudder crept over the frame of Margaret.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah! I see it all,” she said. “Richard, we were -betrayed! but may God forgive him, as I do!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was no reply; but stooping down Lelland imprinted -a kiss upon her cold brow, and turning away, -the strong man wept as a little child!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once more he approached the bed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Give your children to me, Margaret; I swear to -you I will faithfully protect and cherish them. I shall -never marry, and my whole life shall be devoted to -them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A sweet smile illumined her features. “Yes, Richard, -they are yours. For my sake forgive their father, -and should he return, O, I beseech you, lend him your -counsel, and say to him all that I would say—” she -paused—“perhaps he will tear the children from you; -if so, at a distance watch over them, and protect them -when they require it. Now, my friend, call them to -me; I would say a few words to them, and I feel my -strength rapidly failing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary and Margaret remained with their mother near -an hour, and then Lelland was hastily summoned to -<span class='pageno' title='24' id='Page_24'></span> -the chamber of the dying. She was already speechless, -but with a look of ineffable sweetness, she turned -her eyes first upon her children, then upon Lelland; -with her little strength she placed their hands within -his, her lips moved as if in prayer, celestial beauty -overspread her countenance, and the weary soul of -Margaret was at rest in the bosom of her God.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Soon after the last melancholy rites Lelland placed -the girls at school, under the care of a most excellent -woman whom he engaged to accompany them. Not -a day passed that he did not see them, and on Saturdays -he took them <a id='tookthem'></a>on pleasant excursions into the country, -as much as possible striving to divert their minds from -dwelling upon their recent loss. In the meanwhile he -took every measure he could possibly devise to discover -Mr. Wingate—but for many months in vain, his -disappearance was veiled in impenetrable mystery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was nearly a year after the death of Margaret, -that one day business took Mr. Lelland to one of the -slips on the North river. As he passed along, his attention -was suddenly drawn to a man who stood leaning -against one of the piers. He was very shabbily dressed, -and held in his hand a small faded well-worn carpetbag. -Giving no heed to the moving crowd around -him, buried in thought, he stood with his eyes fixed -vacantly on the river. There was something in his -features which seemed familiar. Turning, Mr. Lelland -again passed him, fixing his eyes intently upon him as -he did so, and more and more confirmed that his suspicions -were correct, he stepped up to him, and touching -him lightly on the shoulder, said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Excuse me—but is not your name Wingate?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Suppose it is—what the d——l is yours?” replied the -man sullenly, without turning his head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My name is Lelland, Mr. Wingate—for such you -are, or I greatly err.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With an expression of malignant hate, the man suddenly -turned, and shook his fist almost in the very -teeth of Lelland.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So we have met again, Mr. Richard Lelland, have -we! Well, we shall see who will be the better for the -meeting, that’s all—d——n you!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your words are idle,” replied Lelland, calmly. -“Answer me one question—do you know aught of your -wife and children!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the mention of his family, Wingate grew suddenly -pale, and seemed much agitated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And you—what—what do you know of them?” -he demanded, but in more subdued tones.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you will go with me into the hotel yonder, I -may perhaps give you some information respecting -them,” he replied.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Without a word Wingate mechanically followed -Lelland, who, ordering a private room, sat down to -the melancholy duty before him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You spoke of my wife and children,” exclaimed -Wingate, the moment they entered the room, “if you -know any thing of them, for God’s sake tell me, for it -is many months since I heard from them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Prepare yourself for the most melancholy tidings,” -said Lelland, in a sympathizing voice and manner. -“You have no longer a wife—it is now ten months -since her death.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The wretched man buried his face in his hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dead—dead—dead! and without forgiving me—<span class='it'>dead</span>!” -he exclaimed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“With her latest breath she forgave and blessed you,” -said Lelland, taking his hand kindly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But my children—where are they—are they -dead, too!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your children are here—here, in the city; you -may see them in an hour if you will,” replied Lelland.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Here!</span> here in the city—here, with <span class='it'>you</span>!” cried -Wingate, starting up, every feature distorted by passion; -“with <span class='it'>you</span>, do you say! how came <span class='it'>you</span> near -<span class='it'>her</span> death-bed—ha! <span class='it'>did you dare</span>—” seizing Lelland -by the breast as he spoke. But shaking him off, Lelland -placed his hand on his arm, saying,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“First listen to me, Mr. Wingate, and you will see -how little provocation you have for such anger.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He then briefly related his unexpected and providential -meeting with Margaret and her children, and -the painful scene which so soon followed it. He spoke -of Mary and Margaret—of their loveliness, their sweet -dispositions, and of the consolation and happiness -Wingate might yet receive from their affection.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When he had done speaking, the unhappy man seized -the hand of Lelland, and pressing it fervently, said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wretch—wretch that I am! how little have I -merited such goodness. It is, indeed, more than my -guilty soul can bear. I had rather you would stab me -to the heart than thus pierce my soul with deeds of -kindness—for I deserve it not. It was I, Lelland, who -robbed you of one of God’s choicest treasures. When -driven almost to despair by the unjust treatment of her -father, who should have been to her more than father -ever was, poor Margaret wrote you that letter which -would have confirmed your happiness and hers. It -was <span class='it'>I</span>, who, goaded on by hate for you, and a determination -to make her mine—it was I who destroyed -it! I watched the struggle of her pure heart; I saw -her cheek pale day by day, and yet I repented not—nay, -I gloried in my revenge. At length she became my -wife—and an angel she ever was to me, always so kind, -so patient with my follies; but I knew she loved you—I -knew her heart was silently breaking, her strength -wasting, and instead of moving my pity, it only drove -me to madness. I was jealous even of my sweet -babes, that they were loved more than me. For years -I ran a wild career of riot and debauchery, and only -came to my senses to see my poor injured wife was truly -dying; then came remorse—but it was too late. My -business had been neglected—my affairs were in ruin, -and I saw myself on the brink of poverty. The doctor -had said that change of air would do much toward -her restoration; and now, as anxious to restore as I -had been to destroy, I resolved to come to New York -and find some employment which should warrant my -removing my family here. I did so, and was so fortunate -as to obtain a situation as book-keeper, with a -handsome salary. In a few months I wrote my wife -and children to join me. I received for answer that -she was now too feeble to journey. This made me -angry, though why, God only knows, except that I -would not let her die among scenes your love had -hallowed—and I immediately wrote a peremptory -<span class='pageno' title='25' id='Page_25'></span> -command for her to come, naming the day I should -expect her. In this wicked frame of mind I went out -into the streets, and, unfortunately meeting a gay companion, -was induced to enter a gambling-house, and -ere I left, every dollar I possessed in the world was -swept from me. In the vain hope of winning back -my money, I again sought that den of destruction; -need I say, so far from retrieving, I left it hundreds in -debt. Then, then, Richard Lelland, I became a <span class='it'>forger</span>—yes, -forged the name of my worthy employer—was -detected, and fled with my ill-got gains. The day I -had appointed my poor Margaret to arrive in the city -I was on the way to the West Indies. From thence I -went to Paris, where, as long as my money lasted I -led a mad career; that expended, I was forced to the -most menial offices to obtain my daily food. At last -driven by remorse, I determined to return to my native -country, see Margaret and my children once more, -and then give myself up to the laws I had outraged. -I flattered myself that my wife still lived, and that not -finding me in the city on her arrival, had gone back to -Ohio. I arrived last night, and was even now about -to take passage in a sloop for Albany, thinking I should -be less likely to meet any acquaintance, when you so -unexpectedly appeared before me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To this dreadful recital Lelland had listened in -silence. When it was ended, he took the hand of -Wingate,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wretched man,” said he, “I forgive you for the -misery of a lifetime, as did that suffering angel, now in -heaven; and may God extend to you his peace and -mercy!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then calling for pen, ink and paper, he drew a check -for the amount Wingate had forged, and placed it in -his hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There, Mr. Wingate, take that; in the morning -see your late employer, and restore him the money of -which you defrauded him; in the meantime I will see -what can be done for you—rely upon me as your -friend. But remain here for the night, and on no account -leave the room; have patience, for to-morrow -you shall see your children.” So saying, Lelland took -leave, promising to call for him in a carriage at an -early hour in the morning.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Immediately after breakfast, therefore, he proceeded -to the hotel. But Wingate had already left—had been -gone some hours. On the table was a letter directed -to Lelland. Hastily breaking the seal, he read:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Burthened with grief, and overwhelmed with remorse, -life is insupportable. I can no longer endure -the torments of self-reproach, and I fly to end alike my -wretchedness and my life. Heaven is dark—but earth -is hell! Protect my innocent children!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next day the body of Henry Wingate was exposed -in the Dead-House. Lelland recognized and -claimed it for burial.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary and Margaret were told their father was no -more—but of the manner of his wretched death they -never knew.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Facts have often the appearance of fiction—such is -the story I have given. If it has called forth any interest -in the minds of my readers, the assurance that its -principal incidents were gathered from real life, will -not, I trust, lessen that interest. Names and scene are, -of course, fictitious.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In a splendid mansion on the banks of the Potomac, -Mr. Lelland still resides with the two fair daughters -of his adoption. They are beautiful and accomplished, -beloved by all who know them, and most tenderly protected -and cherished by their more than father; while -those gems of early piety implanted in their minds by -their mother, have, under the careful culture of Mr. -Lelland, put forth the most lovely and Christian -graces.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus in the happiness and the virtues of her children, -has God rewarded the filial piety of poor -Margaret.</p> - -<hr class='tbk114'/> - -<div><h1><a id='therm'></a>THOUGHTS ON THE THERMOMETER.</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Climate is said to have much influence on the physical, -moral, mental, political and social condition of -mankind. Experience and observation certainly give -force to such an opinion. The difference in manners, -customs and character of the Russ and the Italian is -as much owing to latitude as lineality. One’s happiness, -and even one’s destiny in life, depend alike on -Seasons and on Self.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The iron constitution, the sharp wit, the keen sense, -the peculiar individuality, the guessing and bartering -of the man of Maine, contrasts with the singing, siesta-seeking, -music-loving, rich intellectuality of the Mexican -of the hacienda. Even in religious sentiment the -difference is striking. Look upon the cold, austere -meeting-house worship of the Puritan, and side by -side behold the rich, voluptuous cathedral service of -the Catholic. These at least indicate the extremes of -the influence of the climate. The whole physical, -mental and moral constitution of man is operated upon -by the temperature of his location, and thus affecting -not only his individual existence but the ultimate condition -of his race.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What would have been the fate of “The Colonists” -of the “May-Flower” had they landed at San Francisco -or St. Domingo? If instead of the stern, bracing, -labor-requiring, excess-denying latitude of Plymouth, -the Pilgrims had rested in the land of the palmetto and -the pomegranate? Or who would have ventured on -an unknown ocean, in search for a new world, if the -hope, the imagination, the enthusiasm, the poetry, the -mental excitement, the superstition even of Columbus, -the child of the South, had sunk in despair, or yielded -to first disappointment? Where would the close calculation -of the North, founded on a philosophical hypothesis, -have sought for continued animation, after -error has resulted from experiment?</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='26' id='Page_26'></span> -Where would the literature of the Past have found -admirers, and even devotees, if the mythology of the -East had not been nursed in the soft lap of a congenial -temperature?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Why is it that the Latin classics yet hold a place as -familiar as household words, if a Southern sky had -not invited to the rich developments of the highest -mental creations?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Where could the painter and sculptor have sought -models and studies, if the winter of the Mediterranean -had been as relentless and as rigid as that of Moscow?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Can it be maintained that Solon and Lycurgus would -have alike given their fame in trust to immortality, if -the genial influences of the land of their nativity had -not been the same “at Rome as it was at Attica”?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Who will venture to assert that a similar fate would -have followed the siege of Troy in a land of snows, -or that Marathon would have been a northern Moscow?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Science, too, has felt the force of the benefit of its -more northern home. With a temperature unshocked -by extremes, the highest mental industry yields more, -or rather different, fruit than the richest intellectual -soil. The wheat and the corn of the necessaries to -progress, are gathered only where the wine and the -oil of luxury do not grow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That Tyre and Sidon were marts for the cosmopolite, -and now are but the refuge for the wanderer, -while Boston, New York, New Orleans were the seaboards -of the savage, and are now the emporiums of a -hemisphere, is as true as that the causes are to be -found in some degree dependent upon the influences of -climate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That Rome was the mother of nations, the terror of -thrones, and the great entrance into eternity, and now -is the dismantled wreck of her illustrious past—while -the hunting-grounds of the “Six Nations” are transformed -into a mighty empire, is but the melancholy -picture of the past, gorgeous in its dilapidation, under -the luxurious warmth of an Italian sky, while the other -is the picture of the present, more magnificent and -vigorous, tinted by the rays of a western sun.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Climate was not alone in producing these changes, -yet its influence was potent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Religion of Nazareth took its metaphors from -the land of Aristotle, its enthusiasm from the nations -on the “seacoast,” its energy from the Northmen, but -<span class='it'>its divinity from God</span>!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The songs of labor are heard loudest and sweetest -where the valley and forest yield an annual tribute -over the grave of all that is beautiful, born of the -spring; while the songs of the sentiments take their -melodies from the land of soft sunlight, scented with -perennial perfumes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In considering the Future let us look at the Past, -and among the most remarkable of physical causes -which have marked their existence on the history of -nations and of men, climate will be found to have exercised -by no means an inconsiderable influence.</p> - -<hr class='tbk115'/> - -<div><h1><a id='wife'></a>TO MY WIFE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY S. D. ANDERSON.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Gladly to thee, amid the wreck of years,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Will memory’s pinions wing their eager way;</p> -<p class='line0'>To thee, who ever through this life of tears</p> -<p class='line0'>  Has lit its darkness with thy sunny ray;</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou wast my empress in the morning hours,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The star amid my dreams of poesy;</p> -<p class='line0'>The single rose amid the dewy bowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That lured my soul to thoughts of purity.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>As rivers glancing in the glorious sun,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Voice out their gladness to the perfumed air,</p> -<p class='line0'>So ’neath the presence of that treasured one</p> -<p class='line0'>  My hopes were mirrored in a world more fair;</p> -<p class='line0'>A magic world, within whose blesséd light</p> -<p class='line0'>  All things the richest and the best did come,</p> -<p class='line0'>Bringing unto the weary dreams as bright</p> -<p class='line0'>  As those that flit around our quiet home.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And I did love thee, not a transient flame,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Burned on the altar of an early dream;</p> -<p class='line0'>No, I have dwelt upon that cherished name</p> -<p class='line0'>  Till it became the priestess and the beam,</p> -<p class='line0'>And softly came around our household hearth,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The angel wings of woman’s ministry,</p> -<p class='line0'>Rich hopes, as wild and joyous in their birth</p> -<p class='line0'>  As were the early dreams of loving thee.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And ever thus has been the full, deep tide,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Upheaving from this ocean love of mine;</p> -<p class='line0'>A memory forever by my side,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To lead me onward to a nobler shrine;</p> -<p class='line0'>The calm, hushed voice still sounding in my sleep,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like to a strain of distant melody,</p> -<p class='line0'>The holy light from out those eyes so deep,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That shines on all so clear and tranquilly.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Amid my dreams of human faith and love—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of <span class='it'>love</span>, that stems the tempest and the blast—</p> -<p class='line0'>Of <span class='it'>faith</span>, that in its tenderness shall prove</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its holy office even to the last,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou hast been present with thy watchful care,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Guarding a heart too prone to <span class='it'>dream</span> at best,</p> -<p class='line0'>Too much forgetting <span class='it'>one</span> whose sinless prayer</p> -<p class='line0'>  Has lingered round his home a heavenly guest.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But brightly now the sun of promise shines,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The dark and stormy waves of time along,</p> -<p class='line0'>With all some token of thy virtue twines,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sweet as the cadence of the evening song;</p> -<p class='line0'>And truly now, when youth’s wild day is o’er,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And every fancied passion’s hushed to rest,</p> -<p class='line0'>I give this song to <span class='it'>thee</span> from memory’s shore,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The echo of the tide within my breast.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk116'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='27' id='Page_27'></span><h1><a id='fling'></a>THE FOUNDLING.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY JESSIE HOWARD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>The March winds blew chillingly over a wide and -barren moor in the Highlands of Scotland, and howled -fiercely around the isolated dwelling in the middle of -it, from whence gleamed a faint light like a beacon -in the midst of that desolate waste. Black majestic -clouds gathered darker over head, and the wild -whistle of the coming tempest grew every moment -more shrill; but little were the boding sounds noted -within the cottage of Donald McLane, for sterner -and fiercer was the storm of sorrow gathering in the -human heart of the one lonely watcher, bending over -the low pallet where lay, in a still dreamless slumber, -the forerunner of one more dreamless yet, the -form of her only child. Long silken curls fell on the -white pillow, from the still whiter brow of the little -sufferer, and pearly lids, with long, dark fringes, -drooped over the fair cheek. The coverlet had been -cast aside, as by some restless motion, and the snow-white -drapery fell in careless folds, half-covering, -half-revealing those round and dimpled limbs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The light from a solitary candle flickered over the -child’s face, so marble-like in its quiet beauty; oh! -there is a touching loveliness that waking life never -bestows in that death-like slumber which precedes -the parting hour of a young, sinless spirit! Angels -waited to bear it upward, and the shining light from -their own immortal faces, was reflected upon the -form of clay it was so soon to leave. Close beside -the couch, with clasped hands and a fixed gaze, motionless -as the object of her solicitude, knelt the young -mother—so very young and so fair; surely it was -early for such sorrow to weigh down her happy -heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dull moments wore away, and still those two -pale faces gleamed in the half-darkness, silent and -still. The embers on the hearth burned low, louder -howled the tempest without, and the white snow-flakes -dashed against the window with a startling -sound—but the mother heard it not, until the door -softly opened, and a light touch upon her arm roused -her to consciousness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Donald, Donald, I’m glad ye’re come,” was -her tremulous salutation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And yet, Maggie,” he said, “I’m not so sure o’ -that when you see what I’ve brought you. I would -not add to your cares if I could help it, but I could -not leave a babe to perish in the cold snow to-night,” -and unfolding his plaid, he displayed to her astonished -eyes, a fair and beautiful infant, richly dressed, who, -as she took it tenderly in her arms, opened its large -dark-blue eyes, and smiled in her face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Donald, how lovely!” she exclaimed, almost -forgetting for the moment her sorrow; but a glance -toward the couch again brought the tears to her eyes, -and again she sunk beside it, with the little stranger -in her arms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By the exertions of Donald, a brisk fire was soon -burning on the hearth, and the bright blaze disclosed -the table, with its neat white cloth, on which his -frugal repast was spread; but he seemed to think -little of his supper that night, for drawing near to the -bedside, he bent over his child with an earnest, -anxious expression on his manly features.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How long has she been so, Maggie?” he asked, -in a low tone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Since noon,” was the reply, and her breath came -more quickly as Donald bent closer and closer to -the quiet face, placing his hand softly on the still -breast, and his lips to the dimpled mouth whence no -breath seemed issuing, then, with a stifled sigh as he -gazed lingeringly on those beautiful features, he -turned to his wife, who was looking up in his face -with that gaze of mute terror which says so much -more than words,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Maggie, God has taken our Ally to be an angel -in Heaven.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No loud exclamation of grief followed his words. -Tearless she stood with her eyes fixed upon her husband’s -face, as if unable to comprehend his meaning, -but, sinking on his knees beside her, and enfolding -her in his arms, he prayed from a full heart that God -would be with them in this their first trial. The -low, soothing tones of his voice unlocked the fountains -of the mother’s heart, and blessed tears came -to her relief. Long might she have indulged in -this luxury, but a faint cry awoke her maternal -sympathies. She had forgotten the babe so strangely -thrown upon her care, but now her gentle nature -could not think of self, while another was suffering -and in preparations for the comfort of her charge, -the first wild burst of anguish was passed through.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We will call her Ally, after our own lost one, -Donald. Surely God has sent her to soften this sore -trial to us, and we will love her as our own. May -He help us to submit. Oh, my Ally! my darling, my -precious one—can any one ever fill thy place? God -help us!”</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>The simple funeral was over; the last look had -been taken, and little Alice McLane was hidden from -the weeping eyes that still turned toward her lowly -resting-place, as if yet unwilling to leave her alone -beneath that cold, cold sod.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Donald and Margaret McLane had been very -happy until now—too happy perhaps. They had -loved each other in early years, and when Donald -had earned enough by his own honest labor to purchase -the cottage on Burnside Moor, they were married -<span class='pageno' title='28' id='Page_28'></span> -without a shadow on their young, hopeful -hearts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Margaret was a careful housewife, and Donald had -ever a warm welcome and comfortable home when, -wearied with his daily toil, he came back to her -whom he had promised to love and cherish; and -when little Alice came to gladden the young mother’s -lonely hours while he was away, sunshine reigned -in the household. In all their happiness they never -forgot who gave them all their blessings, and daily -was their morning and evening sacrifice of praise -sent up to their Heavenly Father in confiding and -child-like simplicity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A cherished flower was Ally McLane, with her -bright blue eyes sparkling with joy and affection, her -round, dimpled, rosy cheeks, and baby tones, so -sweet to a parent’s ear; her mother’s sunny spirit -seemed hers from her very birth until the heavy hand -of sickness came down to hush those happy notes, -and dim the light of health and joyousness that ever -danced around her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Perhaps she was too fondly loved; perhaps their -hearts clung with too much of idolatry to their only -one; and a watchful Father saw that the ties must -be loosened. While yet her lisping tones seemed -ringing in their ears; while yet the flush of health -lingered on her cheek, the dart of the spoiler came, -and with scarce a pang of suffering to rend the -mother’s heart with deeper anguish, little Ally was -taken away from the ill to come.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Overwhelming as was the blow, a mitigation was -sent with it. The stranger babe thus thrown upon -Margaret’s tenderness, proved a solace which nothing -else could have afforded, and in the cares -attendant upon her new charge, the dreary sense of -loneliness, following the loss of a loved one, was -robbed of half its power.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Many were the wondering surmises of Donald and -his wife, in reference to the manner in which the -babe had been thus given to them. The dark mantle -in which it had been closely enfolded, had first attracted -Donald’s attention amid the snow-drifts, for -the little forsaken one was already wrapped in that -fatal slumber which, if not soon broken, knows no -waking—and the young man’s heart was melted with -kindly sympathy as he thought of his own darling, so -he raised the light burden from its soft but dangerous -resting-place, bore it to gentle and tender hands—and -as days, and weeks, and months wore away, no one -appearing to claim the lost one, closer and closer -their hearts were wound about her, till their love -seemed even as that they had borne their <span class='it'>own</span> angel -Ally—as they called her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sometimes Margaret would almost forget that her -second Ally was not, indeed, the very same as that -one they had laid with such heart-yearnings beneath -the snow-clad turf; and yet the two were very -unlike. The face of the stranger was full of earnest -thought. Her large, dark, liquid eyes, so full of -dreamy tenderness, beamed with almost spiritual -beauty; and a hasty word would bring the tears to -her eyes, the warm blush to her cheek, and a strange -imploring expression over her whole countenance; -whereas her elder namesake was ever a joyous child, -light and graceful, full of the heedlessness so natural -to her tender age—and few things there were that -had power to dim her sunny spirit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Year after year sped on unmarked, save by the -introduction of one little stranger after another into -the once lonely household of Donald McLane. Alice, -their eldest and loveliest, had ripened gradually from -the beautiful child, their pet and plaything, to the -gentle, thoughtful girl of sixteen, watching with unwearied -care the slightest wish of her parents, (for -she knew not that they were otherwise,) and striving -by every means in her power to lighten their burdens. -The secret of her history had been carefully kept -from her as well as the fair-haired, happy flock around -them; for why should they sadden a life so unshadowed -as hers, with thoughts that must bring suffering to -her loving nature?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The promise of rare beauty which her infancy had -held out was more than realized. There was a -spirituality about those dark-blue eyes, in every -graceful movement—a native ease and sweetness -of manner so unusual among the classes in which -she moved—so unlike the frank, noisy ways and -ruddy countenances of her younger brothers and -sisters, that Margaret often gazed upon her with a -wondering sigh and a trembling of heart, she could -not tell why. Alice had been reared with more than -maternal tenderness—a fond yearning over her deserted -helplessness—a sympathy for those who must -have mourned the loss of such a child, together with -her own irresistible winningness, had led Margaret -unconsciously to indulge the child of her adoption -even more than the members of her own little flock; -but Ally was one of those rare natures in whom indulgence -only brings forth warmer, purer feelings of -love and gratitude, and even from babyhood, as -Margaret would often say, she seemed like an angel -sent down to them from Heaven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sweet Alice McLane had not arrived at the age of -sixteen without admirers. Lonely as was the situation -of the cottage, many had been attracted thither -by the fame of such a jewel. But there was a quiet -dignity and purity about the gentle girl that repulsed -the most presuming; and Ally was still, child-like, -happy in her home, without a wish to leave it, at -least so far as was known to her own heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was, indeed, one, who had been a play-fellow -from childhood, being the son of their only -neighbor within many miles, who was ever a welcome -guest at the cottage, beneath whose glance her -own never drooped, nor the painful blush rose to her -transparent cheek—and why was it? Because Dugald -Lindsay had never spoken of the trembling hopes that -lay nestling at his heart, though they had wandered -together for hours over the hills, or sat side by side -before the bright fire, in the winter evenings, while -he entertained them with merry tales; and though -Ally loved him dearly, yet it was with the pure, -happy love of a sister. So they lived from day to -day, unconscious of the cloud that was gathering over -the future happiness of one, and the brightest hopes -of the other.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><span class='pageno' title='29' id='Page_29'></span>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>Donald McLane was a hard-working man, and -seldom was any recreation beyond the quiet enjoyment -of his fire-side and home-circle indulged in. It -was therefore an occasion of no little joy among the -little folks, and perhaps not less so with the older -heads who showed less boisterous happiness, when, -on the return of the annual fair, a whole holyday was -promised with a visit to the village where it was -held.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the evening preceding the day so long and -anxiously looked for, a handsome traveling-carriage, -with servants and outriders, drove up to the inn door -of the village, creating an excitement among the -good people unheard of before. A tall, majestic, -and beautiful lady was assisted from it by a youth -whose noble and elegant appearance spoke of rank -and wealth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The poor landlord, confused, and almost paralyzed -by the unexpected honor conferred upon him, with -difficulty recalled his scattered senses in time to receive -his guests, and provide them with the best his -poor house could afford; but they, smiling at his -consternation, retired immediately to their apartments, -where, at their own request, a simple repast -was served, and they appeared no more that evening. -The servants were surrounded and eagerly questioned, -but nothing could be elicited from them, except -that the strangers were the Countess of Weldon -and her son, who were traveling for the benefit of -their health, impaired by the close air and dissipation -of London.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next morning, just as the party from Burnside -Moor had reached the village, after a weary -walk of many miles, the coach drove up once more -to receive its noble inmates. Donald and Margaret -were foremost, and had already passed by, the -younger children following them; but Ally had -lingered somewhat in the rear, for Dugald was -beside her, and in earnest conversation they had unconsciously -slackened their pace, thus arriving opposite -the inn door just in time to see the carriage -drive up and the noble pair preparing to enter it. -Surprised out of her usual quiet demeanor, Ally -gazed eagerly at the novel sight. Her hood had -fallen back, and her soft brown curls came clustering -around her face, generally so pale, but now with -the warm blood <a id='tinge'></a>tingeing its snowy surface, and her -dark, dreamy eyes turned wonderingly toward the -strangers, she was lovely beyond description. At -this moment the countess turned her eyes in the -direction where Ally stood leaning on the arm of -her companion, and with a thrilling cry, stretched -out her arms toward her, then fell back insensible. -In an instant all was confusion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The lady was borne into the house, and all intruders -waved off; but Ally had never yet seen -suffering without endeavoring to relieve it, and -springing impulsively forward, she entered the inn, -followed by Dugald.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the countess again opened her eyes, a sweet, -loving face looked into hers, and an arm, soft and -white as her own, supported her head. Another -wild exclamation burst from her quivering lips, and -again she sunk back, murmuring, “Adela, my sister—have -you come back from the spirit-world to bless -me!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What ails you, dear lady,” said Ally, tenderly—“can -I do any thing for you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For the first time those who stood around the couch, -anxiously waiting the solution of this mystery, observed -a striking resemblance between the noble -stranger and the lovely peasant girl, who stood pale -and bewildered by her manner, yet unwilling to leave -her while yet she seemed to need assistance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tell me, child,” said the countess, suddenly -rising from her recumbent position, “tell me, who -are you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The question was hasty, the tone almost harsh, -and Ally’s face flushed again, as she replied timidly, -“My name is Alice McLane, lady—my father lives -on Burnside Moor.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where is your father?—I must see him instantly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dugald turned in search of him, but Donald, having -quickly missed his daughter, had come back in search -of her, leaving the rest of his charge in a booth near -by, and was even now at the inn door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As soon as his eye fell on the pale, agitated countenance -of the stranger, and from her to his idolized -daughter, every trace of color left both cheeks and -lips, and unable to support himself, he sunk into a -chair, covering his face with his hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In that brief moment he comprehended it all. -Sometimes, in past years, the unwelcome thought -would painfully force itself upon him, that his -precious Ally was not, indeed, his own. Hearts that -must have mourned her loss, might again rejoice -over their recovered treasure, but as year after year -went by undisturbed, Donald grew strong in hope, -and had almost banished every fear of the kind, when -this terrible realization of the worst came so suddenly -upon him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No wonder that his strong frame was bowed, and -his stout heart wrung with anguish, as he felt that even -resistance would be vain. No wonder that Ally -stood by him terrified at the sight of grief such as -never in her whole peaceful life had met her eyes -before. Her arms were thrown around him, her -warm kisses fell upon his cold brow, as she implored -him to unfold this mystery. The countess watched -him silently, yet a wild gleam of triumph flashed -from her dark eyes, as she exchanged glances with -her son, who stood looking on with no less appearance -of interest than herself. Dugald, fearing he -knew not what, only showed by his varying color, -the thoughts that thronged rapidly upon him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The story was soon told, and none present could -doubt that Alice, the poor cottage-girl, was the -orphan niece of the proud countess, and through her, -heiress to untold wealth. And how did Ally receive -the news of her sudden elevation? With agony -that moved the little circle of auditors to tears, -as she clung wildly to the only father she had ever -known, and implored him not to send her away -from him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Donald looked up with a sorrow-stricken expression -<span class='pageno' title='30' id='Page_30'></span> -on his manly face, saying, “See you not the -child’s distress, lady. Say no more now. Let her go -home with us once more. Time will reconcile her to -it, perhaps, but do not torture her now. God help -us! for He only knows how great is the love we bear -each other.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He motioned to Dugald, whose countenance, like -his own, was ashy pale, but who, summoning the -strength that in these few brief moments of anguish -seemed to have deserted him, raised the almost insensible -form of the weeping girl, and bore her away -without resistance.