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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..1db0bce --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55372 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55372) diff --git a/old/55372-0.txt b/old/55372-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2b1188f..0000000 --- a/old/55372-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7528 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXV, No. 2, August -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. 2, August 1849 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George R. Graham - J.R. Chandler - J.B. Taylor - -Release Date: August 16, 2017 [EBook #55372] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, AUGUST 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 - - - - - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - VOL. XXXV. AUGUST, 1849. No. 2. - - - Table of Contents - - Fiction, Literature and Articles - - The Curtain Lifted - Indian Legend of the Star and Lily - Jasper St. Aubyn - Sketches of Life in Our Village - Mary Wilson - Olden Times - Two Hours of Doom - The Captive of York - A Memory - Wild-Birds of America - Editor’s Table - Review of New Books - - Poetry, Music, and Fashion - - Watouska: A Legend of the Oneidas - The Improvisatrice - The Eighteenth Sonnet of Petrarca - Elim - Faith’s Warning - Lament of the Gold-Digger - To Mary - Little Willie - Words of Waywardness - Translation of a Recently Discovered Fragment of a - Poem by Sappho - Ermengarde’s Awakening - Kubleh - This World of Ours - My Spirit - Le Follet - Yes, Let Me Like a Soldier Fall - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: LA SIESTA.] - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - VOL. XXXV. PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST, 1849. NO. 2. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE CURTAIN LIFTED. - - - OR PROFESSIONS—PRACTICAL AND THEORETICAL. - - - BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER. - - - CHAPTER I. - - _The Deacon._ - -Everybody called Mr. Humphreys a good man. To have found any fault with -the deacon would have been to impugn the church itself, whose most firm -pillar he stood. No one stopped to analyze his goodness—it was enough -that in all outward semblance, in the whole putting together of the -outward man, there was a conformity of sanctity; that is, he read his -Bible—held family prayers night and morning—preached long homilies to -the young—gave in the cause of the heathen—and was, moreover, of a -grave and solemn aspect, seldom given to the folly of laughter. - -All this, and more did good Deacon Humphreys; and yet one thing he -lacked, viz., the sweet spirit of charity. - -I mean not that he oppressed the widow, or robbed the orphan of bread; -no, not this, it was the cold unforgiving spirit with which he looked -upon the errors of his fellow man—the iron hand with which he thrust -far from him the offender, which betrayed the want of that charity -“_which rejoiceth not in iniquity, suffereth long, and is kind_.” - -He was also pertinaciously sectarian. No other path than the one in -which he walked could lead to eternal life. No matter the sect, so that -they differed from him, it was enough—they were outlawed from the gates -of Heaven. Ah! had the deacon shared more the spirit of our blessed -Saviour, in whose name he offered up his prayers, then, indeed, might he -have been entitled to the Christian character he professed. - -Mrs. Humphreys partook largely of her husband’s views. She, too, was -irreproachable in her daily walks, and her household presented a rare -combination of order and neatness. The six days work was done, and done -faithfully, and the seventh cared for, ere the going down of the -Saturday’s sun, which always left her house in order—her rooms newly -swept and garnished—the stockings mended—the clean clothes laid out -for the Sabbath wear—while in the kitchen pantry, a joint of cold meat, -or a relay of pies, was provided, that no hand might labor for the -creature comforts on the morrow. As the last rays of the sun disappeared -from hill and valley, the doors of the house were closed—the blinds -pulled down—the well-polished mahogany stand drawn from its upright -position in the corner of the sitting-room, which it occupied from -Monday morning until the coming of the Saturday night—the great family -Bible placed thereon, while with countenances of corresponding gravity, -and well-balanced spectacles, the deacon and his wife read from its holy -pages. - -Thus in all those outward observances of piety, whereon the great eyes -of the great world are staring, I have shown that the deacon and his -good wife might challenge the closest scrutiny. Nor would I be -understood to detract aught from these observances, or throw down one -stone from the altars of our Puritan fathers. We need all the legacy -they left their children. The force of good example is as boundless as -the tares of sin—let us relax nothing which may tend to check the evil -growth—and who shall say that the upright walk of Deacon Humphreys was -without a salutary influence. - -But it is with the _inner_ man we have to do. The fairest apples are -sometimes defective at the core. - - - CHAPTER II. - - _Grassmere and its Inhabitants._ - -Grassmere was a quiet out-of-the-way village, hugged in close by grand -mountains, and watered by sparkling rivulets and cascades, which came -leaping down the hillsides like frolicksome Naiads, and then with a -murmur as sweet as the songs of childhood, ran off to play bo-peep with -the blue heavens amid the deep clover-fields, or through banks sprinkled -with nodding wild-flowers. - -A tempting retreat was Grassmere to the weary man of business, whose -days had been passed within the brick and mortar walks of life, and whom -the fresh air, and the green grass, and the waving woods, were but as a -page of delicious poetry snatched at idle hours. Free from the turmoil -and vexations of the city, how pleasant to tread the down-hill of life, -surrounded by such peaceful influences as smiled upon the inhabitants of -Grassmere, and several beautiful cottages nestling in the valley, or -dotting the hill-side, attested that some fortunate man of wealth had -here cast loose the burthen of the day, to repose in the quiet of -nature. - -Although our story bears but slightly save upon three or four of the -three thousand inhabitants of Grassmere, I will state that a variety of -religious opinions had for several years been gradually creeping into -this primitive town, and that where once a single church received the -inhabitants within one faith, there were now four houses of worship, all -embracing different tenets. But the deacon walked heavenward his own -path, shaking his skirts free from all contamination with other sects, -whom, indeed, he looked upon as little better than heathen. - -The pastor of the church claiming so zealous a member, was a man eminent -for his Christian benevolence. His was not the piety which exhausted -itself in words—heart and soul did he labor to do his Master’s will, -and far from embracing the rigid views of the worthy Deacon Humphreys, -he wore the garb of charity for all, and in his great, good heart loved -all. - -He had one son, who, at the period from which my story dates, was -pursuing his collegiate course at one of our most popular institutions, -and in his own mind the deacon had determined that Hubert Fairlie should -become the husband of his only daughter, Naomi. In another month Hubert -was to return to pass his vacation at Grassmere, and Naomi looked -forward to the meeting with unaffected pleasure. They had been playmates -in childhood, companions in riper years; but love had nothing to do with -their regard for each other, yet the deacon could not conceive how -friendship alone should thus unite them. At any rate Naomi must be the -wife of Hubert—that was as set as his Sunday face. - -The deacon was a man well off in worldly matters. He owned the large, -highly cultivated farm on which he lived, as also several snug houses -within the village, which rented at good rates. - -But the little cottage at Silver-Fall was untenanted. Through the -inability of its former occupant to pay the rent, it had returned upon -the hands of the deacon, and although one of the most delightful -residences for miles around, had now been for several months without a -tenant. - -A charming spot was Silver-Fall, with its little dwelling half hidden by -climbing roses and shadowy maples. Smooth as velvet was the lawn, with -here and there a cluster of blue violets clinging timidly together, and -hemmed by a silvery thread of bright laughing water, which, within a few -rods of the cottage-door, suddenly leaped over a bed of rocks some -twenty feet high, into the valley below. This gave it the name of -Silver-Fall Cottage—all too enticing a spot it would seem to remain -long unoccupied. Yet the snows of winter yielded to the gentle breath of -spring, and the bright fruits of summer already decked the hedge-rows -and the thicket, ere a tenant could be found, and then there came a -letter to Mr. Humphreys from a widow lady living in a distant city, -requiring the terms on which he would lease his pretty cottage. - -They were favorable, it would seem, to her views, and in due time Mrs. -Norton, her daughter Grace, and two female domestics, arrived at -Silver-Fall. - - - CHAPTER III. - - _One Fold of the Curtain drawn back._ - -A new comer in a country village is always sure to elicit more or less -curiosity, and Mrs. Norton did not escape without her due share from the -inhabitants of Grassmere. With telegraph speed it was found out that she -was a lady between thirty and forty years of age, dressed in bombazine, -and wore close mourning caps. Miss Norton was talked of as a slender, -fair girl, with blue eyes, and long, flowing curls, and might be -seventeen, perhaps twenty—of course, they could not be strictly -accurate in this matter. - -Bales of India matting were unrolled in the door-yard—crates of -beautiful china unpacked in the piazza—sofas and chairs crept out from -their rough traveling cases, displaying all the beauty of rosewood and -damask, until finally by aid of all these means and appliances to boot, -Mrs. Norton and her daughter were pronounced very _genteel_—but— - -“But, I wonder what they are!” said Mrs. Humphreys to the deacon, as -talking over these secular matters she handed him his second cup of -coffee. - -Not that the good lady had any doubt of their being _bona fide_ flesh -and blood; neither did she believe they were witches or fairies who had -taken up their abode at Silver-Fall. “_I wonder what they are!_” must -therefore be interpreted as “_I wonder what church they attend_,” or -“_what creed they profess_.” - -The deacon shook his head and looked solemn. - -“It is to be hoped,” continued Mrs. Humphreys, complacently stirring the -coffee, “that at her period of life Mrs. Norton may be a professor of -some kind.” - -The deacon dropped his knife and fork—he was shocked—astounded. - -“I am surprised to hear you speak thus lightly, Mrs. Humphreys—_a -professor of some kind_! Is it not better that she should yet rest in -her sins, than to be walking in the footsteps of error—a _professor of -some kind_! Wife—wife—you forget yourself!” exclaimed the deacon. - -“I spoke thoughtlessly, I acknowledge,” answered Mrs. Humphreys, much -confused by the stern rebuke of her husband. “I meant to say, I hoped -she had found a pardon for her sins.” - -“Have you forgotten that you are a parent?” continued the deacon, -solemnly. “Can you suffer the ears of your daughter to drink in such -poison! _A professor of some kind!_ Naomi, my child,” placing his hand -on the sunny head before him, “beware how you listen to such doctrine; -there is but one true faith—there is but one way by which you can be -saved. Go to your chamber, and pray you may not be led into error -through your mother’s words of folly!” - -But there were others at Grassmere most anxiously wondering, like good -Mrs. Humphreys, “_what they were_,” ere they so far committed themselves -as to call upon the strangers. Sunday, however, was close at hand; Mrs. -Norton’s choice of a church was to determine them the choice of her -acquaintance. - -Does the reader think the inhabitants of Grassmere peculiar? I think -not. There are very many just such people not a hundred rods from our -own doors. - -Unfortunately, on Sunday the rain poured down in torrents. Nothing less -impervious than strong cowhide boots—India-rubber overcoats, and thick -cotton umbrellas, could go to meeting, consequently, Mrs. Norton staid -at home, and on Monday afternoon, after the washing was done, and the -deacon had turned his well saturated hay, Mrs. Humphreys put on her best -black silk gown and mantilla, her plain straw bonnet, with white -trimmings, and walked over with her husband to Silver-Fall cottage. As -the widow rented her house of them, they could not in decency, they -reasoned, longer defer calling upon her. - -A glance within the cottage would convince any one that Mrs. Norton and -Grace were at least persons of refinement—for there is as much -character displayed in the arrangement of a room as in the choice of a -book. - -Cream colored mattings, and window-curtains of transparent lace, -relieved by hangings of pale sea-green silk, imparted a look of -delicious coolness to the apartments. There was no display of gaudy -furniture, as if a cabinet warehouse had been taken on speculation—yet -there was enough for comfort and even elegance; nor was there an over -exhibition of paintings—one of Cole’s beautiful landscapes, and a few -other gems of native talent were all; nor were the tables freighted as -the counter of a toy-shop; the only ornament of each was a beautiful -vase of Bohemian glass, filled with fresh garden flowers, whose tasteful -arrangement even fairy hands could not have rivaled. - -The few moments they were awaiting the entrance of Mrs. Norton were -employed by Mrs. Humphreys in taking a rapid survey of all these -surroundings, the result of which was to impress her with a sort of awe -for the mistress of this little realm. - -“My stars!” said she, casting her eyes to the right and left, half -rising from the luxurious couch to peep into one corner, and almost -breaking her neck to dive into another, “my stars, deacon, if this don’t -beat all I ever did see!” - -But the deacon, with an air worthy of a funeral, shook his head, closed -his eyes, and muttered, - -“Vanity—vanity!” - -The door opened, and Grace gliding in, sweetly apologized for her -mother, whom a violent headache detained in her apartment. - -“Well, I do wish I knew what they were!” again exclaimed Mrs. Humphreys, -as she took the deacon’s arm and plodded thoughtfully homeward. - -Then going to a dark cupboard under the stairs, she rummaged for some -time among the jars and gallipots, and finally producing one marked -“Raspberry Jam,” she told Naomi to put on her Sunday bonnet, and carry -it to the cottage, and— - -“Naomi, you may just as well ask Grace Norton what meeting she goes to.” - -Delighted to make the acquaintance of Grace, Naomi threw on her bonnet -and tripped lightly to the cottage, thinking little, we fear, of her -mother’s last charge. At any rate it was omitted, and so the night-cap -of Mrs. Humphreys again threw its broad frilling over an unsatisfied -brow. - -In the morning the deacon received a very neat note from Mrs. Norton, -requesting to see him up on business. - -“And now, my dear sir,” said she, after the common courtesies of the day -were passed, “I have taken the liberty to send for you to transact a -little business for me. If not too great a tax upon your time, will you -purchase a pew for me?” - -The deacon grimly smiled, and rubbing his knee, replied, - -“Why, yes, Mrs. Norton, I shall be glad to attend to the matter. True, -it is a busy season with us farmers, but the Lord forbid I should -therefore neglect _his_ business.” - -“Do you think you can procure me one?” asked Mrs. Norton. - -“O, I reckon so, for I am certain there are several pews now to be let -or sold either.” - -“And what price, Mr. Humphreys?” - -“Well, I guess about sixty dollars; and now I recollect, Squire Bryce -wants to sell his—it is right alongside of mine, and I reckon my pew is -as good for hearing the word as any in the meeting-house. I am glad, -really I do rejoice to find you a true believer.” - -“You mistake my church, I see,” said Mrs. Norton, smiling, “I belong to -a different denomination from the one of which as I am aware you are a -professor.” - -“Then,” cried the deacon, rising hastily and making for the door, -“excuse me—I—I know nothing of any other church or its pews. I cannot -be the instrument of seating you where false doctrines are preached! -I—good morning, ma’am.” - -The widow sighed as the gate slammed after her visiter, but Grace burst -into a merry fit of laughter. - -“How ridiculous!” she exclaimed; “was there ever such absurdity!” - -“Hush, hush my dear child,” said Mrs. Norton, “Mr. Humphreys is without -doubt perfectly conscientious in this matter—we may pity, but not -condemn such zeal in the cause of religion.” - -“Do you call bigotry religion, mamma?” asked Grace. - -“A person may be a very good Christian, Grace, and yet be very much of a -bigot,” answered her mother. “That such a spirit as Mr. Humphreys has -just now shown may often be productive of more evil than good, I allow. -His aim is to do good, but he adopts the wrong measures.” - -“Why, mamma, one would have judged from his manner that we were -infidels!” said Grace. - -“O no, my child, he did not really think that,” replied Mrs. Norton, -smiling at her earnestness. “He only felt shocked at what he deems our -error—for he sacredly believes there can be no safety in any other -creed than his own. Without the charity therefore to think there may be -good in all sects, and lacking the desire to study the subject, or -rather so much wedded to his belief that he would deem it almost a sin -to do so, like an unjust judge, he condemns without a hearing. There are -too many such mistaken zealots in every creed of worship. O, my dear -child,” continued Mrs. Norton, her fine eyes bathed in tears, “would -that members of every sect might unite in love and charity to one -another! They are all aiming alike to love and serve Christ, and yet -take no heed to his commandment, ‘_Love ye one another!_’” - -“Well, mamma, for the sake of his sweet daughter, Naomi, I can forgive -the good deacon. I have never seen a more interesting face than hers, -and her manners are as graceful and lady-like as if she had never seen -the country,” said Grace. - -“And most probably a great deal more so, my love,” replied Mrs. Norton, -“for nature can add a grace which courts cannot give. But I agree with -you in thinking Miss Humphreys interesting; she is, indeed, so, and if -her countenance prove an index of her mind, I think you may promise -yourself a pleasing companion.” - -But the deacon, it seems, was of a different way of thinking, and no -sooner did he enter under his own roof, place his oak stick in the -corner, and hang up his hat on the peg behind the door, than going into -the kitchen where the good wife was busily employed preparing the -noonday meal, assisted by Naomi, he made known with serious countenance, -that he had discovered _what they were_ at Silver-Fall cottage! - -Of course, Miss Norton was not such a companion as they would choose for -Naomi. True, she was a pretty girl, and Mrs. Norton a lady of faultless -manners; but then so much the more danger, and therefore Naomi, though -not forbidden, was admonished to beware of their new acquaintances. - - - CHAPTER IV. - - _Love Passages._ - -The summer passed, and in the bright month of September, came Hubert -Fairlie, to pass a few weeks beneath the glad roof of his parents, whose -only and beloved child he was. - -Their warm welcome given, the first visit of Hubert was to Naomi. They -met as such young and ardent friends meet after an absence of months, -and Naomi soon confided to him her regret that her parents would not -allow her to cultivate the friendship of Grace Norton, whom she extolled -in such warm and earnest language, that Hubert found his curiosity -greatly excited to behold one calling forth such high eulogium from the -gentle Naomi. - -An evening walk was accordingly planned which would lead them near the -cottage, hoping by that means to obtain a glimpse of its fair inmate. -Fortune favored them. As they came within view of the cottage, a sweet -voice was heard chanting the Evening Hymn to the Virgin, and Hubert and -Naomi paused to listen to as heavenly sounds as ever floated on the calm -twilight air. Then as the song concluded, Grace herself still sweeping -her fairy fingers over the strings to a lively waltz, sprang out from -the little arbor, and with her hair floating around her like stray -sunbeams, her beautiful blue eyes lifted upward, her white arms -embracing the guitar, and her graceful figure swaying to the gay measure -like a bird upon the tree-top, tripped over the greensward. - -Among other amusements which the deacon held in great abhorrence was -dancing, and Naomi had been taught to look upon all such exhibitions as -vain and sinful. Yet never, I may venture to say, did any pair of little -feet so long to be set at liberty as did Naomi’s—_pat—pat—pat-ing_ -the gravel-walk where they stood, urging their young mistress to bound -through the gate and trip it with those other little feet twinkling so -fleetly to the merry music. - -The cheeks of Grace rivaled the hue of June roses, as she suddenly -encountered the gaze of a stranger; but seeing Naomi, she hastened to -greet her, and thereby hide her embarrassment. Naomi introduced her -companion, and then Grace invited them to walk in the garden, and look -at her fine show of autumn flowers. Minutes flew imperceptibly, and ere -they were aware, Hubert and Naomi found themselves seated in the -tasteful parlor of the cottage listening to another sweet song from the -lips of Grace. - -As this is not precisely a love tale, I may as well admit at once, that -Hubert became deeply enamored of the bewitching Grace, and from that -evening was a frequent and not unwelcome visiter—a fact which was soon -discovered by the deacon, for noting that Hubert came not so often as -was his wont to the farm, he set about to find out what could have so -suddenly turned the footsteps of the young man from his door. - -Alas, for his hopes of a son-in-law in Hubert! He found those footsteps -very closely on the track of as dainty a pair of slippers as ever graced -the foot of a Cinderella. - -Nothing could exceed his disappointment, save the pity he felt for his -minister, whose son he considered rushing blindly into the snares of the -Evil One. Nay, so far did he carry his pity as to warn Mr. Fairlie of -the dereliction of Hubert. But when that worthy man reproved his -uncharitableness, and acknowledged that he could hope for no greater -earthly happiness for his son, than to see him the husband of so -charming and amiable a girl as Grace Norton, the deacon was perfectly -thunderstruck! It was dreadful—what would the world come to! In short -almost believing in the apostacy of the minister himself, the deacon -went home groaning in spirit, as much perhaps for the frustration of his -own schemes, as for the “falling off,” as he termed it of the reverend -clergyman! - -The swift term of vacation expired, and Hubert returned to college. His -collegiate course would end with the next term, and then it was his wish -to commence the study of the law. Mr. Fairlie was, perhaps, somewhat -disappointed that his son did not adopt his own sacred profession; but -he was a man of too much sense to force the decision of Hubert or thwart -his wishes. He hoped to see him a good man whatever might be his -calling; and if ever youth gave promise to make glad the heart of a -parent, that youth was Hubert Fairlie. - -The intercourse between Grace and Naomi from this time almost wholly -ceased, much to the regret of both. Yet such were the orders of Deacon -Humphreys, whose good-will toward the widow and her daughter was by no -means strengthened by the events of the last four weeks. - - - CHAPTER V. - - _The Practical and Theoretical Christian._ - -“Why what have you done with Nelly to-day?” asked Mrs. Humphreys, of her -washerwoman, who came every Monday morning, regularly attended by a -little ragged, half-starved girl of four years old, whose province it -was to pick up the clothes-pins, drive the hens off the bleach, and keep -the kittens from scalding their frisky tails—receiving for her reward a -thin slice of bread and butter, or maybe, if all things went right, and -no thunder-squalls brewed, or sudden hurricanes swept over the -clothes-fold, a piece of gingerbread or a cookey. “What, I say, have you -done with Nelly?” - -“O, ma’am, she has gone to school—only think of it, my poor little -Nelly has gone to _school_! It does seem,” continued Mrs. White, resting -her arms on the tub, and holding suspended by her two hands a -well-patched shirt of the deacon’s, “it does seem as if the Lord had -sent that Mrs. Norton here to be a blessing to the poor!” - -“Humph!” ejaculated Mrs. Humphreys, spitefully rattling the dishes. - -“Only think,” continued Mrs. White, “she has given up one whole room in -her house to Miss Grace, who has been round and got all the children -that can’t go to school because their parents are too poor to send them, -and just teaches them herself for nothing! God bless her, I say!” -exclaimed the washerwoman, strenuously, her tears mingling with the -soap-suds into which she now plunged her two arms so vigorously as to -dash the creaming foam to the ceiling. - -Mrs. Humphreys was at once surprised and angry. She could not conceive -why a lady like Mrs. Norton should do such a thing as to keep a ragged -school, and that, too, without pay or profit. She had forgotten the -words of our blessed Lord, “_Whoso shall receive one such little child -in my name, receiveth me_,” or, “_Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one -of the least of these, ye have done it unto me._” Charity alone, she -argued in her selfish nature, could not have influenced Mrs. Norton to -put herself to so much trouble for a troop of noisy, dirty, half-clothed -children! No, there must be some deeper motive—some sectarian object, -perhaps, to be gained; and, impressed with this idea, she said tartly, - -“I think it is a pretty piece of presumption in Mrs. Norton to come here -and set herself up in this way, telling us as it were of our duty. She -is a stranger, and what business is it of hers, I should like to know, -whether the children go to school or not!” - -“O, Mrs. Humphreys, indeed, I think the spirit of the Lord guides her!” -said Mrs. White. “Miss Grace came and asked me so humbly like, if I -would let her teach my Nelly, and then kissed the little fatherless -child so, so—that—that—O, I could have worshiped her!” and fresh -tears streamed down the cheeks of the washerwoman. - -“Worship a fiddle-stick!” exclaimed Mrs. Humphreys, out of all patience, -“I know what she wants—an artful creature; yes, she wants to make Nelly -go to her meeting!” - -Poor Mrs. White could not help smiling at the idea of attempting to form -the religious creed of a child scarce four years old. - -“Well, if she will only make her as good as she is, I don’t care!” she -answered, “for the Bible says, ‘_By their fruits ye shall know them!_’” - -Mrs. Humphreys was more and more shocked at this. She whispered it to -Mrs. Smith, who whispered it to Mrs. Jones, who told Mrs. Brown, who -told all the society, that the Nortons were wicked, designing people, -come into the village to stir up schism in the church! Yet all sensible -persons applauded the good deed of the widow, and cheerfully aided her -efforts. The little school prospered even more than she had dared to -hope; the children were cheerful and happy, and those whose parents -could not afford them decent clothing, were generously supplied by Mrs. -Norton—and many a heart blessed the hour which brought her among them. - -As the thunder which suddenly rends the heavens, when not a cloud on the -blue expanse has heralded the coming storm, was the calamity which now -as suddenly burst over the head of Mrs. Norton. - -She retired at night to her peaceful slumbers, supposing herself the -mistress of thousands. With the early dawn there came letters to the -cottage, telling her that all her worldly possessions were swept from -her. The man to whose care her fortune was entrusted, had basely -defrauded her of every cent, and now a bankrupt, had fled to a foreign -land. - -The stroke was a severe one. She must have been divine to have resisted -the first shock which the tidings caused her. But that over, like a -brave and noble spirit she rose to meet it. Her treasures were not all -of earth—in heaven her hopes were garnered; and, although henceforth -her path in life might be in rougher spots, and through darker scenes -than it had yet traversed, to that heaven she trusted to arrive at last. - -It happened, unfortunately, that the half-yearly rent of the cottage -became due that very week; and Mrs. Norton, thus suddenly deprived of -her expected funds, had no means to meet it. Where should she raise two -hundred dollars! Her courage, however, rose with her trials. A little -time to look into her affairs—a little time to form her plans for the -future, and she doubted not she should be able to liquidate the debt. -Unused to asking favors, she yet courageously went to Mr. Humphreys, and -stating candidly her inability to meet the rent, requested a few weeks -indulgence. - -The deacon was not caught napping. Evil news always travels with -seven-league boots—and long ere Mrs. Norton knocked at the door of the -farm-house, it was known throughout the village that her fortune was -gone. - -Now the deacon, good man that he was, was “_given to idols_,” and Mammon -was one. Moreover, he owed the widow a grudge, as we already know, and -the old leaven of sin was at work _beneath_ the crust of piety. - -He was accordingly well prepared to receive her. And sorry, very sorry -was the worthy deacon, but he had just then a most pressing necessity -for the rent—he really must have it, if not in cash, perhaps Mrs. -Norton might have some plate to dispose of; he would be happy to oblige -her in that way, for the Lord forbid he should deal hard with any -one—_but_, the amount _must_ be paid when due. Wait he could not—and -if the rent was not forthcoming on the day stipulated in the -contract—why—why—he was very sorry—but he should be obliged to take -other measures, that was all! - -Mrs. Norton soiled not her lips by making any reply to this Christian -Shylock—no expostulation or entreaty—but coldly bowing, she took her -leave. - -As soon as she reached home she sent for a silver-smith, brought out her -valuable tea-set—doubly so from having been the marriage gift of her -father, requested its appraisal, and then duly attested as to its weight -and purity, it was forwarded to the clutches of the deacon. - -Mrs. Norton met with a great deal of sympathy in her misfortunes. During -the few months she had resided among them, the villagers had all learned -to love and respect her. Even the poor came from their humble homes, and -with looks of sympathy and out-stretched hands tendered their -offerings—their hard-earned wages to the kind lady who had taught their -little ones; they would work for her—they would do any thing to serve -her. With a sweet smile Mrs. Norton put back their grateful gifts, and -thanked them in gentle tones for their love—to her a far more -acceptable boon than gold could buy. - -Again Silver-Fall cottage fell back on the hands of its owner. - -Dismissing her attendants, Mrs. Norton took a smaller and cheaper house. -Her choice and beautiful furniture she sold, only retaining sufficient -to render her now humble residence comfortable. The avails of the sale -amounted to several hundred dollars—enough at any rate, she deemed, for -present necessities, while she trusted in the meantime to find some -means of subsistence by which she and Grace might support themselves. - -What more noble spectacle, than an elegant, refined woman thus meeting, -uncomplaining and cheerfully, the storm of adversity. - -And Grace, too—sweet Grace—sang like a skylark, and made her little -white hands wonderfully busy in household matters. Hubert Fairlie was -yet absent, though his long and frequent letters brought joy to the -heart of his beloved. - -And had Naomi forgotten her friend in this season of trial! Not so; yet -forbidden as we have seen from the society of Grace, all she could do -was to sympathize deeply in spirit, happy when a chance opportunity -brought them together; and those meetings although rare, only served to -strengthen the friendship which united these two lovely girls. - - - CHAPTER VI. - - _The Pestilence. The Curtain wholly lifted._ - -It was now the middle of October. - - “Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light, and the - landscape - Lay as if new created, in all the freshness of childhood: - All sounds were in harmony blended. - Voices of children at play—the crowing of cocks in the farm-yard, - Whirr of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons, - All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love.” - -When suddenly the Angel of Death folded his dark wings, and sat brooding -over the peaceful, pleasant village of Grassmere. - -A terrible and malignant fever swept through the town, spreading from -house to house, like the fire which consumes alike the dry grass and the -bright, fresh flowers of the prairies. Old and young, husband, wife and -child, were alike brought low. There were not left in all the village -those able to attend upon the sick. From the churches solemnly tolled -the funeral bells, as one by one, youth and age, blooming childhood and -lovely infancy, were borne to the grave-yard—no longer solitary—for -the foot of the mourner pressed heavily over its grass-grown paths. - -Still the contagion raged, until the selfishness of poor human nature -triumphed over the promptings of kindness and charity. People grew -jealous of each other; neighbor shunned neighbor; - - “Silence reigned in the streets— - Rose no smoke from the roofs—gleamed no lights from the windows.” - -save the dim midnight lamp which from almost every house betokened the -plague within. - -None had shut themselves up closer from fear of infection than Deacon -Humphreys. His gates grew rusty, and the grass sprang up in the paths -about his dwelling. And yet the Destroyer found him out, and like a -hound long scenting its prey, sprang upon the household with terrible -violence. - -First the pure and gentle Naomi sank beneath the stroke, and ere the -setting of the same day’s sun, Mrs. Humphreys herself was brought nigh -the grave. - -Like one demented, pale with agony and terror, the deacon rushed forth -into the deserted streets to seek for aid. His dear ones—his wife and -child were perhaps dying; where, where should he look for relief—where -find some kind hand to administer to their necessities. - -At every house he learned a tale of wo equal to his own. Some wept while -they told of dear ones now languishing upon the bed of pain, or bade him -look upon the marble brow of their dead. Others grown callous, and -worn-out with sorrow and fatigue, refused all aid, while some, through -excess of fear, hurriedly closed their doors against him. - -Thus he reached the end of the village, and then the small, neat cottage -of Mrs. Norton met his view, nestling down amid the overshadowing -branches of two venerable elm. From the day he had almost thrust her -from his gate, with cold looks and unflinching extortion, Mrs. Norton -and the deacon had not met, and now the time had come when he was about -to ask from her a favor upon which perhaps his whole earthly happiness -might rest—a favor from her, whom in _his_ strength and _her_ -dependence he had scorned. Would she grant it? He hesitated; would she -not rather, rejoicing in her power now, revenge the slights he felt he -had so often and so undeservedly cast upon her. But he remembered the -sweet, calm look which beamed from her eyes, and his courage grew with -the thought. - -Putting away the luxuriant creeper which wound itself from the still -green turf to the roof of the cottage, hanging in graceful festoons, and -tinged with the brilliant dyes of autumn, seemed like wreaths of -magnificent flowers thus suspended, the deacon knocked hesitatingly at -the door. - -It opened, and Mrs. Norton stood before him, pale with watching—for, -like an angel of mercy had she passed from house to house, since the -first breaking out of the scourge. In faltering accents he told his -errand; and, O, how like a dagger did it pierce his heart, when, with a -countenance beaming with pity and kindness, and speaking words of -comfort, the widow put on her bonnet and followed him with fleet -footsteps to his stricken home. - -All night, like a ministering angel, did she pass from one sick couch to -the other, tenderly soothing the ravings of fever, moistening their -parched lips with cool, refreshing drinks, fanning their fevered brows, -and smoothing the couch made uneasy by their restless motions. - -Unable to bear the scene, the deacon betook him in his hour of sorrow to -his closet, where all through the dreary watches of the night he prayed -this cup of affliction might pass from him. His heart was subdued. He -saw that like the proud Pharisee he had exalted himself, thanking God -_he was not as other men_. - -At early dawn came Grace also to inquire after her suffering Naomi, and -finding her so very ill, earnestly besought her mother that she might be -allowed to share the task of nursing her. Mrs. Norton had no fears for -herself, yet when she looked at her only and beautiful child, she -trembled; but her eyes fell upon the bed where poor Naomi lay moaning in -all the delirium of high fever, and her heart reproached her for her -momentary selfishness. Removing the bonnet of Grace, she tenderly kissed -her pure brow, and then kneeling down, with folded hands she prayed, -“Thy will, O Lord, not mine be done! Take her in thy holy keeping, and -do with her as thou seest best!” - -From that day Grace left not the bedside of her friend. - -On the third day Mrs. Humphreys died. Her last sigh was breathed out on -the bosom of the woman whom she had taught her daughter to shun. For -many days it seemed as if Death would claim another victim; yet God -mercifully spared Naomi to her bereaved father; very slowly she -recovered, but neither Mrs. Norton nor Grace left her until she was able -to quit her bed. - -With the death of Mrs. Humphreys, the pestilence staid its ravages, -while, as a winding-sheet, the snows of winter now enshrouded the -fresh-turned clods in the late busy grave-yard. - -The eyes of Deacon Humphreys were opened. He became an altered man. He -saw how mistaken had been his views, and that it is not the _profession_ -of any sect or creed which makes the true Christian, and that if all are -alike _sincere in love to God_, all may be alike received. - -I have said this was no love tale, therefore, by merely stating that in -the course of a twelvemonth Hubert Fairlie and Grace were united, I -close my simple story. - - * * * * * - - - - - WATOUSKA. - - - A LEGEND OF THE ONEIDAS. - - - BY KATE ST. CLAIR. - - - Away, in a forest’s gloom, - Where the shadowy branches wave - O’er a rude and moss-grown tomb, - Is an Indian maiden’s grave: - None knoweth that music-haunted spot— - Save a far-off one, who forgets it not. - - He dreams of that silent shore— - ’Tis a holy spot to him, - A solemn stillness broodeth o’er - Those forest-aisles so dim; - Bird-music, and wave-melody, - Blend with the murmurings of the bee. - - He knows when the wild-rose showers - Its blossoms o’er her breast; - When the summer-winds, ’mid flowers, - Whisper above her rest: - And he deems he hears, on his far-off shore, - The music of the cataract’s roar - From that Island of the Blest! - - She passed from earth away— - The young, the beautiful, - In the long dreamy day - When golden shadows fell - O’er wave and vine, and moons had sped, - Yet _there_, while that brief season fled, - He’d kept Love’s vigil well. - - He comes, that warrior-chief, - Once more, in the pale moon’s wane, - When the dews weep o’er each leaf, - To that haunted spot again— - But morn with its glorious beauty woke - Him not—the warrior’s heart had broke. - - * * * * * - - - - - INDIAN LEGEND OF THE STAR AND LILY. - - - BY KAH-GE-GA-GAH-BOWH. - - -In the wigwam of the Indian during the evenings of spring, that season -when nature, loosed from the bondage of winter, awakes to new life, and -begins to deck itself with beauties, the old sage gathers around him the -young men of the tribe, and relates the stories of days long since -departed. - -I have seen these youths sit in breathless silence, listening to the old -man’s narrative. Now and then the tear-drops would course down their -cheeks, and fall to the ground, witnesses of the interest they felt in -the words of their teacher. - -To induce the sire to narrate a tradition, the Indian boys would -contrive some ingenious plan by which to get some tobacco, which, when -offered with a request for a story, would be sure of a favorable answer. -Frequently it happens that from sunset to its rise these clubs are -entertained, and they do not separate till daylight calls them to the -chase. - -One of the most interesting traditionary stories I ever heard related, -was told by an elderly Indian, one evening in spring. The winter was -just leaving, the snow and ice were fast disappearing, and the streams -were swollen with the unusual quantity of water from the mountains. - -“There was once a time,” said he, “when this world was filled with happy -people, when all nations were as one, and the crimson tide of war had -not begun to roll. Plenty of game were in the forests and on the plains. -None were in want, for a full supply was at hand. Sickness was unknown. -The beasts of the field were tame, and came and went at the bidding of -man. One unending spring gave no place for winter, for its cold blasts -or its chills. Every tree and bush yielded fruit. Flowers carpeted the -earth; the air was filled with their fragrance, and redolent with the -songs of myriad warblers that flew from branch to branch, fearing none, -for there were none to harm them. There were birds then of more -beautiful plumage than now. - -“It was then, when earth was a paradise, and man worthy to be its -possessor, that Indians were the lone inhabitants of the American -wilderness. They numbered millions, and living as nature designed them -to live, enjoyed its many blessings. Instead of amusement in close rooms -the sports of the fields were theirs. - -“At night they met on the wide, green fields. They watched the stars; -they loved to gaze at them, for they believed them to be the residences -of the good who had been taken home by the Great Spirit. One night they -saw one star that shone brighter than all others. Its location was far -away in the south, near a mountain peak. For many nights it was seen, -till at length it was doubted by many that this star was as far off in -the southern skies as it seemed to be. This doubt led to an examination, -which proved the star to be only a short distance, and near the tops of -some trees. A number of warriors were deputed to go and see what it was. -They went and returned, saying that it appeared strange and somewhat -like a bird. A council of the wise men was called to inquire into and, -if possible, ascertain the meaning of the phenomenon. - -“They feared that it was an omen of some disaster. Some thought it a -precursor of good, others of evil. Some supposed it to be the star -spoken of by their forefathers, as a forerunner of a dreadful war. - -“One moon had nearly gone by, and yet the mystery remained unsolved. - -“One night a young warrior had a dream, in which a beautiful maiden came -and stood at his side, and thus addressed him: - -“‘Young brave! charmed with the land of thy forefathers, its flowers, -its birds, its rivers, its beautiful lakes and its mountains clothed -with green, I have left my sister in yonder world to dwell among you. - -“‘Young brave! ask your wise and your great men where I can live and see -the happy race continually; ask them what form I shall assume, in order -to be loved and cherished among the people.’ - -“Thus discoursed the bright stranger. The young man awoke. On stepping -out of his lodge, he saw the star yet blazing in its accustomed place. - -“At early dawn the chief’s crier was sent round the camp to call every -warrior to the Council Lodge. When they had met, the young warrior -related his dream. They concluded that the star they had seen in the -south had fallen in love with mankind and that it was desirous to dwell -with them. - -“The next night five tall, noble-looking adventurous braves were sent to -welcome the stranger to earth. - -“They went and presenting to it a pipe of peace, filled with -sweet-scented herbs, were rejoiced to find that it took it from them. As -they returned to the village, the star, with expanded wings followed, -and hovered over their homes till the dawn of day. - -“Again it came to the young man in a dream and desired to know where it -should live, and what form it should take. Places were named. On the -tops of giant trees or in flowers. At length it was told to choose a -place itself—and it did so. At first it dwelt in the wild rose of the -mountains, but there it was so buried it could not be seen. It went to -the prairie, but it feared the hoof of the buffaloe. It next went to the -rocky cliff, but it was there so high that the children, whom it loved -most, could not see it. - -“‘I know where I shall live,’ said the bright fugitive, ‘where I can see -the gliding canoe of the race I most admire. Children, yes, they shall -be my playmates, and I will kiss their brows when they slumber at the -side of the cool lakes. The nations shall love me wherever I am.’ - -“These words having been uttered, she alighted on the waters where she -saw herself reflected. - -“The next morning thousands of white flowers were seen on the surface of -all the lakes and the Indians gave them this name; -_Wah-be-gwon-nee_—(White Lily.) - -“Now,” continued the old man, “this star lived in the southern skies. -Its brethren can be seen far off in the cold north, hunting the great -bear, while its sisters watch her in the east and west. - -“Children, when you see the lily on the waters, take it in your hands -and hold it to the skies, that it may be happy on earth, as its two -sisters (the morning and evening stars) are happy in heaven.” - -While tears fell fast from the eyes of all, the old man lay him down and -was soon silent in sleep. - -Since then I have often plucked the white lily and garlanded around my -head; have dipped it in its watery bed, but never have I seen it without -remembering the _Legend of the Descending Star_. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: THE GOLDEN AGE.] - - * * * * * - - - - - THE IMPROVISATRICE. - - - BY MRS. MARY G. HORSFORD. - - - Go bear the voiceless harp away! - Its latest note is spoken, - And like the heart that beats within, - Its last frail chord is broken. - - This soul of mine was never made - For glad or peaceful life, - But cast in rude, imperfect mould, - For bitterness and strife. - - I never was a careless child, - For in my early years - The founts within were gathering, - Of anguish and of tears: - - And when I looked upon the stars - In all their golden sheen, - The presage of a broken heart— - It always came between. - - And then the Voice of Song awoke - Within my wayward soul, - And bade the wearing tide of thought - Forever o’er it roll. - - And dreams of words that should go forth - To bless and elevate, - Ambition’s charmed and serpent lure, - The passion to create; - - Were mingled in my spirit’s depths, - Till with displacing power - Came Love with gorgeous diadem, - The phantom of an hour! - - And soon the mockeries of Hope - Fled smiling from my breast, - And left a dark and fearful curse, - The cravings of unrest. - - And Life became a weary load, - And Nature’s face a pall, - And each red drop that passed my heart - Was turned to seething gall. - - From day to day the lyre within - Waxed passionate and frail; - It trembled at the zephyr’s breath, - How could it brook the gale? - - Now Death has o’er my pillow bent, - I’ve seen his glancing eye, - And watched the silvery gleaming of - His pinion passing by. - - Go bring me back my harp again! - I feel a strength for prayer, - And o’er the shattered chords within - Creeps an unearthly air. - - Go bring me back my harp again, - I may not now restore - The sounding strings I loved so well, - Or tune it as before; - - But I would lay my hand upon - The trembling chords and riven; - I feel mine own are healing fast - Beneath the eye of Heaven. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE EIGHTEENTH SONNET OF PETRARCA. - - - BY FAYETTE ROBINSON. - - - Had I but waited patient in the cell - Where great Apollo erst became divine, - One bard might call himself a Florentine, - Like those who once in other lands did dwell. - But here the holy ichor doth not swell, - And fate hath willed another lot be mine. - ’Tis meet that I relinquish high design - And drink the waters of life’s turbid well. - Sear are the olive branches now, the stream - Near which they grew and looked toward the sky - Hath sunken deep beneath the rock again. - Fate or my fault hath aye dispelled the dream - That made me fix my early hopes so high, - Unless God will their height I should attain. - - * * * * * - - - - - JASPER ST. AUBYN; - - - OR THE COURSE OF PASSION. - - - BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. - - - (_Continued from page 15._) - - - CHAPTER II. - - _The Wakening._ - - He saw her, at a nearer view, - A spirit, yet a woman too. - WORDSWORTH. - -When Jasper St. Aubyn opened his eyes, dim with the struggle of -returning consciousness and life, they met a pair of eyes fixed with an -expression of the most earnest anxiety on his own—a pair of eyes, the -loveliest into which he ever had yet gazed, large, dark, unfathomably -deep, and soft withal and tender, as the day-dream of a love-sick poet. -He could not mark their color; he scarce knew whether they were mortal -eyes, whether they were realities at all, so sickly did his brain reel, -and so confused and wandering were his fancies. - -Then a sweet low voice fell upon his ear, in tones the gentlest, yet the -gladdest, that ever he had heard, exclaiming— - -“Oh! father, father, he lives—he is saved!” - -But he heard, saw, no more; for again he relapsed into unconsciousness, -and felt nothing further, until he became sensible of a balmy coolness -on his brow, a pleasant flavor on his parched lips, and a kindly glow -creeping as it were through all his limbs, and gradually expanding into -life. - -Again his eyes were unclosed, and again they met the earnest, hopeful -gaze of those other eyes, which he now might perceive belonging to a -face so exquisite, and a form so lovely, as to be worthy of those great -glorious wells of lustrous tenderness. - -It was a young girl who bent over him, perhaps a few months older than -himself, so beautiful that had she appeared suddenly, even in her simple -garb, which seemed to announce her but one degree above the peasants of -the neighborhood, in the midst of the noblest and most aristocratical -assembly, she would have become on the instant the cynosure of all eyes, -and the magnet of all hearts. - -Of that age when the heart, yet unsunned by passion, and unused to -strong emotion, thrills sensibly to every feeling awakened for the first -time within it, and bounds at every appeal to its sympathies; when the -ingenuous countenance, unhardened by the sad knowledge of the world, and -untaught to conceal one emotion, reflects like a perfect mirror every -gleam of sunshine that illuminates, every passing cloud that -over-shadows its pure and spotless surface, the maiden sought not to -hide her delight, as she witnessed the hue of life return to his pale -cheeks, and the spark of intelligence relume his handsome features. - -A bright mirthful glance, which told how radiant they might be in -moments of unmingled bliss, laughed for an instant in those deep blue -eyes, and a soft, sunny smile played over her warm lips; but the next -minute, she dropped the young man’s hand, which she had been chafing -between both her own, buried her face in her palms, and wept those sweet -and happy tears which flow only from innocent hearts, at the call of -gratitude and sympathy. - -“Bless God, young sir,” said a deep, solemn voice at the other side of -the bed on which he was lying, “that your life is spared. May it be unto -good ends! Yours was a daring venture, and for a trivial object against -which to stake an immortal soul. But, thanks to Him! you are preserved, -snatched as it were from the gates of death; and, though you feel faint -now, I doubt not, and your soul trembles as if on the verge of another -world, you will be well anon, and in a little while as strong as ever in -that youthful strength on which you have so prided you. Drink this, and -sleep awhile, and you shall wake refreshed, and as a new man, from the -dreamless slumber which the draught shall give you. And you, silly -child,” he continued, turning toward the lovely girl, who had sunk -forward on the bed, so that her fair tresses rested on the same pillow -which supported Jasper’s head, with the big tears trickling silently -between her slender fingers, “dry up your tears; for the youth shall -live, and not die.” - -The boy’s eyes had turned immediately to the sound of the speaker’s -accents, and in his weak state remained fixed on his face so long as the -sound continued, although his senses followed the meaning but -imperfectly. - -It was a tall, venerable looking old man who spoke, with long locks, as -white as snow, falling down over the straight cut collar of his plain -black doublet, and an expression of the highest intellect, combined with -something which was not melancholy, much less sadness, but which told -volumes of hardships borne, and sorrows endured, the fruits of which -were piety, and gentleness, and that wisdom which cometh not of this -world. - -He smiled thoughtfully, as he saw that his words were hardly -comprehended, and his mild glance wandered from the pale face of the -handsome boy to the fair head of the young girl bending over him, like a -white lily overcharged with rain. - -“Poor things,” he whispered softly, as if speaking to himself, “to both -it is the first experience of the mixed pain and pleasure of this -world’s daily trials. God save them scathless to the end!” - -Then, recovering himself, as if by a little effort, from his brief fit -of musing, he held forth a large glass goblet, which was in his right -hand, full of some bright ruby-colored liquid, to the lips of Jasper, -saying— - -“Drink, youth, it will give thee strength. Drink, and fear nothing.” - -The young man grasped the bright bowl with both hands, but even then he -had lacked strength to guide it to his lips, had not his host still -supported it. - -The flavor was agreeable, and the coolness of the draught was so -delicious to the feverish palate and parched tongue of Jasper, that he -drained it to the very bottom, and then, as if exhausted by the effort, -relaxed his hold, and sunk back on his pillow in a state of conscious -languor, exquisitely soft and entrancing. - -More and more that voluptuous dream-like trance overcame him, and though -his eyes were still open he saw not the things that were around him, but -a multitude of radiant and lovely visions, which came and went, and -returned again, in mystic evolutions. - -With a last effort of his failing senses, half conscious of the interest -which she took in him, yet wholly ignorant who or what was that gentle -_she_, he stretched out his hand and mastered one of hers with gentle -violence, and holding it imprisoned in his burning fingers, closed his -swimming eyes, and sunk into a deep and dreamless sleep. - -The old man, who had watched every symptom that appeared in succession -on his expressive face, saw that the potion had taken the desired -effect, and drawing a short sigh, which seemed to indicate a sense of -relief from apprehension, looked toward the maiden, and addressed her in -a low voice, not so much from fear of wakening the sleeper, as that the -voice of affection is ever low and gentle. - -“He sleeps, Theresa, and will sleep until the sun has sunk far toward -the west, and then he will waken restored to all his youthful power and -spirits. Come, my child, we may leave him to his slumbers, he shall no -longer need a watcher. I will go to my study, and would have you turn to -your household duties. Scenes such as this which you have passed will -call up soft and pitiful fancies in the mind, but it behooves us not -overmuch to yield to them. This life has too much of stern and dark -reality, that we should give the reins to truant imagination. Come, -Theresa.” - -The young girl raised her head from the pillows, and shook away the long -fair curls from her smooth forehead. Her tears had ceased to flow, and -there was a smile on her lip, as she replied, pointing to her hand which -he held fast grasped, in his unconscious slumber. - -“See, father, I am a prisoner. I fear me I cannot withdraw my hand -without arousing him.” - -“Do not so, then, Theresa; to arouse him now, ere the effects of the -potion have passed away, would be dangerous, might be fatal. Perchance, -however, he will release you when he sleeps quite soundly. If he do so, -I pray you, come to me. Meantime, I leave you to your own good thoughts, -my own little girl.” - -And with the words, he leaned across the narrow bed, over the form of -the sleeping youth, and kissed her fair white brow. - -“Bless thee, my gentle child. May God in his goodness bless and be about -thee.” - -“Amen! dear father,” said the little girl, as he ended; and in her turn -she pressed her soft and balmy lips to his withered cheek. - -A tear, rare visitant, rose all unbidden to the parent’s eye as he -turned to leave her, but ere he reached the door her low tones arrested -him, and he came back to her. - -“Will you not put my books within reach of me, dear father?” she said. -“I cannot work, since the poor youth has made my left hand his sure -captive, but I would not be altogether idle, and I can read while I -watch him. Pardon my troubling you, who should wait on you, not be -waited on.” - -“And do you not wait on me ever, and most neat-handedly, dear child?” -returned her father, moving toward a small round table, on which were -scattered a few books, and many implements of feminine industry. “Which -of these will you have, Theresa?” - -“All of them, if you please, dear father. The table is not heavy, for I -can carry it about where I will myself, and if you will lift it to me, I -can help myself, and cull the gems of each in turn. I am a poor student, -I fear, and love better, like a little bee, to flit from flower to -flower, drinking from every chalice its particular honey, than to sit -down, like the sloth, and surfeit me on one tree, how green soever.” - -“There is but little industry, I am afraid, Theresa, if there be little -sloth in your mode of reading. Such desultory studies are wont to leave -small traces on the memory. I doubt me much if you long keep these gems -you speak of, which you cull so lightly.” - -“Oh! but you are mistaken, father dear, for all you are so wise,” she -replied, laughing softly. “Every thing grand or noble, of which I read, -every thing high or holy, finds a sort of echo in my little heart, and -lies there forever. Your grave, heavy, moral teachings speak to my -reason, it is true, but when I read of brave deeds done, of noble -self-sacrifices made, of great sufferings endured, in high causes, those -things teach my heart, those things speak to my soul, father. Then I -reason no longer, but feel—feel how much virtue there is, after all, -and generosity, and nobleness, and charity, and love, in poor frail -human nature. Then I learn, not to judge mildly of myself, nor harshly -of my brothers. Then I feel happy, father, yet in my happiness I wish to -weep. For I think noble sentiments and generous emotions sooner bring -tears to the eye than mere pity, or mere sorrow.” - -And, even as she spoke, her own bright orbs were suffused with drops, -like dew in the violet’s cups, and she shook her head with its profusion -of long fair ringlets archly, as if she would have made light of her own -sentiment, and gazed up into his face with a tearful smile. - -“You are a good child, Theresa, and good children are very dear to the -Lord,” said the old man. “But of a truth I would I could see you more -practically minded; less given to these singular romantic dreamings. I -say not that they are hurtful, or unwise, or untrue, but in a mere -child, as you are, Theresa, they are strange and out of place, if not -unnatural. I would I could see you more merry, my little girl, and more -given to the company of your equals in age, even if I were to be loser -thereby of something of your gentle company. But you love not, I think, -the young girls of the village.” - -“Oh! yes, I love them—I love them dearly, father. I would do any thing -for any one of them; I would give up any thing I have got to make them -happy. Oh yes, I love Anna Harlande, and Rose Merrivale, and Mary -Mitford, dearly, but—but—” - -“But you love not their company, you would say, would you not, my -child?” - -“That is not what I was about to say; but I know not how it is, their -merriment is so loud, and their glee so very joyous, that it seems to me -that I cannot sympathize with them in their joy, as I can in their -sorrow; and they view things with eyes so different from mine, and laugh -at thoughts that go nigh to make me weep, and see or feel so little of -the loveliness of Nature, and care so little for what I care most of -all, soft, sad poetry, or heart-stirring romance, or inspired music, -that when I am among them, I _do_ almost long to be away from them all, -in the calm of this pleasant chamber, or in the fragrance of my bower -beside the stream. And I do feel my spirit jangled and perplexed by -their light-hearted, thoughtless mirth, as one feels at hearing a false -note struck in the midst of a sweet symphony. What is this? what means -this, my father?” - -“It is a gift, Theresa,” replied the old man, half mournfully. “It means -that you are endowed rarely, by God himself, with powers the most -unusual, the most wondrous, the most beautiful, most high and godlike of -any which are allowed to mortals. I have seen this long, long ago—I -have mused over it; hoped, prayed, that it might not be so; nay, striven -to repress the germs of it in your young spirit, yet never have I spoken -of it until now; for I knew not that you were conscious, and would not -be he that should awaken you to the consciousness of the grand but -perilous possession which you hold, delegated to you direct from -Omnipotence.” - -He paused, and she gazed at him with lips apart, and eyes wide in -wonder. The color died away in a sort of mysterious awe from her warm -cheek. The blood rushed tumultuously to her heart. She listened -breathless and amazed. Never had she heard him speak thus, never -imagined that he felt thus, before—yet now that she did hear, she felt -as though she were but listening again to that which she had heard many -times before; and though she understood not his words altogether, they -had struck a kindred chord in her inmost soul, and while its vibration -was almost too much for her powers of endurance, it yet told her that -his words were true. - -She could not for her life have bid him go on, but for worlds she would -not have failed to hear him out. - -He watched the changed expression of her features, and half struck with -a feeling of self-reproach that he should have created doubts, perhaps -fears, in that ingenuous soul, smiled on her kindly, and asked in a -confident tone— - -“You have felt this already, have you not, my child?” - -“Not as you put it to me, father; no, I have never dreamed or hoped that -I had any such particular gift of God, such glorious and preëminent -possession as this of which you speak. I may, indeed, have fancied at -times that there was something within me, in which I differed from -others around me—something which made me feel more joy, deeper, and -fuller, and more soul-fraught joy, than they feel; and sorrow, softer, -and moved more easily, if not more piercing or more permanent—which -made me love the world, and its inhabitants, and above all its Maker, -with a far different love from theirs—something which evermore seems -struggling within me, as if it would forth and find tongue, but cannot. -But now, that you have spoken, I know that it indeed must be as you say, -and that this unknown something is a gift, is a possession from on high. -What is this thing, my father?” - -“My child, this thing is genius,” replied the old man solemnly. - -The bright blood rushed back to her cheeks in a flood of crimson glory; -a strange, clear light, which never had enkindled them before, sprang -from her soft dark eyes; she leaned forward eagerly— - -“Genius!” she cried. “Genius, and I! Father, you dream, dear father.” - -“Would that I did; but I do not, Theresa.” - -“And wherefore, if it be so, indeed, that I am so gifted, wherefore -would you alter it, my father?” - -“I would not alter it,” he replied, “my little girl. Far be it from my -thoughts, weak worm that I am, to alter, even if I could alter, the -least of the gifts of the great Giver. And this, whether it be for good, -or unto evil, is one of the greatest and most glorious. I would not -alter it, Theresa. But I would guide, would direct, would moderate it. I -would accustom you to know and comprehend the vast power of which you, -all unconsciously, are the possessor. For, as I said, it is a fearful -and a perilous power. God forbid that I should pronounce the most -marvelous and godlike of the gifts which he vouchsafes to man, a curse -and not a blessing; God forbid that, even while I see how oft it is -turned into bitterness and blight by the coldness of the world, and the -check of its heaven-soaring aspirations, I should doubt that it has -within itself a sovereign balm against its own diseases, a rapture -mightier than any of its woes, an inborn and eternal consciousness which -bears it up, as on immortal pinions, above the cares of the world and -the poor consciousness of self. Nevertheless it is a perilous gift, and -too often, to your sex, a fatal one. Yet I would not alarm you, my own -child, for you have gentleness of soul, which may well temper the -coruscations of a spirit which waxes oftentimes too strong to be -womanly, and piety which shall, I trust, preserve you, should any -aspiration of your heart wax over vigorous and daring to be contented -with the limitations of humanity. In the meantime, my child, fear -nothing, follow the dictates of your own pure heart, and pray for His -aid, who neither giveth aught, nor taketh away, without reason. Hark!” -he interrupted himself, starting slightly, “there is a sound of horses’ -hoofs without; your brother has returned, and it may be Sir Miles is -with him. We will speak more of this hereafter.” - -And with the word he turned and left the room. - -When he was gone she raised her eyes to heaven, and with a strange rapt -expression on her fair features rose to her feet, exclaiming— - -“Genius! Genius! Great God, Great God, I thank thee.” - -Then, in the fervor of the moment, which led her naturally to clasp her -hands together, she made a movement to withdraw her fingers from -Jasper’s deathlike grasp, unconscious, for the time, of every thing -around her. - -But, as she did so, a tightened pressure of his hand, and some -inarticulate sounds which proceeded from his lips, recalled her with a -start to herself. - -She dropped into her seat, as if conscience-stricken, gazed fixedly in -his face, then stooped and pressed her lips on his inanimate brow; -started again, looked about the room with a half guilty glance, bowed -her head on his pillow, and wept bitterly. - - - CHAPTER III. - - _The Recognition._ - - They had been friends in youth. - BYRON. - -The evening had advanced far into night before the effects of the potion -he had swallowed passed away, and left the mind of Jasper clear, and his -pulse regular and steady. When he awoke from his long stupor, and turned -his eyes around him, it seemed as if he had dreamed of what he saw -before him; for the inanimate objects of the room, nay, the very faces -which met his eye, had something in them that was not altogether -unfamiliar, yet for his life he could not have recalled when, or if ever -he had seen them before. - -The old dark-wainscoted walls of the irregular, many-recessed apartment, -adorned with a few watercolor drawings, and specimens of needle-work, -the huge black and gold Indian cabinet in one corner, the tall -clock-stand of some foreign wood in another, the slab above the yawning -hearth covered with tropical shells and rare foreign curiosities, the -quaint and grotesque chairs and tables, with strangely contorted legs -and arms, and wild satyr-like faces grinning from their bosses, the very -bed on which he lay, with its carved head-board, and groined canopy of -oak, and dark green damask curtains, were all things which he felt he -must have seen, though where and how he knew not. - -So was the face of the slight fair-haired girl who sat a little way -removed from his bed’s head, by a small round work-table, on which stood -a waxen taper, bending over some one of those light tasks of embroidery -or knitting which women love, and are wont to dignify by the name of -work. - -On her he fixed his eyes long and wistfully, gazing at her, as he would -have done at a fair picture, without any desire to address her, or to do -aught that should induce her to move from the graceful attitude in which -she sat, giving no sign of life save in the twinkling of her long, -downcast eyelashes, in the calm rise and fall of her gentle bosom, and -the quick motion of her busy fingers. - -Jasper St. Aubyn was still weak, but he was unconscious of any pain or -ailment, though he now began gradually to remember all that had passed -before he lost his consciousness in the deep pool above the fords of -Widecomb. - -So weak was he, indeed, that it was almost too great an effort for him -to consider where he was, or how he had been saved, much more to move -his body, or ask any question of that fair watcher. He felt indeed that -he should be perfectly contented to lie there all his life, in that -painless tranquil mood, gazing upon that fair picture. - -But while he lay there, with his large eyes wide open and fixed upon -her, as if by their influence he would have charmed her soul out of its -graceful habitation, a word or two spoken in a louder voice than had yet -struck his ear, for persons had been speaking in the room all the time, -although he had not observed them, attracted his notice to the other -side of his bed. - -It was not so much the words, for he scarce heard, and did not heed -their import, as the tone of voice which struck him; for though -well-known and most familiar, he could in no wise connect it with the -other things around him. - -With the desire to ascertain what this might mean, there came into his -mind, he knew not wherefore, a wish to do so unobserved; and he -proceeded forthwith to turn himself over on his pillow so noiselessly as -to excite no attention in the watchers, whoever they might be. - -He had not made two efforts, however, to do this, before he became aware -of what, while he lay still, he did not suspect, that several of his -limbs had received severe contusions, and could not as yet be moved with -impunity. - -He was a singular youth, however, and an almost Spartan endurance of -physical pain, with a strange persistence in whatever he undertook, had -been from very early boyhood two of his strongest characteristics. - -In spite, therefore, of his weakness, in spite of the pain every motion -gave him, he persevered, and turning himself inch by inch, at length -gained a position which enabled him clearly to discern the speakers. - -They were two in number, the one facing him, the other having his back -turned so completely that all he could see was a head covered with -long-curled locks of snow-white hair, a dark velvet cloak, and the -velvet scabbard of a long rapier protruding far beyond the legs of the -oak chair on which he sat. The lower limbs of this person were almost -lost in darkness as they lay carelessly crossed under the table, so that -he divined rather than saw that they were cased in heavy riding-boots, -on the heels of which a faint golden glimmer gave token of the wearer’s -rank, by the knightly spurs he wore. - -The lamp which stood upon the table by which they were conversing was -set between the two, so that it was quite invisible to Jasper, and its -light, which to his eyes barely touched the edges of the figure he had -first observed, fell full upon the pale high brow and serene lineaments -of the other person, who was in fact no other than the old man who had -spoken to the youth in the intervals of his trance, and administered the -potion from the effects of which he was but now recovering. - -Of this, however, Jasper had no recollection, although he wondered, as -he had done concerning the girl, where he had before seen that fine -countenance and benevolent expression, and how once seen he ever should -have forgotten it. - -There was yet a third person in the group, though he took no part in the -conversation, and appeared to be, like Jasper, rather an interested and -observant witness of what was going on, than an actor in the scene. - -He was a tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed man, in the first years of -manhood, not perhaps above five or six years Jasper’s senior; but his -bronzed and sunburnt cheeks curiously contrasted with the fairness of -his forehead, where it had not been exposed to the sun, and an -indescribable blending of boldness, it might have almost been called -audacity, with calm self-confidence and cold composure, which made up -the expression of his face, seemed to indicate that he had seen much of -the world, and learned many of its secrets, perhaps by the stern -lessoning of the great teachers, suffering and sorrow. - -The figure of this young man was but imperfectly visible, as he stood -behind the high-backed chair, on which the old man, whom from the -similarity in their features, if not in their expression, Jasper took to -be his father, was seated. But his face, his muscular neck, his -well-developed chest and broad shoulders, displayed by a close-fitting -jerkin of some dark stuff, were all in strong light; and as the features -and expression of the countenance gave token of a powerful character and -energetic will, so did the frame give promise of ability to carry out -the workings of the mind. - -The dialogue, which had been interrupted by a silence of some seconds -following on the words that had attracted Jasper’s notice, was now -continued by the old man who sat facing him. - -“That question,” he said, in a firm yet somewhat mournful tone, “is not -an easy one to answer. The difficulty of subduing prejudices on my own -part, the fear of wounding pride on yours—these might have had their -share in influencing my conduct. Beside, you must remember that years -have elapsed—the very years which most form the character of men—since -we parted; that they have elapsed under circumstances the most widely -different for you and for me; that we are not, in short, in any thing -the same men we then were—that the gnarled, weather-beaten, earth-fast -oak of centuries differs not so much from the green pliant sapling of -half a dozen summers, as the old man, with his heart chilled and -hardened into living steel by contact with the world, from the youth -full of generous impulses and lofty aspirations, loving all men, and -doubting naught either in heaven above, or in the earth beneath. You -must remember, moreover, that although, as you have truly said, we were -friends in youth, our swords, our purses, and our hearts in common, we -had even then many points of serious difference; and lastly, and most of -all, you must remember that if we had been friends, we were not friends -when we last parted—” - -“What! what!” exclaimed a voice, which Jasper instantly recognized for -his father’s, though for years he had not heard him speak in tones of -the like animation. “What, William Allan, do you mean to say that you -imagined that any enmity could have dwelt in my mind, for so slight a -cause—” - -“Slight a cause!” interrupted the other. “Do you call that _slight_ -which made my heart drop blood, and my brain boil with agony for -years—which changed my course of life, altered my fortunes, character, -heart, soul, forever; which made me, in a word, what I now am? Do you -call that a _slight_ cause, Miles St. Aubyn? Show me, then, what you -call a grave one.” - -“I had forgotten, William, I had forgotten,” replied Sir Miles, gently, -and perhaps self-reproachfully. “I mean, I had forgotten that the -rivaling in a strife which to the winner seems a little thing, may to -the loser be death, or worse than death! Forgive me, William Allan, I -had forgotten in my selfish thoughtlessness, and galled you unawares. -But let us say no more of this—let the past be forgotten—let wrongs -done, if wrongs were done, be buried in her grave, who was the most -innocent cause of them; and let us now remember only that we were -friends in youth, and that after long years of separation, we are thus -wonderfully brought together in old age; let me hope to be friends -henceforth unto the grave.” - -“Amen, I say to that. Miles St. Aubyn, amen!” - -And the two old men clasped their withered hands across the table, and -Jasper might see the big drops trickling slowly down the face of him who -was called William Allan, while from the agitation of his father’s frame -he judged that he was not free from the like agitation. - -There was a little pause, during which, as he fancied the young man -looked somewhat frowningly on the scene of reconciliation; but the -frown, if frown it were, passed speedily away, and left the bold, dark -face as calm and impassive as the surface of a deep unruffled water. - -A moment or two afterward, Sir Miles raised his head, which he had bowed -a little, perhaps to conceal the feelings which might have agitated it, -and again clasping the hand of the other, said eagerly, - -“It is you, William, who have saved my boy, my Jasper; and this is not -the first time that a scion of your house has preserved one of mine from -death, or yet worse, ruin!” - -William Allan started, as if a sharp weapon had pierced him, - -“And how,” he cried, “Miles St. Aubyn, how was the debt repaid? I tell -you it is written in the books that cannot err, that our houses were -ordained for mutual destruction!” - -“What, man,” exclaimed Sir Miles, half jestingly, “do you still cling to -the black art? Do you still read the dark book of fate? Methought that -fancy would have taken wing with other youthful follies.” - -The old man shook his head sadly, but made no reply. - -“And what has it taught _thee_, William, unless it be that this life is -short, and this world’s treasures worthless; and _that_ I have learned -from a better book, a book of wider margin. What, I say, has it taught -thee, William Allan?” - -“All things,” replied the old man, sorrowfully. “Even unto this -meeting—every action, every event of my own life, past or to come, -happy or miserable, virtuous or evil, it has taught me.” - -“But has it taught thee, William, whereby to win the good and eschew the -evil; whereby to hold fast to the virtuous, and say unto the evil, ‘get -behind me?’ Has it taught thee, I say not to be wiser, but to be happier -or better?” - -“What is, is! What shall be, shall be! What is written, shall be done! -We may flap, or flutter, or even fight, like fish or birds, or, if you -will, like lions in the toil; but we are netted, and may not escape, -from the beginning! The man may learn the workings of the God, but how -shall he control them?” - -“And this is thy philosophy—this all that thine art teaches?” - -“It is. No more.” - -“A sad philosophy—a vain art,” replied the other. “I’ll none of them.” - -“I tell thee, Miles St. Aubyn, that years ago, years ere I had heard of -Widecomb or its water, I saw yon deep, red-whirling pool; I saw that -drowning youth; I saw the ready rescue, and the gentle nursing; and -now,” he cried, stretching his hands out widely, and gazing into -vacancy, “I see a wilder and a sadder sight—a deeper pool, a stronger -cataract, a fierce storm thundering on the hills, and torrents -thundering down every gorge and gully to swell the flooded rivers. A -young man and a maiden—yet no! no! not a maiden! mounted on gallant -horses, are struggling in the whelming eddies. Great God! avert—hold! -hold! He lifts his arm, he smites her with his loaded whip—smites her -between the eyes that smile upon him; she falls, she is down, down in -the whirling waters—rider and horse swept over the mad cataract; but -who—who?—ha!” and with a wild shriek he started to his feet, and fell -back into the arms of the young man, who from the beginning of the -paroxysm evidently had expected its catastrophe, and who, with the -assistance of the girl, supported him, now quite inanimate and -powerless, from the room, merely saying to Sir Miles, “Be not alarmed, I -will return forthwith.” - -“My father!” exclaimed Jasper, in a faint voice, as the door closed upon -them. - -The old man turned hastily to the well-known accents, and hurried to the -bed-side. “My boy, my own boy, Jasper. Now, may God’s name be praised -forever!” - -And falling into a chair by his pillow, the same chair on which that -sweet girl had sat a few hours before, he bent over him, and asked him a -thousand questions, waiting for no reply, but bathing his face with his -tears, and covering his brow with kisses. - -When he had at length satisfied the old man that he was well and free -from pain, except a few slight bruises, he asked his father eagerly -where he was, and who was that strange old man. - -“You are in the cottage, my dear boy,” replied the old knight, “above -Widecomb pool, tended by those who, by the grace of God and his -exceeding mercy, saved you from the consequences of the frantic act -which so nearly left me childless. Oh! Jasper, Jasper, ’twas a fearful -risk, and had well-nigh been fatal.” - -“It was but one misstep, father,” replied the youth, who, as he rapidly -recovered his strength, recovered also his bold speech and daring -courage. “Had there been but foot-hold at the tunnel’s end, I had landed -my fish bravely; and, on my honor, I believe had I such another on my -line’s end, I should risk it again. Why, father, he was at least a -thirty pounder.” - -“Never do so—never do so again, Jasper. Remember that to risk life -heedlessly, and for no purpose save an empty gratification, a mere -momentary pleasure, is a great crime toward God, and a gross act of -selfishness toward men, as much so as to peril or to lose it in a high -cause, or for a noble object, is great and good, and self-devoted. -Think! had you perished here, all for a paltry fish, which you might -purchase for a silver crown, you had left to me years—nay, a life of -misery.” - -“Nay, father, I never thought of that,” answered the young man, not -unmoved by the remonstrance of his father, “but it was not the value of -the fish. I should have given him away ten to one, had I taken him. It -was that I do not like to be beaten.” - -“A good feeling, Jasper; and one that leads to many good things, and -without which nothing great can be attained; but to do good, like all -other feelings, it must be moderated and controled by reason. But you -must learn to think ever before acting, Jasper.” - -“I will—I will, indeed, sir; but you have not told me who is this -strange old man?” - -“An old friend of mine, Jasper—an old friend whom I have not seen for -years, and who is now doubly a friend, since he has saved your life.” - -At this moment the door opened, and the young man entered bearing a -candle. - -“He is at ease now,” he said. “It is a painful and a searching malady to -which at seasons he is subject. We know well how to treat him; when he -awakes tomorrow, he will remember nothing of what passed to-day, though -at the next attack he will remember every circumstance of this. I pray -you, therefore, Sir Miles, take no note in the morning, nor appear to -observe it, if he be somewhat silent and reserved. Ha! young sir,” he -continued, seeing that Jasper was awake, and taking him kindly by the -hand, “I am glad to see that you have recovered.” - -“And I am glad to have an opportunity to thank you, that you have saved -my life, which I know you must have done right gallantly, seeing the -peril of the deed.” - -“About as gallantly as you did, when you came so near losing it,” he -answered. “But come, Sir Miles, night wears apace, and if you will allow -me to show you to your humble chamber, the best our lowly house can -offer, I will wish you good repose, and return to watch over my young -friend here.” - -“My age must excuse me, that I accept your offer, whose place it should -be to watch over him myself.” - -“I need no watcher, sir,” replied Jasper, boldly. “I am quite well now, -and shall sleep, I warrant you, unto cock-crow without awakening.” - -“Good-night, then, boy!” cried Sir Miles, stooping over him and again -kissing his brow, “and God send thee better in health and wiser in -condition.” - -“Good-night, sir; and God send me stronger and braver, and more like my -father,” said the youth, with a light laugh. - -“I will return anon, young friend—for friends, I hope, we shall be,” -said the other, as he left the room lighting Sir Miles respectfully -across the threshold. - -“I hope we shall—and I thank you. But I shall be fast asleep ere then.” - -And so he was; but not the less for that did the stalwart young man -watch over him, sitting erect in one of the high-backed chairs, until -the first pale light of dawn came stealing in through the latticed -casement, and the shrill cry of the early cock announced the morning of -another day. - - - CHAPTER IV. - - _The Lovesuit._ - - He either fears too much, - Or his deserts are small, - Who would not put it to the touch, - To win or lose it all. - MONTROSE. - -The earliest cock had barely crowed his first salutation to the -awakening day, and the first warblers had not yet begun to make their -morning music in the thick shrubberies around the cottage, when aroused -betimes by his anxiety for Jasper, Sir Miles made his appearance, -already full dressed, at the door of the room in which his son was -sleeping. - -For he was still asleep, with that hardy young man still watching over -him, apparently unmoved by the loss of his own rest, and wholly -indifferent to what are usually deemed the indispensable requirements of -nature. - -“You are afoot betimes, sir,” said the youth, rising from his seat as -the old cavalier entered the room; “pity that you should have arisen so -early, for I could have watched him twice as long, had it been needful, -but in truth it was not so. Your son has scarce moved, Sir Miles, since -you left the chamber last night. You see how pleasantly and soundly he -is sleeping.” - -“It was not _that_, young sir,” replied the old man, cordially. “It was -not that I doubted your good will, or your good watching either; but he -is my son, my only son, and how should I but be anxious. But as you say, -he sleeps pleasantly and well. God be thanked therefore. He will be none -the worse for this.” - -“Better, perhaps, Sir Miles,” replied the other, with a slight smile. -“Wiser, at least, I doubt not he will be; for in good truth, it was a -very boyish, and a very foolish risk to run.” - -The old man, for the first time, looked at the speaker steadfastly, and -was struck by the singular expression of his countenance—that strange -mixture of impassive self-confident composure, and half-scornful -audacity, which I have mentioned as being his most striking -characteristics. On the preceding evening, Sir Miles had been so much -engrossed by the anxiety he felt about his son, and subsequently by the -feelings called forth in his inmost heart by the discovery of an old -comrade in the person of William Allan, that in fact he had paid little -attention to either of the other personages present. - -He had observed, indeed, that there were a fair young girl and a -powerfully framed youth present; he had even addressed a few words -casually to both of them, but they had left no impression on his mind, -and he had not even considered who or what they were likely to be. - -Now, however, when he was composed and relieved of fear for his son’s -life, he was struck, as I have said, by the expression and features of -the young man, and began to consider who he could be; for there was no -such similarity, whether of feature, expression, voice, air or gesture, -between him and William Allan, as is wont to exist between son and sire. - -After a moment’s pause, however, the old cavalier replied, not -altogether pleased apparently by the tone of the last remark. - -“It was a very bold and _manly_ risk, it appears to me,” he said, “and -if rash, can hardly be called boyish; and you, I should think,” he -added, “would be the last to blame bold actions. You look like any thing -but one who should recommend cold counsels, or be slack either to dare -or do. I fancy you have seen stirring times somewhere, and been among -daring deeds yourself.” - -“So many times, Sir Miles,” replied the young man, modestly, “that I -have learned how absurd it is to _seek_ such occasions without cause. -There be necessary risks enough in life, and man has calls enough, and -those unavoidable, on his courage, without going out of his way to seek -them, or throwing any energy or boldness unprofitably to the winds. At -least so I have found it in the little I have seen of human life and -action.” - -“Ha! you speak well,” said Sir Miles, looking even more thoughtfully -than before at the marked and somewhat weatherbeaten features of the -young man. “And where have you met with perils so rife, and learned so -truly the need of disciplining natural energies and valor.” - -“On the high seas, Sir Miles, of which I have been a follower from a -boy.” - -“Indeed! are you such a voyager! and where, I pray you, have you -served?” - -“I cannot say that I have exactly _served_. But I have visited both the -Indias, East and West; and have seen some smart fighting—where they say -peace never comes—beyond the Line, I mean, with the Dons, both in -Darien and Peru.” - -“Ha! but you have indeed seen the world, for one so young as you; and -yet I think you have not sailed in the king’s ships, nor held rank in -the service.” - -“No, Sir Miles, I am but a poor free-trader; and yet sometimes I think -that we have carried the English flag farther, and made the English name -both better known, and more widely feared, than the cruisers of any king -who has sat on our throne, since the good old days of Queen Bess.” - -“His present majesty did good service against the Dutch, young man. And -what say you to Blake? Who ever did more gloriously at sea, than rough -old Blake?” - -“Ay, sir, but that was in Noll’s days, and we may not call him a _king_ -of England, though of a certainty he was her wise and valiant ruler. And -for his present majesty, God bless him! that Opdam business was when he -was the Duke of York; and he has forgotten all his glory, I think, now -that he has become king, and lets the Frenchman and the Don do as they -please with our colonists and traders, and the Dutchman, too, for that -matter.” - -The old man paused, and shook his head gravely for a moment, but then -resumed with a smile, - -“So, so, my young friend, you are one of those bold spirits who claim to -judge for yourselves, and make peace or war, as you think well, without -waiting the slow action of senates or kings, who hold that hemispheres, -not treaties, are the measure of hostility or amity.” - -“Not so, exactly, noble sir. But where we find peace or war, there we -take them; and if the Dons wont be quiet on the other side the Line, and -our good king wont keep them quiet, why we must either take them as we -find them, or give up the great field to them altogether.” - -“Which you hold to be unEnglish and unmanly?” - -“Even so, sir.” - -“Well, I, for one, will not gainsay you. But do not you fear, sometimes -that while you are thus stretching a commission—that is the term, I -believe, among you liberal gentlemen—you may chance to get your own -neck stretched some sultry morning in the Floridas or in Darien.” - -“One of the very risks I spoke of but now, Sir Miles,” replied the young -man, laughing. “My life were not worth five minutes’ purchase if the -Governor of St. Augustine, or of Panama either, for that matter, could -once lay hold on me.” - -“I marvel,” said the old cavalier, again shaking his head solemnly, “I -marvel much—” and then interrupting himself suddenly in the middle of -his sentence, he lapsed into a fit of meditative silence. - -“At what, if I may be so bold—at what do you so much marvel?” - -“That William Allan should consent,” replied the cavalier, “that son of -his should embark in so wild and stormy a career, in a career which, I -should have judged, with his strict principles and somewhat puritanical -feeling, he would deem the reverse of gracious or godfearing.” - -“He knows not what career I follow,” answered the young man, bluntly. -“But you are in error altogether, sir. I am no son of William Allan.” - -“No son of William Allan! Ha! now that I think of it, your features are -not his, nor your voice either.” - -“Nor my body, nor my soul!” replied the other, hastily and hotly, “no -more than the free falcon’s are those of the caged linnet! Sometimes I -even marvel how it can be that any drop of mutual or common blood should -run in our veins; and yet it is so—and I—I—yet no—I do _not_ repent -it!” - -“And wherefore should you? there is no worthier or better man, I do -believe, than William Allan living; and, in his younger days at least, I -know there was no braver.” - -“No braver?—indeed! indeed!” exclaimed the young man, eagerly—“was he, -indeed, brave?” - -“Ay, was he, youth! brave both to do and to suffer. Brave, both with the -quick and dauntless courage to act, and with the rarer and more elevated -courage to resolve and hold fast to resolution. But who are you, who, -living with him, know both so little and so much of William Allan? If -you be not his son, who are you?” - -“His sister’s son, Sir Miles—his only sister’s son, to whom, since that -sister’s death, he has been—God forgive me for that I said but -now—more than a father; for surely I have tried him more than ever son -tried a father, and he has borne with me still with a most absolute -indulgence and unwearied love.” - -“What—what!” exclaimed Sir Miles, much moved and even agitated by what -he heard, “are you the child of that innocent and beautiful Alicia -Allan, whom—whom—” The old man faltered and stopped short, for he was -in fact on the point of bursting into tears. - -But the youth finished the sentence which he had left unconcluded, in a -stern, slow voice, and with a lowering brow. - -“Whom your friend, Durzil Olifaunt, betrayed by a mock marriage, and -afterward deserted with her infants. Yes, Sir Miles, I am one of those -infants, the son of Alicia Allan’s shame! And my uncle did not slay -him—therefore it is I asked you, was he brave.” - -“And yet he _was_ slain—and for that very deed!” replied the old man, -gloomily, with his eyes fixed upon the ground. - -“He _was_ slain,” repeated the young sailor, whose curiosity and -interest were now greatly excited. “But how can you tell wherefore? No -one has ever known who slew him—how, then, can you name the cause of -his slaying?” - -“There is ONE who knows all things!” - -“But HE imparts not his knowledge,” answered the other, not -irreverently. “And unless _you_ slew him, I see not how you can know -this. Yet, hold, hold!” he continued impetuously, as he saw that Sir -Miles was about to speak, “if you did slay him, tell it not; for if he -did betray my mother, if he did abandon me to disgrace and ruin—still, -still he was my father.” - -“I slew him not, young man,” replied the cavalier, gravely, “but he was -slain for the cause that I have named, and I saw him die—repentant.” - -“Repentant!” exclaimed the youth, grasping the withered hand of the old -knight, in the intensity of his emotions, “did he repent the wrong he -had done my mother?” - -“As surely as he died.” - -“May God forgive him, then,” said the seaman, clasping his hands -together and bursting into tears, “as I forgive him.” - -“Amen! amen!” cried the knight, “for he was mine ancient friend, the -comrade of my boyhood, before he did that thing; and I, too, have -something to forgive to him.” - -“You, Sir Miles, you!—what can you have to forgive?” - -“Tell me first, tell me—how are you named?” - -“Durzil,” answered the youth, “Durzil, _Nothing_!” he added, very -bitterly, “my country, and my country’s law give me no other name, but -only Durzil—its enemies have named me _Bras-de-fer_!” - -“Then mark me, Durzil; as he of whom you are sprung, of whom you are -named, was my first friend, so was your mother my first love; and she -returned my love, till he, my sometime confidant, did steal her from me, -and made his paramour, whom I had made my wife.” - -“Great God!” exclaimed the young man, struck with consternation; “then -it must, it must have been so—it was you who slew my—my father!” - -“Young man, I never lied.” - -“Pardon me, Sir Miles. Pardon me, I am half distraught. And you loved my -mother, and—and—he repented. Why was not I told of this before? And -yet,” he added, again pausing, as if some fresh suspicion struck him, -“and yet how is this? I heard you speak yester even to my uncle, of -wrongs done—done by yourself to _him_, and of a woman’s death—that -woman, therefore, was not, could not have been _my_ mother. Who, then, -was _she_?” - -“_His_ mother,” replied Sir Miles St. Aubyn, calmly, but sadly, pointing -to the bed on which Jasper lay sleeping tranquilly and all unconsciously -of the strange revelations which were going on around him. “If my friend -robbed me of William Allan’s sister, so I won from William Allan, in -after days, her who owned his affection; but with this difference, that -she I won never returned your uncle’s love from the beginning, and that -I never betrayed his confidence. If I were the winner, it was in fair -and loyal strife, and though it has been, as I learned for the first -time last night, a sore burthen on your uncle’s heart, it has been none -on my conscience; my withers are unwrung.” - -“I believe it, sir; from my soul, I believe it,” cried the young man, -enthusiastically, “for, on my life, I think you are all honor and -nobility. But tell me, tell me now, if you love, if you pity me—as you -should do for my mother’s sake—who slew my father?” - -“I have sworn,” answered the cavalier, “I have sworn never to reveal -that to mortal man; and if I had not sworn, to _you_ I could not reveal -it; for, if I judge aright, you would hold yourself bound to—” - -“Avenge it!” exclaimed the youth, fiercely, interrupting him; “ay, were -it at my soul’s purchase—since he repented.” - -“He _did_ repent, Durzil; nay, more, he died, desiring only that he -could repair the wrong he had done you, regretting only that he could -not give you his name and his inheritance, as he did give _you_ his -dying blessing, and your mother his last thought, his last word in this -world.” - -“Did _she_ know this?” - -“Durzil, I cannot answer you; for within a few days after your father’s -death, I left England for the Low Countries, and returned not until many -a year had passed into the bygone eternity. When I did return, the -sorrows of Alicia Allan were at an end forever; and though I then made -all inquiries in all quarters, I could learn nothing of your uncle or -yourself, nor ever have heard of you any more until last night, when we -were all so singularly brought together.” - -“I _ought_ to have known this; I would, I would to God that I _had_ -known it. My life had been less wild, then, less turbulent, less stormy. -My spirit had not then burned with so rash a recklessness. It was the -sense of wrong, of bitter and unmerited wrong done in past times, of -cold and undeserved scorn heaped on me in the present, as the -bastard—the child of infamy and shame! that goaded me into so hot -action. But it is done now, it is done, and cannot be amended. The world -it is which has made me what I am—let the world look to it—let the -world enjoy the work of its hands.” - -“There is nothing, Durzil,” said the old man, solemnly, “nothing but -death that cannot be amended. _Undone_ things may not be, but all may be -amended, by God’s good grace to aid us.” - -“Hast thou not seen a sapling in the forest, which, overcrowded by trees -of stronger growth, or warped from its true direction by some unnoted -accident, hath grown up vigorous indeed and strong, but deformed and -distorted in its yearly progress, until arrived at its full maturity, -not all the art or all the strength of man or man’s machinery can force -it from its bias, or make it straight and comely? So is it with the mind -of man, Sir Miles. While it is young and plastic, you shall direct it as -you will—once ripened, hardened in its growth, whether that growth be -tortuous or true, as soon shall you remodel the stature of the -earth-fast oak, as change its intellectual bias. But I am wearying you, -I fancy, and wasting words in unavailing disquisition. I hear my uncle’s -step without, moreover; permit me, I will join him.” - -“Hold yet a moment,” replied the old man, kindly, “and let me say this -to you now, while we are alone, which I may perchance lack opportunity -to say hereafter. Your mother’s son, Durzil Olifaunt—for so I shall -ever call you, and so by _his_ last words you are entitled to be -called—can never weary me. Your welfare will concern me ever—what -interests you will interest me always, and next to my own son I shall -hold you nearest and dearest to this old heart at all times. Now leave -me if you will—yet hold! tell me before you go, what I am fain to learn -concerning your good uncle—the knowledge shall perchance save painful -explanation, perchance grave misunderstanding.” - -“All that I know is at your service,” answered the young man, in a -calmer and milder tone than he had used heretofore—for he was, in -truth, much moved and softened by the evident feeling of the old -cavalier; “but let me thank you first for your kindly offers, which, -should occasion offer, believe me, I will test as frankly as you have -made them nobly.” - -To his latter words Miles St. Aubyn made no answer, except a grave -inclination of his head, for his mind was preoccupied now by thoughts of -very different import—was fixed, indeed, on days long passed, and on -old painful memories. - -“This girl,” he said at length, “this fair young girl whom I saw here -last night, is she—is she your sister? I think you had a sister—yet -this fair child hath not Alicia’s hair, nor her eyes—who is she?” - -“God was most good in that,” answered the seaman, with much feeling, “he -took my sister to himself, even before my mother pined away. A man’s lot -is hard enough who is the son of shame—a woman’s is intolerable -anguish. Theresa is my uncle’s child—his only child. His love for her -is almost idolatry, and were it altogether so, she deserves it all. Lo! -there she passes by the casement—was ever fairer face or lovelier -figure? and yet her soul, her innocent and artless soul, has beauties -that as far surpass those personal charms, as _they_ exceed all other -earthly loveliness.” - -“You love her,” said the cavalier, looking quickly upward, for he had -been musing with downcast eyes, while Durzil spoke, and had not even -raised his lids to gaze upon Theresa as she passed through the garden. -“You love this innocent and gentle child.” - -The young man’s cheek burned crimson, ashamed that he should have -revealed himself so completely to one who was almost a stranger. But he -was not one to deny or disguise a single feeling of his heart, whether -for good or for evil, and he replied, after a moment’s pause, with an -unfaltering and steady voice, “I _do_ love her, more than my own soul!” - -“And she,” asked the old knight, “does she know, does she return your -affection?” - -Again the sailor hesitated, “Women, they say,” he replied, at length, -“know always by a natural instinct when they are beloved, and therefore -I believe she _knows_ it. For the rest, she is always most affectionate, -most gentle, nay, even tender. Further than this, I may not judge.” - -“Father,” exclaimed a faint voice from the bed, at this moment. “Is that -you, father?” and Jasper St. Aubyn opened his eyes, languid yet from the -heavy slumber into which the opiate had cast him, and raised himself up -a little on his pillow, though with a slow and painful motion. - -“My son,” cried the old man, hurrying to the side of the bed, “my own -boy, Jasper, how fare you now? You have slept well.” - -“So well,” answered the bold boy, “that I feel strong enough, and clear -enough in the head, to be up and about; but that whenever I would move a -limb, there comes an accursed twinge to put me in mind that limestone -rock is harder than bone and muscle.” - -Meanwhile, as soon as the old cavalier’s attention was diverted by the -awakening of his own son from his trance-like slumber, Durzil -Bras-de-fer, as he called himself, and as I shall therefore call him, -left the room quietly, and a few minutes afterward might have been seen, -had not the eyes of those within the chamber been otherwise directed, to -pass the casement, following the same path which had been taken by -Theresa Allan a little while before. - - [_To be continued._ - - * * * * * - - - - - ELIM. - - - BY VIRGINIA. - - - And they came to Elim, where were twelve wells of water, and - threescore and ten palm-trees, and they encamped there by the - waters. - - EXODUS XV. 27. - - Noon on the burning desert! - Unutterable noon! - On the wandering band, from Goshen’s land, - Shod in the wondrous shoon! - - Blasting the man of might, - Blighting the infant flower, - And quenching the light to the mother’s sight - As it droops in the fearful hour! - - Look out o’er the blinding heaven! - Look out o’er the searèd ground! - Is naught in view save the torturing blue - And the maddening sand around? - - Behold a speck afar! - It seemeth a cloud like a hand, - And it beck’neth us on through the raging sun - Away to the Promised Land! - - Is it the Angel of Death, - Sent forth as a mocking guide? - Is it the trace of the warrior race - As they scour the trackless wide? - - No! by the Cloudy Pillar! - No! by our Fiery Friend! - From the bush of flame the great I AM - Hath bidden us onward wend! - - On to the Seventy Palm Trees! - On to the water’s brink! - Where the wayfaring rest on the green earth’s breast, - And the fainting pilgrims drink! - - Drink! and forget their misery, - And remember their toil no more; - Rest! while the breeze sways the stately trees - Those dark, cool waters o’er! - - Drink! parched and panting Israel! - In those draughts of mercy deep - There mingles no tide of the Marah wide - Where thy innermost soul shall steep! - - Rest! worn and weary Israel! - In the dream of thy sleeping eyes - There dwelleth no thought of the ruin wrought - By coming centuries! - - Oh, Elim! loveliest Elim! - Gem of the desert old! - Green be thy mighty shadows, - Pure be thy waters cold! - - How often, ’mid life’s vast desert, - My heart within me swells, - As I sigh for thy Seventy Palm Trees, - And for thy Twelve Deep Wells! - - * * * * * - - - - - FAITH’S WARNING. - - - BY HENRY T. TUCKERMAN. - - - The vital elements of all things gifted - With promise or with truth, - By God’s own hand benignantly are lifted - Into perennial youth. - - O then, with gentle reverence, surrender - The wish to interfere, - Behold the miracle, devout and tender, - But enter not its sphere! - - Childhood, with meek intelligence, appealing, - When guardians annoy, - As gush the sympathies its life revealing, - Asks freedom to enjoy. - - Genius, by graceful waywardness, achieving - Its claim the boon to share, - A narrow doom in Fancy’s world retrieving, - Expands untrammeled there. - - The throes of nations plead that right be tested— - The Present grapple fairly with the Past, - For Liberty’s pure zeal if unmolested, - Will triumph at the last! - - Profane not Love in its divine seclusion, - If true, its hope is sure, - Born in weak hearts it is a chance illusion, - That vainly would endure. - - For all things destined to survive, engender - Their own progressive life, - And Truth, forsaken by her last defender, - Yet conquers in the strife. - - In its dim crypt of mould the seed implanted - Will germinate and spring, - Poised in her azure realm the lark undaunted - Exultingly will sing! - - The prayer of wisdom in these later ages - Is for unchartered right - To turn, at will, her own elected pages, - With unimpeded sight. - - To their own law abandon all things real, - Nor, with incessant care, - Strive to conform to thy perverse ideal - What God created fair. - - * * * * * - - - - - LAMENT OF THE GOLD-DIGGER. - - - BY E. CURTISS HINE, U. S. N. - - - ’Tis the grief for their fate gives me mystical lore, - And coming events cast their shadows before. - CAMPBELL. - - ’Tis evening, and I stand alone - On San Francisco’s desert shore, - The wandering night-winds sadly moan, - And shrieking sea-birds round me soar. - The weary sun hath sunk to sleep - Beyond the great Pacific’s wave, - While here I stand and idly weep - That I have been to gold a slave! - - O, curses on the maddening cry - That echoed through my own green land, - And sent me forth, unwept to die, - Upon this lonely desert strand! - With spirits fresh the hills I trod, - And in the eager strife for gain - Forgot my country and my GOD, - And fevered fancies flushed my brain! - - It came at last, the bitter thought, - That I was linked with toiling slaves, - Whose very life-blood had been bought - By selfish and designing knaves. - But all too late conviction came, - And with a down-cast, tearful eye. - I thought with anguish and with shame - I’d chased an echo here—to die! - - O, vain was all our strife for wealth, - We ploughed the bed of many a stream, - All idly, and with ruined health, - Heaped curses on our fevered dream, - That drove us from our homes away, - Athwart the ocean’s furrowed breast, - To find with terror and dismay - That we were houseless Famine’s guests! - - My heart grows sick—my eye grows dim, - As o’er the watery waste I gaze, - And powerless droops each nerveless limb, - And manhood’s pride and strength decays. - Adieu, my childhood’s home, for fate - Hath dimmed the brightness of my sky, - I’ve “dug” my grave, and found too late - I’ve chased an echo here—to die! - - * * * * * - - - - - SKETCHES OF LIFE IN OUR VILLAGE. - - - NO. I.—WHAT THERE WAS TO LIKE IN HATTIE ATHERTON. - - - BY GIFTIE. - - -“You seem to have a great deal to say lately about this Miss Hattie -Atherton,” said my brother, looking up from his book as I entered the -parlor, after escorting to the door a friend who had been making me a -morning call. - -“Well,” said I, “I hope you have no objection.” - -“Objection—no indeed. But what is there in Miss Hattie, that you all -like so much? Your friends have been perfectly absorbed in admiration of -her for the last three days.” - -“If you knew her you would not wonder that we are all glad to have her -at home again. She has been absent four years at a boarding-school, and -as she is reported to be wonderfully accomplished her return makes quite -a sensation in our quiet circle. That is the reason you have heard her -name so frequently mentioned.” - -“A regular paragon of boarding-school accomplishments, I suppose,” said -Fred, with his most scornful sneer. “She doesn’t know a cow from a -sheep—works worsted dogs—paints in colors _excessively -watery_—considers her father and mother quite countrified and -vulgar—and knows enough of the languages to Frenchify her name into -Harri_ette_, or into the more unmeaning diminutive of H-a-t-t-i-e.” - -“You are really savage,” replied I, laughing, “but, my good sir, you are -quite mistaken in your enumeration, for though she had adopted the -diminutive of her somewhat stately name, she is innocent of working -worsted dogs, and she rejoices in the knowledge that of the two animals, -the cow is the largest. Really, Fred, she is a very lovely girl, -perfectly unaffected, and exulting like a freed bird to visit again her -old haunts, - - “‘In the grove and by the river.’” - -“Ah, she is one of that sort, is she? Raves of nature and falls on her -knees to a pigweed. For my part, I could never imagine why a boy wasn’t -just as natural as an alder bush.” - -“You are really impertinent, Fred, to talk so about my friends,” said I, -a little vexed. - -“Beg your pardon, sis; but you may depend upon it, all boarding-school -girls belong to one of two classes—the smart and affected, or the soft -and sentimental. You, my dear Mary, are the only one I ever knew to pass -the ordeal without being spoiled.” - -“Which escape, I presume, you impute entirely to liberal share of advice -bestowed by my wise brother. I am quite provoked with you, for your -unsparing sarcasms on women.” - -“Ah, if they were only all like you,” replied Fred, rising to come to -me, and then falling back on the sofa with a growl at the pain the -attempt had caused his sprained ankle. Gentle reader, that sprain, which -had confined him four days to the sofa, was the sole reason why my -good-natured, sensible brother was so “uncommon” cross. - -There was a pause, during which Fred cut his nails and I sewed most -industriously. “I think,” said he at length—but what he thought was -lost forever to the world, for at that moment the door opened and Hattie -entered. - -“Speak of angels and one sees their wings,” said I, as I rose to welcome -her. “You have come just in time to verify the proverb, for we have been -speaking of you.” Fred gave me a beseeching glance. He did not know of a -plan I had formed, which was quite inconsistent with any attempt to -prejudice Miss Atherton against him. - -“I hope angels don’t tear their wings as badly as I have torn my shawl. -I have come to you for aid, and you see I carry a flag of distress,” -replied Hattie, holding out her shawl that had one corner nearly torn -off. - -“How did you get such a rent in it?” exclaimed I. - -“I have been paying a visit to your friend, Murray, and caught it on a -nail in his door,” said she laughing. - -“What in the world were you doing at Murray’s?” - -“I went down to see his child. When I looked out of my window this -morning, I was horrified to see that hop pole, whose graceful clusters -we were admiring yesterday, lying on the ground, and shorn of its -glories. On inquiring the cause of this outrage, I found that Murray -went to our house last evening for some hops to make a tea for a sick -child, and mother told him to get some from this pole. In doing so, he -managed, with Irish dexterity, to throw it down directly across the bed -of Dahlias.” - -“Your beautiful Dahlias—what a pity!” - -“I was very sorry, but fortunately they are not all destroyed. I thought -the poor man must have been in desperate haste to do such a thing, and -so I went to see if the child were dangerously sick.” - -“Those Murrays are protegés of mine, but I didn’t know that any of them -were sick.” - -“The child seems to be threatened with a fever, but I made them give it -a warm bath, and put baths of hops on its head and feet, and before I -left, it was quite relieved. I staid to superintend the operations, lest -they should not do it properly, for I fancy they are not accustomed to -the use of water. To be sure, dirt is the native element of that -class—but aren’t they uncommonly dirty?” - -“I think they are,” replied I. “Last winter I asked Mrs. Murray why she -didn’t wash the children before she put on some new clothes I had -provided for them, and she opened her eyes in astonishment. ‘Sure -ma’am,’ said she, ‘sure and the dirt keeps ’em warm when they’ve nothin’ -else to kiver ’em.’ - -“I suppose she thinks the same reason applies in summer by the rule of -contraries, for they were none of them very clean, and I thought they -were rather alarmed at the sight of a tubfull of water. Murray asked if -I “wasn’t afeard the child ’ud cotch cold,” but he says he thinks “hops -is werry good things,” and she imitated the deep guttural tones of our -gardener with a perfection that was perfectly startling. - -“You are quite a doctress,” said Fred, when he had done laughing—“can’t -you prescribe for me?” - -“I should think patience and resignation—an ounce each, thoroughly -compounded—would be the most necessary remedy for a sprain,” replied -Harriet—and the conversation turned on other subjects. - -We examined the shawl, and pronounced it unmendable and I offered to -lend her my mantilla. “I will accept it,” said she, “if you will -yourself accompany it and assist me in making some purchases this -morning. Sally Murphy, who has lived with us so long, is about being -married, and father intends furnishing her house for her. It is a small -tenement with only four rooms, but it will be all her own, and she would -not be more delighted with a palace.” - -I was soon ready, and we walked to the cabinet-makers, who was delighted -to furnish what we wanted, and then to that “omnium gatherum,” yclept, -“the dry goods store,” where we found every thing necessary for our -purpose, from the lace for the bride’s dress to the carpet that was to -adorn her “keeping-room.” “These are my part of the wedding presents,” -said Hattie. “I earned the money—you know how?” - -I have said that I had a plan in view, in which my brother and Hattie -were to be the principal actors, and you will readily perceive that -though not much given to meddling with the affairs of other people, I -was sufficiently feminine in my tastes to be something of a matchmaker. -Notwithstanding his fine intellectual powers and considerable knowledge -derived from men and books, Fred had always been exceedingly deficient -in the ability to say and do those graceful nothings that are the usual -stepping-stones to an acquaintance between ladies and gentlemen, and -this, added to a certain bashfulness that frequently attends a proud, -sensitive nature, had kept him from finding any intimate friends among -the ladies he had met in his college life, and in his subsequent -wanderings over the world. Unfortunately, too, for my matrimonial -schemes in his behalf, he was provokingly contented with the prospect of -being an old bachelor; and since his establishment in our village, had -confined his visits to a few married ladies who were vastly superior in -cultivation of mind to any of the unmarried ones of our acquaintance. -Thus with a handsome person, and more than ordinary powers of pleasing, -had he chosen to exert them, my brother had passed to the shady side of -thirty, without having his large, warm heart stirred by a deeper emotion -than the quiet love excited by the home circle. I was determined this -state of things should not endure much longer, and to Harriet I looked -for aid in breaking the spell of indifference that was consigning him to -the lonely and selfish existence of a confirmed old bachelor. - -Some weeks after the morning on which my story opens, Fred invited me to -walk with him to one of his favorite places of resort—a grove that was -situated about a mile from the village. The purple light of sunset was -thrown like a glory over the surrounding hills, and fell upon the bosom -of the river which, foaming in successive rapids through most of its -course, here spread out in a broad, deep current, as it swept with -graceful curve between its steep wooded banks. Following the path that -led down the bank, we came out from the shadow of the trees into a point -of land that, jutting out into the river, was covered with a soft -greensward. A willow grew on its extremest verge, and on a flat rock -under its overhanging branches Hattie Atherton was seated, with her -sketch-book on her knee. Her hat lay beside her on the grass, and the -wind sweeping back the long, shining curls that usually hung over her -face, revealed her broad, intellectual brow, and the perfect contour of -her features, while her slight, delicate figure was relieved against the -dark trunk of the tree. So absorbed was she in her occupation that she -did not know of our approach till we were beside her, and I had taken -her book to show Fred her accurate drawing of the view before us. She -started up with a slight blush, and turning to my brother said, with a -low silvery laugh, - -“You ridicule romantic school girls, Mr. Stanley; and as I presume you -think I look very much like one at this moment, I must tell you how I -happened to be here. Father told me to-day that the course of the M—— -railroad has been altered, and it will pass directly along this bank, so -that our beautiful grove will be spoiled.” - -Great was our indignation at the idea of this invasion, and when we had -exhausted almost every expression in the language, Fred declared he -would get up a remonstrance and defeat their sacrilegious purposes. - -“It will be of no use,” said Hattie. “It is the march of improvement, -and we must submit.” - -“Worse than the march of the Goths and Vandals,” exclaimed Fred, -wrathfully; “the idea of sacrificing these grand old trees to the whims -of a few railroad contractors—it is too bad, for the other route will -be more convenient for everybody else.” - -“I felt sorry enough, as you may imagine,” replied Hattie. “I have spent -so many happy hours here that I determined to sketch the view from this -point before the measuring-rod or the steam-engine should disturb its -quiet beauty.” - -“And your pencil has immortalized it; how perfectly you have copied the -flickering light that falls on the smooth, dark waters, through those -overhanging trees. Really, Miss Atherton, I shall be exceedingly obliged -to you for a copy of this picture.” - -“You shall have one,” said Hattie, frankly. “I intended making a picture -from this, and giving the drawing to Mary, for I know she loves this -scene as much as I do. I have so many pleasant associations connected -with it, that I feel as if I were to part with an old friend.” - -“I can realize your feelings,” replied Fred, “for I, too, have loved to -listen on this spot to the many voices of nature. How often have I sat -beneath these trees to watch the daylight fade from the hills, and the -twilight throw its shadows over the landscape, seeming to descend lower -and lower till they rested on the bosom of the river, and I could see -nothing but the white foam gleaming through the dark, where it falls -over the rocks away yonder. Then the low, thrilling, whispering of the -wind among the pines, and the melancholy scream of the night-hawk—I -declare they have made me quite poetical, as you see,” he added, -smiling, and slightly embarrassed at having been thus betrayed out of -his usual composure, which embarrassment was not at all relieved by -meeting Hattie’s large dark eyes fixed on him with an expression of -wonder and gratification. Perhaps it was this _mauvais honte_—perhaps -it was the argumentative spirit which had occasioned us to give him in -the family the soubriquet of “the opposing member”—that gave so -singular a turn to this sentimental conversation, when at this moment, -in turning over the leaves of her book, Fred found a slip of paper -covered with verses of Harriet’s composition. - -“So you write poetry, too!” said he, looking up at her with a smile. - -“Oh, give it to me—I wouldn’t have you read it for the world,” -exclaimed she, springing forward with such evident distress that he -reluctantly relinquished the manuscript. - -“You needn’t be afraid of his criticism, for he writes poetry -sometimes,” said I. - -“_Do_ you?” said Hattie, incredulously. - -“Certainly,” answered my brother; “everybody does now-a-days. In the -class from which I graduated at college, there were forty-five, of which -forty wrote poetry.” - -“Wrote _verses_, you mean,” said Hattie, demurringly. - -“There is very little difference. The Horatian maxim, ‘_Poeta nascitur -non fit_,’ which has so long been thought to countenance a distinction, -simply means that men and women who write poetry, like other men and -women, are ‘born.’” - -“I suppose, then,” replied Hattie, humoring the idea, “that the doctrine -that poets were obliged to gallop up the sides of a steep mountain in -Greece, on a vicious nondescript called Pegasus, is to be considered -wholly metaphorical.” - -“Just so,” said Fred. “Pegasus is now a mere omnibus horse, and timid -people need no longer be afraid of entering the coach lest they should -get a kick from the rampant animal, or be thrown into the depths of -Helicon.” - -“The doctrine of inspiration is also exploded,” said I, laughing. “Burns -used to compose some of his nice little sonnets while engaged in the -groveling occupation of ploughing, and if any thing more elaborate than -usual was wanting, he took a glass of Scotch whisky.” - -“Byron, too,” continued Fred, “wrote under the influence of gin; and it -is said of Wordsworth, considered by the Lake school the greatest of -modern poets, that he had an assistant feeding him with bread and butter -while he was writing the ‘Excursion.’ Whoever, then, can drink whisky -and gin, or as coming within the circle of the ‘pledge,’ can eat bread -and butter, need fear no lack of inspiration.” - -“How ridiculous!” exclaimed Hattie. “What would these great immortals -think, could they hear your nonsense.” - -“Immortals! there is another false idea that should be given up by all -sensible men. Every thing else that is made is made for some object, and -its excellence is determined by its fitness for that object—why -shouldn’t it be so with poetry. Cheese, for instance, in Connecticut, is -made with especial reference to the time of its consumption, and one -kind is labeled ‘to be eaten immediately,’ another, ‘in one year,’ ‘two -years,’ and so on. So with poetry. Some of it is better to be kept some -years and go down to posterity like ‘Paradise Lost’ and Shakspeare, that -were not much esteemed at first, you know; other kinds, more fit for -present consumption, may be read by moonlight, cried over, and applied -to other purposes of poetry.” - -“You remind me,” said I, “of a definition I heard the other day, which -said, ‘poetry is only pleasant, metrical, musical, writing which amuses -and astonishes one’s friends, makes one’s enemies bite their lips for -envy, and may be counted on the fingers.’” - -“That’s very good,” replied my brother, “but the easiest way to make -poetry is to take prose and turn it. I was quite surprised, at an -instance of this, I found yesterday, in reading Napier’s History of the -Peninsula War. He had been describing the battle of Corunna, and in -speaking of the death of Sir John More, he says, very nearly in these -words: ‘it was thought best to retreat without waiting for the break of -day. The body of Sir John was hurriedly deposited in the earth, near the -rampart, without music or even a farewell shot being fired over his -grave.’ Mr. Wolfe has immortalized himself, as it is called, by turning -this account into verse; and just notice how closely he has followed the -prose original: - - “‘Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, - As his corpse to the rampart we hurried; - Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot, - O’er the grave where our hero was buried.’” - -“_It is_ strikingly like,” said Hattie, “not even the usual descriptive -adjectives, and very little amplification. That shows how easily pieces -of poetry of great celebrity may have been written. Perhaps you and I -may one day be famous. I have often thought how a pensive man, looking -at the water in this river during a mild fall of snow, might say very -naturally, in thinking of the transitoriness of the pleasures of this -world, - - ‘Like snow falls in a river, - A moment white, then melts forever,’ - -and yet be unconscious that he had uttered a beautiful comparison.” - -“So, too,” said Fred, “any one who has ever cooked a certain kind of -shell-fish before sunrise, could not help saying, as the light broke -upon him, - - “‘Like lobsters boiled—the moon - From black to red begins to turn.’” - -“Come,” said Hattie, when our laugh had subsided, “it is getting dark, -and as I promised to be at home in time to see Sally dressed for her -bridal, I fear if we don’t go now, she will remind me of the pouting -dame who sits at home, - - “‘Gathering her brows like gathering storm, - Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.’” - -After we had left Hattie at her own door, and were proceeding homeward, -Fred broke out in his most earnest tone. “That Miss Atherton is a very -nice girl; what an intellectual face she has—have you seen any of her -poetry—does she write much?” - -“Oh, yes—you have read some of it, which she has published anonymously, -(but this is a great secret, remember,) and her motive in doing so is as -honorable to her heart as the verses are to her poetical powers. You -know Mr. Atherton lavishes his wealth upon his children without bounds, -and Hattie says it does not seem very benevolent for her to give away -her father’s money, so she devotes the proceeds of her literary labors -to purposes of charity. She is very kind to the poor; I wish you could -see how their faces brighten at her approach.” - -“Well done! that is what I like in a woman. She is really a very -sensible girl,” replied my brother. - -“Even if she does write her name H-a-t-t-i-e,” said I, with a sly -glance. Fred pinched my arm, but said nothing. - -Time passed on, and I was satisfied that my brother had found out “what -there was to like in Hattie Atherton;” but a proud man deeply in love is -the most timid of mortals, and he sped but slowly in his wooing. His -favorite books were offered for her perusal; and long evenings were -spent in arguments upon questions of metaphysics and philosophy, and -though Hattie had sufficient strength of intellect to sustain her share -of the conversation creditably, she was too much impressed with awe of -Fred’s menial abilities to feel perfectly at ease while he was thus -drawing forth the powers of her mind; and, mistaking her dignity and -slight reserve of manner for indifference or aversion, he dared not -betray the strong affection with which she inspired him. - -One evening, late in the summer, as I was sitting alone in the twilight, -Fred entered hastily, and throwing himself into a chair, exclaimed, “I -have just heard very bad news—do you know—have you seen Harriet -to-day?” - -“No—what has happened? Tell me, for mercy’s sake,” said I, half -frightened out of my wits at the sight of his pale face. - -“Mr. Atherton has failed.” - -“Oh, is that all,” replied I, with a feeling of relief on knowing that -nothing dreadful had befallen my friend. - -“All!” retorted Fred. “I should think that was enough. It will nearly -kill the old man, he has such an overwhelming horror of debt.” - -“How did it happen?” said I, rising and putting on my bonnet as I spoke. - -“Are you going over there? I will go with you, and tell you about it on -the way,” replied Fred, throwing my shawl around me, and giving me his -arm. The story was soon told. The loss of a ship which was wrecked -without insurance some months before, had somewhat embarrassed him, and -the sudden failure of two large mercantile firms in Boston, with whom he -was connected had completed the ruin. - -As we approached the house through the garden, I proposed that we should -go in through one of the parlor windows, which opened upon a grass-plot, -and formed a convenient entrance in that direction, of which we had -frequently availed ourselves. Never shall I forget the sight which -presented itself as we stood before the window. Mrs. Atherton was -reclining on the sofa, sobbing bitterly. Mr. Atherton was seated in an -arm-chair, his face buried in his hands, and his whole frame shrunk and -collapsed, as if beneath a weight of shame and agony. Harriet stood -beside him, bathing his head and raising with her smooth, white fingers, -the gray locks he had pulled over his brow. The light which fell full on -her face, showed that she had been weeping violently; but now there was -a faint smile on her trembling lips, and she was talking earnestly. We -could not hear what she said, but the tones were full of encouragement, -and her attitude and expression betokened firmness and hope. As we -gazed, the old man suddenly uncovered his face, and throwing his arms -around her neck, drew her mouth down to his, and kissed her fervently. - -“We will not intrude here,” said my brother. There was a strange -huskiness in his voice, and I felt his whole frame tremble as it did -when he was strongly moved. - -We walked slowly home again and talked sadly of the misfortune that had -befallen our friends—of their plans of quiet happiness that must be -given up—of their munificent charities that must be now contracted, and -of the anxieties and embarrassments which would harass that honorable -old man, but when I said that Lizzy must come home from school, and -George must discontinue his studies, Fred replied resolutely that “It -must not be;” and when we entered the house, he seated himself before -the writing-desk and commenced a letter. Having occasion to cross the -room as he was closing it, I took a sister’s liberty to peep over his -shoulder, and saw—“So, my dear fellow, do not think of leaving, but -draw on me for whatever funds you may require.” - -A fortnight elapsed, during which I saw little of Harriet. In his -professional capacity, as a lawyer, Fred was busy most of the time with -Mr. Atherton, canvassing the business—settling accounts and making -assignments; and it was a season of mental torture to the ruined father -which could hardly have been borne had it not been for the gentle -ministrations of his daughter. She it was who nerved her invalid mother -to meet calmly their change of circumstances, and to aid her in -consoling the care-worn, haggard man, whose sorrow they so deeply -shared. The sight of her lovely face beaming with cheerfulness and -affection, the sound of her low musical voice, as she sung the songs he -loved, or repeated to him words of religious faith and consolation, -seemed to operate like a charm in driving away the cares that haunted -him, and gradually her firmness and courage were imparted to him, and he -was enabled to lift up his head once more and hope for better days. - -Early one morning Hattie entered the room where we were sitting at -breakfast, with a face so much more joyful than she had for some time -worn, that I knew she must have some good news to communicate. - -“It is, indeed, so,” said she, in reply to my inquiry. “I came to tell -some news, and also to beg your assistance for to-day.” - -“I am at your service,” I answered; “but first tell me what has happened -to please you so much?” - -“I must premise,” replied she, “what you already know, that on settling -up his affairs, father has found that he can pay every cent he owes, and -we shall have our dear old house and garden left; and as father has a -thousand dollars a year from his land agency, we shall be able to get -along quite comfortably. But in order to do so, Lizzy must leave school -and George must help support himself for the next eighteen months which -elapse before his studies are finished. Now you know he inherits -mother’s delicate constitution, and his health is too feeble to allow -him to apply himself as closely as will be necessary if he is to earn -his own support. Father has a sort of nervous horror of his getting into -debt, (and George is as particular as father is on that point,) so, to -make my story short,” she added, hesitating a little, while a bright -blush suddenly suffused her face, “_I_ am going to support them, and -father can keep the old homestead—” - -“You support them—how?” we both exclaimed. - -“Through the kindness of my old teacher, Miss W——. Lizzy mentioned in -her last letter that Miss Foster, who has so long taught drawing and -music at the Seminary, had left to be married, and their present teacher -was not considered competent. So I wrote the day after our misfortune -came, without saying any thing to father, and applied for the situation, -and this morning I received an answer, filled with the most flattering -expressions of kindness, and offering very liberal terms.” - -“You do not seriously mean that you intend teaching?” said my brother, -in a tone that deepened the flush on Hattie’s cheek. - -“Certainly I do. Why should I not make my acquirements available. I -intend to ‘_improve my talents_,’ and as that old-fashioned Jewish coin -is not current in this country, I must exchange it for something that -will pass more readily. I am quite delighted, too, with the terms Miss -W—— offers me, though I fear I shall not be worth so much money. She -says, if I will let part of the salary go to pay Lizzy’s school-bills, -she will give me five hundred dollars a year, on condition that I engage -to remain two years.” - -“That will be about four hundred dollars in money,” said I, musingly; -“yes, that is quite good pay, to be sure; but, then, what will your -father and mother do without you for two years—have they consented to -your plans?” - -“They have, after some opposition. They will be very much alone, but I -shall depend upon your kindness to cheer their lonely hours, and your -brother will perhaps spend an evening with father occasionally,” added -she, glancing timidly at Fred, who was drumming on the table with a very -dissatisfied air. - -“When do you leave?” asked my mother. - -“To-morrow,” she answered, rising; “and that reminds me that I have not -yet told you, Mary, that I came to request your assistance to-day in -making my final preparations. I did not expect to go so soon, and have -many little things to arrange before I leave.” - -“Why do you go to-morrow?” - -“In order to be there at the commencement of the next term—you will -come, wont you?” - -I promised to be with her in a short time, and she departed; and Fred, -after putting salt into his coffee, and mustard on his bread, in a vain -attempt to finish his breakfast, took his hat in desperation, and went -out after her. - -“Miss Atherton,” said he earnestly, as he overtook her, “let me persuade -you to give up this scheme—we can’t spare you for two years.” - -“I am quite astonished at opposition from you, Mr. Stanley,” said -Hattie, in some confusion at his earnest manner. “It is but a few weeks -since we had that long talk about woman’s duties and powers of -usefulness. You remember what you said then?” - -“Yes; but with you,” replied Fred, in a low tone, “with you it is ‘to -gild refined gold, to paint the lily.’” - -A long silence followed, for both were too much agitated to speak, when -Fred repeated, “Do give up this plan—there is no need of it. I have -written your brother to draw on me for any amount he may need to -complete his education.” - -“You are very kind,” said Hattie, tremulously, and her soft eyes were -filled with a dewy light, as for a moment they met his impassioned gaze. -Just then they reached the garden-gate, and in attempting to unlatch it -at the same time, their hands met. The touch thrilled through each frame -like an electric shock. Fred took her hand and drew it within his arm as -they proceeded up the walk. - -“If I could only persuade you,” said he, “how gratified I am to be of -service to you. If you could have the faintest adequate idea how -necessary is your presence to my happiness—how I have lived for weeks, -months, only in the hope that I might one day tell you how fervently my -whole soul loves you. Oh, dear Miss Atherton, is it all in vain?” - -There was no reply, but the small, trembling hand that rested on his -arm, placed itself in the hand that lay near it, and nestled there, as -if it would cling forever. A glad, hopeful smile sprung to his lips. -“Harriet—dear Harriet, you will let me love you?” - -Again those expressive eyes were raised to his, and her heart spoke -through them, as her low dear tones answered, “I will love you.” - -“And you will not leave me—you will be my wife—you will give me the -right to assist your brother?” - -“Some time hence, but not now. You must not strive to break my -resolution. I trust in you fully, and the words you have just spoken, -are to me like sunshine breaking through the clouds that have enveloped -my life; but for Lizzy’s sake, and for George’s, it is best that I -should not relinquish my purpose.” - -They entered the house and sat down together. All the barriers of doubt -and distrust that had separated them were removed, and these two full, -strong hearts, were revealed to each other. With all the eloquence of -affection, Fred endeavored to convince her that it was not her duty to -leave the home that was now more than ever dear to her; but the gentle -girl was firm in her noble resolve, and at length her pleadings won from -him a reluctant consent to its fulfillment. - -The two years, which had seemed so long in the prospective, passed -rapidly away, as time always does when one is in the steady performance -of duty. Hattie’s visits at home were short and unfrequent, but she won -the admiration of her pupils. Lizzy was at school with her, and Fred -found so much business to compel him to visit the city, that he was -considered quite a public benefactor by certain postage-saving -acquaintances, who besieged our door with inquiries when Mr. Stanley -would go to B——, and would he take a package? - - * * * * * - -It was the evening before the wedding-day. The sisters had returned -three months before, and George had been some time at home, and was soon -to be ordained as pastor over the church where for generations his -fathers had worshiped. Having assisted Lizzy in arranging the bridal -paraphernalia for to-morrow morning’s ceremony, I went down stairs to -bid Hattie good-night before I went home. She was standing by the -window, with her head leaning on Fred’s shoulder. One of his arms was -around her, and with the other he was holding back the curtain that the -brilliant moonlight might fall full on the beautiful face that was -raised to his with an expression of confiding affection. A sudden -recollection flashed upon my mind, and crossing the room, I threw my -arms around them as they stood together, and said to my brother, “Fred, -_have you_ found out what there is to like in Hattie Atherton?” - -“I have found,” replied Fred, drawing her fondly to his heart, “that -there is every thing in her to like except her name; she will change -that to-morrow, and then she will be perfect.” - - * * * * * - - - - - TO MARY. - - - BY LUCY CABELL. - - - ’Twere vain, dear Mary, to attempt - To sound your praise in rhyme; - Though oft I’ve gazed upon your face, - You’re fairer every time. - - The stars are bright—but your sweet eyes, - Are lovelier far than they, - And diamonds, were they half as sweet, - Have scarce a brighter ray. - - And, oh, such winning fondness lies, - In your gay, gladsome smile, - I scarce can look on you, and think - I do not dream the while. - - And then your form—light as the air, - And perfect as a fairy; - Though many strive for beauty’s prize, - None can compare with Mary. - - Oh, Mary, may thy future life, - Be bright, as thou art now, - And not a shade of sorrow rest, - Upon thy snow-white brow. - - And when thy gentle spirit soars, - From its abode of love, - Oh, may it leave this world of cares, - To dwell with God above. - - * * * * * - - - - - LITTLE WILLIE. - - - BY MRS. H. MARION STEPHENS. - - - My beautiful—my beautiful, - Upon thy baby brow, - The stern, relentless hand of death - Has placed his signet now! - The golden threads that span thy life, - Are breaking, one by one; - Let me not hold his spirit back— - Oh, God! thy will be done! - - My beautiful—my beautiful! - Thy life has been a dream; - A moment more, and it has passed, - Like sunshine on a stream; - Or like a bud, whose perfumed leaves - Unfolded for an hour, - To gaze with rapture on its God— - Then droop beneath his power. - - My beautiful—my beautiful! - I would not call thee back; - I joy that thou hast fled the storms - That beat upon life’s track; - I love to know thy sinless soul - Has burst its bonds of clay, - And watch thy spirit as it glides - So pleasantly away. - - And when I gather up the folds - Around thy pale, cold face, - And when I weep to see thee laid - In thy last resting-place, - I’ll mind me that the fearful storm - By which my soul is riven, - Has borne my dove an olive branch, - And wafted him to Heaven. - - * * * * * - - - - - MARY WILSON. - - - BY D. W. BELISLE. - - - CHAPTER I. - - “She never told her love, but deep - Within her heart concealed there lay - The worm that prey’d upon her cheek, - And stole her bloom away.” - - -Mary Wilson was an only child. Her parents were exceedingly wealthy; -and, though possessing extended landed estates, they were as -parsimonious in hoarding up riches as though they were only in moderate -circumstances. Mr. Wilson was rather aristocratic in his manners, yet, -in many respects, he was quite liberal to those of his neighbors who -were not as fortunate as himself in accumulating property. He was a -gentleman of great influence, around whom gathered the elite of -Cincinnati—whose favor was courted and sought by the wealthy and great. -In his earlier days Mr. Wilson had laid out the rules which were to -govern him through the world, and, in whatever circumstance in life, he -fully resolved to abide by the course he had adopted for his guidance. -He had retired from the active capacity of a business man; and yet, -whenever he found an opportunity for speculating, he was just the man to -engage in it. - -About the time our story commences, the fever of speculation in the -Western States raged to a marvelous extent. The excitement was great, -and many had invested their whole patrimony in the speculation, with the -ardent assurance that they would become immensely wealthy. But, alas! -their expectations were but “castles in the air;” for the excitement -soon subsided, and those who had invested their all in purchasing land, -now found, to their great astonishment, that they had lost all they -possessed. Many who were independent one day, and had the brightest -anticipations of the future, the next were penniless and destitute, not -knowing where or how to procure a sustenance for their families. - -Among the most unfortunate in this respect was Mr. Wilson. He had -invested all—even to the last dollar—of his immense possessions; he -had bought lands at an exorbitant price; but he was perfectly satisfied -that in the speculation he would make his thousands. His wife and -daughter remonstrated against his entering so largely into the meshes of -the excitement, and of involving himself to so great an extent; but he -was too deeply resolved upon making money to pay the least regard to -their remonstrances. He endorsed largely for others, and appeared lost -in the agitation which existed. Speculation was the all-absorbing -topic—with him it was a sort of magic, which usurped his entire -thoughts, and, to a great degree, restrained his manly virtues. But soon -his dreams and anticipations received a relapse, the effect of which had -a serious impression upon his feelings. The day of speculation had -passed, and the entire capital which Mr. Wilson had invested, was gone! -He had lost all! he was reduced to poverty! Many others shared the same -fate. Wealthy citizens were stripped of all their property; many of -whom, who had not lost all in speculating, were sufferers from the evil -consequences of endorsing for others. In short, a depression of business -ensued seldom witnessed in a commercial city. - -Reduced to want, Mr. Wilson’s ambition was gone! his pride preventing -him from engaging in any ordinary business; and his constitution too -feeble for manual labor, he felt keenly sensible of the unpleasantness -of his situation. He knew not what to do! His splendid mansion—the home -of his childhood, whose hallowed associations filled his heart with -happiness—had been given up, to satisfy the demands of the law; his -furniture was sold; and still unliquidated claims pressed daily and -heavily upon him for payment. Friends who, in the days of his -prosperity, flocked to his hospitable board, now shunned him, as one -whom they regarded as their inferior, both in point of wealth and -respectability. Mr. Wilson observed the change with the keenest sense of -injustice, and now felt how painful it was to be _thought_ inferior to -his fellow-man. - -Mary was a girl of uncommon pretensions, whose amiable disposition and -beauty attracted to her side a host of admirers, who, in their -prosperous days, sought to rival each other for her hand—among whom was -Charles Tomlinson, the son of a wealthy merchant of Cincinnati. Charles -was a young man of rare talents, prepossessing deportment, and affable -disposition. He possessed all the qualities of a noble, generous-hearted -man; but, notwithstanding the purity of his daily “walk and -conversation,” he had imbibed many vague sentiments in regard to the -Bible and the precepts taught in that holy book. Mary observed this, and -felt pained to see so much talent wasted in useless attempts to prove -the Bible false; but yet she loved him. Their attachment daily grew -stronger, until they were betrothed, and the day appointed for the -consummation of their vows. Before, however, the time for their marriage -arrived, Mr. Wilson’s misfortune came, the tendency of which was an -entire revolution in the feelings of Mr. Tomlinson. He now resolved that -he would _not_ marry her, because her father had failed, and, in all -probability, would never be worth a dollar again. With this resolution -on his mind, he was at a loss in what way to acquaint her of his -determination, or how he could honorably release himself from his -engagement. He had too little fortitude to unmask his change of -sentiment to her, personally; and to do so by letter would betray a want -of manliness, which he had the reputation of possessing. In the midst of -this trying situation, he called to his assistance a friend, in whom he -had placed the utmost confidence, and to whom he had entrusted the -transaction of much important business. To this friend Mr. Tomlinson -gave instructions how to proceed, directing him at the same time to use -the utmost caution in the information he wished to convey. His name was -Samuel Gordon. - - - CHAPTER II. - - “She seldom smiled—and when she did, - It was so sad, subdued, and brief, - As though her mourning heart she’d chide, - And strove to smile away its grief.” - - -The attachment between Tomlinson and Miss Wilson, thus far, had been -secretly kept from her parents, they preferring to make it known but a -few weeks previously to their marriage-day. But Mrs. Wilson, with the -watchfulness of a mother, perceived their intimacy, and, in a gentle -manner, addressed her thus: - -“Mary, for some time past I have noticed rather more than a friendly -intimacy between you and Mr. Tomlinson, and, as a mother, I feel it my -duty to give you advice on the subject. I would not do aught to give you -pain; but I am not favorable to the addresses of Mr. Tomlinson.” - -Miss Wilson, deeming it no longer prudent to keep the truth of the -matter concealed from her mother, replied: - -“Dear mother, I hope you will forgive my rashness, for we have long -since been engaged. I hope you will overlook my disobedience.” - -Their conversation was broken off by a quick ring of the bell, and Mary -hastened to the door to respond to the call. - -“I have a message from Mr. Tomlinson, and wish to see Miss Wilson alone -for a few moments,” said the stranger. - -“I am Miss Wilson. What is your business with me, sir?” she asked. - -“I have,” he continued, “unfortunately to announce to you that Mr. -Tomlinson, since he has lost so much in the misfortunes which have -fallen on so many of the citizens of this city, deems it, at present, a -rash undertaking to marry, while circumstances of such an aggravating -character continue. I think it would be better for you to be as calm as -possible, and wait with due patience until a more favorable turn of -fortune, which I anticipate will not be very long.” - -Had an ice-bolt entered the heart of that young girl, it could not have -had a much greater effect. His words fell upon her ears like the solemn -knell of all her hopes; for, since their misfortunes, she had fondly -supposed that her marriage with Mr. Tomlinson would, in a great measure, -retrieve the reputation of her father. She could not believe that Mr. -Tomlinson would be guilty of such duplicity, and thought a stranger had -imposed upon her. But how he, stranger as he was, knew any thing in -regard to their engagement, was something more than she could solve—an -enigma which cost her much anxiety and thought; for even her parents, -until that moment, had not known it. Her mother saw the hectic flush -mantle the cheek of her child, and felt conscious that something serious -would be the consequence. That Mary loved Tomlinson was unmistakable. -She read it in the deep blue of her eyes; she saw it in every lineament -of her features; she discovered it in all her actions; and, with the -sympathy of a mother’s own feelings, she endeavored to console her in -that, her “hour of need.” But the effect was too much for her delicate -constitution to bear. She “loved not wisely, but too well;” and, day -after day, she sat pensively surveying the beautiful scenery before her, -and silently reflecting on her own unhappy condition. - - “Her silvery voice was heard no more— - She sang not, and her breathing late, - Which never knew neglect before, - Now lies alone—forgotten, mute! - Or, if a passing strain she rang, - So mournfully its numbers rose, - That those who heard might deem she sang - A lorn soul’s requiem to repose!” - -On a lovely autumn evening, just as the sun was shedding its last rosy -beams on the tops of the surrounding hills, Mary looked from her chamber -window, and drank in, at a glance, the golden glories of expiring day, -and thought how calm it would be for her to die as sweetly as the sun -was sinking to rest behind the hills, so that her memory might live, -like the beauteous twilight, long after her frail body had mouldered -again to dust. She called her mother to her side, and told her that she -was dying! At such a beautiful hour, when the day began to close, and -shadows were no longer broad-cast from the clouds, but were stretched -along the surface of the earth by the interception of a tree, or -hill-side, Mary breathed her last! - -As these precious but fleeting scenes pass like sober thoughts across -the face of earth, or intermingle side by side with gay and brilliant -passages of light of equal evanescence, making all tender and beautiful, -which otherwise had been lustrous and sparkling, they call up within the -heart the memory of the past; and by an association we can scarcely -trace, characters reappear of friends who have passed away before us. - -Thus ended the life of Mary Wilson. Struck down in the vigor and bloom -of youth, this young maiden has left many friends to mourn her loss. She -was much esteemed; so much so, that every personal defect was forgotten -in the charms of her spirit, with which she imparted to her friends a -look of kindness and a blessing. - - “Yon willow shades a marble stone, - On which the curious eye can tell - That underneath there lieth one - Who loved not wisely—but too well.” - - * * * * * - - - - - WORDS OF WAYWARDNESS. - - - BY PROFESSOR CAMPBELL. - - - Hah! for the tide of the blood’s hot gush— - Hah! for the throng or proud thoughts that rush, - Reckless and riotous—why should they be - Iced by thy frown, Reality? - - Give, give me back the early joy - Of youth’s warm hopes, of vows believed— - Again, again a dreaming boy - Let me be happy—though deceived. - - Friendship, they say, is but a name, - And woman’s love a meteor flame, - That feedeth upon fancy’s breath - A little while, then perisheth. - Out, out upon thee—out on thee! - Thou hideous hag, Reality. - - Hah! tears again! dost ask me why - The tear upon this burning cheek, - The half repressed, yet bursting sigh? - The tear, the sigh, themselves must speak; - Must tell a tale of by-gone hours, - A vision of all fair and bright— - When my young path was strewn with flowers, - And every throb was of delight. - When joys were of each moment’s birth, - Nor care, nor doubt, an instant stole - From days of ever-changeful mirth, - That changeless shone upon the soul. - When hopes, that in mist-distance gleaming, - In promise e’en outvied the past, - Came ever, halcyon heralds seeming, - Of peace and bliss for aye to last. - - But where is now the sportive wile - Of youth—so guileless and so gay— - The soul of love, of fire—the smile, - That spoke that soul—oh! where are they? - Of days that could such joys impart - What now remains? Their memory— - A cheerless, blasted youth—a heart - That breaketh fast, though silently. - And those proud hopes so fondly cherished, - Have they too proved, like Friendship, breath? - Ay, one by one, they all have perished— - Yet no—not all—there yet is death! - There yet remains to choose some spot, - Where, far from man and scorn, to lie— - And there, unheeded and forgot, - Alone—oh! God—alone to die. - - Who talks of dying, while around - The earth’s so fair, the sky so bright? - With Folly’s wreath let day be crowned, - And Mirth and Music rule the night. - Another chord—the purple hills - Are bowing to the yellow vales— - The vales are smiling to the rills— - The rills make music for the gales, - That with the sunbeams twining hands, - Through groves and meads and streams are glancing - Adown the lanes, and on the sands - Of brave old Ocean madly dancing. - And brave old Ocean roareth so - His honest laugh, to see those Misses, - The pretty flow’rets bending low, - As though to shun the wired-god’s kisses. - - Kisses—hah! hah!