</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i074.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0003' style='width:500px;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>“Forget you, Dugald! and do you think Ally so -changeful as to be carried away by the high-sounding -titles and useless baubles of this wicked world? -Could I be happier anywhere than I have been in -my own dear mountain home. My aunt has promised -that I shall return if I am not satisfied, and in -one twelvemonth we will meet again. Nothing shall -keep me from you if life is mine.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ally, dear Ally, you do not know the world you -are about entering. The rich and the great will be -there to court you, and the splendors that will glitter -around you, have dazzled many a stronger head, -though not a purer heart, Ally. But I ought not to -murmur, since this parting has brought me joy as -well as sorrow—since it has told me that you love -me, darling. God keep you in temptation, and bring -you back to us unchanged.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And so they parted. When did they meet again?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Let us now turn back in the page of by-gone years, -and trace the history of our little foundling so suddenly -raided to a station that the proudest might envy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Clara and Adela Dundas were the daughters of an -English nobleman; their mother dying before they -had emerged from the school-room, they were left -without that guiding hand so necessary to the maiden -ignorant of the world, and heedless of warning from -less beloved lips.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Clara, the eldest, married, at an early age, a wealthy -earl, the choice of her father, and departed to her -princely home, with a father’s blessing, leaving her -young, gentle sister more lonely than ever. Adela -had ever been of a clinging, dependent spirit, loving -with her whole heart the few objects she had as yet -found in life worthy or unworthy; and was it, then, -to be wondered at, when in the solitary hours after -her sister’s departure, her affectionate nature should -pine for some new companion on whom to pour out -the rich treasures of a heart that could not be satisfied -in selfish ends. Unhappily, the one on whom her -choice fell, was a poor, untitled gentleman, holding -an honorable office in her father’s household, but -on whom Lord Dundas looked as so far inferior to -his beautiful daughter in every respect, as never to -dream of danger in allowing the occasional intercourse -which passed between them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Knowing as they both did the proud and immoveable -spirit of Lord Dundas, and hopeless of gaining -his consent to what in their own young hearts, full -of the romance of first love, seemed necessary to -their very existence, they fled—and the lovely Lady -Adela Dundas, who had never known one hour’s -privation from luxury, became, in a poor Highland -cottage, the wife of him for whom she had forsaken -all—father, friends and home. A letter was written -more from the warm feelings of affection and respect -than from any hope of moving the stern parent whom, -as Adela felt, they had offended past forgiveness—and -so it proved—an answer came, only to announce -her disinheritance, and exile for life from her father’s -home and heart. Then was it that Adela for the -first time felt the fearful consequences of her rash -step, and it needed all the persuasions and soothing -caresses of a husband whom she loved tenderly, to -bring her to any degree of composure.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After many months of suffering and privation, -<span class='pageno' title='31' id='Page_31'></span> -during which time her sister had privately sent her -aid whenever she could do so with impunity, Mr. -Moreton obtained employment which again raised -them to comfort if not affluence. A lovely infant -now brought new hopes and new feelings into poor -Adela’s sorrowful heart, and to her husband’s delight -she became once more cheerful. Sorely had they -suffered for their sin, yet kind and gentle and loving -to each other they had ever been. Poverty had not -had power to dampen the pure affection of earlier -days, and its calm light shone upon their paths with -a hopeful radiance even in the darkest hours of their -probation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The little Adela was but a few months old when -a letter arrived from the steward of Lord Dundas, -with a hasty summons to the death-bed of the now -relenting parent. Sorrow and joy struggled for pre-eminence -in Lady Adela’s bosom, as she hastily prepared -to obey; but a new difficulty now arose. The -winter had just set in with great severity—the journey -was a long and fatiguing one; Adela spurned all -objections on her own part, but her babe, how could -she expose it to the inclemency of the weather, and -the dangers that must attend them. Brief and bitter -was the conflict—but the child was left in the care -of a faithful nurse, who promised to watch over it as -her own.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They arrived only in time to receive the parting -blessing of their beloved father, and after the requisite -arrangements of the estate, which was equally -divided between the two sisters; it was settled that -Adela should now remain at the castle, at least until -some further disposal of the property should be made, -and that Mr. Moreton should return for the child, as -the spring would soon open with sunshine and air, -balmy enough even for the little traveler.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Days and weeks dragged slowly their way along -to the young wife, now, for the first time since her -hasty marriage, separated from her husband. He -came at last—but he came alone! Short and terrible -was the tale his pale lips had to utter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The woman in whose care the babe had been left, -faithfully watched over it, never resigning her charge -to another, save when necessity required.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One cold but bright, sunshiny day, having occasion -to go to the neighboring village, she wrapped the -child carefully in a heavy mantle, and set out with it -in her arms on her errand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From that time neither nurse nor babe had been -heard of. A violent snow-storm came on toward -night, and it was feared that both had perished, yet -singular to tell, no trace of their bodies had been discovered -on the road wherein their way led.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Silently the young mother listened to these crushing -words. Hope itself was extinct, and from that day, -though every endearing care that love could devise -was lavished upon her, sweet Lady Adela drooped -like a frail lily, growing paler and weaker, yet ever -gentle, patient and loving to the last—for ere the -spring flowers had faded, a husband and sister wept -bitter tears over her early grave. So young and so -lovely, thus Ally’s fair mother died.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Comparing this sorrowful tale with Donald’s account, -it was inferred that the woman, returning -from the village, became bewildered by the snowstorm, -and turned in the direction of Donald’s cottage -instead of that leading to her own, which was directly -opposite, and losing her way, had wandered on until -wearied with her heavy burden, and hopeless of -saving both lives, had deserted her charge, and proceeded, -unencumbered, to find shelter for her own -exhausted frame. In this, perhaps, she succeeded; -but with the consciousness of safety came the harrowing -reflections of her faithlessness, and unable to -meet those she had so wronged, she had most probably -left the country, for no trace of her was ever -discovered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Moreton did not long survive his idolised -wife; and now, when our gentle Ally awoke to the -proud consciousness of rank, wealth, a new name -and new relations, the tidings brought only sorrow -and suffering to one so loving and happy as she had -been—for was she not an orphan? Bitter tears -flowed at the recital of her mother’s history, but -turning from all the allurements and persuasions that -were lavished upon her by her new aunt and cousin, -she flung herself on Margaret’s bosom, saying, “I -have one mother still! oh, let me stay—let me stay!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet as we have seen, Ally did go at last, pale and -sorrowful, but with a kind word for all, and bidding -them not to weep, for she would soon return—“She -knew she would not love the great world of London. -Oh, no! she would soon be back, never, never to -leave them again!”</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER V.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>Twelve months had passed by, lingeringly to the -little lonely band on Burnside Moor, and sunshine -seemed to spring up afresh in every heart when the -first tiny green leaves and blue-eyed violets peeped -through the snow. “The spring is coming,” shouted -the children, gleefully, “the spring is coming, and -Ally will soon be here.” The shadow passed off -from the mother’s thoughtful brow, and Donald looked -happier than he had yet since the parting, but Dugald -grew more and more silent—as each budding tree -put forth its tiny sprouts and the verdure became -brighter and fresher on the hill-side, the flush paled -on his cheek and his dark eyes grew heavy with -thought. Week after week glided on, and the children -wearied with watching turned with eager questions -to their elders, but mournfully, eyes dim with -tears, met theirs—still Ally came not.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The warm harvest days stole on—the grain was -all gathered in—the cool autumn winds blew chillingly—the -snow flakes again robed the earth in their -pure mantle, and still Ally came not.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bitter as was the disappointment, it fell not on unsubmissive -hearts. The children alone were clamorous -in their expressions of regret, but like the summer -cloud, the sorrow passed from their memories -and they found in present amusements that forgetfulness -which others sought in vain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sick with hope deferred,” they mourned unceasingly -their lost one—yet upheld by that faith in a -Heavenly Guardian, to whose care they had given -<span class='pageno' title='32' id='Page_32'></span> -her, and who would be faithful to the trust though all -earth should conspire against them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And where was the object of this fond solicitude? -What fate had been hers since she tore herself away -weeping, yet strong in hope and confidence, fearless -of the temptations, whose power she had yet to -learn? Was she indeed changed? Could not the -shield of love and innocence, so close about her, -guard every avenue of that guileless heart? Alas! -no; Ally had been too trustful in her own strength, -and so insidious was the approach of the evil-spirit -that she was unconscious of danger until bitterly -awakened to self-reproach, to feel that it was too -late!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As the Lady Adela Moreton, co-heiress with her -cousin of their grandfather’s broad lands, she was -courted, caressed and flattered by the noblest and -most wealthy—her own rare loveliness adding new -attractions to her proud triumph, and though at first -pained—then disgusted—sad to tell—she at length -learned to love the adulation that followed her steps. -Her cheek would flush and her eye brighten with conscious -pride—yet beautiful as she then was in the -eyes of a gazing world, Dugald would almost have -failed to recognize in her his own pure-hearted -love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her aunt had been steadily pursuing a scheme -which had been busy in her brain since the first unlooked -for recognition of her sister’s long lost child, -which was the union of her eldest son, Sir Frederic, -to his beautiful cousin, and thus preserve undivided -the family estate. Poor Ally little dreamed of the -snares that were laid for her. The kindness of her -aunt won her gentle, affectionate heart to implicit -obedience, and her handsome cousin, possessed of -every art of pleasing—beauty, rank, wealth, grace, -(few could resist their united influence,) moved her -by every loving device.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Was Ally happy? Those who saw her in the festive -halls, brilliant and animated, the centre to which -all eyes, all hearts turned, might have deemed her -happy—but in the solitude of her chamber, when -lights and flattering tones had fled, pale, sorrowful -faces would rise up, as if upbraiding her; memories of -the past would so flit before her, searing her brain as -it were fire, and remorseful tears would flow through -the long sleepless nights, stealing away the freshness -from her fair cheek, the brightness from her eyes. -Was this happiness?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet the golden chains were close around her, and -Ally asked not to break their glittering links.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Donald—Margaret—Dugald—a fearful snare is -weaving around your darling one—a little longer and -she may be lost to you forever—save her if yet you -may—God speed your efforts, for man is powerless -now.</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i081.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0004' style='width:500px;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER VI.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>Another spring had come. Calmly and gently as -on the heart-sick watchers fell the last rays of the -setting sun on Ally’s weary brow as she sat by the -window of her boudoir listlessly gazing into the -street. Gay dresses were strewed around her—jewels -flashed from their velvet cushions upon the -dressing-table beside her, and ornaments of rich and -varied style lay beside them—yet Ally’s thoughts -seemed far away. Her sweet face was paler and -thinner, and on her dimpled mouth lay that peculiar -expression of suffering which the lips only can show -forth—her dark-blue eyes seemed larger, and a wild -look had taken the place of the soft dove-like glances -which had won Dugald’s heart. Oh! Ally was fearfully -changed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Suddenly, as though an ice-bolt had stricken her, -the young girl started from her dreamy posture. The -color faded from her parted lips and she clung to the -window sill as she gazed at some object below.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='33' id='Page_33'></span> -A young Highlander, in the garb of his native hills, -had just passed by, and even now paused before the -arched gate-way of that princely mansion. Ally -looked no longer, but sinking upon her knees, she -wept.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A few moments afterward, her slight form might -have been seen gliding down the wide staircase and -entering a small library adjoining the drawing-room, -with which a glass door communicated—softly the -curtain was lifted, while with clasped hands and a -frame shivering with the intensity of her agitation -she saw and heard all that passed within.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dugald, her own wronged Dugald was there—she -had not been deceived then in that hasty glimpse of -his figure from the window. A chill crept over -Ally’s heart as she saw his pale face and sorrowful -look—but this was as nothing to the agony that -thrilled through her ere long. Dugald sat in one of -the richly embroidered chairs, with the graceful ease -so natural to him in any society, while directly opposite, -in a large arm-chair with a cushion beneath -her feet, sat the countess. An air of haughty indifference -was meant, perhaps, to check the young -man’s hopes, for well did the proud lady know the -object of his long journey, and sorely did she tremble -lest her plans should yet be defeated. Leaning carelessly -on a massive table close by, with an air that -affected to be contemptuously easy, while the working -of his fine features betrayed an inward conflict, -stood Sir Frederic.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I assure you, sir, Lady Adela is too much indisposed -to see any one this evening,” were the first -words that the trembling girl heard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, if she is ill, lady, do not refuse to let me see -her. Surely, surely, news from home would do her -good—oh, never was she too ill yet to see Dugald!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Only let me see her for a moment—let me hear -from her own lips that she has forgotten us.” And -the young man grew eloquent as he pictured in the -simple language of exquisite pathos, the more touching -as it came every word from a full heart, the distress -of those who loved and watched for their absent -one till their hearts grew faint within them. He told -of their bitter disappointments—their home now over-shadowed -because the sunbeam that once lighted it -was gone. He spoke not of his own feelings for they -were too sacred to be displayed before the cold natures -that listened unmoved even now—and Dugald -ceased with a sinking heart as he watched their -haughty brows grow darker with suppressed anger.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The countess rose and with a frigid salutation left -the room, and her son, with an expression of withering -scorn, demanded how he dared to expect that <span class='it'>his</span> -cousin remembered or wished to know aught of -such low associations—then followed his mother, -leaving Dugald stunned and motionless.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In those few brief moments the evil spirit had departed -from Ally’s misguided soul and the good regained -its influence over her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With the last echoing sound of the departing footsteps, -she opened the door against which she had -been leaning, with that temporary strength excitement -ever gives—she beckoned to the startled -youth, who, half-dreaming, obeyed the signal, and -found himself face to face with her whom he had just -deemed lost to him forever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ally, dear Ally, what have they done to change -you thus,” he exclaimed as he stretched out his arms -toward her. She threw herself weeping upon his -bosom, clinging to him as if fearful of being again -torn away. “Take me home, Dugald, take me -home. Thank God I am not quite heartless yet.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Tenderly as a mother soothes her restless child, did -Dugald caress and whisper sweet words of comfort -to the trembling one he folded to his heart—and at -last she looked up through her tears with her old familiar -smile, so that she seemed almost herself -again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By a side-door Dugald reached the street, unobserved -by those who deemed him long since gone—a -light was in his eye, his step was free and elastic, -and his whole face beamed with the inward delight -that caused his heart to throb wildly as he traversed -the streets toward his temporary residence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A few hours passed and he came forth again—when -he returned he was no longer alone. Like her -gentle mother, Adela Moreton fled from wealth and -rank to share the lowlier lot of him who had won -her heart. But unlike that mother our sweet mountain -flower fled from the evil to the stern yet blessed -path of duty, and the blessing of Heaven followed -upon her steps.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Great was the amazement of the countess and her -too sanguine heir when on the following morning -they discovered that their dove had escaped from the -net laid for her. Bitter were the curses that descended -on Dugald’s now unconscious head, but the -affectionate little note left on the table of the vacant -boudoir, showed too plainly by its gentle but decided -tenor that further hope was vain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sunshine came back into Donald’s cottage—laughter -and mirth were no longer strangers there, -for Ally, their “lost and found,” had returned to -them, paler and thinner it is true, and with a deeper -shadow on her fair brow, but with her loving heart -and gentle voice unchanged.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ally well knew the sacrifice she made, but it was -made willingly. Her wealth was all in the power of -her aunt, and she hoped for no concession from the -disappointed schemers—but Dugald had not been idle -during the years of his probation, and he was no -longer a poor man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One bright summer’s day when all nature seemed -rejoicing and human hearts were filled with thankfulness, -in her own simple cottage-dress, and under her -old name of Alice McLane which she had again -adopted, Ally, now blooming and happy, stood before -the altar in their own dear kirk, and promised to -be the wife of him who had loved her so long and so -faithfully. Joy beamed from every countenance, as -they now felt that no power on earth might rend these -ties, and Ally, their own beautiful Ally, was theirs till -death should part them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Only once did the proud countess seek to recall -her flown bird to her glittering but uneasy nest, and -the day on which she arrived with Sir Frederic, -<span class='pageno' title='34' id='Page_34'></span> -eager and hopeful, was Ally’s wedding-day, and so -they became unwittingly sharers in that beautiful -scene—the only angry spirits in all that peaceful band -of worshipers. Baffled again, they left without even -seeking an interview with the object of their long -journey, and Ally never heard of them again until the -arrival of a strange-looking epistle many years after, -announcing the death of her aunt, and her own accession -by right of birth to the half of Lord Dundas’ -princely fortune.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sweet Ally McLane! would that more angels like -thee in the likeness of sinful flesh might dwell among -us—raising our hearts to higher, holier purposes, and -fitting us while here for a better home above, where -envy, malice, pride, or sorrow never may be known -or felt.</p> - -<hr class='tbk117'/> - -<div><h1><a id='mem'></a>A DAUGHTER’S MEMORY.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MARY L. LAWSON.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>My father, by the simple stone</p> -<p class='line0'>That marks thy grave I stand alone;</p> -<p class='line0'>The birds with joyous love-notes sing</p> -<p class='line0'>A welcome to the early spring;</p> -<p class='line0'>The cloudless skies, the balmy air,</p> -<p class='line0'>And soft young flowers, proclaim it fair;</p> -<p class='line0'>But now their gladness can impart</p> -<p class='line0'>No sense of beauty to thy heart.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yet first I learnt from thee to trace</p> -<p class='line0'>Each varying hue on Nature’s face,</p> -<p class='line0'>Its teachings bade thy spirit move</p> -<p class='line0'>My heart to deeper truth and love;</p> -<p class='line0'>For varied lore, arranged, defined,</p> -<p class='line0'>Was graven in thine active mind,</p> -<p class='line0'>And every path thy footstep trod</p> -<p class='line0'>Seemed written with the name of God.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And well remembrance wakes for me</p> -<p class='line0'>My ne’er forgotten walks with thee;</p> -<p class='line0'>How oft we paused with thoughtful eye</p> -<p class='line0'>To mark the changes of the sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or idly lingered, to inhale</p> -<p class='line0'>The breathings of the summer gale,</p> -<p class='line0'>On bird and tree and flower to look—</p> -<p class='line0'>As pages in Creation’s book.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Then questions of thy boyhood’s day</p> -<p class='line0'>Would lead thy musing soul away,</p> -<p class='line0'>And borne along by memory’s tide</p> -<p class='line0'>Came visions of thy native Clyde,</p> -<p class='line0'>The ripple of the mountain rills,</p> -<p class='line0'>The heather scent from breezy hills,</p> -<p class='line0'>Until thy glance would brightly beam</p> -<p class='line0'>With interest in thy chosen theme.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I listened then with eager ear</p> -<p class='line0'>The tales of other days to hear,</p> -<p class='line0'>For oft thy voice would lead me back,</p> -<p class='line0'>From life’s insipid daily track,</p> -<p class='line0'>To wild romance and warfare rude,</p> -<p class='line0'>That mingle in old Scotland’s mood,</p> -<p class='line0'>For thou didst know and paint them well,</p> -<p class='line0'>And wandering fancy warmed the spell.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>My father, how the tear-drop swells</p> -<p class='line0'>As o’er the past my vision dwells,</p> -<p class='line0'>When I have stood beside thy chair</p> -<p class='line0'>And smoothed and kissed thy silvery hair,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose silken threads are dearer now</p> -<p class='line0'>Than hope’s gay dream or lover’s vow,</p> -<p class='line0'>For life can hold no joy for me</p> -<p class='line0'>More cherished than my thoughts of thee.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And thou hast left a name behind</p> -<p class='line0'>That Art must prize and Science find;</p> -<p class='line0'>Thy talents to the world are known,</p> -<p class='line0'>But dearer memories are my own.</p> -<p class='line0'>Though all approve the stainless worth</p> -<p class='line0'>That sleeps beneath this spot of earth,</p> -<p class='line0'>The kindness that awakens love</p> -<p class='line0'>Thy children’s hearts alone can prove.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>No gorgeous tomb in words proclaim</p> -<p class='line0'>Thine honest truth and well earned fame,</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor sculptured urn, nor heartless praise,</p> -<p class='line0'>The stranger’s studied care betrays;</p> -<p class='line0'>But thou wert fondly laid to rest</p> -<p class='line0'>Where tender tears thy grave has blest,</p> -<p class='line0'>Embalmed in feelings pure and high</p> -<p class='line0'>That soar from earth beyond the sky.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk118'/> - -<div><h1><a id='from'></a>FROM AMALTHÆUS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY RICHARD PENN SMITH.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<p class='pindent'>There were three distinguished Latin poets of Italy of -this name, whose compositions were printed at Amsterdam -in 1685. The following epigram was occasioned by -the affliction of two children of remarkable beauty, though -each had lost an eye:</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Lumine Acon dextro, capta est Leonilla sinistro;</p> -<p class='line'>  Et poterat forma vincere uterque deos,</p> -<p class='line'>Parve puer, lumen quod habes concede sorori,</p> -<p class='line'>  Sic tu cæcus amor, sic erit illa Venus.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>TRANSLATION.</h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>Of his right eye young Acon was bereft;</p> -<p class='line'>His sister Leonilla lost the left;</p> -<p class='line'>Still each in form can rival with the gods,</p> -<p class='line'>And, though both Cyclops, beat them by all odds.</p> -<p class='line'>Spare her, my boy, your blinker, be not stupid,</p> -<p class='line'>She then will be a Venus, you a Cupid.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk119'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='35' id='Page_35'></span><h1><a id='towho'></a>TO ——.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY HENRY B. HIRST.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I have had my days of sadness: youth, which we review in age,</p> -<p class='line0'>Spelling once again its syllables, was a blurred and blotted page.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Drifting down the tide of Time my tiny <a id='bark'></a>barque, unguided, passed</p> -<p class='line0'>Toward the Mäelstrom of Manhood, puppet both of wave and blast.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But an all-protecting Providence watched the craft, when tempest-tost</p> -<p class='line0'>On the Atlantic of Adversity; and the vessel was not lost.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Through the distance, when the clouds were lifted by the eddying breeze,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sunny sapphire skies shone on me, with, beneath, Pacific seas.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But the gloom came down around me, and the billows rolled and moaned,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the little laboring ark with more than human agony groaned.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Shoals and sunken rocks around it,—like a frenzied steed that flies,</p> -<p class='line0'>Terror burning, like a beacon, in his wide-distended eyes,—</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Through this Archipelago of danger such as no one knows,</p> -<p class='line0'>Save the wanderer in a wilderness, filled with savage hungry foes—</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Rode the Argo of my Destiny; for what storm could overwhelm</p> -<p class='line0'>When God’s holy hand, or else His angel’s, held the fragile helm?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Suddenly from the desperate darkness stole the tender, trembling light</p> -<p class='line0'>Of a luminous, blushing planet, gleaming gently on my sight.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And the gloom fell down before it, and the billows knew surcease,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the horrid howling winds reclined in slumber, breathing peace.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Night by night the sun descended, and I saw the moon arise,</p> -<p class='line0'>With that luminous planet near it, like a deity, in the skies.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Then said I unto my spirit—“Reigning in those realms above,</p> -<p class='line0'>O, my soul, behold at last the unassuming star of love.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Like a queen she walks the infinite, saying softly, ‘Peace; be still!’</p> -<p class='line0'>And the lion winds and waters crouch, submissive to her will.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Now in safety rides my vessel, for that luminous, blushing star</p> -<p class='line0'>Sits forever in my “House of Life,” a ruling Guardian Lar;</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And the haven it has entered lies encircled by a shore</p> -<p class='line0'>Green as Eden was, calm as Heaven is; and the storm is known no more.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>There with one whose type is Beauty, Adam-like, I dwell in dreams,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose realities were delirium, sleeping by love’s silver streams.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Eve, my angel, always with me, leads my spirit by the hand</p> -<p class='line0'>Tenderly from its painful memories toward the Better—Happier Land.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And like ghosts, when, clarion-tongued, proud Chanticleer salutes the dawn,</p> -<p class='line0'>All my ghastly recollections flit, like shadows, and are gone.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk120'/> - -<div><h1><a id='omni'></a>THE OMNIPRESENCE OF GOD.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY RICHARD COE, JR.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>    Come! Come! Come!</p> -<p class='line0'>Nature, teacher sweet, will tell</p> -<p class='line0'>Where the Lord of all doth dwell,</p> -<p class='line0'>He who doeth all things well,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And in glory reigns!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>In the mountain—in the stream—</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the hushed and charmed air—</p> -<p class='line0'>In the working of a dream—</p> -<p class='line0'>  God is everywhere!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>In the star that decks the sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Shining through the silent air;</p> -<p class='line0'>In the cloud that saileth by—</p> -<p class='line0'>  God is everywhere!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>In the lily of the field—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or in floweret more rare—</p> -<p class='line0'>In the perfume roses yield—</p> -<p class='line0'>  God is everywhere!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>In the sunbeam clear and bright—</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the rainbow wondrous fair—</p> -<p class='line0'>In the darkness of the night—</p> -<p class='line0'>  God is everywhere!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>In the gentle summer breeze—</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the rushing winter air—</p> -<p class='line0'>In the rustling of the trees—</p> -<p class='line0'>  God is everywhere!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>In the organ’s solemn sound—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or in music’s lighter air—</p> -<p class='line0'>All above—beneath—around—</p> -<p class='line0'>  God is everywhere!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk121'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='36' id='Page_36'></span><h1><a id='grave'></a>THE NEGLECTED GRAVE-YARD.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY PROFESSOR ALDEN.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Uncle, have you a fowling-piece to lend me?” -said Henry Deforest, on the morning after his arrival -at Beech Grove, whither he had come to enjoy a brief -interval of rest from his professional studies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” replied Mr. Woolcott, “as fine a one as you -ever handled.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you want to do with it, pray?” said -Aunt Martha, Mr. Woolcott’s maiden sister and housekeeper, -who, like a sensible woman, believed that -guns and gunpowder were infernal inventions, and -dangerous in every possible shape and shade of combination.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have some thoughts of taking a gunning excursion,” -said Henry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you a good shot?” said Mr. Woolcott.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“About equal to Mr. Winkle.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know him—where does he live?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Henry was happily relieved from the necessity of -replying to the question of his matter-of-fact uncle, by -Aunt Martha, who declared her somewhat exulting -belief that the gun was lent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, it is at home—it came home last night. Here it -is,” said Mr. W., bringing it forth from a secure hiding-place -constructed under Aunt Martha’s sole direction -and authority.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it loaded?” said Henry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I guess not,” said his uncle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll warrant it is,” said Aunt Martha.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is there to shoot in these parts?” said Henry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Boys,” replied Aunt M., rather sharply. “Mr. -Johns shot one last week.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Boys are not good to eat, my dear aunt, and I cannot -in conscience shoot any thing not good to eat.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Aunt Martha uttered an inarticulate aspiration which -signified that she should lose her temper if she said any -thing more.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Woolcott, who had been quite a rustic sportsman -in his younger days, furnished his nephew with a -liberal allowance of powder, shot and wadding, and -the said nephew sallied forth with murderous intentions -toward all feathered bipeds possessing the attribute -of being good to eat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was early in June. The sweet breath of the -morning spoke so lovingly of peace and gentleness, -that he began to question the propriety of his savage -purposes. His conscience, or his good sense, or his -humanity, or something else, suggested, that to pollute -the flower-laden breeze with sulphurous vapors, and -to hush the sweet music of God’s innocent creatures, -was not the most fitting employment for one proud of -his immortality. He had not a very definite idea of the -pleasures of bird-murder—in fact, that it might be a -source of pleasure to him at all, it would be necessary -for him to “make believe” with as much intensity as -did “the small servant,” when she used orange-peel -water for wine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He soon reached a beautiful meadow. In consequence -of his admiration of the lilies and daisies which -adorned it, he failed to observe the meadow-larks that -frequently rose before him, and uttered their notes of -gladness to the mounting sun. At length one rose from -his very feet. In an instant his finger was upon the -trigger; but the sweet note of his intended victim -charmed him. While he listened, the bird passed beyond -the range of his weapon. Perhaps he mentally -compared the pleasure of listening to its song with that -of witnessing its dying gaspings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The murmuring of a streamlet fell upon his ear. In -a moment he was bending over its pure, bright waters. -A large, smooth stone, shaded by a clump of willows, -invited him to a seat. He laid aside his weapon, and -sat down, baring his forehead to the breeze, and fixing -his eyes upon the tiny inhabitants of the rivulet, his -thoughts took the peaceful hue of the objects around -him. It was not till the changing shadows of the willows -exposed him to the rays of the sun, that he became -conscious of the flight of time. He then rose and -went to a small grove which clothed the summit of a -gentle elevation in the vicinity. The grove was composed -of saplings, about twenty feet in height. As he -entered it, a false step led him to cast his eye downward. -He had planted his foot in the hollow of a -sunken grave. On looking around him, he found he -was in the midst of an ancient grave-yard. The headstones -which marked the resting places of the sleepers, -had apparently been taken from a neighboring ledge. -Only one bore an inscription, or had received the impress -of the chisel. He looked in vain for a new-made -grave. It was long since the funeral-train had entered -that grave-yard—long since the mourner had come -thither to weep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Deforest had visited cemeteries in which wealth had -lavished its treasures, and art exhausted its resources -in order to disrobe death of his gloom. No splendid -mausoleum, no carefully penned epitaph, so disposed -him to reflection, as did the leaf-filled hollows and rude -stones of that neglected grave-yard. He spent an hour -in serious thought, and was about to leave the place, -when the sound of approaching footsteps arrested his -attention. He turned and saw an aged man entering -the grove. The stranger approached the grave near -which Deforest was standing. He appeared slightly -embarrassed when he perceived that he was not alone. -He returned the courteous salutation of Deforest, and -seemed disposed to converse with him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You do not live in these parts?” said he.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am on a visit to my uncle, Mr. Woolcott. I reside -in the city,” said Deforest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='37' id='Page_37'></span> -“Your uncle came into the place after I left it. I was -born here, in a house that stood on the knoll yonder. -That cluster of bushes stands where the hearth-stone -used to lie.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I noticed, as I passed the spot this morning, that a -building once stood there. It must have been a long -time ago.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sixty-nine years ago, last March, I was born in that -house, or rather in the house which stood there then. -This country then was a wilderness. There was one -log-house where the village now stands, and one between -this and the river. I have not lived here for more -than forty years. Latterly I go through the place once a -year, as I go for my pension, and I always come to this -spot. My father lies here, and—another friend. I always -come and look upon the place of their rest. They do not -know it. It does not do them any good, but it does -me good. This is the grave of my father,” laying his -hand on the stone noticed above as being the only one -which bore an inscription. The inscription was as -follows: “James Hampton, died July 16, 1777, aged -forty-five years.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old man uncovered his head as he laid his hand -upon the stone, and gazed in silence upon the earth -which lay above the remains of his parent. Deforest -felt that he was an intruder, and was about to retire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do not go,” said the stranger. “I never met any -one here before. It seems like meeting with a friend. -That is a feeling which persons as old as I am seldom -experience.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Deforest, whose warm heart was strongly interested -in the aged stranger, gladly accepted his invitation to -remain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You were young when your father died,” said he, -looking again at the inscription.