—around this string - Of other days what memories twine— - Bring, merry comrades, quickly bring - Youth-giving and song-making wine. - Fill, fill—on the faithful brim - Pile up the sparkling flood— - Drink, drink, till the living stream - Run conqueror through the blood. - Drink to the hill, the vale, - The stream and its jeweled brink, - To the warming ray and the cooling gale, - To earth and to ocean drink. - Drink to each thing that seems - Or loving or glad to be— - Nor wait to ask if those joyous beams - Be nature’s hypocrisy. - - I’ve quaffed the brimming bowl - In mirth’s and madness’ hours— - And drenched my thirsty soul - In goblets crowned with flowers. - Of draughts so pure as this - ’Tis luxury to sip, - But draught of purer bliss - Doth dwell on woman’s lip. - - I’ve felt the glowing sun - Steal warmly to my heart’s - Faint throbs, when gazing on - The skies of southern parts. - But oh! a sun more bright, - A purer, warmer sky, - Of joy-embathing light, - Is found in woman’s eye. - - ’Neath holy Music’s spell - Hath lain each dream-rapt sense, - While on my spirit fell - Its gushing eloquence. - But oh! a spell there is - More potent to rejoice— - The soothing lowliness - Of woman’s whispered voice. - - Then wonder not, if now - To her I pledge this cup, - To whom my earliest vow - First sent its incense up— - To her—the soul of verse, - Our hope, when hope-bereft— - Our blessing ’neath the curse— - Our all of Eden left. - - Give, give me back the early joy - Of youth’s strong hopes, of vows believed— - Again, again a dreaming boy - Let me be happy, though deceived. - For who hath caught the answering sigh - Heaving sweet woman’s timid breast, - His longing soul fed on her eye, - And learned the rapture to be blest— - In lingering dalliance now to sip, - In boldness now of ardor roving, - To drink from eye, cheek, forehead, lip, - Of one beloved, and seeming loving. - Upon the tell-tale cheek to breathe, - Closer the clasping hands to wreathe, - As if no earthly power could sever - The bosoms met, as met forever— - While each responsive fluttering heart, - Beating as though ’twould gladly break - To tell the joy that tongue ne’er spake, - Longs from its heaving breast to part, - Nearer and nearer still to press - The soul of its soul’s happiness. - Oh! who has felt around his soul - The spells of this idolatry— - And wished not that his days should roll - Thus spell-bound to eternity. - - Away with wisdom—’tis a cheat— - Away with truth—’tis all a lie— - Madness alone hath no deceit— - Falsehood alone no mockery. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: OLDEN TIMES.] - - * * * * * - - - - - OLDEN TIMES. - - - BY JOSEPH R. CHANDLER. - - - [SEE ENGRAVING.] - -The town or borough of Harrisburg, the political capital of -Pennsylvania, lies on the _bank_ of the Susquehanna, about 107 miles -west of Philadelphia. I say on the _bank_, not the shore; for here a -bold bluff rises a few yards from the northern margin of the river, and -the town is, therefore, from ten to fifteen feet above the stream—a -fact of consequence to the inhabitants; as the Susquehanna, which, in -summer, may be easily forded by children, will frequently, during the -spring freshets, rise from six to eight feet, threatening all upon its -borders. The houses are built only on the north side of this front -street, so as to face the river and leave, besides the beautiful avenue, -a handsome esplanade in front of the town, overlooking the river. - -Few places can present a more delightful promenade than this _front_ of -Harrisburg; and the writer hereof has more than once sought to express -his appreciation of the walk and the gorgeousness of the views to be -enjoyed therefrom. The scene is ever fresh—ever delightsome, to one who -has an eye for the beautiful of nature, and a heart to be warmed into -the enjoyment of that beautiful. No frequency of indulgence palls the -appetite here—no change of season diminishes the attraction. Whether -the stream murmurs round the projecting rock and over masses of pebbles -that mark its bed and are visible in summer, or whether the current -dashes deep and bold, fed by the melting snows of the upper mountains, -it is beautiful; beautiful in its simple exhibition—beautiful in its -terrible grandeur. Whether the setting sun steeps the current in liquid, -tremulous light, or the wild, tempestuous blasts of January heap up the -waters in dark and chaffing masses, all is beautiful; and men go forth -to gaze in quiet enjoyment on the peaceful flow of July, or to enrich -and stimulate their feelings with the all-conquering power of the -down-rushing torrent of March. - -Indulging in dreamy pleasure one morning late in June, while -contemplating the loveliness of the scene, I cast my eyes away to the -mountains through which the river forces its course a few miles above -the town, and was delighted to see the first evidences of the rising sun -in the yellow light that tinged the topmost peaks of those mighty -promontories, while heavy wreaths of mist, engendered on the ground -below, were rolling upward, like giants anxious to bathe early in the -sunlight—an enjoyment that must have cost them existence, or, perhaps, -only present _visibility_. - -I can now recall some of the reflections to which the magnificent scene -gave rise. Those children of the mist, that tended upward, were they -only imaginary beings? only the workmanship of my fancy, upon the crude -materials that sprung up from the fens? or were those misty shapes -indeed the essential forms of spirits, whose tendencies were -upward—who, though dragged downward by the grossness of their outward -covering, which affected its home and would abide in its cold, dark -birth-place, struggled upward to the light and heat, and were released -from the clogging properties of the visible and the impure, while they -put on the invisible and the purified? - -I knew the law of physics, by which the ascensive power of matter is -augmented by heat, and consequently felt that some of those who were -sleeping in the vicinity, would have referred all those misty images of -the mountains to well known and always occurring circumstances. I admit -that natural causes produce just such effects as the ascension of these -wreaths of mist. But may not He who enacts the laws by which all these -events occur, connect also the state, habits and tendencies of some -class of beings with the operation of those laws? Because the sun gives -light and heat to the system of which it is the centre, because we know -that it riseth and goeth down, and because we can calculate the -influence of its light and heat upon our planet, does it follow that the -same body may not be the home of millions of rational beings, who would -laugh if told that we, mundane men, thought _that_ luminous body made -for the convenience of the earth? - -I was calculating the effect upon one who should, while standing on that -mountain, venture to address these wreathy forms, and find himself -understood and answered, when the presence of a person whom I had once -or twice seen, at the peep of dawn, - - “Brushing, with hasty steps, the dew away,” - -renewed a resolution of putting to him a question as to the origin of a -certain enclosure in the vicinity. There was, between the upper bank and -the edge of the river, directly in front of the town, a small enclosure, -perhaps fifteen feet square, surrounded by a decaying board fence, and -having in it two miserably looking Lombardy poplars, touched with all -the squalidness of decay which characterizes the _age_ of that -short-lived tree. Brambles, too, had sprung up in the enclosure, and -they covered a small rising of the ground, with some invisible emblems. -My object was to know why such a place was allowed in front of the town; -why it was made, and why thus continued. - -“That,” said my friend, “is the grave of old Mr. HARRIS, for whom the -town was named, long before they thought of building the capitol yonder. -But there is a long story connected with the matter, and you can learn -the whole of it if you will call, with proper motives and in a proper -manner, upon a descendant of the old patriarch who resides in the -neighborhood.” - -Now, I saw in this man some signals of fancy, and I felt determined to -get the story out of him. But he professed to be in too much haste; he -had his day’s work to perform, and he had almost forgotten the story. -But I persevered with him and obtained some account, which, after eleven -years, I put on paper, not venturing to quote my friend for authority, -telling the story not exactly as ’twas told to me, but as I recollect -and reconstruct the narrative. - -Mr. Harris was one of the pioneers of Pennsylvania. He saw the country -rich and beautiful before him, and “went forth and stood and measured -the earth” in and around the place where now stands the borough which -bears his name. The beauty of scenery, the delicate softness of the -valley contrasting with the towering summits of the mountains around, -made the place exceedingly desirable. He, like the men of his times, had -an eye for the beautiful, and a far-reaching ken that took in the future -with the present; and so he sat down on the shores of the Susquehanna, -on what was then perhaps an island, though now a part of the main land. - -Mr. Harris was a man of the world—I mean what I say—he was -emphatically a man of the world. Calmly and coolly had he, in his youth, -sat down to reflect upon the policy which would best subserve the -purposes which he had in view; and, after mature deliberation, he came -to the conclusion that the precepts of his mother were well founded, and -that however much the gay might ridicule, or the short-sighted neglect, -the rules which she had prescribed, and which she had made him, in -boyhood, follow—on the whole, “to do justice, to love mercy, and to -walk humbly,” would serve the affairs of a long life as well as they -would produce effects after death. So, Mr. Harris sat down on the banks -of the Susquehanna, an honest man from habit—an honest man from -principle; a Christian by birth—a Christian by all his actions. He had -nothing Utopian in his views, nothing impracticable in his plans. If he -bought or sold, it was with a view to his own advantage in the -transaction, and neither white man nor red man could outbargain him; but -either white man or red man would be welcome to all that his wants -required at his hands; and those who failed to get one quart of meal -more than he would allow in trade, found no difficulty in procuring a -peck whenever their necessities appealed to his feelings of charity -rather than to his rule of business. - -The means of the founder of the settlement had been somewhat diminished -by an act of goodness, which few could appreciate at the time. A stout -black man was about to be torn from his wife to be sent into slavery at -the South. The ability of the slave enhanced his price, while his -goodness of heart made the separation more intolerable to him. The wife -was free—should she go into voluntary slavery in order to follow her -husband? and if she did, who could tell her that the first inducement to -the owner to sell her husband might not result in a separation, which no -sacrifice on her part could prevent, nor could it mitigate the evils -thereof. In this state Pompey appealed to Mr. Harris; he promised -fidelity, industry and gratitude; Mr. Harris saw that he could prevent -misery, and he paid the price of the man, and thus became his _owner_. - -“Massa Harris,” said the delighted black, as he saw the accomplishment -of his heart’s desire, “I’ll do something for this by and by.” - -“What will you do, Pompey?” - -“Don’t know, massa; but guess ’twill come sometime or other.” - -Pompey formed a part of Mr. Harris’s establishment in his small -settlement upon the Susquehanna, and by his light heartedness and his -labor, seemed to repay all obligations which his purchase devolved upon -him. He had a song for the youngsters who visited the place, and he -could dance with the Indians that resided a short distance above; and -whether in the field or at the mill, he was trustworthy, active, -industrious, and never for a moment did his worthy master find cause to -regret his purchase. - -“Done enough for to-day?” would Pompey inquire. - -“You have done more, Pompey, than I directed, and you have done it well; -and excepting your habit of singing foolish songs, and dancing like a -madman among the Indians and squaws that come down from the Juniata, I -have been well compensated for your cost.” - -“But I have not done _that_,” said Pompey. - -“I tell you, Pompey, that I require only the discharge of ordinary -duties; I do not expect you will meet with any occasion for any -extraordinary effort in my behalf.” - -“Well, well, massa—it will come, bym’by, I _tell_ you.” - -The peaceful, gentle manners of Mr. Harris had their effect upon -Pompey’s movements, but not to the extent which the master desired. The -servant was honest, industrious, and did all the work that was required -at his hands, but he could not pretermit his sport. The day of gloom -closed with Pompey when Mr. Harris saved him from the sale to the South -and the separation from his wife, and Pompey felt a sort of devotion in -his wild, irregular dances and his loud, shrill singing. His spirits -rose with every recollection of the kindness, and, as he broke into a -verse of some favorite song or shuffled out upon the hard earth with -bare heels the time of a quickly moving tune, he felt that he was only -giving expression to gratitude for his kind master; and who shall say -that the offering of the joyous black was not made acceptable above, by -the sincerity of the feelings in which it was presented? - -It was a clear star-light evening of July, the moon had not risen, and -the planetary worlds above seemed to magnify themselves in the absence -of the great source of day; a gentle draft of air down the stream was -felt, and occasionally a rustling among the foliage was caused by the -wind, augmented into a temporary breeze. The whole bank of the river was -covered with tall forest trees, save where Mr. Harris’s little -settlement was placed. On a bold bluff, now washed away, but which then -jutted out into the stream, as if for the site of some defensive works, -stood a female. She had been long looking up into the firmament, and -then casting her eyes around, as if expecting some one to share with her -the “contemplation of the starry heavens.” - -The young woman stepped forward and looked down upon the waters below -her for some time, and then murmured: “They are now, as in years past, -above and below—the glorious constellations shining on, and year after -year returning, with all their train rich in their lustre, and surveying -themselves in the waters beneath. But _we_ change. Year after year -passes, and my fathers’ race, if they appear at all, present themselves -in diminished numbers and in wasting forms. The foot of the white man is -on the soil, and he treats us as he does the forest trees. Where he -finds our race convenient, he leaves them to perish for want of -communion with their like; where he needs their lands, he strikes them -down as cumberers of the ground; and I, who love the race—_I_ dwell -among the pale faces, in peace; nay, I dwell among them of choice. I -love their people, and I reverence the precepts by which some of them -are governed—by which all profess to be guided. Oh, spirit of my -fathers! must all pass away like the wreaths of mountain mist, and, as -they fall, shall it be the disgrace of their name that vice, and not -vengeance, swept them from the earth? - -“Oh, what is this new principle which the whites have infused into my -soul—the means and condition of future happiness? What is it that bids -me forbear the wish that I was a man—a chief among my fathers’ people, -that I might chase the intruder from our hunting-grounds, and restore to -our nation the land which was purchased by trinkets and baubles, -costless to the whites and useless to the red men? What is that -principle that _bids_ me, nay _makes_ me, pray for the good of the -whites around me, and look to the destruction of my father’s race as a -means of that good? - -“I cannot tell. And the teachings of the whites concerning the -requirements of their own religion, become dark and confused when they -attempt to reconcile their practice with their precepts; at least, those -who teach most do most confound. But Father Harris, who has little to -say, how good are all his _deeds_! how like the shining of those stars -upon the water is his benevolence to my race! beautiful in itself, and -reflected in the hearts of the red men with constant lustre. Oh, if all -were like him! but then—” - -“Then what, Dahona?” - -The interruption was caused by a young man who had followed the speaker -to a place of frequent resort. - -“Then what, Dahona?” - -“Nay, William, nay, do not call me Dahona; at least, do not call me thus -in _this_ place—do not call me thus when you find me alone—when the -wildness of the scene begets wildness of thought, and the breeze which -comes down from the hunting-grounds of my fathers, seems to fan into a -flame the lingering sparks of native fire which civilization, as yet, -has not quenched. Do not, by such a name, call up my almost buried -thoughts of those who owned these lands when the white men were enjoying -that which they stole from their conquered enemies; do not tell me, in -the midst of these returning pangs of pride and regret—do not by that -name tell me, that I am the daughter of a chief killed upon his own -hills; and when I would calm down those feelings of vengeance, which -come with longer intervals, do not, with the name of Dahona, goad me on -to those wishes which must be sinful, for they are unjust to Father -Harris.” - -“Well, then, my dear Rebecca, if all the whites were like Father Harris, -what then?” - -“They are not all like him. Those who taught me to read and write, and -who tried to teach me to pray, are not like him. They talked of the -equality of man, and yet treated me as the child of a monster. Father -Harris knows that I am human, like himself, and he treats me as if I was -immortal, as he is.” - -“Well, should not the virtues of such a man redeem from censure a -thousand offending whites?” - -“Perhaps so, William—I think so now; but there are times—moments like -some which I pass alone on this point of land—in which the virtues of -that good man seem to me a motive for vengeance upon _him_. Were he like -others, the red man could strike; were he like others, _I_ could strike; -if, instead of kindness, which demands gratitude, and constant care and -parental watchfulness, which beget affection, he had treated me as other -whites treat my race, it might be long ere the hunting-fields of the -tribe submitted to the plough. But the virtues of the whites subdue the -feelings of the Indians, and the vices of the whites destroy the race. -And yet, William, Father Harris, with all this virtue, forbids our -union!” - -“_Forbids_ it, Rebecca, but does not hinder it.” - -“Not hinder it? Does he not hinder it by his refusal to sanction it?” - -“May we not go down to the lower settlement and be married, as others -are?” - -“Will that procure his consent, William?” - -“No; but, of course, it will be followed by his pardon.” - -“Alas, William, even the poor theology of my native tribe forbids the -hope of pardon for a sin committed in the hope of pardon.” - -“But he has no right, Rebecca, to prevent our happiness by his refusal -to sanction the union.” - -“He has over me the right of a father, and shall never complain of a -want of obedience. I may suffer by his refusal, but if he is wrong he -must bear the consequences. No, William, no. I have told you that I -would marry none other than you; but I will not marry you without the -consent of Father Harris while he lives, with power to give or to -withhold that consent.” - -“His reasons are insufficient.” - -“Nay, William, say not that; though he has not told me his reasons, I -think I comprehend them. In the first place, you are the son of his old -friend and relative; can the strong prejudices of your race be appeased, -if you should marry the daughter of an Indian? It is true that I was a -princess; and the whites whom I met at the school in the city, always -appeared to worship those of royal blood, and I do not know that the -crown of the parent country might not devolve upon the head of a man or -woman as black and as curly as our Pompey, if such an one should, by the -accidents of taste and the favor of the right _creed_, fall into the -channel of succession by an admitted marriage. That strong prejudice, I -am persuaded, influences Father Harris.” - -“But it does not influence _me_, Rebecca; and why should it? Associated -with the best of our people in the city, you have acquired their habits; -you have, with all the delicacy of your sex, twice the learning that can -be boasted of by many of ours; and if—” - -“Yes, yes, William; you mean by ‘_if_,’ that if I had ceased to feel, -and sometimes act, like an Indian, _then_—But I have not ceased to feel -and to act, _sometimes_, like my father’s child; and all the learning -which the whites have imparted, seems only to enable me to appreciate -more correctly the sufferings and wrongs of my people; and if it were -not for the gentle teaching of that Quaker woman—nay, the teaching -rather of the _spirit_ by which she is influenced—I should, perhaps, -make my knowledge a means of vengeance. But, William, there is another -cause, founded on sound policy, for the refusal of Father Harris.” - -“And what is that?” - -“I am the daughter of a chief of a tribe that scarcely thinks of peace; -and when my father was tortured by his conquering foes—tortured to -death, but not to a groan—and my mother was struck down by the hatchet -of a warrior of the tribe above us, I was redeemed from captivity by -Father Harris—saved from a miserable death—treated, educated and loved -by him as his child. While I am here, it may be that the warriors of my -tribe will respect his settlement; if I should marry you, the tribe -above, always friendly, might grow jealous of the connection.” - -“There is more of worldly policy in that than Mr. Harris is wont to -exercise,” said William. - -“Let us be content,” said Rebecca “with his decision for the present. He -who has always intended right, cannot long persist in wrong.” - -The dialogue of the lovers became less and less argumentative, and was -soon changed from that of an educated, high-minded woman and a -deferential young man, to the gentle intercourse of two lovers—more -pleasing to themselves, though perhaps less interesting to my readers. -The moon had risen, and the light of its diminished form was dancing on -the ripples of the river, and lay broad and lovely upon the side of the -mountain above. - -“What was that sound?” asked Rebecca, with evidence of fear. “Surely -some one is abroad.” - -“It was only a deer, or some such animal, on the other side of the -river.” - -“But, William, the deer does not move thus by night, unless alarmed by -the hunter or some animal. Let us return; we may be injured, even on -this side the river.” - -The pair withdrew to the little settlement; and as they passed one of -the out-houses, they discovered, through the interstices of the logs of -which it was constructed, the white teeth and shining eyes of Pompey, -who, not having any love affair on hand, was very willing to have a -laugh at “Massa William,” or a little knowing wink at Rebecca, the next -day. - -Rebecca was soothed to repose by the quiet of her conscience and the -healthful, gentle influence of the prayer with which she sanctified her -little chamber—prayer that included blessings upon the head of her -benefactor, her early friend and father—prayer that expressed -confidence and love for Him who was her “Father in Heaven.” The noise of -the river, hastening downward in its eternal course, was lulling, and in -the strong light which the moon poured through the little window of her -chamber, the enthusiastic girl seemed to find the forms of guardian -angels; and she sunk to sleep in the confidence that she was in the care -of Heaven. - -And was she not? What but Heaven provided for her the ample affection of -Harris? What but Heaven made his teachings operative upon her conduct? -What threw across the dark mind of the Indian girl the light of -Christian truth?—a light whose reflection was certainly tinged with a -portion of the hues of the object which it reached, but which still was -Christian light, doing its perfect work and effecting, by constant -operation, the character, condition and habits of Rebecca. - -It was but a short time before daylight that the young sleeper, who had -retired to rest in the consciousness of Heaven’s guardianship, was -alarmed by loud cries, and on looking abroad she saw that one building -of the little hamlet was wrapped in flames, while the wild yells of the -savages told the poor girl what was the cause of the danger, and left -little doubt as to its extent; and she knew, too, that the savage -intruders were the people of her own tribe. Scarcely had she thrown a -few clothes around her, and wrapped herself about with a blanket from -her bed, when the voice of Pompey, as he passed her window, was heard. -One sentence only did the poor fellow utter: - -“Save all the time you can, Miss Rebecca!” - -In two minutes more the little settlement was surrounded by the savages. -William, who had been aroused later than the black, sought to save Mr. -Harris, but failed, and seeing no chance of escaping through the line of -Indians, he rushed into the room of Rebecca, and opening a small door -took refuge in a cellar beneath. - -Rebecca, it was known, incurred little personal risk. She was of the -tribe of the invaders; and vengeance upon the whites, and the spoliation -of their goods, were the objects of the attack. - -Scarcely had William reached his hiding-place when the chief of the -small tribe of invaders presented himself at the door of Rebecca’s room, -and demanded William. - -“He is not in my room. Do you think men are to be found in my -bed-chamber?” - -“A white man may be found any where in time of danger,” said the savage. -“But I do not care for the fellow; I want to know where Harris has -hidden his goods—especially where he has concealed the rum.” - -“I do not keep his goods nor hide his rum.” - -“But you know where he hides them, and you shall tell me, or I—” - -“Or you will kill me—kill a woman! Brave chief! Has the influence of -the white man reduced our tribe to that?” - -“I did not threaten you, Dahona; but I will strike where you can feel as -keenly as on yourself. Tell me where these goods are secreted.” - -“I will not; and you dare not take vengeance on me.” - -“Look, Dahona, through yonder window!” - -The girl turned her eye to the window, and by the broad blaze of the -burning building she saw a stake erected, near the river, and numerous -savages were heaping around it quantities of wood. - -“Is that for me?” - -“No—for Harris.” - -The young woman checked the exclamation which was rising to her lip: - -“And you will release him if I will point out to you the goods; you will -do no personal injury to any one, and spare the rest of the property?” - -The Indian hesitated; but the lie which seemed to struggle for -utterance, against the habits of his race, was spoken: - -“I will spare all—” - -“And the people of the tribe—will they spare?” - -Just then a band of savages was seen conveying Mr. Harris down to the -stake. - -The spirit of Rebecca was shaken. She did not know, indeed, _where_ any -goods were concealed, and the small amount which had been put aside was -then brought forward by some of the Indians, who were more occupied with -the rum they had secured than with the other articles. - -She looked through the window again, and Harris was at the stake, and, -with impatient yells, the savages were making ready for the sacrifice. - -“Spare him—only spare the life of Harris, and take all!” - -“We _have_ all, and now we will consummate the work. Hark ye, Dahona! -Harris must suffer the torments to which our captives are condemned. We -have been injured by the whites. Your father was our chief—they -destroyed him; and whose blood has flowed in revenge? You, the daughter -of that chief, have been made to despise the people of your tribe, and -to adopt the faith of the whites—a creed that makes one portion -cowards—afraid of the life or the death of a warrior—and leaves the -other portion to commit what crimes they choose upon the red men. - -“Now, hear me, Dahona. It is the creed that makes the man, and not the -man the creed; and the influence of your profession of that creed—the -devotion which you pay to that book now lying at your feet—are -weakening the attachment of our people to their chiefs, and giving power -to the whites. Renounce the creed, spurn the book at your feet, and -follow your brethren to their hunting grounds, and we will spare -Harris.” - -“I will follow you whither you wish—take me now; but first release that -man.” - -“Do you renounce the white man’s creed—will you spurn the Bible in -presence of our men?” - -A few hours before, the troubled spirit of Rebecca had been moved almost -to doubt the truth of the religion into which she had been initiated; -but when the question was its renunciation, she felt the hold which it -had upon her mind—she showed the hold which it had upon her heart. -Could she, with some mental reservation, make the renunciation, and thus -save her benefactor’s life? She was not well versed in casuistry, but -she knew that religion was of the heart. - -“Speak,” said the chief; “the people are waiting my signal.” - -“Give me a moment to think.” - -“Take it. I will leave you until the messenger returns twice with new -combustibles for the old man’s fire.” - -The chief closed the door, and Rebecca turned to seek guidance in her -troubles. - -The savage crew had seized upon the person of Mr. Harris, and dragged -him from the house to the place appointed for his torments. A slow fire -was to be lighted around him, and his dying moments were to be -embittered by their blasphemies, and his pains augmented by the torments -which they would inflict before the flame should have done its work. - -The good man looked around. William he had heard in the first of the -attack, and he now believed him dead. He knew that he had little to fear -for Rebecca; her captivity might be irksome, but beyond that they would -not injure her. But Pompey, with all his professions, where was he at -such a time? How useful he might have been—how consoling, even now, to -have seen him near, and to have sent by him messages to his friends. But -he was forsaken of all—of all but his enemies; and so he looked upward, -to ONE that had ever been his friend. Release was not to be expected. -Mercy, fortitude, resignation—and the good man breathed a fervent -prayer. - -“The time is up,” said the stern chief, as he opened the door of -Rebecca’s chamber. “What say you—life or death to Harris?” - -“Let me see my father, even as he is—let me commune with him for one -moment, and I will answer.” - -The chief led forth the girl; and as he passed two of his men he said, -in his own language: - -“Watch the house; and when the fire is lighted at the stake, set the -house on fire—both the white and black are in it some where. See that -none escape.” - -Rebecca heard and understood the terrible order. - -The young woman ascended the pile, and threw her arms around the neck of -Harris. - -“My father! my father! must this be?” - -“There is no preventive,” said he, “short of a miracle.” - -Rebecca sobbed into the ear of her benefactor, the condition of his -release. - -“They will never release me,” said he; “they may make you an apostate, -but they will also make me a martyr.” - -“My father, they have sworn the oath that has never yet been violated, -when given from Indian to Indian, that they _will_ release you on those -conditions.” - -“Has that oath never failed?” - -“Never—never, my father.” - -“Let me not fall into the hands of man,” said the prisoner; “in this -hour, God, be my guide and counsel.” - -“What is the answer, my father? Remember, your life—your precious life, -may be saved, and that of William,” she whispered softly in his ears. -“Do not hesitate.” - -“I do not hesitate for myself. How, my child, is thy faith?” - -“Firm—fixed, my father.” - -“Will you renounce it, if by that you could save the life of William and -become his wife with my consent?” - -“I would not renounce that faith to add one moment to _my_ life. Now, -more than ever, do I see and feel its excellency. But you, my father, in -whom it shines, may, by a protracted life, disseminate that faith to -thousands.” - -“Shall I insure the faith of others by my own apostacy? You have my -answer.” - -Rebecca gave one wild, frantic shriek, and was forced, almost lifeless, -from the embraces of Harris. - -“And what says Dahona now?” - -“_I will not renounce my faith._” - -The signal was given, and the men arranged themselves between the river -and the stake, and two or three sprung forward and applied their torches -to the dry wood; slowly the smoke ascended, and then the blaze crept -upward, while the loud shouts of the exulting savages drowned the prayer -and groans of Harris and the wild shrieks of Rebecca. - -“Apply the tortures,” said the chief, and he sprung forward to give the -example; when, suddenly, he pitched forward upon the fire, and the crack -of numerous rifles told whence his death had come. - -In one minute the ground was filled with Indians of another tribe, and -the survivors of the invading band ware escaping down the river. - -Through the mingled throng of living, and over the bodies of the dead, -sprung one being upon the burning pile, and with a hatchet released the -sufferer from his perilous position, as the fire was doing the work -which the savages had left unaccomplished. - -As the rescuer laid Mr. Harris on the ground, he exclaimed: - -“_Hi!_ Massa Harris, didn’t I tell you, great while ago, ‘bym by come -sometime or odder?’” - -Pompey had escaped before the Indians surrounded the house, and knowing -the attachment to Mr. Harris of a tribe a short distance above, and -their hostility to those who had invaded the settlement, he was sure of -aid if he could summons them in season. - -The friendly Indians descended the river rapidly in their canoes, and -were only in season to save the life of the whites. - -William was brought forth wounded, but not dangerously, and the family -assembled in prayer and thanksgiving, while their friendly deliverers -were discharging some of the minor offices of their calling and -celebrating their victory by some characteristic attentions to the -wounded whom the enemy had left on the shores of the Susquehanna. - -“Did you not hesitate, my child,” said Mr. Harris to Rebecca, “when -death or apostacy was proposed?” - -“When _your_ death was the alternative, I did.” - -“Where, then, was your faith in Christianity—in its author?” - -“Father, I am weak. I owe you obligations—I would sacrifice my life for -your comforts; I knew you good—I knew you would decide correctly. My -faith, then, was in _you_.” - -“In me?” - -“In _you_—in you, oh, my more than father. You are the embodiment of -that _spirit_ by which I am guided. My faith in you, then—is it not my -faith in the creed which you profess, and by which you live?” - -No sooner had William recovered from his wounds, than Mr. Harris called -Rebecca to him and signified his consent to the union between her and -William, and his determination to make their circumstances as -comfortable as the state of the neighborhood would allow. - -“It is late, now,” said Rebecca to William; “let us separate. The morrow -will require our early attention, and Father Harris will be astir early -in the morning.” - -“And he not the only one,” said William; “for some of us must go down -and bring the magistrate up, to perform the ceremony. We will meet early -to-morrow morning.” - -Before the dawn of the day fixed on for her marriage, Rebecca left her -chamber, and hastened along the banks of the river to the jutting -promontory that she so much loved. Leaning there upon the side of a -rock, she gave vent to all those feelings which spring up in the heart -of a girl who stands upon the verge of marriage. Welling up from that -heart were the waters of pure, holy affection for Harris, and of deep, -abiding love for William. There was no want of all true feelings—no -doubt of the high deservings of her lover. But Rebecca’s education was -imperfect; it had never eradicated the strong feelings for her own -people; it had led her to see how rapid must be their decay, but it had -not made her cling with undivided love to those whose superiority in -certain points was exhibiting itself in the destruction of the natives; -for she saw that the friendship of the whites was as fatal to the -Indians as was their enmity. The lands passed as fast by cession as by -conquest, and vices were sent with the wampum of peace as readily as -with the weapon of war. And while she felt that she could apply no -remedy, or _become_ a preventive, she yet felt for those whose blood was -in her veins—whose fathers’ fame had been her glory. - -“Oh, children of the forest,” said she, as she bent her eyes upon -mountains and table lands above, “ye are passing away like the leaves of -autumn. The frosts and the sunshine are alike fatal to you, and ere long -you will be known only by your decay. Men will _tell_ of your -glories—but who shall _see_ them? Dim shadows yet linger on the forest -edge, and I catch the view of half fading forms as I look along the -valley of the stream. Are these the spirits of my fathers come to chide -me, their daughter, for my apostacy? Alas! what an apostacy is that of -their sons, who retain the customs of the tribes, and yet adopt the -vices of the whites.” - -“The light of another day is springing up, and a thousand shapes are -visible; are these spirit-hunters of the red men—do they sanctify the -night by their chase? They are not like the red men of those days. -Mighty ones they are, and they pursue the mammoth for their sport. But -how they depart before the coming light, as their descendants waste in -the influence of the arts of the white men!” - -“But ought I to wish it otherwise? Will not science make more happy, and -religion repay by its influences all the evil which has been brought on -its name? Has it done it? Alas! I am distressed. What is to be the -effect of all? Are the white men, with their religion, to drive the red -men from their possession only to have more ample scope for vice, only -to waste each other by the fraud with which they, in most places, -overcome the Indians? or is the establishment of both to produce the -happiness to all which is promised by their leaders? And are these -doubts, these apparent difficulties, the result of my inability to judge -of what is to follow, as the vision is now disturbed by the uncertainty -of the dawning light, whose perfection will restore all things to their -proper appearance?” - -“Oh, let me yet, as I shall abide with these conquerors of our people, -let me at least acknowledge that it is not they but their religion that -detains me. No, deeply as I reverence my Father Harris, and much as I -love William, I would join the wasting, the decaying remnant of my -tribe; and if I could not revenge their wrongs, I would die with them -undisgraced by treachery. But that religion—ah, they hold me there; -they have driven from my heart most of the creed of my childhood. Only -here and there is found a belief, green, from its association with -infancy, but still beautiful, still cherished. While they have erected -in my heart the form of their own faith, unfinished yet, but still -promising, still sheltering. They have dealt with me as with our -forests, in which our tribes had their home, they cut them down, leaving -here and there a tree to tell of the things that were, and placing -incomplete edifices for their own shelter—edifices that they promise -shall be sufficient and beautiful in time.” - -The sun was rising above the horizon, and not a cloud stood in his whole -pathway to the west. The tops of the mountain caught and reflected its -first rays. As the warmth increased, the mists, which had fallen thick -toward the base of the hills, began slowly to rise and roll in massive -columns upward, or to pass off by the _gap_ through which the river -rushes. Rebecca gazed at the scene until her fancy moulded these morning -mists into the forms of cherished beings. The whole energies of her -tribe seemed to revive within her, and all of the wild and the unearthly -that distinguished the dreams of her childhood rushed back upon her -mind. - -“I see you all,” said she, “chiefs, warriors and women. I know ye now; -every one has his form, and ye are returning from the hunting-field of -spirits. Ye return mournful, though borne down with game; sad, for ye -cross the fields which the whites have torn from your descendants; -angry, for a child of a warrior is to be of those who are your -enemies—and yonder group of little ones, they are my brothers and -sisters, airy ones now, but happy in the mimic hunt, happy till they -turn their faces on me, the last of all the household. And, father—oh, -my father, the death-wound is yet upon thy breast, as thou movest onward -in the air. Mother! mother! look not thus on thy child! Oh, turn not to -me that breast whence I drew my life-nurture; that breast on which I -rested when the life-drops were oozing forth from the wound which the -enemy inflicted. But they are happy—happy in their union, happy in the -smiles of the Great Spirit whom they adored in their homes and their -hunting-grounds, whom they propitiated by terrible vengeance upon those -who desecrated those homes and destroyed those hunting-grounds. They are -happy, for the mist that gathers round my mother’s brow is resplendent -with rainbow beams, and as she passes upward to the mountain’s summit, -she waves her hand to me in peace. Thy pardon and thy blessing, oh, my -mother—prostrate, I invoke them both.” - -William, who had witnessed the last agonizing scene, then stepped -forward and raised the girl from the deep earth. She scarcely noticed -his presence, the wildness of her eye denoted thoughts differently -placed; and it was several minutes before she recovered her usual -self-possession. - -“It is passed, William, and we will now return to the house.” - -“But, Rebecca, why should you thus have exposed yourself and your health -by such a yielding to the influence of your feelings and your -imagination?” - -“William, I am, or I would be, a Christian; and when I have given myself -to _you_ and to God, I would have no reserve in my heart from either, -and therefore, before the sacrifice was made, as the daughter of the -Judge of Israel went forth upon the high-places of her land to mourn, so -I came hither to weep for what I was to leave, and to leave that for -which I wept. The last sacrifice upon the altar of my fathers and my -fathers’ deities has been made. I have torn from my heart the flowers -which grew upon the Indian’s belief, and have prayed that the tree of -life may over-shadow the wild plants, that they blossom not again. I -have taken down from the recesses of my soul, the gods which my mother -enshrined there, and have taken leave of the living and the dead of my -father’s race. And now, William, now my beloved one, I am thine—thine -in all seasons and all changes—thine, loving and loved; but, oh, do not -forget that my mind, though dedicated to Christianity now, has been the -_home_ of the red man’s creed, and may yet while it is sanctified by the -new altar, reflect something of itself, its other self upon the purer -worship, as the temples dedicated to the pagan god seem to cast some air -of their origin upon the new and sanctified rites which they now -enclose; and in moments of feeling, or when some additional wrong to my -fathers’ race is done in the name of our new creed, bear with me, if for -a moment, I forget the blessed teaching of the gospel, and yield to the -earlier influences of blood, of education and patriotism. It shall not -be often, not for the world. Henceforth, my beloved one, I am thine; all -of childhood’s home—all of a people’s wrongs—all of a nation’s faith -and a nation’s gods, are given up—and all of thine adopted. Thy breast -shall be my pillow in trouble, and thy smile my token of joy; thy -welfare shall be my happiness, thy dwelling shall be my home, ‘thy -people shall be my people, and thy God my God.’” - -William pressed to his heart the confiding, beautiful girl; and they -turned to leave the eminence upon which they stood, and to join the -family below. - -The exceeding beauty of the morning induced them to look once more and -admire the scene. The whole broad river below them seemed one floating -mass of light; and as the current passed on, its surface was disturbed -by the boughs of the overhanging trees that dipped into the water, and -created ripples that reflected all the hues of the moving light. The -mountains in the west seemed clothed in gorgeous sunbeams, and nature -appeared to have assumed her richest garb, to bless the nuptials that -were about to take place. - -“I love this scene,” said Rebecca, “it tranquilizes me—it soothes my -spirit, it elevates without agitating my mind—such a morning is a -teacher of religion.” - -“The Spirit of God is teaching every where,” said William. - -“True, true,” said Rebecca, “but I seem to lack some visible object, -something upon which my eye may rest, something like the ladder of -Jacob, by which I may ascend; the visible is necessary to me, to fix my -thought upon and draw it up to the invisible. Is not your creed -deficient in that?” - -“Can there be a better man than Father Harris, and have you ever heard -of one less influenced by the visible and tangible, and more guided by -faith in the unseen?” - -“True—but it is his goodness, his attainment in that grace which enable -him to dispense with the visible. You white men cut and blaze the trees -of the forest so that you may recognize the course by which you are to -reach a desired point, but the Indian passes onward through the densest -wood, with no visible sign, no outward evidence of the path.” - -“But, Rebecca, the white men find that their cuttings and blazings are -imitated, so that it is difficult to tell in time which is the right -mark, and resort must be had yet to the invisible to correct the -visible. The former deceives us often—the latter never.” - -Hand in hand the pair returned to the mansion of Mr. Harris, and the day -thus begun in sacrifice and prayer, was closed in festivity. And William -received to his arms his Indian bride. - -The little enclosure at Harrisburg is a frail but eloquent memorial of -the virtue and sufferings of Mr. Harris, and the fidelity of Pompey. The -former handed down his name and his virtues to a numerous posterity. - -Pompey, undoubtedly, is represented by some of his own color even in the -present day. The great reward which he claimed for his successful -exertions to save his master’s life, was permission to introduce a -fiddle into the settlement; and for years afterward the banks of the -Susquehanna were made melodious by the joyful notes which Pompey drew -from his favorite instrument, while blithely and strong was heard the -footfall of the young at night, as they danced to the music of the -Orpheus of their time. - -William’s descendents are in and around Harrisburg, holding office when -they can get it, and dividing themselves between the two, or -occasionally among the many parties, so that the advantage of ascendency -by either fraction may not be entirely lost by all. These are not the -children of Rebecca; she died young—her frame of mind was not favorable -to long life. She died a Christian, firm, consistent, active, growing -always in faith, and full of good works; and yet it was remarked by the -excellent clergyman whose teaching she followed, that her mind seemed -never to have dismissed entirely the creed of her childhood—and all her -pure faith, all her Christian zeal, all her holy life, appeared to have -some tinge of the creed of her fathers—not to alter the body of her -faith, but merely to give it, at times, a color. “And,” said a successor -of that clergyman, “have not the teachings she adopted, teachings of -Christianity, always been thus affected by the previous character of the -community or individuals by which they have been received?” No -requirement diminished, no duty changed, no obligation dispensed, but a -sort of reservation of a non-essential, which served to reflect a -separate ray upon the admitted and the requisite. Religious truth, -though enforced by divine grace, must in general be conveyed by a human -medium, which will impart a portion of itself or its accidents, as the -color of the atmosphere through which light is conveyed to earth gives -hue and tinge to the rays, without diminishing essentially their powers -to guide by their light, or invigorate by their heat. Nay, when we -concentrate these rays to convey them to particular objects, the light -not only takes the tinge of the medium, but it has also the divergency -and eccentricity consequent upon the inequalities of surface, or the -impurities of the glass through which it comes. - -Rebecca lived to bless her husband by her domestic virtues and her -unfailing affection. Her death was mourned wherever her beautiful -example of womanly virtue and Christian integrity was known. - - [After the above narrative was prepared for the press, numerous - letters that passed between Rebecca and her school-mates—one or - two to Mr. Harris—and some to her lover, and two to her - husband, near the close of her life, were supplied to the writer - by the same person who furnished the materials for the story. - They could not well be introduced with the narrative, but may be - given hereafter, should it appear that they have interest enough - for the pages of this Magazine.] - - * * * * * - - - - - TRANSLATION - - - OF A RECENTLY DISCOVERED FRAGMENT[1] OF A POEM BY SAPPHO. - - - BY G. HILL. - - - Thou’rt like the apple—maiden young and fair— - That sees its fellows gathered, one by one, - While, on the topmost bough, though ripe and rare, - It unmolested sits and blooms alone: - Forgotten? No—a mark for every eye, - But for the gazer’s longing hand too high. - ------ - -[1] Published in Walz, Rhetor. Græc. 8. 883. - - * * * * * - - - - - TWO HOURS OF DOOM. - - - BY MRS. JULIET H. L. CAMPBELL. - - - HOUR I.—_A Betrothal._ - -The princes of the night came, one by one, into the halls of Heaven, and -each, from his refulgent throne, sped far and wide through space his -beams of glory. The earth saw the regal train, and rejoiced, saying, “I -am their sister;” then the shadows passed away from her bosom, and she -stood in radiance amid her starry compeers, sending back ray for ray. - -“My Lillian, let us look upon the night,” cried Kenneth—and he led her -forth beneath the stars. They smiled upon the maid, and crowned her -forehead with their beams, and her beauty grew as lofty and mysterious -as their own. - -The pair walked in silence, for each bosom throbbed heavily, with its -burden of unspoken love; they walked in silence, for youth was in -flushing, and they heeded not the speeding hours. - -First Kenneth spoke, for man must _act_ while woman muses, and the -spells of night oppressed him. - -“Look, Lillian, on the shining orbs above us, circling their mysterious -round! Knowest thou, the starry firmament is a vast prophecy of things -to be? Yon burning record of the decrees of fate rolls its stupendous -riddles in mighty round, and mock our earnest inquiry. The learning of -the Magi, the ‘Persians starry wit,’ may catch but faint and far-off -glimpses of the truths they blazon yet conceal. The boasted lore of the -Chaldean, reads but imperfectly their dim revealings, while the Gheber, -wiser in his ignorance than either, bows in worship to the celestial -mysteries he presumeth not to compass or comprehend.” - -There was a majesty and gloom in the boy’s conceptions that charmed and -oppressed fair Lillian; and, as woman is prone to do, she turned from -all the rolling worlds of which he spoke, to the deep, silent, and no -less enigmatical world of her own heart. - -He looked again upon the heavens on which was written, as he believed, -the fate of nations, while her meek eyes followed his, striving to read -from the jeweled scroll, her own doom. - -“Kenneth,” she cried, abruptly, and in awe, “I feel that I am -approaching a crisis in my fate!” - -“Thy fate, sweet one, is also written in letters of light above us. I am -not deeply versed in heavenly lore, but from thy presentiment and mine, -I read a crisis is at hand. Seest thou yon pale orb,” he continued, -raising his hand aloft, “my father told me once it shone upon _thy_ -birth, and from that hour it has been the object of my vigil and study; -so pale, so pure, it seemeth like thy fair face set in heaven. Of late -methought it shone with sadder beam, and wandered from its track. See!” -he cried with a shout, “it journeys the skies, side by side, with yon -red-eyed planet.” - -Lillian raised her soft eyes, and met the lurid glare of the blood-red -star. - -“What orb is that?” she inquired, with a shudder, clinging closer to -Kenneth’s side. - -“_The star of my nativity!_” - - * * * * * - -“Lillian! _my_ Lillian! tremble not, beloved! hath not kind Heaven given -thee to me?” He wound his arms around her frail form, and laid her to -his heart. - -“Dark youth, I fear thee!” she shrieked, and bursting from his embrace, -fled into the night. Suddenly she paused, and covering her face with her -hands, crushed the big tears that were gushing from their fountains, -“ay!” she murmured, “but I love thee also!” - -“Thou dost, my fawn!” said Kenneth, as he regained her side, “swear, -then, to be mine.” - -The maiden hesitated, for the angel whose ward she was, whispered a -warning. - -“Swear not, for his brow is dark and his heart fierce—his path lieth -through blood, and endeth in blackness!” - -Then love lifted up his voice, crying, “What grief so great as parting -from thy beloved! What wo so heavy as a disappointed heart!” - -And the maiden said, “I swear! Whether for good or evil, for blessing or -for blight, my doom is sealed, and I am thine.” - -“The crisis is past, beloved,” whispered the wooer—“where is now thy -fear?” - -The maiden abode in the halls of her sires, while the youth rode forth -intent on valiant deeds, for ’twas in the days when a hero’s laurels -were his bridal gift. But his heart was not strong in hope—neither was -it girt with patience—neither was it seasoned with denial; and -temptation beset him by the way and endurance failed, and when he -returned, his knightly spurs were dimmed, and tarnished his knightly -honor. - -“Oh, spurn me not, beloved!” he cried, in agonized abasement. - -And the lady answered, “Through glory and shame I will be true to thee.” - -Then was Kenneth comforted by her tenderness, and strengthened by her -counsels—and he went forth with hope to retrieve the errors of the -past. - -But the glory of his youth had departed, and the fear of God dwelt no -more in his bosom; and his heart was curdled by the scorn of men, and -hardened against his kind; and his right hand became a hand of power, -but it was red with wrath—and injustice, and oppression, and cruelty, -and wrong, and rapine, and murder, stalked in his train. Then he -returned to his lady, and stood before her with a sullen brow, saying, - -“By my valor have I won my bride!” - -“Ah, Kenneth!” she faltered, “thou hast despised my counsels, thou hast -mocked at my love; thy path hath been a path of blood, and thy crimes -rise mountain-high between thee and thy affianced! Oh, why hast thou -done this?” - -The scales fell from his eyes in that pure presence, and looking back -over the guilt of years, he felt appalled by his own sins. - -“The stars, in their courses, fought against me,”[2] he answered -gloomily—“it was my destiny.” - -“Oh, abandon that fearful error, and cease to burden Fate with thy -misdeeds. Thy destiny hath been of thine own choosing. Didst thou not -turn a deaf ear to the pleadings of all good angels? Didst thou not -yield an easy prey to the devices of thine own heart? For the sake of -the future, look back upon the past, and tell me if thou canst not -recall the hour when two paths were spread before thee, and thou didst -choose thy lot; tell me no more of destiny!” - -“My lady hath forgotten her meekness as well as her love.” - -“Kenneth, reproach me not! I have wasted my youth in vigils for thee; I -have watched, and wept, and waited, now in hope, and anon in -hopelessness, until sorrow shadowed my father’s halls, and mildew -settled down on my heart. Now in the depths of my despair I love thee -still, but I _dare not_ wed thee! Go in peace; if man may ever meddle -with his fate, mine shall be of my own moulding.” - -“Fashion it as thou wilt,” he answered fiercely, “_I will come to claim -thee in the appointed hour!_” - - * * * * * - -Fair Lillian sitteth in her husband’s home, but a great shadow lieth -athwart the hearth; ’tis the memory of an earlier, wilder, fonder love; -and the fierce fame of her warrior, reacheth her ever, terrible as the -roar of distant battle. - ------ - -[2] - - The stars in their courses fought against Sisera. - JUDGES, chap. v., verse 20. - - - HOUR II.—_The Consummation._ - -The princes of the night mounted their flaming steeds and coursed -through heaven. Lillian sat in widow’s weeds, and watched them from her -great round tower. Suddenly the clang of a mailed heel rung on the -winding stair, and her cheek paled—for those halls no longer echoed -with martial sounds since Lord Ulric had been gathered home. Near and -more near, loud and more loud, and a warrior strode into the apartment, -and folded the lady in his embrace! - -“_I have come!_” - -Those old, familiar, long beloved tones, how they broke upon the -loneliness, thrilling to its centre her sorrow-stricken heart. What -marvel if she wept unresistingly on his broad breast, in her agony of -surprise. - -“I have come to claim my bride!” - -Then was the spell broken, and her soul awoke to a sense of its stern -resolves. She freed herself from that passionate embrace, saying, - -“I may not wed thee, Kenneth.” - -“But listen to my pleadings, my long lost one; canst thou not divinely -forgive the past, and be my guardian angel for the future? Hast thou -ceased to love, or hast thou learned to fear me?” - -“Kenneth, thou art accursed of God, and abhorred of men, and yet I fear -thee not. Thou wert the lover of my youth, ever fond, ever tender; and -thy name, so dreaded in the land thou hast scourged, is to me but a -talisman of gentle memories. I fear thee not. But I have walked through -life with a strong hand on my heart, curbing its warm impulses, crushing -its fond love. It hath plead passionately for thee, but I hearkened not, -and by this bitter schooling have I learned to resist even _thee_.” - -“And I, have I not, ’mid sin and sorrow, ’mid wreck of hopes and ruin of -soul, preserved undimmed my one bright dream of thee? Have I not sat by -a lonely hearth, while thy smile filled the home of my rival with joy? -Have I not forborne to tear thee thence, because I would not offer -violence to thee or thine? And now wilt thou reject the love which youth -hath sanctified, and manhood ripened?” - -“Oh, why hast thou not wedded and forgotten me?” she cried, in anguish. - -“Because the hope of thy pale waning beauty was dearer to my heart than -all the daughters of bloom. Because I would be ever ready for the hour -when fate should say, ‘arise, make ready thy bower for thy promised -bride;’ _that hour has come_! Mark the heavens where ’tis written, thou -art mine. Once, long ago, we looked upon the night with all its circling -stars; thou seest them now, as then, treading their solemn round, -unchanged, unchangeable. Not one of all the starry hosts may wander from -its appointed pathway; and canst thou, child of destiny, escape thy -fate? The hand that guides _them_, governs _thee_, and the decrees of -the Omnipotent have been, from all eternity, and are immutable.” - -“Oh, tell me no more of thy stern, unpitying faith! thou hast imbued my -mind with thy belief, until, like the scorpion girt with fire, I have -almost turned on myself despairing. I would fain believe that the -struggles and strivings of humanity are not without their fruits; that -the fervent prayer, the earnest effort, are heard, and heeded; that man -may wrestle all night with his Maker, and when the morning breaks, -prevail.”[3] - -Very touching was the fierce man’s tenderness, but the lady was strong -in her heart’s martyrdom. Then he turned away, saying, - -“Thou hast destroyed the hope of a lifetime, and my father’s lore hath -failed me. How could I thus misread the stars!” - -From the battlement he looked on heaven thus questioning, and the stars -grew dim beneath his gaze. - -The orb that beamed upon his lady’s birth, sent down its calm, cold ray; -his own more fiery planet blazed in lurid light, while an ocean of space -rolled between. - -“Lost to me!” he murmured. - -As he spoke, the red planet shot madly from its sphere, careering -athwart the concave like a sword of fire, it rushed from being, and -deeper darkness brooded o’er the expanse. - -Again his eye sought the milder light of the star he worshiped, when lo! -_it had been swept from the face of heaven_. - -“Be it so, lost Pleiad!” cried the lover, and folding in his arms the -pallid lady, leaped from the turret, into the abyss below. - ------ - -[3] Exodus, chapter xxxii. - - * * * * * - - - - - ERMENGARDE’S AWAKENING. - - - BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD. - - - Dear God and must we see - All blissful things depart from _us_, or ere we go to THEE? - E. B. BARRETT. - - It was an altar worthy of a god! - All of pure gold, in furnace fire refined; - And never foot profane had near it trod, - And never image had been there enshrined; - But now a radiant idol claimed the place, - And took it with a rare and royal grace. - - And the proud woman thrilled to its false glory, - And when the murmur of her own true soul - Told in low, lute-tones Love’s impassioned story, - She dreamed the music from that statue stole, - And knelt adoring at the silent shrine - Her own divinity had mode divine. - - And with a halo from her heart she crowned it, - That shed a spirit-light upon its face, - And garlands hung of soul-flowers fondly round it, - Wreathing its beauty with immortal grace, - And so she felt not, as she gazed, how cold - And calm that Eidolon of marble mould. - - Like Egypt’s queen in her imperial play, - She, in abandonment more wildly sweet, - Melted the pearl of her pure _Life_ away, - And poured the rich libation at its feet, - And in exulting rapture _dreamed_ the smile - That should have answered in its eyes the while. - - And all rare gifts she lavished on that altar, - Treasures the mines of India could not buy, - Nor did her foot-fall for a moment falter, - Though the world watched her with an evil eye, - And sad friends whispered “Soon she’ll wake to weep, - For lo! she walks in an enchanted sleep.” - - Oh! glorious dreamer! with dark eyes upturned - In wondering worship to that godlike brow, - How the rare beauty of thy spirit burned - In the rapt gaze and in the glowing vow, - How didst thou waste on one thy soul should scorn - The glory of a blush that mocked the _Morn_! - - She turned from all—from friendship and the world— - Only _Love_ knew the way to that dim glade, - And calm her sweet, yet queenly lip had curled - Had the world’s whisper reached her in that shade, - But she was deaf and dumb and blind to all, - Save to the charm that held her heart in thrall. - - And Love, who loved her, flew at her sweet will, - Bringing all gems that hoard the rainbow’s splendor, - And singing-birds with magic in their trill, - And what wild-flowers fairy-land could lend her, - And flower and bird and jewel all were laid - To grace that golden altar in the Shade. - - Fair was that sylvan solitude I ween— - The lady’s charmed and trancéd spirit lent - The starlight of its beauty to the scene, - And joy and music with the fountain went, - While in a still enchantment on its throne - The lucid statue cold and stately shone. - - Love lent her, too, th’ enchanted lute he played - And she would let her light hand float at will - Across its chords of silver, half afraid, - Like a white lily on a murmuring rill, - Till Music’s soul, waked by that touch, took wing, - And mingling with it hers would soar and sing— - - “Dost thou see—dost thou feel—oh, mine idol divine, - How I’ve yielded the soul of my soul for thy shrine? - Dost thou thrill to the tones of my melody sweet? - Does it glide to thy _heart_ on its musical feet? - Dost thou love the light touch of my hand as I twine - My passion-flower wreath for thy beauty benign? - - “Dost thou know how I’ve gathered all gifts that I own - To bless and to brighten the place of thy throne, - How my thoughts like young singing-birds flutter and fly - With a song for thine ear and a gleam for thine eye, - How Truth’s precious gems, that drink sunbeams for wine, - Are wreathed into chaplets of light for thy shrine? - - “How Fancy has woven her fairy-land flowers - To garland with odor and beauty thine hours, - While Feeling’s pure fountains play softly and free, - And chant in their falling ‘For thee! for thee!’ - Dost thou feel—dost thou see—oh! mine idol divine, - How I’ve yielded the soul of my soul for thy shrine.” - - Thus sang the lady, but her waking hour - Drew near; for when her passionate song was mute, - And no fond answer thrilled through that hushed bower - Into her listening heart, she laid the lute - Within her loved one’s clasp and prayed him play - Some idyl sweet to wile the hours away. - - From his cold hand the lute dropped idly down - And broke in music at the false god’s feet; - Love’s lute! ah Heaven! how paled the peerless crown - Above that brow when with a quick wild beat - Of fear and shame and sorrow at her heart, - The lady from her dazzling dream did start. - - And the dream fell beside the broken lute, - And the flowers faded in their fairy grace - And the fount stopped its glorious play, and mute - The birds their light wings shut in that sweet place, - While the deep night that veiled the woman’s soul - O’er shrine and idol cold and starless stole. - - And in her desolate agony she cast - Her form beside Love’s shivered treasure there, - And cried, “Oh, God! my life of life is past! - And I am left alone with my despair.” - Hark! from the lute one low, melodious sigh - Thrilled to her heart a sad yet sweet reply. - - Then through the darkness rose a voice in prayer, - “My Father! I have sinned ’gainst Thine and Thee. - The idol, whom I deemed so grandly fair - That its proud presence hid thy heaven from me, - Shorn of his glory, shrunk to common clay, - Behold for him and for my heart I pray. - - “Take _Thou_ the lute—the shattered lute of love— - And teach my faltering hand to tune it right - To some dear, holy hymn—which, like a dove, - From silver fetters freed, may cleave the night, - And fluttering upward to thy starlit throne - Die at _Thy_ heart with blissful music moan.” - - * * * * * - - - - - THE CAPTIVE OF YORK. - - - BY STELLA MARTIN. - - -The winter of 1692 was no mild specimen of the climate of the New -England wilds. The settlers on the inhospitable coast of Maine found its -severity to exceed all their apprehensions. The few comforts which they -had as yet been able to gather around them, were inadequate to the wants -of that long and dreary season. Many fell victims of hardships and -despondency; while not a few toiled on, cheerful and uncomplaining -examples of endurance and suffering. It was perhaps more fortunate for -the northern settlements than their pioneers, that they were commenced -in summer, for the cold and inclemency of their early winters were -enough to sadden the heart, and blast the hopes of the most visionary -dreamer. The stranger who built his rude open hut in pleasant June, -fanned by cool breezes during his summer toil, wot not that a few months -would bring a bleakness of which he had little conception. The -settlements on the Piscataqua are among the oldest in Maine; and to -those who first selected the romantic site of the now beautiful village -of York, it seemed enchanted land. Primeval forests covered the whole -country through which the Piscataqua and its Naiad Sisters wound their -way to the sea. The delicate foliage of the beech and poplar, the deep -sombre green of the hemlock and fir, the pale, graceful willow, and the -bright emerald maple, all blended to form a perfect forest robe, as yet -untouched by the devastating hand of man. Bald peaks lent wildness to -the scene, already diversified by the commanding banks of the rivers -which lay calmly mirrored in their deep, clear waters. No wonder the -early adventurers looked with rapturous delight upon the broad bays -studded with islands, the green promontories and quiet harbors into -which the streams widening their channels, gradually lost themselves in -the Atlantic. The sea-fowl bathed its drooping plumage unmolested on the -shores, the wild-cat ran at will, guided only by the impulses of its -savage nature, and the graceful deer proudly reared its antlered head, -and bounded away, the undisturbed inhabitant of the mighty wilderness. - -To him who, tired with the bondage of the old world, sought refuge in -the new, these were glowing emblems of that liberty he so earnestly -longed for. He hailed the land spread out before him, in all the -magnificence of nature, as that which would realize his most chimerical -ideas of happiness. Imagination added to its charms, and converted what -was truly wild and beautiful into a paradise. The toils and dangers of -the frontier life vanished away; and with a buoyant heart the wanderer -adopted the unknown soil, alike ignorant and unmindful of the ills that -would cluster around his future path. When want shall have been -encountered in every form, sickness endured, famine driven from the -door, and “hope, the star that leads the weary on,” delusive hope, shall -whisper of bliss to come, he is destined to find in the savage tribes of -the country, enemies more formidable than the evils of his condition. -Hard fate! to survive the strife of the elements, to escape pestilence -and danger only to perish by a relentless _human_ foe. - -The settlement of York had enjoyed several years of prosperity, the -effects of which were perceptible in a considerable degree of neatness -and comfort about its dwellings. This appearance of thrift made it a -surer mark for destruction. In January, 1692, a band of Abenakis and -French burst upon this defenseless village, “offering its inhabitants -captivity or death.” A terrible storm had just covered the earth with -snow, to a depth which would have proved a barrier to any but these -intrepid barbarians. They had walked on snow-shoes, the long distance -from the basin of the St. John’s, the difficulties of the way only -serving to increase their insatiable thirst for bloodshed. It was a -serene winter’s evening, when the Abenaki braves surrounded their -council-fire, a few miles from the doomed village, to determine upon -their mode of assault. The purity of nature in these snowy solitudes -strangely contrasted with the sanguinary deeds plotted there. She -witnesses in silence the offences of her children. She beholds the -members of the great brotherhood of man rise up and destroy each other, -yet thunders no warning to the victim, nor hurls the fire of heaven upon -the destroyer. - -Stealthily advanced the murderers, while the peaceful inhabitants of -York were gathered around their happy firesides. Ah, never more will -those family groups meet around the altar of prayer, never again -together join the festive dance. That ringing war-whoop which strikes -the ear is the death-knell of the unsuspecting villagers. Mother, take a -last look at thy darling, ere its baby face is snatched forever from -you. Husband, clasp thy wife to thy bosom, for that fond embrace shall -be the last. Lover, thou art vainly striving to wrest thy cherished one -from the barbarian’s grasp—thy agonizing efforts to save her, make her -a prize in those savage eyes; and, unfortunate girl, instead of mingling -thy blood with thy kindred, a captivity awaits thee a thousand times -more horrible death. - -This lot befell Amy Wakefield. She saw her mother fall lifeless from the -first blow of the tomahawk. Her father, with the fury of a madman, -sprung upon the assassin, and proved the avenger of his wife. Swift as -thought, however, he was overborne by the comrades of the dead Indian, -and he lay a mangled corse beside his beloved companion; one son and a -servant girl shared the same fate. Poor, gentle, timid Amy! there she -stood petrified by the awful sight before her, but she made no effort to -escape. Vain indeed would have been the attempt; her nonresistance saved -her life, and prolonged her sufferings. No scalping-knife was uplifted -over her head, but as if her sentence was written on her brow, they -proceeded without a moment’s hesitation to bind her hands behind her. -Richard Russel rushed into the street at the first alarm, and ye who -know a lover’s heart can tell why he flew with the speed of lightning, -to seek Amy Wakefield—his betrothed bride. He entered the dwelling -where he knew carnage and death were doing their dreadful work; but what -was danger to him, with such an object at stake! - -“Oh, Richard,” said Amy, opening her lips for the first time since her -mother’s dying shriek had sealed them, in a tone which would have melted -a heart less sensitive than his. He darted forward, seized the Indian -who was binding her, and with a maniac’s gripe wrestled for the mastery. -Young Russel, tall and athletic, was considered the most vigorous young -man in the colony, but his strength was unequal to that of the sinewy -son of the forest. A blow from a war-club felled him senseless to the -earth. “Merciful God!” cried poor Amy in the anguish of her soul, as her -last earthly hope was quenched within her. She was dragged from the spot -where lay all she held dear. As she passed the door, a kindly stupor -seized her; neither the screams of the villagers, nor the kindling -flames of the cottages, roused her. She looked vacantly around, but -heeded not what she saw. She felt no grief—she had no consciousness. -The scenes of the past half hour had banished her senses, and bewildered -her mind. They seemed like a terrific vision in a dream—hideously -vivid, without the power of realizing or escaping from it. Why did not -oblivion forever steal over the past, or delirium cheat the soul in -future? - -The work of death was done. The slain were sepulchred in the ashes of -their cottage homes; the captives were divided as spoils among the -warriors, and toward morning they started for the northeast. Amy -Wakefield and three other prisoners were the especial care of two -Abenakis and a Frenchman, Jean Mordaunt. The whole party moved rapidly, -lest the neighboring settlements should see the light of the burning -village, and pursue them; but this little company were the foremost. The -other captives with Amy were men, but she kept pace with them and the -Indians. - -She hurried along as if she were fleeing from enemies. All that day she -traveled on, taking no food, uttering no complaint; and at last, when -night came, she sunk down unconcernedly to sleep. It was one of their -former stopping places, and the Indians rekindled the fires, which had -scarcely expired. The poor captives gathered around them and welcomed -the burning heat, though hardly more comfortable than the chilling -blasts to which they had been exposed. Oh, the sorrows of that weary -journey—cold, hunger and thirst were among the least of them. The -Indians returned by the trail in which they came; but the snow was -untrodden and deep, and the path lay through forests and across rivers. -Some drooped by the way and received beatings for their manifestations -of fatigue, whilst many found snowy graves. For many days they traveled -on together, but finally separated in little bands for the settlements -where they belonged, each carrying with them their captives. This last -sad comfort of friends and neighbors traveling together in their misery, -was now denied them, and they looked each other a last adieu. - -I said Amy slept. It was a blessed sleep, for it carried her back to -childhood’s days; now she was gathering violets with her little brothers -on the river’s bank; now she saw her brother’s angel face, and heard her -father’s “dear little Amy.” Then time flew by, and she felt her lover’s -warm kisses; years seemed moments, and moments years—and still she -slept on. Would that she might have slept “that sleep from which none -ever wake to weep.” - -The sun was high in the heavens ere they roused them from their -slumbers. The labors of the previous day were exhausting even to the -Indian’s strong frame. Some of the wretched captives had passed a -sleepless night from fear or excessive weariness; and to some their -aching limbs forbade rest. But Amy still lay with her head thrown back, -her hands clasped; her marble face and motionless lips rendered still -more striking by the profusion of black hair lying disheveled about her. -The Indian who advanced to awaken her, paused, as if he shrunk from such -a personification of purity. He took hold of her shoulder and shook her; -but it seemed as if her senses were bound by death’s icy chains. He -struck her a rough blow on the side of her head. She opened her eyes, -and tried to rise, but her limbs refused her support, and she fell back. -She looked up—her consciousness returned. The sight of the Indian’s -face brought back the scenes of that dreadful night, and she trembled -like an aspen leaf. But another blow for her tardiness, brought a full -conception of her situation, and a flood of tears. Her stiff, feeble -movements, the tears running in torrents down her cheeks, were a strange -counterpart to the day before. They started; she tried to proceed, but -her limbs seemed paralyzed, and her heart died within her. She forgot -all around, even her own wretchedness; she remembered only that cottage -scene, Richard, and her parents—and she prayed for death. Her sobs were -heart-rending, still the cruel savages urged her on. Oh, were there no -friendly angels abroad in the earth; was mercy fled, and vengeance dead! -At length the Indians, enraged at what they considered the girl’s -obstinacy, raised a club to strike her, but Mordaunt, who, perhaps, had -enough of humanity to be touched by the spectacle before him, leaped -forward, averted the blow, and talking with them a few moments in their -own rude, wild tongue, seemed to calm their anger. Soon after this there -was a division of the company; Amy and some others, who were incapable -of keeping up with the main party, were put together and allowed to -proceed more slowly; still she went weeping on—that painful way was -traced in tears, and the desert solitudes echoed with her sighs. After -about three weeks, the Indians discerned their “smokes” in the distance, -and saluted them with shoutings and expressions of great joy. Amy’s -peculiar grief had awakened some little pity, even in the bosoms of her -savage captors. To this, and the influence of Mordaunt, whose notice she -had attracted ever since the first morning, when she lay an unconscious -sleeper beside their fires, she owed her comparatively easy lot. She was -given to Wiloma, the wife of Great Turtle, the last king, who kept her -to do her menial drudgery, but treated her with some kindness. - -Jean Mordaunt was a Jesuit missionary. He belonged to a class of whom -mankind has drawn widely varying pictures. Pious, devoted, -self-sacrificing, ambitious, crafty and revengeful, are, doubtless, all -true descriptions of this fraternity, who have left no country without -its representatives, and whose name is Legion. America, the “land of -mountains and eagles,” early drew them hither, and here we see their -character in all its phases. They penetrated nearly every recess on the -northern part of our continent, and visited almost all of the Indian -tribes, teaching them the name of Jesus and the Virgin Mother; some -affirming in their enthusiasm, that “the path to heaven was as open -through a roof of bark, as through arched ceilings of silver and gold.” -“Not a cape was turned, nor a river entered, but a Jesuit led the way,” -says the eloquent historian, Bancroft. “The cross and the lily, emblems -of France and Christianity,” were carved on the trees, and inscribed on -the rocks. Many, like Mesnard, or the gentle Marquette, found quiet -resting-places in the wilderness; and the western waters which wash -their graves, perpetually sing their dirge. But Gabriel Lallemand, -Father Jaques, Jean De Brebeuf, René Goupil, and many others, sealed -their labors with their blood. Their memory is precious to the mother -church; and what wonder that her sons and daughters revere them as -saints. But there were a vast multitude who claimed the same mission of -love and mercy with these martyrs of holy zeal, whose lives and -characters too plainly betrayed their hypocrisy. There were those whose -religion cloaked their ambition, and others in whom intrigue had -supplanted all the simplicity of the gospel. Instead of religious -teachers, they often became artful politicians. That the French Jesuits -participated in, and often instigated the attacks upon the English -border settlements, is so well attested, that it cannot be denied. The -enmity between the French and English nations was too deeply seated to -be forgotten by their colonists, and often led them to rouse the -merciless savage against their unguarded neighbors. It is difficult to -conceive how a minister of that blessed religion which proclaims “peace -and good-will to men,” should have so far forgot its precepts, as to be -present at the bloody massacre of York; but Jean Mordaunt was there. -Perhaps he did not stain his hands with blood, but he spotted his soul -with guilt. - -Amy Wakefield gradually recovered her spent energies. Her elastic -constitution rebounded from the severe shocks it had received, but her -sufferings left an indelible impress on her spirits. Time could not -restore the loved ones sleeping in the dust, and smiles bade adieu to -her once happy face. Like Egeria of yore, she forever mourned her -heart’s lost treasures. Mordaunt dwelt upon that beautiful sorrowing -face until it seduced him from his priestly vows; but it was a problem -to the wary Frenchman how to approach Amy. Though a submissive slave, -she was unapproachable; she answered no signs, nor noticed the broken -English addressed to her. She shunned every one, and seemed to scorn -sympathy with her foes. Months passed, and still she toiled on in -Wiloma’s cabin, but her grief was not assuaged, nor the fountain of her -tears dried up. As spring came, she would steal away by herself without -the wigwam to admire the opening buds, which filled the air with their -perfume, and with delight would listen to the carol of birds, as they -hopped merrily from branch to branch, fit emblems of happiness. The -cheerfulness and beauty of all around her, contrasted strangely with her -own condition, but at times she would forget her sadness, and soothed by -the wild music of the waterfall, lose herself in some day-dream of -happiness. - -Old Wiloma scarcely watched her captive. Indeed, the thought of escape -never entered the mind of Amy. Where should she fly, when all she loved -were in heaven. True, she did not _know_ that two of her brothers were -dead. The eldest, Winthrop, was at a distant settlement at school; and -little Johnny, the pet, was sweetly sleeping in the chamber when they -were attacked, so it seemed certain that he was slain. But the chance of -life vanished when Richard fell. - - “Alas! the love of woman; it is known - To be a lovely and a fearful thing; - For all of hers upon that die is thrown, - And if ’tis lost, life has no more to bring - To her, but mockeries of the past alone.” - -Amy was one day sitting in the wigwam-door when she saw Mordaunt coming -toward her, and rose to retire. “In the name of Jesus, tarry,” said he, -in a manner so earnest and imperative, that she stopped involuntarily. -“I have prayed for thee to the Holy Virgin and the Saints,” continued -he, crossing himself. It was the first intelligible sentence in her own -language that Amy had heard since she parted with her companions in -misery. Some of the Indians spoke a broken English that she understood, -but she had never heard Mordaunt utter a word before. - -“I need not thy prayers to thy saints,” said Amy, after recovering from -her astonishment, and recollecting the teachings of her infancy. - -“Speak not lightly of prayers, child, thy soul hath need of them,” said -Mordaunt. - -“I know it, but those now sleeping in death, taught me that there is but -One that heareth prayer,” said she, her eyes filling with tears, “and He -is our Father in Heaven.” - -“They were heretics, and knew not the communion of the true church,” -said the Jesuit. “They taught thee wrongly, child; and I fear their -souls are now suffering the pains of purgatory, but for thy sake I would -gladly pray them out.” - -Amy’s eyes flashed indignantly. “That may be thy portion, deceiver; but -those of whom you speak, killed by your murderous bands, are angels in -heaven. I know it,” said she, with an assurance that silenced Mordaunt. -“I saw them last night, they beckoned me upward. Oh, Father, have -mercy!” and she lifted her eyes and hands heavenward, with an -expression, as if her soul were quitting its earthly tabernacle. -Mordaunt was awed. He sat silently gazing at her, and she into the azure -above. Old Wiloma, who had been asleep in the wigwam, at this instant -awoke, and calling Amy, brought her wandering senses back to earth. She -rose and obeyed the bidding. Mordaunt departed, but the expression of -that upturned face haunted him. There was a touching serenity about Amy, -as she gazed into the land of spirits, that commanded his admiration. -Duplicity had indeed made him its disciple, but it had not entirely -blunted his perceptions of the beautiful; his coarse heart was not -impervious to a scene like that. - -He sought another interview, but Amy avoided him more than ever after -that conversation. Mordaunt often visited old Wiloma’s cabin, for she -had learned the sign of the cross, but never could he gain an -opportunity of speaking with her who now had his every thought. Cupid’s -arrows were too deeply transfixed to be withdrawn, and the more he was -foiled, the more necessary seemed the object he would gain. One day Amy -was walking in the woods, when Mordaunt coming up hastily behind, -surprised her with, “My dear mademoiselle.” She could not retreat, and -had not time to reply, before his pent-up feelings found utterance in -the best English he could command. He talked not of saints, or the -“blessed Virgin.” He had been seeking this opportunity too long, another -was too uncertain, and above all, he felt too deeply to allow of any -delay. - -In a broken and tremulous manner he told her of his love; how his -thoughts had dwelt upon her night and day, and swore to be faithful -forever, would she but bless him with her affection. Amy’s countenance -indicated no participation in the confusion manifested by Mordaunt. The -color came and went upon his cheek, as hope or fear predominated—a -fitful anxiety pervaded his whole frame. Nothing could have astonished -Amy more than the declarations of Mordaunt. She had felt a decided -aversion to him, without knowing why, or having the slightest suspicion -of his real state of feeling. Her features were rigid, and bespoke no -emotion, her voice calm, and her whole manner self-possessed. - -“I have given my heart to my own dear Richard, and though he lives no -more, I will not, I wish not to recall it. Where he lies, there lie -buried my earthly hopes and affections.” - -“But,” said he, “you are pining in this captivity—love me, and I will -rescue you. I will fly with you. We will make our home amid the -vine-clad hills of France; I will be thy deliverer and protector, and -happiness shall crown thy days.” - -“I am pining,” said Amy, “but it is not captivity that makes me sigh; I -grieve for that which thou canst never restore; happiness has fled from -my sad heart. The world is desolate. This wilderness is lonely, but even -here nature has left witnesses of her loveliness,” said she, pointing to -the flowers at her feet. - -“But be my bride,” continued the impassioned lover, “and forget thy -troubles.” - -“Never! never! I _cannot_ forget, I _would not_ be thy bride.” - -Mordaunt saw in her firm, determined manner, the death-blow to his -bliss; but in her refusal there was something so pensive, so mournfully -beautiful, that it set his soul on fire; he could not be refused—he -begged on, as wretches do for life, for one assurance of her affection, -but in vain. Flatteries, promises and entreaties were alike to her—she -spurned them all. Mordaunt really loved Amy as purely as he was capable -of doing, and could he have gained her by persuasion, the base passions -of his soul might not have been roused from their lethargy; but the -object was too precious to be abandoned until every expedient was -exhausted. Desire prompted him—there was one art untried; principle -deterred him not—he had no honor to forbid. He knew Amy’s shrinking -nature; he had observed her tremble when the Indians approached her, as -if she dreaded contamination. - -“Proud girl,” said Mordaunt, “thou must marry me or an Indian.” - -“Terrible alternative, but rather the savage than thou, and rather death -than either.” - -“Well,” responded the Jesuit, seeming to be satisfied; “thy fair form -will pander to the appetite of Manuki. He will exultingly gloat over his -pale-faced bride. _Thine is a good taste._ Mordaunt or the savage.” The -last sentence fell from his lips livid with anger; but Amy noticed it -not. Had a thunderbolt flashed out from the clear sky above, she would -not have been more terrified than at this disclosure. She had been more -kindly treated than the other captives—but was it for this? Was it that -Manuki, he who had torn her from her home, and murdered her lover, -should press her to his bosom? Once, indeed, the appalling idea, that -she might be forced to become her captor’s wife had crossed her mind, -but it was only a momentary suspicion. Manuki had been gone for weeks on -a hunting excursion, and the thought had never returned until now—but -now all was clear; Mordaunt had confirmed her worst fears; it must be -so—he had all the Indian’s secrets. The announcement was awful. A -ghastly paleness overspread her face, and cold sweat stood upon her -brow. She was a picture of misery and despair. She uttered not a sigh, -but a crushing heart-sickness came over her, and she resigned herself to -her fate. The keen eye of the priest marked the change. He thought the -victim was within his grasp, and slowly advancing with an air of -fiendish triumph, he took her gently by the hand, - -“Poor girl,” said he, “while Mordaunt lives thou art safe. Love me, I -will save you from that you so much dread.” - -“No,” she returned, “the Indian’s embrace would be less terrible than -thine, thou hollow-hearted seducer.” - -This was too much for Mordaunt. The two passions, love and anger, drove -him to desperation. Firmly grasping her arm, he said through his -clenched teeth, “Heretic! thou canst not escape me!” - -At this Amy seemed transformed; her eyes rolled wildly in their orbits, -and she quivered with anger. In an instant Manuki and every thing -connected with her captivity was forgotten. One only thought took -possession of her soul, and that was of the priest before her. Hitherto -she had feared and hated, now she despised him. She shook him from her, -as if he had been a viper, saying, as she drew herself up to her full -height, “Back, vile wretch, back! call upon thy saints, count thy beads, -and pray poor souls out of purgatory, but touch me not—I know thee.” - -This was said in a tone so imperious and commanding, that Mordaunt, -accustomed as he was implicitly to obey superiors, shrunk involuntarily -back, and Amy, turning slowly around, walked away. But there was so much -of the heroic in her despair, so much loftiness of spirit in her -defiance, that he dared not follow. He knew not why, but there was -something in that poor girl that awed him. - -On that night, memorable to York, when so many closed their eyes in -death, Amy and the Indians left Richard Russell senseless, and, as they -supposed, lifeless. But He who holds the springs of life, had ordered -otherwise, and reserved him for future purposes. The blow which -prostrated, stunned him so completely, that it effectually deceived his -enemies. Mr. Wakefield’s house was one of the first attacked, and some -time elapsed before the pillagers had finished their work, and were -ready to fire the village. Richard lay in an oblivious insensibility for -a while; but when partially recovered, he opened his eyes, and discerned -by the flickering firelight the devastation around him. He comprehended -his situation, sprung to his feet, and running out the back way, and -creeping behind fences, he escaped unobserved just as the flames were -blazing out from the neighboring cottages. A large hollow tree stood -near the fence back in the clearing, and Richard bethought himself of -this asylum. He crawled until he reached it, and gave a long leap into -its capacious trunk, sinking into the snow, and heaping it over his -head. By this artifice he saved himself. He staid there long after the -sounds of savage warfare ceased, until he was nearly frozen. At length -exhuming himself, he looked toward the village, but he saw nothing save -the consuming habitations—he heard nothing but their crackling timbers. -He soon ventured out, and was going to warm himself, but when the -scorching heat struck his chilled body, it caused intense pain. This, -and the fear of some lurking foe, induced him to direct his steps toward -the nearest settlement. He ran most of the way, rubbing and striking his -almost torpid limbs, else he had never survived to tell the woful tale -of his sufferings. Half dead from fear and pain, he reached the -neighboring colony. The kind settlers bound up his wounds, and -ministered to his wants. He now, for the first time, began to feel his -loss, and exposure added to injuries and dejection, threw him into a -violent fever. For weeks he lay upon the borders of the grave, the prey -of racking pains and fierce delirium. Sometimes he seemed struggling -with an unseen foe; at others he would call wildly upon Amy, and anon -beckoning, seemed to fancy her by his side, and fall gently to sleep. At -last the disease left him, but he was helpless as an infant. Gradually -he recovered his strength, but months had passed, when he again stept -upon the earth. Health returned to Richard, and with it came thoughts of -Amy. From his best recollection of her it seemed certain she was made a -captive. _She must be redeemed._ But was she alive? Could she outlive -the dangers of the journey she must have taken, when he sunk under the -few trials he endured? Long months had elapsed. Had she been burnt at -the stake, or more probably, had she not been sacrificed to the passions -of the Indians? All these were painful suspicions, which constantly -forced themselves upon his mind. But Hope, the “lover’s staff,” as -Shakespeare truly says, stayed him up. As soon as he was able to ride on -horseback, he started to find Winthrop Wakefield, who was about fifty -miles distant, and the only one of all the inhabitants of York whom he -knew to be alive. By riding slowly he performed the journey in a few -days, and found Winthrop, who was quite overjoyed to see him, and learn -that there was any reason to believe that Amy was still alive. From what -he had gathered from the uncertain reports of the destruction of his -native village, he supposed himself both orphan and friendless. This -seemed confirmed by the fact that no tidings of any of his family later -than that fatal night had ever reached him. Winthrop needed no -persuasion to enter into a plan for rescuing his only sister from her -deplorable condition. It wanted more eloquence to enlist others. All -pitied the misfortunes, and were interested in the deliverance of the -unhappy girl, and the other captives, if yet living: But there were so -many difficulties attending the project, that to most it seemed entirely -impracticable. The general direction of the Abenakis they knew; but it -was a long and difficult expedition; the tribe was large, and scattered -over an extensive tract of country, and they would be a feeble, -unprotected band, without knowing to what particular point to direct -their efforts. It was late in the spring—just the season when it was -absolutely necessary for every man to be upon his little plantation to -provide for the coming year. - -But Peter the Hermit was not more indefatigable or importunate than -Richard. To him the crusade was imperative, and the importance of the -end to be secured exceeded the perils of the enterprise. He at last -succeeded in inducing eight men from the different settlements to -accompany Winthrop and himself. Providing for, and arming themselves as -well as possible, they started on their hazardous excursion. It was the -beginning of summer, and nature had on her gayest mantle. Fragrant -blossoms strewed their path, and the groves were vocal with the melody -of birds. As they advanced new objects called forth their admiration. -The weather was fine, game was plenty, and they met with no -insurmountable obstacles. Their march was much less tedious than they -had anticipated. A different history theirs from that of the gloomy -passage made by the captives the winter previous. When they had arrived -at the Penobscot, they were surprised to find a man, whom they soon -ascertained to be one of the captives of York. Escaped from the Indians, -he had traveled many days, living on plants, twigs or roots, without a -gun or knife, with which to procure food or defend himself. The poor man -evinced the greatest joy on meeting them, and offered to return and -guide them near where he conjectured Amy might be, though he had not -seen her during his captivity, and had no positive knowledge concerning -her. With more confidence and renewed courage, they now pressed forward -rapidly, not a little stimulated and incited by the melancholy -narrations of their guide. He led them until they heard the sound of the -waterfall, when he prudently concealed himself, knowing that he would be -a sure mark for the missiles of the vindictive savages. - -After the last interview with Mordaunt, Amy was distracted with -tormenting fears. The more she thought the more painful became her -apprehensions of coming evil. She knew she had made a bitter enemy of -the Frenchman, and his lowering visage, and uneasy, troubled appearance, -boded no good. She was each day more strongly convinced of the truth of -the frightful intelligence he communicated. She knew the warriors were -to return during that moon, which was a festival time with the Abenakis, -and she felt assured Manuki would then carry his designs into execution. -Her misery was now complete. Distressing surmises by day, only gave -place to horrid dreams during her unquiet sleep at night. Amy resolved -to attempt an escape. She knew not where to go; she had a vague hope, -but no expectation of reaching the haunts of civilized men. But, thought -she, “I would welcome death in the wilderness, with no covering but the -leaves of the forest, and no memorial save the flowers that would spring -from my dust, rather than life and pollution with the Indians.” In this -state of mind she left old Wiloma’s cabin, as if for her customary walk, -intending never to return. She looked back toward the wigwam where she -had passed so many wretched hours, and breathed a prayer for its old -occupant, whom she had seen for the last time. She had none but feelings -of good will toward Wiloma. She had suffered her to go and come when she -pleased, and treated her kindly in her own way, and Amy felt something -akin to regret on leaving her. She bent her steps toward the waterfall, -for as she often walked there, it would excite no suspicion. It was a -beautiful afternoon in the latter part of June; every thing animate, -save herself, seemed rejoicing. Since the day Mordaunt overtook her in -the woods, she had ventured but a few steps away from their hut. For two -or three days she had missed him, and presumed he had gone to meet the -returning party; nevertheless, she wound her way along, cautiously, and -afraid, starting back from the springing partridge and flying hare, -timorous, as if each rustling leaf portended danger. The cascade which -Amy often visited, was, indeed, a charming sight. It was produced by a -little mountain-stream, which came tumbling impetuously down a ledge of -rocks, and lost itself in foam. By the distance and vehemence of its -fall, rather than the volume of water, it made the hills resound with -its mimic thunder. The predilection which the red men have ever -manifested for the roar of water, was probably the reason why the -principal rendezvous of the Abenakis had been selected within the echo -of this little cataract. Amy seated herself upon the rocks, where she -could look into the sea of bubbles and diamonds below. The roar of the -cataract contrasted strangely with the quiet of every thing around, but -it was in harmony with her own agitated heart, and its dashings drowned -the tumult of her spirit, and calmed its perturbations. She gathered the -rich hanging moss which grew in profusion about her, and felt -irresistibly enchained to the spot. Thus spell-bound by the simple -grandeur of the place, she forgot for a time her perplexities, and even -her original intentions. Ah, little did she think danger or deliverance -were so near. - -After leaving their guide, Richard and his party proceeded in the -direction indicated by the sound of the waterfall. Their plan was to -secrete themselves in the cliffs about there, until they could discover -if the chief part of the Indians were away. If so, they would fall upon -the villages and secure the captives; but should the “braves” be there, -they must await some more favorable opportunity. Advancing noiselessly, -they came up within sight of the cascade, when a female figure attracted -their attention. She was loosely clad; a robe of hair, dripping with -spray, hung wildly down her shoulders, and, as she sat on a projecting -rock, seemed the genius of the place. The keen eyes of Richard and -Winthrop failed to recognize Amy. Her dress was devoid of every thing -characteristic of civilization, and they thought her an Abenaki maid; -still, something led them to doubt it. They halted, and Richard proposed -to go forward alone and ascertain who it was. He could not see her face, -but felt assured, as he advanced, that hers was no Indian form. Could it -be Amy, thought he, proceeding less cautiously. Hearing his footsteps -she turned her head. One wild scream of joy, and she was in Richard’s -arms. That meeting! who could describe its smiles and tears? “Absence, -with all its pains, was by that charming moment wiped away.” To Amy it -was a resurrection from the dead; to Richard a long lost jewel found -again. Winthrop’s affectionate heart was not long in comprehending the -scene before him, and following Richard, he embraced and kissed his -sister again and again. Tears of joy choked his utterance as he sobbed -forth his delight. Amy and Winthrop had passed the morn of life joyously -with each other; they “grew together, slept together, learned, played, -ate together,” sharing their childish happiness and wo; and when -Winthrop heard the tidings of his family’s misfortunes, it was the loss -of Amy that brought forth his bitterest tears. This meeting brought back -the associations of days gone by; but the past, as well as the present, -was clouded by the recollection that all those near and dear had passed -away, save only this, “his first love and his last.” - -Amy was not mistaken. Mordaunt _had_ gone to meet the returning -Abenakis. They advanced with shoutings, as usual, but the noise of the -cataract overpowered every thing beside, and the unguarded trio were too -much absorbed by their unexpected happiness to think of safety. The -reserve party heard the yellings of the Indians, and foresaw the -threatening danger, but tried in vain to arrest the attention of Richard -and Winthrop. One of them bravely started forward to warn them; but he -had not advanced more than a hundred paces when he saw the Indians -emerging from a little ravine opposite the falls, and sunk down into the -thicket. A shower of arrows was the first premonition of their approach -to the unfortunate dreamers. One bruised Amy’s arm, one entered -Richard’s hat and grazed the top of his head, and one sunk deep into the -breast of Winthrop. “I am killed,” cried he, as the fatal shaft pierced -his vitals. Richard caught the gun that lay at his side, and, fleeing, -discharged it toward their enemies. Amy, following him, ran until the -sounds of the Indians grew faint and distant, and convinced them they -were not pursued. - -Poor Winthrop had run but a few steps when he fell dead into the bushes, -unobserved by his forward associates. “Where is Winthrop?” asked Amy, as -soon as recollection returned. The last few moments had too much -happiness crowded into them—evil spirits looked down with malignity, -and a blight came over the scene. But who shall tell the frighted Amy -that Winthrop is no more? They listened—there seemed a howling joined -with the roar of the falls. A thrill of horror passed over Amy as she -thought that her poor brother might have fallen, wounded, into the hands -of their foes. Exasperated at her loss, he would find far less humanity -than she had experienced. Still that moaning sound continued and -increased. Richard climbed a tall tree, thinking he might hear more -distinctly, and perhaps discern what it was. What was his amazement when -he found that his position enabled him to see the Indians—for in their -hasty flight they had not noticed their ascent of a hill. He saw them -crossing the stream below the waterfall. There were a multitude of them -near together, winding their way upon the rocks. Richard had an acute, -far vision; he never exerted it more than now. The howling swelled upon -the breeze—what were they doing? “Oh, Heavens!” murmured he, “it is -Winthrop.” They seemed carrying a man, and occasionally he could -distinguish the face of a white person. He looked again and again—it -was not a red man. But then, thought he, would they be mourning over a -slain enemy? It must be for a captive lost. They were crossing from the -same side on which they had first seen them. There had not been -sufficient time, and there could be no motive for crossing and -recrossing with a dead enemy; more probably they would leave him to the -wolves. But one thing was certain—Amy and himself were in danger, and -would be pursued. He quickly descended, and taking her concealed -themselves in a clump of cedars growing thick and full from the ground. -So close was the covert that a pointer could scarcely have found them. -“Where is Winthrop?” said Amy, imploringly. Richard dared not—could not -tell her his fears, but spoke cheerly, and whispering of love she soon -forgot every thing but her lover and her joy in seeing him once more. -But the more Richard considered upon what he saw from the tree, the more -inexplicable it appeared, and he resolved to relate it to Amy. - -“Ah,” said she, “it was Mordaunt, that dead body; and for him they were -mourning. That random shot of yours killed their priest, wicked, -miserable Mordaunt. You, Richard, have avenged my wrongs,” continued -she, bursting into tears at the remembrance of her insult. - -“Yes, that accounts for all—their carrying the body, their howling, and -not pursuing us,” said Richard, still dwelling upon the sight and sounds -of the afternoon. “But dry up your tears, my sweet Amy; deliverance and -happiness have come at last,” and he strained her in ecstasy to his -bosom. But the transport of her lover’s embrace soon gave way to -grievous apprehensions for the welfare of her favorite and now only -brother. “We will go and seek him and our party,” said Richard. “The -Indians will scarcely follow us now; the burial of their priest will -occupy them too much to think of pursuit.” It was dim twilight when they -crept forth from their hiding place. They had gone but a little distance -when they heard a whistle, which started Mary, but which Richard -understood was from one of his comrades, and soon they saw a moving -figure near them. This proved to be the man who had vainly endeavored to -warn them of their peril before their attack. - -“Have you seen Winthrop?” asked Amy. - -“Alas! my poor young woman,” said the kind, honest man, “I hate to -grieve you, if you do not know it, but I saw the dear lad fall by the -way.” - -“Tell me where he lies,” said the shocked, terrified girl. - -“May be I can,” said the man. “I was looking for some one to come with -me, when I heard you and whistled.” - -He led the way and they followed silently, except the exclamations of -grief that ever and anon broke from Amy. They had nearly reached the -falls, the sight of which recalled the few delightful moments spent with -Winthrop, when their leader, stooping down into a bunch of alder, -said—“Poor, brave boy, here he lies.” It was not yet dark; the pale -twilight just revealed his pale, dead face, his garments dyed with -blood, and the murderous arrow still deep in his breast. Amy kissed his -cold, pallid cheeks, and bathed them in tears. “My ransom was too dearly -paid,” said she bitterly. “Why was Winthrop, so happy, so noble and so -young, the one to fall by savage hands, when death would have been sweet -to me, their wretched slave?” - -“Even so, Father, for so it seemeth good in thy sight,” ejaculated their -pious companion. “Clouds and darkness are about His throne, but He doeth -all things well. We must not linger here.” - -He and Richard bore the dead body, and Amy followed, until they heard a -signal, which told them they were in the vicinity of their party. They -halted, and their friends gathered around them. The object before them -disclosed the tragical history of the afternoon, and they mingled their -tears for one whom they all loved. The full moon rose, and looked down -through the forest trees upon that weeping band. The head of the dead -Winthrop rested upon Amy’s lap. He was even yet beautiful—the lustre of -his eye was gone, but the clustering curls still lay life-like upon his -placid brow, and his features were tranquil as if he were sleeping. -There they sat, surrounding him, “dumb as solemn sorrow ought to be.” At -last a low voice fell upon the air, and prayer arose from that stricken -group—such prayer as only ascends from the dependent, helpless and -bereaved wanderer in the wilderness. Comforted and refreshed, they -removed the fatal dart, brought water from a spring and washed the body -of poor Winthrop, wrapped it in a blanket, and buried his bloody -garments. They resolved to relieve each other by turns, and carry the -body with them until morning. - -“I know they cannot hurt his corpse,” said Richard, “but let us take it -out of the enemy’s country. He would have performed the like service for -any of us.” - -An affecting sight was that funeral train. That solitary female, bent -like a drooping flower by the tempest of grief that had swept over her, -the chief mourner, followed close behind the dead, borne without coffin -or bier. All that night they walked in slow procession, the stillness -only broken by the occasional sobs of Amy, when her overwhelming grief -burst its barriers afresh. There was a “mournful eloquence” in that mute -sorrow. It bespoke deeper emotion than the clamorous wailings of the -Indians over their dead. The moon sunk behind the hills, and the quiet -stars shed their mild radiance upon them, until their twinklings were -lost in the light of the breaking morn. Weary and sad, they were cheered -by the signs of returning day, and by faith the pilgrims hailed it as -the blest harbinger of the resurrection morn, when, after the long night -of death has passed, the final trump will awake the righteous to “life -immortal in the skies.” Just as the silver clouds began to streak the -east, they reached a beautiful green slope, with but few trees and a -gentle streamlet bounding two sides of it. They stopped—every one -seemed impressed with the fitness of the place for the burial. Amy first -broke the silence, exclaiming, “It is a lovely spot!” but as they -proceeded to lay down their unconscious burthen, she commenced weeping, -and said, “Will you leave Winthrop here?” She uncovered his head and -again pillowed it in her lap, kissing and caressing it, as if, -perchance, she might awaken a smile upon that ghastly face, then -mourning as if her heart would break when attracted toward the grave -they were preparing for him. It was under a spreading oak that they -chose his resting place. The earth around was carpeted with flowers, the -rivulet gliding below, and the place was in unison with the young and -beauteous form they were about to entomb there. They finished their -work—they brought shrubs and flowers and sprinkled in the grave, and -wrapped their cherished one in his rude pall and laid him in the narrow -bed. They knelt around, Richard supporting Amy, who seemed to forget -every thing but that form so soon to be buried forever from her sight. -The same good man who led their supplications the evening before, was -now their chaplain, and his prayer brought holy consolation to the -hearts of the afflicted. He spoke of the blessedness of the dead, who -had passed from the cares of earth and entered “the mansions of rest -above.” He prayed most fervently for the living, who would, if faithful, -soon partake of the same glory. When they arose death seemed disarmed of -his terrors, and Heaven appeared _very_ near. They covered their -companion with boughs and fresh earth, and Amy cheerfully brought -honey-suckles and strewed over his grave. The sun had begun to pour his -mellow beams over the wakening world when, with grateful and subdued -hearts, they bade a final farewell to the burial place of Winthrop. - -What though they left him without guard or memorial, alone in the -wilderness! Kind hands had laid him there, prayer had hallowed the spot, -tears of affection bedewed his grave, and guardian spirits would watch -with jealous care his “sleeping dust.” “Rest, thee, my brother, last of -my kindred,” said Amy, sending a lingering look backward. - - “There softly lie, and sweetly sleep, - Low in the ground, - The storm that sweeps the wintry sky - No more’ll disturb thy deep repose, - Than summer evening’s latest sigh, - That shuts the rose.” - - * * * * * - - - - - KUBLEH. - - - A STORY OF THE ASSYRIAN DESERT. - - - BY BAYARD TAYLOR. - - - Sofuk, the Sheik of the Shammar Arabs, was the owner of a mare - of matchless beauty, called, as if the property of the tribe, - the Shammeriyah. Her dam, who died about ten years ago, was the - celebrated Kubleh, whose renown extended from the sources of the - Khabour to the end of the Arabian promontory, and the day of - whose death is the epoch from which the Arabs of Mesopotamia now - date the events concerning their tribe. Mohammed Emir, Sheik of - the Jebour, assured me that he had seen Sofuk ride down the wild - ass of the Sinjar on her back, and the most marvelous stories - are current in the desert as to her fleetness and powers of - endurance. Sofuk esteemed her and her daughter above all the - riches of the tribe; for her he would have forfeited all his - wealth, and even Amsha herself. - - LAYARD’S NINEVEH. - - The black-eyed children of the Desert drove - Their flocks together at the set of sun. - The tents were pitched; the weary camels bent - Their suppliant necks, and knelt upon the sand; - The hunters quartered by the kindled fires - The wild boars of the Tigris they had slain, - And all the stir and sound of evening ran - Throughout the Shammar camp. The dewy air - Bore its full burden of confused delight - Across the flowery plain, and while, afar, - The snows of Koordish Mountains in the ray - Flashed roseate amber, Nimroud’s ancient mound - Rose broad and black against the burning west. - The shadows deepened and the stars came out, - Sparkling in violet ether; one by one - Glimmered the ruddy camp-fires on the plain, - And shapes of steed and horseman moved among - The dusky tents, with shout and jostling cry, - And neigh and restless prancing. Children ran - To hold the thongs, while every rider drove - His quivering spear in the earth, and by his door - Tethered the horse he loved. In midst of all - Stood Shammeriyah, whom they dared not touch— - The foal of wondrous Kubleh, to the Sheik - A dearer wealth than all his Georgian girls. - - But when their meal was o’er—when the red fires - Blazed brighter, and the dogs no longer bayed— - When Shammar hunters with the boys sat down - To cleanse their bloody knives, came Alimar, - The poet of the tribe, whose songs of love - Are sweeter than Balsora’s nightingales— - Whose songs of war can fire the Arab blood - Like war itself: who knows not Alimar? - Then asked the men: “O Poet, sing of Kubleh!” - And boys laid down the knives, half-burnished, saying: - “Tell us of Kubleh, whom we never saw— - Of wondrous Kubleh!” Closer flocked the group, - With eager eyes about the flickering fire, - While Alimar, beneath the Assyrian stars, - Sang to the listening Arabs: - - “God is great! - O Arabs, never yet since Mahmoud rode - The sands of Yemen, and by Mecca’s gate - That wingéd steed bestrode, whose mane of fire - Blazed up the zenith, when, by Allah called, - He bore the Prophet to the walls of Heaven, - Was like to Kubleh, Sofuk’s wondrous mare: - Not all the milk-white barbs, whose hoofs dashed flame - In Bagdad’s stables, from the marble floor— - Who, swathed in purple housings, pranced in state - The gay bazars, by great Al-Raschid backed: - Not the wild charger of Mongolian breed - That went o’er half the world with Tamerlane: - Nor yet those flying coursers, long ago - From Ormuz brought by swarthy Indian grooms - To Persia’s kings—the foals of sacred mares, - Sired by the fiery stallions of the sea! - - “Who ever told, in all the Desert Land, - The many deeds of Kubleh? Who can tell - Whence came she, whence her like shall come again? - O Arabs, like a tale of Sherezade - Heard in the camp, when javelin shafts are tried - On the hot eve of battle, is her story. - - “Far in the Southern sands, the hunters say, - Did Sofuk find her, by a lonely palm. - The well had dried; her fierce, impatient eye - Glared red and sunken, and her slight young limbs - Were lean with thirst. He checked his camel’s pace, - And while it knelt, untied the water-skin, - And when the wild mare drank, she followed him. - Thence none but Sofuk might the saddle gird - Upon her back, or clasp the brazen gear - About her shining head, that brooked no curb - From even him; for she, alike, was royal. - - “Her form was lighter, in its shifting grace, - Than some impassioned Almée’s, when the dance - Unbinds her scarf, and golden anklets gleam - Through floating drapery, on the buoyant air. - Her light, free head was ever held aloft; - Between her slender and transparent ears - The silken forelock tossed; her nostril’s arch, - Thin-drawn, in proud and pliant beauty spread, - Snuffing the desert winds. Her glossy neck - Curved to the shoulder like an eagle’s wing, - And all her matchless lines of flank and limb - Seemed fashioned from the flying shapes of air - By hands of lightning. When the war-shouts rang - From tent to tent, her keen and restless eye - Shone like a blood-red ruby, and her neigh - Rang wild and sharp above the clash of spears. - - “The tribes of Tigris and the Desert knew her: - Sofuk before the Shammar bands she bore - To meet the dread Jebours, who waited not - To bid her welcome; and the savage Koord, - Chased from his bold irruption on the plain, - Has seen her hoof prints in his mountain snow. - Lithe as the dark-eyed Syrian gazelle, - O’er ledge and chasm and barren steep amid - The Sinjar hills, she ran the wild ass down. - Through many a battle’s thickest brunt she stormed, - Reeking with sweat and dust, and fetlock deep - In curdling gore. When hot and lurid haze - Stifled the crimson sun, she swept before - The whirling sand-spout, till her gusty mane - Flared in its vortex, while the camels lay - Groaning and helpless on the fiery waste. - - “The tribes of Taurus and the Caspian knew her: - The Georgian chiefs have heard her trumpet neigh - Before the walls of Teflis; pines that grow - On ancient Caucasus have harbored her, - Sleeping by Sofuk in their spicy gloom. - The surf of Trebizond has bathed her flanks, - When from the shore she saw the white-sailed bark - That brought him home from Stamboul. Never yet, - O Arabs, never yet was like to Kubleh! - - “And Sofuk loved her. She was more to him - Than all his snowy-bosomed odalisques. - For many years she stood beside his tent, - The glory of the tribe. - At last she died. - Died, while the fire was yet in all her limbs— - Died for the life of Sofuk, whom she loved. - The base Jebours—on whom be Allah’s curse!— - Came on his path, when far from any camp, - And would have slain him, but that Kubleh sprang - Against the javelin points, and bore them down, - And gained the open Desert. Wounded sore, - She urged her light limbs into maddening speed - And made the wind a laggard. On and on - The red sand slid beneath her, and behind - Whirled in a swift and cloudy turbulence, - As when some star of Eblis, downward hurled - By Allah’s bolt, sweeps with its burning hair - The waste of darkness. On and on, the bleak, - Bare ridges rose before her, came and passed, - And every flying leap with fresher blood - Her nostril stained, till Sofuk’s brow and breast - Were flecked with crimson foam. He would have turned - To save his treasure, though himself were lost, - But Kubleh fiercely snapped the brazen rein. - At last, when through her spent and quivering frame - The sharp throes ran, our hundred tents arose, - And with a neigh, whose shrill excess of joy - O’ercame its agony, she stopped and fell. - The Shammar men came round her as she lay, - And Sofuk raised her head and held it close - Against his breast. Her dull and glazing eye - Met his, and with a shuddering gasp she died. - Then like a child his bursting grief made way - In passionate tears, and with him all the tribe - Wept for the faithful mare. - They dug her grave - Amid Al-Hather’s marbles, where she lies - Buried with ancient kings; and since that time - Was never seen, and will not be again, - O Arabs, though the world be doomed to live - As many moons as count the desert sands, - The like of wondrous Kubleh. God is great!” - - * * * * * - - - - - A MEMORY. - - - BY MRS. JANE TAYLOR WORTHINGTON. - - - The shadows are dark on thy soul, - And thoughts of the lost will throng, - For a voice hath vanished from the earth, - Sweeter than the spring bird’s song. - - Thou lookest on the still blue sky, - And pinest ’mid its peace to be, - For the grass springeth green on a grave, - And the world hath a grief for thee. - - The flowers may be bright as they were, - And a fragrance as soft may fling, - But the verdure hath faded from thy life— - And the heart hath but one sweet spring! - -I was a transient dweller in a strange land—one distant from my -childhood’s home, and far away from those who knew me first and loved me -best. Gradually, as the vivid excitements of life had surrounded me, as -new ties had sprung up and old hopes faded, I had lost the intimate -knowledge of the welfare or the afflictions of many who had formerly -been familiar friends, and a lengthened separation had produced that -ignorance of the details of their destiny frequently occurring, even -where affection still lingers unaltered. But there are periods when, as -it were, remembrance irresistibly presses upon us, and we all have -seasons when old times and buried associations crowd around us with -inexplicable distinctness—when the actual loses for a while its -absorbing interest, and the past, with all its radiant dreams, its -rainbow illusions, is enchanting reality once more. - -I was sitting alone, at the close of a lovely autumn afternoon, before -an open window, my fancy busy with the throng of older associations, and -inattentive to the beautiful view stretching beneath me, strikingly fair -as were its features, now glowing through the crimsoning sunlight. But -something—I know not what, for such glimpses are among the spirit’s -mysteries—had recalled other times, and my soul communed with itself -and was still. The mind has its own restless and concealed creation—its -hidden world of active silentness; and to those who have battled with -the depression attendant on human experience, there is untold luxury in -reveling amid the crowding memories that “longest haunt the heart.” Even -as I sat thus idly reflecting, a paper reached me, sent by some friendly -hand from my early home, and earnestly as I would have read a loving -letter, I pored over the contents of that every-day record. It spoke to -me as a messenger from the absent; each well-known name mentioned in its -columns, held a thousand clustering reminiscences for me; the trivial -local news was like welcome household tidings; and I spoke aloud the old -familiar names I had not heard for years, as if a spell lay in their -sound. Last of all I turned to the page where, side by side, were -chronicled marriages and deaths. The first were those of strangers; -among the last was noticed the final departure of one whom I had once -loved, as we only love in the purity of youth. The announcement was -worded in the usual form with which we herald to the careless world that -a soul has gone to the mysterious future. Nothing was there to arrest -the contemplation of the reader—to speak of inevitable human destiny to -a throbbing human heart—to reveal the agony of mortality, the -bitterness of death, or the trials of the wearily burdened and loving -ones, perchance well-nigh borne down by that one event. “Died at sea, -during her homeward voyage, Mary Vere, aged 24, for three years a -resident missionary in Persia.” And this was all! The ending of the -saddest life I ever knew, the knell of as pure a spirit as was ever -bowed and fettered by earthly cares—this was the cold, brief recording -of the history of a warm nature, that had patiently toiled and -uncomplainingly suffered—that even in its youth had been old in -grief—that had wandered abroad and found no rest, and then, like a -wounded bird, had winged its way homeward to die! Ah, Mary! little -dreamed we, in our sunny days, that mine eyes should ever trace the -chronicle of such a destiny for thee! - -We had first met, in childhood, at the country residence of a friend, -where we were both spending the summer months. She accompanied her -mother—her only surviving parent, then slowly declining in the last -stage of consumption. Mary and myself, thrown continually together, -without other companions, speedily became warm friends, though her -pensive, irresolute disposition, had little in common with my natural -impetuous animation. She had been the attendant on suffering from her -earliest recollection, for her father had died after a lingering -illness, during which he had desired the constant enlivenment of his -only child’s society, and her mother had for years been a resigned but -hopeless invalid. All who have closely observed children, are aware of -the influence such things half-unconsciously exert over minds -susceptible to every impression, and it was not strange that one so used -to look on sorrow, should have learned at last to doubt the very -existence of happiness. - -Mary was a strikingly beautiful child, with dark, soul-revealing eyes, -bright with the mystical fire of the burning thoughts within. I well -remember their rapturous expression when she was excited by some tale of -heroism—for she was full of a strange, quiet enthusiasm, that wasted -itself in fruitless sympathy with the moral greatness of others, but -shrank with painful distrust from reliance on its own impulsive -guidance. She was quick of feeling, and easily touched by the most -trivial deed of kindness, and her being was too sensitive for her ever -to be thoughtlessly happy. Her look and manner were peculiarly winning -in their tranquil, subdued gentleness; and when this was, occasionally, -though rarely, laid aside for awhile, amid the irrepressible mirth of -childish amusement, her laugh had the ringing, silvery melody which -seems the musical essence of enjoyment. For two successive summers we -met and were inseparably intimate, and then four years elapsed before we -were again together. During this interval Mary’s mother died, and she -went far from my home, to reside with a distant relation. We had, from -our first parting, corresponded regularly, and her letters were, like -herself, poetical and visionary. I know not wherefore, for she wrote no -murmur, but they left the impression that she was not satisfied with her -new home, and my heart yearned to comfort her, to remove from her lot -its loneliness, from her soul its dimness. But she shrunk, with what -then appeared to me morbid delicacy, from all approach to confidence on -this subject, and gradually grew in all things less communicative -regarding herself, as if doubting the response of sympathy. There was -evidently a constraint placed on her spontaneous emotions—a quiet -concealment of her deeper interests, which to me spoke mournfully, and -recalled that silent, dejected consciousness of mental and spiritual -solitude, which is the saddest portion and the most touching consequence -of an orphan’s unshared and melancholy destiny. It was not until long -afterward that I learned the domestic trials and annoyances to which she -had been subjected, and the dreary, joyless routine in which she dragged -on the years that should have been her brightest ones. - -It was with many a sweet anticipation of friendly, unreserved -intercourse and affectionate solace—such dreams as are borne by loving -angels to hearts strong in youth and rich in tenderness, that I looked -impatiently forward to my next meeting with my old playmate, for now we -had both glided from childhood to womanhood, and the firm bond was -between us that links those who remember together. I shall never forget -my astonishment when, after our first fond and impetuous greeting, I -turned, with tearful eyes, to mark the alteration time had wrought in -the appearance of my companion. She was calm and composed, almost to -coldness, and there was no visible exhibition of the agitation -struggling beneath, or of all the afflicting reminiscences which I knew -were recalled by looking on my face again. She had grown from the timid, -irresolute girl, to the proud, self-possessed woman, and her manner had -the tranquil air of one aware of her own moral strength, and of the -existence of impulses and feelings too pure and sacred to be lightly -displayed to a world which had nothing in common with them. She was more -beautiful than ever, and I have never seen a being whose polished, -intellectual tranquillity was so faultlessly graceful. She had acquired -the early maturity of mind given in kindness to those who are tried in -their youth; for she had evidently “thought too long and darkly;” her -feelings were still from their intensity, and hers was the reflective -repose which, wearied and desponding, folds its drooping pinions and -sleeps on the bosom of darkness. - -Ah, me! it is a dreary thing to feel alone in the world—to have no eye -brighten at our coming, no voice ever ready with its eager welcoming, -nothing to tell us we are beloved, and that fond thoughts and wishes are -around our onward pathway. O, ye who have never felt this worst of -desolations—ye whose best affections bind ye still, who have no link -broken, no yearnings unfulfilled, fold to your hearts the precious -blessing that lives in domestic ties and speaks in household love, and -greet kindly and gently those whose life is lonely—who look around them -and find no answering gaze, who pine with many tears for one glimpse of -the tenderness whose living light is daily yours, who go forward sadly -and silently, with none to love them, save those who are angels in -Heaven. - -But there is a romance in every one’s experience, evanescent though it -be; and at length its bright change rose upon Mary’s existence. I heard -she was soon to be married, to a young clergyman, of whom all spoke in -terms of approval and admiration. I sincerely rejoiced at an event so -calculated to relieve at once her perplexities and regrets, and to -summon sweet visions for one who had too long lived without affection in -the world. I wrote to her, expressing all I felt—all my fervent hopes -for her dawning welfare. I longed impatiently for her answer, anxious to -discover if she realized as I wished the brighter career opening before -her; but several weeks wended on, and brought me no reply. It was from -another source I learned the dangerous and protracted illness of her -lover, and a paper, tremulously directed by Mary’s hand, at length -informed me of his death. - -Finally a letter came, with its black seal. It was the last farewell of -one who loved me—the last pouring forth of tenderness from a heart that -was broken; and yet, sorrowful as those lines were, they spoke of hopes -unshadowed and immortal—of a pilgrimage troubled and toilsome, but full -of reward, and of all an enthusiast’s delusive anticipations in the -sacred enterprise before her. - -She wrote on the eve of her departure from her native land, and with her -singular, acquired shrinking from the avowal of her feelings, she made -no allusion to the connection recently broken; and not a word revealed -the grief that clouded over her fairest prospects and sent her forth an -exile. Frequently afterward I saw her name mentioned as one of -unwavering zeal in her adopted cause, and faithfully devoted to the -laborious responsibilities of her mission. But between herself and her -early friends a gulf seemed to be, perhaps because she did not wish to -revive the over-powering recollections of the past. The absence of all -communication with those once dear to her, must have been intentional, -for she was not one to forget. Three years of this unbroken existence of -care and labor had gone by, and then I had thus accidentally learned the -mournful doom of a being endowed with all earth’s purest impulses, yet -so soon recalled from its wanderings. Hers is no uncommon history—for -many such are on our daily annals. O! give them kind thoughts and words, -for these are the sad heart’s treasured gems! - - * * * * * - - - - - THIS WORLD OF OURS. - - - BY S. D. ANDERSON. - - - This world of ours is beautiful—right beautiful, I ween, - Are all its mountains tipt with gold, its valleys tinged with green, - Its thousand laughing streams that sport, half sunshine and half - shade, - Like love’s first herald seen upon the rosy cheeked maid. - The springing flowers are beautiful that open to the day, - And spread their perfume far and wide along the sunny way; - The vine-clad rocks and shady dells that bask in beauty’s sheen; - This world of ours is beautiful—wherever it is seen. - - This world of ours was beautiful in those good olden days - When knights would battle valiantly for ladies’ smiles and praise; - When in the list and on the turf, with lance and spear and sword, - These iron-handed men would meet no bond but plighted word. - Each castle was a fortress then; each man could bend the bow, - Or lead the dance, or join the song with voice as soft and low, - As maidens when at night they hear their lovers’ whispered praise; - Oh! was not the world beautiful in those good olden days? - - This world of ours was beautiful, when troubadours first sang, - And castle hall and cottage roof with love and glory rang; - When high-born damsels clustered round—perhaps to hear of one - Who joined the armies of the Cross, to fight ’neath Syria’s sun; - How he had borne the banner high amid the thickest fight, - And placed his name where it will shine like stars amid the night; - And then bright eyes would brighter beam, despite the truant tear; - Oh! was not the world beautiful when minstrelsy was here? - - This world of ours was beautiful when Rome was great and free, - And proudly shone her mountain-bird, the type of Liberty; - When Freedom found a resting-place within those trophied walls, - And circled with her eagle wing its temples and its halls; - When on the yellow Tiber’s wave the shouts of victory came, - And pride and glory mingled with the conqueror’s lauded name; - Then came the proud triumphal march, the heroes crowned with bays; - Oh! was not the world beautiful in those her palmy days? - - This world of ours was beautiful when Venice ruled the tide, - And thousand voices rose to greet the old man’s ocean bride; - The waters gladly danced around the castles old and proud, - And from the latticed balconies, upon the passing crowd, - Gleamed forth the light of beauty’s eye—Venetia’s daughters fair, - With hearts as pure as were the gems that glistened in their hair; - As bold in danger, true in love, as brave men’s brides should be; - Oh! was not the world beautiful when Venice ruled the sea? - - This world of ours was beautiful when ’neath Italia’s skies - Her passion sons, like meteor stars, flashed on their wondering eyes. - Born in that sunny clime of love, where beauty tints the air, - And earth and ocean, sun and shade, are more divinely fair; - No marvel that their minds upgrew full freighted with each tone, - And Love and Beauty sheltered them within their magic zone, - Till all they saw and all they felt found in each work a birth; - Oh! was not the world beautiful when Genius walked the earth! - - This world of ours was beautiful when by fair Arno’s stream - Sweet Florence lay bedecked with gifts, like beauty in her dream; - So soft her skies, so mild her suns, such perfume in each breeze, - Such songs of gladness from her plains, such flowers upon the trees; - And then her dowered children stood like jewels in her crown, - Or sun-clad monuments on which Time’s rays come proudly down, - To gild with beauty e’en decay—but what decay hast thou? - Oh! was not the world beautiful when Florence decked her brow? - - This world of ours was beautiful in England’s palmy times, - When merrily from church and tower pealed out the sportive chimes, - When deep within the greenwood haunts dwelt honest men and free, - With hearts as gay and minds as light as birds upon the tree; - Right honestly the day was passed; at night, upon the green, - All joining in the merry dance the young and old were seen, - And many a jocund song was sung, and many a tale was told; - Oh! was not the world beautiful in those good days of old? - - This world of ours was beautiful when valiant men and true - Spread their white sails, and sought a home beyond the waters blue— - They found it ’neath the forest old, ’mid wild and savage men, - Beside the ocean’s rocky shore, within the mountain glen; - And there was heard the childish laugh, and there the mother’s tone, - Brought joy and gladness in their sound to many an altar-stone; - Men toiled and strove, and strove and toiled, through all the weary - hours, - Oh! was not the world beautiful, this western world of ours? - - This world of ours was beautiful, when Freedom first awoke, - Its cradle song the trumpet call, its toy the sabre stroke, - Full armed, like Pallas, then she stood amid the deadly fight, - And man by man stood boldly up, and clenched their hands of might, - The tempest came, no cheek turned pale, no heart unnerved with fear, - They grasped their swords more tightly then—’twas victory or a bier; - Long was the struggle, hard the fight, but liberty was won; - Oh! was not the world beautiful beneath fair Freedom’s sun? - - This world of ours was beautiful in times long, long ago, - When those good men of earnest souls dwelt with us here below; - Large was their faith in human kind; their mission seemed to be - To teach man all his duties here—Love, Faith and Energy, - To link each man to brother man, with links of firmest steel; - Then touch the spark of sympathy, and all the shock will feel; - Stamp the nobility of truth upon each deathless soul; - Oh! was not the world beautiful beneath such pure control? - - This world of ours _was_ beautiful, and still is so to me; - Since boyish days I’ve clung to it, with wildness and with glee; - Have laughed when others talked of wo beneath so fair a sky, - When time, like flights of singing birds, with melody went by, - Have roved amid its fairy bowers, and drank of every stream - Of joy and gladness, till I lived within a blissful dream, - And life, deep ladened with its fruits, slept like a weary child; - This world of ours is beautiful as ’twas when Eden smiled? - - This world of ours is beautiful despite what cynics say; - There must be storms in winter time as well as flowers in May; - But what of that?—there’s joy in both the sunshine and the shade, - The light upon the mountain-top, the shadow in the glade. - Be free of Soul, and firm of Heart, read all life’s lessons right, - Nor look for roses in the snow, nor sunbeams in the night. - Up! up! to action, armed with Love, Faith and Energy; - And then this world is beautiful, as beautiful can be. - - * * * * * - - - - - MY SPIRIT. - - - BY HENRY MORFORD. - - - Spirit, my own proud spirit! - We may not sleep in dust, - There is a path marked out for us - Of a high and a holy trust; - Spirit, tried spirit, we were not born, - To die as cravens die, - With no proud niche for the wreathed urn, - No record on the sky. - - We came up life together, - We have lived but a few short years, - We have tasted well at the fountain head - Of human hopes and fears; - Yet life is young, shall we not be so? - Shall we not drink and sing - Of the many glorious hopes that flow - From many a hidden spring? - - Ay, and the streams shall gather - In a broad and open sea, - The laving of whose crystal tide - Is immortality; - There shall be a time when we shall rest, - Some gentle summer even, - With a calm content, upon its breast, - And an opening view of heaven. - - Storms will be wild around us - Before that time shall come, - And the thunder of blame will fill the air, - And the voice of praise be dumb; - Yet as we draw from the glorious stars - Beauty and light and love, - Hope’s wing shall gild the closing bars - That shut us from above. - - Spirit, my own proud spirit, - Thou wilt not fail me now, - Thy hands shall wreathe the chaplet well - And place it on my brow; - Spirit, tried spirit, we were not born - To die as cravens die, - With no proud niche for the wreathed urn, - No record on the sky. - - * * * * * - - - - - WILD-BIRDS OF AMERICA. - - - BY PROFESSOR FROST. - - -[Illustration: Sarcoramphus Gryphus, male.] - - - THE CONDOR. (_Sarcoramphus Gryphus._) - -This bird is one of the largest of the vultures. The early Spanish -writers on America gave the most exaggerated accounts of its size and -strength; and its true history and dimensions have been only recently -ascertained. The bird was compared with the Roc of the Arabian romance -writers. Acosta says that the bird called Condor is able singly to -eviscerate and devour a whole sheep or a calf. Garcilaso de la Vega -makes them measure 16 feet from tip to tip of the extended wings; he -says their beaks are sufficiently strong to perforate and tear off a -bull’s hide, and to rip out its entrails; and that a single Condor “will -set upon and slay boys of ten or twelve years;” which last exaggeration, -though now exploded, has found its way into our common school -geographies. - -Investigation has shown that the Condor is merely a large, perhaps not -the largest of the vultures. “The Condor,” writes Mr. Bennett, “forms -the type of a genus, a second species of which is the _Vultur papa_ of -Linnæus, the king of the vultures of British writers. They are both -peculiar to the New World, but approach in their most essential -characters very closely to the vultures of the Old Continent, differing -from the latter principally in the large, fleshy, or rather -cartilaginous, caruncle which surmounts their beaks, in the large size -of their oval and longitudinal nostrils, placed almost at the very -extremity of the cere; and in the comparative length of their quill -feathers, the third being the longest of the series. The most important -of these differences, the size and position of their nostrils, appears -to be well calculated to add to the already highly powerful sense of -smell possessed by the typical vulture, and for which the birds have -been almost proverbially celebrated from the earliest ages. There is -also a third species, the Californian vulture, two noble specimens of -which, the only pair in Europe, are preserved in the London Zoological -Society’s Museum, rivaling the Condor in bulk, and agreeing in every -respect with the generic characters of the group, except in the -existence of the caruncle, of which they are entirely destitute. - -“In size the Condor is little, if at all, superior to the Bearded -Griffin, the Lämmergeyer of the Alps, with which Buffon was disposed -conjecturally to confound it, but to which it bears at most but a -distant relation. The greatest authentic measurement scarcely carries -the extent of its wings beyond fourteen feet, and it appears rarely to -attain so gigantic a size. M. Humboldt met with none that exceeded nine -feet, and was assured by many credible inhabitants of the province of -Quito that they had never shot any that measured more than eleven. The -length of a male specimen somewhat less than nine feet in expanse was -three feet three inches from the tip of the beak to the extremity of the -tail; and its height, when perching with the neck partly withdrawn, two -feet eight inches. Its beak was two inches and three quarters in length, -and an inch and a quarter in depth when closed. - -“The beak of the Condor is straight at the base, but the upper mandible -becomes arched toward the point, and terminates in a strong and well -curved hook. The basal half is of an ash brown, and the remaining -portion, toward the point, is nearly white. The head and neck are bare -of feathers, and covered with hard, wrinkled, dusky reddish skin, on -which are scattered some short brown or blackish hairs. On the top of -the head, which is much flattened above, and extending some distance -along the beak, is attached an oblong firm caruncle or comb, covered by -a continuation of the skin which invests the head. This organ is -peculiar to the male. It is connected to the beak only in its anterior -part, and is separated from it at the base in such a manner as to allow -a free passage of the air to the large oval nostrils, which are situated -beneath it at that part. Beyond the eyes, which are somewhat elongated, -and not sunk beneath the general surface of the head, the skin of the -neck is, as it were, gathered into a series of descending folds, -extending obliquely from the back of the head over the temples, to the -under side of the neck, and there connected anteriorly with a lax -membrane or wattle, capable of being dilated at pleasure, like that of -the common turkey. The neck is marked by numerous deep parallel folds, -produced by the habit of retracting the head, in which the bird indulges -when at rest. In this position scarcely any part of the neck is visible. - -“Round the lower part of the neck both sexes, the female as well as the -male, are furnished with a broad white ruff of downy feathers, which -forms the line of separation between the naked skin above and the true -feathers covering the body below it. All the other feathers, with the -exception of the wing coverts, and the secondary quill feathers, are of -a bright black, generally mingled with a grayish tinge of greater or -less intensity. In the female the wing coverts are blackish gray; but -the males have their points, and frequently as much as half their -length, white. The wings of the latter are consequently distinguished -from those of the female by their large white patches. The secondary -quill feathers of both sexes are white on the outer side. The tail is -short and wedge shaped. The legs are excessively thick and powerful, and -are colored of a blueish gray, intermingled with whitish streaks. Their -elongated toes are united at the base by a loose but very apparent -membrane, and are terminated by long black talons of considerable -thickness, but very little curved. The hinder toe is shorter than the -rest, and its talon, although more distinctly curved, is equally wanting -in strength, a deficiency which renders the foot much less powerful as -an organ of prehension than that of any other of the large birds of the -raptorial order.” - -The Condor is found in various parts of the vast mountain chain on the -western border of the American continent, but it is most common in Peru -and Chile. Its habitation is most frequently at an elevation of 10,000 -or 15,000 feet above the level of the sea, and there these birds are -seen in groups of three or four, but never in large companies like the -true vultures. Some of the mountain peaks bear names which in the Indian -tongue mean Condor’s Look-out, Condor’s Roost and Condor’s Nest. Two of -them will attack a vicuna, a heifer or even a puma, and overcome it by -repeated strokes of their beaks and talons. When gorged, says Humboldt, -they sit sullen and sombre on the rocks; and when thus overloaded with -food they will suffer themselves to be driven before the hunter rather -than take wing. They do not attack men or even children, although it is -admitted that two of them would be a match for a powerful man without -weapons. Sir Francis Head gives an amusing account of a contest between -one of his Cornish miners and a gorged Condor, which lasted an hour, and -terminated in the escape of the bird. - - * * * * * - - - - - EDITOR’S TABLE. - - - LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. - -MY DEAR JEREMY.