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was in my fourteenth year. He was killed by a -rifle-ball, in an attack made upon the house by a party -of Indians. I have no doubt they were led by a tory -who lived in a house which stood behind the ridge -yonder, to the east. My friends wished to have it put -on the tombstone that he was shot by the Indians. I -believed that the shot which killed him was fired by a -neighbor. I would not have the stone tell an untruth; -so nothing is said about the manner of his death.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I should be greatly interested in hearing an account -of the matter, if it be not painful to you to relate it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come and sit down on this rock and I will tell you -all about it. It happened more than fifty years ago, yet -it is as fresh in my mind as if it had happened yesterday.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He led the way to a large moss-covered rock, which -afforded them a comfortable seat under the shade of a -thicket of young chestnuts. Near it was a grave on -which the old man’s eyes were fastened. He did not -seem disposed to resume the conversation. A tear -ran down his furrowed cheek. Deforest sympathized -with him in silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You must ask me questions, my young friend,” -said he, somewhat abruptly, “or my mind will wander -away from the things you wish me to speak of.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did your father build the house in which you were -born?” said Deforest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, he came here about ten years before the war, -when, as I said before, there was only one house between -this and the river. I was born the year after -the house was built. I was but a little over ten years -old when the troubles with England came on. My -father and mother had many consultations upon the -question, whether it was best for them to return to the -east or not. There were no Indians near, and there -was nothing to call them—for nearly all the people -along the river were friends to the king. My father -was from Massachusetts, and of course, liberty was -natural to him; but he had said little or nothing about -matters in dispute, for the very good reason that there -were but very few persons to converge with. So he -concluded to remain here. I could see that my mother -did not feel easy. She grew thin and pale, and seemed -unwilling to have us out of her sight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Once in a while, a rumor of what was going on -reached us, though the accounts were always in favor -of the king’s troops.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In June of the year ’77, one day, as my father was -in the cornfield, he saw an Indian skulking behind a -large tree in the woods, that then stood where those -oats are now growing. He continued at his hoeing -for an hour or two, and was careful not to indicate by -his appearance that he had seen any thing unusual.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Was he not afraid that the Indian’s bullet might -put an end to his work?” said Deforest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, he reasoned in this way. If the object of the -Indian had been to kill him on the spot, he would have -done so before he was seen. When my father came -to the house, he was not disposed to say any thing about -what had occurred, for he was not willing to give unnecessary -alarm to his family. His anxious countenance -led to inquiries which revealed the true state of -the case. He began at once to make preparation to -resist an attack, which he anticipated would be made -in the night. I was employed in casting bullets, while -he was busy in barricading the windows, and in making -openings between the logs to serve as port-holes. -Night at length drew near, and we sat down to supper, -sad and silent, feeling that in all probability it was the -last meat we should ever take together. The night -passed slowly on. None of us were disposed to sleep. -About midnight my father persuaded my mother to lie -down, with my sister, who was sleeping unconscious -of danger. Very soon there was a gentle knocking at -the door. We had no light burning. My father had -his rifle in his hand, while I held a musket, ready to -exchange with him as soon as he had fired. He crept -silently to the port-hole that commanded the door. He -saw an Indian, with a rifle, standing before the door. -The moonbeams fell full on his face, the expression of -which left no doubt on my father’s mind respecting the -object of the visit. The knocking was repeated. The -answer was the discharge of the rifle from the port-hole. -The Indian bounded high in the air, and fell to -the earth a corpse. A yell from about half a dozen -voices in the vicinity revealed the probable number of -our foes. We were greatly encouraged, for it seemed -well-nigh certain that their numbers would be so far -diminished ere they could effect an entrance, as to -render the result of the conflict by no means doubtful. -The opening from which the shot was fired did not -<span class='pageno' title='38' id='Page_38'></span> -command the approach to the door. This was probably -observed by our enemies, and after some time, -apparently spent in consultation, two of them took a -long, heavy pole from the fence, and drew near with -the evident purpose of using it as a battering-ram to -force the door. My father placed himself before an -opening which he had made for the purpose of commanding -the approach to the door, and when they were -near enough to make the aim sure, he fired, and the -hindmost man fell, never to rise again. I instantly -gave my father the musket, and he fired at the other -man, who had made a brief halt before he commenced -his retreat. Either because the smoke prevented a -good aim, or the musket carried ball less accurately -than the rifle, the Indian did not fall, but from the blood -that marked his retreat, it appeared that he was -severely wounded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We could see a group of four or five persons in the -distance. They were not quite near enough to make -a sure shot, and my father thought it of the utmost importance -that every ball should tell. While our attention -was fixed upon them, a light shone in from a -crevice on the side of the house opposite to the door. -On that side there was neither door nor window. The -enemy had sent one of their number, who had procured -a bundle of straw from the barn, and placed it -against the side of the logs, and set fire to it. It was -their object to burn us alive, or to shoot us down when -attempting to extinguish the flames. From the crevice -which revealed the fire, my father saw an Indian -grinning like a demon as he watched the progress of -the flames. The good rifle soon put him out of the -way of doing any more mischief. He then seized a -pail of water, and ran to the chamber, and removed a -board from the roof, and poured the water upon the -fire. He had loosened the board in the course of his -preparations for defense, thinking it possible that the -opening might afford a means of escape. Fortunately -the opening was immediately over the spot where the -fire was kindled. Three of our foes had now been -killed, and one of them wounded, (though we did not -know it till the next day,) and we hoped they would -become discouraged and retire. We heard nor saw -nothing of them for an hour or more, though we kept -watch in every direction.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A new danger revealed itself. The fire had not -been wholly extinguished; it had caught in the logs, -and now began to blaze. My father took a bucket of -water and went to the roof as before, but the moment -his head appeared, three or four rifles were discharged -from the grove near by. One of the balls slightly -grazed his cheek. He had the presence of mind to -make immediate application of the water before they -had time to reload, but he did not succeed in applying -it to the spot where it was most needed. Before another -pailfull could be procured, they had loaded their -pieces. He raised his hat above the opening in the -roof, in hopes that they would all fire, that he might -then extinguish the flames before they could reload. -Only one shot, however, was fired. It pierced the hat, -which fell. A savage yell of triumph caused our blood -to curdle. The hat was raised again, and another shot -fired, and another, both of which missed it. The -water was then poured on the fire; but just as he was -descending the stairs, a ball, apparently fired at random, -passed through the clay between the logs, and -entered his neck. He told us that he should bleed -to death in a few minutes, but encouraged us to hope -that the enemy would retire without any further efforts. -He told me to keep a vigilant watch, and to shoot down -those that came near the house. ‘Take care of your -mother and sister,’ said he, ‘take them to the east -if—’ he never finished the sentence. He bled to death -in spite of all we could do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old man paused in his narrative, and again -fixed his eyes upon the grave noticed above.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Was the attack renewed?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, they went off before daylight, leaving their -dead unburied. I dug a grave in the cellar, and buried -my father. We then took our horses, and were on -the other side of the river before night.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Were you not afraid of being waylaid and murdered?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We were, chiefly from the fact that so many of -the Indians had been killed. We felt safe when we -had crossed the river. We went to my mother’s -native place, and remained there till the war was over, -when we returned here. I was in the army during -the last year of the war.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I should hardly have thought that your mother -would have been willing to return here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We had a good farm here, and several families -from her native place concluded to come with us and -settle here. By cultivating the farm I could fulfill my -father’s command to take care of my mother and -sister, and I did not see how I could do it in any other -way. The first thing I did was to bury my father in -this place. Several years afterward this stone, which -marks his grave, was brought on from the east.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You told me you thought the shot which killed -your father was fired by a neighbor.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We had no suspicion of any such thing at the -time. As was natural, I kept the ball that caused the -death-wound. It was of a peculiar size, and had a -singular mark upon it. After my return, I happened -one day to be present where there were a number of -persons shooting at a mark. Alter they had finished -their sport, the boys began to cut the balls out of the -tree on which the mark had been placed. I was standing -near and happened to hear one say, ‘that was -Sawyer’s ball. I can always tell his ball by this mark.’ -I looked at the ball, and saw that it bore the same -mark as the one that was taken from my father’s neck. -I put it into my pocket, and went home and compared -it with the ball I had preserved. The size and marks -corresponded perfectly. I then went to the boy and -found that all Sawyer’s balls had the same mark. -There was something in the bore of the rifle that made -a peculiar crease in the ball as it was forced out. I -then got a neighbor to inquire of Sawyer how long he -had owned his rifle, and I found that it was in his possession -before the war came on. My suspicions were -then strongly excited. It was not probable that there -were two rifles that would make the same impression -upon the ball discharged from them. I remembered, -too, that Sawyer had expressed great surprise at our -<span class='pageno' title='39' id='Page_39'></span> -return, and had appeared somewhat embarrassed when -he met me. I met him in the street one day, and took -the ball out of my pocket and held it before him, and -fixing my eye fully upon his, asked him if he had ever -seen it? He turned very red, and then came near -fainting. I laid my hand upon him. He trembled -like a leaf. I repeated the question in a louder tone, -for I was sure that the murderer of my father was before -me. His lips moved, but he could not speak. -‘Do you think,’ said I, ‘that it is safe for you to stay -in this country?’ I flung him from me, and went on -my way. The next day he left for the west, and some -time afterward sent for his family.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How long did you live here after your return?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nearly ten years; I lived here till my mother -died.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is she buried here?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, she died while we were on a visit to the east. -She was buried among her kindred. After her death, -I returned here and remained till I helped fill up that -grave,” pointing to the one which he had gazed at so -earnestly when he took his seat upon the rock. -“Then I felt there was nothing more to keep me here—in -fact, I felt that I could not live here. My sister -was married at the East; so I sold the farm and became -a wanderer. I did not visit the place for nearly twenty -years. When the pension-law was passed, I had occasion -to come here, for one who was in the same company -with me lived here. Since then, I have commonly -passed through the place once a year, and I -always visit this spot. This is the first time I ever -met any one here. I once thought of having the bushes -cut down; but on the whole, I concluded to let it grow -up to wood. It will shield the graves from the gaze -of the careless passer-by; and I like, too, the idea of -having the birds sing over her grave. Farewell,” -said he, rising and extending his hand. Henry returned -the warm pressure of his hand, and was retiring, -that he might be left alone by the sepulchre of his -parent. The stranger, however, kept by his side till -he reached the stone wall which separated the grove -from the meadow. He seemed unwilling to part with -his new acquaintance. Henry laid his hand upon his -shoulder, and said, “Will you not tell me about <span class='it'>her</span>?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After a moment’s silence the stranger replied, -“Young man, I will, though it is many a year since I -have pronounced her name aloud, unless I have done -so in my dreams. They say I often talk in my sleep. -I often dream of her, and sometimes it seems so much -like reality, that I cannot help weeping when I awake, -and find it nothing but a dream. She lived in a house -which stood beyond the hill yonder. I have never -seen it since the day she was carried out of it, and I -shall never see it again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Her name?” whispered Henry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mary Everson lies in that stoneless grave—I -wanted no stone to keep her in my memory, and I -wanted nothing to call strangers to her resting-place. -The world never contained a purer and warmer heart. -She came here with her uncle about a year before my -mother’s death. Her father had been wealthy, and -had taken great pains with her education. He lost his -property in time of the war, and died soon afterward. -His wife soon followed him, and Mary became dependent -upon her uncle, who removed here, as I said, -about a year before my mother died. I saw her, for -the first time, at a meeting in a log school-house. She -was seated opposite me, and I thought I never set eyes -on so fair an object. I have seen countenances which -would form better subjects for description, but I never -saw one which spoke to the soul like hers. It was -transparent. It seemed as though you could see the flow -of her pure thoughts and the beatings of her warm heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It so happened that on the next day I had occasion -to see her uncle on business. As I drew near the -house, I heard the loud and angry voice of a female. -I soon saw Mary coming down the foot-path. She -was sobbing. ‘O, mother,’ said she, ‘I am glad that -you do not know what your poor child has to suffer.’ -She looked up and saw me with tears in my eyes—the -words she had spoken brought them there—and felt, -as she afterward told me, that I sympathized with -her. I passed her without speaking, transacted my -business with her uncle, and took my leave as speedily -as possible, hoping to meet with her on my return. -But I was disappointed. She had gone into a retired -thicket to unburthen her grief by prayer. The truth -was, her aunt treated her with great cruelty. Her -uncle had little power to protect her. I made an errand -there the next day, and found Mary alone. We sped -rapidly in our acquaintance, and our parting was like -that of old familiar friends. I became a frequent -visiter at Mr. E.’s house. He received me cordially, -but his wife, I could see plainly, disapproved my visits, -and the more as it became evident that Mary and I -were attached to each other. When it was known to -her that we were engaged to be married, she became -outrageous in her treatment of the poor orphan. She -caused her many days of bitterness, and many nights -of weeping.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We were to be married on my return from a visit -with my mother to the east. My mother never returned. -As soon as she was buried I hastened here, -and found Mary ill of an inflammation of the lungs. -The disease was brought on by exposure occasioned -by the cruelty of Mrs. E.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I watched by her bedside till she died. When she -was laid in the grave, I felt that there was a void in -my heart that could never be filled. Nearly half a -century has passed—the shadow of no earthly attachment -has ever fallen for a moment on the place in my -heart which belongs to her. The grave, as you see, -is no longer a hillock—the coffin has fallen in—the -heart that loved me so truly has mouldered, but her -memory is as fresh as when I felt the last feeble pressure -of her hand, or when I passed the whole night on -her grave before I left the place. Men have called -me indolent, irresolute, weak; but they knew not of -the shadow which rested upon my path.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of late, I trust, I have known something of the -higher life which her dying lips entreated me to live. -I am waiting for my appointed time, when I shall meet -her in a world where affection is never blighted, and -separation is unknown.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have never said as much as I have now to any -mortal; you seem to be capable of sympathizing with -<span class='pageno' title='40' id='Page_40'></span> -one. May your young heart find one whom it may -love as entirely as I loved her; and may she be spared -to you, that your life may not, like mine, be wasted. -Farewell!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He turned and walked into the grove. Henry set -out on his return to his uncle’s house. On his way, -he thought of his gun with which he was to do such -execution. He returned to the place where he had -left it. It had fallen into the water, and was apparently -an object of great curiosity to the shiners who surrounded -the lock in great numbers. A frog sat resting -on his elbows on the opposite bank, surveying the examination. -When the gun was lifted from the water, -he disappeared with a sound rather indicative of contempt -either for the gun or its possessor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Aunt Martha received Henry with smiles, when she -was assured that he had not silenced any innocent -songsters, and her complacency was positive when she -learned the manner in which the gun had been disposed -of during the morning. She suggested that it -would be an improvement if it were kept under water -all the time.</p> - -<hr class='tbk122'/> - -<div><h1><a id='newyear'></a>NEW YEAR MEDITATION.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY ENNA DUVAL.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>’Tis midnight.</p> -<p class='line0'>              Lo! the Old Year stands upon</p> -<p class='line0'>The threshold of the Past. To God it speeds</p> -<p class='line0'>Its way, but bears a burden, for I see</p> -<p class='line0'>Its form bend drooping with the weary weight</p> -<p class='line0'>Of evil deeds, and feelings harsh and cold.</p> -<p class='line0'>Farewell, Old Year! With light heart full of joy</p> -<p class='line0'>I greeted thee, before thou mad’st thy sad</p> -<p class='line0'>And bitter revelations to my soul.</p> -<p class='line0'>Temptations, grievous trials thou didst bring,</p> -<p class='line0'>And sorrow’s blinding, overwhelming tide.</p> -<p class='line0'>And yet I leave thee with a grateful heart,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou stern but blest Instructor! Lessons harsh</p> -<p class='line0'>Of thee I’ve learned, but strength’ning have they been:</p> -<p class='line0'>And though thou bearest with thee record sad</p> -<p class='line0'>Of my poor deeds, and goodness left undone,</p> -<p class='line0'>That fills my heart with sorrow for the past,</p> -<p class='line0'>Bright blessed hopes like angels hover round</p> -<p class='line0'>This coming year.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                  Hail, then, thou unknown one!</p> -<p class='line0'>I see proceeding from thee spirit forms;</p> -<p class='line0'>They are my future hours, good or bad.</p> -<p class='line0'>Mysterious shapes are they. Their mantles hang</p> -<p class='line0'>Around them dark and heavy—hooded, veiled,</p> -<p class='line0'>They give no sign of sorrow, nor of joy.</p> -<p class='line0'>Slowly each form advances; and to me</p> -<p class='line0'>Alone is given the right to raise those veils;</p> -<p class='line0'>But as I lift each hood, upon the face</p> -<p class='line0'>Beneath, my spirit traces there a mute</p> -<p class='line0'>But yet unchanging record of my thoughts—</p> -<p class='line0'>A faithful impress of my inner self—</p> -<p class='line0'>Then past recall the hour floats away!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A gift these hours have in charge for me.</p> -<p class='line0'>My weal or wo they hold—my light—my shade.</p> -<p class='line0'>Dark sorrow they may bring me—bitter tears—</p> -<p class='line0'>Or sunny joys—bright Laughter’s merry crew</p> -<p class='line0'>May playful lurk behind those gloomy folds</p> -<p class='line0'>But if to me the right were given to lift</p> -<p class='line0'>Those veils, before the ordered time, and know</p> -<p class='line0'>The gifts they bring—I’d pause. I do not seek</p> -<p class='line0'>To know my future. This I humbly ask,</p> -<p class='line0'>In joy or wo, that God may give to me</p> -<p class='line0'>A firm, strong faith, and purity of heart.</p> -<p class='line0'>With gifts divine like these, my future years</p> -<p class='line0'>Might come unfeared, and pass without regret</p> -<p class='line0'>Or sad remorse.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>               And now, my soul, regard</p> -<p class='line0'>This new-born year, just launching on the sea</p> -<p class='line0'>Of life. Twelve moons will roll around, and thou</p> -<p class='line0'>May’st stand as now, with sad and heavy thoughts,</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon its brink, and see with hopeless tears</p> -<p class='line0'>This year float from thee. Dark and mist-like shapes,</p> -<p class='line0'>Dim spirit forms may hover o’er the past.</p> -<p class='line0'>Forms that were once, like youth’s sweet visions, bright</p> -<p class='line0'>And filled with glory—resolutions, hopes,</p> -<p class='line0'>And thoughts of what thou purposed to have been;</p> -<p class='line0'>But unfulfilled and fading there may float—</p> -<p class='line0'>These are the forms that spectre-like may haunt</p> -<p class='line0'>And darken then thy past.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                        Think well of this,</p> -<p class='line0'>My soul, and ere within the portal dark</p> -<p class='line0'>Of this unknown and silent future thou</p> -<p class='line0'>Dost float, remember that within thyself</p> -<p class='line0'>No power lies. Thou may’st have brilliant dreams,</p> -<p class='line0'>And aspirations grand and holy thou</p> -<p class='line0'>May’st cherish—aimless, futile all, without</p> -<p class='line0'>The aid and strength which God alone can give;</p> -<p class='line0'>Pray then to Him for faith, confiding, true,</p> -<p class='line0'>And strength to make thy resolutions firm—</p> -<p class='line0'>For all the good that in thy future thou</p> -<p class='line0'>Wouldst purpose to perform ask aid of Him.</p> -<p class='line0'>Then with this help divine thou need’st not dread</p> -<p class='line0'>Dark Sorrow’s form, nor Pleasure’s tempting smiles,</p> -<p class='line0'>And when the future years which God may give,</p> -<p class='line0'>Have each their changing cycles rolled around,</p> -<p class='line0'>Then floated off unto the solemn Past—</p> -<p class='line0'>When life’s last hour comes, with drooping wing,</p> -<p class='line0'>And thou art borne unto the judgment seat</p> -<p class='line0'>Of God! Eternity’s dread bar! o’er thee</p> -<p class='line0'>No shadows dark will hang, but Faith’s bright form,</p> -<p class='line0'>And heav’nly Love, will clasp thee round, and bear</p> -<p class='line0'>Thee up unto thy Father, God!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk123'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i102.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0005' style='width:450px;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span class='bold'>THE WIDOW OF NAIN.</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk124'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='41' id='Page_41'></span><h1><a id='widow'></a>THE WIDOW OF NAIN.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY JOSEPH R. CHANDLER.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1.5em;font-size:0.9em;'>[SEE ENGRAVING.]</p> - -<p class='pindent'>How little can we of this latitude, or rather of this -country, for latitude seems not to rule in all cases with regard -to temperature; on one side of a continent, that -parallel which gives agreeable winters and dry, healthful -summers, is marked on the other side with cold, -snowy winters and most unhealthful summers; what the -<a id='var'></a>variant circumstances are which produce this difference -it is not easy to tell; the difference <span class='it'>does</span> exist, and -ingenious theories have been constructed to suit those -results; we say then again, how little can we of this -latitude, or this country, judge of the enjoyments which -others at a distance from us, but with the same shadows, -have in the dry coolness of their evenings, or lassitude -to which they are subject by the peculiar warmth -which prevails during most of their summer days. -The habits and customs among us are soon made conformable -to the circumstances of our climate; though -it must be confessed that people will always pertinaciously -insist on a warm day on the first of May, and a -stinging cold one on the 25th of December, while actual -experience has shown that the thin floral garb adopted -for the first has often led to consumption, and the -winter furs and the great Yule-log that have distinguished -the latter, have been considered rather <span class='it'>seasonable</span> -than pleasant. So much for a poetical conformity, -but in the every-day business of life things are -better disposed of; people do not think in this country -of sitting under their own <span class='it'>vine</span> till mid-summer, and -then they look out for spiders; and as to their fig-trees, -nobody gets under them unless it be the house-cat for -a summer <span class='it'>siesta</span>. While eastward of the shores of -the Mediterranean, people stretch themselves out upon -the house-top for a comfortable night’s sleep, and -spend a warm summer’s day beneath the cording -shadow of the fig or the olive, and make life itself a -blessing, not the means of enjoyment, but enjoyment -itself; life and its accidents, the gratification of simple -appetites—eating, drinking, and sleeping. Leaving -to others the profitless toils that accumulate heaps of -gold, only a portion of which can ever be used, and -that portion will buy little more than what may be had -and enjoyed without it. In this country we retreat -away from an oppressive heat or a stinging cold, and -make the absence of either an excuse for our merriment. -In that other land to which we have referred, -positive enjoyment is had in the uses of the evening -air, and the contemplation of the heavenly hosts. Stars -and planets twinkling in the clear blue ether above, -not larger than seen from this continent, but far, far -more intensely brilliant in the atmosphere, which -allows of little refraction, and whose purity makes an -upward gaze like the contemplation of some sanctified -enclosure.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sitting on a bank that faced westward were observable -two human figures in the closing twilight of an -autumn day. They were gazing out upon the gorgeous -west, and marking the successful struggles of the -starry host to obtain visibility above. In all the rich -flush that marked the pathway of the sun, and hung a -glory around his place of exit, only one light had -strength enough to be visible; and so pure was the -atmosphere, that when the flush in the heavens retired, -the splendid planet Venus seemed a delicate crescent—a -diminutive moon, sinking downward to the western -waters.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How beautiful, dear Reuben,” said the young -female, as she pressed closely the hand of her companion; -“how beautiful the heavens above us are to-night. -It seems as if a peculiar brilliancy were observable; -and I hope it is not sinful for me to say that -the glorious array of stars seems to have communicated -to my bosom something of their own transparent -light; an unusual serenity seems to descend from them -to me, and I feel now as if I owed to them sensations -of inexpressible delight—quiet, gentle, but full. Whence -is this, Reuben?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May you not, my dear Miriam, have mistaken a -cause for an effect? Is it not the quiet, peaceful delight -of your heart that makes all outward objects more -lovely to you? And, as the stars are the most brilliant -and the most distant objects at the present moment, -your feelings have connected themselves with those -ministers of <span class='it'>Him</span>, and allowed that deep, mysterious -connection of the planetary world with ours to work -upon your imagination, as if the stars had a direct influence -upon your condition.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps so; but I alluded to my feelings and not -my condition. How beautifully did our Prophet King -refer his own elevated sensations to the planetary -world, ‘The moon and the stars which <span class='sc'>Thou</span> hast -ordained.’”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“True, true, my dearest Miriam; but you will recollect -that while he made himself, and man generally, -small in his <span class='it'>contemplation</span> of the heavens, it was not -in <span class='it'>comparison</span> with them, it was comparing or contrasting -man with <span class='sc'>Him</span> who garnished the heavens, -and wrote ‘all our members in a book.’ But are not -your feelings, like mine, elevated with a hope, nay, -with almost a certainty, that the elders will persuade -my mother that the rights of our family can be retained, -even though I marry you, or rather that the argument -against our union was as unsustained by our laws as -the attempt to give you to Salathiel was a violation of -your affection and my rights.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know not but that may be the case. I feel it, -Reuben, warmly at my heart. Let me say it without -violating the delicacy of a maiden’s feelings, that such -was my love for you, that even the alternative to which -<span class='pageno' title='42' id='Page_42'></span> -I consented, though of no moment, gave me a severe -pang.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What was that alternative?” asked the young -man, with importunity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Simply, that if you should not live to marry me, -then Salathiel might take me to wife.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I would haunt him with terrible bodings,” said -Reuben, “even as Samuel frightened the falling Saul.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And I, dear Reuben,” said the maiden, with a -smile, “should, I suppose, be the Witch of Endor to -call up your wandering and jealous spirit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And it is settled, then,” said Reuben, “and you -are to be mine with the consent of our families. And -the next new moon shall see us one.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It shall be thus if your mother consents. I have -none to consent or refuse, save my aunt. But let it -not wound your feeling or excite suspicion in your -mind, Reuben, that I ask you not to cherish feelings -of unkindness against Salathiel. He is my kinsman -and my early friend.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Has he not sought to supplant me in your possession?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you not supplanted him in my heart? Is it -so much, my dear Reuben, for you to fear to lose me, -and is it nothing for him to see me given to another?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He tried for your possessions, Miriam, for your -wealth only.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Does not my wealth, little as it is, go with my -hand—and why may not he have designs honorable -as well as others?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because he would not leave it to your decision, to -the arbitration of your affections. He could not love -you and be willing to do violence to your love.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May he not, dear Reuben, say the same of you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of me! Miriam, you plead the cause of Salathiel. -You wish the alternative—you would be free.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Reuben, you may wound my pride by your injustice, -but you cannot make me cease to love you. You may -hereafter learn that woman may esteem a man for his -virtues without loving him as a husband; and that for -me to wish that you were less unkind to Salathiel, is -no evidence that I love you less. I have heard within -a few weeks such lessons of forgiveness, such preaching -of high virtues—high, though always practical—that -I desire to conform in some measure to them, and -to have him whom I love and respect, augment my -affection, not by any new <span class='it'>love</span> on his part, but by a -new exhibition of greatness of mind. Reuben, though -protracted maidenhood is a reproach in Israel, be assured -that my love is stronger than death—as I feel -that your jealousy is more cruel than the grave.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will not be jealous. I will forget what I have -deemed the wrongs of Salathiel. I will learn of you -to respect myself. But, Miriam, what teaching is that -to which you allude—what lessons of forgiveness have -you received, and from whom? Is not the law of -Moses sufficient for the daughters of Israel?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose the laws of Moses are not sufficient, else -why have kings and prophets written and preached? -But you know that several times within a year the -teacher from Nazareth hath been in the synagogues of -Nain, and has, indeed, spoken in the houses of our relatives, -whither he hath come and broken bread.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have heard of his visits, and that his teaching -had been eminently attractive—how <span class='it'>instructive</span>,” -continued Reuben, with a sneer, “how instructive -may be inferred from the proportion of women among -his immediate followers.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There were more women than men, undoubtedly, -at his household instruction, because more women had -leisure to listen. But let me tell the truth, Reuben. -There <span class='it'>are</span> many women among his followers, for he -speaks to the heart of woman. He recognizes woman -as the equal of man in the necessity for salvation, and -he appeals to her affections, her experience, her wrongs -and her neglect. What other prophet has come among -us, that has thought it needful to recognize even his -descent from woman, while He of Nazareth soothes -our sorrows, elevates our hopes, and sanctifies our -human relations? As I listened of late to him when he -reproved but encouraged our sex, my heart said ‘this -teacher’s doctrines may <span class='it'>save</span> man,’ but how they -<span class='it'>elevate</span> and <span class='it'>purify</span> woman. And then the lessons -of love, of forbearance, of forgiveness, that he inculcates, -belong to what I have deemed woman’s nature -and man’s <span class='it'>necessity</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You have followed the teacher, then, Miriam?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He is a prophet, Reuben, and he attests his divine -mission by miracles. He has healed the sick, he has -cured the lame, and made the blind see and the deaf -hear.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Has he raised the dead, as did the bones of Elisha?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have heard that he has wrought <span class='it'>that</span> miracle, but -do not know it, though I have such faith in his mission -as to believe he might.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>If he would raise me from the dead when I come -to die, I would have faith too!</span>”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I should think, Reuben, that this act would be the -consequence rather than the cause of faith. Though -many others believed, in Jerusalem, as my Cousin -Jacob says, in consequence of the restoration of blind -Bartemus to his sight, yet the Master said, ‘<span class='it'>Thy faith</span> -hath made thee whole!’”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have, nevertheless, no faith in this teacher as a -prophet—why, whose son is he, Miriam?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He is of the house of David, Reuben, and even -though his parents are poor, are they much poorer than -David’s parents? May there not be something in the -great truths which he teaches, that is not dependent -upon the parentage of the teacher?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“These things are important, Miriam, I confess, and -we will confer of them together, but not now. We -are about to part, let us mark the separation by a recurrence -to a subject on which we both agree. The -next new moon sees us united, and my joy at the anticipation -is doubled by the belief that you share with -me in the pleasure.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miriam pressed the hand of her lover as they rose -to descend the hill; and as they entered the gate of -Nain, the rising moon poured its strong light through -the gorges of the mountain, the pair wended their way -through the broken streets of the city to the residence -of Miriam, blessed in their mutual affection, and refreshed -by the dry, cool breeze of evening, which had -fanned them on the elevated seat which they had just -left.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='43' id='Page_43'></span> -Reuben turned toward home with a resolution to -discuss the doctrine which he had heard imputed to the -new teacher. Miriam, with woman’s humility, “kept -all these things and pondered them in her heart.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miriam and Reuben met daily as espoused people; -and frequent allusions were made to the doctrines of -the teacher; and the pride of a Hebrew man was a little -touched at the evidences of the elevating effect of a -doctrine upon women, which Miriam’s language and -conduct presented. Yet Reuben loved her too well to -regret any circumstance which pleased and benefited -Miriam. The customs of the country were too well -fixed to lead him to fear the assumption of any inappropriate -position by his future wife; indeed, it is believed -that men do not begin to grow jealous of the -authority of women until after marriage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do not find in the teaching of the new master,” -said Reuben, one day as they were conversing on the -subject now so important to her, and so generally interesting -to him, “I do not discover any denunciations -of our creed or our system and form of worship—why -may not his doctrines prevail without danger to the -Hierarchy?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I cannot guess of that, Reuben; but certainly the -teacher, while he refers to particular virtues and special -sins, seems to desire a purification of the motives. He -has conformed to all the requirements of our religion, -but seems at times to be above it. I wish I understood -him better. And yet how simple, how comprehensible -are all his teachings. Why should I seek to -know more? Why should I desire <a id='aught'></a>aught but that -which shall make me better—happier—more hopeful? -How the poor, the afflicted in body and in mind seek -him out, and sit in joy at his teaching.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Miriam, I will hear him—I will hear him soon,” -said Reuben.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was only a few days before the new moon that -Miriam had from the widow mother of Reuben an -intimation that her only son and heir was prostrated by -sudden and very severe sickness. The young woman -hastened across the town to be in attendance upon -Reuben, and to cheer him into health by her presence. -But when she reached the house, she learned rather by -the appearance than the words of the widow, that the -sickness of Reuben was not of a kind to yield to such -remedies as she had to offer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The attention of Miriam to Reuben was all that her -feelings would permit her to give. She sat by his side -and bathed his temples, and moistened his feverish -hands, and listened with painful satisfaction to his unconscious -utterance of her name.