—I presume you are shaking the spray from your locks, -and are over head and ears in love with salt water, while I am among the -weeping willows in these days of hydrophobia, when water—that we cannot -get at—provokes a feeling of madness. You glory in a proprietorship -over which your plough passes, turning up soil that is all your own, -while the nodding grain, golden and pulpy, ripens in your absence for -your abundant granaries, while I cultivate this, my small patch, “a -tenant at will,” whose harvest of gleaning would be blown to the winds -without a painstaking care and watchfulness. You are the lord of acres, -while I wander around forbidden enclosures, and look upon many a Castle -of Indolence longing but for a yard of ground all my own, upon which to -plant a firm foot, to sound the challenge and cry—war! The very -utterness of poverty is grandeur and riches, compared to the feeling of -having the pent-up energies which have found a full outlet in -enterprise, growing fiery in inaction, and panting for room, continually -battling at the heart, and knocking in vain for freedom and exercise. -But if you have ever felt the utter insignificance of wealth and high -advantage combined with indolence and inactivity, and forever -do-nothingness, before the godlike attributes of persevering energy and -indomitable will, you have felt the pride of manhood in its full force -and power. You have reaped in anticipation the rewards of high courage, -of manly resolve, of personal industry and victory. You have enjoyed in -your day-dreams the full fruition of assured success—and awoke to hope -on, to resolve and to conquer. Consider me, my dear Jeremy, as winding -myself up for the next seven years, after having run down—as having -stopped, if you please, to blow; and while you are luxuriating in the -surf, and shaking the briny water from your shoulders, as throwing off -surfdom, with a defiant air, and a determined purpose of taking a few -strides forward, to meet that “good time a coming.” - -Who does not love the sound of the breakers at Cape May, who has once -listened to their wild melody? What a chance for love-making is the -evening stroll upon the beach. On the one side the rugged bank, on which -the white houses sit like a flock of wild-birds suddenly alighted, and -the faint twinkle of rush-like lights dancing like fire-flies in the -night air; on the other, the wild waters—sad emblem of the wild unrest -of the human heart—their huge waves reflecting from their sides the -quiet light of the moon, while the white-caps come trooping in, like a -squadron of dragoons, with their plumes dancing, and a roar, as if the -tread of an army were near, and a thousand park of artillery were -booming in the distance. The music of rich voices hushed amid the -uproar—the light of kind eyes sparkling with a subdued eloquence—the -loved face impressively thoughtful, indicating that God has laid his -hand upon the heart, and whispered amid the tumult of its worldly -thoughts, “be thou still!” - -It was my good fortune to see both Cape May and the Falls of Niagara, -for the first time, by moonlight, and whether the hush of evening -naturally associated in the mind with twilight, deepened the impressions -of awe and wonder with which I gazed upon them, or to the greatness of -the novelty was added through the misty twilight, a dim religious -sanctity to the impression, I know not, but they have never since -charmed me so much in the broad glare of day, as in the evening, with a -quiet moon looking placidly down upon the flashing foam, seemingly -rebuking the uproar. - -The bathers, too, at mid-day, screaming like sea-birds amid the surf, -with their many-colored garments dancing amid the foam—beauty floating -upon the breakers as calmly as if reposing upon the virgin snow of her -own pillows. Manhood breasting the billow, and riding securely far out -where the huge porpoise rolls lazily along, while tiny feet go patting, -and tiny hands go clapping along the shore, the very idleness and luxury -of the sport impressing upon the beholder a sense of enjoyment, a -feeling of relief from the work-day world, a consciousness of manhood -and freedom above the value of dollars—a heart eased of the -oppressiveness of brick and mortar, and open to a sense most acute of -the very luxury of being idle. - -If Philadelphians had made half as much of Cape May as the New Yorkers -have of Saratoga, or the Yankees have of Newport, its visiters from all -parts of the country would number tens of thousands; but I question -whether its present character of being Philadelphia in holyday dress, -let loose for a romp, does not add much to its charms. The relief from -absurd ceremony, where every face is familiar. The easy, unrestrained -life, the freedom of remark and retort, and the exuberant gayety of the -whole company, add to the enjoyment of the place, and make it a home in -a family circle greatly enlarged and full of good humor. - -But, my dear Jeremy, you must have observed that at Cape May we got -along comfortably, without the towering and overshadowing influence of -the “upper ten thousand,” which stands up to be worshiped by the people -without money or _brains_. It might be a serious question, how long a -man may exist, with great self-complacency, without _heart_, or -intellect, yet with a purse well lined with gold—regarding the world of -men and of matter as especially made for him—the lord paramount of the -soil, and of the sinews, which of right belong to his betters. Cannot -some one curious in nature and philosophy, analyze one of this genus, -and tell the world how the appearance of humanity can be preserved -without a single attribute of it, existing life-like and active in his -breast. The whole effort of this air-drawn animal appears to be to rise, -to get up in society, to overlook the pigmies who toil and sweat for -bread—to loose his identity in the upper circle, that he may forget his -grandfather, the soap-boiler, upon whose bubbles he has been shot -upward—as we expel a pea from an air-gun. Prick the bubble, and the -thing vanishes into air, without leaving behind him a trace of existence -of the value of a pepper-corn, and _so_, - - ——“Grows dim and dies - All that this world is proud of.” - -The gifts of GOD are equal. He sheds upon us all the same glorious -sunlight, and gives us the same heritage of dew and showers. The air has -no monopolist, but its balmy odors as kindly kiss as well the beggar as -the king. The mountain stream and the mountain flower acknowledge no -master but the hand that formed them. The very beast that roams over the -boundless prairies, and tosses his wild mane to the breeze, snuffs in an -atmosphere sanctified by its freeness. God, over all his own works sheds -the benignant light of universal benevolence and goodwill. The hues of a -heaven-tinted charity blend kindly together the world over—the laws of -a love undistinguishing are impressed upon all nature. - -It is _man_—but a handful of his mother earth—that wrongs her kind -bosom, and says to his brother, stand aside, the heritage is mine—we -are not equals in birth-right. I claim by pre-emption a supremacy which -makes me thy master. The very purple I wear, when contrasted with the -faded russet of thy poor garb, makes me thy lord. The jeweled rings of -these fingers clasp thy neck, and make thee bondsman. Thou shalt go at -my bidding and come at my call. Thou shalt toil until thy weary bones -crack, to pamper to my luxurious desires! Thou shalt not even _think_ -but at thy peril! By the high authority of what is called LAW, thou art -enslaved! - -By this right of _law_, how many wrongs are done, which the cold eye of -day gazes on in silence, whilst hearts wrung with anguish weep on -unpitied. This strong arm, when its fist clutches dollars, how terrible -is it in its willingness to crush and overwhelm the unsheltered, the -unbefriended, the poor, unpitied victim. But if a breast sparkling with -diamonds interposes, how palsied and feeble becomes the blow—_the -justice, the equity of the law_, how considerate and kind! - -Yet law, according to the lawgiver, “is the perfection of reason,” which -must account, I suppose, for the difficulty which the learned counsel -experiences in expounding it to an “intelligent jury.” The poor thief -therefore remains in profound ignorance of the equity of the decision, -by which he is consigned to three years of penitence is solitary -confinement, while his gayer brother in crime dashes through the streets -with his carriage and scarlet housings, basking in the worship of -wondering and approving eyes, _his_ penalty for having started a bank, -_and stopped it_, by which thousands of poor men lost the dollars which -paid for the equipage, and furnished the viands for his pampered -appetite, the meanest of which would have driven starvation from their -doors. He is beyond the law. Let an hundred operatives agree in thinking -that the wretched pittance for their daily labor will not suffice to -feed the mouths of a half dozen famishing children, the law has its kind -and protecting eye upon them at once—and if they _dare_ express so -infamous a sentiment, it immediately takes care of them as conspirators. -But the masters of an hundred mills may openly avow their determination -to close their doors and send starvation into a whole village, the law -instantly closes its watchful eye, and dozes over the scene, deeming it -right and proper that capital should be indulged in its absurdities. - -Should John, upon the box of a gentleman’s carriage, come in contact -with the hub of the humble cab of Jehu, and thereby disfigure the -carriage and irritate the temper of the great owner, his honor, who may -have had _dealings_ with him, deals with Jehu, who is glad to get off -for his five dollars, and thinks it a kindness that he is not imprisoned -for the intolerable crime of John not giving an inch of the road to a -vulgar cabman. When diamonds are trumps, take care of knaves. - -It is a fiction of law—for even “perfect reason” has her fictions, it -seems—that people who are standing at a distance in a riot, are as -culpable as those who are throwing the brickbats—and it is certain they -are the more likely to be killed, probably from a humane feeling of not -wishing to irritate those who are too near—and it is for this reason, -we presume, that after the riot is over, a number of citizens, against -whom nothing can be proved, are arrested, to assert the majesty of the -law, while the real rioters and murderers are perfectly unknown to the -police. The law being discriminative thus administered, as well as -stringent when necessary. - -Great names, which provoke a riot, or lack the nerve and manliness to -suppress it, have an overshadowing influence, which awes even the -majesty of the law—it would be indecorous in the law to meddle with -greatness, even when it is impertinent. - -“La-w me!” exclaims an old lady, who has upset the contents of her -frying-pan into the fire. But the poor soul little knows the calamity -she invokes. It is doubtful whether fire and frying-pan would not -follow, if her request were complied with. The law being at times both -expensive and speedy. - - “_So wags the world along._” - -But, my dear Jeremy, I have rambled somewhat in this letter, so without -more ado, I’ll CUT this. - - G. R. G. - -[Illustration: “THE UPPER TEN” AND “THE LOWER FIGURE.”] - - - LENDER’S BOOKS.—NO. II. - -By my right hand, Graham! by my right hand, which for —— odd years -hath traveled and travailed over much foolscap, (and under much -fool’s-cap quoth the fiend,) I am more and more convinced of the truth -of the words of the preacher, “Vanity of vanities! all is vanity!” I -have just laid aside “Mardi,” (the gift of my warm-hearted friend, L. G. -C., of the Knickerbocker,) it lies atop of old Du Bartas and some -withered budlets of forget-me-not, and in like manner _I_ sit with a few -fragmentaries of old literature at bottom for my _primiter_, some tender -remembrances for my _secondary_, and for the _alluvial_ stratum of my -pericranicks (as gentle Charles hath it) these fripperies by the Author -of Typee. Confound the book! there are such beautiful Aurora-flashes of -light in it that you can almost forgive the puerilities—it is a great -net-work of affectation, with some genuine _gold_ shining through the -interstices. - -Let us turn over the leaves a little—hear ye now— - - “And what to me thus pining for some one to page me a quotation - from Burton on Blue-Devils.” V. I. p. 15. - -What is _paging_ a quotation? - - “Anoint the ropes and they will travel deftly through the subtle - windings of the blocks.” p. 33. - -Why not say—“apply some oleaginous substance to the ambulatory cords, -and prevent the inarticulate dissonance caused by the inharmonious -attrition of the flaxen fibres against the ligneous particles?” - -But this passage I especially commend: - - “Good old Arcturion! Maternal craft, that rocked me so often in - thy heart of oak, I grieve to tell how I deserted thee on the - broad deep. (‘Maternal craft—maternal old oaken-hearted - craft—maternal old oaken-cradle hearted craft’ is good!) So far - from home, with such a motley crew, so many islands, whose - heathen babble _echoing through thy Christian hull must have - grated harshly on every carline_.” p. 38. - -“Many there are who can fall,” says Martinus Scriblerius, “but few can -arrive at the felicity of falling gracefully.” - -How beautifully he embellishes the most commonplace ideas: - - “Among savages, severe personal injuries are, for the most part, - accounted but trifles. When a European would be taking to his - couch in despair _the savage would disdain to recline_.” p. 96. - - “At Ravavai I had stepped ashore some few months previous; and - now was embarked on a cruise for the whale, _whose brain - enlightens the world_!” p. 1. - -Jarl steals a keg of tobacco— - - “From the Arcturion he had brought along with him a small - half-keg, at bottom impacted with a solitary layer of sable - Negrohead, fossil-marked, like the primary stratum of the - geologists.” (Ahem! primary stratum _fossil_-marked!) p. 68. - -He surmiseth that Samoa likes to get swipesy— - - “Nor did I doubt but that the Upoluan, like all Polynesians, - much loved getting high of head; and in that state would be more - intractable than a Black Forest boar.” - -Sometimes he breaks into hexameter: - - “In the verdant glen of Ardair, far in the silent interior of - Amma, - Shut in by hoar old cliffs, Yillah the maiden abode.” - -This reminds one of Evangeline— - - “In the Acadian land, on the shores of the basin of Minos, - Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand Pré - Lay in the fruitful valley.” - -Let us hexametrize another passage, and we will have done with these -fopperies: - - “’Tis no great valor to perish sword in hand, and bravado - On lip; cased all in panoply complete. For even the alli- - Gator dies in his mail, and the sword-fish never surrenders. - To expire, mild-eyed, in one’s bed, transcends the death of - Epam-Inondas.” p. 46. - -I have done with Mardi—one is reminded in reading it (after Typee) that -“there is as much skill in making dikes as in raising mounts—there is -an art of _diving_ as well as flying,” and who knows but what the -author, after attaining a comfortable elevation by his former works, may -not have made this plunge _on purpose_, as men do who climb to the top -of a high mast that they may dive the deeper. - - * * * * * - -Now do those crushed, withered budlets of forget-me-not, peeping from -under the book covers, remind me of those beautiful hope-flowers that -opened their pale blue eyes in the morning of my life, and bloomed and -drooped—and passed away— - - “How fair was then the flower—the tree! - How silver-sweet the fountain’s fall! - The soulless had a soul to me! - My life its own life lent to all! - - “The universe of things seemed swelling - The panting heart to burst its bound, - And wandering fancy found a dwelling - In every shape, thought, deed and sound. - Germed in the mystic buds, reposing, - A whole creation slumbered mute; - Alas! when from the buds unclosing, - How scant and blighted sprung the fruit!” - -Alas! alas! young life, and young hopes are not perennials; even in the -lofty conservatories and crystal hot-houses of wealth and station they -flush into a sickly existence, and then perish like the meanest flower -by the wayside. Did it ever strike you how much we are alike in this -particular? Every one looking back upon his past life as the shipwrecked -merchant looks upon the broad sea that hath swallowed up irretrievable -treasures. Do you believe that if one had the power of investing his new -created babes with a course of life, that he would say, “Do as I have -done—pass through my joys and my afflictions, and in the experience of -my experience you will be happy!” Do you believe that any one—even the -wisest, the purest, the best could say this? By my faith, I do not! And -the great focal-glass of a common destiny brings down prismatic, -many-hued humanity to a point hue, as a convex lens gathers and -concentrates prism-bundles of light and heat from the broad disk of the -sun. Human suffering is the chord universal that swells from the -vibration of numberless strings. - - “Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy; - This vast and universal theatre - Contains more woful pageants than the scene - Whereon we play—” - -But, “Mardi” and forget-me-nots have spoiled three good sheets of -foolscap, and I fear that I am too much i’ the sentimental vein; let me -therefore conclude with quoting a sweet little piece of philosophy, and -lay aside these _lender’s books_ for a period. - - “A swallow in the spring - Came to our granary, and ’neath the eaves - Essayed to make a nest, and then did bring - Wet earth, and straw, and leaves. - - “Day after day she toiled, - With patient heart; but ere her work was crowned - Some sad mishap the tiny fabric spoiled, - And dashed it to the ground. - - “She found the ruin wrought, - But, not cast down, forth from the place she flew, - And, with her mate, fresh earth and grasses brought, - And built her nest anew. - - “But scarcely had she placed - The last soft feather on its ample floor, - When wicked hand, or chance, again laid waste, - And wrought the ruin o’er. - - “But still her heart she kept, - And toiled again; and last night, hearing calls, - I looked, and lo! three little swallows slept - Within the earth-made walls. - - “What truth is here, O man! - Hath hope been smitten in its early dawn! - Have clouds o’ercast thy purpose, trust or plan? - _Have_ FAITH _and struggle on_!” - - Here endeth the second fifth.—RICHARD HAYWARDE. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _Characteristics of Literature. Illustrated by the Genius of - Distinguished Men. By Henry T. Tuckerman. Phila.: Lindsay & - Blakiston. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -Mr. Tuckerman has written many interesting books, but we think the -present volume is his most attractive if not his best production. It is -characterized by his usual refinement of analysis, wealth of -illustration, felicity of allusion, and mellow richness of style, while -in the range it evinces over widely varied provinces of thought and -character, it indicates more versatility than any of his other -compositions. The volume includes a discussion and representation of -eleven departments of literature, through a searching examination of as -many authors, each of whom is taken as the exponent of a class. Thus -Channing stands for the Moralist, Sir Thomas Browne for the Philosopher, -Swift for the Wit, Shenstone for the Dillettante, Charles Lamb for the -Humorist, and Macaulay for the Historian. The selection of men to -illustrate the subjects is, of course, not free from cavil. We should -say that Burke was not exactly the man to stand as an expression of the -Rhetorician, for his rhetoric, though matchless of its kind, is -secondary to his philosophy. He appears to us, even as analyzed by Mr. -Tuckerman, in the character of a profound, vigorous and vital thinker, -and is no more a rhetorician, in any exclusive sense of the term, than -Bacon, Hooker, Taylor, or even Milton. Where style is the _incarnation_ -of thought, the visible image of the mind that employs it—and this is -its nature in all the greatest authors—the word rhetoric is hardly -applicable to it. Macaulay is more emphatically the rhetorician than -Burke. - - * * * * * - - _Select Comedies; Translated from the Italian of Goldoni, Giraud - and Nota. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -A volume like the present, giving the English reader a good idea of the -spirit and form of Italian comedy, has long been wanted, and we have -little doubt that it will be successful. To the lover of the English -drama the plays may seem to lack solid character and unctuous humor; but -they are still distinguished by a fertility in the invention of -ludicrous incidents and positions, and a mischievous quick-footed spirit -of intrigue, that no person with a sense of the comic can read them -without exhilaration. The translations are, we believe, from an American -pen, and appear to be well executed. Six complete comedies are given, -and the translator has been fortunate in his selections both in respect -to merit and variety. The two comedies of Goldoni are alone richly worth -the price of the book. - - * * * * * - - _Kaloolah, or Journeyings to the Djebel Kumri. An Autobiography - of Jonathan Romer. Edited by W. S. Mayo, M. D. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -It is something strange for a writer to present himself for the first -time as a candidate for public favor with a volume indicating so much -power and originality of mind, and such practiced talents of composition -as the present. The book is a regular tale of adventures, as interesting -as exciting incidents racily told can make it, and inweaved with the -story are many graphic descriptions of scenery and keen delineations of -character. Considered in respect to the originality of its conception, -the new vein of romance it opens, and the admirable method of the -narration, we think the volume cannot fail to attract the attention -which it will certainly reward. - - * * * * * - - _The Earth and Man: Lectures on Comparative Physical Geography, - in its Relation to the History of Mankind. By Arnold Guyot. - Boston: Gould, Kendall & Lincoln. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -The author of this valuable Manual is Professor of Physical Geography -and History in the same institution to which Agassiz is attached, and -originally delivered the present lectures in French to an audience in -Boston. They have been elegantly translated by Professor Felton, of -Harvard University, and are very warmly recommended by the New England -Savans for their union of profundity and simplicity. The subject is one -of the most important in the whole range of science, and is one in which -all can take an interest, and all obtain information, as popularized by -Professor Guyot. Agassiz says of the book and its author: “Having been -his friend from childhood, as a fellow student in college, and as -colleague in the same university, I may be permitted to express my high -sense of the value of his attainments. Mr. Guyot has not only been in -the best school, that of Ritter and Humboldt, and become familiar with -the present state of the science of our earth, but he has himself in -many instances drawn new conclusions from the facts now ascertained, and -presented most of them in a new point of view. Several of the most -brilliant generalizations developed in his lectures, are his; and if -more extensively circulated, will not only render the study of geography -more attractive, but actually show it in its true light, namely, as the -science of the relations which exist between nature and man, throughout -history.” - - * * * * * - - _The Life of Maximilien Robespierre. With Extracts from his - Unpublished Correspondence. By G. H. Lewes. Phila.: Casey & - Hart. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -The author of this biography is but little known in this country, and -has hardly received his deserts from the critics on either side of the -water. He is a clear, close, vigorous thinker, an accomplished scholar, -and a nervous, condensed and brilliant, though slightly aphoristic -writer. Though his ideas and style occasionally betray the influence of -Carlyle, and though his English nature has been a little modified by an -infusion of French metaphysics, he generally appears as an independent -as well as a forcible thinker. In the present volume, though he appears -largely indebted to the works of Lamartine, Michelet, and Louis Blanc, -he has still produced a book original in the main, and has been -especially happy in steering a middle course between those writers who -have represented Robespierre as a monstrosity of malignity and cruelty, -and those who have tried hard to make him appear a persecuted and -virtuous patriot, whose most questionable acts sprung from exalted -motives. The reader closes the book with the feeling that he has gained -a better insight into the character of the immortally infamous -revolutionary leader than he had before. The letters of Robespierre, -which the author obtained in MS. from Louis Blanc, and the extracts from -his speeches in the Convention, add much to the interest and value of -the volume. - - * * * * * - - _History of Maria Antoinette. By John S. C. Abbott. With - Engravings. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 16mo._ - -This is another of Mr. Abbott’s beautiful series of pocket histories, -having for its subject a story so exciting and so mournful that the -novelist or dramatist could hardly treat its incidents with more -pathetic effect than the chronicler who confines himself to the literal -facts. The characteristic merit of Mr. Abbott’s books is the knowledge -they display not merely of their subjects but of the exact nature of the -ignorance of the general class of readers, and this merit is well -illustrated in the present volume. The French Revolution is to most -minds a confused mass of terrible events without any connecting -principles; but few can read its history, as far as it is presented in -Mr. Abbott’s simple and orderly narrative, without obtaining clearer -ideas of the whole matter. - - * * * * * - - _A History of American Baptist Missions in Asia, Africa, Europe - and North America. By William Gammell, A. M., Professor in Brown - University. Boston: Gould, Kendall & Lincoln. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -We like the present volume for the indication it gives of the rich -materials for history and biography which lie almost unused in the -various records of Christian missions. All the heroic qualities -developed in man and woman by religious principles and religious -passions, are visible in those records to the initiated eye, but they -are commonly so submerged in the affected phraseology and sectarian -jargon of mediocre compilers, that they are commonly set aside as vulgar -and fanatical by the general reader. Professor Gammell has written a -volume in which all the worn and wasted terms of the pedants of cant are -discarded, and the subject, as far as the Baptist missions are -concerned, is treated in a style intelligible to all who have any -perception of beauty, holiness or heroism. The work, apart from its -theological character, is one of great interest and excellence. - - * * * * * - - _Sacred Rhetoric; or Composition and Delivery of Sermons. By - Henry J. Ripley. Boston: Gould, Kendall & Lincoln. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This treatise should be carefully pondered by all clergymen who have a -contempt for the graces and proprieties of composition, arising from -their apprehension of being interesting to their congregations. -Professor Ripley has produced a searching treatise, in which, with a -true critical remorselessness, he lays bare the defects of arrangement -and composition most likely to beset the productions of his profession, -and gives a clear statement of those principles which should guide the -brain and pen of the preacher. The volume also includes Dr. Ware’s -admirable “Hints on Extemporaneous Preaching.” - - * * * * * - - _History of Wonderful Inventions. Illustrated with numerous - Engravings on Wood. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -The publishers of this elegantly printed volume have included it in a -series called the Boy’s Own Library, but its interest and value are -hardly confined to youth. It is a book containing carefully written -accounts of the invention of the Mariner’s Compass, Gunpowder, Clocks, -Printing, the Telescope and Microscope, the Steam-Engine, the Electric -Telegraph, and many other wonderful events in the history of the -intellect. We never read a volume of this sort without giving a new and -vivid impression of the grandeur of human nature, considered as -possessing the powers of creation and combination. - - * * * * * - - _Manual of Ancient Geography and History. By Wilhelm Putz. - Translated from the German. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. - 12mo._ - -Professor Green, of Brown University, is the American editor of this -valuable manual, and his name is a guarantee that it has been revised -and corrected with scrupulous care. To the general student of history -the volume will be of great service, as it maps out the whole ground of -historical study, gives the names of the authorities for the history of -each nation, and in the smallest possible space consistent with -dearness, presents a view of the history, geography, religion, -literature and art of all the ancient nations, European and Asiatic. The -work indicates an erudition as minute as it is vast. - - * * * * * - - _The Spy, a Tale of the Neutral Ground. By the Author of The - Pilot. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -Longevity is no characteristic of novels, and Old Parr is the last name -which could be applied to a hero of fiction. The romances which flare in -the parlors of one year are pretty sure to repose in the cemeteries of -the next. To this empirical law, Cooper’s Spy is one of the honorable -exceptions. It at once attained popularity, and it has kept it, -surviving all those mutations of the public taste which, since its first -appearance, have consigned so many brilliant fictions to oblivion. As an -old friend in a new dress, we welcome this volume. Its value is enhanced -by the revision of the author, and the addition of an introduction and -notes. - - * * * * * - - _A Visit to Monasteries in the Levant. By the Hon. Robert - Curzon. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -The author of this volume is careful to write himself down an -“honorable” on his title page, and the whole tone of the composition -evidences that self-satisfaction which is so apt to accompany social -position. Though the reader is inclined to be prejudiced against an -amateur author who assumes so confident a tone, the feeling wears away -as he reads the volume. It contains a great deal of information -pleasantly told, has some capital sketches of curious character, and -ranks among the sprightliest of recent books of travels. The American -edition is illustrated by numerous wood-cuts. - - * * * * * - - _The Adventures of Captain Bonneville, U. S. A., in the Rocky - Mountains and the Far West. Digested from his Journal and - Illustrated from various other sources. By Washington Irving. - New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This delightful work forms the tenth volume of the revised edition of -Irving’s works, and has for its subject a theme especially interesting -at the present time, when more than ever, “westward the course of empire -takes its way.” We hardly know of a more felicitous partnership than -that of Bonneville and Irving—one to perform the deeds of adventure -which the other records. - - * * * * * - - _Life in the Far West. By George Frederic Ruxton. New York: - Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -The author of this volume died at an early age, but not before he had -partly fulfilled the destiny to which his talents and adventurous spirit -pointed. “His adventures in Mexico and the Rocky Mountains,” and the -present work, indicate not merely the courage and enthusiasm of a -traveler, but much felicity in transferring to other minds the objects -and incidents which filled his own. - - * * * * * - - _Pottleton Legacy._ - -This is the title of a novel, by Albert Smith, published in the cheap -form of the present day, by Carey & Hart. It is a pleasant, readable, -and interesting work, and will be found caustic as well as funny. The -characters are well sustained and the plot well developed. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: -Anaïs Toudouze -LE FOLLET -_Boulevart_ S^{t}. Martin, 61 -_Toilettes de Longchamps_, -_Chapeaux de M^{me}._ Baudry, _r. Richelieu, 87—Plumes et fleurs_ Chagot - _ainé, r. Richelieu, 81,_ -_Robes de_ Camille—_Dentelles de_ Violard, _r. Choiseul 2^{bis.}_ -Graham’s Magazine.] - - * * * * * - - - - - YES, LET ME LIKE A SOLDIER FALL - - - AS SUNG, IN THE OPERA OF “MARITANA,” - - BY MR. FRAZER. - - MY FATHER HE WAS NOT A KING. - - WRITTEN AND ADAPTED TO THE FOLLOWING AIR, - - BY E. R. JOHNSTON. - -[Illustration] - - My father, he was not a king, - A soldier brave was he. - He fell responding to the call - That made his Country free. - Yes! let me like a Soldier fall, - Upon some open plain. - This breast expanding for the ball, - To blot out ev’ry stain. - -[Illustration] - - No prouder title I would claim, - No prouder boast! ’tis well, - The blood that courses thro’ my veins - No brighter birth may tell, - The blood that courses thro’ my veins - No brighter birth may tell. - No brighter birth may tell. - - Brave manly hearts confer my doom - That gentler ones may tell, - Howe’er forgot, unknown my tomb, - I like a Soldier fell. - Howe’er forgot, unknown my tomb, - I like a Sol-dier fell, - I like a Sol-dier fell! - - - 1 - - My mother she was not a queen! - Nor titles graced her brow; - But hers a free and noble heart, - In heaven rests ere now. - And I in Freedom’s mould am cast, - No prouder boast! ’tis well, - The blood that courses thro’ my veins - No brighter birth may tell. - - - 2 - - I only ask of that proud race - Which ends its blaze in me, - To die the last and not disgrace - Its ancient chivalry. - Tho’ o’er my clay no banner wave, - Nor trumpet requiem swell, - Enough, they murmur o’er my grave, - He like a Soldier fell. - - - 3 - - There is a land where Freedom dwells - A land where all are blest, - A land that holds the glorious tombs - Of heroes now at rest; - That land I love, it is my home, - Of it I boast, ’tis well! - The blood that courses thro’ my veins - No brighter birth may tell. - - * * * * * - -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 75, In the mornining ==> In the morning -page 76, derelection of Hubert ==> dereliction of Hubert -page 77, up the close-pins, ==> up the clothes-pins, -page 77, over the close-fold, ==> over the clothes-fold, -page 78, its apprisal, and then ==> its appraisal, and then -page 85, persistance in whatever ==> persistence in whatever -page 87, ere I had had heard ==> ere I had heard -page 91, with an unfaultering and ==> with an unfaltering and -page 93, sprained ancle. Gentle ==> sprained ankle. Gentle -page 93, world was you doing ==> world were you doing -page 93, the bed of Dalhias ==> the bed of Dahlias -page 93, Your beautiful Dalhias ==> Your beautiful Dahlias -page 95, the battle of Corrunna ==> the battle of Corunna, -page 96, harrass that honorable ==> harass that honorable -page 107, was brought fourth wounded, ==> was brought forth wounded, -page 107, some characteristic attententions ==> some characteristic - attentions -page 109, the day thus began in ==> the day thus begun in -page 118, played, eat together, ==> played, ate together, -page 122, I poured over ==> I pored over -page 122, a strange, quiet enthuasm, ==> a strange, quiet enthusiasm, -page 126, beak was too inches ==> beak was two inches -page 127, common in Peru and Chili ==> common in Peru and Chile -page 131, betray the ininfluence ==> betray the influence -page 132, By William Gammel ==> By William Gammell -music page 2, But her’s a free ==> But hers a free - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXV, No. 2, -August 1849, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, AUGUST 1849 *** - -***** This file should be named 55372-0.txt or 55372-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/3/7/55372/ - -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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text-align:left; vertical-align:top; - } - .pindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:1.5em; } - .noindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:0; } - .hang { padding-left:1.5em; text-indent:-1.5em; } - .literal-container { text-align:center; margin:0 0; } - .literal { display:inline-block; text-align:left; } - </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. 2, August -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. 2, August 1849 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George R. Graham - J.R. Chandler - J.B. Taylor - -Release Date: August 16, 2017 [EBook #55372] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, AUGUST 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> - -<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> AUGUST, 1849. No. 2.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.3em;font-weight:bold;'>Table of Contents</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'>Fiction, Literature and Articles</p> - -<table id='tab1' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#curtain'>The Curtain Lifted</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#indi'>Indian Legend of the Star and Lily</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='#sketch'>Sketches of Life in Our Village</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#mary'>Mary Wilson</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#olden'>Olden Times</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#doom'>Two Hours of Doom</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#york'>The Captive of York</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#mem'>A Memory</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='#edit'>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> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'>Poetry, Music, and Fashion</p> - -<table id='tab2' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#wat'>Watouska: A Legend of the Oneidas</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#improv'>The Improvisatrice</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#petra'>The Eighteenth Sonnet of Petrarca</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#elim'>Elim</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#warn'>Faith’s Warning</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#gold'>Lament of the Gold-Digger</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#tomary'>To Mary</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#little'>Little Willie</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#words'>Words of Waywardness</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#trans'>Translation of a Recently Discovered Fragment of a Poem by Sappho</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#ermen'>Ermengarde’s Awakening</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#kubl'>Kubleh</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#this'>This World of Ours</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle1'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#spirit'>My Spirit</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='#yes'>Yes, Let Me Like a Soldier Fall</a></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='tbk100'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i001.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0001' style='width:450px;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span class='bold'>LA SIESTA.</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk101'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<hr class='tbk102'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol.</span> XXXV. PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST, 1849. <span class='sc'>No. 2.</span></p> - -<hr class='tbk103'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='73' id='Page_73'></span><h1 class='nobreak'><a id='curtain'></a>THE CURTAIN LIFTED.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>OR PROFESSIONS—PRACTICAL AND THEORETICAL.</p> - -<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'>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='it'>The Deacon.</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'>Everybody called Mr. Humphreys a good man. -To have found any fault with the deacon would have -been to impugn the church itself, whose most firm pillar -he stood. No one stopped to analyze his goodness—it -was enough that in all outward semblance, in the whole -putting together of the outward man, there was a conformity -of sanctity; that is, he read his Bible—held -family prayers night and morning—preached long -homilies to the young—gave in the cause of the heathen—and -was, moreover, of a grave and solemn aspect, -seldom given to the folly of laughter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All this, and more did good Deacon Humphreys; -and yet one thing he lacked, viz., the sweet spirit of -charity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I mean not that he oppressed the widow, or robbed -the orphan of bread; no, not this, it was the cold unforgiving -spirit with which he looked upon the errors -of his fellow man—the iron hand with which he thrust -far from him the offender, which betrayed the want of -that charity “<span class='it'>which rejoiceth not in iniquity, suffereth -long, and is kind</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was also pertinaciously sectarian. No other path -than the one in which he walked could lead to eternal life. -No matter the sect, so that they differed from him, it -was enough—they were outlawed from the gates of -Heaven. Ah! had the deacon shared more the spirit -of our blessed Saviour, in whose name he offered -up his prayers, then, indeed, might he have been -entitled to the Christian character he professed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Humphreys partook largely of her husband’s -views. She, too, was irreproachable in her daily -walks, and her household presented a rare combination -of order and neatness. The six days work was -done, and done faithfully, and the seventh cared for, ere -the going down of the Saturday’s sun, which always -left her house in order—her rooms newly swept and -garnished—the stockings mended—the clean clothes -laid out for the Sabbath wear—while in the kitchen -pantry, a joint of cold meat, or a relay of pies, was -provided, that no hand might labor for the creature -comforts on the morrow. As the last rays of the sun -disappeared from hill and valley, the doors of the house -were closed—the blinds pulled down—the well-polished -mahogany stand drawn from its upright position in the -corner of the sitting-room, which it occupied from -Monday morning until the coming of the Saturday -night—the great family Bible placed thereon, while -with countenances of corresponding gravity, and well-balanced -spectacles, the deacon and his wife read from -its holy pages.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus in all those outward observances of piety, -whereon the great eyes of the great world are staring, -I have shown that the deacon and his good wife might -challenge the closest scrutiny. Nor would I be understood -to detract aught from these observances, or -throw down one stone from the altars of our Puritan -fathers. We need all the legacy they left their children. -The force of good example is as boundless as -the tares of sin—let us relax nothing which may -tend to check the evil growth—and who shall say -that the upright walk of Deacon Humphreys was -without a salutary influence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But it is with the <span class='it'>inner</span> man we have to do. The -fairest apples are sometimes defective at the core.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='it'>Grassmere and its Inhabitants.</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'>Grassmere was a quiet out-of-the-way village, hugged -in close by grand mountains, and watered by sparkling -rivulets and cascades, which came leaping down -the hillsides like frolicksome Naiads, and then with -a murmur as sweet as the songs of childhood, ran off -to play bo-peep with the blue heavens amid the deep -clover-fields, or through banks sprinkled with nodding -wild-flowers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A tempting retreat was Grassmere to the weary -man of business, whose days had been passed within -the brick and mortar walks of life, and whom the -fresh air, and the green grass, and the waving woods, -<span class='pageno' title='74' id='Page_74'></span> -were but as a page of delicious poetry snatched at idle -hours. Free from the turmoil and vexations of the -city, how pleasant to tread the down-hill of life, surrounded -by such peaceful influences as smiled upon -the inhabitants of Grassmere, and several beautiful -cottages nestling in the valley, or dotting the hill-side, -attested that some fortunate man of wealth had here -cast loose the burthen of the day, to repose in the quiet -of nature.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Although our story bears but slightly save upon -three or four of the three thousand inhabitants of -Grassmere, I will state that a variety of religious -opinions had for several years been gradually creeping -into this primitive town, and that where once a single -church received the inhabitants within one faith, there -were now four houses of worship, all embracing different -tenets. But the deacon walked heavenward -his own path, shaking his skirts free from all contamination -with other sects, whom, indeed, he looked -upon as little better than heathen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The pastor of the church claiming so zealous a -member, was a man eminent for his Christian benevolence. -His was not the piety which exhausted -itself in words—heart and soul did he labor to do his -Master’s will, and far from embracing the rigid views -of the worthy Deacon Humphreys, he wore the garb -of charity for all, and in his great, good heart loved all.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had one son, who, at the period from which my -story dates, was pursuing his collegiate course at one -of our most popular institutions, and in his own mind -the deacon had determined that Hubert Fairlie should -become the husband of his only daughter, Naomi. In -another month Hubert was to return to pass his vacation -at Grassmere, and Naomi looked forward to the -meeting with unaffected pleasure. They had been -playmates in childhood, companions in riper years; -but love had nothing to do with their regard for each -other, yet the deacon could not conceive how friendship -alone should thus unite them. At any rate Naomi -must be the wife of Hubert—that was as set as his -Sunday face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The deacon was a man well off in worldly matters. -He owned the large, highly cultivated farm on which -he lived, as also several snug houses within the village, -which rented at good rates.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the little cottage at Silver-Fall was untenanted. -Through the inability of its former occupant to pay -the rent, it had returned upon the hands of the deacon, -and although one of the most delightful residences for -miles around, had now been for several months without -a tenant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A charming spot was Silver-Fall, with its little -dwelling half hidden by climbing roses and shadowy -maples. Smooth as velvet was the lawn, with here -and there a cluster of blue violets clinging timidly -together, and hemmed by a silvery thread of bright -laughing water, which, within a few rods of the -cottage-door, suddenly leaped over a bed of rocks some -twenty feet high, into the valley below. This gave it -the name of Silver-Fall Cottage—all too enticing a spot -it would seem to remain long unoccupied. Yet the -snows of winter yielded to the gentle breath of spring, -and the bright fruits of summer already decked the -hedge-rows and the thicket, ere a tenant could be -found, and then there came a letter to Mr. Humphreys -from a widow lady living in a distant city, requiring -the terms on which he would lease his pretty cottage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They were favorable, it would seem, to her views, -and in due time Mrs. Norton, her daughter Grace, -and two female domestics, arrived at Silver-Fall.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='it'>One Fold of the Curtain drawn back.</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'>A new comer in a country village is always sure to -elicit more or less curiosity, and Mrs. Norton did not -escape without her due share from the inhabitants of -Grassmere. With telegraph speed it was found out -that she was a lady between thirty and forty years of -age, dressed in bombazine, and wore close mourning -caps. Miss Norton was talked of as a slender, fair -girl, with blue eyes, and long, flowing curls, and might -be seventeen, perhaps twenty—of course, they could -not be strictly accurate in this matter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bales of India matting were unrolled in the door-yard—crates -of beautiful china unpacked in the piazza—sofas -and chairs crept out from their rough traveling -cases, displaying all the beauty of rosewood and -damask, until finally by aid of all these means and -appliances to boot, Mrs. Norton and her daughter -were pronounced very <span class='it'>genteel</span>—but—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, I wonder what they are!” said Mrs. Humphreys -to the deacon, as talking over these secular -matters she handed him his second cup of coffee.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Not that the good lady had any doubt of their being -<span class='it'>bona fide</span> flesh and blood; neither did she believe they -were witches or fairies who had taken up their abode -at Silver-Fall. “<span class='it'>I wonder what they are!</span>” must -therefore be interpreted as “<span class='it'>I wonder what church -they attend</span>,” or “<span class='it'>what creed they profess</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The deacon shook his head and looked solemn.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is to be hoped,” continued Mrs. Humphreys, -complacently stirring the coffee, “that at her period of -life Mrs. Norton may be a professor of some kind.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The deacon dropped his knife and fork—he was -shocked—astounded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am surprised to hear you speak thus lightly, Mrs. -Humphreys—<span class='it'>a professor of some kind</span>! Is it not -better that she should yet rest in her sins, than to be -walking in the footsteps of error—a <span class='it'>professor of some -kind</span>! Wife—wife—you forget yourself!” exclaimed -the deacon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I spoke thoughtlessly, I acknowledge,” answered -Mrs. Humphreys, much confused by the stern rebuke -of her husband. “I meant to say, I hoped she had -found a pardon for her sins.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you forgotten that you are a parent?” continued -the deacon, solemnly. “Can you suffer the -ears of your daughter to drink in such poison! <span class='it'>A professor -of some kind!</span> Naomi, my child,” placing his -hand on the sunny head before him, “beware how you -listen to such doctrine; there is but one true faith—there -is but one way by which you can be saved. Go -to your chamber, and pray you may not be led into -error through your mother’s words of folly!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But there were others at Grassmere most anxiously -<span class='pageno' title='75' id='Page_75'></span> -wondering, like good Mrs. Humphreys, “<span class='it'>what they -were</span>,” ere they so far committed themselves as to -call upon the strangers. Sunday, however, was close -at hand; Mrs. Norton’s choice of a church was to determine -them the choice of her acquaintance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Does the reader think the inhabitants of Grassmere -peculiar? I think not. There are very many -just such people not a hundred rods from our own -doors.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Unfortunately, on Sunday the rain poured down in -torrents. Nothing less impervious than strong cowhide -boots—India-rubber overcoats, and thick cotton -umbrellas, could go to meeting, consequently, Mrs. -Norton staid at home, and on Monday afternoon, after -the washing was done, and the deacon had turned his -well saturated hay, Mrs. Humphreys put on her best -black silk gown and mantilla, her plain straw bonnet, -with white trimmings, and walked over with her -husband to Silver-Fall cottage. As the widow rented -her house of them, they could not in decency, they -reasoned, longer defer calling upon her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A glance within the cottage would convince any -one that Mrs. Norton and Grace were at least persons -of refinement—for there is as much character displayed -in the arrangement of a room as in the choice -of a book.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Cream colored mattings, and window-curtains of -transparent lace, relieved by hangings of pale sea-green -silk, imparted a look of delicious coolness to the apartments. -There was no display of gaudy furniture, as if -a cabinet warehouse had been taken on speculation—yet -there was enough for comfort and even elegance; -nor was there an over exhibition of paintings—one of -Cole’s beautiful landscapes, and a few other gems of -native talent were all; nor were the tables freighted -as the counter of a toy-shop; the only ornament of each -was a beautiful vase of Bohemian glass, filled with -fresh garden flowers, whose tasteful arrangement even -fairy hands could not have rivaled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The few moments they were awaiting the entrance -of Mrs. Norton were employed by Mrs. Humphreys -in taking a rapid survey of all these surroundings, the -result of which was to impress her with a sort of awe -for the mistress of this little realm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My stars!” said she, casting her eyes to the right -and left, half rising from the luxurious couch to peep -into one corner, and almost breaking her neck to dive -into another, “my stars, deacon, if this don’t beat all -I ever did see!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the deacon, with an air worthy of a funeral, -shook his head, closed his eyes, and muttered,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Vanity—vanity!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The door opened, and Grace gliding in, sweetly -apologized for her mother, whom a violent headache -detained in her apartment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I do wish I knew what they were!” again -exclaimed Mrs. Humphreys, as she took the deacon’s -arm and plodded thoughtfully homeward.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then going to a dark cupboard under the stairs, she -rummaged for some time among the jars and gallipots, -and finally producing one marked “Raspberry Jam,” -she told Naomi to put on her Sunday bonnet, and carry -it to the cottage, and—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Naomi, you may just as well ask Grace Norton -what meeting she goes to.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Delighted to make the acquaintance of Grace, Naomi -threw on her bonnet and tripped lightly to the cottage, -thinking little, we fear, of her mother’s last charge. -At any rate it was omitted, and so the night-cap of -Mrs. Humphreys again threw its broad frilling over an -unsatisfied brow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the <a id='morn'></a>morning the deacon received a very neat -note from Mrs. Norton, requesting to see him up on -business.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And now, my dear sir,” said she, after the common -courtesies of the day were passed, “I have taken -the liberty to send for you to transact a little business -for me. If not too great a tax upon your time, will -you purchase a pew for me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The deacon grimly smiled, and rubbing his knee, -replied,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, yes, Mrs. Norton, I shall be glad to attend -to the matter. True, it is a busy season with us -farmers, but the Lord forbid I should therefore neglect -<span class='it'>his</span> business.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you think you can procure me one?” asked -Mrs. Norton.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“O, I reckon so, for I am certain there are several -pews now to be let or sold either.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And what price, Mr. Humphreys?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I guess about sixty dollars; and now I recollect, -Squire Bryce wants to sell his—it is right -alongside of mine, and I reckon my pew is as good for -hearing the word as any in the meeting-house. I am -glad, really I do rejoice to find you a true believer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You mistake my church, I see,” said Mrs. Norton, -smiling, “I belong to a different denomination from -the one of which as I am aware you are a professor.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then,” cried the deacon, rising hastily and making -for the door, “excuse me—I—I know nothing of any -other church or its pews. I cannot be the instrument -of seating you where false doctrines are preached! -I—good morning, ma’am.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The widow sighed as the gate slammed after her -visiter, but Grace burst into a merry fit of laughter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How ridiculous!” she exclaimed; “was there -ever such absurdity!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hush, hush my dear child,” said Mrs. Norton, -“Mr. Humphreys is without doubt perfectly conscientious -in this matter—we may pity, but not condemn -such zeal in the cause of religion.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you call bigotry religion, mamma?” asked -Grace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A person may be a very good Christian, Grace, -and yet be very much of a bigot,” answered her -mother. “That such a spirit as Mr. Humphreys has -just now shown may often be productive of more evil -than good, I allow. His aim is to do good, but he -adopts the wrong measures.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, mamma, one would have judged from his -manner that we were infidels!” said Grace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“O no, my child, he did not really think that,” replied -Mrs. Norton, smiling at her earnestness. “He -only felt shocked at what he deems our error—for he -sacredly believes there can be no safety in any other -creed than his own. Without the charity therefore -<span class='pageno' title='76' id='Page_76'></span> -to think there may be good in all sects, and lacking -the desire to study the subject, or rather so much -wedded to his belief that he would deem it almost a -sin to do so, like an unjust judge, he condemns without -a hearing. There are too many such mistaken zealots -in every creed of worship. O, my dear child,” continued -Mrs. Norton, her fine eyes bathed in tears, -“would that members of every sect might unite in love -and charity to one another! They are all aiming alike -to love and serve Christ, and yet take no heed to his -commandment, ‘<span class='it'>Love ye one another!</span>’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, mamma, for the sake of his sweet daughter, -Naomi, I can forgive the good deacon. I have never -seen a more interesting face than hers, and her manners -are as graceful and lady-like as if she had never -seen the country,” said Grace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And most probably a great deal more so, my love,” -replied Mrs. Norton, “for nature can add a grace -which courts cannot give. But I agree with you in -thinking Miss Humphreys interesting; she is, indeed, -so, and if her countenance prove an index of her mind, -I think you may promise yourself a pleasing companion.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the deacon, it seems, was of a different way of -thinking, and no sooner did he enter under his own -roof, place his oak stick in the corner, and hang up his -hat on the peg behind the door, than going into the -kitchen where the good wife was busily employed preparing -the noonday meal, assisted by Naomi, he made -known with serious countenance, that he had discovered -<span class='it'>what they were</span> at Silver-Fall cottage!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of course, Miss Norton was not such a companion -as they would choose for Naomi. True, she was a -pretty girl, and Mrs. Norton a lady of faultless manners; -but then so much the more danger, and therefore -Naomi, though not forbidden, was admonished to beware -of their new acquaintances.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='it'>Love Passages.</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'>The summer passed, and in the bright month of -September, came Hubert Fairlie, to pass a few weeks -beneath the glad roof of his parents, whose only and -beloved child he was.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Their warm welcome given, the first visit of Hubert -was to Naomi. They met as such young and ardent -friends meet after an absence of months, and Naomi -soon confided to him her regret that her parents would -not allow her to cultivate the friendship of Grace -Norton, whom she extolled in such warm and earnest -language, that Hubert found his curiosity greatly excited -to behold one calling forth such high eulogium -from the gentle Naomi.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An evening walk was accordingly planned which -would lead them near the cottage, hoping by that means -to obtain a glimpse of its fair inmate. Fortune favored -them. As they came within view of the cottage, a -sweet voice was heard chanting the Evening Hymn -to the Virgin, and Hubert and Naomi paused to listen -to as heavenly sounds as ever floated on the calm -twilight air. Then as the song concluded, Grace -herself still sweeping her fairy fingers over the strings -to a lively waltz, sprang out from the little arbor, and -with her hair floating around her like stray sunbeams, -her beautiful blue eyes lifted upward, her white arms -embracing the guitar, and her graceful figure swaying -to the gay measure like a bird upon the tree-top, tripped -over the greensward.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Among other amusements which the deacon held in -great abhorrence was dancing, and Naomi had been -taught to look upon all such exhibitions as vain and -sinful. Yet never, I may venture to say, did any pair -of little feet so long to be set at liberty as did Naomi’s—<span class='it'>pat—pat—pat-ing</span> -the gravel-walk where they stood, -urging their young mistress to bound through the gate -and trip it with those other little feet twinkling so -fleetly to the merry music.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The cheeks of Grace rivaled the hue of June roses, -as she suddenly encountered the gaze of a stranger; -but seeing Naomi, she hastened to greet her, and -thereby hide her embarrassment. Naomi introduced -her companion, and then Grace invited them to walk -in the garden, and look at her fine show of autumn -flowers. Minutes flew imperceptibly, and ere they -were aware, Hubert and Naomi found themselves -seated in the tasteful parlor of the cottage listening to -another sweet song from the lips of Grace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As this is not precisely a love tale, I may as well -admit at once, that Hubert became deeply enamored -of the bewitching Grace, and from that evening was -a frequent and not unwelcome visiter—a fact which -was soon discovered by the deacon, for noting that -Hubert came not so often as was his wont to the farm, -he set about to find out what could have so suddenly -turned the footsteps of the young man from his door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alas, for his hopes of a son-in-law in Hubert! He -found those footsteps very closely on the track of as -dainty a pair of slippers as ever graced the foot of a -Cinderella.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Nothing could exceed his disappointment, save the -pity he felt for his minister, whose son he considered -rushing blindly into the snares of the Evil One. Nay, -so far did he carry his pity as to warn Mr. Fairlie of -the <a id='dere'></a>dereliction of Hubert. But when that worthy -man reproved his uncharitableness, and acknowledged -that he could hope for no greater earthly happiness for -his son, than to see him the husband of so charming -and amiable a girl as Grace Norton, the deacon was -perfectly thunderstruck! It was dreadful—what would -the world come to! In short almost believing in the -apostacy of the minister himself, the deacon went home -groaning in spirit, as much perhaps for the frustration -of his own schemes, as for the “falling off,” as he -termed it of the reverend clergyman!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The swift term of vacation expired, and Hubert returned -to college. His collegiate course would end -with the next term, and then it was his wish to commence -the study of the law. Mr. Fairlie was, perhaps, -somewhat disappointed that his son did not -adopt his own sacred profession; but he was a man -of too much sense to force the decision of Hubert or -thwart his wishes. He hoped to see him a good man -whatever might be his calling; and if ever youth gave -promise to make glad the heart of a parent, that youth -was Hubert Fairlie.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='77' id='Page_77'></span> -The intercourse between Grace and Naomi from -this time almost wholly ceased, much to the regret of -both. Yet such were the orders of Deacon Humphreys, -whose good-will toward the widow and her -daughter was by no means strengthened by the events -of the last four weeks.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER V.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='it'>The Practical and Theoretical Christian.</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why what have you done with Nelly to-day?” -asked Mrs. Humphreys, of her washerwoman, who -came every Monday morning, regularly attended by -a little ragged, half-starved girl of four years old, whose -province it was to pick up the <a id='pins'></a>clothes-pins, drive the hens -off the bleach, and keep the kittens from scalding their -frisky tails—receiving for her reward a thin slice of -bread and butter, or maybe, if all things went right, -and no thunder-squalls brewed, or sudden hurricanes -swept over the <a id='fold'></a>clothes-fold, a piece of gingerbread or a -cookey. “What, I say, have you done with Nelly?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“O, ma’am, she has gone to school—only think of -it, my poor little Nelly has gone to <span class='it'>school</span>! It does -seem,” continued Mrs. White, resting her arms on the -tub, and holding suspended by her two hands a well-patched -shirt of the deacon’s, “it does seem as if the -Lord had sent that Mrs. Norton here to be a blessing -to the poor!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Humph!” ejaculated Mrs. Humphreys, spitefully -rattling the dishes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Only think,” continued Mrs. White, “she has -given up one whole room in her house to Miss Grace, -who has been round and got all the children that can’t -go to school because their parents are too poor to send -them, and just teaches them herself for nothing! God -bless her, I say!” exclaimed the washerwoman, strenuously, -her tears mingling with the soap-suds into which -she now plunged her two arms so vigorously as to -dash the creaming foam to the ceiling.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Humphreys was at once surprised and angry. -She could not conceive why a lady like Mrs. Norton -should do such a thing as to keep a ragged school, and -that, too, without pay or profit. She had forgotten the -words of our blessed Lord, “<span class='it'>Whoso shall receive one -such little child in my name, receiveth me</span>,” or, -“<span class='it'>Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least -of these, ye have done it unto me.</span>” Charity alone, -she argued in her selfish nature, could not have influenced -Mrs. Norton to put herself to so much trouble -for a troop of noisy, dirty, half-clothed children! No, -there must be some deeper motive—some sectarian -object, perhaps, to be gained; and, impressed with this -idea, she said tartly,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think it is a pretty piece of presumption in Mrs. -Norton to come here and set herself up in this way, -telling us as it were of our duty. She is a stranger, -and what business is it of hers, I should like to know, -whether the children go to school or not!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“O, Mrs. Humphreys, indeed, I think the spirit of -the Lord guides her!” said Mrs. White. “Miss -Grace came and asked me so humbly like, if I would -let her teach my Nelly, and then kissed the little fatherless -child so, so—that—that—O, I could have worshiped -her!” and fresh tears streamed down the cheeks -of the washerwoman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Worship a fiddle-stick!” exclaimed Mrs. Humphreys, -out of all patience, “I know what she wants—an -artful creature; yes, she wants to make Nelly go -to her meeting!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Poor Mrs. White could not help smiling at the idea -of attempting to form the religious creed of a child -scarce four years old.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, if she will only make her as good as she is, -I don’t care!” she answered, “for the Bible says, -‘<span class='it'>By their fruits ye shall know them!</span>’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Humphreys was more and more shocked at -this. She whispered it to Mrs. Smith, who whispered -it to Mrs. Jones, who told Mrs. Brown, who told all -the society, that the Nortons were wicked, designing -people, come into the village to stir up schism in the -church! Yet all sensible persons applauded the good -deed of the widow, and cheerfully aided her efforts. -The little school prospered even more than she had -dared to hope; the children were cheerful and happy, -and those whose parents could not afford them decent -clothing, were generously supplied by Mrs. Norton—and -many a heart blessed the hour which brought her -among them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As the thunder which suddenly rends the heavens, -when not a cloud on the blue expanse has heralded -the coming storm, was the calamity which now as -suddenly burst over the head of Mrs. Norton.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She retired at night to her peaceful slumbers, supposing -herself the mistress of thousands. With the -early dawn there came letters to the cottage, telling -her that all her worldly possessions were swept from -her. The man to whose care her fortune was entrusted, -had basely defrauded her of every cent, and -now a bankrupt, had fled to a foreign land.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The stroke was a severe one. She must have been -divine to have resisted the first shock which the -tidings caused her. But that over, like a brave and -noble spirit she rose to meet it. Her treasures were -not all of earth—in heaven her hopes were garnered; -and, although henceforth her path in life might be in -rougher spots, and through darker scenes than it had -yet traversed, to that heaven she trusted to arrive -at last.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It happened, unfortunately, that the half-yearly rent -of the cottage became due that very week; and Mrs. -Norton, thus suddenly deprived of her expected funds, -had no means to meet it. Where should she raise two -hundred dollars! Her courage, however, rose with -her trials. A little time to look into her affairs—a little -time to form her plans for the future, and she doubted -not she should be able to liquidate the debt. Unused -to asking favors, she yet courageously went to Mr. -Humphreys, and stating candidly her inability to meet -the rent, requested a few weeks indulgence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The deacon was not caught napping. Evil news -always travels with seven-league boots—and long ere -Mrs. Norton knocked at the door of the farm-house, -it was known throughout the village that her fortune -was gone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now the deacon, good man that he was, was “<span class='it'>given -to idols</span>,” and Mammon was one. Moreover, he -<span class='pageno' title='78' id='Page_78'></span> -owed the widow a grudge, as we already know, and -the old leaven of sin was at work <span class='it'>beneath</span> the crust of -piety.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was accordingly well prepared to receive her. -And sorry, very sorry was the worthy deacon, but he -had just then a most pressing necessity for the rent—he -really must have it, if not in cash, perhaps Mrs. -Norton might have some plate to dispose of; he would -be happy to oblige her in that way, for the Lord forbid -he should deal hard with any one—<span class='it'>but</span>, the amount -<span class='it'>must</span> be paid when due. Wait he could not—and if -the rent was not forthcoming on the day stipulated in -the contract—why—why—he was very sorry—but -he should be obliged to take other measures, that -was all!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Norton soiled not her lips by making any reply -to this Christian Shylock—no expostulation or entreaty—but -coldly bowing, she took her leave.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As soon as she reached home she sent for a silver-smith, -brought out her valuable tea-set—doubly so from -having been the marriage gift of her father, requested -its <a id='app'></a>appraisal, and then duly attested as to its weight -and purity, it was forwarded to the clutches of the -deacon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Norton met with a great deal of sympathy in -her misfortunes. During the few months she had resided -among them, the villagers had all learned to love -and respect her. Even the poor came from their -humble homes, and with looks of sympathy and out-stretched -hands tendered their offerings—their hard-earned -wages to the kind lady who had taught their -little ones; they would work for her—they would do -any thing to serve her. With a sweet smile Mrs. -Norton put back their grateful gifts, and thanked them -in gentle tones for their love—to her a far more acceptable -boon than gold could buy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again Silver-Fall cottage fell back on the hands of -its owner.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dismissing her attendants, Mrs. Norton took a smaller -and cheaper house. Her choice and beautiful furniture -she sold, only retaining sufficient to render her -now humble residence comfortable. The avails of the -sale amounted to several hundred dollars—enough at -any rate, she deemed, for present necessities, while -she trusted in the meantime to find some means of -subsistence by which she and Grace might support -themselves.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What more noble spectacle, than an elegant, refined -woman thus meeting, uncomplaining and cheerfully, -the storm of adversity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And Grace, too—sweet Grace—sang like a skylark, -and made her little white hands wonderfully busy in -household matters. Hubert Fairlie was yet absent, -though his long and frequent letters brought joy to the -heart of his beloved.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And had Naomi forgotten her friend in this season -of trial! Not so; yet forbidden as we have seen from -the society of Grace, all she could do was to sympathize -deeply in spirit, happy when a chance opportunity -brought them together; and those meetings -although rare, only served to strengthen the friendship -which united these two lovely girls.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER VI.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='it'>The Pestilence. The Curtain wholly lifted.</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was now the middle of October.</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light, and the landscape</p> -<p class='line0'>Lay as if new created, in all the freshness of childhood:</p> -<p class='line0'>                All sounds were in harmony blended.</p> -<p class='line0'>Voices of children at play—the crowing of cocks in the farm-yard,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whirr of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons,</p> -<p class='line0'>All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>When suddenly the Angel of Death folded his dark -wings, and sat brooding over the peaceful, pleasant -village of Grassmere.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A terrible and malignant fever swept through the -town, spreading from house to house, like the fire -which consumes alike the dry grass and the bright, -fresh flowers of the prairies. Old and young, husband, -wife and child, were alike brought low. There were -not left in all the village those able to attend upon the -sick. From the churches solemnly tolled the funeral -bells, as one by one, youth and age, blooming childhood -and lovely infancy, were borne to the grave-yard—no -longer solitary—for the foot of the mourner -pressed heavily over its grass-grown paths.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Still the contagion raged, until the selfishness of poor -human nature triumphed over the promptings of kindness -and charity. People grew jealous of each other; -neighbor shunned neighbor;</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Silence reigned in the streets—</p> -<p class='line0'>Rose no smoke from the roofs—gleamed no lights from the windows.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>save the dim midnight lamp which from almost every -house betokened the plague within.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>None had shut themselves up closer from fear of -infection than Deacon Humphreys. His gates grew -rusty, and the grass sprang up in the paths about his -dwelling. And yet the Destroyer found him out, and -like a hound long scenting its prey, sprang upon the -household with terrible violence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>First the pure and gentle Naomi sank beneath the -stroke, and ere the setting of the same day’s sun, Mrs. -Humphreys herself was brought nigh the grave.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Like one demented, pale with agony and terror, the -deacon rushed forth into the deserted streets to seek -for aid. His dear ones—his wife and child were perhaps -dying; where, where should he look for relief—where -find some kind hand to administer to their -necessities.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At every house he learned a tale of wo equal to his -own. Some wept while they told of dear ones now -languishing upon the bed of pain, or bade him look -upon the marble brow of their dead. Others grown -callous, and worn-out with sorrow and fatigue, refused -all aid, while some, through excess of fear, hurriedly -closed their doors against him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus he reached the end of the village, and then -the small, neat cottage of Mrs. Norton met his view, -nestling down amid the overshadowing branches of -two venerable elm. From the day he had almost -thrust her from his gate, with cold looks and unflinching -extortion, Mrs. Norton and the deacon had not -met, and now the time had come when he was about -to ask from her a favor upon which perhaps his whole -<span class='pageno' title='79' id='Page_79'></span> -earthly happiness might rest—a favor from her, whom -in <span class='it'>his</span> strength and <span class='it'>her</span> dependence he had scorned. -Would she grant it? He hesitated; would she not -rather, rejoicing in her power now, revenge the slights -he felt he had so often and so undeservedly cast -upon her. But he remembered the sweet, calm look -which beamed from her eyes, and his courage grew -with the thought.