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the seventh day of Reuben’s sickness all awaited -the crisis, and a few hours before sunset he awakened -from a protracted sleep, and turned his eyes on the -hopeful countenance of Miriam. The members of the -family present saw with inexpressible pleasure that his -consciousness had returned, and they <span class='it'>hoped</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the physician pronounced against them. It was -but a restoration of mental light before the darkness of -death should set in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Miriam,” said Reuben, “let me speak to thee alone -one moment”—and the family retired.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am dying, and the truths which you announced -to me as we sat upon the hill-side some nights since—truths -which the new teacher uttered, come home with -strange distinctness to my heart. But is he, as his -disciples would have us believe—is he the Messiah?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you believe it, dear Reuben?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do not know, but I forgive all who have injured -me, and I ask pardon of all whom I have injured.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Surely that is the spirit of the Master’s teaching, -Reuben, and what can you more.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, oh, Miriam, where are the blessings which I -had promised myself in thy love? Where the years of -happiness in thy possession—when thou shouldst have -been only mine?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are these regrets, my beloved, suited to one who -leans upon the verge of the grave? Oh, look forward, -Reuben, and look upward. In heaven we can meet -again—meet without fear of separation, without doubt -of love.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But in heaven, where, oh, where shalt thou be, -Miriam?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Reuben, dear Reuben?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, my beloved, let me show my affection for -you and my sense of duty to God at this last moment. -I know, my Miriam, that by the customs of our people -you should have been the wife of Salathiel, and I feel -that next to me, (I do your love no injustice, my betrothed,) -<span class='it'>next</span> to me, Salathiel has your affection. Hear -me out. When I am gone, it must be your duty. Oh, -then, let it be your pleasure to receive him. Who -better than he can be your protector? He is your -nearest kinsman, and the laws and customs of our -people are in his favor—promise me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Reuben, shall I call in your mother?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Reuben turned his eyes again toward the west, and -the sun was sinking with all his evening glory into the -great sea. A gentle breeze swept into the window, -and blew the hair of the kneeling maid upon the pale -face of her lover.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Turn my face, Miriam, to the east, let me pray -thitherward. Let me hold you thus, ‘though the sorrows -of death compass me about—’”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the widowed mother entered the room the -dead form of her son was resting in the arms of the -unconscious Miriam.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Stricken with grief, and with a sense of her utter -loneliness, the widow lifted up her voice and wept.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miriam was conveyed away—to be purified from the -legal uncleanness that results from contact with the dead.</p> - -<hr class='tbk125'/> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the morning of the third day from the death -of Reuben, and Miriam was sitting lonely in her -chamber.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And this,” said she, as she looked forth from her -darkened room, “this was the day appointed for our -marriage; and to-day they will take my beloved and -carry him forth from the city, and lay him in the earth -with his fathers; and his beautiful form shall moulder -into the dust, and the worms shall feed sweetly on -him. Yes, he shall return to the dust again, and his -spirit to God who gave it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Father,” said the -anguished maiden, as she kneeled with folded hands -and upturned, streaming eyes, “oh, Father, receive his -spirit!” And she poured out her soul in prayer for -<span class='pageno' title='44' id='Page_44'></span> -the dead, “after the custom that is among the Jews, -even unto this day.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Shortly afterward the relatives of Miriam came in -to comfort her before they went to assist in the funeral -of Reuben. They respected her grief too much to -make open allusion to a subject which was occupying -their minds.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One of the elders of the family, before going out, took -aside the afflicted girl and attempted to console her -with those cold arguments that interest suggests, and a -want of respect for woman’s position warrants.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Still, Miriam,” continued the old man, after disregarding -her requests to be left alone, “still the possessions -of your father’s family remain with you; and -these may now, as they ought to have been before, be, -with you, the property of our Cousin Salathiel.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, my Uncle Achan, you trouble me, indeed; -spare me that, let the possessions of our house go -whither you list, to yourself or to Salathiel, but let me -remain as I am. Give me peace—give me peace and -time for my tears, and I will endure the reproach of -maiden-widowhood, and let my name be lost from the -family of our fathers.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Achan and his friends departed to meet at the house -of the widow, and to be of the company of those who -should assist in the funeral of her son.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miriam sat in her chamber, looking forth from the -closed lattice to mark the first approach of the funeral-train -which would pass her aunt’s dwelling on its -way to the burying-place that lay beyond the walls of -the city.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The solemn train at length approached, and the cold, -insensible form of her lover lay upon a bier, wrapped -round with grave-clothes, and borne forth by men.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As she gazed down upon the appalling sight, her -heart seemed ready to burst with the grief that had no -utterance, and she fell insensible to the floor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When Miriam opened her eyes, they rested upon the -forms of her aunt and of Salathiel bending over her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Was this well, Salathiel? Could you not have -spared me one day for grief, must my affections for -another be outraged, even in the presence of his -passing remains?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Miriam, my cousin,” said Salathiel, “I came in -hither only to assist your aunt. No selfish feeling -brought me into your presence. I know where your -affections are, I know how deep-seated is your grief. -Let me rather, my Miriam, be to you a means of consolation, -than an occasion of offence, since my love to -your person is less than my sympathy in your grief.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miriam placed her hand in that of Salathiel, and a -gentle pressure signified her appreciation of his feelings—and -such a sign, at such a moment, too, told him -how hopeless would be his love. He obeyed the sign.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The funeral has passed on,” said she.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is now near the gate of the city,” said Salathiel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We shall see it once more,” said Miriam, “as it -ascends the hill that overlooks the valley of tombs.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is that faith, Miriam,” asked her aunt, “of -which you spoke to me yesterday?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is but confidence in the promises and power of -the teacher.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Confidence that he will grant your wishes?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, if they be right, or that if he grant them not, -then confidence that the refusal is best.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you that confidence, Miriam?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh aunt, oh my mother, do not tempt me. I would -believe; my heart tells me that miracles such as his, -could only be performed to attest a momentous truth. -But do not tempt me, the body of Reuben is scarcely -passed, in him my heart, my affections, my hope were -centered—and he is taken from me. Why? is it good -for me to be afflicted?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Could the Master have saved his life, my child?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did he not yesterday save the life of the Centurion’s -servant at Capernaum,” answered Salathiel, -struck with the coincidence of the woman’s question -with the recent fact.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did you ask him, Miriam?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I saw him not, and if I had seen him, what am I -to him?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you had asked him, might he not have done it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I believe, aunt; I believe, Salathiel, that he <span class='it'>could</span> -have saved the life of Reuben.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Would he not, then, raise him now?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do believe he <span class='it'>could</span>—I have faith in his <span class='it'>power</span>. -But I would not be presumptuous. Yet, yet—oh, that -Reuben might be restored to me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Amen!” said Salathiel, “Amen!” and the deep -tone of voice, and the upward turn of his eyes, told -how truly his heart responded to the prayer of his -cousin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Two hearts were then united in solemn petition. -There was <span class='it'>faith</span>, but none thought of <span class='it'>hope</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After a few minutes of solemn silence, the eyes of -Miriam were turned mournfully, and yet eagerly, toward -the hill beyond the city’s wall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They are passing upward,” said Deborah to her; -“the procession moves toward the brow of the hill, but, -alas! the dust of the road conceals the train.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They all looked forth to follow with their eyes as -long as possible the mournful procession.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But what is there?” exclaimed Deborah, pointing -to a column of dust which denoted a crowd of people -descending the hill toward the funeral.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The procession has passed,” said Miriam.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Both parties have stopped,” exclaimed Deborah.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Salathiel looked earnestly out and said, in a low -voice, but with much feeling, “Do the Romans come -to insult us even when we bury our dead? We are a -<span class='it'>conquered</span> people, but we are not <span class='it'>slaves</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hush!” said Miriam, “hush, my brother! let us -not at this moment forget the teaching of the Master.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Salathiel leaned forward and kissed the brow of -Miriam.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I thank you, I thank you, Miriam, for the monition, -and I bless you for the term, brother; henceforth, my -sister, know me for such. But let me go forth to learn -what hath turned our people from their sepulchral -rites.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Salathiel went forth, and Miriam, kneeling, buried -her face in the lap of her aunt, and poured out her soul -in prayer—deep, anguished, heart-engendered, heart-and-heaven-moving -prayer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was some time before the low voice of Miriam -ceased. But her feelings had been overwrought, and -<span class='pageno' title='45' id='Page_45'></span> -at length she lay silent yet suffering, with her head still -on Deborah’s knees.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The quiet of the street and even of the chamber was -at length disturbed by the confused footfall of a multitude -who seemed to press onward with few words, -and those uttered in a subdued tone. The multitude -at length paused in front of the dwelling of Miriam, and -the opening of the front door intimated that the procession -of the people had some connection with the -inmates of the house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The door of Miriam’s chamber at length opened, and -Salathiel stood before the two women pale and agitated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My sister, praise the Lord! A miracle has been -wrought.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The agitated maiden shrunk into the arms of her -aunt as she gazed toward Salathiel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What,” exclaimed the aunt, “what is it, Salathiel? -Speak?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Reuben—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Reuben!” exclaimed Miriam.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Reuben lives!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where—where is he?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He has been borne back to the house of his mother.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How has this been wrought?” asked Deborah.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is our Cousin Asher, who was a witness of -the whole. Shall he come in and tell you all?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Asher was admitted with one or two others of the -family, and briefly stated the facts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The rear of the very long procession that followed -the corpse of Reuben had scarcely left the gate of the -city, when I, who was assisting to bear the bier upon -which rested the beloved remains, discovered a vast -crowd of people coming down the hill. I soon, however, -perceived that there was no intention on the part -of the approaching mass to offer any offence or discourtesy -to the funeral party; and, indeed, the expressions -of grief by our widowed and bereaved kinswoman -were so loud, that it was difficult to hear whether any -word was uttered by the descending party. I have -never seen a Hebrew woman so distressed; and though -few have had such cause for grief, few have been -more deeply wounded, yet I had hoped that she would -have been able to repress her feelings. But as we -grew nearer the grave, her lamentations were increased, -and it was heart-rending to hear her exclamations. The -whole procession seemed to have lost their own sense -of bereavement in the presence of one the utterance of -whose anguish was so impressive. To me it seemed -almost an arraignment of Providence by our kinswoman. -I cannot tell you how every one was affected; -each seemed to wish silently but heartily that some -event might occur to soothe the sorrows of the -widow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At length the descending party, which was very -large, met our procession; and almost every member -of that company manifested deep sympathy for the -suffering of the chief mourner. In a moment the principal -of the company stepped forward and took our -kinswoman by the hand, and whispered to her words -of comfort. What they were I could not hear, but -the effect was instantaneous—the clamor of grief was -hushed—and our kinswoman walked quietly on, gazing -with a sort of <a id='rapt'></a>rapt awe upon the comforter, whose -countenance though marked with sympathy for her -suffering was yet majestic and dignified.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The mother’s eyes for a moment wandered from -the face of the visiter, and fell upon the form of her -son stretched out before her, and again her agony -found vent—again the <span class='it'>mother</span> was heard, again the -mountain seemed to echo with her lamentation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He who was walking at her side did not rebuke -the mourner, but a new and more intent feeling of -compassion was evident in his look and manner, and -taking the hand of the afflicted one, he said in a tone -of deep consolation, ‘<span class='sc'>Weep not</span>.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Almost immediately afterward he left the widow -standing where she was, and approaching us ‘came -and touched the bier,’ and we who were carrying it -stopped; for there was a sort of authority in the air -and movement of this person, or let me say the effect -rather than the assumption of authority. When the -eyes of all were turned toward the dead body, and toward -him that stood by it, the person with a mild tone, -with no ceremony, with a simple utterance of the -words, said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘<span class='it'>Young man, I say unto thee, Arise!</span>’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And Reuben, dear Asher, Reuben!” exclaimed -Miriam.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And Reuben sat up on the bier, and began to speak -of the sensations which crowded upon him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But He who had restored him to life, seemed to -comprehend that the mother’s feelings should be first -consulted, her rights first respected, and so ‘<span class='it'>He</span> delivered -him to his mother.’”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And he lives now?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes now, and with his mother. But what an awe -came upon those who witnessed that august scene. -There was no shouting at the success of the effort, no -cheering that human life had been restored. But with -an overpowering sense of divine visitation, the people, -in devout fear, kneeled, and ‘glorified God,’ saying ‘a -prophet has risen up among us.’”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was not deemed safe to the convalescent Reuben -that Miriam should visit him immediately. His life -not his health had been restored. And the effect of a -too early interview, might be too much for both. A -few days afterward Salathiel conducted Miriam to the -house of Reuben, and as they proceeded thither he -cautioned her against the indulgence of too much feeling, -lest her own frame should yield. Leading her to -the door of the chamber, the young man felt that his -presence would be too much of a restraint, so knocking -lightly he heard a voice from within bidding them -enter, and he turned and went to the mother in another -part of the house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What was said by the young lovers, separated as -they had been by death, and thus restored this side the -grave, we shall not now repeat. It was a sublime -colloquy, for it included the experience of a heart in -which hope had contended against hope—and the awful -experience of a soul that had been freed from the -trammels of flesh. But it was still Reuben and Miriam. -Death had not destroyed the identity, for the -same love that had animated them in his former life -was felt and reciprocated now.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I did fear, Reuben; indeed, for a moment I feared, -<span class='pageno' title='46' id='Page_46'></span> -when I heard of your restoration, that the love which -had been a part of <span class='it'>our</span> lives, would have been quenched -in you by death, or sublimated beyond the uses and -comprehension of earth.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Miriam love is the immortal part of our affections—it -is the soul of the mind—it is stronger than -death—and that which is pure and rightly placed on -earth is indestructible, and thousands of years, my beloved, -passed in separation would work no change. -We should at our renewed communion find the same -love that had existed in past centuries in full and satisfactory -operation. You know that the seeds which -our travelers bring from the mummies of Egypt are as -fruitful as those which are sown from the last year’s -harvest, so, my beloved one, is the love that is worthy -the soul’s cherishing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, Reuben, has it struck you that you have received -the testimony which you almost impiously -challenged as a ground of faith?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It has, it has, and while I have been struck with -shame at the impiety of such a thought, I have yielded -the faith which I promised, and am henceforth a -follower of the teachings of Him of Nazareth.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, my prayers, dear Reuben—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They were pure, and effective to <span class='it'>your</span> good, Miriam, -undoubtedly, but it was from compassion for my -widowed, childless mother that the miracle was -wrought.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who shall tell the motives of Him that can work -miracles? What we call ends, dear Reuben, may be -means with him, and the babe that is sent in answer to -the Hebrew mother’s prayer, may be the saviour or -the destroyer of his people.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Salathiel then knocked for admittance. He entered -and kissing both of his cousins he wept with joy—“And -this, this is the consummation of my highest -earthly wish,” said he.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it indeed? Can <span class='it'>you</span> rejoice, Salathiel, that I am -come to take Miriam from you; is it indeed thus, my -cousin?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have loved Miriam as dearly as you could love -her, Reuben. I will yield in that to none. I will not -affect to conceal <span class='it'>that</span>. But the miracle that has raised -you to life has shown me that I have a higher duty to -perform, a more glorious mission to fulfill. Be yours, -my cousin, the enjoyment of domestic love and peace -and happiness, which virtue ensures; and let your -home and your lives illustrate the power of the Master’s -doctrine to purify and multiply home affections. -Henceforth, if permitted, I will sit at the feet of the -teacher and learn; and when <span class='it'>sent</span> I will go, and offer -his doctrines and my life for the good of our people.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk126'/> - -<p class='pindent'>The new moon had again come, and the house of -the aunt of Miriam was filled with her kinspeople, -who had come to the marriage; and when the feast -was over, and parties had formed in different rooms, -and some, with the bride and bridegroom, were on the -housetop enjoying the delightful air of evening, as it -swept down the hills loaded with the scents of roses -and acacia, some drew the attention of the party to the -brilliancy of the slender moon in the west, and the -stars that were scattered through the heavens.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is a good omen,” said Asher, “when the planet -that is so near the moon assumes with her the crescent -shape at a marriage, or when at this season the Pleiads -and Orion are peculiarly brilliant.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The newly married ones looked up smilingly toward -the heavens, as if they recognized the doctrine of stellar -influences.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Salathiel, who had been looking upon the pair with -deep interest, then stepped forward, and taking a hand -of each, he said, “My cousins, I am called away—not -again to mingle in this delightful scene—called to a -higher duty; pray that it may be as delightful—it cannot -be more dangerous. Keep the faith—mark the -signs of the times in the conduct of man and in the instigations -of your passions, but look not to the stars for -your instruction. Oh, my beloved one,” and he stooped -and kissed the lips of Miriam, “oh, my dear brother,” -and he pressed his lips to the forehead of her husband; -“oh, Reuben and Miriam, ‘seek Him that maketh the -Seven Stars and Orion, and turneth the shadow of death -into morning, and maketh the day dark with night,’—the -<span class='sc'>Lord</span> is his name.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk127'/> - -<div><h1><a id='image'></a>THE IMAGE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY A. J. REQUIER.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>    Thou dwellest in my thoughts</p> -<p class='line0'>As shines a jewel in some ocean cave,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which the eye marks not and the waters lave;</p> -<p class='line0'>A ray of light imprisoned! which none save</p> -<p class='line0'>The soul that shrines it knows—its temple and its grave.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>    Thou bathest in my dreams;</p> -<p class='line0'>A form of dainty Beauty—something seen</p> -<p class='line0'>At cloudy intervals, through a gauze-like screen—</p> -<p class='line0'>A voice of gentle memories—a mien</p> -<p class='line0'>Too tender for an angel’s, yet as fair, I ween.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>    Thou sparklest through my fears;</p> -<p class='line0'>A hope which bloometh as an early flower,</p> -<p class='line0'>Shines in the sun nor droops beneath the shower;</p> -<p class='line0'>A holy star that glides at vesper hour</p> -<p class='line0'>Into the dusk-hung sky—and, saintly, seems to lower!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>    In daylight and in dreams,</p> -<p class='line0'>’Mid hopes that beckon and ’mid fears that frown,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou art the juice that every care can drown;</p> -<p class='line0'>A rose amongst the thorns—the azure down</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the meek-brooding dove—the halo and the crown!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk128'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='47' id='Page_47'></span><h1><a id='voice'></a>A VOICE FROM THE WAYSIDE,</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>ABOUT GRACE GERMAIN’S LIFE-ROMANCE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY CAROLINE C——.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>’Tis as easy for the heart to be true</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>As for grass to be green, or skies to be blue—</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>’Tis the natural way of living!</span></p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='sc'>Vision of Sir Launfal.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The school was dismissed, and a multitude of boys -and girls came rushing out from the old frame building, -and tore pell-mell down the streets of a country village, -just like merry, care-naught mad-caps as they were. -Of all ages and sizes were these little folks—they were -the life and the care of a great many homes; some -heirs of poverty, and some, but these were few, heirs -of wealth—but each and all had brought with them -into the world enough of love to secure for themselves -a welcome place at the board, and by the hearth. -They resembled very much any other congregation of -children in the world—some of them remarkable for -their stupidity, and presenting always to their teachers -the same thick skulls, which it appeared nothing could -penetrate—others again, quick at learning, to whom it -was a relief for the weary Mentors to turn, and to -whose mental wants they attended with a glad alacrity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But I am not going to generalize any more at this -time; and shall only add to the foregoing remarks, that -this school was a marvel in its way—the teachers -prodigies in learning, and all the parents thought their -young children’s acquirements actually verging on to -the miraculous—which state of things, I will add as a -P. S., is remarkably pleasant for all parties concerned. -Is it not teachers, and parents, and you poor little -scholars?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Several girls, from nine to twelve years of age, were -walking homeward leisurely, and talking loudly and -earnestly on some important topic, as school-girls -sometimes will, when a young boy, also one of the -scholars, passed by them. With singular boldness he -turned his handsome face full toward the little party as -he passed, and one of the girls, whose name was Grace -Germain, must have seen something remarkably expressive -of somewhat in the boy’s black eyes, for very -suddenly she seemed to have lost all interest in the -conversation, in which, by the way, she had been one -of the chief participators the moment before—and the -little girl’s step grew slower and slower. Finally, -taking one of her school-books from under her arm, -Grace seemed all at once to be seized with a decidedly -studious fit, (for the first time that week,) and then her -shoe-strings must needs unloosen, and she must stop -to fasten them, till at last, as might be expected, her -companions were far beyond her in the homeward -way, and she was left quite alone. When the child -passed by a little lane her face became quite suddenly -and unaccountably flushed, and Grace grew decidedly -nervous in her movements, and she turned away her -head, as though it were forbidden, and a sin for her to -look down that narrow by-way where Dame Corkins -and the little lame child lived.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But these mysterious movements were all explained -when, a moment after, some one came marching, to a -tune of double-quick time, up the lane, and when he -appeared on the main-street again, lo and behold! it -was that same black-eyed urchin Hugh Willson, who -had a few moments previous passed by her, and he -called out,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Grace, Grace Germain, wait a moment; I want to -tell you something!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Grace of course blushed, and looked sideways, and -down, and finally at the boy, but for the life of her she -could not summon up a look of astonishment at his -appearance, finally she said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, what do you want, Hugh?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m going home, Grace, to-morrow, and—and—I -wanted to see you just to give you this; perhaps you’ll -think I’m a fool for my pains. I wish though it was -worth its weight in gold!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Oh! you would have certainly thought that the poor -girl’s face was on the point of blazing instantly, could -you have seen it, and Hugh thought there were really -tears in her eyes too, as she put out her hand for the -little package he had brought her. For some distance -they walked on together, and neither spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length, as she drew near home, Grace found -courage to look up and say, “Hugh, what are you going -home for?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Father has sent for me, I am to go to an academy, -but—” Hugh did not finish the sentence, and after -waiting an unconscionable time, and speaking at last -as though a “drag” were fastened to every word, -Grace said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will come to see us again sometime, wont you, -Hugh?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, if I ever can. I can’t bear to go away now, -Grace, but, as father says, I <span class='it'>am</span> getting old. I’m -almost fifteen, and it’s a fact I ought to know more -than I do. Perhaps I’ve staid in the country too long -already; but I hate a city, and I shall come back here -just as often as I can, for I love this place better than -all the world.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And that, reader, was rather a strange confession to -be made by a spirit so active and stirring as was Hugh -Willson’s, for of all country villages on the face of the -earth, “Romulus” was certainly the dullest, and least -attractive.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m coming down by here to-night, Grace,” said -the lad, as he opened the gate for the child, “if you -<span class='pageno' title='48' id='Page_48'></span> -would like to see me, come out here—I cannot bid -you good-bye now—will you be here?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Hugh,” was the reply given sadly—and this -time it was a great deal more than she could do to -keep back or hide her tears—for Grace Germain -thought Hugh Willson the handsomest and kindest boy -she ever knew, and she could not bear to think of his -going away. So she left him with little ceremony, -and went into the house. And the boy saw her grief, -and he could have wept also—he <span class='it'>loved</span> Grace Germain!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Well, what do you think made up that unpretending -package—the parting gift? First and foremost, there -was a little box, and it contained—not a gem, not a -book, but—a fresh, beautiful rose-bud; and Grace did -not laugh when she saw it, neither did she smile as -she unwound the strip of paper from the stem, and -read thereon,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                    “Give <span class='it'>me</span> but</p> -<p class='line0'>Something whereunto I may bind my heart—</p> -<p class='line0'>Something to love, to rest upon, to clasp</p> -<p class='line0'>Affection’s tendrils round!”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>She did not laugh, I say, for sorrow was in her heart, -the first deep sorrow she had ever known. Hugh was -going away—and how much better she liked him than -all other boys she had ever known in her life! But -the rose-bud was not all the contents of the box; there -was beside it a magnificent sheet of blue paper, gilt -edged, and “superfine,” and on it Hugh had copied the -“Parting Song,” by Mrs. Hemans; and perhaps, good -reader, though you be not fresh from Yankee land, you -may guess how the child’s heart beat faster than ever -it had before, as she read the words—</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>When will you think of me, dear Grace?</p> -<p class='line0'>    When will you think of me?</p> -<p class='line0'>When the last red light, the farewell of day,</p> -<p class='line0'>From the rock and the river is passing away,</p> -<p class='line0'>When the air with a deep’ning hush is fraught,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the heart goes burdened with tender thought?</p> -<p class='line0'>        Then let it be!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>When will you think of me, sweet Grace?</p> -<p class='line0'>    When will you think of me?</p> -<p class='line0'>When the rose of the rich midsummer time</p> -<p class='line0'>Is filled with the hues of its glorious prime,</p> -<p class='line0'>When ye gather its bloom, as in bright hours fled,</p> -<p class='line0'>From the walks where my footsteps no more may tread;</p> -<p class='line0'>        Then let it be!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thus let my memory be with you, Grace—</p> -<p class='line0'>    Thus ever think of me!</p> -<p class='line0'>Kindly, and gently, but as of one</p> -<p class='line0'>For whom ’tis well to be fled and gone;</p> -<p class='line0'>As of a bird from a chain unbound,</p> -<p class='line0'>As of a wanderer whose home is found;</p> -<p class='line0'>        So let it be!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>And what had Grace to give to Hugh? What had -she among her few treasured possessions a <span class='it'>boy</span> would -care for? The dolls maimed for life—the broken -china—the picture-books—the bits of lace and ribbons, -what were they to him? Grace never realized her -poverty before that day—and then the very thought -was humiliating. If she could only buy a knife, -or a pocket-book, or a pencil-case; but the child -had no purse, and, unfortunately, no money either, so -that thought was speedily abandoned. It grew quite -dark while she stood in her little room, still before the -opened drawer which held all her keepsakes and -treasures, but no good fairy was nigh at hand to lay before -her the thing she wished, and at last, quite in despair, -she went and stood by the parlor window, and -lo, there was Hugh already passing by, whistling, and -looking for all the world as though the inmates of that -particular house were nothing in the least to him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In a few moments, side by side, the boy and girl -were walking in the garden.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have read your note, Hugh,” said Grace, for the -“shades of evening” creeping over them, gave her a -wonderful and unnatural boldness to speak, “but what -shall I give you for a keepsake? I haven’t a book in -the world <span class='it'>you</span> would give a fig for.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t talk about books,” replied he, hastily, “there -is something that wouldn’t cost you much, I’d give -more for than for all the books in Christendom!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is it, Hugh, tell me quick?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just that curl on your forehead! Give me that, -Grace, and I never will part with it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In a moment it was separated from the thick curls -that adorned her head, and stooping down, Grace laid -a forget-me-not in it, and gave it to Hugh. He—what? -kissed it, and kissed Grace, and then put the curls safely -in his vest-pocket, and told the child she was the prettiest -and best girl he ever knew, and that he should -miss her more than all the boys and girls of the village -together.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But while the lad was in the very midst of his ardent -protestations, a voice from the house called to Grace, -and the children parted—to meet again, how and -when you shall not be so long learning as they were.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Hugh went to his city home, Grace to her school. -He dreaming of Grace Germain as a woman, and -wondering if she would not then be his wife—she to -resume her studies with no great interest, to wish day -after day that Hugh would only come back again, and -to wonder if he would be so handsome when he was a -man as he was then.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Years passed, Grace was no longer a child but a -beautiful girl—a bride; and yet Hugh Willson was not -her bridegroom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A rich young merchant of a neighboring town, captivated -by her loveliness and charming manners, had -“wooed an won,” and a nine days’ wonder in the village -of Romulus, was the wonderful good fortune of the -orphan—for of late years Grace had been dependent -on her relatives, her parents having died while she -was yet very young.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Grace had never seen or heard of the boy of rose-bud -memory since their first parting, but her thoughts -of him had always been those we have for a pleasant -unforgotten dream. And she kept the little gift that -Hugh had given her most religiously. The very night -before her bridal, though she had wept happy tears -over the noble, tender note that Clarence Lovering -sent her with a splendid ornament—a wedding-gift—still -she had it in her heart even then, to look with no -ordinary interest on the little pasteboard box that held -the withered flower, and to read, not carelessly, the -verses Hugh had written her in a large, boyish hand -so long ago.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet it was not faithlessness to later vows that -prompted her to kiss the rose-bud, and to preserve still -longer the blue note and the little box, for Grace with -all her heart respected Clarence Lovering, and she -<span class='pageno' title='49' id='Page_49'></span> -loved him well, too. She was a lofty, true-spirited -girl, and when she married the young merchant, for -better or for worse, as it might prove, she did it with -a true and loyal heart; and it was in all respects a -union in which might well be asked, and without doubt -or fear, the blessing of Heaven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But there were bitterer tears to be shed, and deeper -griefs to be borne than Grace Lovering had yet known; -six months after her marriage she followed her young -husband to the grave, and there was none on earth -that could sustain or uphold her in that day of terrible -visitation. Voices and forms with which she was -scarcely familiar came to comfort her, but the friend -whose companionship would have made any place in -the wide world a pleasant home for her, was dead; -and the bereaved woman longed to return once again -to her early home—the village where all her early -life was passed—to bury her husband and lover beside -her parents, under the willow-tree in the old burial-ground, -and then to mourn in quietness, and alone, -away from the scenes of the bustling, noisy town.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And all her desires were speedily complied with—her -old guardian and uncle from the little village came -to her to assist, and conduct her back to Romulus; -and before the year was passed, Grace was again at -home in the old house where she was born, and in the -grave-yard near by, on which she could daily, hourly -look, her husband slept.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Kindly and tenderly the old neighbors welcomed -back the mourner to their midst; and there, where in -her childish heart love had first awakened, there, -where in later years she had watched in agony the -dear ones of the household “passing away” silently -into the “silent land;” there, in the old dwelling, -which, during the few past years had stood tenantless, -and looking so broken-hearted; there, in her early -womanhood, Grace Lovering, the desolate and stricken, -came back to make it her abiding-place, her lonely -<span class='it'>home</span>. She felt that to her a cold twilight of existence -only was remaining, that the sunshine which rests so -richly and revivingly on the young and the beloved, -would be henceforth faint and weak as her own heart. -But it was not wholly so, time the great soother, as -well as destroyer and chastener, took the sting and the -poignancy from her grief, and, like the dove with its -olive branch, there spread through her soul that trust -in Heaven’s infinite goodness, that makes the wilderness -even to blossom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Placed far above the reach of poverty, the miseries -and cares of want did not mingle their bitterness with -her heart-sorrow. And in all, save those few natural -but dread experiences, Grace bade fair to be a “babe -at seventy,” in that unwelcome wisdom which continued -misfortunes only can impart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was her thirtieth birth-day, and the anniversary of -her marriage. The widow sat alone in the pleasant -parlor of her cottage; she had remained alone that day, -and with tears dedicated it to her heart’s sacred memories. -Every thing about the room and the house, -was pleasantly indicative of a refined and peaceful way -of living, and of cheerfulness, too, save and except the -sorrowing woman, who, at nightfall paced the room, -and looked so sadly into the past. The curtains of the -windows were drawn and the door closed; Grace had -been looking again over the treasures of her casket. -It was in that very room, twenty years before, she -had laid down on that night of their parting, to dream -about Hugh Willson, and to pray for his happiness; and -now she stood there a widow, sad and desolate, in her -prime of life, thinking of the love of her later life—and -weeping as she thought—for Clarence Lovering was -worthy to be so remembered and loved.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the beautiful casket, <span class='it'>his</span> gift, were laid the bridal -ornaments which he had given; she had never worn -them since his death, but kept them where no eye but -her own could gaze upon them, and think of his loving -kindness, but with them was preserved still a withered -flower whose fragrance had fled quite away, and <span class='it'>never</span> -with a heart quite calm, had Grace been able to look -upon it; neither had she ever been able to think with -indifference, or a mere <span class='it'>idle</span> curiosity of thought, on the -probable worth of Hugh Willson’s manhood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length, as the night came on, the letters, and the -jewels, and the rose, were laid away, but the miniature -of her lost husband was lying next her heart then—for -the love of the woman was vaster and deeper than -that of the child; and Grace had dried her tears, for -the hope that consoles the Christian mourner had conquered -the agony of spirit that for a time overwhelmed -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The evening proved dark and stormy, the pattering -of the rain upon the window-sill, and the still softer -and more dream-like sound with which it falls upon -the grass, which is so pleasant to hear when all within -the house is bright and cheerful, was a melancholy -sound to the lonely woman, for it fell upon the graves -in the burial-ground, where the damp earth was the -only shelter of her beloved ones, and its echo fell upon -that grave in her heart where lay buried the hopes of -her youth—she might have, and I know not but she -did, draw from it a hope and a promise of resurrection -and of life both for her lamented dead, and for her -vanished joy in life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The quiet of the chamber was for a moment broken, -a servant entered, a letter laid upon the table, and then -the door was closed, the post-boy gone, and all was -still again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mechanically the widow tore off the envelope, and -opened the epistle. Let us read it with her, for Grace -Lovering is born to a new life when those contents -are made known to her—she dwells no longer in the -so lonely present, or the sad past. For her also the -future is alive again. She did not look for a resurrection -so sudden and so strange—did you?</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“Grace, dear Grace Germain, from the sands of the -desert my voice, perhaps long, long forgotten, comes -to you again. It is night, ‘night in Arabia,’ and I am -for a moment alone; my traveling companions are gone -to their rest, but I—I cannot sleep, and so have come -from out my tent to write by the light of the burning -stars once again to her who <span class='it'>was</span> the little girl I knew -and loved in childhood. You may think my man’s -estate has been reached unworthily, because I still love -to think of boyish hours, and long so to recall them—yes, -that is it, <span class='it'>long to recall them</span>. Are you yourself -unable to think of them as the very blessedest days -<span class='pageno' title='50' id='Page_50'></span> -you ever knew? If it is so, Grace, how idly will my -words fall on your ear.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know nothing of what has been the fate of the child -I loved so well. I know not if you are the bride of -another, or, perchance, I may be addressing myself to -one who no longer has a name on the earth; but even -if the idol of my boyish years is living for, and to another, -I can pray for and bless her. Yes, I pray God -to bless you, Grace Germain. I cannot and will not -believe that the <span class='it'>woman</span> to whom I address myself, is -no more. There is something whispering to my spirit -now, it is not so. I feel to-night a strong conviction, -an irresistible presentiment that you and I will meet -again. I dare not think <span class='it'>how</span>, but this I know, if it is -not in this world, we shall know one another hereafter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you remember me at all, I know it is only as the -wild and trifling boy who loved you better than his -books, better than all children he ever knew. You -know me not at all as the stern, time-tried, care-worn -man, who has fought fierce battles with fortune and -life, who finds himself wasting the powers of his manhood, -far severed from all domestic, humanizing ties, -treasuring in his heart only one name that makes the -joyful recollection of his youth—careless, cold, and -selfish perhaps, but never losing hold of that one, dear -link to the affection, the lasting, undying affection that -was born of you in my youthful soul, and still, still -preserves its strength <span class='it'>through</span> you.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps, indeed, you do not in the faintest degree -remember me. You may have to recall with an effort -the time of childhood, or at least that time when I was -your school-companion; nay, it may be an effort for -you to recall my name. Oh, if that is the truth, how -very different is it to the memory I have treasured of -you, dear Grace. My home has been upon the oceans -and in the deserts, and mid the wilds of nature every -where. Many years have passed since I left my -father’s house, and my feet have never from that time -touched upon my native shores. During these years -of absence I have had opportunities to try my heart. -I have learned who are the friends most dear to me, -and over the vast sea of the desert sand, across the -great ocean, let my voice come and whisper in your -ear, Grace, there are none, none whose memory is so -treasured now as is your own! The longing which is -so often felt by the wanderer for the scenes and familiar -faces of his native land, has never before pressed so -heavily on me as this night; and now I wish, oh, how -eagerly, to revisit, if it be only for an hour, that quiet -place where a portion of my school-life was passed; -and yet it is only because it is, or may be still <span class='it'>your</span> -home; and were I there again, I might tread with <span class='it'>you</span> -along the race-course, and over the old bridge to -—— Grove, and through all the haunts now treasured -in my memory. Do you remember the gifts we gave -at parting? and did you fling away the bud as a worthless, -trifling thing, even before it was faded? Or—what -madness, you will think, prompted such an idea—do -you keep it still? Perhaps you had not then so fully -awakened to the life of the heart, you may not have -dreamed that with that simple memento I gave to you the -dreams of my boyhood, the hopes of my youth. Grace, -I gave you <span style='font-size:smaller'>MY HEART</span> with the flower. I have never -since recalled it. And now, if memories are returning -again to you, if you are looking half tremblingly into -the past, you will think of the little curl and the frail -forget-me-not. Oh, you will not need that I should -tell now how in danger and in suffering, and through -all the most varied experiences I have preserved them—and -how I have <span class='it'>not</span> forgotten.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Last night I dreamed that you kept the rose-bud -yet, and, will you believe it, when I awakened, and -recalled to mind the proverb about the truthfulness of -dreams, and their <span class='it'>contrariness</span>, it troubled me. Thousands -of miles lie between us, and we may never -meet again, all recollections of my native land save -those relating to you only, are hateful to me; but, -could I only hear your voice assuring me this night, -or could I believe that you would welcome me back, -and say to me with your own sweet voice that you -were glad to see me, oh, I should run and could not -weary nor grow faint, and neither day nor night should -look upon my lagging feet until I stood once more -beside you. Thou, beautiful joy of my childhood, say, -wouldst thou welcome me?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps you will think I have taken an unwarrantable -liberty in so addressing you, for the friendships -and loves of children are, I know, usually evanescent -as dreams, yet I cannot, will not, think that whatever -may be your position in life now, or whatever may be -the relations you sustain in life, I do not believe that -you will scorn me for the words I have written, or -that you will read carelessly this record of my thoughts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Time has dealt with no light hand to me, he may -have given you, perhaps, with every passing year, a -blessing. He has laid no caressing arm on me; possibly -he has guided you thus far tenderly as a mother -would lead her child. I have bowed beneath his -frown, and you, you may have grown to glorious perfectness -in the light of his smile. I have known deep -sorrows—it may be, oh, I pray it may <span class='it'>not</span> be—that -you also have not escaped the universal heritage. It -might be far beyond your possibility to recognize in -<span class='it'>me</span> the bright boy filled with glad expectations that you -once knew; but I cannot but believe that I should -know you, and recognize you amid a multitude—the -mild and beautiful blue eyes—the meek, gentle, and -so expressive countenance—the smile, so sweet and -winning, that rested so often on the face of the dear -child; oh, they are not yet forgotten. I am convinced -the <span class='it'>woman</span> whom I love has a face whose expression -is heavenly! Do not censure me, I pray, for daring -to <span class='it'>tell</span> my love. The hope of being with you once -again, and of speaking with and looking upon you, is -like the hope of heaven to the pilgrim, weary and out-worn -with earth-striving.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Months will pass away before these words, uttered -from the fullness of my heart, reach you—the heart -from which they come may have ere then ceased its -beating, may be cold and dead; but will it be nothing for -you to know that its beatings were ever true to you, -even though you never have, and do not now need my -homage? Will you care to think that when I wrote -these words it was my highest hope that I might one -day follow them to the home of Grace Germain, to -beseech at least her friendliness, to hear the tones of -<span class='pageno' title='51' id='Page_51'></span> -her dear voice again, and then perhaps to lie down to -rest in the grave-yard near her home, where it would -be no wrong for her to come sometimes, even from a -circle of beloved ones, to think of days gone by, the -days of merry childhood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have written too much—too much; the day is -dawning, we shall journey far through the desert before -to-morrow morning, but to-night, with every word I -have written, thoughts and great hopes have awakened -which will never be stilled again—they will be with me -till I stand once more before you; and if there be a -dearer one on whom your eyes will rest as you lift -them from this page, to whom you will confide this -folly of an old man, as you perhaps will call it, yet still -remember me, and let him think of me with forgiving -kindness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May the rich blessing of heaven be with you now -and ever.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;margin-top:0.5em;'>“<span class='sc'>Hugh Willson.</span>”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>And had Hugh Willson, indeed, committed an unpardonable -trespass in writing thus, after the lapse of -so many years, to his old schoolmate? No, no! bear -witness the sudden flashings of color, and the as sudden -paleness which swept over the lady’s face as she -read on; bear witness the occasional smiles, and the -long and passionate weeping in which the lonely woman -indulged, when her eyes rested so tenderly and -sadly on the name affixed to the strange epistle. They -were not tears of anger that she shed; it was not a -smile of derision and mockery, at the sudden betrayal -of affection the man had given, after a silence of years; -they were not words of scorn which escaped her lips -when she laid down to rest that night; ah, no! he had -powerfully touched a chord in her soul, that from her -childhood had ever vibrated even at the mention of his -name.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There were eyes that were not closed in sleep during -the hours of that night—but it was not grief that caused -the widow’s wakefulness. There was one who -listened till the morning to the heavy falling rain—but -not in sadness; there was a lady who arose when the -sunlight streamed once more through her chamber, who -looked out on the blue heavens whence all the clouds -had vanished, and hailed then a new era in her life-history.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From that day there was a marked change in the -existence of Grace Lovering. That message of love -which had come to her from the desert, at a time when -life pressed heavily upon her, and death seemed the -only hope of relief; that message aroused and cheered -her, and made her to look more thankfully on the life -yet vouchsafed to her, and the blessings which had -been given along with the sorrows. Though the hope, -and the thought even, seemed a wild one, that Hugh -Willson would ever again return, the idea that he even -remembered her, and thought still with interest on -their childish years was grateful to her heart, and made -her feel that neither for her nor for any one in the -wide world is life <span class='it'>utterly</span> lonely and worthless.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>True, the widowed and orphaned woman never -forgot that she had <span class='it'>buried her dead</span>, that all her nearest -of kin slept the long and quiet death-sleep; but a serenity -and cheerfulness quite usurped the past frequent -melancholy, and smiles were oftener seen upon her -lovely face than tears. And not only in herself was -the change visible; her household, and the little cottage -seemed to share in the awakened happiness; and then, -too, the poor and the needy had oftener cause to bless the -widowed woman. The sick and suffering shared her -loving care; and they blessed her—well might they—when -she stood so often like a ministering angel beside -them. The old and the weary mingled her name in -their thanksgiving, for she failed not to make their -downward path easy, and her voice was the voice of -a comforter to them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And this, as it were, instantaneous rousing up to -active life, was a blessed thing for Grace. Time, after -that great change, sped on no leaden wing; the clouds -began to break, and stars came out, even when she -had thought nothing but midnight darkness was forever -her portion. The heart of the widow grew strong -then, for she knew that when those stars were set, or -hid again as they <span class='it'>had</span> been from her eyes, that the -great sun itself would arise, and the never-ending daylight -would break for her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ten years thus passed away. The shadows of forty -winters had crept over the wife of Clarence Lovering; -and still she wore the garments of mourning, in remembrance -of the husband of her youth; but it was not a -repining, murmuring spirit that dwelt beneath those -doleful robes.</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Her faith had strengthened in Him whose love</p> -<p class='line0'>      No change or time can ever shock;”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>and she dwelt on the earth blessing and blest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Many times her hand had been sought in marriage; -strong-willed men had bowed themselves, and sued -humbly for her love—but she had none to give, and no -prospect of increased <a id='world'></a>worldly prosperity could influence -her to utter with less of truthfulness and honesty of -soul than she had once spoken them, the marriage -vows!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Grace had her treasures still, and there was an unfinished -romance connected with her life, of which I -would not say she did not at times long to know the -conclusion—for she felt it was not concluded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There were gray hairs—only a very few, my gentle -reader—visible among the beautiful brown locks, and -the clustering curls Hugh Willson treasured the memory -of so well, were all vanished; there was no bloom -upon the pleasant face—the blue eyes were less bright—but -the “features of the soul” remained unchanged, -or if at all changed, only in their nearer approach to -perfection. And amid her kindly charities, and the -thousand love-inspired duties had Grace forgotten the -letter ten years old, and its author! Very far from that; -and it had been a source of happiness deeper than she -cared to acknowledge even to herself, to look once -again on Hugh Willson, and to hear his voice. But -none save that one letter had ever reached her from -him; he might have forgotten, though that to her -seemed a thing impossible. The depths of feeling revealed -in that letter <span class='it'>might</span> have existed no longer, or -at least might have ceased to bear <span class='it'>her</span> reflection and -image, when he had fully exposed it to the light. He -might be dead!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once or twice she harbored the wild idea of answering -<span class='pageno' title='52' id='Page_52'></span> -his letter, to bid him come back—to assure -him that there was at least one who would most -heartily welcome him; and at such times Grace could -but smile at her own folly—for the wanderer had no -settled home, and there was no possibility of knowing -where, even for a moment, his abiding place was; and -so her natural good sense dispatched that fancy with a -multitude of others to the land of shadows and dreams.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There came round in the natural order of things a -sacrament Sabbath.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was one of those heavenly days in the month of -all months, that is, the “month of roses,” when,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>      ——“If ever come perfect days;</p> -<p class='line0'>Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And over it softly her warm ear lays;</p> -<p class='line0'>Whether we look or whether we listen,</p> -<p class='line0'>We hear life murmur, and see it glisten!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Every clod feels a stir of might,</p> -<p class='line0'>An instinct within that reaches and towers,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And grasping above it blindly for light,</p> -<p class='line0'>Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus describes Lowell one of those “perfect days” -I am speaking of. (And, by the way, have you yet -read that, the most exquisite poem produced in these -latter days? If you have not, I prithee leave my -romance unfinished, and inflict whatever other penance -on yourself you may deem proper for neglecting so -long that “gem of the first water,” whether regarded -as a <span class='it'>luxuriously printed</span> book, or as a poem beyond -all praise or—criticism!)</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Well, it was on a Sabbath in June, as I began to tell -you when the remembrance of “Sir Launfal” startled -me from my story-telling proprieties; the windows -of the little church were opened wide, and doubtless -troops of invisible angels had entered in, to see how -the congregation would commemorate His death—and -probably the assembly had a faint idea of this, for -solemn was the expression of every face, and reverent -and humble every voice, that joined in the so beautiful -and appropriate responses of the liturgy of “dear mother -church!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In one of the slips nearest the door, a stranger had -seated himself shortly after the opening of the service; -though his voice joined with those of the congregation -in the supplications and thanksgivings, he seemed at -times to be lost in other thoughts than those which -<span class='it'>should</span> fill the minds of them who gather themselves -together to worship Jehovah.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was a man of middle age, and his hair was -slightly tinged with gray—exposure, or hardship, or -sorrow had made him prematurely old—his form was -slightly bent, and his face was brown, as though the -burning sunlight of the East had rested long upon it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the priest turned to the people at the conclusion -of the service of the day, and said—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ye who do truly and earnestly repent you of your -sins, and are in love and charity with your neighbors, -and intend to lead a new life, following the commandments -of God, and walking from henceforth in his holy -ways, draw near with faith, and take this holy Sacrament -to your comfort; and make your humble confession -to Almighty God, devoutly kneeling”; the stranger -arose, but seemed as he did so, overcome with strong -emotion; but in a moment more he had mastered it, -and followed a portion of the congregation to the altar. -And he knelt there beside Grace Lovering, and partook -with her the consecrated elements; his hands trembled -when they grasped the cup filled with the Saviour’s -blood, but I do not think that was because of the emotion -arising from the thought that he might be partaking -unworthily, so much as from the fact that he was once -more standing and kneeling in the village church, -where since his boyhood he had not trod; it was because -he was kneeling beside a woman who as a child -had been his embodied dream of all perfection.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had sought her amid the many faces totally -strange around him; and when his eyes had turned -from one to another, and he knew that thus far they -had sought in vain, when they had fallen on her face -at last, he knew that it was she—the little girl—the -woman middle-aged—whom he sought, and a thrill, -and a thought of thanksgiving swept through his soul, -as he looked on her still so lovely face. He felt that -he had come <span class='it'>home</span>—he dared to hope that he should -never be a wanderer again—and even in that sacred -place his wild thoughts finished the romance which had -been so long in its narration.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the congregation went from the little church, -and Grace turned alone toward her pleasant cottage -home, the eyes of the stranger followed her—and—his -feet, as of necessity, followed too. There was very -little in the quiet village that seemed familiar and dear -to Hugh Willson, as he walked down the almost noiseless -street. Prosperity had not come with its years to -Romulus, and the little town had, I confess, a decided -broken-down appearance; but it was not for love of -the village Hugh had sought it; it was not because of -<span class='it'>its</span> beauty he thought it a very Paradise! He was -dreaming still a dream that had haunted him, or rather -that he had been dreaming for a score of years, and -how, what if this day he must awaken from it forever?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When he had reached the house he had seen the -lady enter, he paused a moment, hesitatingly, for the -heart of the stern man beat wildly. If it should not -prove to be her after all—though he knew <span class='it'>that</span> was an -idle fear—but, would she care to remember him—must -he look upon her, and see her at last slowly and coldly -recognize him? Must he listen to her, and then depart -again to laugh at his own folly, and to curse at the -madness and stupidity of his day-dreaming? He -might find her bound by ties lasting as life to another. -But <span class='it'>if</span> was never decisive, and Hugh Willson must -speak with Grace Germain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He knocked at the door of the cottage, and the -widow, who had preceded him by a few moments, -answered his call immediately.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Does a lady called Miss Germain live here?” -asked the stranger.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That was once my name,” replied Grace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Once</span>, thought Hugh, and he had but little heart to -proceed when he heard that answer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May I come in and ask of her father and mother? -It is many years since I left this place, and I do not -find many of my old friends here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a momentary light illumining the face of -the lady as she heard these words, but it passed, and -she did not speak; but leading the way into the parlor, -she motioned the gentleman to a seat, then she said—</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='53' id='Page_53'></span> -“My father and mother have been dead these many -years. I do not wonder that the village seems altered -to one who has been long a stranger here, for the little -life it once had is now quite gone, and there are but -few of the old settlers left here now.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a pause, and the stranger seemed to have -forgotten the inquiries he had intended making. While -she was speaking he seemed lost; but he was only -living so intensely in the present, and the rush and -confusion of thought was so great he knew not what -to say. The chief thing that he longed to know, was -not who had grown rich, and who poor, who was -dead, and who married, and who had moved away, -but—did Grace Germain remember an old playmate -who had given her a rose-bud ever so many years ago?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The longer he thought, only the more embarrassing -grew the stranger’s situation. Would she not laugh -to hear that he had come, when the summer-time of -life was well nigh passed, weary, and worn out with -worldly trials and sorrows and doubts, to simply ask a -woman if she remembered him?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do not know that you remember,” he said at last—but -having proceeded thus far he stopped. “Have -you ever heard—” he began again, and then he broke -off suddenly, seemingly forgetful of the question he -had meant to ask. But this hesitation would not do—and -the man knew it would not—and so he started up, -and, as though the time was short, and they the last -words he ever intended uttering, he approached the -lady, exclaiming,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Grace Germain, don’t you remember a boy who -went to school here long ago, in the old frame school-house, -whose name was Hugh Willson?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—yes—I do indeed! How could I have been -so stupid! Hugh, I welcome you back with all my -heart,” was the frank and generous answer, and Grace -and the <span class='it'>boy</span>-lover shook hands heartily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Rubicon was fairly passed; he was remembered, -he was welcome! and in his gratitude Hugh forgot -to wonder if Grace had a husband living still, and if he -had gone off on a journey! He forgot all, save that -the child had grown to be a woman he could both love -and honor—and for a moment so complete was his -happiness, that the words would not have been an -empty sound from his lips, “Lord, now let thy servant -depart in peace!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And what thought Grace as she looked upon the -face of which but one feature, the dark and thoughtful -eyes, seemed familiar? <span class='it'>She</span> thought, “Does he remember -the letter he wrote me from Arabia—and was -it truth he wrote?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Sabbath bell rung vainly in the ears of the long -parted boy and girl that afternoon, but at night-fall the -wife of Clarence Lovering led the way to the old -burial-ground, and showed Hugh Willson the graves -of her parents and of her husband. And he on whose -arm she leaned then, felt no pang of jealousy when her -lip faltered and her eyes wet, as she spoke of the -bridegroom of her youth—for Grace had not listened -coldly or carelessly to her companion as he had spoken -to her such words as these—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Grace, we are neither of us young any longer. I -have grown gray in my hard struggle with life—but -there is nothing gray or dead about our hearts. I -know that by the strong and joyous beating of my own, -I know it by the heavenly peace that marks your life, -surrounding you as it were with a very halo of glory. -But the passionate glow of feeling is, I am equally confident, -with neither of us any more. The noise of the -bounding brooks has gone—like the quiet, deep flow -of the river is the course of our existence now. The -waves leap not so brightly in the sunlight, but still the -broad beams of the sun fall down as warmly and as -cheerily upon us. And is it too late, because I am old, -for me to find a realization of that dream which has -haunted me so long? I have been wild and fickle in -the eyes of men; perhaps my way of life, could you -know it all, has not been such as you would look approvingly -upon; but, in the midst of all worldly excitements, -I have always borne a talisman in my heart -that has preserved me honorable and true—the thought -of you, Grace! I have come here, not expecting to -find the little girl I left, neither altogether a woman -who has known nothing of sorrow and care; I have -come to pray that I may, even at this late hour, become -your husband, your life-companion. My prayer -is fraught with no ordinary hope—it is not the bewildering -dream of youth I am now indulging—it is the -highest, strongest, noblest desire of my manhood! -Have I sought in vain, or must I go forth once more a -wanderer, and friendless, with another and dearer -image than has heretofore been impressed on my life, -the image of the matchless woman I have lost—or -rather cannot win?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And Grace had listened to his words with tears of -gratitude; she had given him her hand, and nobly said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You have not sought in vain, dear Hugh. I thank -God that you are here, and if you again become a -wanderer, a pilgrim, ready to give up all but you in -this life, will tread beside you! Henceforth, there are -no mountains, nor deserts, nor oceans that can divide -us—the lengthening shades of years falling around us -are grateful and pleasant—the quiet paths of life we -will pursue together. Thank God that you are here!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Grace Lovering was not, it is true, a very youthful -bride when she was made Hugh Willson’s wife, but -had she been more beautiful than “Grace Greenwood’s” -most exquisite dream of womanly loveliness, -she had not proved more lovable to the wanderer, -who, when the shadows of years were folding round -him, found in her a friend, and a wife, and a worshiped -ideal!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There were some who laughed, to be sure—there -are always some that laugh and poh! at romances in -real life—and some there were who said it was all fal -de ral, the idea of a man and woman of <span class='it'>such</span> an age -marrying for <span class='it'>love</span>. I only wish in its marvelous “progress” -the world had not journeyed up to that icy peak -whence all human love, and love matches among humans, -is to be regarded as the folly of fools, and the -madness of delusion!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Let the miserable woman now reading this page, -who in her girlhood wedded wealth—or the wretched -man who in his youth was led captive by the deceitful -smiles of beauty—let these, if there be any such—and -I know very well there are multitudes—look for once -<span class='pageno' title='54' id='Page_54'></span> -within the peaceful cottage where our hero and the -dear heroine live, and if they do not speedily begin to -think with amaze on their own paltry lives, and wonder -when their romance is to begin, then—why then—I -will not strive any more to teach the people!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Look you, reader, and more especially if you be -young and beautiful, do not sell your birthright for a -tasteless mess of pottage—ah, in that case you may as -well begin to look for a tragedy, and a fearful kind of -denouement, instead of a romance and a pleasant closing -of the scene!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And furthermore the Wayside Voice saith not.</p> - -<hr class='tbk129'/> - -<div><h1><a id='pilgrim'></a>THE PILGRIM’S FAST.<a id='r1'/><a href='#f1' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[1]</span></sup></a></h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. MARY G. HORSFORD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>’Twas early morn, the low night-wind</p> -<p class='line0'>  Had fled the sun’s fierce ray,</p> -<p class='line0'>And sluggishly the leaden waves</p> -<p class='line0'>  Rolled over Plymouth bay.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>No mist was on the mountain-top,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No dew-drop in the vale,</p> -<p class='line0'>The thirsting summer-flowers had died,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Unknelled by autumn’s wale.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The giant woods with yellow leaves</p> -<p class='line0'>  The blighted turf had paved,</p> -<p class='line0'>And o’er the brown and arid fields</p> -<p class='line0'>  No golden harvest waved.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And calm and blue the cloudless sky</p> -<p class='line0'>  Arched over earth and sea,</p> -<p class='line0'>As in their humble house of prayer</p> -<p class='line0'>  The Pilgrims bowed the knee.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The gray-haired ministers of God</p> -<p class='line0'>  In supplication bent,</p> -<p class='line0'>And artless words from childhood’s lips</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sought the Omnipotent.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And many a brave and manly heart,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And woman’s gentle eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>Inured by discipline to wo,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Were raised in suppliance high.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>No wild bird’s joyous song was heard,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No sound from shore or height,</p> -<p class='line0'>With mute but mighty eloquence</p> -<p class='line0'>  Had Nature joined that rite:</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The drooping corn and withering grass</p> -<p class='line0'>  Upon the hot earth lay:</p> -<p class='line0'>The lofty forest-trees had stooped</p> -<p class='line0'>  Their aged heads to pray.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The sultry noontide came and went</p> -<p class='line0'>  With steady, fervid glare;</p> -<p class='line0'>“Oh! God, our God, be merciful,”</p> -<p class='line0'>  Was still the Pilgrims’ prayer.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>They prayed, as erst Elijah prayed</p> -<p class='line0'>  Before the sons of Baal,</p> -<p class='line0'>When on the waiting sacrifice</p> -<p class='line0'>  He called the fiery hail.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>They prayed, as prayed the prophet seer</p> -<p class='line0'>  On Carmel’s summit high,</p> -<p class='line0'>When the little cloud rose from the sea</p> -<p class='line0'>  And blackened all the sky.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And when around the spireless church</p> -<p class='line0'>  Night’s length’ning shadows fell,</p> -<p class='line0'>The customary song went up</p> -<p class='line0'>  With clear and rapturous swell:</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And as each heart was thrilling to</p> -<p class='line0'>  That simple chant sublime,</p> -<p class='line0'>The rude, brown rafters of the roof</p> -<p class='line0'>  Woke to a joyous chime.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The rain! the rain! the blessed rain!</p> -<p class='line0'>  It came like Hemnon’s dew,</p> -<p class='line0'>And watered every field and wood,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And kissed the surges blue.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh! when that Pilgrim band came forth</p> -<p class='line0'>  And pressed the humid sod,</p> -<p class='line0'>Shone not each face as Moses’ shone</p> -<p class='line0'>  When “face to face” with God?</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_1'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f1'><a href='#r1'>[1]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>For the narrative of the historical fact related in -this poem, the reader is referred to “Cheever’s Journal -of the Pilgrims.”</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk130'/> - -<div><h1><a id='mother'></a>TO MY MOTHER IN HEAVEN.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THOMAS FIZGERALD, EDITOR CITY ITEM.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Dear mother, in the silent hours of night,</p> -<p class='line0'>When stars around me shed their chastened light,</p> -<p class='line0'>I think of thee, and mourn thou art not here,</p> -<p class='line0'>With smile to bless, and kindly word to cheer.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Ah, mother, life is but a thorny way;</p> -<p class='line0'>When longest, ’tis at best a little day;</p> -<p class='line0'>A gleam of sunshine, and anon a cloud,</p> -<p class='line0'>The bridal robe, soon followed by the shroud.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Dear mother, sadness fills my sleepless eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>And tears fast follow the unconscious sigh,</p> -<p class='line0'>But still the heart, o’erwhelmed with heavy grief,</p> -<p class='line0'>In thought of thee, dear mother, finds relief.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Dear mother, be thou still the watchful guide,</p> -<p class='line0'>In honor’s path, of him who was thy pride;</p> -<p class='line0'>So shall my feet, from snares of error free,</p> -<p class='line0'>Tread only paths of truth, toward Heaven and thee.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk131'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='55' id='Page_55'></span><h1><a id='dream'></a>THE DREAM OF MEHEMET.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>AN APOLOGUE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY RICHARD PENN SMITH.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus spoke the gray-haired dervise. Selim was -left to my care; his dying parents bequeathed him an -ample fortune, and their example of virtue and affection. -Such was his inheritance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was a dreamy boy, in whose soul the opposite -passions reveled. Gentle as the dove, yet, under -aggression, fierce as the tiger. He loved as angels -love; hated as fiends hate. Framed as delicately as -the gazelle, yet every sinew was endowed with the -tenacity of steel. At the age of manhood, I, his old -preceptor, bowed to the superior endowments of my -pupil, but knew not the fountain of his knowledge.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I have said he was a dreamy boy, yet he had made -the broad pages of nature his book of knowledge, even -while dreaming. The fertile earth presented her abundant -lap overflowing with fruit to delight his palate; -the flowers peered in his face with their variegated -eyes, and sent forth their incense, even while he trod -upon them. The cadence of the waterfall, the low -twittering of the wearied bird as it flitted to its fledglings -in the nest, and the murmuring of the passing -breeze as it struggled through the grove, were to him -a lullaby that charmed to sleep as the angels sleep. -Nature was his mother, and she nursed him with play-things -as her child.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I have seen him by the small streams composing -songs to the music that the dimpled waters babbled, -until his rosy cheeks dimpled and laughed in concert -with the rippling brook, as if it were a thing of life, -rejoicing in its existence, as his own pure heart rejoiced. -They laughed and babbled together.