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Putting away the luxuriant creeper which wound -itself from the still green turf to the roof of the cottage, -hanging in graceful festoons, and tinged with the -brilliant dyes of autumn, seemed like wreaths of magnificent -flowers thus suspended, the deacon knocked -hesitatingly at the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It opened, and Mrs. Norton stood before him, pale -with watching—for, like an angel of mercy had she -passed from house to house, since the first breaking -out of the scourge. In faltering accents he told his -errand; and, O, how like a dagger did it pierce his -heart, when, with a countenance beaming with pity -and kindness, and speaking words of comfort, the -widow put on her bonnet and followed him with fleet -footsteps to his stricken home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All night, like a ministering angel, did she pass from -one sick couch to the other, tenderly soothing the -ravings of fever, moistening their parched lips with -cool, refreshing drinks, fanning their fevered brows, -and smoothing the couch made uneasy by their restless -motions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Unable to bear the scene, the deacon betook him in -his hour of sorrow to his closet, where all through the -dreary watches of the night he prayed this cup of -affliction might pass from him. His heart was subdued. -He saw that like the proud Pharisee he had exalted -himself, thanking God <span class='it'>he was not as other men</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At early dawn came Grace also to inquire after her -suffering Naomi, and finding her so very ill, earnestly -besought her mother that she might be allowed to -share the task of nursing her. Mrs. Norton had no -fears for herself, yet when she looked at her only and -beautiful child, she trembled; but her eyes fell upon -the bed where poor Naomi lay moaning in all the delirium -of high fever, and her heart reproached her for -her momentary selfishness. Removing the bonnet of -Grace, she tenderly kissed her pure brow, and then -kneeling down, with folded hands she prayed, “Thy -will, O Lord, not mine be done! Take her in thy -holy keeping, and do with her as thou seest best!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From that day Grace left not the bedside of her -friend.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the third day Mrs. Humphreys died. Her last -sigh was breathed out on the bosom of the woman -whom she had taught her daughter to shun. For many -days it seemed as if Death would claim another victim; -yet God mercifully spared Naomi to her bereaved -father; very slowly she recovered, but neither Mrs. -Norton nor Grace left her until she was able to quit -her bed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With the death of Mrs. Humphreys, the pestilence -staid its ravages, while, as a winding-sheet, the snows -of winter now enshrouded the fresh-turned clods in the -late busy grave-yard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The eyes of Deacon Humphreys were opened. He -became an altered man. He saw how mistaken had -been his views, and that it is not the <span class='it'>profession</span> of -any sect or creed which makes the true Christian, and -that if all are alike <span class='it'>sincere in love to God</span>, all may be -alike received.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I have said this was no love tale, therefore, by -merely stating that in the course of a twelvemonth -Hubert Fairlie and Grace were united, I close my -simple story.</p> - -<hr class='tbk104'/> - -<div><h1><a id='wat'></a>WATOUSKA.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A LEGEND OF THE ONEIDAS.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY KATE ST. CLAIR.</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'>Away, in a forest’s gloom,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where the shadowy branches wave</p> -<p class='line0'>O’er a rude and moss-grown tomb,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is an Indian maiden’s grave:</p> -<p class='line0'>None knoweth that music-haunted spot—</p> -<p class='line0'>Save a far-off one, who forgets it not.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>He dreams of that silent shore—</p> -<p class='line0'>  ’Tis a holy spot to him,</p> -<p class='line0'>A solemn stillness broodeth o’er</p> -<p class='line0'>  Those forest-aisles so dim;</p> -<p class='line0'>Bird-music, and wave-melody,</p> -<p class='line0'>Blend with the murmurings of the bee.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>He knows when the wild-rose showers</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its blossoms o’er her breast;</p> -<p class='line0'>When the summer-winds, ’mid flowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Whisper above her rest:</p> -<p class='line0'>And he deems he hears, on his far-off shore,</p> -<p class='line0'>The music of the cataract’s roar</p> -<p class='line0'>  From that Island of the Blest!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>She passed from earth away—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The young, the beautiful,</p> -<p class='line0'>In the long dreamy day</p> -<p class='line0'>  When golden shadows fell</p> -<p class='line0'>O’er wave and vine, and moons had sped,</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet <span class='it'>there</span>, while that brief season fled,</p> -<p class='line0'>  He’d kept Love’s vigil well.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>He comes, that warrior-chief,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Once more, in the pale moon’s wane,</p> -<p class='line0'>When the dews weep o’er each leaf,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To that haunted spot again—</p> -<p class='line0'>But morn with its glorious beauty woke</p> -<p class='line0'>Him not—the warrior’s heart had broke.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk105'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='80' id='Page_80'></span><h1><a id='indi'></a>INDIAN LEGEND OF THE STAR AND LILY.</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 KAH-GE-GA-GAH-BOWH.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the wigwam of the Indian during the evenings of -spring, that season when nature, loosed from the bondage -of winter, awakes to new life, and begins to deck -itself with beauties, the old sage gathers around him -the young men of the tribe, and relates the stories of -days long since departed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I have seen these youths sit in breathless silence, -listening to the old man’s narrative. Now and then -the tear-drops would course down their cheeks, and -fall to the ground, witnesses of the interest they felt in -the words of their teacher.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To induce the sire to narrate a tradition, the Indian -boys would contrive some ingenious plan by which to -get some tobacco, which, when offered with a request -for a story, would be sure of a favorable answer. -Frequently it happens that from sunset to its rise these -clubs are entertained, and they do not separate till -daylight calls them to the chase.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One of the most interesting traditionary stories I -ever heard related, was told by an elderly Indian, one -evening in spring. The winter was just leaving, the -snow and ice were fast disappearing, and the streams -were swollen with the unusual quantity of water -from the mountains.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There was once a time,” said he, “when this -world was filled with happy people, when all nations -were as one, and the crimson tide of war had not begun -to roll. Plenty of game were in the forests and on the -plains. None were in want, for a full supply was at -hand. Sickness was unknown. The beasts of the field -were tame, and came and went at the bidding of man. -One unending spring gave no place for winter, for its -cold blasts or its chills. Every tree and bush yielded -fruit. Flowers carpeted the earth; the air was filled -with their fragrance, and redolent with the songs of -myriad warblers that flew from branch to branch, -fearing none, for there were none to harm them. -There were birds then of more beautiful plumage than -now.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was then, when earth was a paradise, and man -worthy to be its possessor, that Indians were the lone -inhabitants of the American wilderness. They numbered -millions, and living as nature designed them to -live, enjoyed its many blessings. Instead of amusement -in close rooms the sports of the fields were theirs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At night they met on the wide, green fields. They -watched the stars; they loved to gaze at them, for they -believed them to be the residences of the good who -had been taken home by the Great Spirit. One night -they saw one star that shone brighter than all others. -Its location was far away in the south, near a mountain -peak. For many nights it was seen, till at length -it was doubted by many that this star was as far off -in the southern skies as it seemed to be. This doubt -led to an examination, which proved the star to be only -a short distance, and near the tops of some trees. A -number of warriors were deputed to go and see what -it was. They went and returned, saying that it appeared -strange and somewhat like a bird. A council -of the wise men was called to inquire into and, if possible, -ascertain the meaning of the phenomenon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They feared that it was an omen of some disaster. -Some thought it a precursor of good, others of evil. -Some supposed it to be the star spoken of by their -forefathers, as a forerunner of a dreadful war.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“One moon had nearly gone by, and yet the mystery -remained unsolved.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“One night a young warrior had a dream, in which -a beautiful maiden came and stood at his side, and -thus addressed him:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Young brave! charmed with the land of thy forefathers, -its flowers, its birds, its rivers, its beautiful -lakes and its mountains clothed with green, I have left -my sister in yonder world to dwell among you.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Young brave! ask your wise and your great men -where I can live and see the happy race continually; -ask them what form I shall assume, in order to be loved -and cherished among the people.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thus discoursed the bright stranger. The young -man awoke. On stepping out of his lodge, he saw the -star yet blazing in its accustomed place.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At early dawn the chief’s crier was sent round the -camp to call every warrior to the Council Lodge. -When they had met, the young warrior related his -dream. They concluded that the star they had seen -in the south had fallen in love with mankind and that -it was desirous to dwell with them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The next night five tall, noble-looking adventurous -braves were sent to welcome the stranger to earth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They went and presenting to it a pipe of peace, -filled with sweet-scented herbs, were rejoiced to find -that it took it from them. As they returned to the -village, the star, with expanded wings followed, and -hovered over their homes till the dawn of day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Again it came to the young man in a dream and -desired to know where it should live, and what form -it should take. Places were named. On the tops of -giant trees or in flowers. At length it was told to -choose a place itself—and it did so. At first it dwelt -in the wild rose of the mountains, but there it was so -buried it could not be seen. It went to the prairie, but -it feared the hoof of the buffaloe. It next went to the -rocky cliff, but it was there so high that the children, -whom it loved most, could not see it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I know where I shall live,’ said the bright fugitive, -‘where I can see the gliding canoe of the race I -most admire. Children, yes, they shall be my playmates, -and I will kiss their brows when they slumber -at the side of the cool lakes. The nations shall love -me wherever I am.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='81' id='Page_81'></span> -“These words having been uttered, she alighted on -the waters where she saw herself reflected.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The next morning thousands of white flowers were -seen on the surface of all the lakes and the Indians -gave them this name; <span class='it'>Wah-be-gwon-nee</span>—(White -Lily.)</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now,” continued the old man, “this star lived in -the southern skies. Its brethren can be seen far off in -the cold north, hunting the great bear, while its sisters -watch her in the east and west.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Children, when you see the lily on the waters, -take it in your hands and hold it to the skies, that it -may be happy on earth, as its two sisters (the morning -and evening stars) are happy in heaven.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While tears fell fast from the eyes of all, the old -man lay him down and was soon silent in sleep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Since then I have often plucked the white lily and -garlanded around my head; have dipped it in its watery -bed, but never have I seen it without remembering the -<span class='it'>Legend of the Descending Star</span>.</p> - -<hr class='tbk106'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i020.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0002' style='width:450px;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span class='bold'>THE GOLDEN AGE.</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk107'/> - -<div><h1><a id='improv'></a>THE IMPROVISATRICE.</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'>Go bear the voiceless harp away!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its latest note is spoken,</p> -<p class='line0'>And like the heart that beats within,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its last frail chord is broken.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This soul of mine was never made</p> -<p class='line0'>  For glad or peaceful life,</p> -<p class='line0'>But cast in rude, imperfect mould,</p> -<p class='line0'>  For bitterness and strife.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I never was a careless child,</p> -<p class='line0'>  For in my early years</p> -<p class='line0'>The founts within were gathering,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of anguish and of tears:</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And when I looked upon the stars</p> -<p class='line0'>  In all their golden sheen,</p> -<p class='line0'>The presage of a broken heart—</p> -<p class='line0'>  It always came between.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And then the Voice of Song awoke</p> -<p class='line0'>  Within my wayward soul,</p> -<p class='line0'>And bade the wearing tide of thought</p> -<p class='line0'>  Forever o’er it roll.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And dreams of words that should go forth</p> -<p class='line0'>  To bless and elevate,</p> -<p class='line0'>Ambition’s charmed and serpent lure,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The passion to create;</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Were mingled in my spirit’s depths,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Till with displacing power</p> -<p class='line0'>Came Love with gorgeous diadem,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The phantom of an hour!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And soon the mockeries of Hope</p> -<p class='line0'>  Fled smiling from my breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>And left a dark and fearful curse,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The cravings of unrest.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And Life became a weary load,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And Nature’s face a pall,</p> -<p class='line0'>And each red drop that passed my heart</p> -<p class='line0'>  Was turned to seething gall.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>From day to day the lyre within</p> -<p class='line0'>  Waxed passionate and frail;</p> -<p class='line0'>It trembled at the zephyr’s breath,</p> -<p class='line0'>  How could it brook the gale?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Now Death has o’er my pillow bent,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I’ve seen his glancing eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>And watched the silvery gleaming of</p> -<p class='line0'>  His pinion passing by.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Go bring me back my harp again!</p> -<p class='line0'>  I feel a strength for prayer,</p> -<p class='line0'>And o’er the shattered chords within</p> -<p class='line0'>  Creeps an unearthly air.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Go bring me back my harp again,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I may not now restore</p> -<p class='line0'>The sounding strings I loved so well,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or tune it as before;</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But I would lay my hand upon</p> -<p class='line0'>  The trembling chords and riven;</p> -<p class='line0'>I feel mine own are healing fast</p> -<p class='line0'>  Beneath the eye of Heaven.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk108'/> - -<div><h1><a id='petra'></a>THE EIGHTEENTH SONNET OF PETRARCA.</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 FAYETTE ROBINSON.</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'>Had I but waited patient in the cell</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where great Apollo erst became divine,</p> -<p class='line0'>  One bard might call himself a Florentine,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like those who once in other lands did dwell.</p> -<p class='line0'>But here the holy ichor doth not swell,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And fate hath willed another lot be mine.</p> -<p class='line0'>  ’Tis meet that I relinquish high design</p> -<p class='line0'>And drink the waters of life’s turbid well.</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sear are the olive branches now, the stream</p> -<p class='line0'>    Near which they grew and looked toward the sky</p> -<p class='line0'>      Hath sunken deep beneath the rock again.</p> -<p class='line0'>  Fate or my fault hath aye dispelled the dream</p> -<p class='line0'>    That made me fix my early hopes so high,</p> -<p class='line0'>      Unless God will their height I should attain.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk109'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='82' id='Page_82'></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> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:1em;'>(<span class='it'>Continued from page 15.</span>)</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='it'>The Wakening.</span></p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>He saw her, at a nearer view,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>A spirit, yet a woman too.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='sc'>Wordsworth.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>When Jasper St. Aubyn opened his eyes, dim with -the struggle of returning consciousness and life, they -met a pair of eyes fixed with an expression of the most -earnest anxiety on his own—a pair of eyes, the loveliest -into which he ever had yet gazed, large, dark, unfathomably -deep, and soft withal and tender, as the -day-dream of a love-sick poet. He could not mark -their color; he scarce knew whether they were mortal -eyes, whether they were realities at all, so sickly -did his brain reel, and so confused and wandering -were his fancies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then a sweet low voice fell upon his ear, in tones -the gentlest, yet the gladdest, that ever he had heard, -exclaiming—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! father, father, he lives—he is saved!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But he heard, saw, no more; for again he relapsed -into unconsciousness, and felt nothing further, until he -became sensible of a balmy coolness on his brow, a -pleasant flavor on his parched lips, and a kindly glow -creeping as it were through all his limbs, and gradually -expanding into life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again his eyes were unclosed, and again they met -the earnest, hopeful gaze of those other eyes, which -he now might perceive belonging to a face so exquisite, -and a form so lovely, as to be worthy of those great -glorious wells of lustrous tenderness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a young girl who bent over him, perhaps a few -months older than himself, so beautiful that had she -appeared suddenly, even in her simple garb, which -seemed to announce her but one degree above the -peasants of the neighborhood, in the midst of the -noblest and most aristocratical assembly, she would -have become on the instant the cynosure of all eyes, -and the magnet of all hearts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of that age when the heart, yet unsunned by passion, -and unused to strong emotion, thrills sensibly to -every feeling awakened for the first time within it, and -bounds at every appeal to its sympathies; when the -ingenuous countenance, unhardened by the sad knowledge -of the world, and untaught to conceal one emotion, -reflects like a perfect mirror every gleam of sunshine -that illuminates, every passing cloud that over-shadows -its pure and spotless surface, the maiden -sought not to hide her delight, as she witnessed the -hue of life return to his pale cheeks, and the spark of -intelligence relume his handsome features.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A bright mirthful glance, which told how radiant -they might be in moments of unmingled bliss, laughed -for an instant in those deep blue eyes, and a soft, sunny -smile played over her warm lips; but the next minute, -she dropped the young man’s hand, which she had -been chafing between both her own, buried her face -in her palms, and wept those sweet and happy tears -which flow only from innocent hearts, at the call of -gratitude and sympathy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bless God, young sir,” said a deep, solemn voice -at the other side of the bed on which he was lying, -“that your life is spared. May it be unto good ends! -Yours was a daring venture, and for a trivial object -against which to stake an immortal soul. But, thanks -to Him! you are preserved, snatched as it were from -the gates of death; and, though you feel faint now, I -doubt not, and your soul trembles as if on the verge of -another world, you will be well anon, and in a little -while as strong as ever in that youthful strength on -which you have so prided you. Drink this, and sleep -awhile, and you shall wake refreshed, and as a new -man, from the dreamless slumber which the draught -shall give you. And you, silly child,” he continued, -turning toward the lovely girl, who had sunk forward -on the bed, so that her fair tresses rested on the same -pillow which supported Jasper’s head, with the big -tears trickling silently between her slender fingers, “dry -up your tears; for the youth shall live, and not die.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The boy’s eyes had turned immediately to the sound -of the speaker’s accents, and in his weak state remained -fixed on his face so long as the sound continued, -although his senses followed the meaning but -imperfectly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a tall, venerable looking old man who spoke, -with long locks, as white as snow, falling down over -the straight cut collar of his plain black doublet, and -an expression of the highest intellect, combined with -something which was not melancholy, much less sadness, -but which told volumes of hardships borne, and -sorrows endured, the fruits of which were piety, and -gentleness, and that wisdom which cometh not of this -world.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He smiled thoughtfully, as he saw that his words -were hardly comprehended, and his mild glance wandered -from the pale face of the handsome boy to the -fair head of the young girl bending over him, like a -white lily overcharged with rain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Poor things,” he whispered softly, as if speaking -to himself, “to both it is the first experience of the -mixed pain and pleasure of this world’s daily trials. -God save them scathless to the end!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then, recovering himself, as if by a little effort, -from his brief fit of musing, he held forth a large glass -<span class='pageno' title='83' id='Page_83'></span> -goblet, which was in his right hand, full of some bright -ruby-colored liquid, to the lips of Jasper, saying—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Drink, youth, it will give thee strength. Drink, -and fear nothing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young man grasped the bright bowl with both -hands, but even then he had lacked strength to guide -it to his lips, had not his host still supported it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The flavor was agreeable, and the coolness of the -draught was so delicious to the feverish palate and -parched tongue of Jasper, that he drained it to the very -bottom, and then, as if exhausted by the effort, relaxed -his hold, and sunk back on his pillow in a state of conscious -languor, exquisitely soft and entrancing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>More and more that voluptuous dream-like trance -overcame him, and though his eyes were still open -he saw not the things that were around him, but a -multitude of radiant and lovely visions, which came -and went, and returned again, in mystic evolutions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With a last effort of his failing senses, half conscious -of the interest which she took in him, yet wholly ignorant -who or what was that gentle <span class='it'>she</span>, he stretched -out his hand and mastered one of hers with gentle violence, -and holding it imprisoned in his burning fingers, -closed his swimming eyes, and sunk into a deep and -dreamless sleep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old man, who had watched every symptom that -appeared in succession on his expressive face, saw -that the potion had taken the desired effect, and drawing -a short sigh, which seemed to indicate a sense of -relief from apprehension, looked toward the maiden, -and addressed her in a low voice, not so much from -fear of wakening the sleeper, as that the voice of affection -is ever low and gentle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He sleeps, Theresa, and will sleep until the sun -has sunk far toward the west, and then he will waken -restored to all his youthful power and spirits. Come, -my child, we may leave him to his slumbers, he shall -no longer need a watcher. I will go to my study, and -would have you turn to your household duties. Scenes -such as this which you have passed will call up soft -and pitiful fancies in the mind, but it behooves us not -overmuch to yield to them. This life has too much of -stern and dark reality, that we should give the reins to -truant imagination. Come, Theresa.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young girl raised her head from the pillows, and -shook away the long fair curls from her smooth forehead. -Her tears had ceased to flow, and there was a -smile on her lip, as she replied, pointing to her hand -which he held fast grasped, in his unconscious slumber.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“See, father, I am a prisoner. I fear me I cannot -withdraw my hand without arousing him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do not so, then, Theresa; to arouse him now, ere -the effects of the potion have passed away, would be -dangerous, might be fatal. Perchance, however, he -will release you when he sleeps quite soundly. If he -do so, I pray you, come to me. Meantime, I leave -you to your own good thoughts, my own little girl.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And with the words, he leaned across the narrow -bed, over the form of the sleeping youth, and kissed -her fair white brow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bless thee, my gentle child. May God in his goodness -bless and be about thee.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Amen! dear father,” said the little girl, as he ended; -and in her turn she pressed her soft and balmy lips to -his withered cheek.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A tear, rare visitant, rose all unbidden to the parent’s -eye as he turned to leave her, but ere he reached the -door her low tones arrested him, and he came back to -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you not put my books within reach of me, -dear father?” she said. “I cannot work, since the -poor youth has made my left hand his sure captive, -but I would not be altogether idle, and I can read while -I watch him. Pardon my troubling you, who should -wait on you, not be waited on.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And do you not wait on me ever, and most neat-handedly, -dear child?” returned her father, moving -toward a small round table, on which were scattered -a few books, and many implements of feminine industry. -“Which of these will you have, Theresa?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All of them, if you please, dear father. The table -is not heavy, for I can carry it about where I will myself, -and if you will lift it to me, I can help myself, and -cull the gems of each in turn. I am a poor student, I -fear, and love better, like a little bee, to flit from flower -to flower, drinking from every chalice its particular -honey, than to sit down, like the sloth, and surfeit me -on one tree, how green soever.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is but little industry, I am afraid, Theresa, -if there be little sloth in your mode of reading. Such -desultory studies are wont to leave small traces on the -memory. I doubt me much if you long keep these -gems you speak of, which you cull so lightly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! but you are mistaken, father dear, for all you -are so wise,” she replied, laughing softly. “Every -thing grand or noble, of which I read, every thing high -or holy, finds a sort of echo in my little heart, and lies -there forever. Your grave, heavy, moral teachings -speak to my reason, it is true, but when I read of brave -deeds done, of noble self-sacrifices made, of great -sufferings endured, in high causes, those things teach -my heart, those things speak to my soul, father. Then -I reason no longer, but feel—feel how much virtue -there is, after all, and generosity, and nobleness, and -charity, and love, in poor frail human nature. Then I -learn, not to judge mildly of myself, nor harshly of my -brothers. Then I feel happy, father, yet in my happiness -I wish to weep. For I think noble sentiments -and generous emotions sooner bring tears to the eye -than mere pity, or mere sorrow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And, even as she spoke, her own bright orbs were -suffused with drops, like dew in the violet’s cups, and -she shook her head with its profusion of long fair -ringlets archly, as if she would have made light of -her own sentiment, and gazed up into his face with a -tearful smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are a good child, Theresa, and good children -are very dear to the Lord,” said the old man. “But -of a truth I would I could see you more practically -minded; less given to these singular romantic dreamings. -I say not that they are hurtful, or unwise, or -untrue, but in a mere child, as you are, Theresa, they -are strange and out of place, if not unnatural. I would -I could see you more merry, my little girl, and more -given to the company of your equals in age, even -if I were to be loser thereby of something of your -<span class='pageno' title='84' id='Page_84'></span> -gentle company. But you love not, I think, the young -girls of the village.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! yes, I love them—I love them dearly, father. -I would do any thing for any one of them; I would -give up any thing I have got to make them happy. -Oh yes, I love Anna Harlande, and Rose Merrivale, -and Mary Mitford, dearly, but—but—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But you love not their company, you would say, -would you not, my child?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That is not what I was about to say; but I know -not how it is, their merriment is so loud, and their glee -so very joyous, that it seems to me that I cannot sympathize -with them in their joy, as I can in their sorrow; -and they view things with eyes so different from mine, -and laugh at thoughts that go nigh to make me weep, -and see or feel so little of the loveliness of Nature, and -care so little for what I care most of all, soft, sad -poetry, or heart-stirring romance, or inspired music, -that when I am among them, I <span class='it'>do</span> almost long to be -away from them all, in the calm of this pleasant chamber, -or in the fragrance of my bower beside the stream. -And I do feel my spirit jangled and perplexed by their -light-hearted, thoughtless mirth, as one feels at hearing -a false note struck in the midst of a sweet symphony. -What is this? what means this, my father?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is a gift, Theresa,” replied the old man, half -mournfully. “It means that you are endowed rarely, -by God himself, with powers the most unusual, the -most wondrous, the most beautiful, most high and godlike -of any which are allowed to mortals. I have seen -this long, long ago—I have mused over it; hoped, -prayed, that it might not be so; nay, striven to repress -the germs of it in your young spirit, yet never have I -spoken of it until now; for I knew not that you were -conscious, and would not be he that should awaken -you to the consciousness of the grand but perilous possession -which you hold, delegated to you direct from -Omnipotence.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He paused, and she gazed at him with lips apart, -and eyes wide in wonder. The color died away in a -sort of mysterious awe from her warm cheek. The -blood rushed tumultuously to her heart. She listened -breathless and amazed. Never had she heard him -speak thus, never imagined that he felt thus, before—yet -now that she did hear, she felt as though she were -but listening again to that which she had heard many -times before; and though she understood not his words -altogether, they had struck a kindred chord in her inmost -soul, and while its vibration was almost too much -for her powers of endurance, it yet told her that his -words were true.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She could not for her life have bid him go on, but -for worlds she would not have failed to hear him -out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He watched the changed expression of her features, -and half struck with a feeling of self-reproach that he -should have created doubts, perhaps fears, in that ingenuous -soul, smiled on her kindly, and asked in a -confident tone—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You have felt this already, have you not, my -child?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not as you put it to me, father; no, I have never -dreamed or hoped that I had any such particular gift -of God, such glorious and preëminent possession as -this of which you speak. I may, indeed, have fancied -at times that there was something within me, in which -I differed from others around me—something which -made me feel more joy, deeper, and fuller, and more -soul-fraught joy, than they feel; and sorrow, softer, -and moved more easily, if not more piercing or more -permanent—which made me love the world, and its -inhabitants, and above all its Maker, with a far different -love from theirs—something which evermore -seems struggling within me, as if it would forth and -find tongue, but cannot. But now, that you have -spoken, I know that it indeed must be as you say, and -that this unknown something is a gift, is a possession -from on high. What is this thing, my father?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My child, this thing is genius,” replied the old -man solemnly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The bright blood rushed back to her cheeks in a -flood of crimson glory; a strange, clear light, which -never had enkindled them before, sprang from her soft -dark eyes; she leaned forward eagerly—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Genius!” she cried. “Genius, and I! Father, -you dream, dear father.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Would that I did; but I do not, Theresa.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And wherefore, if it be so, indeed, that I am so -gifted, wherefore would you alter it, my father?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I would not alter it,” he replied, “my little girl. -Far be it from my thoughts, weak worm that I am, to -alter, even if I could alter, the least of the gifts of the -great Giver. And this, whether it be for good, or unto -evil, is one of the greatest and most glorious. I would -not alter it, Theresa. But I would guide, would -direct, would moderate it. I would accustom you to -know and comprehend the vast power of which you, -all unconsciously, are the possessor. For, as I said, -it is a fearful and a perilous power. God forbid that I -should pronounce the most marvelous and godlike of -the gifts which he vouchsafes to man, a curse and not -a blessing; God forbid that, even while I see how oft -it is turned into bitterness and blight by the coldness of -the world, and the check of its heaven-soaring aspirations, -I should doubt that it has within itself a sovereign -balm against its own diseases, a rapture mightier -than any of its woes, an inborn and eternal consciousness -which bears it up, as on immortal pinions, above -the cares of the world and the poor consciousness of -self. Nevertheless it is a perilous gift, and too often, -to your sex, a fatal one. Yet I would not alarm you, -my own child, for you have gentleness of soul, which -may well temper the coruscations of a spirit which -waxes oftentimes too strong to be womanly, and piety -which shall, I trust, preserve you, should any aspiration -of your heart wax over vigorous and daring to be -contented with the limitations of humanity. In the -meantime, my child, fear nothing, follow the dictates -of your own pure heart, and pray for His aid, who -neither giveth aught, nor taketh away, without reason. -Hark!” he interrupted himself, starting slightly, -“there is a sound of horses’ hoofs without; your -brother has returned, and it may be Sir Miles is with -him. We will speak more of this hereafter.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And with the word he turned and left the room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When he was gone she raised her eyes to heaven, -<span class='pageno' title='85' id='Page_85'></span> -and with a strange rapt expression on her fair features -rose to her feet, exclaiming—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Genius! Genius! Great God, Great God, I thank -thee.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then, in the fervor of the moment, which led her -naturally to clasp her hands together, she made a -movement to withdraw her fingers from Jasper’s deathlike -grasp, unconscious, for the time, of every thing -around her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But, as she did so, a tightened pressure of his hand, -and some inarticulate sounds which proceeded from -his lips, recalled her with a start to herself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She dropped into her seat, as if conscience-stricken, -gazed fixedly in his face, then stooped and pressed her -lips on his inanimate brow; started again, looked about -the room with a half guilty glance, bowed her head on -his pillow, and wept bitterly.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='it'>The Recognition.</span></p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>They had been friends in youth.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='sc'>Byron.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The evening had advanced far into night before the -effects of the potion he had swallowed passed away, -and left the mind of Jasper clear, and his pulse regular -and steady. When he awoke from his long stupor, -and turned his eyes around him, it seemed as if he had -dreamed of what he saw before him; for the inanimate -objects of the room, nay, the very faces which -met his eye, had something in them that was not altogether -unfamiliar, yet for his life he could not have recalled -when, or if ever he had seen them before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old dark-wainscoted walls of the irregular, -many-recessed apartment, adorned with a few watercolor -drawings, and specimens of needle-work, the -huge black and gold Indian cabinet in one corner, the -tall clock-stand of some foreign wood in another, the -slab above the yawning hearth covered with tropical -shells and rare foreign curiosities, the quaint and grotesque -chairs and tables, with strangely contorted legs -and arms, and wild satyr-like faces grinning from their -bosses, the very bed on which he lay, with its carved -head-board, and groined canopy of oak, and dark -green damask curtains, were all things which he felt -he must have seen, though where and how he knew -not.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So was the face of the slight fair-haired girl who sat -a little way removed from his bed’s head, by a small -round work-table, on which stood a waxen taper, -bending over some one of those light tasks of embroidery -or knitting which women love, and are wont -to dignify by the name of work.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On her he fixed his eyes long and wistfully, gazing -at her, as he would have done at a fair picture, without -any desire to address her, or to do aught that should -induce her to move from the graceful attitude in which -she sat, giving no sign of life save in the twinkling of -her long, downcast eyelashes, in the calm rise and fall -of her gentle bosom, and the quick motion of her busy -fingers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jasper St. Aubyn was still weak, but he was unconscious -of any pain or ailment, though he now began -gradually to remember all that had passed before he -lost his consciousness in the deep pool above the fords -of Widecomb.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So weak was he, indeed, that it was almost too -great an effort for him to consider where he was, or -how he had been saved, much more to move his body, -or ask any question of that fair watcher. He felt indeed -that he should be perfectly contented to lie there -all his life, in that painless tranquil mood, gazing upon -that fair picture.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But while he lay there, with his large eyes wide -open and fixed upon her, as if by their influence he -would have charmed her soul out of its graceful habitation, -a word or two spoken in a louder voice than -had yet struck his ear, for persons had been speaking -in the room all the time, although he had not observed -them, attracted his notice to the other side of his bed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was not so much the words, for he scarce heard, -and did not heed their import, as the tone of voice -which struck him; for though well-known and most -familiar, he could in no wise connect it with the other -things around him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With the desire to ascertain what this might mean, -there came into his mind, he knew not wherefore, a -wish to do so unobserved; and he proceeded forthwith -to turn himself over on his pillow so noiselessly as to -excite no attention in the watchers, whoever they -might be.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had not made two efforts, however, to do this, -before he became aware of what, while he lay still, he -did not suspect, that several of his limbs had received -severe contusions, and could not as yet be moved with -impunity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was a singular youth, however, and an almost -Spartan endurance of physical pain, with a strange -<a id='pers'></a>persistence in whatever he undertook, had been from -very early boyhood two of his strongest characteristics.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In spite, therefore, of his weakness, in spite of the -pain every motion gave him, he persevered, and turning -himself inch by inch, at length gained a position -which enabled him clearly to discern the speakers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They were two in number, the one facing him, the -other having his back turned so completely that all he -could see was a head covered with long-curled locks -of snow-white hair, a dark velvet cloak, and the velvet -scabbard of a long rapier protruding far beyond the -legs of the oak chair on which he sat. The lower -limbs of this person were almost lost in darkness as -they lay carelessly crossed under the table, so that he -divined rather than saw that they were cased in heavy -riding-boots, on the heels of which a faint golden glimmer -gave token of the wearer’s rank, by the knightly -spurs he wore.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The lamp which stood upon the table by which they -were conversing was set between the two, so that it -was quite invisible to Jasper, and its light, which to -his eyes barely touched the edges of the figure he had -first observed, fell full upon the pale high brow and -serene lineaments of the other person, who was in fact -no other than the old man who had spoken to the -youth in the intervals of his trance, and administered -the potion from the effects of which he was but now -recovering.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of this, however, Jasper had no recollection, although -<span class='pageno' title='86' id='Page_86'></span> -he wondered, as he had done concerning the -girl, where he had before seen that fine countenance -and benevolent expression, and how once seen he ever -should have forgotten it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was yet a third person in the group, though -he took no part in the conversation, and appeared to -be, like Jasper, rather an interested and observant witness -of what was going on, than an actor in the scene.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was a tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed man, in -the first years of manhood, not perhaps above five or -six years Jasper’s senior; but his bronzed and sunburnt -cheeks curiously contrasted with the fairness of his -forehead, where it had not been exposed to the sun, -and an indescribable blending of boldness, it might have -almost been called audacity, with calm self-confidence -and cold composure, which made up the expression of -his face, seemed to indicate that he had seen much of -the world, and learned many of its secrets, perhaps by -the stern lessoning of the great teachers, suffering and -sorrow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The figure of this young man was but imperfectly -visible, as he stood behind the high-backed chair, on -which the old man, whom from the similarity in their -features, if not in their expression, Jasper took to be -his father, was seated. But his face, his muscular -neck, his well-developed chest and broad shoulders, -displayed by a close-fitting jerkin of some dark stuff, -were all in strong light; and as the features and expression -of the countenance gave token of a powerful -character and energetic will, so did the frame give -promise of ability to carry out the workings of the -mind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dialogue, which had been interrupted by a -silence of some seconds following on the words that had -attracted Jasper’s notice, was now continued by the -old man who sat facing him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That question,” he said, in a firm yet somewhat -mournful tone, “is not an easy one to answer. The -difficulty of subduing prejudices on my own part, the -fear of wounding pride on yours—these might have -had their share in influencing my conduct. Beside, -you must remember that years have elapsed—the very -years which most form the character of men—since -we parted; that they have elapsed under circumstances -the most widely different for you and for me; that we -are not, in short, in any thing the same men we then -were—that the gnarled, weather-beaten, earth-fast -oak of centuries differs not so much from the green -pliant sapling of half a dozen summers, as the old man, -with his heart chilled and hardened into living steel by -contact with the world, from the youth full of generous -impulses and lofty aspirations, loving all men, and -doubting naught either in heaven above, or in the earth -beneath. You must remember, moreover, that although, -as you have truly said, we were friends in youth, our -swords, our purses, and our hearts in common, we had -even then many points of serious difference; and lastly, -and most of all, you must remember that if we had -been friends, we were not friends when we last -parted—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What! what!” exclaimed a voice, which Jasper -instantly recognized for his father’s, though for years -he had not heard him speak in tones of the like animation. -“What, William Allan, do you mean to say that -you imagined that any enmity could have dwelt in my -mind, for so slight a cause—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Slight a cause!” interrupted the other. “Do you -call that <span class='it'>slight</span> which made my heart drop blood, and -my brain boil with agony for years—which changed -my course of life, altered my fortunes, character, heart, -soul, forever; which made me, in a word, what I now -am? Do you call that a <span class='it'>slight</span> cause, Miles St. -Aubyn? Show me, then, what you call a grave one.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I had forgotten, William, I had forgotten,” replied -Sir Miles, gently, and perhaps self-reproachfully. “I -mean, I had forgotten that the rivaling in a strife which -to the winner seems a little thing, may to the loser be -death, or worse than death! Forgive me, William -Allan, I had forgotten in my selfish thoughtlessness, -and galled you unawares. But let us say no more of -this—let the past be forgotten—let wrongs done, if -wrongs were done, be buried in her grave, who was -the most innocent cause of them; and let us now remember -only that we were friends in youth, and that -after long years of separation, we are thus wonderfully -brought together in old age; let me hope to be friends -henceforth unto the grave.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Amen, I say to that. Miles St. Aubyn, amen!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And the two old men clasped their withered hands -across the table, and Jasper might see the big drops -trickling slowly down the face of him who was called -William Allan, while from the agitation of his father’s -frame he judged that he was not free from the like -agitation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a little pause, during which, as he fancied -the young man looked somewhat frowningly on the -scene of reconciliation; but the frown, if frown it -were, passed speedily away, and left the bold, dark -face as calm and impassive as the surface of a deep -unruffled water.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A moment or two afterward, Sir Miles raised his -head, which he had bowed a little, perhaps to conceal -the feelings which might have agitated it, and again -clasping the hand of the other, said eagerly,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is you, William, who have saved my boy, my -Jasper; and this is not the first time that a scion of -your house has preserved one of mine from death, or -yet worse, ruin!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>William Allan started, as if a sharp weapon had -pierced him,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And how,” he cried, “Miles St. Aubyn, how was -the debt repaid? I tell you it is written in the books -that cannot err, that our houses were ordained for -mutual destruction!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What, man,” exclaimed Sir Miles, half jestingly, -“do you still cling to the black art? Do you still read -the dark book of fate? Methought that fancy would -have taken wing with other youthful follies.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old man shook his head sadly, but made no -reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And what has it taught <span class='it'>thee</span>, William, unless it be -that this life is short, and this world’s treasures worthless; -and <span class='it'>that</span> I have learned from a better book, a -book of wider margin. What, I say, has it taught -thee, William Allan?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All things,” replied the old man, sorrowfully. -<span class='pageno' title='87' id='Page_87'></span> -“Even unto this meeting—every action, every event -of my own life, past or to come, happy or miserable, -virtuous or evil, it has taught me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But has it taught thee, William, whereby to win -the good and eschew the evil; whereby to hold fast to -the virtuous, and say unto the evil, ‘get behind me?’ -Has it taught thee, I say not to be wiser, but to be -happier or better?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is, is! What shall be, shall be! What is -written, shall be done! We may flap, or flutter, or -even fight, like fish or birds, or, if you will, like lions -in the toil; but we are netted, and may not escape, -from the beginning! The man may learn the workings -of the God, but how shall he control them?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And this is thy philosophy—this all that thine art -teaches?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is. No more.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A sad philosophy—a vain art,” replied the other. -“I’ll none of them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I tell thee, Miles St. Aubyn, that years ago, years -ere I <a id='had'></a>had heard of Widecomb or its water, I saw -yon deep, red-whirling pool; I saw that drowning -youth; I saw the ready rescue, and the gentle nursing; -and now,” he cried, stretching his hands out widely, -and gazing into vacancy, “I see a wilder and a sadder -sight—a deeper pool, a stronger cataract, a fierce storm -thundering on the hills, and torrents thundering down -every gorge and gully to swell the flooded rivers. -A young man and a maiden—yet no! no! not a maiden! -mounted on gallant horses, are struggling in the whelming -eddies. Great God! avert—hold! hold! He lifts -his arm, he smites her with his loaded whip—smites -her between the eyes that smile upon him; she falls, she -is down, down in the whirling waters—rider and horse -swept over the mad cataract; but who—who?—ha!” -and with a wild shriek he started to his feet, and fell -back into the arms of the young man, who from the -beginning of the paroxysm evidently had expected its -catastrophe, and who, with the assistance of the girl, -supported him, now quite inanimate and powerless, -from the room, merely saying to Sir Miles, “Be not -alarmed, I will return forthwith.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My father!” exclaimed Jasper, in a faint voice, as -the door closed upon them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old man turned hastily to the well-known accents, -and hurried to the bed-side. “My boy, my own -boy, Jasper. Now, may God’s name be praised forever!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And falling into a chair by his pillow, the same chair -on which that sweet girl had sat a few hours before, -he bent over him, and asked him a thousand questions, -waiting for no reply, but bathing his face with his tears, -and covering his brow with kisses.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When he had at length satisfied the old man that he -was well and free from pain, except a few slight bruises, -he asked his father eagerly where he was, and who -was that strange old man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are in the cottage, my dear boy,” replied the -old knight, “above Widecomb pool, tended by those -who, by the grace of God and his exceeding mercy, -saved you from the consequences of the frantic act -which so nearly left me childless. Oh! Jasper, Jasper, -’twas a fearful risk, and had well-nigh been fatal.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was but one misstep, father,” replied the youth, -who, as he rapidly recovered his strength, recovered -also his bold speech and daring courage. “Had there -been but foot-hold at the tunnel’s end, I had landed my -fish bravely; and, on my honor, I believe had I such -another on my line’s end, I should risk it again. Why, -father, he was at least a thirty pounder.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never do so—never do so again, Jasper. Remember -that to risk life heedlessly, and for no purpose save -an empty gratification, a mere momentary pleasure, is -a great crime toward God, and a gross act of selfishness -toward men, as much so as to peril or to lose it in -a high cause, or for a noble object, is great and good, -and self-devoted. Think! had you perished here, all -for a paltry fish, which you might purchase for a silver -crown, you had left to me years—nay, a life of misery.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, father, I never thought of that,” answered -the young man, not unmoved by the remonstrance of -his father, “but it was not the value of the fish. I -should have given him away ten to one, had I taken -him. It was that I do not like to be beaten.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A good feeling, Jasper; and one that leads to many -good things, and without which nothing great can be -attained; but to do good, like all other feelings, it must -be moderated and controled by reason. But you must -learn to think ever before acting, Jasper.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will—I will, indeed, sir; but you have not told -me who is this strange old man?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“An old friend of mine, Jasper—an old friend whom -I have not seen for years, and who is now doubly a -friend, since he has saved your life.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At this moment the door opened, and the young man -entered bearing a candle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He is at ease now,” he said. “It is a painful and -a searching malady to which at seasons he is subject. -We know well how to treat him; when he awakes tomorrow, -he will remember nothing of what passed to-day, -though at the next attack he will remember every -circumstance of this. I pray you, therefore, Sir Miles, -take no note in the morning, nor appear to observe it, -if he be somewhat silent and reserved. Ha! young -sir,” he continued, seeing that Jasper was awake, and -taking him kindly by the hand, “I am glad to see that -you have recovered.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And I am glad to have an opportunity to thank you, -that you have saved my life, which I know you must -have done right gallantly, seeing the peril of the deed.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“About as gallantly as you did, when you came so -near losing it,” he answered. “But come, Sir Miles, -night wears apace, and if you will allow me to show you -to your humble chamber, the best our lowly house can -offer, I will wish you good repose, and return to watch -over my young friend here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My age must excuse me, that I accept your offer, -whose place it should be to watch over him myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I need no watcher, sir,” replied Jasper, boldly. -“I am quite well now, and shall sleep, I warrant you, -unto cock-crow without awakening.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good-night, then, boy!” cried Sir Miles, stooping -over him and again kissing his brow, “and God send -thee better in health and wiser in condition.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good-night, sir; and God send me stronger and -braver, and more like my father,” said the youth, with -a light laugh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='88' id='Page_88'></span> -“I will return anon, young friend—for friends, I -hope, we shall be,” said the other, as he left the room -lighting Sir Miles respectfully across the threshold.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I hope we shall—and I thank you. But I shall be -fast asleep ere then.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And so he was; but not the less for that did the -stalwart young man watch over him, sitting erect in -one of the high-backed chairs, until the first pale light -of dawn came stealing in through the latticed casement, -and the shrill cry of the early cock announced the -morning of another day.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='it'>The Lovesuit.</span></p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>He either fears too much,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  Or his deserts are small,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Who would not put it to the touch,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  To win or lose it all.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='sc'>Montrose.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The earliest cock had barely crowed his first salutation -to the awakening day, and the first warblers had -not yet begun to make their morning music in the thick -shrubberies around the cottage, when aroused betimes -by his anxiety for Jasper, Sir Miles made his appearance, -already full dressed, at the door of the room in -which his son was sleeping.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For he was still asleep, with that hardy young man -still watching over him, apparently unmoved by the -loss of his own rest, and wholly indifferent to what are -usually deemed the indispensable requirements of -nature.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are afoot betimes, sir,” said the youth, rising -from his seat as the old cavalier entered the room; -“pity that you should have arisen so early, for I could -have watched him twice as long, had it been needful, -but in truth it was not so. Your son has scarce moved, -Sir Miles, since you left the chamber last night. You -see how pleasantly and soundly he is sleeping.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was not <span class='it'>that</span>, young sir,” replied the old man, -cordially. “It was not that I doubted your good will, -or your good watching either; but he is my son, my -only son, and how should I but be anxious. But as -you say, he sleeps pleasantly and well. God be thanked -therefore. He will be none the worse for this.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Better, perhaps, Sir Miles,” replied the other, with -a slight smile. “Wiser, at least, I doubt not he will -be; for in good truth, it was a very boyish, and a very -foolish risk to run.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old man, for the first time, looked at the speaker -steadfastly, and was struck by the singular expression -of his countenance—that strange mixture of impassive -self-confident composure, and half-scornful audacity, -which I have mentioned as being his most striking -characteristics. On the preceding evening, Sir Miles -had been so much engrossed by the anxiety he felt -about his son, and subsequently by the feelings called -forth in his inmost heart by the discovery of an old -comrade in the person of William Allan, that in fact -he had paid little attention to either of the other personages -present.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had observed, indeed, that there were a fair -young girl and a powerfully framed youth present; he -had even addressed a few words casually to both of -them, but they had left no impression on his mind, and -he had not even considered who or what they were -likely to be.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now, however, when he was composed and relieved -of fear for his son’s life, he was struck, as I have said, -by the expression and features of the young man, and -began to consider who he could be; for there was no -such similarity, whether of feature, expression, voice, -air or gesture, between him and William Allan, as is -wont to exist between son and sire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After a moment’s pause, however, the old cavalier -replied, not altogether pleased apparently by the tone -of the last remark.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was a very bold and <span class='it'>manly</span> risk, it appears to -me,” he said, “and if rash, can hardly be called boyish; -and you, I should think,” he added, “would be the -last to blame bold actions. You look like any thing -but one who should recommend cold counsels, or be -slack either to dare or do. I fancy you have seen -stirring times somewhere, and been among daring deeds -yourself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So many times, Sir Miles,” replied the young man, -modestly, “that I have learned how absurd it is to <span class='it'>seek</span> -such occasions without cause. There be necessary -risks enough in life, and man has calls enough, and -those unavoidable, on his courage, without going out -of his way to seek them, or throwing any energy or -boldness unprofitably to the winds. At least so I have -found it in the little I have seen of human life and -action.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha! you speak well,” said Sir Miles, looking even -more thoughtfully than before at the marked and somewhat -weatherbeaten features of the young man. -“And where have you met with perils so rife, and -learned so truly the need of disciplining natural energies -and valor.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“On the high seas, Sir Miles, of which I have been -a follower from a boy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Indeed! are you such a voyager! and where, I -pray you, have you served?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I cannot say that I have exactly <span class='it'>served</span>. But I -have visited both the Indias, East and West; and have -seen some smart fighting—where they say peace never -comes—beyond the Line, I mean, with the Dons, both -in Darien and Peru.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha! but you have indeed seen the world, for one -so young as you; and yet I think you have not sailed -in the king’s ships, nor held rank in the service.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, Sir Miles, I am but a poor free-trader; and -yet sometimes I think that we have carried the English -flag farther, and made the English name both better -known, and more widely feared, than the cruisers of -any king who has sat on our throne, since the good old -days of Queen Bess.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“His present majesty did good service against the -Dutch, young man. And what say you to Blake? -Who ever did more gloriously at sea, than rough old -Blake?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, sir, but that was in Noll’s days, and we may -not call him a <span class='it'>king</span> of England, though of a certainty -he was her wise and valiant ruler. And for his present -majesty, God bless him! that Opdam business was -when he was the Duke of York; and he has forgotten -all his glory, I think, now that he has become king, -<span class='pageno' title='89' id='Page_89'></span> -and lets the Frenchman and the Don do as they please -with our colonists and traders, and the Dutchman, too, -for that matter.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old man paused, and shook his head gravely -for a moment, but then resumed with a smile,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So, so, my young friend, you are one of those bold -spirits who claim to judge for yourselves, and make -peace or war, as you think well, without waiting the -slow action of senates or kings, who hold that hemispheres, -not treaties, are the measure of hostility or -amity.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not so, exactly, noble sir. But where we find -peace or war, there we take them; and if the Dons -wont be quiet on the other side the Line, and our good -king wont keep them quiet, why we must either take -them as we find them, or give up the great field to -them altogether.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Which you hold to be unEnglish and unmanly?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Even so, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I, for one, will not gainsay you. But do not -you fear, sometimes that while you are thus stretching -a commission—that is the term, I believe, among you -liberal gentlemen—you may chance to get your own -neck stretched some sultry morning in the Floridas or -in Darien.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“One of the very risks I spoke of but now, Sir -Miles,” replied the young man, laughing. “My life -were not worth five minutes’ purchase if the Governor -of St. Augustine, or of Panama either, for that matter, -could once lay hold on me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I marvel,” said the old cavalier, again shaking his -head solemnly, “I marvel much—” and then interrupting -himself suddenly in the middle of his sentence, -he lapsed into a fit of meditative silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At what, if I may be so bold—at what do you so -much marvel?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That William Allan should consent,” replied the -cavalier, “that son of his should embark in so wild -and stormy a career, in a career which, I should have -judged, with his strict principles and somewhat puritanical -feeling, he would deem the reverse of gracious -or godfearing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He knows not what career I follow,” answered -the young man, bluntly. “But you are in error altogether, -sir. I am no son of William Allan.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No son of William Allan! Ha! now that I think -of it, your features are not his, nor your voice either.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nor my body, nor my soul!” replied the other, -hastily and hotly, “no more than the free falcon’s are -those of the caged linnet! Sometimes I even marvel -how it can be that any drop of mutual or common blood -should run in our veins; and yet it is so—and I—I—yet -no—I do <span class='it'>not</span> repent it!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And wherefore should you? there is no worthier -or better man, I do believe, than William Allan living; -and, in his younger days at least, I know there was no -braver.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No braver?—indeed! indeed!” exclaimed the -young man, eagerly—“was he, indeed, brave?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, was he, youth! brave both to do and to suffer. -Brave, both with the quick and dauntless courage to -act, and with the rarer and more elevated courage to -resolve and hold fast to resolution. But who are you, -who, living with him, know both so little and so much -of William Allan? If you be not his son, who are -you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“His sister’s son, Sir Miles—his only sister’s son, -to whom, since that sister’s death, he has been—God -forgive me for that I said but now—more than a father; -for surely I have tried him more than ever son tried a -father, and he has borne with me still with a most -absolute indulgence and unwearied love.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What—what!” exclaimed Sir Miles, much moved -and even agitated by what he heard, “are you the -child of that innocent and beautiful Alicia Allan, whom—whom—” -The old man faltered and stopped short, -for he was in fact on the point of bursting into tears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the youth finished the sentence which he had -left unconcluded, in a stern, slow voice, and with a -lowering brow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Whom your friend, Durzil Olifaunt, betrayed by a -mock marriage, and afterward deserted with her -infants. Yes, Sir Miles, I am one of those infants, the -son of Alicia Allan’s shame! And my uncle did not -slay him—therefore it is I asked you, was he brave.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And yet he <span class='it'>was</span> slain—and for that very deed!” -replied the old man, gloomily, with his eyes fixed upon -the ground.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He <span class='it'>was</span> slain,” repeated the young sailor, whose -curiosity and interest were now greatly excited. “But -how can you tell wherefore? No one has ever known -who slew him—how, then, can you name the cause -of his slaying?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is <span class='sc'>One</span> who knows all things!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But <span class='sc'>He</span> imparts not his knowledge,” answered the -other, not irreverently. “And unless <span class='it'>you</span> slew him, -I see not how you can know this. Yet, hold, hold!” -he continued impetuously, as he saw that Sir Miles -was about to speak, “if you did slay him, tell it not; -for if he did betray my mother, if he did abandon me -to disgrace and ruin—still, still he was my father.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I slew him not, young man,” replied the cavalier, -gravely, “but he was slain for the cause that I have -named, and I saw him die—repentant.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Repentant!” exclaimed the youth, grasping the -withered hand of the old knight, in the intensity of his -emotions, “did he repent the wrong he had done my -mother?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As surely as he died.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May God forgive him, then,” said the seaman, -clasping his hands together and bursting into tears, -“as I forgive him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Amen! amen!” cried the knight, “for he was -mine ancient friend, the comrade of my boyhood, before -he did that thing; and I, too, have something to -forgive to him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You, Sir Miles, you!—what can you have to -forgive?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tell me first, tell me—how are you named?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Durzil,” answered the youth, “Durzil, <span class='it'>Nothing</span>!” -he added, very bitterly, “my country, and my -country’s law give me no other name, but only Durzil—its -enemies have named me <span class='it'>Bras-de-fer</span>!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then mark me, Durzil; as he of whom you are -sprung, of whom you are named, was my first friend, -so was your mother my first love; and she returned -<span class='pageno' title='90' id='Page_90'></span> -my love, till he, my sometime confidant, did steal her -from me, and made his paramour, whom I had made -my wife.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Great God!” exclaimed the young man, struck -with consternation; “then it must, it must have been -so—it was you who slew my—my father!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Young man, I never lied.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pardon me, Sir Miles. Pardon me, I am half distraught. -And you loved my mother, and—and—he -repented. Why was not I told of this before? And -yet,” he added, again pausing, as if some fresh suspicion -struck him, “and yet how is this? I heard you -speak yester even to my uncle, of wrongs done—done -by yourself to <span class='it'>him</span>, and of a woman’s death—that -woman, therefore, was not, could not have been <span class='it'>my</span> -mother. Who, then, was <span class='it'>she</span>?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>His</span> mother,” replied Sir Miles St. Aubyn, calmly, -but sadly, pointing to the bed on which Jasper lay -sleeping tranquilly and all unconsciously of the strange -revelations which were going on around him. “If -my friend robbed me of William Allan’s sister, so I -won from William Allan, in after days, her who owned -his affection; but with this difference, that she I won -never returned your uncle’s love from the beginning, -and that I never betrayed his confidence. If I were -the winner, it was in fair and loyal strife, and though -it has been, as I learned for the first time last night, a -sore burthen on your uncle’s heart, it has been none on -my conscience; my withers are unwrung.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I believe it, sir; from my soul, I believe it,” -cried the young man, enthusiastically, “for, on my life, -I think you are all honor and nobility. But tell me, -tell me now, if you love, if you pity me—as you should -do for my mother’s sake—who slew my father?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have sworn,” answered the cavalier, “I have -sworn never to reveal that to mortal man; and if I had -not sworn, to <span class='it'>you</span> I could not reveal it; for, if I judge -aright, you would hold yourself bound to—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Avenge it!” exclaimed the youth, fiercely, interrupting -him; “ay, were it at my soul’s purchase—since -he repented.