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the wood-clad mountains, at midnight, when the -elements battled, I have seen him straining his feeble -voice to sound the master-key that attunes to universal -harmony; and having caught it, he would spring like -the antelope to a lofty waterfall to discover the same -note there; and then turn up his bright face to the stars -that smiled upon him, and laugh, expecting to hear -them respond to his note as they revolved on their -eternal axes. His dark eyes smiled, and the conscious -stars smiled back in the heaven of his dark eyes, which -danced with delight in the diamond rays of the stars.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Flowers were books to him, and from every leaf he -read wisdom fragrant with truth. He cultivated them -as a father would his last child. The little birds were -his companions, and every morning he joined their -concert until the tiny minstrels seemed to imagine that -he was the leader of their orchestra. All nature was -to him one mighty minister, bestowing all, while he -asked from nature no more than the blessed privilege -of imitating her, by bestowing on his fellow man all in -return. He had a dog, whose former owner had -thrown into a stream to drown as worthless. Selim -swam and saved the ill-looking cur, who followed him -ever after until it appeared that instinct trod close upon -the heel of reason. Selim in his turn, while bathing, -became exhausted, and sinking beneath the stream, the -dog plunged in and saved his dying master. Was this -instinct or reason? It matters not, but Selim perceived -that the Prophet had made his humanity toward a -friendless dog the means of prolonging his own existence -here. Despise not little things, cried Mehemet, -for the smallest is of magnitude in the sight of the Prophet. -A straw may break the back of the overburthened; -one word may consign a man to poverty or -prosperity, one deed to hell or heaven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Selim’s wants were few, his fortune ample, which -he bestowed upon the deserving with as liberal a hand -as it had been bestowed upon himself. Still he labored -in the pursuit he had adopted, not for self-aggrandizement, -but to assist others; and he knew not why -man should be a sluggard while all nature is incessantly -at work. The bee and ant work in their season—and -even the spider too.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His garden blossomed as Eden, and the flowers -offered up their grateful incense even as they faded -and died upon the universal altar of Nature’s God. -His aviary from morn until night was vocal, and when -the flaming chariot of the bright eye of day was -whirled by fiery-footed steeds over the eastern hills, I -have seen him with his flute, surrounded by nature’s -tiny choristers pouring forth their matins until some -note in the universal harmony touched the heart of his -poor shaggy cur who sported around and tried to bark -in unison. Then Selim laughed outright, and the birds -stopped their hymns, and seemed to laugh with Selim, -and the poor dog slunk away abashed, and slyly laughed -at his miserable failure.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He married the dark-eyed Biribi. Selim was a -poet; his soul reveled alike in tempest or sunshine, and -his voice was as musical as the wings of the bee when -he distills honey. He possessed the sweets of the -bee, and his sting also. Biribi was abjectly poor, but -in Selim’s eyes as full of truth and as beautiful as the -houries. He exclaimed, I will raise poverty above oppression, -and place virtue where all her handmaids may -minister to her enjoyment. Alas! it was but a young -poet’s dream—and such dreams are too frequently disturbed -by palpable agony. Thus spoke Mehemet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had a friend who was his fellow-student while -under my charge. Selim loved him as a brother, and -when he married he requested Zadak to dwell with -him. Neither house, garden, nor fields could be more -beautiful, while his flocks and herds were nature’s -ornaments. Such was Selim’s Eden.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Zadak borrowed a portion of his fortune, which he -squandered; but the poor boy simply replied, “no -matter, we require but little, and enough still remains -<span class='pageno' title='56' id='Page_56'></span> -to make us happy. Thank the Prophet for that which -we still possess, and repine not for that which we -have lost. We can labor with our fellow-men.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Biribi became estranged from the pure being who -fancied he had made in her bosom a nest for his dove-like -heart to sing in. He awoke from a dream of repose -to battle with the tempest. Zadak had betrayed him, -and the gentle spirit of my boy was crushed between -the sledge and the anvil; but the eternal fire that burnt -within him, burst forth in one mighty blaze as the -sledge fell; and even the sledge and the anvil rejoiced -at the fire they had elicited from his heart’s blood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What was to be done? The question was soon -settled. The dove had winged its way to heaven, but -left the tiger on earth to punish the injuries done to the -dove. Selim slew Zadak, and then walked to the -tribunal to receive his sentence, knowing that an act -that was approved by the immutable principle of eternal -justice in heaven, would be pronounced a damning -crime by drones who are fed to dole out punishment -for breaking the conventional rules by which fools and -knaves are linked together on earth. He confessed all -before man as he had already confessed before God. -Ignominious death was his sentence in the eye of his -fellow-creature; but God changed his sentence to that -of eternal life; he died of a broken-heart, and escaped -man’s justice, tempered with degradation, and flew to -the limpid and overflowing fountain—the bosom of his -Creator for justice—knowing it to be a principle of -eternity, and not of time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I buried him beneath a cluster of trees, where he -had pursued his studies. He had no mourners except -myself and his dog. The grave of the rich man -is seldom bedewed by the tears of his heirs; while -the poor hard-working man may have many sincere -mourners, provided they depended upon his daily labor -for their bread. It was spring-time; I planted flowers -from his garden over his grave, and placed his aviary -among the trees. The birds sang and the flowers -smiled as if he were still with them. One morning I -missed his dog, and searched for him until the impulse -of nature guided my footsteps to the boy’s grave. The -dog was there, pillowed on a cluster of fragrant flowers—dying; -big tears stood in his leadened eyes, while -the little birds from the blooming trees, warbled his -requiem. They knew the dog, and he knew the birds -even while dying. The flowers were bedewed with -his tears, and I buried him beside his master, beneath -the flowers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Autumn came; the little birds had taken wing; the -grove was no longer vocal; the flowers had faded, and -their fragrance had passed away. Well, I exclaimed, -the rosy-fingered spring will return, leading the birds -back to warble as usual, and the flowers will revive -with their former fragrance and beauty? “And is my -boy dead?” my soul shrieked. “No!” replied a voice, -kindly, and it seemed to me as if the lips were smiling -as the judgment passed the lips, “the boy is not dead, -but sleepeth, awaiting his spring-time, when the birds -will sing, and the flowers bloom for him again, and -bloom for eternity.” Thus spoke the dervise, and his -old frame chuckled with delight, for he was confident -of the fulfillment of the promise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I reposed by his grave, said Mehemet, and had a -vision, which was this. His grave opened, and he -arose more beautiful than when in the bloom of manhood. -There was a bright star just over his heart, -and methought it was composed of the tears his dying -dog had shed upon his grave, and I smiled in my sleep -at the fantastic thought. The flowers sent forth their -incense, and myriads of birds, as he ascended from his -tomb, fluttered about him, leading the way, warbling -their anthems; the gay flowers smiled at heaven, as -if they were the eyes of the teeming earth, laughing -their gratitude. The features of Selim became more -benign as he ascended; the songs of the birds more -seraphic, and the fragrance of the flowers more refreshing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Suddenly a cloud of inky darkness covered the face -of the earth. Two ghastly figures emerged from it, -with uplifted eyes, that were rayless, and supplicating -hands that trembled with terror. Oh! what must that -man be, exclaimed Mehemet, who trembles before the -All-merciful, even while supplicating mercy! Selim -cast a look of compassion upon the guilty pair, and -tried to tear the star from his bosom to throw to them, -but the more he strove, the brighter the star became—it -illuminated his ascending spirit—and finding his -efforts fruitless, he raised his radiant face toward the -boundless blue canopy, cheered onward by the hymns -of his little choristers through regions of light, and -the teeming earth smiled as she poured forth her grateful -incense, as if jealous that the disembodied spirit -might forget the fragrance of this world while reveling -in the atmosphere of heaven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I heard a shriek of despair, and turning to the sea of -darkness which was fearfully troubled, I beheld the -guilty pair, desperately struggling in their agony against -the angry billows. They struggled in vain. With a -fiendlike shriek they disappeared, and sunk through a -rayless abyss of doom, without even the tear of a dog -to bewail their destiny. Selim soared upward, and -still more effulgent became the heavens as he ascended. -There was one mighty strain of seraphic music that -filled the universe; the blue arch opened, from which -issued a stream of light strong enough to restore vision -to the rayless eyes of the ancient dead; then I awoke -as I beheld Selim enter the eternal portals.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This, continued the old man, may be but a dream at -present, but the time will come when it must be -verified. He then slowly tottered to his cell to dream -out the remnant of his existence.</p> - -<hr class='tbk132'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='57' id='Page_57'></span><h1><a id='wild'></a>WILD-BIRDS OF AMERICA.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY PROFESSOR FROST.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i138.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0006' style='width:450px;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>THE BLUE-BIRD.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>The Blue-Bird is a great favorite with the farmer. -Its principal food being beetles, spiders, grasshoppers, -caterpillars, and other insects, he affords great assistance -to the fruit-trees, and vegetables of all kinds. He -is one of the earliest spring visiters, appearing in Pennsylvania -in the latter end of February, and trilling forth -his feeble though pleasing song more than a week before -the other early visiters. The species ranges over -a large extent of latitude, being found in the forty-eighth -parallel, and southward to the tropics. They -probably also migrate to the Bermudas and West -Indies, and certainly pass the winter in our Southern -States and Mexico. The common belief that this bird -remains dormant during the winter in Pennsylvania, -appears to be ill-founded; since the few who do not -migrate, no doubt seek out some warmer shelter near -man than is afforded by the bleakness of nature.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The early song of the Blue-Bird announces to the -farmer the approach of spring. So gladdening is this -to the rustic villager, that he generally takes every -method to accommodate his familiar little companion, -building boxes for him, exposing materials, and imitating -his plaintive whistle as he hops along the furrow -of the plough. The affection of the male bird for his -mate is remarkable. “When he first begins his -amours,” says an accurate observer, “it is pleasing to -behold his courtship; his solicitude to please and to -secure the favor of his beloved female. He uses the -tenderest expressions, sits close by her, caresses, and -sings to her his most endearing warblings. When -seated together, if he espies an insect delicious to her -taste he takes it up, flies with it to her, spreads his -wings over her and puts it in her mouth.” On such -occasions, should a rival stray within the hallowed -limits he is treated without mercy, and the victor returns -to warble out his strain of exultation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The nest of the Blue-Bird is generally made in the -hollow of an old tree, or in the free quarters provided -by man. The female lays five or six eggs, of a pale -blue color, and raises two broods in a season. Their -affection for their young is fully equal to that of the -male for his mate, and when the hen is sitting the -second time, the former brood is cherished and reared -by the other parent. In the fall, when insect food becomes -scarce, they eat berries, seeds, persimmons and -other fruit. Their song is a soft and agreeable warble, -uttered with open quivering wings. “In his motions -and general character,” says Wilson, “he has great -resemblance to the Robin Redbreast of Britain; and -had he the brown olive of that bird, instead of his own -blue, could scarcely be distinguished from him. Like -him he is known to almost every child; and shows as -much confidence in man, by associating with him in -summer, as the other by his familiarity in winter. He -is also of a mild and peaceful disposition, seldom fighting -or quarreling with other birds. His society is -courted by the inhabitants of the country, and few -farmers neglect to provide for him in some suitable -place a snug little summer-house, ready fitted and rent -free. For this he more than sufficiently repays them -by the cheerfulness of his song, and the multitude of -injurious insects which he daily destroys. Toward -fall, that is in the month of October, his song changes -to a single plaintive note, as he passes over the yellow -many-colored woods; and its melancholy air recalls to -our minds the approaching decay of the face of nature. -Even after the trees are stripped of their leaves, he -still lingers over his native fields, as if loath to leave -them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Blue-Bird is nearly seven inches in length, -with the wings remarkably full and broad. The -upper part of the body, neck and head are sky-blue, -<span class='pageno' title='58' id='Page_58'></span> -inclining to purple. The under parts are chestnut, the -bill and legs black, with portions of the same color -about the wings, tail and sides. In the female the -colors are less bright. The young are hardy, strong, -and highly teachable. The Blue-Bird is not often subjected -to the confinement of the cage.</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i141.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0007' style='width:450px;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>THE GROUND-ROBIN.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>This bird is also known as the Towee-finch, the -Tshe-wink and Pee-wink, names derived from its -favorite notes. It is found in great numbers in woods -and overgrown meadows, and sometimes along the -banks of streams, and is both familiar and playful. A -pair will sometimes roam for a great distance along a -water-course, scratching for insects, worms or seeds, -and encouraging each other by their simple cry of -tow-wee, tow-wee. They sometimes forage along gardens -or pea-patches. On such occasions, they behold -the approach of man with but little concern, and fly -off only when in danger of being taken. The species -is found in Canada, and probably farther north among -the Rocky Mountains, and southward throughout the -United States. They are, however, more abundant -east of the Alleghanies than to the west. Sometimes, -but not often, they pass the winter in Pennsylvania, -but are constantly in the milder States during that -season.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Their manner of building is rather peculiar; the -nest being fixed on the ground, below the surface, and -covered with leaves, or the shelter of an adjoining -bush. It is rarely raised above the ground. The -materials are fine bark, leaves, moss, dried grass and -down. Sometimes part of the adjoining herbage is -employed. The eggs are four or five in number, white, -with a flesh color tint, and spotted with brown. In -New England they raise but one brood, but in warm -States two, the first in June, and the second during the -following month. During this period they artfully -draw the intruder from their charge, by pretending -lameness, and feebly retreating as he pursues.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Ground-Robin is about eight inches long, and -eleven across the wings. The throat, neck, and whole -upper part of the body is black, with feathers of the -same color, interspersed with white, in the wings and -tail. The belly is white, with bay thighs. In the -female and young the black of the male is changed for -olive brown, and there is less pure white in the tail -and wings.</p> - -<hr class='tbk133'/> - -<div><h1><a id='petra'></a>THE FORTIETH SONNET OF PETRARCA.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>If honest love e’er merited reward,</p> -<p class='line0'>  If worship win the meed of yore it won,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I should be blest, since purer than the sun</p> -<p class='line0'>The love my sighs and poesy record;</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet ’tis not so: unwillingly are heard</p> -<p class='line0'>  My vows, and all regardlessly are flung</p> -<p class='line0'>  Her eyes o’er burning lines wherein is sung</p> -<p class='line0'>Her matchless beauty, and my grief is bared.</p> -<p class='line0'>But yet I hope that some day she may deign</p> -<p class='line0'>  To hearken to the tribute I have brought</p> -<p class='line0'>    And smile at least return for all my tears.</p> -<p class='line0'>Still it may be I’ll languish here in vain</p> -<p class='line0'>  Until that dread catastrophe is wrought,</p> -<p class='line0'>    When time shall harvest all its sheaf of years.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk134'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i144.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0008' style='width:450px;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span class='bold'>CROSS PURPOSES.</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk135'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='59' id='Page_59'></span><h1><a id='cross'></a>CROSS PURPOSES.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY KATE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1.5em;font-size:0.9em;'>[SEE ENGRAVING.]</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is rather a dangerous experiment, this sporting -with the feelings of a sweetheart, as many a loving -swain has found; as Andy Bell and Harry Lee found, -when they indulged in a walk home from church with -Lilly James and Aggy Moore, to the neglect of two -sweet sisters, Jane and Florence May.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jane and Florence were the real sweethearts. Of -the moonlight rambles they had enjoyed together; of -the loving words whispered in the maidens’ ears; of -the kisses beneath the shadows of old trees, stolen -from half shrinking lips, we will say nothing. But -such things had been. And even more. Mutual -pledges of love had passed. Harry had vowed to -Jane that, as she was the sweetest maiden in all the -village, so she was to him the dearest; and Jane had -drooped her eyes, and leaned closer to him, thus silently -responding to the declaration of love; and when -he took her hand, she let it linger in his warm clasp -as if he had a right to its possession. And the same -thing, slightly varied according to temperament, had -happened with Andy and Florence. For months, the -two young men were untiring in their attention to the -sisters. Invariably, when the little congregation that -worshiped in the village church on Sundays was dismissed, -Andy and Harry were at the door, waiting for -the expectant maidens, whom they as invariably attended -home, lingering always by the way, to make -the distance longer. And when the evening shadows -fell in the winter, or the sun sunk low toward the -western hills in the spring and summer time, at the -waning of the Sabbath, the young men were sure to -make their appearance at the quiet cottage home of the -happy sisters.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus it had been for months, and all the village knew -that they were sweethearts; and it was even said—how -the intelligence was gained we know not—that, -at the next Christmas, there would be a double -wedding in Heathdale. Thus it was, when, one bright -Sunday morning, as Andy Bell and Harry Lee were -on their way to church, the former, who was in a gayer -humor than usual, said, laughing as he spoke—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Suppose we plague the girls a little after meeting?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How?” asked Harry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you’ll walk home with Aggy Moore, I’ll play -the gallant to Lilly James.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Agreed,” was the thoughtless reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And yet,” said Andy, “I wouldn’t give the little -finger of Florence for Lilly’s whole body.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nor would I give Jane’s little finger for a dozen -Aggy Moores.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Even at this early stage of the affair, both parties -half repented; but neither felt like proposing to give -up the little frolick agreed upon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During the service the young lovers found their eyes -meeting those of their sweethearts with accustomed -frequency. But neither Andy nor Harry felt as comfortable -as usual. Besides being about to deprive -themselves of a long enjoyed pleasure, both felt misgivings -as to the effect of their temporary desertion and -disappointment of the expectant maidens.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At last the benediction was said, and the congregation -began moving toward the door. Andy and Harry were -out before the girls.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Shall we do it?” asked the former.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, certainly,” replied Harry. And yet this was -not said with the best grace in the world.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There’s Aggy,” whispered Andy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I see,” returned Harry, moving forward, as Aggy -stepped from the church-door. Just behind her was -Jane, with her bright, dancing eyes, and lips just parting -in a smile, as she caught sight of her lover. She -moved forward more quickly, but stopped suddenly. -Harry had spoken to Aggy, and was now walking -away by her side. Just then Lilly James came forth, -and Andy, crossing before Florence, who appeared at -the same time, bowed to the maiden, and seeming not -to see Florence, moved away from the church-door, -smiling and chatting with a free and careless air. -Neither of the young men looked behind to see the -effect of all this upon the two young girls. But, to -some extent, they imagined their feelings, and the picture -fancy presented was not the most agreeable to -contemplate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It required an effort on the part of both Andy and -Harry to continue to play the agreeable to the two -young ladies they had substituted thus temporarily, and -in sport, for their sweethearts, long enough to see them -fairly home. They did not meet again until toward -evening, and then each was on his way to seek the -cottage-home of the one loved most dearly of any thing -in the wide world.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wonder what they will say?” was uttered by -Andy, in a doubting tone, as they moved along.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Goodness knows! I’m afraid Jane took it hard,” -remarked Harry. “I saw her countenance change as -I turned to walk with Aggy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was a foolish prank, to make the best of it. But -we must laugh it off with them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I rather think we shall be paid back in our own -coin,” said Harry. “Jane, I know, has a little spice -about her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And Harry was not far wrong. When the two -<span class='pageno' title='60' id='Page_60'></span> -young men arrived at the cottage, and entered in their -usual familiar way, the room where the maidens sat, -they were received in a manner not in the least agreeable -to their feelings. Both Jane and Florence had -been deeply hurt by the conduct of their lovers; and -both had indulged freely during the afternoon in the -luxury of tears. The meaning of what had happened, -they couldn’t tell. Had all this appearance of affection -been a mere counterfeit? Were they the victims of a -heartless <a id='coquet'></a>coquetry? Or had Lilly and Aggy, through -some strange influence, won the hearts of their lovers?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Great was the relief experienced by the troubled -sisters when, on the waning of the Sabbath, they saw -their truant swains approaching as usual. But, with -this sense of relief, came a maidenly indignation, and a -determination to resent the wanton slight that had been -put upon them. Clouds were on the faces once so -smiling and happy, when the young men entered, and -their presence, so far from dispersing these clouds, only -caused them to grow darker. It was in vain that -every effort was made to remove them; not a sun-ray -came to dispel their gloomy shadows. Explanations -were made. The apparent slight was acknowledged -as only a merry jest. However this relieved the oppressed -hearts of the maidens, it did not lighten up -their sober faces. Forgiveness and smiles were not -to come so easily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Andy affected to treat the whole matter lightly, and -rather jested with Florence; but Harry’s sweetheart -seemed so deeply grieved and wounded, that he had -little to say after the first few efforts at reconciliation. -Finally, the young men went away, apparently unforgiven; -and all parties, for the next week, were unhappy -enough. Sunday came again; and now the -doubt in the minds of the young men was, whether, if -they offered to go home as usual with Jane and Florence, -they would be permitted by the offended maidens to do -so. This doubt was, in a measure, dispelled during -the morning service, for more than a dozen times did -Andy catch a stealthy glance from Florence, in which -was a beam of forgiveness; and the same thing happened -to Harry as he turned his eyes frequently upon -Jane. At last the service ended; and, as the young -girls passed from the door, their lovers were beside -them as usual. There was no repulse. The maidens -were too glad to have them there once more. But, -the feelings of each were sobered. Evening came, and -they met as before. Their intercourse was tender but -not joyous as it had been. And thus it was for weeks -ere their hearts lost a sense of oppression. The reader -may be sure that there were no more games at -cross purposes after this. The lovers were cured of -all inclination to indulge further in that species of -pastime.</p> - -<hr class='tbk136'/> - -<div><h1><a id='lines'></a>LINES</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>ON BURNING SOME OLD JOURNALS AND LETTERS.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE LATE WALTER HERRIES, ESQ.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Ay, let them perish—why recall</p> -<p class='line0'>  Dreams of a by-gone day?</p> -<p class='line0'>Why lift Oblivion’s funeral pall</p> -<p class='line0'>  Only to find decay?</p> -<p class='line0'>The heart of youth lies buried there,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With all its hopes and fears,</p> -<p class='line0'>Its burning joys, its wild despair,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its agonies and tears.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A light has vanished from the earth,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A glory left the sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>Since first within my soul had birth</p> -<p class='line0'>  Those visions pure and high;</p> -<p class='line0'>Or is it that mine eye, grown dim,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Hath lost the power to trace</p> -<p class='line0'>The glory of the Seraphim</p> -<p class='line0'>  Within life’s holy place?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Methinks I stand midway between</p> -<p class='line0'>  The future and the past,</p> -<p class='line0'>The onward path is dimly seen,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Behind me clouds are cast;</p> -<p class='line0'>Why should I seek to pierce that gloom</p> -<p class='line0'>  And call the buried host</p> -<p class='line0'>Of haunting memories from the tomb—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Each one a tortured ghost?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I could not look upon the page,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With eloquence o’erfraught,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where, ere my head had grown so sage,</p> -<p class='line0'>  My heart its wild will wrought;</p> -<p class='line0'>I could not—would not—ponder now</p> -<p class='line0'>  O’er my youth’s wayward madness,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which left no stain on soul or brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Yet shrouded life in sadness.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Ay, let them perish!—from the dream</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of Passion’s wasted hour</p> -<p class='line0'>There comes no retrospective gleam,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No spectre of the flower:</p> -<p class='line0'>The treasured wealth of Eastern kings</p> -<p class='line0'>  Enriched their burial fire,</p> -<p class='line0'>And thus my heart’s most precious things</p> -<p class='line0'>  Shall build its funeral pyre.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk137'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='61' id='Page_61'></span><h1><a id='uncle'></a>UNCLE TOM.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY “SIMON.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>A strange old man was my Uncle Tom. He was -my father’s only and elder brother, and more than all, -he was a bachelor; not one of those sour specimens of -humanity who are continually railing at everybody -and every thing—more especially “the sex”—but a -hearty, hale, good-natured gentleman of the old school, -straight as a poplar, and his heart had as many green -leaves withal. He was still a boy in feeling, though -winter had begun to spread its snows over his head. -He was far from hating women, though when he talked -of them, or thought of them, a look of sadness would -sometimes overspread his countenance; and when he -saw some fairy phantom that had not yet escaped her -“teens,” in the full flush of maiden grace and beauty, -old recollections seemed to come over him with a deep -and maddening influence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No one ever told me the cause of this temporary dejection, -and Uncle Tom seemed unwilling to be questioned -<a id='concern'></a>concerning it. There needed no questioning. From -our cottage, a smooth-worn path led across the fields -to the village church-yard, which lay at about a quarter -of a mile distant. Passing through a gap in the wall, -it wound among the grass-grown hillocks, and stopped -abruptly before a small, gray stone, which stood in the -corner nearest the church, and on which this simple -epitaph was engraved: Mary, æt. 18. This told his -whole story; for the small, gray stone was overgrown -with lichens and mosses, and I remember the -solitary pathway when but a child.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Uncle Tom was not rich, but he had enough to -satisfy all his wants. He had always lived with us -since my remembrance, and we all had a mysterious -love and veneration for him, which we could but half -explain. His little room on the south-west corner of -the house we never entered without a special invitation; -not because we stood in any fear of him, but because -we respected his quiet, half-eccentric manner, -and were not willing to disturb his solitary studies and -meditations. We were often invited there of an -evening, for Uncle Tom liked to have young, happy -people around him. He used to say it made him young -again, and caused his silver hairs to hide themselves; -and he thought a man should always have the heart -of a child, no matter how much experience and life-labor -had whitened his head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During our visits to his study, we were at liberty to -handle every thing which came within our reach, and -the room was generally in a sweet confusion when we -left it. Yet this did not trouble him, it rather pleased -him the more. In truth he was so good-natured that -nothing could vex him; and I remember one evening -when he pulled sister Ruth’s doll out of his great horn -inkstand, where it stood, heels upward, like a pearl-diver, -his only exclamation was, “Just as I used to be—children -all over!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Directly opposite the great arm-chair, where he -usually sat during the day, hung a picture; yet it was -not for us to see. A plain blue curtain was always -drawn over it, which hung as silently, and always in -the same folds, as if it had not been withdrawn for -many years. I knew it was the portrait of a young -girl, and very beautiful; for one evening, when, according -to invitation, we were in the study playing the -mischief with every thing that came under our hands, -a slight breeze from the west window fluttered and -raised the curtain, and revealed the picture to me by -the dim light of the study-lamp. I, of course, did -not know who it was intended to represent, but it -was always connected in my mind with the solitary -path to the church-yard; and I always thought of her -as the Mary of the little gray stone; yet I never spoke -of it to any one, not even sister Ruth. It seemed -something sacred, something which I ought not to -know, and that the knowledge thus accidentally acquired -ought not to be divulged by me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the pleasantest thing of all was, when Uncle -Tom came down into the kitchen of a winter’s evening, -and told one of the beautiful stories which he could -relate so well. Ah! no one could tell stories like -Uncle Tom. He would enter into the subject so -earnestly, that we took every thing for truth, and -laughed or cried, as the nature of the case demanded; -and many a time in the midst of a sad passage, my -father has let the fire go out of his pipe before it was -half smoked, and I have seen the tears stream down -sister Ruth’s cheek, and heard her sob as if some great -misfortune were hanging over some one of us; and I -have known Uncle Tom’s voice to grow tremulous; -and his lip quiver, as if something in the narrative lay -near his heart, but by a powerful effort he would always -master his feelings and go calmly on with his story.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I shall try to report some of these stories at second -hand, narrating carefully as my memory serves, always -in Uncle Tom’s words; but they will be nothing so -good as when he, with his low musical voice and -earnest manner, related them to our little family, who, -in likening silence formed a half circle around the -huge walnut logs that blazed and simmered on the -kitchen hearth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the last night of December, and the north -wind howled around the chimney, and the icicles -clattered on the eaves and dropped against the casement -with a tip-tap, like wayfarers asking admittance. -A great fire of logs was blazing on the hearth, and the -half circle was almost formed. On one side of the -fire-place sat father, double-shotting his black tobacco-pipe. -Next him was mother, just turning the heel of -a stocking. Sister Ruth occupied the next chair, and -she was very busy working a wash-woman’s register -on the top of a bachelor’s pincushion; beside her sat -the bachelor for whom this piece of domestic goods -was working. He was a cousin, and bore the family -name—Charley, we called him. He and Ruth seemed -<span class='pageno' title='62' id='Page_62'></span> -to enjoy each other’s society very much, and passed -the greater part of their leisure time together. My -place was next to Cousin Charley, and on my left hand -the vacant arm-chair was waiting for Uncle Tom—to -complete the family circle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length the door opened, and the pleasant old man -appeared. He entered rubbing his hands and smiling -most benignantly. Every chair moved about an inch, -as if to make room for him, though each one knew -there was room enough already. Father lighted his -pipe, and mother turned the heel; sister Ruth left off -her embroidery in the middle of “shirts,” and Cousin -Charley gave his chair a hitch nearer to her, while I -sat quite still. Even the blazing logs on the fire gave -an extra hiss and flare, as if they, too, were making -preparations to listen attentively. Uncle Tom, with a -few pleasant words, and a great many pleasant smiles, -took his accustomed seat and commenced the evening -entertainment in these words:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>About five miles from Boston, on one of the great -thoroughfares leading to the city, there used to stand -an old-fashioned country-seat. It was placed somewhat -back from the road, and screened from the dust -by a thick-set hawthorn-hedge, which grew as straight -and regular as brick-work. The walks within were -laid out with the same regularity and neatness, and -lead with many a labyrinthine turn through the whole -premises. Now it took you by an oval pond, where -the bright scales of gold fish glanced in the sun; now -among flower-beds formed into Catharine-wheels and -gothic crosses; then away among groves and trellises -almost impervious to the sun. There were a great -many beautiful things that I shall not attempt to tell you -of. Every thing was beautiful, and proclaimed a -wealthy proprietor, even to the silver plate on the front -door, bearing in bold writing-hand, the name, “John -Maynard.” He was rich—John Maynard was a retired -merchant. In the full flush of commercial prosperity, -his beloved wife had fallen into the quiet sleep -of death. After that, business grew irksome to him; -he could not bear the busy hum of the city; the home -where he had been happy, was so no more to him; -and taking with him his oldest and most trusty clerk, -he, with his only child, Alice, removed to this quiet -spot. The care of his property was left almost entirely -to his tried and honest clerk, David Deans; his -own time was occupied either in his study or in the -society of his daughter, who, being an only child, was, -of course, indulged in all her little whims and fancies, -until she had assumed the reins of government, and -was nearly spoiled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One evening Mr. Maynard, or Old John, as he was -familiarly called, sat on the western piazza as the sun -was setting. He looked the hale and hearty old gentleman, -one before whom care and trouble would -vanish like the thin spiral clouds of cigar smoke, which -ever and anon he puffed from between his lips. Yet -withal he had a look of determination, something -which said he would have things his own way when -he desired it; and yet he had a way of gaining his ends -so pleasantly and adroitly, that no one knew his intentions -until they were accomplished.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Puff, puff, there he sat smoking away and thinking -of something very pleasant, no doubt, for a smile would -occasionally play round the corners of his mouth, and -he would rub his hands together with infinite satisfaction.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Soon a light step was heard in the hall, and his -daughter, Alice, appeared.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Everybody said Alice was a beauty; and so far -everybody told the truth. Her dark hair and dark -eyes, and delicate complexion would win many a -heart that had sworn eternal hostility to her sex. And -then she was as full of life as of beauty, and had such -winning ways, that nothing could resist her. She inherited -from her father a slight vein of willfulness, and -it was really a pleasure to see them contending together, -Old John in his humorous, quiet way, bringing up irresistible -arguments, and she, dashing them all to pieces -by the most illogical processes imaginable; and he -would generally laugh and let her have her own way.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Papa,” said she, “why did you send David Deans -away? I’m sure it was very cruel of you. He has -lived with us so long, and is so quiet and industrious! -I’m sure it will break his heart. And then, besides, -his poor sister will have to go into service again. It is -too bad, I declare—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now don’t, Ally,” said Old John, passing his -arm quietly around his daughter’s waist, and talking -in the best humor imaginable, “don’t trouble yourself -about David. What do you know about business? -You take care of the women-servants, and see that -we have tea on the table by seven o’clock exactly, for -I expect the new clerk every minute. I’ll take care -of David—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know I shan’t like the new clerk,” said she, -pouting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, who wants you to like him, little minx?” -said Old John, at the same time drawing her closer to -him, and giving her a hearty kiss.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But I shall hate him,” continued she, determined -to be obstinate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, hate him if you will,” replied her father, not -in the least angry; “but I can tell you he is a very -lively fellow, and not accustomed to be hated by the -ladies. However, you had better hate him. You must -reserve all your love for Harry Wilson, you know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, that dreadful Harry Wilson,” exclaimed Alice, -struggling to throw off her father’s arm, by which he -still held her in close confinement. “Pray don’t talk -of him again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And why not?” said Old John; “he is to be your -husband, you know.” And a smile, half merry, half -serious, played over his features as he said this. “His -father and I were old schoolmates, and he would die -of grief if he thought we were not to be brothers -after all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“His son and I were never old schoolmates, at all -events,” exclaimed Alice, still struggling, but in vain. -Old John held her fast, and his merry face settled into -a serious, earnest expression as he added,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Besides, he once saved my life.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alice answered nothing. There was something in -the manner in which he said these words, as well as -in the meaning of the words themselves, which completely -subdued her. The tears beamed in her beautiful -<span class='pageno' title='63' id='Page_63'></span> -dark eyes; she threw her arms round his neck -and rested her head on his shoulder; her long, black -locks streamed over his bosom—yet she said nothing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Old John drew her closer to him and kissed her -tenderly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There, Ally, dear,” he said, “we wont talk any -more about it now. I know you will do all you can -to make your old father happy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Still she said nothing, but clung very close to him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was a good girl, was Alice, only a little willful.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A servant entered, announcing Mr. Davis. This was -the new clerk.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Conduct him this way,” said Mr. Maynard. -“Come, Ally, don’t let him surprise us in a family -quarrel. We must make his first impressions good -ones.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Things were put to rights in less time than it takes -to tell of it, and the new clerk approached them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Glad to see you, Walter,” exclaimed Old John, -grasping the new comer’s hand, and looking a cordial -welcome. “Ally, this is Walter Davis, the new clerk.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Notwithstanding her determination to hate him, she -smiled very pleasantly as he took her hand, and her -welcome word was said with a very good grace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The new clerk was apparently about twenty-two -years of age, rather tall, but well formed; he was -dressed in a very plain suit—becoming his situation; -and yet there was something noble about him for all -that. You could see it in the firmly compressed lips, -the deep, thoughtful eye, and the easy, manly bearing. -He certainly was not the person one would choose -to hate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alice was much surprised at his general personal -appearance and demeanor. Her ideas of a clerk were -all formed from the quiet, unpretending David Deans, -who had almost grown old in their service. She forgot -that the new comer was at present a visiter, not yet -having entered upon his clerkship. At the tea-table, -too, she observed how perfectly easy and composed he -seemed. He could answer questions without blushing, -and ask others without stammering. There was a -straightforwardness about him, which seemed to win -upon her father wonderfully, and he never seemed in -a more pleasant mood than then. There was something -in his manner so dignified and gentlemanly that -she, too, could not help reacting him, although in -her good-night to her father, she added, “I’m sure I -shall hate him for taking poor David’s place.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wait a bit, Brother Tom,” interrupted father—“pipe’s -out.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said Uncle Tom, “while Brother Bill is -lighting his pipe, we will glide over two months and -make ready for a new chapter.”</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>Two months had passed away, and affairs went on -swimmingly at the country-seat. Old John seemed to -find his new clerk a remarkably pleasant companion, -and passed much of his time in the little counting-room. -He was fast growing into the good graces of -Miss Alice too; for true manliness will always find -its way into every heart. She began to like him very -much, and seemed pleased to have him near her; and -indeed would sometimes meet his advances more than -half way. Perhaps, like a dutiful daughter, she followed -her father’s example, and liked the clerk because -he did, or perhaps she thought he must be very -lonely, and took compassion on him: How this may -be I cannot tell; but I do know that she liked him, and -liked him very well too, as might be seen by any one -who observed her. She often walked in the direction -of the counting-room, which stood at some little distance -from the house, and frequently sat with her embroidery -in the trellised arbor that overlooked it. The -flowers, too, which always ornamented her parlor-mantle, -were generally gathered from the beds in this -part of the garden, although they were not half so -fragrant or pretty as those which grew nearer the -house. Indeed, she had found it necessary once or -twice to open the counting-room, and actually go in -when no one but the young clerk was there; and at such -times he received her with such a frank, cordial greeting, -and talked so pleasantly to her, that she would -gladly have changed her arbor boudoir for this little -room, crowded with business and ponderous ledgers -as it was. And once, when the clerk left her for a -moment, she actually climbed upon the long-legged -desk-stool, to see if it were really as uncomfortable as -it looked to be; at least so she said, when he, returning -suddenly, surprised her on that high perch. But -he helped her down so gently, and gallantly, that she -would have been willing to try the experiment often, -even if it were as uncomfortable as it looked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was always delighted whenever Walter requested -the pleasure of her company through the -grounds. She would take his arm without any unnecessary -coquetry, and full of life and love they would -thread every walk of the labyrinth, not excepting the -Catharine-wheels and the gothic arches. In the grove -they would listen to the songs of the birds, and together -wonder what they were saying to each other, -and invent many strange translations, interesting to -none but themselves. They would stand long on the -edge of the pond, and Alice leaned heavily on the -clerk’s arm, you may be sure, as they watched the -gold-fish darting across the little basin so rapidly that -the whole surface of the water seemed marked with -red lines. He gathered flowers for her, too, as they -walked leisurely along, and each bouquet thus formed -was, to her, a whole book of love, each flower telling -its own particular tale. As the sun touched the horizon -they would climb up to the arbor, while the birds -sung their “good-night,” and watch the bright colors -grow and fade upon the western sky, and build landscapes -and cathedrals and cottages of the ever-changing -clouds.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet in his conversations with her, Walter was never -sickly sentimental or flattering. He always spoke just -what he felt; and sometimes a plump, downright -honest thought would find itself clothed in words, -which many would call coarse and ill-bred; but from -him they came so frankly that she never thought of -such a thing, but liked him the more for them. He -never flattered her, never told her how beautiful she -was, but his whole manner was a tacit acknowledgment -of her beauty, truer and plainer than words could -<span class='pageno' title='64' id='Page_64'></span> -express it. And Alice was as simple, and talked as -plainly to him as if he had been a brother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>O, those evening walks were beautiful to both, but -they were laying a foundation for something deeper -and more lasting than common friendship, notwithstanding -Harry Wilson and the two good fathers. -Their natures were gradually blending into each other -like two neighboring colors of the rainbow, and the -line between them would soon become extinct, and a -separation must be the destruction of both. It was -very strange that Old John, with his brotherly intentions -toward Harry Wilson’s father, didn’t observe -this, for he often surprised them earnestly conversing -in the sunset arbor, long after the dews had begun to -fall and the birds had ceased their evening song.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He must indeed have been very dull and stupid, not -to observe that something was going on between the -two young people, that would play the deuce with his -darling project. But no, he didn’t seem to; for he -was never in better spirits than then, never half so -talkative or playful. He evidently did not think his -cherished scheme was about to miscarry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One evening he and the clerk sat on the piazza together. -The parlor windows were open, and Alice -sat at the piano and played to them. Old John began -to talk about the business transactions of the day, and -seemed particularly delighted at certain good news -which he had heard, and which he had just finished -relating to the clerk.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Remarkable, isn’t it?” he exclaimed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But he might as well have talked to the plaster statue -of Neptune which stood on the green before him, -as to the young clerk. He was either listening attentively -to the music, or else his thoughts were far away, -for he took no notice of what Old John said to him, -but sat silent, his head leaning upon his hand and his -eyes fixed upon vacancy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hey! what’s all this?” exclaimed Old John, starting -up and shaking the clerk’s arm. “What! dreaming -by moonlight! A bad sign—very bad sign—too -romantic by half! Here, Ally—Ally! come here directly,” -he continued, shouting to his daughter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Walter started up and would have prevented him, -but he continued to call, and soon the piano ceased to -sound, and Alice made her appearance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you want, papa?” she asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here is this fellow,” he answered, “falling asleep -in the midst of our conversation; dreaming by moonlight! -I want you to keep him awake.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I beg pardon, sir,” said the clerk, attempting an -excuse, “but I was thinking—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“O, but that wont do,” said Old John, “I was talking. -However, I will tell you how we will make it -up. You shall sing that duet with Alice; the one you -sung last night, and mind you don’t go to sleep before -it is finished, or—” and he finished the sentence with -a shake of the finger.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will undertake it willingly,” said the clerk.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Walter moved his chair closer by the side of Alice, -and took his seat. But there was still a difficulty; -neither of them could determine on the right pitch. -Alice ran and struck a note on the piano, and returned -sounding it all the way. She sat down, and her hand -involuntarily fell upon Walter’s; he pressed it in his -own, and the duet commenced.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Both the words and the music were very simple; -they were the expression of love, pure and holy; and -never did they sing better. Walter’s whole soul was -thrown into the words, and his heart beat to the sounds -his lips uttered. A slight pressure of her hand expressed -to Alice how truly, how deeply he felt the -beauty of love, and her voice trembled as she sung, -adding still more to the music.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was silence for a short time after the sound -of their voices had ceased. It seemed Old John’s turn -to dream now. The beautiful music had called up old, -happy scenes to his mind; perhaps the thoughts of his -youth and first-love were leading him far away; for -he sat silently, with his hand drawn across his eyes, -as if to shade them from the moonlight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alice approached him, and drew her arm around -his neck. He started as if from a trance, and said—“That -was well, very well. I like that music. There, -now, Ally, you and Walter take a walk through the -grounds. I’ll light a cigar, and sit here by myself, and—And -dream! hey, Walter!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alice left him with a kiss, and taking Walter’s arm -they disappeared round an angle of the building, and -walked onward toward their favorite arbor. Every -thing was silent around them; the glowing leaves -hanging motionless upon the trees, and the many-colored -flowers, all seemed listening, as if to some -revelation of the night. The fish-pond was one entire -sheet of silver; not a ripple disturbed its peaceful surface; -and the soft moonlight streamed through the -chinks of the vines and gothic trees, and checkered the -pathway and the floor of the arbor, as the sunbeams -shining through stained cathedral windows rest on the -pavement. The arbor was their chancel, and there -the two lovers stood side by side as if before an altar; -and there Walter told Alice how deeply, how truly he -loved her; how often he had sat alone since they had -known each other, and yet not been lonely, for her -image had always been present to comfort and to -counsel him; how he had longed for the time to come -when he could make this confession to her, when he -could press her to his bosom as the dearly beloved -one.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alice did not speak. She was always silent when -she felt most deeply; but her silence was singularly -eloquent. She did not attempt to withdraw the little -hand which he held so tightly. She did not try to remove -the arm that encircled her waist. Her head lay -upon his bosom, and she wept for very joy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now what had become of Old John’s brotherly -scheme? The rainbow hues were now completely -blended.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Soon after the two lovers had turned toward the -house, Old John came stealing cautiously through a -neighboring path, where he had been an accidental, -though perhaps not an unwilling listener.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good!” he exclaimed in a half whisper, rubbing -his hands and smiling most merrily. “I shall hate -him, I am sure,” he added, mimicking Alice. “Good!” -And again he rubbed his hands and smiled with infinite -satisfaction.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><span class='pageno' title='65' id='Page_65'></span>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>The summer had passed away, and autumn was -spreading its rich mantle of yellow leaves over the -trees and shrubs of the old country-seat. The birds -were collecting together in troops, for their journey to -warmer lands, and their songs above the arbor were -sadder than when we last listened to them. The -golden fruit hung temptingly upon the trees, and on the -smooth surface of the fish-pond floated many a withered -leaf. The year was growing old, and its rich covering -of foliage was becoming gray and falling off, yet in -the hearts of Walter and Alice love was as green and -as warm as on the bright summer evening when they -made their mutual confessions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They had not yet made Old John their <a id='conf'></a>confidant; -they were waiting for a convenient season. And he, -though he must have known something of their intercourse, -never asked any questions, or seemed at all -curious about the matter, but conducted himself in his -usual quiet way. Indeed, he did occasionally speak -of their close communion, but always in a merry, jesting -way, and no one could suspect him of knowing -how affairs really stood with them. At least his -knowledge did not make him unhappy, for the merry -twinkle was still in his eye, and the smiles still played -round his mouth. In the little walks and excursions -which they took together, Alice was always assigned -to the clerk. Old John said he preferred to walk alone; -then he could swing his cane in any direction without -being scolded, and could climb over a fence, instead of -going half a mile to find a place to crawl through, or a -stile, for the convenience of a lady companion. Walter, -as may be supposed, was very willing to free him -from this incumbrance, and did not mind the half mile -walks in search of a stile, as long as Alice was hanging -on his arm. They had a great many things to talk -about, which was of no consequence to any but themselves, -and were glad of the opportunity to remove -out of earshot, which this stile hunting afforded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One morning the clerk appeared equipped for traveling. -Business of some kind or other called him, for a -short time, to another part of the country.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He and Alice were alone in the breakfast-room. -He explained to her the necessity of his departure, and -consoled her with the assurance that his absence would -not continue more than a week at the most. He had -just time to place a plain ring on her finger, and steal -one tender, silent kiss from her rosy lips, when Old -John entered, announcing the coach at the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In a few minutes he was seated in the vehicle. -Good-byes were repealed, and soon he was rolling -away on the dusty road toward the city.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alice stood at the window and watched until the -top of the coach had disappeared behind an angle of -the road, and the last sound of the rumbling wheels -had died away. Then the thought and feelings that -had followed him as far as the senses could guide -them, seemed to fall back upon herself, and she felt -oppressed by the silence and utter solitude that reigned -around.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That was a weary day to Alice. This was her first -love, and their first separation. Her father was busy -with his affairs and could not attend to her; so she -was thrown entirely upon her own resources, and -heavily the hours dragged along in mournful procession.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Often days had passed and she had not seen Walter -but for a few moments, yet then she knew he was -near. And now she sat down and tried to fancy him -sitting quietly at his desk; but it wouldn’t do—she -knew better. She walked down by the counting-room -and gathered the flowers as she had often done before, -but they had lost their fragrance, and their colors -seemed faded. The gold-fish stood still in the pond, -and she mistook them at times for the leaves that lay -in the water; they too had faded. She sat in the pleasant -arbor, and looked westward over the beautiful -landscape, but a veil seemed drawn before it, and the -rich and variegated hues which, dolphin-like, the forest -had assumed while dying, to her eyes, seemed blended -into a dead, cold brown. So true it is that the sense -takes its tone from the soul.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So the day passed and the belated evening came -slowly on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do, pray, Ally, put off that sad face,” said Old -John to her, as they sat at the tea-table. “Why you -look ten times more woful than the Italian beggars fresh -from an <a id='erupt'></a>eruption of Vesuvius. Do try to smile a little.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She did try to look cheerful, but at first it tasked all -her powers, yet her father’s raillery and merry laugh -were not to be resisted, and in a little while the cloud -seemed to have passed entirely away, and she was as -cheerful as ever. Sometimes she would fall back into -the silent, thoughtful mood, yet it was only for a moment, -and the evening passed pleasantly. Then came -the affectionate kiss, and the kind good-night.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To Alice it was a good-night, indeed. Good angels -watched by her pillow, and her dreams were beautiful. -One time she was walking along the garden paths, and -heard the birds singing sweetly above her head, and -saw the flowers in their most beautiful dress. She -drew near the pond, and it was all alive with gold -fish; and the whole surface seemed drawn with red -lines; sometimes they formed charming pictures—trees, -gardens and villages seemed to pass over the -water like a moving diorama. All the people she had -ever seen seemed to be moving about there, some -doing one thing, and some another, but all happy. As -she looked attentively, the surface seemed to grow -mysteriously calm, and the red lines to disappear. -Then as mysteriously it began to grow troubled, circular -waves forming at the centre, and rolling toward -the shore in every direction. Then suddenly from the -middle of the pond, a most beautiful fairy figure arose -and beckoned her near. The fairy gave her a plain, -gold ring, and told her never to part with it; for she -said it was the gift of happiness, and while she wore -that upon her finger, heavy misfortunes should never -visit her. Then a loud voice under water seemed to -call the fairy a “little minx,” and bid her come down -immediately, for breakfast was waiting. Then she -disappeared, the water became calm, and Alice awoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Was that a dream?” she asked herself, in amazement. -There was the ring on her finger—the fairy’s -gift of happiness; and the voice was still calling some -one to breakfast.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a long time before she could collect her scattered -<span class='pageno' title='66' id='Page_66'></span> -senses enough to realize that she had just waked -from a strange dream, and the voice was that of her -father calling her. When the truth did dawn upon her, -she laughed immoderately, and could not help saying -repeatedly, that “it was <span class='it'>very</span> funny.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was much past her usual hour of rising, when in -her simple morning-dress she appeared at the breakfast-table.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, Ally, dear, I thought you never would come -down,” said her father. “I have been waiting this—I -don’t know how long, and called you—I don’t know -how many times. The omelet and coffee are both -as cold as Greenland, I’ll be bound.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It isn’t so very late, papa, is it?” inquired Alice; -“besides, I have had such a funny dream—O, it was -perfectly delightful.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, never mind, dear, pour out the coffee before -it gets later.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She poured out the coffee, still thinking of her strange -dream. It was so funny that she could not help thinking -of it; but her lips would never have wreathed that -happy smile if she could have known the trial that -awaited her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ally, do you know what day to-morrow will be?” -he asked, while his face wore a very doubtful, half -merry, half serious expression. It was something like -the sun trying to break through a fog, for he tried to -look cheerful.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alice paused a moment as if in thought, then suddenly -exclaimed, “I declare, it is my birthday, and I -had almost forgotten it. It was very good of my dear -papa to remind me of such good news, after I had kept -him waiting so long for his breakfast,” she added, -playfully.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But do you know who I expect to-morrow?” he -continued.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was her turn now to look doubtful and perplexed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Ally,” he said, “this afternoon Harry Wilson -and my old schoolmate, his father, will be here. You -must save all your good looks for Harry, for I expect -you will fall in love with him at first sight.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was really with much pain that Old John made -this announcement, though he spoke it in as cheerful -a manner as possible, for he knew the effect it would -have on his daughter. He seemed to make it more -from a sense of duty than pleasure, as it were something -which must be told sooner or later; and more -clouds gathered about his honest face than had been -seen there since the death of his wife, when he saw -the effect it had upon Alice. The cheerful smiles -vanished from her face; the color came and went, and -came and went, and at length left her deadly pale. -Her hand trembled and her voice quivered, as she attempted -in vain to make some cheerful remark.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At least you will try to like him, for my sake, -wont you, Ally, dear?” said her father.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She uttered a faint “yes”—so faint that it might have -been “no,” for all Old John heard; and pleading some -excuse, left the room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bad business, this,” said her father, after he was -left alone, and talking as if to some invisible friend. -“Bad business!” and whistling a doleful strain of a -doleful tune, he also left the room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And Alice, poor Alice, she felt lonely enough as she -sat alone in her little room. Thoughts of the dream -that had made her so cheerful but a short time before, -now pressed like an incubus upon her breast. She -knew how much her father was attached to his old -schoolmate, Mr. Wilson, and how much he desired -the union of their two families. It had long been -talked of, but always as something which was about -to happen at some distant, indefinite time; and though -many years had passed since they first began to talk -of it, it still seemed as indefinite and far from accomplishment -as ever; and she never thought to trouble -herself about it; but now the event seemed to spring -up like a phantom directly before her; and so sudden -had been the announcement that she knew not what -to do.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now the hours seemed to glide by as if they -were double-winged. The old entry clock seemed to -her as she sat in her silent chamber, to tick faster and -faster until at last it broke into an actual gallop. If <span class='it'>he</span> -were only here, she thought, as her eye fell upon the -ring which the clerk had placed on her finger. And -more than once she determined to go down to her -father and confess all; then she thought of the old -schoolmate that had saved his life, and her courage -failed her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She started as the clock told eleven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was past noon, and Old John was waiting anxiously -for her appearance in the drawing-room; and -his heart beat with strange emotions as he heard her -light footfall on the stairs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was very pale when she entered the room, and -the traces of recent tears were in her eyes. Yet she -had never looked more beautiful, never more lovely. -She was dressed in simple white, and a single white -rose was braided in her dark hair. Old John could not -see her thus dejected without being moved, and the -dark cloud spread over his countenance. She saw it, and -assuming a cheerfulness which she did not feel, drew -her arm around his neck, and kissed him <a id='affect'></a>affectionately.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There, Ally, dear,” he said, “don’t be cast down. -It will all come right in the end. I say it shall. Do -sit down to the piano and sing a cheerful song. Yes, -sing the one that Walter liked so well.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was like asking the Israelites to sing songs of their -home, while captives in Babylon; yet she did sing, -though her voice trembled so much that it was with -difficulty she finished the song.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t take it so much to heart, dear,” said Old -John. “I say, if you don’t like him, he shan’t have -you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They were interrupted by the sound of wheels rolling -up the avenue. How her little heart beat and -fluttered then. A carriage stopped before the door. -Old John’s eye glistened with delight, as if relief had -come at length. A step was heard in the passage. -The door opened, and there stood—Walter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alice started to her feet, and stood gazing vacantly -at him, uncertain what to do.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wont you speak to Harry Wilson?” shouted Old -John, at the top of his voice, and giving a hysterical -kind of laugh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then the truth flashed upon her. With a cry of joy -<span class='pageno' title='67' id='Page_67'></span> -she rushed into his arms, and nestling her head in his -bosom, wept like a child—but they were tears of joy. -Her overstrained feelings found a happy relief. The -dark cloud of sorrow passed away and the sun shone -in all its glory.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Old John capered round the room like a madman, -and declared he had never seen any thing half so pleasant -in all his life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But it was very cruel of you, dear papa,” said -Alice, kissing him tenderly, after the first effusions of -joy were over.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know it was, Ally, dear,” exclaimed Old John, -willing to be blamed for any thing now. “I know it -was. But you are such a willful little thing that I was -afraid you wouldn’t like him, and I had set my heart -upon it. I have been tempted more than twenty times -to confess the whole and ask your forgiveness, when I -saw you look so miserable. Yes, Ally, I came very -near spoiling the whole this morning at breakfast. But -never mind, it’s all right now; confess, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yes, indeed, it was all right! And Alice, in her silent, -eloquent way, soon convinced him that she thought so.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again the door opened, and Harry Wilson senior entered. -He knew the whole affair, and had only waited -on the outside until the first scene should be over.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Cordial was the greeting between the old schoolmates. -Smiles, congratulations, and merry words -passed freely; every eye glistened with joy, and all -went merry as a marriage bell.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Shall I enter that note at five or six per cents.?” -asked some one at the side-door. There stood David -Deans, with a pen behind his ear and another in his -hand—his usual way of ornamenting himself—and -looking as blank and cool as if nothing had happened.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t enter it with any per cent., you old miser!” -said Old John, patting him familiarly on the back. -“We don’t charge interest this year.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>David walked off with a broad grin operating powerfully -upon his countenance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He understood the trick, did David.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a sweet dream under each pillow that -night; and the birth-day on which Alice thought to be -miserable, was the happiest of her life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bless me, Brother Bill!” exclaimed Uncle Tom, -“if you aint smoking nothing but dust and ashes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I declare, I believe you are right,” answered my -father, somewhat confused, and making a careful examination -of his pipe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good-nights!” were passed, and we all went to -bed with happy hearts.</p> - -<hr class='tbk138'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i163.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0009' style='width:450px;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Painted by Brockdon</span> <span style='font-size:smaller'>Engraved by F. Humphreys</span><br/><br/><span class='bold'>NATURE’S TRIUMPH.</span><br/><br/>Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine</p> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk139'/> - -<div><h1><a id='table'></a>EDITOR’S TABLE.</h1></div> - -<hr class='tbk140'/> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>NATURE’S TRIUMPH.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'>[SEE ENGRAVING.]</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Great men were they of olden time; men with far-reaching -and strong, grasping minds—men, too, of discrimination -in what they gathered—“teach them selection, -not collection,” was the word—and they prepared for us -of this distant age monuments to excite admiration and -insure awe; monuments which, while they exhibit what -man is capable of doing, seem, by the perfection of their -form and the adaptation of their parts, to check all spirit -of imitation; monuments which denote all variety of -mental exercise and all the adaptation of physical powers. -It is not alone the chisel of Phidias working out the marble -in a thousand forms, more beautiful than the human -pattern—it is not alone the pencil of Zeuxis that fixed on -canvas the flitting beauties of the field and grove—it is not -alone the vast machinery that piled stone upon stone to -finish the pyramids. Mind speaking to mind has uttered -its powers, and has claimed of the present, wonder for the -past; History and Poetry have embalmed the actions of -the great, or expressed the devotion of the good, and -assured us of the lofty resolves and great deeds of men of -other years. The beauty of the ancient mind, however, -is to be detected by the uses and adaptation of ordinary -incidents—bending them to moral instruction by making -them illustrative of some principle—patriotism, religion, -social duty and domestic relations, or some deeply hidden -power, which sudden emotion, strong impulse, or unexpected -dilemma, is to call into action.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Take the following, which is some where extant. We -give only the statement of the asserted fact. We have -no copy of the narrative.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Leucippe was gathering the small delicate flowers which -blossomed over the dampness of a rock that beetled far -into the sea, and held its cold brow high above the waves -breaking eternally at its base. It was a lovely spot, cool, -fragrant, health-giving, and she took with her her little -child, the only blessing which had been spared. For one -moment the love of the beautiful of nature, the interest -of collecting, triumphed over maternal vigilance. She -turned, however, from the little harvest of sweets, and -saw her boy bending over the edge of the rock, regardless -of all danger, hopeful of only a single beautiful flower -that blossomed on the very edge of the steep. One word -of fear from the mother, one sudden movement toward -the child would have disturbed his balance, and he must -have toppled down beyond all hope of recovery even of -the lifeless form. No time was left for calculation, no -good could result from active efforts. With unspeakable -anguish the mother saw the danger, with the promptness -of woman’s judgment she rejected the ordinary means of -safety; with the instincts of a mother’s heart she threw -herself gently forward, and bared her bosom to the child, -and lured him gently back to nestle on his own home of -comfort, and draw life from the sympathetic founts that -gushed to his honeyed lips. It was the triumph of nature, -and the story seems to have inspired the artist for this -month. A beautiful illustration, while the picture itself -has suggested a title happily expressive of the idea conveyed -in the anecdote, “Nature’s Triumph.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But such a story, so full of instruction, so pregnant -with moral hints, should not be allowed to pass without -an improvement, that may make it more and more beneficial. -The experiment and the result may be properly -styled the triumph of nature, for the deep solicitude of -the mother, and especially her prompt expedient, are as -much the movement of nature as is the affection in -which they originated; and the attraction of the exposed -bosom for the exposed child, was as much the gift -of nature as was the hidden food which that bosom secreted -and stored.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But we love to consider the success of Leucippe as the -“Triumph of <span class='it'>Affection</span>,” not less than the “Triumph of -<span class='pageno' title='68' id='Page_68'></span> -Nature.” It is <span class='it'>both</span>, as it is differently considered; it is -either, in many ways regarded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Would the child, amused as it was with the flowers -that jutted out from the rock’s impending edge, and -pleased with the species of independence which its movements -and new position signified, would the child have -been lured by the exhibition of any other bosom than that -of its mother? Had a stranger discovered the little adventurer, -and being like Leucippe, conscious of the danger -of calling aloud, of startling the child by any approach, -had she bared her bosom, would not the infant have turned -away without interest from the exhibition, and pursued -its new occupation of flower gathering? Undoubtedly -the unknown, who had from <span class='it'>prudence</span> done what <span class='it'>affection</span> -suggested to Leucippe, would have seen at once that she -lacked the attractive power, that there was no sympathy -between her and the child. She might have felt all that a -woman can feel for the lovely infant of another—thus dangerously -situated—but the infant itself would not have -been influenced by a corresponding sympathy; it would -have lacked that affection necessary to a proper response -to the exhibition.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The triumph, then, is one of affection sympathizing with -affection; corresponding love answering with miraculous -organ, and instructing the great and good of all subsequent -times by the promptings of a mother’s instincts, and the -sympathies of an infant’s feelings. “Out of the mouths -of babes and sucklings.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I was struck a few months since with the distress that -was bearing down an intimate friend, and he made me the -<a id='dant'></a>confidant of his sorrows, and of their cause. The young -offender had forgotten the respect due to his parents; he -had forgotten or disregarded the <span class='it'>respect</span> which he owed to -the beautiful fame which had come down to him unsullied -through several generations; family pride, instead of exhibiting -itself in supporting the long-descended credit, was -visible in a sort of obstinate adherence to some misconceived -ideas of <span class='it'>self</span>-importance; he was ruining his own -health, and was fast approaching the precipice over which -his passions, or rather let me say, his <span class='it'>passion</span>, would soon -hurry him. His father had, at times, severely chid the -wayward youth, and the mother had, day by day, warned -him of his danger, so that he had by his false estimate of -filial duties and parental care, rather been accelerated in -his progress toward the line of destruction. A change -was suggested in the mode of dealing—his own danger -was not pointed out, but his attention was attracted back -upon those whom he had loved—and had left; he saw -whence he had derived all that delight to childhood, and -he turned back to the fountain of affection which had -gushed anew; and the birds of prey that had been hovering -round the precipice where he hung were disappointed of -their quarry. Those, who had wheeled around him with -pliant wing and open beak, hopeful of spoil, screamed -their disappointment in their filthy eyrie, and confessed -their defeat in the triumph of nature and affection.