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He <span class='it'>did</span> repent, Durzil; nay, more, he died, desiring -only that he could repair the wrong he had done -you, regretting only that he could not give you his name -and his inheritance, as he did give <span class='it'>you</span> his dying blessing, -and your mother his last thought, his last word in -this world.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did <span class='it'>she</span> know this?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Durzil, I cannot answer you; for within a few -days after your father’s death, I left England for the -Low Countries, and returned not until many a year -had passed into the bygone eternity. When I did return, -the sorrows of Alicia Allan were at an end forever; -and though I then made all inquiries in all quarters, I -could learn nothing of your uncle or yourself, nor ever -have heard of you any more until last night, when we -were all so singularly brought together.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I <span class='it'>ought</span> to have known this; I would, I would to -God that I <span class='it'>had</span> known it. My life had been less wild, -then, less turbulent, less stormy. My spirit had not -then burned with so rash a recklessness. It was the -sense of wrong, of bitter and unmerited wrong done -in past times, of cold and undeserved scorn heaped -on me in the present, as the bastard—the child of infamy -and shame! that goaded me into so hot action. -But it is done now, it is done, and cannot be amended. -The world it is which has made me what I am—let -the world look to it—let the world enjoy the work of -its hands.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is nothing, Durzil,” said the old man, -solemnly, “nothing but death that cannot be amended. -<span class='it'>Undone</span> things may not be, but all may be amended, -by God’s good grace to aid us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hast thou not seen a sapling in the forest, which, -overcrowded by trees of stronger growth, or warped -from its true direction by some unnoted accident, hath -grown up vigorous indeed and strong, but deformed -and distorted in its yearly progress, until arrived at its -full maturity, not all the art or all the strength of man -or man’s machinery can force it from its bias, or make -it straight and comely? So is it with the mind of man, -Sir Miles. While it is young and plastic, you shall -direct it as you will—once ripened, hardened in its -growth, whether that growth be tortuous or true, as -soon shall you remodel the stature of the earth-fast -oak, as change its intellectual bias. But I am wearying -you, I fancy, and wasting words in unavailing disquisition. -I hear my uncle’s step without, moreover; -permit me, I will join him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hold yet a moment,” replied the old man, kindly, -“and let me say this to you now, while we are alone, -which I may perchance lack opportunity to say hereafter. -Your mother’s son, Durzil Olifaunt—for so I -shall ever call you, and so by <span class='it'>his</span> last words you are -entitled to be called—can never weary me. Your -welfare will concern me ever—what interests you will -interest me always, and next to my own son I shall -hold you nearest and dearest to this old heart at all -times. Now leave me if you will—yet hold! tell me -before you go, what I am fain to learn concerning -your good uncle—the knowledge shall perchance save -painful explanation, perchance grave misunderstanding.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All that I know is at your service,” answered the -young man, in a calmer and milder tone than he had -used heretofore—for he was, in truth, much moved -and softened by the evident feeling of the old cavalier; -“but let me thank you first for your kindly offers, -which, should occasion offer, believe me, I will test as -frankly as you have made them nobly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To his latter words Miles St. Aubyn made no answer, -except a grave inclination of his head, for his -mind was preoccupied now by thoughts of very different -import—was fixed, indeed, on days long passed, -and on old painful memories.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This girl,” he said at length, “this fair young girl -whom I saw here last night, is she—is she your sister? -I think you had a sister—yet this fair child hath not -Alicia’s hair, nor her eyes—who is she?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“God was most good in that,” answered the seaman, -with much feeling, “he took my sister to himself, even -before my mother pined away. A man’s lot is hard -enough who is the son of shame—a woman’s is intolerable -anguish. Theresa is my uncle’s child—his -only child. His love for her is almost idolatry, and -were it altogether so, she deserves it all. Lo! there -<span class='pageno' title='91' id='Page_91'></span> -she passes by the casement—was ever fairer face or -lovelier figure? and yet her soul, her innocent and artless -soul, has beauties that as far surpass those personal -charms, as <span class='it'>they</span> exceed all other earthly loveliness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You love her,” said the cavalier, looking quickly -upward, for he had been musing with downcast eyes, -while Durzil spoke, and had not even raised his lids to -gaze upon Theresa as she passed through the garden. -“You love this innocent and gentle child.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young man’s cheek burned crimson, ashamed -that he should have revealed himself so completely to -one who was almost a stranger. But he was not one -to deny or disguise a single feeling of his heart, -whether for good or for evil, and he replied, after a -moment’s pause, with an <a id='falter'></a>unfaltering and steady voice, -“I <span class='it'>do</span> love her, more than my own soul!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And she,” asked the old knight, “does she know, -does she return your affection?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again the sailor hesitated, “Women, they say,” he -replied, at length, “know always by a natural instinct -when they are beloved, and therefore I believe she -<span class='it'>knows</span> it. For the rest, she is always most affectionate, -most gentle, nay, even tender. Further than this, I -may not judge.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Father,” exclaimed a faint voice from the bed, at -this moment. “Is that you, father?” and Jasper St. -Aubyn opened his eyes, languid yet from the heavy -slumber into which the opiate had cast him, and raised -himself up a little on his pillow, though with a slow -and painful motion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My son,” cried the old man, hurrying to the side -of the bed, “my own boy, Jasper, how fare you now? -You have slept well.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So well,” answered the bold boy, “that I feel -strong enough, and clear enough in the head, to be up -and about; but that whenever I would move a limb, -there comes an accursed twinge to put me in mind that -limestone rock is harder than bone and muscle.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, as soon as the old cavalier’s attention -was diverted by the awakening of his own son -from his trance-like slumber, Durzil Bras-de-fer, as he -called himself, and as I shall therefore call him, left -the room quietly, and a few minutes afterward might -have been seen, had not the eyes of those within the -chamber been otherwise directed, to pass the casement, -following the same path which had been taken by -Theresa Allan a little while before.</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='elim'></a>ELIM.</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 VIRGINIA.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='blockquote30em'> - -<p class='pindent'>And they came to Elim, where were twelve wells of water, and threescore and ten palm-trees, and they encamped -there by the waters.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='sc'>Exodus xv. 27.</span></p> - -</div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Noon on the burning desert!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Unutterable noon!</p> -<p class='line0'>On the wandering band, from Goshen’s land,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Shod in the wondrous shoon!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Blasting the man of might,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Blighting the infant flower,</p> -<p class='line0'>And quenching the light to the mother’s sight</p> -<p class='line0'>  As it droops in the fearful hour!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Look out o’er the blinding heaven!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Look out o’er the searèd ground!</p> -<p class='line0'>Is naught in view save the torturing blue</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the maddening sand around?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Behold a speck afar!</p> -<p class='line0'>  It seemeth a cloud like a hand,</p> -<p class='line0'>And it beck’neth us on through the raging sun</p> -<p class='line0'>  Away to the Promised Land!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Is it the Angel of Death,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sent forth as a mocking guide?</p> -<p class='line0'>Is it the trace of the warrior race</p> -<p class='line0'>  As they scour the trackless wide?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>No! by the Cloudy Pillar!</p> -<p class='line0'>  No! by our Fiery Friend!</p> -<p class='line0'>From the bush of flame the great I AM</p> -<p class='line0'>  Hath bidden us onward wend!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>On to the Seventy Palm Trees!</p> -<p class='line0'>  On to the water’s brink!</p> -<p class='line0'>Where the wayfaring rest on the green earth’s breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the fainting pilgrims drink!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Drink! and forget their misery,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And remember their toil no more;</p> -<p class='line0'>Rest! while the breeze sways the stately trees</p> -<p class='line0'>  Those dark, cool waters o’er!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Drink! parched and panting Israel!</p> -<p class='line0'>  In those draughts of mercy deep</p> -<p class='line0'>There mingles no tide of the Marah wide</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where thy innermost soul shall steep!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Rest! worn and weary Israel!</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the dream of thy sleeping eyes</p> -<p class='line0'>There dwelleth no thought of the ruin wrought</p> -<p class='line0'>  By coming centuries!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh, Elim! loveliest Elim!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Gem of the desert old!</p> -<p class='line0'>Green be thy mighty shadows,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Pure be thy waters cold!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>How often, ’mid life’s vast desert,</p> -<p class='line0'>  My heart within me swells,</p> -<p class='line0'>As I sigh for thy Seventy Palm Trees,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And for thy Twelve Deep Wells!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk111'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='92' id='Page_92'></span><h1><a id='warn'></a>FAITH’S WARNING.</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 T. TUCKERMAN.</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'>The vital elements of all things gifted</p> -<p class='line0'>  With promise or with truth,</p> -<p class='line0'>By God’s own hand benignantly are lifted</p> -<p class='line0'>  Into perennial youth.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>O then, with gentle reverence, surrender</p> -<p class='line0'>  The wish to interfere,</p> -<p class='line0'>Behold the miracle, devout and tender,</p> -<p class='line0'>  But enter not its sphere!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Childhood, with meek intelligence, appealing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When guardians annoy,</p> -<p class='line0'>As gush the sympathies its life revealing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Asks freedom to enjoy.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Genius, by graceful waywardness, achieving</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its claim the boon to share,</p> -<p class='line0'>A narrow doom in Fancy’s world retrieving,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Expands untrammeled there.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The throes of nations plead that right be tested—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The Present grapple fairly with the Past,</p> -<p class='line0'>For Liberty’s pure zeal if unmolested,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Will triumph at the last!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Profane not Love in its divine seclusion,</p> -<p class='line0'>  If true, its hope is sure,</p> -<p class='line0'>Born in weak hearts it is a chance illusion,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That vainly would endure.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>For all things destined to survive, engender</p> -<p class='line0'>  Their own progressive life,</p> -<p class='line0'>And Truth, forsaken by her last defender,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Yet conquers in the strife.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>In its dim crypt of mould the seed implanted</p> -<p class='line0'>  Will germinate and spring,</p> -<p class='line0'>Poised in her azure realm the lark undaunted</p> -<p class='line0'>  Exultingly will sing!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The prayer of wisdom in these later ages</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is for unchartered right</p> -<p class='line0'>To turn, at will, her own elected pages,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With unimpeded sight.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>To their own law abandon all things real,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Nor, with incessant care,</p> -<p class='line0'>Strive to conform to thy perverse ideal</p> -<p class='line0'>  What God created fair.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk112'/> - -<div><h1><a id='gold'></a>LAMENT OF THE GOLD-DIGGER.</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 E. CURTISS HINE, U. S. N.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>’Tis the grief for their fate gives me mystical lore,</p> -<p class='line'> And coming events cast their shadows before.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='sc'>Campbell.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>’Tis evening, and I stand alone</p> -<p class='line0'>  On San Francisco’s desert shore,</p> -<p class='line0'>The wandering night-winds sadly moan,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And shrieking sea-birds round me soar.</p> -<p class='line0'>The weary sun hath sunk to sleep</p> -<p class='line0'>  Beyond the great Pacific’s wave,</p> -<p class='line0'>While here I stand and idly weep</p> -<p class='line0'>  That I have been to gold a slave!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>O, curses on the maddening cry</p> -<p class='line0'>  That echoed through my own green land,</p> -<p class='line0'>And sent me forth, unwept to die,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Upon this lonely desert strand!</p> -<p class='line0'>With spirits fresh the hills I trod,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And in the eager strife for gain</p> -<p class='line0'>Forgot my country and my <span class='sc'>God</span>,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And fevered fancies flushed my brain!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>It came at last, the bitter thought,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That I was linked with toiling slaves,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose very life-blood had been bought</p> -<p class='line0'>  By selfish and designing knaves.</p> -<p class='line0'>But all too late conviction came,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And with a down-cast, tearful eye.</p> -<p class='line0'>I thought with anguish and with shame</p> -<p class='line0'>  I’d chased an echo here—to die!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>O, vain was all our strife for wealth,</p> -<p class='line0'>  We ploughed the bed of many a stream,</p> -<p class='line0'>All idly, and with ruined health,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Heaped curses on our fevered dream,</p> -<p class='line0'>That drove us from our homes away,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Athwart the ocean’s furrowed breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>To find with terror and dismay</p> -<p class='line0'>  That we were houseless Famine’s guests!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>My heart grows sick—my eye grows dim,</p> -<p class='line0'>  As o’er the watery waste I gaze,</p> -<p class='line0'>And powerless droops each nerveless limb,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And manhood’s pride and strength decays.</p> -<p class='line0'>Adieu, my childhood’s home, for fate</p> -<p class='line0'>  Hath dimmed the brightness of my sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>I’ve “dug” my grave, and found too late</p> -<p class='line0'>  I’ve chased an echo here—to die!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk113'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='93' id='Page_93'></span><h1><a id='sketch'></a>SKETCHES OF LIFE IN OUR VILLAGE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>NO. I.—WHAT THERE WAS TO LIKE IN HATTIE ATHERTON.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY GIFTIE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You seem to have a great deal to say lately about -this Miss Hattie Atherton,” said my brother, looking -up from his book as I entered the parlor, after escorting -to the door a friend who had been making me a -morning call.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said I, “I hope you have no objection.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Objection—no indeed. But what is there in Miss -Hattie, that you all like so much? Your friends have -been perfectly absorbed in admiration of her for the -last three days.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you knew her you would not wonder that we -are all glad to have her at home again. She has been -absent four years at a boarding-school, and as she is -reported to be wonderfully accomplished her return -makes quite a sensation in our quiet circle. That is -the reason you have heard her name so frequently -mentioned.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A regular paragon of boarding-school accomplishments, -I suppose,” said Fred, with his most scornful -sneer. “She doesn’t know a cow from a sheep—works -worsted dogs—paints in colors <span class='it'>excessively -watery</span>—considers her father and mother quite countrified -and vulgar—and knows enough of the languages -to Frenchify her name into Harri<span class='it'>ette</span>, or into the more -unmeaning diminutive of H-a-t-t-i-e.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are really savage,” replied I, laughing, “but, -my good sir, you are quite mistaken in your enumeration, -for though she had adopted the diminutive of her -somewhat stately name, she is innocent of working -worsted dogs, and she rejoices in the knowledge that -of the two animals, the cow is the largest. Really, -Fred, she is a very lovely girl, perfectly unaffected, -and exulting like a freed bird to visit again her old -haunts,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“ ‘In the grove and by the river.’ ”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, she is one of that sort, is she? Raves of nature -and falls on her knees to a pigweed. For my part, -I could never imagine why a boy wasn’t just as natural -as an alder bush.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are really impertinent, Fred, to talk so about -my friends,” said I, a little vexed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Beg your pardon, sis; but you may depend upon -it, all boarding-school girls belong to one of two classes—the -smart and affected, or the soft and sentimental. -You, my dear Mary, are the only one I ever knew to -pass the ordeal without being spoiled.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Which escape, I presume, you impute entirely to -liberal share of advice bestowed by my wise -brother. I am quite provoked with you, for your unsparing -sarcasms on women.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, if they were only all like you,” replied Fred, -rising to come to me, and then falling back on the sofa -with a growl at the pain the attempt had caused his -sprained <a id='ank'></a>ankle. Gentle reader, that sprain, which had -confined him four days to the sofa, was the sole reason -why my good-natured, sensible brother was so “uncommon” -cross.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a pause, during which Fred cut his nails -and I sewed most industriously. “I think,” said he -at length—but what he thought was lost forever to the -world, for at that moment the door opened and Hattie -entered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Speak of angels and one sees their wings,” said I, -as I rose to welcome her. “You have come just in -time to verify the proverb, for we have been speaking -of you.” Fred gave me a beseeching glance. He did -not know of a plan I had formed, which was quite inconsistent -with any attempt to prejudice Miss Atherton -against him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I hope angels don’t tear their wings as badly as I -have torn my shawl. I have come to you for aid, and -you see I carry a flag of distress,” replied Hattie, -holding out her shawl that had one corner nearly torn off.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How did you get such a rent in it?” exclaimed I.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have been paying a visit to your friend, Murray, -and caught it on a nail in his door,” said she laughing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What in the world <a id='were'></a>were you doing at Murray’s?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I went down to see his child. When I looked out -of my window this morning, I was horrified to see that -hop pole, whose graceful clusters we were admiring -yesterday, lying on the ground, and shorn of its glories. -On inquiring the cause of this outrage, I found that -Murray went to our house last evening for some hops -to make a tea for a sick child, and mother told him to -get some from this pole. In doing so, he managed, -with Irish dexterity, to throw it down directly across -the bed of <a id='dahl'></a>Dahlias.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your beautiful <a id='dahl2'></a>Dahlias—what a pity!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was very sorry, but fortunately they are not all -destroyed. I thought the poor man must have been in -desperate haste to do such a thing, and so I went to see if -the child were dangerously sick.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Those Murrays are protegés of mine, but I didn’t -know that any of them were sick.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The child seems to be threatened with a fever, but -I made them give it a warm bath, and put baths of -hops on its head and feet, and before I left, it was quite -relieved. I staid to superintend the operations, lest -they should not do it properly, for I fancy they are not -accustomed to the use of water. To be sure, dirt is -the native element of that class—but aren’t they uncommonly -dirty?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think they are,” replied I. “Last winter I asked -Mrs. Murray why she didn’t wash the children before -she put on some new clothes I had provided for them, -and she opened her eyes in astonishment. ‘Sure -<span class='pageno' title='94' id='Page_94'></span> -ma’am,’ said she, ‘sure and the dirt keeps ’em warm -when they’ve nothin’ else to kiver ’em.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose she thinks the same reason applies in -summer by the rule of contraries, for they were none -of them very clean, and I thought they were rather -alarmed at the sight of a tubfull of water. Murray asked -if I “wasn’t afeard the child ’ud cotch cold,” but he -says he thinks “hops is werry good things,” and she -imitated the deep guttural tones of our gardener with -a perfection that was perfectly startling.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are quite a doctress,” said Fred, when he had -done laughing—“can’t you prescribe for me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I should think patience and resignation—an ounce -each, thoroughly compounded—would be the most -necessary remedy for a sprain,” replied Harriet—and -the conversation turned on other subjects.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We examined the shawl, and pronounced it unmendable -and I offered to lend her my mantilla. “I will accept -it,” said she, “if you will yourself accompany it -and assist me in making some purchases this morning. -Sally Murphy, who has lived with us so long, is about -being married, and father intends furnishing her house -for her. It is a small tenement with only four rooms, -but it will be all her own, and she would not be more -delighted with a palace.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I was soon ready, and we walked to the cabinet-makers, -who was delighted to furnish what we wanted, -and then to that “omnium gatherum,” yclept, “the -dry goods store,” where we found every thing necessary -for our purpose, from the lace for the bride’s -dress to the carpet that was to adorn her “keeping-room.” -“These are my part of the wedding presents,” -said Hattie. “I earned the money—you know -how?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I have said that I had a plan in view, in which my -brother and Hattie were to be the principal actors, and -you will readily perceive that though not much given -to meddling with the affairs of other people, I was -sufficiently feminine in my tastes to be something of a -matchmaker. Notwithstanding his fine intellectual -powers and considerable knowledge derived from men -and books, Fred had always been exceedingly deficient -in the ability to say and do those graceful nothings that -are the usual stepping-stones to an acquaintance between -ladies and gentlemen, and this, added to a certain -bashfulness that frequently attends a proud, sensitive -nature, had kept him from finding any intimate -friends among the ladies he had met in his college life, -and in his subsequent wanderings over the world. -Unfortunately, too, for my matrimonial schemes in his -behalf, he was provokingly contented with the prospect -of being an old bachelor; and since his establishment -in our village, had confined his visits to a few -married ladies who were vastly superior in cultivation -of mind to any of the unmarried ones of our acquaintance. -Thus with a handsome person, and more -than ordinary powers of pleasing, had he chosen to -exert them, my brother had passed to the shady side -of thirty, without having his large, warm heart stirred -by a deeper emotion than the quiet love excited by -the home circle. I was determined this state of things -should not endure much longer, and to Harriet I looked -for aid in breaking the spell of indifference that was -consigning him to the lonely and selfish existence of a -confirmed old bachelor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Some weeks after the morning on which my story -opens, Fred invited me to walk with him to one of his -favorite places of resort—a grove that was situated -about a mile from the village. The purple light of -sunset was thrown like a glory over the surrounding -hills, and fell upon the bosom of the river which, -foaming in successive rapids through most of its course, -here spread out in a broad, deep current, as it swept -with graceful curve between its steep wooded banks. -Following the path that led down the bank, we came -out from the shadow of the trees into a point of land -that, jutting out into the river, was covered with a soft -greensward. A willow grew on its extremest verge, -and on a flat rock under its overhanging branches -Hattie Atherton was seated, with her sketch-book on -her knee. Her hat lay beside her on the grass, and -the wind sweeping back the long, shining curls that -usually hung over her face, revealed her broad, intellectual -brow, and the perfect contour of her features, -while her slight, delicate figure was relieved against -the dark trunk of the tree. So absorbed was she in -her occupation that she did not know of our approach -till we were beside her, and I had taken her book to -show Fred her accurate drawing of the view before -us. She started up with a slight blush, and turning to -my brother said, with a low silvery laugh,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You ridicule romantic school girls, Mr. Stanley; -and as I presume you think I look very much like one at -this moment, I must tell you how I happened to be -here. Father told me to-day that the course of the -M—— railroad has been altered, and it will pass directly -along this bank, so that our beautiful grove will -be spoiled.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Great was our indignation at the idea of this invasion, -and when we had exhausted almost every expression -in the language, Fred declared he would get up a remonstrance -and defeat their sacrilegious purposes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It will be of no use,” said Hattie. “It is the -march of improvement, and we must submit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Worse than the march of the Goths and Vandals,” -exclaimed Fred, wrathfully; “the idea of sacrificing -these grand old trees to the whims of a few railroad -contractors—it is too bad, for the other route will be -more convenient for everybody else.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I felt sorry enough, as you may imagine,” replied -Hattie. “I have spent so many happy hours here that -I determined to sketch the view from this point before -the measuring-rod or the steam-engine should disturb -its quiet beauty.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And your pencil has immortalized it; how perfectly -you have copied the flickering light that falls on -the smooth, dark waters, through those overhanging -trees. Really, Miss Atherton, I shall be exceedingly -obliged to you for a copy of this picture.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You shall have one,” said Hattie, frankly. “I -intended making a picture from this, and giving the -drawing to Mary, for I know she loves this scene as -much as I do. I have so many pleasant associations -connected with it, that I feel as if I were to part with -an old friend.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can realize your feelings,” replied Fred, “for I, -<span class='pageno' title='95' id='Page_95'></span> -too, have loved to listen on this spot to the many voices -of nature. How often have I sat beneath these trees -to watch the daylight fade from the hills, and the -twilight throw its shadows over the landscape, seeming -to descend lower and lower till they rested on the -bosom of the river, and I could see nothing but the -white foam gleaming through the dark, where it falls -over the rocks away yonder. Then the low, thrilling, -whispering of the wind among the pines, and the melancholy -scream of the night-hawk—I declare they -have made me quite poetical, as you see,” he added, -smiling, and slightly embarrassed at having been thus -betrayed out of his usual composure, which embarrassment -was not at all relieved by meeting Hattie’s -large dark eyes fixed on him with an expression of -wonder and gratification. Perhaps it was this <span class='it'>mauvais -honte</span>—perhaps it was the argumentative spirit which -had occasioned us to give him in the family the soubriquet -of “the opposing member”—that gave so -singular a turn to this sentimental conversation, when -at this moment, in turning over the leaves of her book, -Fred found a slip of paper covered with verses of -Harriet’s composition.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So you write poetry, too!” said he, looking up at -her with a smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, give it to me—I wouldn’t have you read it -for the world,” exclaimed she, springing forward with -such evident distress that he reluctantly relinquished -the manuscript.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You needn’t be afraid of his criticism, for he writes -poetry sometimes,” said I.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Do</span> you?” said Hattie, incredulously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Certainly,” answered my brother; “everybody -does now-a-days. In the class from which I graduated -at college, there were forty-five, of which forty -wrote poetry.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wrote <span class='it'>verses</span>, you mean,” said Hattie, demurringly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is very little difference. The Horatian -maxim, ‘<span class='it'>Poeta nascitur non fit</span>,’ which has so long -been thought to countenance a distinction, simply -means that men and women who write poetry, like -other men and women, are ‘born.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose, then,” replied Hattie, humoring the -idea, “that the doctrine that poets were obliged to -gallop up the sides of a steep mountain in Greece, on -a vicious nondescript called Pegasus, is to be considered -wholly metaphorical.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just so,” said Fred. “Pegasus is now a mere -omnibus horse, and timid people need no longer be -afraid of entering the coach lest they should get a kick -from the rampant animal, or be thrown into the depths -of Helicon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The doctrine of inspiration is also exploded,” said -I, laughing. “Burns used to compose some of his nice -little sonnets while engaged in the groveling occupation -of ploughing, and if any thing more elaborate than -usual was wanting, he took a glass of Scotch whisky.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Byron, too,” continued Fred, “wrote under the -influence of gin; and it is said of Wordsworth, considered -by the Lake school the greatest of modern -poets, that he had an assistant feeding him with bread -and butter while he was writing the ‘Excursion.’ -Whoever, then, can drink whisky and gin, or as -coming within the circle of the ‘pledge,’ can eat bread -and butter, need fear no lack of inspiration.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How ridiculous!” exclaimed Hattie. “What -would these great immortals think, could they hear -your nonsense.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Immortals! there is another false idea that should -be given up by all sensible men. Every thing else -that is made is made for some object, and its excellence -is determined by its fitness for that object—why -shouldn’t it be so with poetry. Cheese, for instance, -in Connecticut, is made with especial reference to the -time of its consumption, and one kind is labeled ‘to -be eaten immediately,’ another, ‘in one year,’ ‘two -years,’ and so on. So with poetry. Some of it is -better to be kept some years and go down to posterity -like ‘Paradise Lost’ and Shakspeare, that were not -much esteemed at first, you know; other kinds, more -fit for present consumption, may be read by moonlight, -cried over, and applied to other purposes of poetry.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You remind me,” said I, “of a definition I heard -the other day, which said, ‘poetry is only pleasant, -metrical, musical, writing which amuses and astonishes -one’s friends, makes one’s enemies bite their lips for -envy, and may be counted on the fingers.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s very good,” replied my brother, “but the -easiest way to make poetry is to take prose and turn -it. I was quite surprised, at an instance of this, I -found yesterday, in reading Napier’s History of the -Peninsula War. He had been describing the battle of -<a id='corr'></a>Corunna, and in speaking of the death of Sir John -More, he says, very nearly in these words: ‘it was -thought best to retreat without waiting for the break -of day. The body of Sir John was hurriedly deposited -in the earth, near the rampart, without music or even -a farewell shot being fired over his grave.’ Mr. Wolfe -has immortalized himself, as it is called, by turning -this account into verse; and just notice how closely -he has followed the prose original:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“ ‘Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note,</p> -<p class='line0'>  As his corpse to the rampart we hurried;</p> -<p class='line0'>Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot,</p> -<p class='line0'>  O’er the grave where our hero was buried.’ ”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>It is</span> strikingly like,” said Hattie, “not even the -usual descriptive adjectives, and very little amplification. -That shows how easily pieces of poetry of great -celebrity may have been written. Perhaps you and I -may one day be famous. I have often thought how a -pensive man, looking at the water in this river during -a mild fall of snow, might say very naturally, in thinking -of the transitoriness of the pleasures of this world,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>‘Like snow falls in a river,</p> -<p class='line0'>A moment white, then melts forever,’</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>and yet be unconscious that he had uttered a beautiful -comparison.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So, too,” said Fred, “any one who has ever cooked -a certain kind of shell-fish before sunrise, could not -help saying, as the light broke upon him,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“ ‘Like lobsters boiled—the moon</p> -<p class='line0'>From black to red begins to turn.’ ”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come,” said Hattie, when our laugh had subsided, -“it is getting dark, and as I promised to be at -home in time to see Sally dressed for her bridal, I fear -<span class='pageno' title='96' id='Page_96'></span> -if we don’t go now, she will remind me of the pouting -dame who sits at home,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“ ‘Gathering her brows like gathering storm,</p> -<p class='line0'>Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.’ ”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>After we had left Hattie at her own door, and were -proceeding homeward, Fred broke out in his most -earnest tone. “That Miss Atherton is a very nice -girl; what an intellectual face she has—have you seen -any of her poetry—does she write much?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes—you have read some of it, which she has -published anonymously, (but this is a great secret, remember,) -and her motive in doing so is as honorable -to her heart as the verses are to her poetical powers. -You know Mr. Atherton lavishes his wealth upon his -children without bounds, and Hattie says it does not -seem very benevolent for her to give away her father’s -money, so she devotes the proceeds of her literary -labors to purposes of charity. She is very kind to the -poor; I wish you could see how their faces brighten -at her approach.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well done! that is what I like in a woman. She -is really a very sensible girl,” replied my brother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Even if she does write her name H-a-t-t-i-e,” said -I, with a sly glance. Fred pinched my arm, but said -nothing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Time passed on, and I was satisfied that my brother -had found out “what there was to like in Hattie -Atherton;” but a proud man deeply in love is the most -timid of mortals, and he sped but slowly in his wooing. -His favorite books were offered for her perusal; and -long evenings were spent in arguments upon questions -of metaphysics and philosophy, and though Hattie had -sufficient strength of intellect to sustain her share of the -conversation creditably, she was too much impressed -with awe of Fred’s menial abilities to feel perfectly -at ease while he was thus drawing forth the powers of -her mind; and, mistaking her dignity and slight reserve -of manner for indifference or aversion, he dared not -betray the strong affection with which she inspired -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One evening, late in the summer, as I was sitting -alone in the twilight, Fred entered hastily, and throwing -himself into a chair, exclaimed, “I have just heard -very bad news—do you know—have you seen Harriet -to-day?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No—what has happened? Tell me, for mercy’s -sake,” said I, half frightened out of my wits at the sight -of his pale face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Atherton has failed.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, is that all,” replied I, with a feeling of relief -on knowing that nothing dreadful had befallen my -friend.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All!” retorted Fred. “I should think that was -enough. It will nearly kill the old man, he has such -an overwhelming horror of debt.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How did it happen?” said I, rising and putting on -my bonnet as I spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you going over there? I will go with you, -and tell you about it on the way,” replied Fred, throwing -my shawl around me, and giving me his arm. -The story was soon told. The loss of a ship which -was wrecked without insurance some months before, -had somewhat embarrassed him, and the sudden -failure of two large mercantile firms in Boston, with -whom he was connected had completed the ruin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As we approached the house through the garden, I -proposed that we should go in through one of the -parlor windows, which opened upon a grass-plot, and -formed a convenient entrance in that direction, of -which we had frequently availed ourselves. Never -shall I forget the sight which presented itself as we -stood before the window. Mrs. Atherton was reclining -on the sofa, sobbing bitterly. Mr. Atherton -was seated in an arm-chair, his face buried in his hands, -and his whole frame shrunk and collapsed, as if beneath -a weight of shame and agony. Harriet stood -beside him, bathing his head and raising with her -smooth, white fingers, the gray locks he had pulled -over his brow. The light which fell full on her face, -showed that she had been weeping violently; but now -there was a faint smile on her trembling lips, and she -was talking earnestly. We could not hear what she -said, but the tones were full of encouragement, and -her attitude and expression betokened firmness and -hope. As we gazed, the old man suddenly uncovered -his face, and throwing his arms around her neck, drew -her mouth down to his, and kissed her fervently.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We will not intrude here,” said my brother. -There was a strange huskiness in his voice, and I felt -his whole frame tremble as it did when he was strongly -moved.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We walked slowly home again and talked sadly of -the misfortune that had befallen our friends—of their -plans of quiet happiness that must be given up—of -their munificent charities that must be now contracted, -and of the anxieties and embarrassments which would -<a id='har'></a>harass that honorable old man, but when I said that -Lizzy must come home from school, and George must -discontinue his studies, Fred replied resolutely that -“It must not be;” and when we entered the house, he -seated himself before the writing-desk and commenced -a letter. Having occasion to cross the room as he -was closing it, I took a sister’s liberty to peep over his -shoulder, and saw—“So, my dear fellow, do not think -of leaving, but draw on me for whatever funds you -may require.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A fortnight elapsed, during which I saw little of -Harriet. In his professional capacity, as a lawyer, -Fred was busy most of the time with Mr. Atherton, -canvassing the business—settling accounts and making -assignments; and it was a season of mental torture to -the ruined father which could hardly have been borne -had it not been for the gentle ministrations of his -daughter. She it was who nerved her invalid mother -to meet calmly their change of circumstances, and to -aid her in consoling the care-worn, haggard man, -whose sorrow they so deeply shared. The sight of -her lovely face beaming with cheerfulness and affection, -the sound of her low musical voice, as she sung -the songs he loved, or repeated to him words of religious -faith and consolation, seemed to operate like a -charm in driving away the cares that haunted him, and -gradually her firmness and courage were imparted to -him, and he was enabled to lift up his head once more -and hope for better days.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Early one morning Hattie entered the room where -<span class='pageno' title='97' id='Page_97'></span> -we were sitting at breakfast, with a face so much -more joyful than she had for some time worn, that I -knew she must have some good news to communicate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is, indeed, so,” said she, in reply to my inquiry. -“I came to tell some news, and also to beg your -assistance for to-day.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am at your service,” I answered; “but first tell -me what has happened to please you so much?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I must premise,” replied she, “what you already -know, that on settling up his affairs, father has found -that he can pay every cent he owes, and we shall -have our dear old house and garden left; and as father -has a thousand dollars a year from his land agency, -we shall be able to get along quite comfortably. But -in order to do so, Lizzy must leave school and George -must help support himself for the next eighteen months -which elapse before his studies are finished. Now -you know he inherits mother’s delicate constitution, -and his health is too feeble to allow him to apply himself -as closely as will be necessary if he is to earn his -own support. Father has a sort of nervous horror of -his getting into debt, (and George is as particular as -father is on that point,) so, to make my story short,” -she added, hesitating a little, while a bright blush suddenly -suffused her face, “<span class='it'>I</span> am going to support them, -and father can keep the old homestead—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You support them—how?” we both exclaimed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Through the kindness of my old teacher, Miss -W——. Lizzy mentioned in her last letter that Miss -Foster, who has so long taught drawing and music at -the Seminary, had left to be married, and their present -teacher was not considered competent. So I -wrote the day after our misfortune came, without -saying any thing to father, and applied for the situation, -and this morning I received an answer, filled with -the most flattering expressions of kindness, and offering -very liberal terms.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You do not seriously mean that you intend teaching?” -said my brother, in a tone that deepened the -flush on Hattie’s cheek.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Certainly I do. Why should I not make my -acquirements available. I intend to ‘<span class='it'>improve my -talents</span>,’ and as that old-fashioned Jewish coin is not -current in this country, I must exchange it for something -that will pass more readily. I am quite delighted, -too, with the terms Miss W—— offers me, though I -fear I shall not be worth so much money. She says, -if I will let part of the salary go to pay Lizzy’s school-bills, -she will give me five hundred dollars a year, on -condition that I engage to remain two years.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That will be about four hundred dollars in money,” -said I, musingly; “yes, that is quite good pay, to be -sure; but, then, what will your father and mother do -without you for two years—have they consented to -your plans?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They have, after some opposition. They will be -very much alone, but I shall depend upon your kindness -to cheer their lonely hours, and your brother will -perhaps spend an evening with father occasionally,” -added she, glancing timidly at Fred, who was drumming -on the table with a very dissatisfied air.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When do you leave?” asked my mother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To-morrow,” she answered, rising; “and that reminds -me that I have not yet told you, Mary, that I -came to request your assistance to-day in making my -final preparations. I did not expect to go so soon, and -have many little things to arrange before I leave.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why do you go to-morrow?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In order to be there at the commencement of the -next term—you will come, wont you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I promised to be with her in a short time, and she -departed; and Fred, after putting salt into his coffee, -and mustard on his bread, in a vain attempt to finish -his breakfast, took his hat in desperation, and went -out after her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Miss Atherton,” said he earnestly, as he overtook -her, “let me persuade you to give up this scheme—we -can’t spare you for two years.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am quite astonished at opposition from you, -Mr. Stanley,” said Hattie, in some confusion at his -earnest manner. “It is but a few weeks since we -had that long talk about woman’s duties and powers -of usefulness. You remember what you said then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes; but with you,” replied Fred, in a low tone, -“with you it is ‘to gild refined gold, to paint the lily.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A long silence followed, for both were too much -agitated to speak, when Fred repeated, “Do give up -this plan—there is no need of it. I have written your -brother to draw on me for any amount he may need to -complete his education.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are very kind,” said Hattie, tremulously, and -her soft eyes were filled with a dewy light, as for a -moment they met his impassioned gaze. Just then -they reached the garden-gate, and in attempting to unlatch -it at the same time, their hands met. The touch -thrilled through each frame like an electric shock. -Fred took her hand and drew it within his arm as -they proceeded up the walk.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If I could only persuade you,” said he, “how -gratified I am to be of service to you. If you could -have the faintest adequate idea how necessary is your -presence to my happiness—how I have lived for weeks, -months, only in the hope that I might one day tell you -how fervently my whole soul loves you. Oh, dear -Miss Atherton, is it all in vain?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was no reply, but the small, trembling hand -that rested on his arm, placed itself in the hand that -lay near it, and nestled there, as if it would cling forever. -A glad, hopeful smile sprung to his lips. -“Harriet—dear Harriet, you will let me love you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again those expressive eyes were raised to his, and -her heart spoke through them, as her low dear tones -answered, “I will love you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And you will not leave me—you will be my wife—you -will give me the right to assist your brother?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Some time hence, but not now. You must not -strive to break my resolution. I trust in you fully, and -the words you have just spoken, are to me like sunshine -breaking through the clouds that have enveloped -my life; but for Lizzy’s sake, and for George’s, it is -best that I should not relinquish my purpose.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They entered the house and sat down together. All -the barriers of doubt and distrust that had separated -them were removed, and these two full, strong hearts, -were revealed to each other. With all the eloquence -of affection, Fred endeavored to convince her that -<span class='pageno' title='98' id='Page_98'></span> -it was not her duty to leave the home that was now -more than ever dear to her; but the gentle girl was -firm in her noble resolve, and at length her pleadings -won from him a reluctant consent to its fulfillment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The two years, which had seemed so long in the -prospective, passed rapidly away, as time always does -when one is in the steady performance of duty. -Hattie’s visits at home were short and unfrequent, but -she won the admiration of her pupils. Lizzy was at -school with her, and Fred found so much business to -compel him to visit the city, that he was considered -quite a public benefactor by certain postage-saving -acquaintances, who besieged our door with inquiries -when Mr. Stanley would go to B——, and would he -take a package?</p> - -<hr class='tbk114'/> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the evening before the wedding-day. The -sisters had returned three months before, and George -had been some time at home, and was soon to be ordained -as pastor over the church where for generations -his fathers had worshiped. Having assisted Lizzy -in arranging the bridal paraphernalia for to-morrow -morning’s ceremony, I went down stairs to bid Hattie -good-night before I went home. She was standing by -the window, with her head leaning on Fred’s shoulder. -One of his arms was around her, and with the other -he was holding back the curtain that the brilliant moonlight -might fall full on the beautiful face that was raised -to his with an expression of confiding affection. A -sudden recollection flashed upon my mind, and crossing -the room, I threw my arms around them as they -stood together, and said to my brother, “Fred, <span class='it'>have -you</span> found out what there is to like in Hattie Atherton?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have found,” replied Fred, drawing her fondly to -his heart, “that there is every thing in her to like except -her name; she will change that to-morrow, and -then she will be perfect.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk115'/> - -<div><h1><a id='tomary'></a>TO 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 LUCY CABELL.</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'>’Twere vain, dear Mary, to attempt</p> -<p class='line0'>  To sound your praise in rhyme;</p> -<p class='line0'>Though oft I’ve gazed upon your face,</p> -<p class='line0'>  You’re fairer every time.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The stars are bright—but your sweet eyes,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Are lovelier far than they,</p> -<p class='line0'>And diamonds, were they half as sweet,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Have scarce a brighter ray.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And, oh, such winning fondness lies,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In your gay, gladsome smile,</p> -<p class='line0'>I scarce can look on you, and think</p> -<p class='line0'>  I do not dream the while.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And then your form—light as the air,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And perfect as a fairy;</p> -<p class='line0'>Though many strive for beauty’s prize,</p> -<p class='line0'>  None can compare with Mary.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh, Mary, may thy future life,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Be bright, as thou art now,</p> -<p class='line0'>And not a shade of sorrow rest,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Upon thy snow-white brow.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And when thy gentle spirit soars,</p> -<p class='line0'>  From its abode of love,</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh, may it leave this world of cares,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To dwell with God above.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk116'/> - -<div><h1><a id='little'></a>LITTLE WILLIE.</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. H. MARION STEPHENS.</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 beautiful—my beautiful,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Upon thy baby brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>The stern, relentless hand of death</p> -<p class='line0'>  Has placed his signet now!</p> -<p class='line0'>The golden threads that span thy life,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Are breaking, one by one;</p> -<p class='line0'>Let me not hold his spirit back—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Oh, God! thy will be done!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>My beautiful—my beautiful!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thy life has been a dream;</p> -<p class='line0'>A moment more, and it has passed,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like sunshine on a stream;</p> -<p class='line0'>Or like a bud, whose perfumed leaves</p> -<p class='line0'>  Unfolded for an hour,</p> -<p class='line0'>To gaze with rapture on its God—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Then droop beneath his power.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>My beautiful—my beautiful!</p> -<p class='line0'>  I would not call thee back;</p> -<p class='line0'>I joy that thou hast fled the storms</p> -<p class='line0'>  That beat upon life’s track;</p> -<p class='line0'>I love to know thy sinless soul</p> -<p class='line0'>  Has burst its bonds of clay,</p> -<p class='line0'>And watch thy spirit as it glides</p> -<p class='line0'>  So pleasantly away.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And when I gather up the folds</p> -<p class='line0'>  Around thy pale, cold face,</p> -<p class='line0'>And when I weep to see thee laid</p> -<p class='line0'>  In thy last resting-place,</p> -<p class='line0'>I’ll mind me that the fearful storm</p> -<p class='line0'>  By which my soul is riven,</p> -<p class='line0'>Has borne my dove an olive branch,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And wafted him to Heaven.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk117'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='99' id='Page_99'></span><h1><a id='mary'></a>MARY WILSON.</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 D. W. BELISLE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“She never told her love, but deep</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  Within her heart concealed there lay</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>The worm that prey’d upon her cheek,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  And stole her bloom away.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary Wilson was an only child. Her parents -were exceedingly wealthy; and, though possessing -extended landed estates, they were as parsimonious in -hoarding up riches as though they were only in moderate -circumstances. Mr. Wilson was rather aristocratic -in his manners, yet, in many respects, he was -quite liberal to those of his neighbors who were not as -fortunate as himself in accumulating property. He -was a gentleman of great influence, around whom -gathered the elite of Cincinnati—whose favor was -courted and sought by the wealthy and great. In his -earlier days Mr. Wilson had laid out the rules which -were to govern him through the world, and, in whatever -circumstance in life, he fully resolved to abide by -the course he had adopted for his guidance. He had retired -from the active capacity of a business man; and -yet, whenever he found an opportunity for speculating, -he was just the man to engage in it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>About the time our story commences, the fever of -speculation in the Western States raged to a marvelous -extent. The excitement was great, and many had invested -their whole patrimony in the speculation, with -the ardent assurance that they would become immensely -wealthy. But, alas! their expectations were -but “castles in the air;” for the excitement soon subsided, -and those who had invested their all in purchasing -land, now found, to their great astonishment, -that they had lost all they possessed. Many who were -independent one day, and had the brightest anticipations -of the future, the next were penniless and destitute, -not knowing where or how to procure a sustenance -for their families.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Among the most unfortunate in this respect was Mr. -Wilson. He had invested all—even to the last dollar—of -his immense possessions; he had bought lands at an -exorbitant price; but he was perfectly satisfied that in -the speculation he would make his thousands. His -wife and daughter remonstrated against his entering so -largely into the meshes of the excitement, and of involving -himself to so great an extent; but he was too -deeply resolved upon making money to pay the least -regard to their remonstrances. He endorsed largely -for others, and appeared lost in the agitation which existed. -Speculation was the all-absorbing topic—with -him it was a sort of magic, which usurped his entire -thoughts, and, to a great degree, restrained his manly -virtues. But soon his dreams and anticipations received -a relapse, the effect of which had a serious impression -upon his feelings. The day of speculation -had passed, and the entire capital which Mr. Wilson -had invested, was gone! He had lost all! he was reduced -to poverty! Many others shared the same fate. -Wealthy citizens were stripped of all their property; -many of whom, who had not lost all in speculating, -were sufferers from the evil consequences of endorsing -for others. In short, a depression of business ensued -seldom witnessed in a commercial city.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Reduced to want, Mr. Wilson’s ambition was gone! -his pride preventing him from engaging in any ordinary -business; and his constitution too feeble for manual -labor, he felt keenly sensible of the unpleasantness of -his situation. He knew not what to do! His splendid -mansion—the home of his childhood, whose hallowed -associations filled his heart with happiness—had been -given up, to satisfy the demands of the law; his furniture -was sold; and still unliquidated claims pressed -daily and heavily upon him for payment. Friends who, -in the days of his prosperity, flocked to his hospitable -board, now shunned him, as one whom they regarded -as their inferior, both in point of wealth and respectability. -Mr. Wilson observed the change with the -keenest sense of injustice, and now felt how painful it -was to be <span class='it'>thought</span> inferior to his fellow-man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary was a girl of uncommon pretensions, whose -amiable disposition and beauty attracted to her side a -host of admirers, who, in their prosperous days, sought -to rival each other for her hand—among whom was -Charles Tomlinson, the son of a wealthy merchant of -Cincinnati. Charles was a young man of rare talents, -prepossessing deportment, and affable disposition. He -possessed all the qualities of a noble, generous-hearted -man; but, notwithstanding the purity of his daily -“walk and conversation,” he had imbibed many vague -sentiments in regard to the Bible and the precepts -taught in that holy book. Mary observed this, and felt -pained to see so much talent wasted in useless attempts -to prove the Bible false; but yet she loved him. Their -attachment daily grew stronger, until they were betrothed, -and the day appointed for the consummation of -their vows. Before, however, the time for their marriage -arrived, Mr. Wilson’s misfortune came, the tendency -of which was an entire revolution in the feelings -of Mr. Tomlinson. He now resolved that he -would <span class='it'>not</span> marry her, because her father had failed, -and, in all probability, would never be worth a dollar -again. With this resolution on his mind, he was at a -loss in what way to acquaint her of his determination, -or how he could honorably release himself from his -engagement. He had too little fortitude to unmask his -change of sentiment to her, personally; and to do so -by letter would betray a want of manliness, which he -had the reputation of possessing. In the midst of this -trying situation, he called to his assistance a friend, in -whom he had placed the utmost confidence, and to -whom he had entrusted the transaction of much important -business. To this friend Mr. Tomlinson gave -<span class='pageno' title='100' id='Page_100'></span> -instructions how to proceed, directing him at the same -time to use the utmost caution in the information he -wished to convey. His name was Samuel Gordon.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“She seldom smiled—and when she did,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  It was so sad, subdued, and brief,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>As though her mourning heart she’d chide,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  And strove to smile away its grief.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The attachment between Tomlinson and Miss Wilson, -thus far, had been secretly kept from her parents, -they preferring to make it known but a few weeks -previously to their marriage-day. But Mrs. Wilson, with -the watchfulness of a mother, perceived their intimacy, -and, in a gentle manner, addressed her thus:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mary, for some time past I have noticed rather -more than a friendly intimacy between you and Mr. -Tomlinson, and, as a mother, I feel it my duty to give -you advice on the subject. I would not do aught to -give you pain; but I am not favorable to the addresses -of Mr. Tomlinson.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miss Wilson, deeming it no longer prudent to keep -the truth of the matter concealed from her mother, replied:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dear mother, I hope you will forgive my rashness, -for we have long since been engaged. I hope you will -overlook my disobedience.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Their conversation was broken off by a quick ring -of the bell, and Mary hastened to the door to respond -to the call.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have a message from Mr. Tomlinson, and wish to -see Miss Wilson alone for a few moments,” said the -stranger.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am Miss Wilson. What is your business with -me, sir?” she asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have,” he continued, “unfortunately to announce -to you that Mr. Tomlinson, since he has lost so much -in the misfortunes which have fallen on so many of the -citizens of this city, deems it, at present, a rash undertaking -to marry, while circumstances of such an aggravating -character continue. I think it would be better -for you to be as calm as possible, and wait with due -patience until a more favorable turn of fortune, which -I anticipate will not be very long.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Had an ice-bolt entered the heart of that young girl, -it could not have had a much greater effect. His words -fell upon her ears like the solemn knell of all her hopes; -for, since their misfortunes, she had fondly supposed -that her marriage with Mr. Tomlinson would, in a great -measure, retrieve the reputation of her father. She -could not believe that Mr. Tomlinson would be guilty -of such duplicity, and thought a stranger had imposed -upon her. But how he, stranger as he was, -knew any thing in regard to their engagement, was -something more than she could solve—an enigma -which cost her much anxiety and thought; for even -her parents, until that moment, had not known it. Her -mother saw the hectic flush mantle the cheek of her -child, and felt conscious that something serious would -be the consequence. That Mary loved Tomlinson was -unmistakable. She read it in the deep blue of her eyes; -she saw it in every lineament of her features; she discovered -it in all her actions; and, with the sympathy -of a mother’s own feelings, she endeavored to console -her in that, her “hour of need.” But the effect was -too much for her delicate constitution to bear. She -“loved not wisely, but too well;” and, day after day, -she sat pensively surveying the beautiful scenery before -her, and silently reflecting on her own unhappy -condition.</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Her silvery voice was heard no more—</p> -<p class='line0'>  She sang not, and her breathing late,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which never knew neglect before,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Now lies alone—forgotten, mute!</p> -<p class='line0'>Or, if a passing strain she rang,</p> -<p class='line0'>  So mournfully its numbers rose,</p> -<p class='line0'>That those who heard might deem she sang</p> -<p class='line0'>  A lorn soul’s requiem to repose!”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>On a lovely autumn evening, just as the sun was -shedding its last rosy beams on the tops of the surrounding -hills, Mary looked from her chamber window, -and drank in, at a glance, the golden glories of -expiring day, and thought how calm it would be for her -to die as sweetly as the sun was sinking to rest behind -the hills, so that her memory might live, like the beauteous -twilight, long after her frail body had mouldered -again to dust. She called her mother to her side, and -told her that she was dying! At such a beautiful hour, -when the day began to close, and shadows were no -longer broad-cast from the clouds, but were stretched -along the surface of the earth by the interception of a -tree, or hill-side, Mary breathed her last!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As these precious but fleeting scenes pass like sober -thoughts across the face of earth, or intermingle side -by side with gay and brilliant passages of light of equal -evanescence, making all tender and beautiful, which -otherwise had been lustrous and sparkling, they call up -within the heart the memory of the past; and by an -association we can scarcely trace, characters reappear -of friends who have passed away before us.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus ended the life of Mary Wilson. Struck down -in the vigor and bloom of youth, this young maiden has -left many friends to mourn her loss. She was much -esteemed; so much so, that every personal defect was -forgotten in the charms of her spirit, with which she -imparted to her friends a look of kindness and a -blessing.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“Yon willow shades a marble stone,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  On which the curious eye can tell</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>That underneath there lieth one</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  Who loved not wisely—but too well.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk118'/> - -<div><h1><a id='words'></a>WORDS OF WAYWARDNESS.</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 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'>Hah! for the tide of the blood’s hot gush—</p> -<p class='line0'>Hah! for the throng or proud thoughts that rush,</p> -<p class='line0'>Reckless and riotous—why should they be</p> -<p class='line0'>Iced by thy frown, Reality?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Give, give me back the early joy</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of youth’s warm hopes, of vows believed—</p> -<p class='line0'>Again, again a dreaming boy</p> -<p class='line0'>  Let me be happy—though deceived.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Friendship,</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='pageno' title='101' id='Page_101'></span></p> -<p class='line0'>they say, is but a name,</p> -<p class='line0'>And woman’s love a meteor flame,</p> -<p class='line0'>That feedeth upon fancy’s breath</p> -<p class='line0'>A little while, then perisheth.</p> -<p class='line0'>Out, out upon thee—out on thee!</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou hideous hag, Reality.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Hah! tears again! dost ask me why</p> -<p class='line0'>  The tear upon this burning cheek,</p> -<p class='line0'>The half repressed, yet bursting sigh?</p> -<p class='line0'>  The tear, the sigh, themselves must speak;</p> -<p class='line0'>Must tell a tale of by-gone hours,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A vision of all fair and bright—</p> -<p class='line0'>When my young path was strewn with flowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And every throb was of delight.</p> -<p class='line0'>When joys were of each moment’s birth,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Nor care, nor doubt, an instant stole</p> -<p class='line0'>From days of ever-changeful mirth,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That changeless shone upon the soul.</p> -<p class='line0'>When hopes, that in mist-distance gleaming,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In promise e’en outvied the past,</p> -<p class='line0'>Came ever, halcyon heralds seeming,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of peace and bliss for aye to last.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But where is now the sportive wile</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of youth—so guileless and so gay—</p> -<p class='line0'>The soul of love, of fire—the smile,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That spoke that soul—oh! where are they?</p> -<p class='line0'>Of days that could such joys impart</p> -<p class='line0'>  What now remains? Their memory—</p> -<p class='line0'>A cheerless, blasted youth—a heart</p> -<p class='line0'>  That breaketh fast, though silently.</p> -<p class='line0'>And those proud hopes so fondly cherished,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Have they too proved, like Friendship, breath?</p> -<p class='line0'>Ay, one by one, they all have perished—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Yet no—not all—there yet is death!</p> -<p class='line0'>There yet remains to choose some spot,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where, far from man and scorn, to lie—</p> -<p class='line0'>And there, unheeded and forgot,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Alone—oh! God—alone to die.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Who talks of dying, while around</p> -<p class='line0'>  The earth’s so fair, the sky so bright?</p> -<p class='line0'>With Folly’s wreath let day be crowned,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And Mirth and Music rule the night.</p> -<p class='line0'>Another chord—the purple hills</p> -<p class='line0'>  Are bowing to the yellow vales—</p> -<p class='line0'>The vales are smiling to the rills—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The rills make music for the gales,</p> -<p class='line0'>That with the sunbeams twining hands,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Through groves and meads and streams are glancing</p> -<p class='line0'>Adown the lanes, and on the sands</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of brave old Ocean madly dancing.</p> -<p class='line0'>And brave old Ocean roareth so</p> -<p class='line0'>  His honest laugh, to see those Misses,</p> -<p class='line0'>The pretty flow’rets bending low,</p> -<p class='line0'>  As though to shun the wired-god’s kisses.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Kisses—hah! hah!—around this string</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of other days what memories twine—</p> -<p class='line0'>Bring, merry comrades, quickly bring</p> -<p class='line0'>  Youth-giving and song-making wine.</p> -<p class='line0'>Fill, fill—on the faithful brim</p> -<p class='line0'>  Pile up the sparkling flood—</p> -<p class='line0'>Drink, drink, till the living stream</p> -<p class='line0'>  Run conqueror through the blood.</p> -<p class='line0'>Drink to the hill, the vale,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The stream and its jeweled brink,</p> -<p class='line0'>To the warming ray and the cooling gale,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To earth and to ocean drink.</p> -<p class='line0'>Drink to each thing that seems</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or loving or glad to be—</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor wait to ask if those joyous beams</p> -<p class='line0'>  Be nature’s hypocrisy.