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I know well that the voice of kindness, uttered to the -erring, is often disregarded or despised, but less owing to -the want of power in the instrument, than in the want of -preparation in the object. So much of anger is manifested -toward the vicious, that they grow suspicious of every -exhibition of feeling in their behalf. You who would lure -them back to virtue, must not pause at a single token of -kind feeling; repeat the words of consolation; remember -that the very fault which you would correct may have -brought a part of the obstinacy which you deplore—remove -the obstinacy by kindness, and thus open a channel -to the source of the fault. He who would reclaim the -vicious must lay his account to find the moral system -reached in almost all its parts by those faults which by their -prominency seem to be the only ones that appeal for -remedy; and the failure of one measure must invite to another; -if one experiment lacks effect, strengthen it by -another; do not work with single means—it is false -economy. Leucippe bared both breasts to her wandering -infant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Conjugal affection disturbed by some <a id='occ'></a>occurrences which -are unbecoming, and yet seem unavoidable, is not to be -lessened by argument to prove either party right or wrong. -These will, much more readily, create acerbity by wounding -pride, than restore the lapsed passion. Affection has -little to do with the logic of an argument—little to derive -from the temper of discussion. When the evil is evident; -when the disturbance is most oppressive, let not the parties -imagine that any thing like cool reflection is to be had, or -is to be made available; let the woman look back beyond -the season of disquietude; let her bare her affections as -they were when all was sunshine in the domestic circle; -let her appeal to the undisturbed peace of such a scene, and -by her conduct show her erring husband that it is possible -to make the recollection of early delight stronger than the -memory of present bitterness. Men learn this lesson -easily, and practice it willingly. They need a teacher—they -need precept and example; but they are willing to -follow the leadings, and exhibit and rejoice in the triumph -of affection. It is so, apparently in the great things of -religion. Awful as are the dangers of neglect, it would seem -that the terrors of the law are less operative than the persuasions -of love. Notwithstanding the momentous question -propounded, and the alternative made manifest, it -would seem to an ordinary thinker, that the best mode of -preventing a course that would incur the terrible penalty, -would be to present the consequences of neglect, and to -drive by terrible denunciations the erring one from the -path that leads down to death. But not so argues the -inspired Apostle. “Knowing therefore the terrors of the -law,” (how <a id='appall'></a>appalling that thought,) “we <span class='it'>persuade</span> men,” -(how gentle, how enticing, how successful in such a cause -becomes “the triumph of affection.”)</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Whenever a triumph is to be achieved over evil passions -or vicious habits, then the appeal to the affections by the -affections must be the means employed. We may check -action or delay execution by fear, but we produce no -change in the sentiment, no correction of the motive. -We may prevent the offending one from injuring others, -but we do not by such means lessen his power or his -chance of injuring himself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Oh, how much of destruction, how much of the waste of -human feelings, human pride, and glorious self-respect -are due to the want of care in attempts to draw offenders -from the place of moral danger. Go to the home of -wretchedness and vice, and see how promptly the heart -responds to the voice of kindness, how one touch of nature -awakens the memory of early love, and recalls the hour of -peace and virtue, until the heart aches to contemplate the -chasm that vice has placed between the future and the -terrible present.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sneer at her who, unable yet to appreciate the consequences -of error, treads the path of danger or dallies on the -borders to gather flowers that blossom near destruction. -Sneer at her and she falls; call her back by the remembrance -of home and home joys, by the love of father and -friend; recall to her mind the unfailing affection of a -mother, and she will turn willingly from her false position, -be saved the crime, and only know what the consequences -might have been, by marking the fate of those who had -none to lure them back.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Our picture it is believed will be suggestive beyond our -remarks. It deserves a careful examination; may we not -hope that hundreds who gaze at the work of art will take -<span class='pageno' title='69' id='Page_69'></span> -up the moral lesson which it conveys, and resolve that -vice shall owe no triumph to their unkindness, and that -virtue shall not lose its followers for a want of the evidences -of affection in their lives and conduct. It is lessons -such as these that make art useful. It is lessons such -as these that make the pagans respected—it is the “triumph -of nature” over art, and the prevalence of affection over -error, that make Christianity beloved. We are happy to -make this Magazine the vehicle of moral truth, that takes -the best of ancient sentiment and of modern art for its -means, and has for its end the cultivation and triumph of -purest affection.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;margin-top:0.5em;font-size:0.9em;'>C.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>THE RAINY DAY.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>Odd as it may seem, the condition of the atmosphere has -a powerful influence on the animal spirits. It is the mercury -in the thermometer of mind, indicating its buoyancy -or depression. Who that is an observer of human nature -under its various peculiarities, has not been forcibly struck -with the vast difference in any one intimate friend, both -as to mental activity and sprightliness, on a beautiful, -bright, balmy May morning, and on a cold, cheerless, -comfortless, cloudy, rainy day in the same “moon”? The -whole man is changed—disposition, manner, mind and -temperament have undergone some radical metamorphosis. -The very mode of thought, the sentiments, the opinions -even, are inverted. He who was amiable, instructive, -communicative, and lively, is suddenly, by the veering of -the wind, changed into a sullen, sombre, morose cynic, -restless, moody and taciturn. Conversation is abandoned -for long sighs, deep respiration, involuntary growls and -lugubrious interjections. The agreeable companion of a -clear atmosphere is the thus altered being on <span class='it'>a Rainy Day</span>, -and the influence that has wrought a change so inimical -to individual and domestic economy, is that of the atmosphere. -To account for the cause is more the province of -a scientific pen. Whether electricity be most positive or -negative in certain conditions of the barometer, is a subject -for professors of the various “’isms” and “’icities” -of the day. The effect is too apparent to doubt the existence -of a cause, and the cause too involved in mystery, -to invite discovery by one unlearned in the theories of -Royal “Societies” or Republican “Schools.” “<span class='sc'>The -Atmosphere</span>: <span class='it'>Its Ingredients and Influences</span>,” by John -Smith, Fellow of the Royal Society: London 8vo. -“<span class='sc'>Electricity</span>: <span class='it'>Its Cause, Combinations and Effects</span>,” -by Charles Jones, M. D., Professor of Natural Science in -the Kainbridge University—New York: Harper & Brothers. -“<span class='sc'>Animal Magnetism Investigated</span>,” by Edward -Brown, Member of the United States Philosophical -Society, Late Professor in the Philadelphia Flight School—Philadelphia: -Carey & Hart. “<span class='sc'>The Analogy between -Mind and Matter</span>, <span class='it'>considered in relation to the -Doctrine of Transubstantiation and Revealed Religion</span>,” -by the Right Rev. Bishop Berdott—Universal Christian -Publication Association, Boston: Complete in One Volume—Second -Edition. These, and the like publications, -issuing almost daily, lasting monuments of the power of -the steam-press, are far too repulsive food for the uninitiated -in the art of philosophical digestion. We leave -them to the student, who, with fortitude sufficient for the -effort, will undertake the study of them on <span class='it'>a Rainy Day</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But cause undoubtedly there is, existing somewhere; -for so powerful an agent, revolutionizing our very nature, -must surely have “a local habitation and a name.” Do -not let us suppose that because the various Sir John Rosses -and Sir John Franklins have failed in their researches after -this <span class='it'>primum mobile</span>, that it is hidden from the eyes of -science. One of these seasons we shall be delighted by -an advertisement in all the daily papers announcing thus: -“Wonderful Discovery! Astounding Developments!! -Thousands unable to obtain Admission!!! The Reverend -Neophyte Frisky will deliver a Lecture at the Great Saloon -of the Chinese Museum. Subject—Atmospheric Influence -on Human-Natureology, showing its Cause and -Effects. Experiments will be made after the Lecture. -The Secret will be communicated to classes composed of -Gentlemen and Ladies, at Ten Dollars a ticket. For -notice of the hours of each class see small bills. Admission -(so as to bring it within the reach of all) Five Cents—Children -half price—Unbelievers admitted Free.” Thus -faith in the hidden things of science will be made clear to -the eyes of the million, and the singular phenomenon, exhibiting -itself in its manifest effects from a hitherto undiscovered -cause, will become as familiar to men as the -horrors of <span class='it'>a Rainy Day</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We fear that some will naturally regard these remarks -as intended to cast reproach on scientific investigation, and -research into the wide fields of pathological—naturo-philosophical—moral-philosophical -love. Far from it. We -beg to invite volunteers to unite in an overland expedition -after the philosopher’s stone. Let a company be formed -on shares, armed and equipped with revolvers and rifles -of the latest theory, to shoot opposition on the way for -food for the Association—with India Rubber life-boats to -cross the streams, and Gutta Percha tents to repose in on -the march—secure a flying-machine on the last model, to -transport the enthusiasts over mountains, and stock enough -at $5 a share to start the <span class='it'>enterprise</span>, if not the <span class='it'>expedition</span>. -We would not only invite the formation of such Associations -in all the Atlantic cities, but suggest to rural scientificators -to leave the plough of successful homebred labor, -sell out their little all, and invest at once. Why drudge -longer, alone and single-handed, when these combinations -and associations insure the journey to be made in six -weeks from the “Independence” of the first start. But, -reader, let us advise you, if you are seriously impressed -with the propriety of the undertaking and its certain success, -don’t dwell on the results to be attained on <span class='it'>a Rainy -Day</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Suggestions of unbelief in any novelty are more common -than should be. A course of opposition to the march -of mind, camping in its progress at startling or astounding -discoveries, is detrimental to the developments of -science, applied to every day use. We do not desire to -be regarded as cynical or infidel, and therefore avow an -attachment to these novelties <span class='it'>ex limine</span>. The utter incomprehensibility -of any scheme is no objection to its -feasibility. Far from it. On the contrary, the less it is -understood the more it is applauded. Once announced for -the investigation of the masses, a public meeting is called, -as follows: “TOWN MEETING. The citizens of the -village of Love-Your-Enemies will assemble in the Hall -where ‘justice is judicially administered,’ on Saturday -evening next, at 6 o’clock, to consider the propriety of -memorializing Congress to grant 100,000 acres of the -public domain, for the purpose of raising a fund to be invested -in the capital stock of a company about to be -formed, to construct an Electro-Magnetic Wire Suspension -Bridge from the Narrows, at New York, to Tusca -Light-House, on the English coast. Mr. Amasa Foresight -Marblehead, the discoverer of this wonderful invention -for the benefit of mankind, and patent pacification of nations, -will be present and explain its principal features.” -Signed by Hon. Col. Maj. M.D. Rev. Esq. The meeting -convenes at the appointed time. Speeches are made. -Diagrams, models, drawings, lithographs, sections are exhibited. -The audience are delighted, mystified, gratified, -magnified, humbuggified, and somnambulified. Resolutions -are offered. A disciple of Roger Sherman objects, -<span class='pageno' title='70' id='Page_70'></span> -and sonorously desires the <span class='it'>Cui Bono</span> in facts and figures. -Question! Question! is shouted by the Esquire who -signed the call, the brother of the chairman, and the gentleman -who organized the meeting. These vocular demonstrations -become public opinion, and under its -supreme potent influence the resolutions are adopted, and -the assembly adjourns. All is wonder, amazement and -vacuity. One doubts. He is beleaguered by the President, -Vice-President and Secretaries of the meeting, and silenced -with “specific gravity,” “conic sections,” “capillary -attraction,” “latent pressure,” “<a id='mall'></a>malleability of metals,” -“attraction of cohesion,” “sinuosity of fluxions,” and -the superior capacity of the arch over the horizontal, to -bear weight. The object is accomplished—the probability -assumes the shape of certainty—the unsophisticated are -converted—the community is alive to the absolute necessity -of the project—the most flattering prospects are in -the future. The bridge is built on paper, and on this mid-air -viaduct is represented flour and corn pouring into -England, and emigrants and their progeny pouring out. -How delightful! Well, “probably the humbug of the -thing” would never have been made known, had it not -been for the morbid disposition of some skeptic, exaggerated -by the atmospheric influence of <span class='it'>a Rainy Day</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The atmospheric influence, then, is savagely detrimental -to the mature development of extraordinary discoveries. -In this it is auti-practico-scientific, and will, ere long, be -driven from scholastic favoritism. Unwelcome as we have -shown it to be in individual and scientific economy, we -trust our researches into the economy of politics will -prove more favorable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The State is a comprehensive word, meaning a conglomeration -of voters. Voters are men presumed to be -aged one-and-twenty each—that is, every voter must be, -by law, in a majority before an election at which he votes, -but it is not unlawful for him to be in a minority after he -has voted. At this maturity they are infected with the -frailties of humanity, consequently they agree and disagree -with each other. Thus parties are formed on the -basis of “principles, not men,” for the one, and “men, -not principles,” for the other. On the supremacy of one -of these combinations the safety of the State depends—so -each conscientiously believes. To test the question, elections -have been established—a modern republican invention, -instead of the old “wager of battle.” The note of -preparation is sounded. Martial music echoes in city, -village, town and valley, in token of the peaceful nature -of the coming contest. The voters of each party are -gathered under banners inscribed with the poetry of -politics Speeches are made by the humble aspirant after -public fame in the shape of “spoils,” a figurative designation -for the reward of patriotism. The taverns are filled; -disquisitions on political principles, qualifications for -public servants, the past history of nominees, and the future -prospects of the faithful, are discussed with the blandness -and courtesy which mark all polemic controversies. -In order to purify the political atmosphere of such assemblies -in those party craniums called “Head Quarters,” -the fumes of tobacco, flavored with the insensible distillations -of “old rye” or “Monongahela,” are used <span class='it'>ad -libitum</span>. This, by the aid of music, speeches, rum and -tobacco, “the great principles of the party” are preserved -from decay, and made palatable to “generations yet unborn.” -As the contest progresses, it is more and more -marked by enthusiasm, sincerity, patriotism, self-devotedness -to those abstractions born in “’98,” and destined to -a green old age, or their immemorial antagonistic dogmas -of a more northern extraction. Music, meetings, speeches -and speculations, banners and bantering, polemics and -pyrotechnics, rum and rows, fights and fabrications, -placards and publications, advocates and anathemas, multiply -in <a id='prop'></a>proportion to the chances of success. Committees -of vigilance are active—window-committees impatient—voters -are volatile and vicarious—candidates are cajoling, -cabaling, convivial, cautious, curious and concerned. Thus -progresses the campaign. The day arrives—Election -Day—big with the fate of patronage and place. “To the -Polls, Freemen, to the Polls!” is conspicuous at every -turn, reminding those who have just awoke to the objects -of the day, after weeks spent in fruitless attempts to convince -them of the importance of the “Second Tuesday” -in the political Almanac. Voting is this absorbing business. -“Vote early,” is announced as of the utmost consequence. -“Vote for John Smith,” is pronounced the -only miracle by which liberty can be guaranteed to the -nation. Workingmen are informed that John Brown is -alone advised of the most salutary remedy for all their -evils. Business men are warned that prosperity will -abound under a Tariff, with the cabalistic addition of -“’42,” and that ruin belongs to that of “’46.” The timid -are startled by the announcement that the “country is -ruined,” and the “constitution has been violated,” while -anon is proclaimed that “the dearest rights of freemen are -in jeopardy.” So passes the “Second Tuesday”—voting, -voting, voting, “on age,” “on papers,” “on tax receipts,” -and “on principle.” There must be an end to -all things. So with Election Day. The polls are closed. -The counting begins. Majorities and victories are cheered -as published. One party claims success from figures, the -other from numbers. One calculates success, the other -votes it. It is decided, at last, by the indisputable returns. -The victors attribute their triumph to the people; the defeated -find consolation in the fact that they would have -been triumphant, had it not been—<span class='it'>a Rainy Day</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Atmospheric influences are suicidal, it seems, in politics. -And as it may seem, the character of the atmosphere has -a powerful influence on other things beside animal spirits. -Reader, pause—our task is done. Of a highly mercurial -temperament, affected with despondency or hilarity, as -the sky is cloudy or clear, we were forced to get rid of ourself -on one of those pluvious phenomena in the temperate -zone, and hence we wasted our own time and yours by -dedicating our reflections to <span class='it'>The Rainy Day</span>.</p> - -<hr class='tbk141'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Our New Volume.</span>—We do not think our patrons can -fail to be pleased with this the first number of a new -volume of “Graham’s Magazine.” We confess to feeling -proud of it ourselves, and think we fully redeem the -promise we made to increase the claims of our periodical -upon popular favor. No similar publication, it may be -confidently asserted, ever presented an equal array of -merits and attractions, whether the artistic embellishments -or literary contents be considered, and we know -that our good friends, the public, will award to us the -meed of superiority over all others, <span class='it'>nem. con.</span> But excellent -as the opening number of the volume is, the rest -shall fully equal if not surpass it in beauty. We have -always held our position in advance of all competition, -and the ground shall be maintained. Let others do as they -may, the subscribers to “Graham’s Magazine” may rest -assured that their favorite publication will never degenerate -or forfeit the proud distinction long ago conferred -upon it of being “The Gem of the Monthlies, and the -Leading Periodical in America.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Our subscription list is rapidly increasing; new friends -sending in their names every day. This is an appropriate -season to commence taking the Magazine, and the novelties -and new beauties we have in preparation will render -the current volume one well worthy of careful preservation.</p> - -<hr class='tbk142'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='71' id='Page_71'></span><h1><a id='review'></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h1></div> - -<hr class='tbk143'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>H. Kavanagh. A Tale. By H. W. Longfellow. Boston: -Wm. D. Ticknor & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This volume has been very extensively read, has delighted -almost every reader, and yet has left on the minds -of many a feeling of disappointment. Considered as a -novel, it must be admitted that the story is but slight, the -characters hinted rather than developed, and the whole -frame-work fragile; but it would perhaps be more fair to -judge it according to the purpose the author had in view -in writing it, and this purpose was evidently not the production -of a consistent novel, but the illustration of an -idea through the forms of a tale. Mr. Churchill, who is -always meditating a romance and never producing one, -and while musing over the idea is unconscious of the -romance developing under his very eyes, is a good illustration -of the motto of the work—</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“The flighty purpose never is o’ertook,</p> -<p class='line0'> Unless the deed go with it.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The romance present to Mr. Churchill’s vision, but which -he does not perceive, is, to be sure, a common one, but -none the less affecting because it is common. It is a -simple but quietly intense representation of love in its two -great expressions in life—the love which imparadises and -the love which breaks hearts; and it has no reference at -all to time, but is the universal fact of all ages.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In addition to his lovers, Mr. Longfellow has sketched -with much beautiful humor, the characters and characteristics -of a country town. His mirth is the very poetry of -mirth, sly, genial, fanciful, reminding the reader of Dickens -without suggesting the thought of imitation. All the incidents -and emotions of the book are enveloped in an -atmosphere of poetry. It is this magical charm of the poet, -investing the commonest materials with a drapery of imagination, -and sending a rich and golden flush through the -whole expression, which constitutes the merit of the -volume. An ideal sweetness, sometimes felt in the music -of the words, sometimes in the fine felicity of the imagery, -and sometimes in the “soft, Ausonion air,” breathed -upon the characters, pervades equally the author’s humor, -pathos, sentiment, passion and reflection. The effect of -the whole is not to thrill or exalt the reader, not to inspire -terror or awaken thoughts “beyond the reaches of -his soul,” but to fill him with the highest possible degree -of intellectual and moral comfort. There are no stings in -the author’s mind, and he plants none in the minds of -others. He is a mortal enemy to unrest, to all haggard -and unhandsome thoughts and sensibilities, and fuses -matter and spirit into a sensuous compound, calculated -to give poetic pleasure rather than to inspire poetic action.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There is one fault to the book more serious, perhaps, than -any other, and that is its shortness. The characters are -well conceived, but imperfectly developed. The premises -of Kavanagh’s character are excellent, but no conclusion -is drawn from them except his marriage, and that is something -of a <span class='it'>non-sequitur</span>. The ground is fairly broken for a -long work, for a sort of American Wilhelm Meister, and -though the author’s plan hardly demands its cultivation to -the extent of its capacity, we feel rather provoked that he -did not make his plan commensurate with the elements of -his characters. In Kavanagh we have a reformer who -blends cultivated and sensitive tastes with great aspirations, -and to have fully developed such a person, by representing -the modifications of his mind through its contact -with the reformers and conservatives of New England, -would have enabled Mr. Longfellow to produce the -most original and striking novel of the day, and one which -would have been a mirror of New England life in its present -manifestations. The ideas and purposes of Kavanagh -alone are given, and he, rather than Mr. Churchill spreads -a gulf between intentions and deeds. To have made the -woman he loved non-sympathetic with him as a reformer, -and the woman he did not love his adherent in that capacity, -would have finely complicated the matter, and resulted -in many original agonies, ecstasies, mental struggles, -and thrilling situations. Such a novel, even if, like -Goethe’s, it had cost ten years’ labor, would, as treated -by Mr. Longfellow, have obtained an instantaneous and -enduring popularity.</p> - -<hr class='tbk144'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>My Uncle the Curate. A Novel. By the Author of “The -Bachelor of the Albany” etc. New York: Harper & -Brothers.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The mere announcement of any thing from the sparkling -brain of the Bachelor of the Albany, is sufficient to raise -anticipations of brisk and business-like satire, of felicitous -expression, and of good-natured representation of the follies -of conventional life. The present work evinces more of -the novelist, and less of the wit-snapper, than any thing -the author has previously written. The story and the -characters, though plentifully bespangled with epigrams, -are still not immersed and lost in them; and there is not -that incessant effort after smartness and point which at -one period seemed to be the law of the writer’s mind. Mr. -Woodward, the Curate, has some capital traits of character -felicitously developed, and his wife, belonging to -that kind of women known as everybody’s mother, is -drawn to the life. In Mrs. Spenser we have one of those -plagues of mankind, who cause more misery than pestilence -and war—a nervous, fretful, peevish, unsatisfied, -vinegar-souled wife, engaged in slaughtering her husband -with pins, and making up for the weakness of her instruments -by the continuity of her attacks. Lucy McCracken -appears to have been suggested by Thackeray’s Becky -Sharp, and she is in every way inferior to the latter in the -logic of her artfulness. Dawson, Sidney Spenser, Markham -and Vivyan, are all well discriminated delineations -of young men, though the lover is the least interesting. -The author is something of a bungler in handling the -passions and affections, and considered as a man of wit, is -singularly blind to the ludicrous effect which his serious -scenes often produce. He is a capital laugher at the sentimentalities -and agonies of other novelists, but when he -ventures into their region he is as far from common sense -and natural feeling as any of the dabblers in broken hearts -and crushed affections whom he ridicules.</p> - -<hr class='tbk145'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Personal History and Experience of David Copperfield -the Younger. By Charles Dickens. Illustrated by -H. K Browne. New York: John Wiley. Part I.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The announcement of a new work by the most popular -novelist of the day, is quite an event to the famished lovers -of his genius. It is difficult to judge from the first number -whether it will be worthy of the author’s fame, but it -promises well both in respect to originality and interest. -With the characteristic traits of Dickens’s style and mode -of delineating characters and narrating events, it starts a -new society of individuals, who may rival the old familiar -names in popularity. The peculiar humor, fancy, sweetness, -<span class='pageno' title='72' id='Page_72'></span> -and verbal felicity, which have already delighted so -many thousands, appear in this work with their old power, -and give no signs of decay. For knowledge of the heart -we would allude to the scene in which Mrs. Copperfield -questions Davy as to the exact words the gentleman at -Lowestoft used in speaking of her beauty, as pre-eminently -excellent. For quaint humor, bordering continually on -pathos, the life which Davy led in the queer house on -Yarmouth beach, with Peggotty’s relations, might be -triumphantly quoted to silence all doubts of Dickens’s -continued fertility. The knowledge evinced throughout -of the interior workings and external expression of a -child’s mind, is quite remarkable. Indeed, if the author -proceeds as he has commenced, there can be little fear of -his success. It remains, however, to be seen, whether or -not his characters will please through twenty numbers.</p> - -<hr class='tbk146'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Holydays Abroad; or Europe from the West. By Mrs. -Kirkland. New York: Baker & Scribner. 2 vols. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The accomplished authoress of these elegant volumes -has established so good a reputation by her previous -writings, that we opened her present book with some reluctance, -fearing that the subject would be too threadbare -even for her powers to make interesting. Indeed records -of tours in Europe have become so common, so natural an -employment of aspiring mediocrity, that to read them is -an exercise in yawning, and to criticise them an assumption -of the office of executioner. We prefer dullness in -almost any other form. It is due to Mrs. Kirkland, however, -to acknowledge that she has triumphed over the -disadvantages of her subject, and produced a really interesting -work, avoiding all the wearisome topographical -inanities and stereotyped opinions of most tourists, and -giving a new and vivid glimpse of foreign life. She appears -to understand the wants of her readers, and she tells -them the very things they most desire to know. Her -passage on St. Peter’s is one instance among many which -the book affords, of her knowledge of the ignorance of her -readers, and her felicity in suggesting a view of a whole -subject by fixing on a few important details. She generally -succeeds in conveying so warm an impression of the -objects she describes, as to make her readers the companions -in the journey.</p> - -<hr class='tbk147'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Adirondack; or Life in the Woods. By J. T. Headley, -Author of Washington and his Generals, etc. New York: -Baker & Scribner. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>In this volume the dashing and brilliant author of Napoleon -and his Marshals has occupied a new ground. The -northern section of the state of New York, comprising -nearly eight counties, is still an unsubdued forest, “crossed -by no road, enlivened by no cultivation, not a keel disturbing -its waters, while bears, panthers, wolves, moose and -deer, are the only lords of the soil.” Into this region Mr. -Headley conducts his readers, and certainly few subjects -could be better fitted for his picturesque pen. The magnificent -scenery of the region he has described with great -force, freshness and pictorial effect, and the various adventures -incident to a life in the woods, are narrated with the -author’s accustomed vigor and raciness. The work being -in the form of familiar letters, admits of every style of verbal -expression which truly reflects the feeling of the moment, -and the reader is therefore not troubled by the presence of -those occasional audacities of diction which, in Mr. Headley’s -more elaborate works, sometimes offend a pure taste.</p> - -<hr class='tbk148'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Analogy of the Ancient Craft, Masonry, to Revealed Religion. -Gregg & Elliott.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is the title of a beautifully printed octavo volume, -from the pen, and evidently from the heart, of Charles -Scott, A. M., Grand Master of the Grand Lodge of the -State of Mississippi. The literature of the Order of -Masonry is not extensive, for reasons that the members of -the Order probably fully comprehend. It is confined to a -few volumes of addresses, and to some liturgies and handbooks; -all, of course, useful to the craft, but not all interesting -to the world. The volume before us is the result -of much deep feeling, which manifested and employed -itself in careful research, close reading, sustained reflection, -and an able exposition of the results of all those -processes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Analogy is ably made, and though the uninitiated -may not feel the same interest as do the “craftsmen” in -the Analogy, yet many readers will find on its pages much -to admire, much that will instruct, much that will lead -him to reflect and inquire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The initiated who sits down to the book with a love of -the institution, will find that love augmented, his respect -increased, and his views greatly enlarged by the developments -of the able author of the volume. We commend -the work to the attention of general readers, but especially -to those who share membership with Mr. Scott.</p> - -<hr class='tbk149'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Last Leaves of American History: Comprising Histories -of the Mexican War and California. By Emma Willard. -New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Commencing with the inauguration of General Harrison, -Mrs. Willard presents us with a clear and condensed account -of the events which followed to the close of the -Mexican war. Although most of them are familiar to the -readers of the newspapers, we suppose that few minds -possess them in their order and connection, stripped of all -exaggeration and telegraphic inaccuracies. Mrs. Willard -writes in a bold, decisive style, without any apparent -partisan object, and with no other purpose to serve than -to glorify the country as far as it can be done without any -sacrifice of truth. We have found the volume interesting -and accurate.</p> - -<hr class='tbk150'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Genius of Italy: being Sketches of Italian Life, Literature -and Religion. By Rev. Robert Turnbull, Author -of Genius of Scotland, etc. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. -1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is an exceedingly interesting and well-written -volume, full at once of discernment and enthusiasm, exhibiting -considerable knowledge of Italian literature, -scenery, manners and character, and showing a true Anglo-Saxon -sagacity in its views of the present state of Italy. -The work is both descriptive and critical, and many passages -have a pictorial distinctness which prove that the -objects described were visibly mirrored on the writer’s -imagination as he wrote. The sketches of Dante, Tasso, -Ariosto, Petrarch, contain many correct opinions, and are -well calculated to convey information as well as to inspire -enthusiasm for the genius of Italy.</p> - -<hr class='tbk151'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>History of King Charles the Second of England. By Jacob -Abbott. With Engravings. New York: Harper & Brothers. -1 vol. 16mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is a most useful and entertaining biography of a -regal roué, whose reign is the scoff and jeer of history. -Charles was a good-natured rascal, whose destitution of -principle and indifference to shame, approached the marvelous. -The record of his reign is full of matter for reflection, -and Mr. Abbott has presented it with more than -his accustomed felicity in the selection of events, and -graceful simplicity of style.</p> - -<hr class='tbk152'/> - -<div><h1 style='visibility:hidden; margin:0; font-size:0;' >LE FOLLET</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'><a id='follet'></a></p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<a href='images/i178f.jpg'> -<img src='images/i178.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0010' style='width:400px;height:auto;'/> -</a> -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:10em;'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Anaïs Toudouze</span></p> - -<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'><span style='font-size:larger'><span class='bold'>LE FOLLET</span></span></p> -<p class='line'><span class='bold'>PARIS</span>, <span class='it'>Boulevart</span> S<sup>t</sup>. Martin, 61</p> -<p class='line'><span class='it'>Robes de</span> Camille</p> -<p class='line'><span class='it'>Dentelles de</span> Violard, <span class='it'>r. Choiseul, 2<sup>bis</sup>—Fleurs de</span> Chagot ainé, <span class='it'>r. Richelieu, 81</span>;</p> -<p class='line'><span class='it'>Eventail de</span> Vagneur Dupré, <span class='it'>r. de la Paix, 19</span>.</p> -<p class='line'>Graham’s Magazine</p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk153'/> - -<div><h1><a id='tear'></a>WHAT’S A TEAR?</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:0.9em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>A BALLAD.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:0.5em;font-size:1.1em;'>SUNG BY MRS. SEGUIN,</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.2em;'>COMPOSED BY</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>M. W. BALFE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'>Presented By GEORGE WILLIG, No. 171 Chestnut St., Philadelphia.</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<a href='images/i179f.jpg'> -<img src='images/i179.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0011' style='width:500px;height:auto;'/> -</a> -</div> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>What’s a tear? Mother dear!</p> -<p class='line'>  Look not thou in sorrow!</p> -<p class='line'>As at dawn, from the thorn,</p> -<p class='line'>  Falls the dew my Mother,</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<a href='images/i180f.jpg'> -<img src='images/i180.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0012' style='width:500px;height:auto;'/> -</a> -</div> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>Let this grief find relief,</p> -<p class='line'>  I’ll not weep tomorrow!</p> -<p class='line'>His I’ll be, none shall see</p> -<p class='line'>  How I love another,</p> -<p class='line'>How I love,—love another!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>       SECOND VERSE.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>As the rose, while it blows,</p> -<p class='line'>  Hidden canker weareth;</p> -<p class='line'>Sigh shall ne’er whisper here,</p> -<p class='line'>  How this heart despaireth:</p> -<p class='line'>What’s a tear? Mother dear!</p> -<p class='line'>  His I’ll be, Oh Mother!</p> -<p class='line'>Though I die, since on high</p> -<p class='line'>  I may love another.</p> -<p class='line'>          How I love another.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk154'/> - -<p class='line' style='margin-top:2em;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'><a id='notes'></a>Transcriber’s Notes:</p> - -<p class='noindent'>Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained as well as some spellings -peculiar to Graham’s. Punctuation has been corrected -without note. Other errors have been corrected as noted below. For -illustrations, some caption text may be missing or incomplete due to condition of -the originals used for preparation of the ebook.</p> - -<div class='lgl' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>page iii, Story. <span class='sc'>Lydia Jane</span> ==> Story. <a href='#lydia'>By</a> <span class='sc'>Lydia Jane</span></p> -<p class='line'>page 1, Rensellaer who commanded, ==> <a href='#renss'>Rensselaer</a> who commanded,</p> -<p class='line'>page 2, Coffin, an aid of ==> Coffin, an <a href='#aide'>aide</a> of</p> -<p class='line'>page 2, escape occured to ==> escape <a href='#occur'>occurred</a> to</p> -<p class='line'>page 2, promoted) and a gallant ==> promoted) <a href='#noand'>a gallant</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 2, serve as marines. ==> serve as <a href='#marine'>marine</a>.</p> -<p class='line'>page 4, proceeded to Fort Levenworth ==> proceeded to Fort <a href='#leaven'>Leavenworth</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 6, accompanied the cortegé ==> accompanied the <a href='#cort'>cortège</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 15, his griping fingers, ==> his <a href='#grip'>gripping</a> fingers,</p> -<p class='line'>page 24, them pleasant excursions ==> them <a href='#tookthem'>on</a> pleasant excursions</p> -<p class='line'>page 29, blood tinging its ==> blood <a href='#tinge'>tingeing</a> its</p> -<p class='line'>page 35, my tiny bark, unguided ==> my tiny <a href='#bark'>barque</a>, unguided</p> -<p class='line'>page 41, varient circumstances ==> <a href='#var'>variant</a> circumstances</p> -<p class='line'>page 43, desire ought but that ==> desire <a href='#aught'>aught</a> but that</p> -<p class='line'>page 45, sort of wrapt awe ==> sort of <a href='#rapt'>rapt</a> awe</p> -<p class='line'>page 51, wordly prosperity could ==> <a href='#world'>worldly</a> prosperity could</p> -<p class='line'>page 60, heartless coquetery? Or ==> heartless <a href='#coquet'>coquetry</a>? Or</p> -<p class='line'>page 61, concering it. There ==> <a href='#concern'>concerning</a> it. There</p> -<p class='line'>page 65, John their confident ==> John their <a href='#conf'>confidant</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 65, irruption of Vesuvius ==> <a href='#erupt'>eruption</a> of Vesuvius</p> -<p class='line'>page 66, kissed him affectionatly ==> kissed him <a href='#affect'>affectionately</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 68, confident of his sorrows ==> <a href='#dant'>confidant</a> of his sorrows</p> -<p class='line'>page 68, by some occurences ==> by some <a href='#occ'>occurrences</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 68, (how appaling that ==> (how <a href='#appall'>appalling</a> that</p> -<p class='line'>page 70, “mallability of metals,” ==> “<a href='#mall'>malleability</a> of metals,”</p> -<p class='line'>page 70, propotion to the chances ==> <a href='#prop'>proportion</a> to the chances</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXV, No. 1, -July 1849, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, JULY 1849 *** - -***** This file should be named 55362-h.htm or 55362-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/3/6/55362/ - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from -page images generously made available by Google Books - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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