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I’ve quaffed the brimming bowl</p> -<p class='line0'>  In mirth’s and madness’ hours—</p> -<p class='line0'>And drenched my thirsty soul</p> -<p class='line0'>  In goblets crowned with flowers.</p> -<p class='line0'>Of draughts so pure as this</p> -<p class='line0'>  ’Tis luxury to sip,</p> -<p class='line0'>But draught of purer bliss</p> -<p class='line0'>  Doth dwell on woman’s lip.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I’ve felt the glowing sun</p> -<p class='line0'>  Steal warmly to my heart’s</p> -<p class='line0'>Faint throbs, when gazing on</p> -<p class='line0'>  The skies of southern parts.</p> -<p class='line0'>But oh! a sun more bright,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A purer, warmer sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>Of joy-embathing light,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is found in woman’s eye.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>’Neath holy Music’s spell</p> -<p class='line0'>  Hath lain each dream-rapt sense,</p> -<p class='line0'>While on my spirit fell</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its gushing eloquence.</p> -<p class='line0'>But oh! a spell there is</p> -<p class='line0'>  More potent to rejoice—</p> -<p class='line0'>The soothing lowliness</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of woman’s whispered voice.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Then wonder not, if now</p> -<p class='line0'>  To her I pledge this cup,</p> -<p class='line0'>To whom my earliest vow</p> -<p class='line0'>  First sent its incense up—</p> -<p class='line0'>To her—the soul of verse,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Our hope, when hope-bereft—</p> -<p class='line0'>Our blessing ’neath the curse—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Our all of Eden left.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Give, give me back the early joy</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of youth’s strong hopes, of vows believed—</p> -<p class='line0'>Again, again a dreaming boy</p> -<p class='line0'>  Let me be happy, though deceived.</p> -<p class='line0'>For who hath caught the answering sigh</p> -<p class='line0'>  Heaving sweet woman’s timid breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>His longing soul fed on her eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And learned the rapture to be blest—</p> -<p class='line0'>In lingering dalliance now to sip,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In boldness now of ardor roving,</p> -<p class='line0'>To drink from eye, cheek, forehead, lip,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of one beloved, and seeming loving.</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon the tell-tale cheek to breathe,</p> -<p class='line0'>Closer the clasping hands to wreathe,</p> -<p class='line0'>As if no earthly power could sever</p> -<p class='line0'>The bosoms met, as met forever—</p> -<p class='line0'>While each responsive fluttering heart,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Beating as though ’twould gladly break</p> -<p class='line0'>  To tell the joy that tongue ne’er spake,</p> -<p class='line0'>Longs from its heaving breast to part,</p> -<p class='line0'>Nearer and nearer still to press</p> -<p class='line0'>The soul of its soul’s happiness.</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! who has felt around his soul</p> -<p class='line0'>  The spells of this idolatry—</p> -<p class='line0'>And wished not that his days should roll</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thus spell-bound to eternity.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Away with wisdom—’tis a cheat—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Away with truth—’tis all a lie—</p> -<p class='line0'>Madness alone hath no deceit—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Falsehood alone no mockery.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk119'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i074.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0003' style='width:475px;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span class='bold'>OLDEN TIMES.</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk120'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='102' id='Page_102'></span><h1><a id='olden'></a>OLDEN TIMES.</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'>The town or borough of Harrisburg, the political -capital of Pennsylvania, lies on the <span class='it'>bank</span> of the Susquehanna, -about 107 miles west of Philadelphia. I -say on the <span class='it'>bank</span>, not the shore; for here a bold bluff -rises a few yards from the northern margin of the river, -and the town is, therefore, from ten to fifteen feet above -the stream—a fact of consequence to the inhabitants; -as the Susquehanna, which, in summer, may be easily -forded by children, will frequently, during the spring -freshets, rise from six to eight feet, threatening all upon -its borders. The houses are built only on the north -side of this front street, so as to face the river and -leave, besides the beautiful avenue, a handsome esplanade -in front of the town, overlooking the river.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Few places can present a more delightful promenade -than this <span class='it'>front</span> of Harrisburg; and the writer hereof -has more than once sought to express his appreciation -of the walk and the gorgeousness of the views to be -enjoyed therefrom. The scene is ever fresh—ever delightsome, -to one who has an eye for the beautiful of -nature, and a heart to be warmed into the enjoyment -of that beautiful. No frequency of indulgence palls -the appetite here—no change of season diminishes the -attraction. Whether the stream murmurs round the -projecting rock and over masses of pebbles that mark its -bed and are visible in summer, or whether the current -dashes deep and bold, fed by the melting snows of the -upper mountains, it is beautiful; beautiful in its simple -exhibition—beautiful in its terrible grandeur. Whether -the setting sun steeps the current in liquid, tremulous -light, or the wild, tempestuous blasts of January heap -up the waters in dark and chaffing masses, all is beautiful; -and men go forth to gaze in quiet enjoyment on -the peaceful flow of July, or to enrich and stimulate -their feelings with the all-conquering power of the -down-rushing torrent of March.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Indulging in dreamy pleasure one morning late in -June, while contemplating the loveliness of the scene, -I cast my eyes away to the mountains through which -the river forces its course a few miles above the town, -and was delighted to see the first evidences of the rising -sun in the yellow light that tinged the topmost peaks -of those mighty promontories, while heavy wreaths of -mist, engendered on the ground below, were rolling -upward, like giants anxious to bathe early in the sunlight—an -enjoyment that must have cost them existence, -or, perhaps, only present <span class='it'>visibility</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I can now recall some of the reflections to which the -magnificent scene gave rise. Those children of the -mist, that tended upward, were they only imaginary -beings? only the workmanship of my fancy, upon -the crude materials that sprung up from the fens? or -were those misty shapes indeed the essential forms of -spirits, whose tendencies were upward—who, though -dragged downward by the grossness of their outward -covering, which affected its home and would abide in -its cold, dark birth-place, struggled upward to the light -and heat, and were released from the clogging properties -of the visible and the impure, while they put -on the invisible and the purified?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I knew the law of physics, by which the ascensive -power of matter is augmented by heat, and consequently -felt that some of those who were sleeping in -the vicinity, would have referred all those misty images -of the mountains to well known and always occurring -circumstances. I admit that natural causes produce -just such effects as the ascension of these wreaths of -mist. But may not He who enacts the laws by which -all these events occur, connect also the state, habits -and tendencies of some class of beings with the operation -of those laws? Because the sun gives light and -heat to the system of which it is the centre, because -we know that it riseth and goeth down, and because -we can calculate the influence of its light and heat -upon our planet, does it follow that the same body may -not be the home of millions of rational beings, who -would laugh if told that we, mundane men, thought -<span class='it'>that</span> luminous body made for the convenience of the -earth?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I was calculating the effect upon one who should, -while standing on that mountain, venture to address -these wreathy forms, and find himself understood and -answered, when the presence of a person whom I had -once or twice seen, at the peep of dawn,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Brushing, with hasty steps, the dew away,”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>renewed a resolution of putting to him a question as to -the origin of a certain enclosure in the vicinity. There -was, between the upper bank and the edge of the -river, directly in front of the town, a small enclosure, -perhaps fifteen feet square, surrounded by a decaying -board fence, and having in it two miserably looking -Lombardy poplars, touched with all the squalidness of -decay which characterizes the <span class='it'>age</span> of that short-lived -tree. Brambles, too, had sprung up in the enclosure, -and they covered a small rising of the ground, with -some invisible emblems. My object was to know -why such a place was allowed in front of the town; -why it was made, and why thus continued.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That,” said my friend, “is the grave of old Mr. -<span class='sc'>Harris</span>, for whom the town was named, long before -they thought of building the capitol yonder. But there -is a long story connected with the matter, and you can -learn the whole of it if you will call, with proper motives -and in a proper manner, upon a descendant of -the old patriarch who resides in the neighborhood.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now, I saw in this man some signals of fancy, and I -felt determined to get the story out of him. But he professed -<span class='pageno' title='103' id='Page_103'></span> -to be in too much haste; he had his day’s work -to perform, and he had almost forgotten the story. But -I persevered with him and obtained some account, -which, after eleven years, I put on paper, not venturing -to quote my friend for authority, telling the story -not exactly as ’twas told to me, but as I recollect and -reconstruct the narrative.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Harris was one of the pioneers of Pennsylvania. -He saw the country rich and beautiful before him, and -“went forth and stood and measured the earth” in and -around the place where now stands the borough which -bears his name. The beauty of scenery, the delicate -softness of the valley contrasting with the towering -summits of the mountains around, made the place exceedingly -desirable. He, like the men of his times, -had an eye for the beautiful, and a far-reaching ken -that took in the future with the present; and so he sat -down on the shores of the Susquehanna, on what was -then perhaps an island, though now a part of the main -land.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Harris was a man of the world—I mean what I -say—he was emphatically a man of the world. -Calmly and coolly had he, in his youth, sat down to reflect -upon the policy which would best subserve the -purposes which he had in view; and, after mature deliberation, -he came to the conclusion that the precepts -of his mother were well founded, and that however -much the gay might ridicule, or the short-sighted neglect, -the rules which she had prescribed, and which -she had made him, in boyhood, follow—on the whole, -“to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly,” -would serve the affairs of a long life as well as they -would produce effects after death. So, Mr. Harris sat -down on the banks of the Susquehanna, an honest man -from habit—an honest man from principle; a Christian -by birth—a Christian by all his actions. He had nothing -Utopian in his views, nothing impracticable in -his plans. If he bought or sold, it was with a view to -his own advantage in the transaction, and neither -white man nor red man could outbargain him; but -either white man or red man would be welcome to all -that his wants required at his hands; and those who -failed to get one quart of meal more than he would -allow in trade, found no difficulty in procuring a peck -whenever their necessities appealed to his feelings of -charity rather than to his rule of business.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The means of the founder of the settlement had -been somewhat diminished by an act of goodness, -which few could appreciate at the time. A stout black -man was about to be torn from his wife to be sent into -slavery at the South. The ability of the slave enhanced -his price, while his goodness of heart made the separation -more intolerable to him. The wife was free—should -she go into voluntary slavery in order to follow -her husband? and if she did, who could tell her that -the first inducement to the owner to sell her husband -might not result in a separation, which no sacrifice on -her part could prevent, nor could it mitigate the evils -thereof. In this state Pompey appealed to Mr. Harris; -he promised fidelity, industry and gratitude; Mr. Harris -saw that he could prevent misery, and he paid the -price of the man, and thus became his <span class='it'>owner</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Massa Harris,” said the delighted black, as he -saw the accomplishment of his heart’s desire, “I’ll do -something for this by and by.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What will you do, Pompey?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t know, massa; but guess ’twill come sometime -or other.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pompey formed a part of Mr. Harris’s establishment -in his small settlement upon the Susquehanna, -and by his light heartedness and his labor, seemed to -repay all obligations which his purchase devolved upon -him. He had a song for the youngsters who visited -the place, and he could dance with the Indians that resided -a short distance above; and whether in the field -or at the mill, he was trustworthy, active, industrious, -and never for a moment did his worthy master find -cause to regret his purchase.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Done enough for to-day?” would Pompey inquire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You have done more, Pompey, than I directed, and -you have done it well; and excepting your habit of -singing foolish songs, and dancing like a madman -among the Indians and squaws that come down from -the Juniata, I have been well compensated for your -cost.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But I have not done <span class='it'>that</span>,” said Pompey.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I tell you, Pompey, that I require only the discharge -of ordinary duties; I do not expect you will -meet with any occasion for any extraordinary effort in -my behalf.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, well, massa—it will come, bym’by, I <span class='it'>tell</span> -you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The peaceful, gentle manners of Mr. Harris had -their effect upon Pompey’s movements, but not to the -extent which the master desired. The servant was -honest, industrious, and did all the work that was required -at his hands, but he could not pretermit his -sport. The day of gloom closed with Pompey when -Mr. Harris saved him from the sale to the South and -the separation from his wife, and Pompey felt a sort of -devotion in his wild, irregular dances and his loud, -shrill singing. His spirits rose with every recollection -of the kindness, and, as he broke into a verse of some -favorite song or shuffled out upon the hard earth with -bare heels the time of a quickly moving tune, he felt -that he was only giving expression to gratitude for his -kind master; and who shall say that the offering of the -joyous black was not made acceptable above, by the -sincerity of the feelings in which it was presented?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a clear star-light evening of July, the moon -had not risen, and the planetary worlds above seemed -to magnify themselves in the absence of the great -source of day; a gentle draft of air down the stream -was felt, and occasionally a rustling among the foliage -was caused by the wind, augmented into a temporary -breeze. The whole bank of the river was covered -with tall forest trees, save where Mr. Harris’s little -settlement was placed. On a bold bluff, now washed -away, but which then jutted out into the stream, as if -for the site of some defensive works, stood a female. -She had been long looking up into the firmament, and -then casting her eyes around, as if expecting some -one to share with her the “contemplation of the starry -heavens.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young woman stepped forward and looked -down upon the waters below her for some time, and -<span class='pageno' title='104' id='Page_104'></span> -then murmured: “They are now, as in years past, -above and below—the glorious constellations shining -on, and year after year returning, with all their train -rich in their lustre, and surveying themselves in the -waters beneath. But <span class='it'>we</span> change. Year after year -passes, and my fathers’ race, if they appear at all, present -themselves in diminished numbers and in wasting -forms. The foot of the white man is on the soil, and -he treats us as he does the forest trees. Where he -finds our race convenient, he leaves them to perish for -want of communion with their like; where he needs -their lands, he strikes them down as cumberers of the -ground; and I, who love the race—<span class='it'>I</span> dwell among the -pale faces, in peace; nay, I dwell among them of -choice. I love their people, and I reverence the precepts -by which some of them are governed—by which -all profess to be guided. Oh, spirit of my fathers! -must all pass away like the wreaths of mountain -mist, and, as they fall, shall it be the disgrace of their -name that vice, and not vengeance, swept them from -the earth?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, what is this new principle which the whites -have infused into my soul—the means and condition of -future happiness? What is it that bids me forbear the -wish that I was a man—a chief among my fathers’ -people, that I might chase the intruder from our hunting-grounds, -and restore to our nation the land which -was purchased by trinkets and baubles, costless to the -whites and useless to the red men? What is that -principle that <span class='it'>bids</span> me, nay <span class='it'>makes</span> me, pray for the -good of the whites around me, and look to the destruction -of my father’s race as a means of that good?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I cannot tell. And the teachings of the whites -concerning the requirements of their own religion, become -dark and confused when they attempt to reconcile -their practice with their precepts; at least, those -who teach most do most confound. But Father Harris, -who has little to say, how good are all his <span class='it'>deeds</span>! how -like the shining of those stars upon the water is his -benevolence to my race! beautiful in itself, and reflected -in the hearts of the red men with constant -lustre. Oh, if all were like him! but then—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then what, Dahona?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The interruption was caused by a young man who -had followed the speaker to a place of frequent resort.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then what, Dahona?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, William, nay, do not call me Dahona; at -least, do not call me thus in <span class='it'>this</span> place—do not call me -thus when you find me alone—when the wildness of -the scene begets wildness of thought, and the breeze -which comes down from the hunting-grounds of my -fathers, seems to fan into a flame the lingering sparks of -native fire which civilization, as yet, has not quenched. -Do not, by such a name, call up my almost buried -thoughts of those who owned these lands when the -white men were enjoying that which they stole from -their conquered enemies; do not tell me, in the midst -of these returning pangs of pride and regret—do not by -that name tell me, that I am the daughter of a chief -killed upon his own hills; and when I would calm -down those feelings of vengeance, which come with -longer intervals, do not, with the name of Dahona, -goad me on to those wishes which must be sinful, for -they are unjust to Father Harris.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, then, my dear Rebecca, if all the whites -were like Father Harris, what then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They are not all like him. Those who taught me -to read and write, and who tried to teach me to pray, -are not like him. They talked of the equality of man, -and yet treated me as the child of a monster. Father -Harris knows that I am human, like himself, and he -treats me as if I was immortal, as he is.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, should not the virtues of such a man redeem -from censure a thousand offending whites?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps so, William—I think so now; but there -are times—moments like some which I pass alone on -this point of land—in which the virtues of that good -man seem to me a motive for vengeance upon <span class='it'>him</span>. -Were he like others, the red man could strike; were -he like others, <span class='it'>I</span> could strike; if, instead of kindness, -which demands gratitude, and constant care and parental -watchfulness, which beget affection, he had -treated me as other whites treat my race, it might -be long ere the hunting-fields of the tribe submitted -to the plough. But the virtues of the whites subdue -the feelings of the Indians, and the vices of the -whites destroy the race. And yet, William, Father -Harris, with all this virtue, forbids our union!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Forbids</span> it, Rebecca, but does not hinder it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not hinder it? Does he not hinder it by his refusal -to sanction it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May we not go down to the lower settlement and -be married, as others are?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will that procure his consent, William?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No; but, of course, it will be followed by his pardon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Alas, William, even the poor theology of my native -tribe forbids the hope of pardon for a sin committed in -the hope of pardon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But he has no right, Rebecca, to prevent our happiness -by his refusal to sanction the union.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He has over me the right of a father, and shall -never complain of a want of obedience. I may suffer -by his refusal, but if he is wrong he must bear the consequences. -No, William, no. I have told you that I -would marry none other than you; but I will not -marry you without the consent of Father Harris while -he lives, with power to give or to withhold that consent.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“His reasons are insufficient.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, William, say not that; though he has not told -me his reasons, I think I comprehend them. In the -first place, you are the son of his old friend and relative; -can the strong prejudices of your race be appeased, -if you should marry the daughter of an Indian? -It is true that I was a princess; and the whites whom -I met at the school in the city, always appeared to -worship those of royal blood, and I do not know that -the crown of the parent country might not devolve -upon the head of a man or woman as black and as curly -as our Pompey, if such an one should, by the accidents -of taste and the favor of the right <span class='it'>creed</span>, fall into the -channel of succession by an admitted marriage. That -strong prejudice, I am persuaded, influences Father -Harris.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='105' id='Page_105'></span> -“But it does not influence <span class='it'>me</span>, Rebecca; and why -should it? Associated with the best of our people in -the city, you have acquired their habits; you have, -with all the delicacy of your sex, twice the learning -that can be boasted of by many of ours; and if—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, yes, William; you mean by ‘<span class='it'>if</span>,’ that if I had -ceased to feel, and sometimes act, like an Indian, <span class='it'>then</span>—But -I have not ceased to feel and to act, <span class='it'>sometimes</span>, -like my father’s child; and all the learning which the -whites have imparted, seems only to enable me to appreciate -more correctly the sufferings and wrongs of -my people; and if it were not for the gentle teaching -of that Quaker woman—nay, the teaching rather of -the <span class='it'>spirit</span> by which she is influenced—I should, perhaps, -make my knowledge a means of vengeance. -But, William, there is another cause, founded on sound -policy, for the refusal of Father Harris.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And what is that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am the daughter of a chief of a tribe that scarcely -thinks of peace; and when my father was tortured by -his conquering foes—tortured to death, but not to a -groan—and my mother was struck down by the hatchet -of a warrior of the tribe above us, I was redeemed -from captivity by Father Harris—saved from a miserable -death—treated, educated and loved by him as his -child. While I am here, it may be that the warriors -of my tribe will respect his settlement; if I should -marry you, the tribe above, always friendly, might -grow jealous of the connection.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is more of worldly policy in that than Mr. -Harris is wont to exercise,” said William.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let us be content,” said Rebecca “with his decision -for the present. He who has always intended -right, cannot long persist in wrong.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dialogue of the lovers became less and less argumentative, -and was soon changed from that of -an educated, high-minded woman and a deferential -young man, to the gentle intercourse of two lovers—more -pleasing to themselves, though perhaps less interesting -to my readers. The moon had risen, and the -light of its diminished form was dancing on the ripples -of the river, and lay broad and lovely upon the side of -the mountain above.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What was that sound?” asked Rebecca, with evidence -of fear. “Surely some one is abroad.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was only a deer, or some such animal, on the -other side of the river.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, William, the deer does not move thus by -night, unless alarmed by the hunter or some animal. -Let us return; we may be injured, even on this side -the river.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The pair withdrew to the little settlement; and as -they passed one of the out-houses, they discovered, -through the interstices of the logs of which it was -constructed, the white teeth and shining eyes of Pompey, -who, not having any love affair on hand, was very -willing to have a laugh at “Massa William,” or a little -knowing wink at Rebecca, the next day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rebecca was soothed to repose by the quiet of her -conscience and the healthful, gentle influence of the -prayer with which she sanctified her little chamber—prayer -that included blessings upon the head of her -benefactor, her early friend and father—prayer that -expressed confidence and love for Him who was her -“Father in Heaven.” The noise of the river, hastening -downward in its eternal course, was lulling, and in -the strong light which the moon poured through the -little window of her chamber, the enthusiastic girl -seemed to find the forms of guardian angels; and she -sunk to sleep in the confidence that she was in the -care of Heaven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And was she not? What but Heaven provided for -her the ample affection of Harris? What but Heaven -made his teachings operative upon her conduct? What -threw across the dark mind of the Indian girl the light -of Christian truth?—a light whose reflection was certainly -tinged with a portion of the hues of the object -which it reached, but which still was Christian light, -doing its perfect work and effecting, by constant operation, -the character, condition and habits of Rebecca.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was but a short time before daylight that the -young sleeper, who had retired to rest in the consciousness -of Heaven’s guardianship, was alarmed by -loud cries, and on looking abroad she saw that one -building of the little hamlet was wrapped in flames, -while the wild yells of the savages told the poor girl -what was the cause of the danger, and left little doubt -as to its extent; and she knew, too, that the savage intruders -were the people of her own tribe. Scarcely -had she thrown a few clothes around her, and wrapped -herself about with a blanket from her bed, when the -voice of Pompey, as he passed her window, was -heard. One sentence only did the poor fellow utter:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Save all the time you can, Miss Rebecca!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In two minutes more the little settlement was surrounded -by the savages. William, who had been -aroused later than the black, sought to save Mr. Harris, -but failed, and seeing no chance of escaping through -the line of Indians, he rushed into the room of Rebecca, -and opening a small door took refuge in a cellar beneath.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rebecca, it was known, incurred little personal -risk. She was of the tribe of the invaders; and vengeance -upon the whites, and the spoliation of their -goods, were the objects of the attack.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Scarcely had William reached his hiding-place when -the chief of the small tribe of invaders presented himself -at the door of Rebecca’s room, and demanded -William.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He is not in my room. Do you think men are to -be found in my bed-chamber?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A white man may be found any where in time of -danger,” said the savage. “But I do not care for the -fellow; I want to know where Harris has hidden his -goods—especially where he has concealed the rum.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do not keep his goods nor hide his rum.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But you know where he hides them, and you shall -tell me, or I—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Or you will kill me—kill a woman! Brave chief! -Has the influence of the white man reduced our tribe -to that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I did not threaten you, Dahona; but I will strike -where you can feel as keenly as on yourself. Tell me -where these goods are secreted.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will not; and you dare not take vengeance on -me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Look, Dahona, through yonder window!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='106' id='Page_106'></span> -The girl turned her eye to the window, and by the -broad blaze of the burning building she saw a stake -erected, near the river, and numerous savages were -heaping around it quantities of wood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is that for me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No—for Harris.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young woman checked the exclamation which -was rising to her lip:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And you will release him if I will point out to you -the goods; you will do no personal injury to any one, -and spare the rest of the property?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Indian hesitated; but the lie which seemed to -struggle for utterance, against the habits of his race, -was spoken:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will spare all—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And the people of the tribe—will they spare?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Just then a band of savages was seen conveying -Mr. Harris down to the stake.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The spirit of Rebecca was shaken. She did not -know, indeed, <span class='it'>where</span> any goods were concealed, and -the small amount which had been put aside was then -brought forward by some of the Indians, who were -more occupied with the rum they had secured than -with the other articles.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She looked through the window again, and Harris -was at the stake, and, with impatient yells, the savages -were making ready for the sacrifice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Spare him—only spare the life of Harris, and take -all!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We <span class='it'>have</span> all, and now we will consummate the -work. Hark ye, Dahona! Harris must suffer the torments -to which our captives are condemned. We -have been injured by the whites. Your father was our -chief—they destroyed him; and whose blood has -flowed in revenge? You, the daughter of that chief, -have been made to despise the people of your tribe, -and to adopt the faith of the whites—a creed that -makes one portion cowards—afraid of the life or the -death of a warrior—and leaves the other portion to -commit what crimes they choose upon the red -men.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, hear me, Dahona. It is the creed that makes -the man, and not the man the creed; and the influence -of your profession of that creed—the devotion which -you pay to that book now lying at your feet—are -weakening the attachment of our people to their chiefs, -and giving power to the whites. Renounce the creed, -spurn the book at your feet, and follow your brethren -to their hunting grounds, and we will spare Harris.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will follow you whither you wish—take me now; -but first release that man.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you renounce the white man’s creed—will you -spurn the Bible in presence of our men?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A few hours before, the troubled spirit of Rebecca -had been moved almost to doubt the truth of the religion -into which she had been initiated; but when -the question was its renunciation, she felt the hold -which it had upon her mind—she showed the hold -which it had upon her heart. Could she, with some -mental reservation, make the renunciation, and thus -save her benefactor’s life? She was not well versed -in casuistry, but she knew that religion was of the -heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Speak,” said the chief; “the people are waiting -my signal.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Give me a moment to think.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Take it. I will leave you until the messenger returns -twice with new combustibles for the old man’s -fire.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The chief closed the door, and Rebecca turned to -seek guidance in her troubles.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The savage crew had seized upon the person of Mr. -Harris, and dragged him from the house to the place -appointed for his torments. A slow fire was to be -lighted around him, and his dying moments were to be -embittered by their blasphemies, and his pains augmented -by the torments which they would inflict before -the flame should have done its work.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The good man looked around. William he had -heard in the first of the attack, and he now believed -him dead. He knew that he had little to fear for Rebecca; -her captivity might be irksome, but beyond that -they would not injure her. But Pompey, with all his -professions, where was he at such a time? How useful -he might have been—how consoling, even now, to -have seen him near, and to have sent by him messages -to his friends. But he was forsaken of all—of all but -his enemies; and so he looked upward, to <span class='sc'>One</span> that had -ever been his friend. Release was not to be expected. -Mercy, fortitude, resignation—and the good man -breathed a fervent prayer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The time is up,” said the stern chief, as he opened -the door of Rebecca’s chamber. “What say you—life -or death to Harris?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let me see my father, even as he is—let me commune -with him for one moment, and I will answer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The chief led forth the girl; and as he passed two of -his men he said, in his own language:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Watch the house; and when the fire is lighted at -the stake, set the house on fire—both the white and -black are in it some where. See that none escape.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rebecca heard and understood the terrible order.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young woman ascended the pile, and threw her -arms around the neck of Harris.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My father! my father! must this be?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is no preventive,” said he, “short of a miracle.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rebecca sobbed into the ear of her benefactor, the -condition of his release.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They will never release me,” said he; “they may -make you an apostate, but they will also make me a -martyr.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My father, they have sworn the oath that has never -yet been violated, when given from Indian to Indian, -that they <span class='it'>will</span> release you on those conditions.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Has that oath never failed?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never—never, my father.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let me not fall into the hands of man,” said the -prisoner; “in this hour, God, be my guide and -counsel.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is the answer, my father? Remember, -your life—your precious life, may be saved, and that of -William,” she whispered softly in his ears. “Do not -hesitate.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do not hesitate for myself. How, my child, is -thy faith?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='107' id='Page_107'></span> -“Firm—fixed, my father.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you renounce it, if by that you could save -the life of William and become his wife with my consent?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I would not renounce that faith to add one moment -to <span class='it'>my</span> life. Now, more than ever, do I see and feel its -excellency. But you, my father, in whom it shines, -may, by a protracted life, disseminate that faith to -thousands.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Shall I insure the faith of others by my own -apostacy? You have my answer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rebecca gave one wild, frantic shriek, and was -forced, almost lifeless, from the embraces of Harris.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And what says Dahona now?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>I will not renounce my faith.</span>”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The signal was given, and the men arranged themselves -between the river and the stake, and two or -three sprung forward and applied their torches to the -dry wood; slowly the smoke ascended, and then the -blaze crept upward, while the loud shouts of the exulting -savages drowned the prayer and groans of Harris -and the wild shrieks of Rebecca.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Apply the tortures,” said the chief, and he sprung -forward to give the example; when, suddenly, he -pitched forward upon the fire, and the crack of numerous -rifles told whence his death had come.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In one minute the ground was filled with Indians of -another tribe, and the survivors of the invading band -ware escaping down the river.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Through the mingled throng of living, and over the -bodies of the dead, sprung one being upon the burning -pile, and with a hatchet released the sufferer from his -perilous position, as the fire was doing the work which -the savages had left unaccomplished.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As the rescuer laid Mr. Harris on the ground, he exclaimed:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Hi!</span> Massa Harris, didn’t I tell you, great while -ago, ‘bym by come sometime or odder?’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pompey had escaped before the Indians surrounded -the house, and knowing the attachment to Mr. Harris -of a tribe a short distance above, and their hostility to -those who had invaded the settlement, he was sure of -aid if he could summons them in season.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The friendly Indians descended the river rapidly in -their canoes, and were only in season to save the life -of the whites.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>William was brought <a id='for'></a>forth wounded, but not dangerously, -and the family assembled in prayer and -thanksgiving, while their friendly deliverers were discharging -some of the minor offices of their calling and -celebrating their victory by some characteristic <a id='atten'></a>attentions -to the wounded whom the enemy had left on -the shores of the Susquehanna.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did you not hesitate, my child,” said Mr. Harris -to Rebecca, “when death or apostacy was proposed?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When <span class='it'>your</span> death was the alternative, I did.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where, then, was your faith in Christianity—in its -author?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Father, I am weak. I owe you obligations—I -would sacrifice my life for your comforts; I knew you -good—I knew you would decide correctly. My faith, -then, was in <span class='it'>you</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In <span class='it'>you</span>—in you, oh, my more than father. You -are the embodiment of that <span class='it'>spirit</span> by which I am -guided. My faith in you, then—is it not my faith in -the creed which you profess, and by which you live?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No sooner had William recovered from his wounds, -than Mr. Harris called Rebecca to him and signified -his consent to the union between her and William, and -his determination to make their circumstances as comfortable -as the state of the neighborhood would allow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is late, now,” said Rebecca to William; “let us -separate. The morrow will require our early attention, -and Father Harris will be astir early in the -morning.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And he not the only one,” said William; “for -some of us must go down and bring the magistrate up, -to perform the ceremony. We will meet early to-morrow -morning.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Before the dawn of the day fixed on for her marriage, -Rebecca left her chamber, and hastened along -the banks of the river to the jutting promontory that -she so much loved. Leaning there upon the side of a -rock, she gave vent to all those feelings which spring -up in the heart of a girl who stands upon the verge of -marriage. Welling up from that heart were the waters -of pure, holy affection for Harris, and of deep, abiding -love for William. There was no want of all true -feelings—no doubt of the high deservings of her lover. -But Rebecca’s education was imperfect; it had never -eradicated the strong feelings for her own people; it -had led her to see how rapid must be their decay, but -it had not made her cling with undivided love to those -whose superiority in certain points was exhibiting -itself in the destruction of the natives; for she saw that -the friendship of the whites was as fatal to the Indians -as was their enmity. The lands passed as fast by cession -as by conquest, and vices were sent with the wampum -of peace as readily as with the weapon of war. -And while she felt that she could apply no remedy, or -<span class='it'>become</span> a preventive, she yet felt for those whose -blood was in her veins—whose fathers’ fame had been -her glory.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, children of the forest,” said she, as she bent -her eyes upon mountains and table lands above, “ye -are passing away like the leaves of autumn. The -frosts and the sunshine are alike fatal to you, and ere -long you will be known only by your decay. Men -will <span class='it'>tell</span> of your glories—but who shall <span class='it'>see</span> them? -Dim shadows yet linger on the forest edge, and I catch -the view of half fading forms as I look along the valley -of the stream. Are these the spirits of my fathers -come to chide me, their daughter, for my apostacy? -Alas! what an apostacy is that of their sons, who retain -the customs of the tribes, and yet adopt the vices -of the whites.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The light of another day is springing up, and a -thousand shapes are visible; are these spirit-hunters of -the red men—do they sanctify the night by their chase? -They are not like the red men of those days. Mighty -ones they are, and they pursue the mammoth for their -sport. But how they depart before the coming light, -as their descendants waste in the influence of the arts -of the white men!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But ought I to wish it otherwise? Will not science -<span class='pageno' title='108' id='Page_108'></span> -make more happy, and religion repay by its influences -all the evil which has been brought on its name? Has -it done it? Alas! I am distressed. What is to be the -effect of all? Are the white men, with their religion, -to drive the red men from their possession only to have -more ample scope for vice, only to waste each other by -the fraud with which they, in most places, overcome -the Indians? or is the establishment of both to produce -the happiness to all which is promised by their leaders? -And are these doubts, these apparent difficulties, the -result of my inability to judge of what is to follow, as -the vision is now disturbed by the uncertainty of the -dawning light, whose perfection will restore all things -to their proper appearance?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, let me yet, as I shall abide with these conquerors -of our people, let me at least acknowledge that -it is not they but their religion that detains me. No, -deeply as I reverence my Father Harris, and much as I -love William, I would join the wasting, the decaying -remnant of my tribe; and if I could not revenge their -wrongs, I would die with them undisgraced by -treachery. But that religion—ah, they hold me there; -they have driven from my heart most of the creed of my -childhood. Only here and there is found a belief, green, -from its association with infancy, but still beautiful, -still cherished. While they have erected in my heart -the form of their own faith, unfinished yet, but still -promising, still sheltering. They have dealt with me -as with our forests, in which our tribes had their home, -they cut them down, leaving here and there a tree to -tell of the things that were, and placing incomplete -edifices for their own shelter—edifices that they promise -shall be sufficient and beautiful in time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sun was rising above the horizon, and not a cloud -stood in his whole pathway to the west. The tops of -the mountain caught and reflected its first rays. As -the warmth increased, the mists, which had fallen -thick toward the base of the hills, began slowly to rise -and roll in massive columns upward, or to pass off by -the <span class='it'>gap</span> through which the river rushes. Rebecca -gazed at the scene until her fancy moulded these morning -mists into the forms of cherished beings. The -whole energies of her tribe seemed to revive within -her, and all of the wild and the unearthly that distinguished -the dreams of her childhood rushed back upon -her mind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I see you all,” said she, “chiefs, warriors and -women. I know ye now; every one has his form, -and ye are returning from the hunting-field of spirits. -Ye return mournful, though borne down with game; -sad, for ye cross the fields which the whites have torn -from your descendants; angry, for a child of a warrior -is to be of those who are your enemies—and yonder -group of little ones, they are my brothers and sisters, -airy ones now, but happy in the mimic hunt, happy -till they turn their faces on me, the last of all the household. -And, father—oh, my father, the death-wound -is yet upon thy breast, as thou movest onward in the -air. Mother! mother! look not thus on thy child! -Oh, turn not to me that breast whence I drew my life-nurture; -that breast on which I rested when the life-drops -were oozing forth from the wound which the -enemy inflicted. But they are happy—happy in their -union, happy in the smiles of the Great Spirit whom -they adored in their homes and their hunting-grounds, -whom they propitiated by terrible vengeance upon -those who desecrated those homes and destroyed -those hunting-grounds. They are happy, for the mist -that gathers round my mother’s brow is resplendent -with rainbow beams, and as she passes upward to the -mountain’s summit, she waves her hand to me in -peace. Thy pardon and thy blessing, oh, my mother—prostrate, -I invoke them both.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>William, who had witnessed the last agonizing scene, -then stepped forward and raised the girl from the deep -earth. She scarcely noticed his presence, the wildness -of her eye denoted thoughts differently placed; and -it was several minutes before she recovered her usual -self-possession.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is passed, William, and we will now return to -the house.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, Rebecca, why should you thus have exposed -yourself and your health by such a yielding to the influence -of your feelings and your imagination?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“William, I am, or I would be, a Christian; and -when I have given myself to <span class='it'>you</span> and to God, I would -have no reserve in my heart from either, and therefore, -before the sacrifice was made, as the daughter -of the Judge of Israel went forth upon the high-places of -her land to mourn, so I came hither to weep for what -I was to leave, and to leave that for which I wept. -The last sacrifice upon the altar of my fathers and -my fathers’ deities has been made. I have torn from -my heart the flowers which grew upon the Indian’s -belief, and have prayed that the tree of life may over-shadow -the wild plants, that they blossom not again. -I have taken down from the recesses of my soul, the -gods which my mother enshrined there, and have taken -leave of the living and the dead of my father’s race. -And now, William, now my beloved one, I am thine—thine -in all seasons and all changes—thine, loving -and loved; but, oh, do not forget that my mind, though -dedicated to Christianity now, has been the <span class='it'>home</span> of -the red man’s creed, and may yet while it is sanctified -by the new altar, reflect something of itself, its other -self upon the purer worship, as the temples dedicated -to the pagan god seem to cast some air of their origin -upon the new and sanctified rites which they now -enclose; and in moments of feeling, or when some -additional wrong to my fathers’ race is done in the -name of our new creed, bear with me, if for a moment, -I forget the blessed teaching of the gospel, and yield to -the earlier influences of blood, of education and patriotism. -It shall not be often, not for the world. -Henceforth, my beloved one, I am thine; all of childhood’s -home—all of a people’s wrongs—all of a -nation’s faith and a nation’s gods, are given up—and -all of thine adopted. Thy breast shall be my pillow -in trouble, and thy smile my token of joy; thy welfare -shall be my happiness, thy dwelling shall be my home, -‘thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>William pressed to his heart the confiding, beautiful -girl; and they turned to leave the eminence upon which -they stood, and to join the family below.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The exceeding beauty of the morning induced them -to look once more and admire the scene. The whole -<span class='pageno' title='109' id='Page_109'></span> -broad river below them seemed one floating mass of -light; and as the current passed on, its surface was -disturbed by the boughs of the overhanging trees that -dipped into the water, and created ripples that reflected -all the hues of the moving light. The mountains in -the west seemed clothed in gorgeous sunbeams, and -nature appeared to have assumed her richest garb, to -bless the nuptials that were about to take place.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I love this scene,” said Rebecca, “it tranquilizes -me—it soothes my spirit, it elevates without agitating -my mind—such a morning is a teacher of religion.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Spirit of God is teaching every where,” said -William.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“True, true,” said Rebecca, “but I seem to lack -some visible object, something upon which my eye -may rest, something like the ladder of Jacob, by which -I may ascend; the visible is necessary to me, to fix -my thought upon and draw it up to the invisible. Is -not your creed deficient in that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can there be a better man than Father Harris, -and have you ever heard of one less influenced by the -visible and tangible, and more guided by faith in the -unseen?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“True—but it is his goodness, his attainment in that -grace which enable him to dispense with the visible. -You white men cut and blaze the trees of the forest -so that you may recognize the course by which you -are to reach a desired point, but the Indian passes onward -through the densest wood, with no visible sign, -no outward evidence of the path.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, Rebecca, the white men find that their cuttings -and blazings are imitated, so that it is difficult to -tell in time which is the right mark, and resort must -be had yet to the invisible to correct the visible. The -former deceives us often—the latter never.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Hand in hand the pair returned to the mansion of -Mr. Harris, and the day thus <a id='begun'></a>begun in sacrifice and -prayer, was closed in festivity. And William received -to his arms his Indian bride.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The little enclosure at Harrisburg is a frail but eloquent -memorial of the virtue and sufferings of Mr. -Harris, and the fidelity of Pompey. The former -handed down his name and his virtues to a numerous -posterity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pompey, undoubtedly, is represented by some of his -own color even in the present day. The great reward -which he claimed for his successful exertions to save -his master’s life, was permission to introduce a fiddle -into the settlement; and for years afterward the banks -of the Susquehanna were made melodious by the -joyful notes which Pompey drew from his favorite instrument, -while blithely and strong was heard the -footfall of the young at night, as they danced to the -music of the Orpheus of their time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>William’s descendents are in and around Harrisburg, -holding office when they can get it, and dividing themselves -between the two, or occasionally among the -many parties, so that the advantage of ascendency by -either fraction may not be entirely lost by all. These -are not the children of Rebecca; she died young—her -frame of mind was not favorable to long life. She -died a Christian, firm, consistent, active, growing -always in faith, and full of good works; and yet it was -remarked by the excellent clergyman whose teaching -she followed, that her mind seemed never to have dismissed -entirely the creed of her childhood—and all -her pure faith, all her Christian zeal, all her holy life, -appeared to have some tinge of the creed of her fathers—not -to alter the body of her faith, but merely to give -it, at times, a color. “And,” said a successor of that -clergyman, “have not the teachings she adopted, -teachings of Christianity, always been thus affected -by the previous character of the community or individuals -by which they have been received?” No -requirement diminished, no duty changed, no obligation -dispensed, but a sort of reservation of a non-essential, -which served to reflect a separate ray upon -the admitted and the requisite. Religious truth, though -enforced by divine grace, must in general be conveyed -by a human medium, which will impart a portion of -itself or its accidents, as the color of the atmosphere -through which light is conveyed to earth gives hue and -tinge to the rays, without diminishing essentially their -powers to guide by their light, or invigorate by their -heat. Nay, when we concentrate these rays to -convey them to particular objects, the light not only -takes the tinge of the medium, but it has also the divergency -and eccentricity consequent upon the inequalities -of surface, or the impurities of the glass -through which it comes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rebecca lived to bless her husband by her domestic -virtues and her unfailing affection. Her death was -mourned wherever her beautiful example of womanly -virtue and Christian integrity was known.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>[After the above narrative was prepared for the press, -numerous letters that passed between Rebecca and her -school-mates—one or two to Mr. Harris—and some to her -lover, and two to her husband, near the close of her life, -were supplied to the writer by the same person who -furnished the materials for the story. They could not well -be introduced with the narrative, but may be given hereafter, -should it appear that they have interest enough for -the pages of this Magazine.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk121'/> - -<div><h1><a id='trans'></a>TRANSLATION</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>OF A RECENTLY DISCOVERED FRAGMENT<a id='r1'/><a href='#f1' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[1]</span></sup></a> OF A POEM BY SAPPHO.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY G. HILL.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>Thou’rt like the apple—maiden young and fair—</p> -<p class='line'>  That sees its fellows gathered, one by one,</p> -<p class='line'>While, on the topmost bough, though ripe and rare,</p> -<p class='line'>  It unmolested sits and blooms alone:</p> -<p class='line'>Forgotten? No—a mark for every eye,</p> -<p class='line'>But for the gazer’s longing hand too high.</p> -</div></div> <!-- 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'>Published in Walz, Rhetor. Græc. 8. 883.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk122'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='110' id='Page_110'></span><h1><a id='doom'></a>TWO HOURS OF DOOM.</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> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>HOUR I.—<span class='it'>A Betrothal.</span></h2> - -<p class='pindent'>The princes of the night came, one by one, into the -halls of Heaven, and each, from his refulgent throne, -sped far and wide through space his beams of glory. -The earth saw the regal train, and rejoiced, saying, -“I am their sister;” then the shadows passed away -from her bosom, and she stood in radiance amid her -starry compeers, sending back ray for ray.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My Lillian, let us look upon the night,” cried -Kenneth—and he led her forth beneath the stars. -They smiled upon the maid, and crowned her forehead -with their beams, and her beauty grew as lofty and -mysterious as their own.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The pair walked in silence, for each bosom throbbed -heavily, with its burden of unspoken love; they walked -in silence, for youth was in flushing, and they heeded -not the speeding hours.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>First Kenneth spoke, for man must <span class='it'>act</span> while woman -muses, and the spells of night oppressed him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Look, Lillian, on the shining orbs above us, circling -their mysterious round! Knowest thou, the starry -firmament is a vast prophecy of things to be? Yon -burning record of the decrees of fate rolls its stupendous -riddles in mighty round, and mock our earnest -inquiry. The learning of the Magi, the ‘Persians -starry wit,’ may catch but faint and far-off glimpses -of the truths they blazon yet conceal. The boasted -lore of the Chaldean, reads but imperfectly their dim -revealings, while the Gheber, wiser in his ignorance -than either, bows in worship to the celestial mysteries -he presumeth not to compass or comprehend.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a majesty and gloom in the boy’s conceptions -that charmed and oppressed fair Lillian; and, -as woman is prone to do, she turned from all the rolling -worlds of which he spoke, to the deep, silent, and no -less enigmatical world of her own heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He looked again upon the heavens on which was -written, as he believed, the fate of nations, while her -meek eyes followed his, striving to read from the -jeweled scroll, her own doom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Kenneth,” she cried, abruptly, and in awe, “I feel -that I am approaching a crisis in my fate!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thy fate, sweet one, is also written in letters of -light above us. I am not deeply versed in heavenly -lore, but from thy presentiment and mine, I read a -crisis is at hand. Seest thou yon pale orb,” he continued, -raising his hand aloft, “my father told me once -it shone upon <span class='it'>thy</span> birth, and from that hour it has been -the object of my vigil and study; so pale, so pure, it -seemeth like thy fair face set in heaven. Of late methought -it shone with sadder beam, and wandered from -its track. See!” he cried with a shout, “it journeys -the skies, side by side, with yon red-eyed planet.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lillian raised her soft eyes, and met the lurid glare -of the blood-red star.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What orb is that?” she inquired, with a shudder, -clinging closer to Kenneth’s side.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>The star of my nativity!</span>”</p> - -<hr class='tbk123'/> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lillian! <span class='it'>my</span> Lillian! tremble not, beloved! hath -not kind Heaven given thee to me?” He wound his -arms around her frail form, and laid her to his heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dark youth, I fear thee!” she shrieked, and bursting -from his embrace, fled into the night. Suddenly -she paused, and covering her face with her hands, -crushed the big tears that were gushing from their -fountains, “ay!” she murmured, “but I love thee also!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thou dost, my fawn!” said Kenneth, as he regained -her side, “swear, then, to be mine.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The maiden hesitated, for the angel whose ward -she was, whispered a warning.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Swear not, for his brow is dark and his heart -fierce—his path lieth through blood, and endeth in -blackness!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then love lifted up his voice, crying, “What grief -so great as parting from thy beloved! What wo so -heavy as a disappointed heart!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And the maiden said, “I swear! Whether for good -or evil, for blessing or for blight, my doom is sealed, -and I am thine.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The crisis is past, beloved,” whispered the wooer—“where -is now thy fear?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The maiden abode in the halls of her sires, while -the youth rode forth intent on valiant deeds, for ’twas -in the days when a hero’s laurels were his bridal gift. -But his heart was not strong in hope—neither was it -girt with patience—neither was it seasoned with -denial; and temptation beset him by the way and endurance -failed, and when he returned, his knightly -spurs were dimmed, and tarnished his knightly honor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, spurn me not, beloved!” he cried, in agonized -abasement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And the lady answered, “Through glory and shame -I will be true to thee.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then was Kenneth comforted by her tenderness, -and strengthened by her counsels—and he went forth -with hope to retrieve the errors of the past.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the glory of his youth had departed, and the -fear of God dwelt no more in his bosom; and his heart -was curdled by the scorn of men, and hardened against -his kind; and his right hand became a hand of power, -but it was red with wrath—and injustice, and oppression, -and cruelty, and wrong, and rapine, and murder, -stalked in his train. Then he returned to his lady, -and stood before her with a sullen brow, saying,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By my valor have I won my bride!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, Kenneth!” she faltered, “thou hast despised -my counsels, thou hast mocked at my love; thy path -hath been a path of blood, and thy crimes rise mountain-high -between thee and thy affianced! Oh, why -hast thou done this?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The scales fell from his eyes in that pure presence, -and looking back over the guilt of years, he felt appalled -by his own sins.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='111' id='Page_111'></span> -“The stars, in their courses, fought against me,”<a id='r2'/><a href='#f2' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[2]</span></sup></a> -he answered gloomily—“it was my destiny.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, abandon that fearful error, and cease to burden -Fate with thy misdeeds. Thy destiny hath been of -thine own choosing. Didst thou not turn a deaf ear -to the pleadings of all good angels? Didst thou not -yield an easy prey to the devices of thine own heart? -For the sake of the future, look back upon the past, -and tell me if thou canst not recall the hour when two -paths were spread before thee, and thou didst choose -thy lot; tell me no more of destiny!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My lady hath forgotten her meekness as well as -her love.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Kenneth, reproach me not! I have wasted my -youth in vigils for thee; I have watched, and wept, -and waited, now in hope, and anon in hopelessness, -until sorrow shadowed my father’s halls, and mildew -settled down on my heart. Now in the depths of my -despair I love thee still, but I <span class='it'>dare not</span> wed thee! Go -in peace; if man may ever meddle with his fate, mine -shall be of my own moulding.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fashion it as thou wilt,” he answered fiercely, -“<span class='it'>I will come to claim thee in the appointed hour!</span>”</p> - -<hr class='tbk124'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Fair Lillian sitteth in her husband’s home, but a -great shadow lieth athwart the hearth; ’tis the memory -of an earlier, wilder, fonder love; and the fierce -fame of her warrior, reacheth her ever, terrible as the -roar of distant battle.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_2'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f2'><a href='#r2'>[2]</a></div> -</td><td> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<div class='stanza-inner'> -<p class='line0'>The stars in their courses fought against Sisera.</p> -<p class='line0' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;'><span class='sc'>Judges</span>, chap. v., verse 20.</p> -</div> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>HOUR II.—<span class='it'>The Consummation.</span></h2> - -<p class='pindent'>The princes of the night mounted their flaming -steeds and coursed through heaven. Lillian sat in -widow’s weeds, and watched them from her great -round tower. Suddenly the clang of a mailed heel -rung on the winding stair, and her cheek paled—for -those halls no longer echoed with martial sounds since -Lord Ulric had been gathered home. Near and -more near, loud and more loud, and a warrior strode -into the apartment, and folded the lady in his embrace!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>I have come!</span>”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Those old, familiar, long beloved tones, how they -broke upon the loneliness, thrilling to its centre her -sorrow-stricken heart. What marvel if she wept unresistingly -on his broad breast, in her agony of -surprise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have come to claim my bride!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then was the spell broken, and her soul awoke to a -sense of its stern resolves. She freed herself from -that passionate embrace, saying,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I may not wed thee, Kenneth.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But listen to my pleadings, my long lost one; canst -thou not divinely forgive the past, and be my guardian -angel for the future? Hast thou ceased to love, or -hast thou learned to fear me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Kenneth, thou art accursed of God, and abhorred -of men, and yet I fear thee not. Thou wert the lover -of my youth, ever fond, ever tender; and thy name, -so dreaded in the land thou hast scourged, is to me but -a talisman of gentle memories. I fear thee not. But -I have walked through life with a strong hand on my -heart, curbing its warm impulses, crushing its fond -love. It hath plead passionately for thee, but I hearkened -not, and by this bitter schooling have I learned -to resist even <span class='it'>thee</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And I, have I not, ’mid sin and sorrow, ’mid -wreck of hopes and ruin of soul, preserved undimmed -my one bright dream of thee? Have I not sat by a -lonely hearth, while thy smile filled the home of my -rival with joy? Have I not forborne to tear thee -thence, because I would not offer violence to thee or -thine? And now wilt thou reject the love which youth -hath sanctified, and manhood ripened?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, why hast thou not wedded and forgotten me?” -she cried, in anguish.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because the hope of thy pale waning beauty was -dearer to my heart than all the daughters of bloom. -Because I would be ever ready for the hour when fate -should say, ‘arise, make ready thy bower for thy -promised bride;’ <span class='it'>that hour has come</span>! Mark the -heavens where ’tis written, thou art mine. Once, long -ago, we looked upon the night with all its circling -stars; thou seest them now, as then, treading their -solemn round, unchanged, unchangeable. Not one of -all the starry hosts may wander from its appointed -pathway; and canst thou, child of destiny, escape thy -fate? The hand that guides <span class='it'>them</span>, governs <span class='it'>thee</span>, and -the decrees of the Omnipotent have been, from all -eternity, and are immutable.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, tell me no more of thy stern, unpitying faith! -thou hast imbued my mind with thy belief, until, like -the scorpion girt with fire, I have almost turned on -myself despairing. I would fain believe that the -struggles and strivings of humanity are not without -their fruits; that the fervent prayer, the earnest effort, -are heard, and heeded; that man may wrestle all -night with his Maker, and when the morning breaks, -prevail.”<a id='r3'/><a href='#f3' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[3]</span></sup></a></p> - -<p class='pindent'>Very touching was the fierce man’s tenderness, but -the lady was strong in her heart’s martyrdom. Then -he turned away, saying,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thou hast destroyed the hope of a lifetime, and -my father’s lore hath failed me. How could I thus -misread the stars!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From the battlement he looked on heaven thus -questioning, and the stars grew dim beneath his -gaze.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The orb that beamed upon his lady’s birth, sent -down its calm, cold ray; his own more fiery planet -blazed in lurid light, while an ocean of space rolled -between.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lost to me!” he murmured.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As he spoke, the red planet shot madly from its -sphere, careering athwart the concave like a sword of -fire, it rushed from being, and deeper darkness brooded -o’er the expanse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again his eye sought the milder light of the star -he worshiped, when lo! <span class='it'>it had been swept from the -face of heaven</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Be it so, lost Pleiad!” cried the lover, and folding -in his arms the pallid lady, leaped from the turret, into -the abyss below.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_3'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f3'><a href='#r3'>[3]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>Exodus, chapter xxxii.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk125'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='112' id='Page_112'></span><h1><a id='ermen'></a>ERMENGARDE’S AWAKENING.</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 FRANCES S. OSGOOD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>                    Dear God and must we see</p> -<p class='line'>All blissful things depart from <span class='it'>us</span>, or ere we go to <span class='sc'>Thee</span>?</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='sc'>E. B. Barrett.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>It was an altar worthy of a god!</p> -<p class='line0'>  All of pure gold, in furnace fire refined;</p> -<p class='line0'>And never foot profane had near it trod,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And never image had been there enshrined;</p> -<p class='line0'>But now a radiant idol claimed the place,</p> -<p class='line0'>And took it with a rare and royal grace.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And the proud woman thrilled to its false glory,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And when the murmur of her own true soul</p> -<p class='line0'>Told in low, lute-tones Love’s impassioned story,</p> -<p class='line0'>  She dreamed the music from that statue stole,</p> -<p class='line0'>And knelt adoring at the silent shrine</p> -<p class='line0'>Her own divinity had mode divine.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And with a halo from her heart she crowned it,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That shed a spirit-light upon its face,</p> -<p class='line0'>And garlands hung of soul-flowers fondly round it,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Wreathing its beauty with immortal grace,</p> -<p class='line0'>And so she felt not, as she gazed, how cold</p> -<p class='line0'>And calm that Eidolon of marble mould.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Like Egypt’s queen in her imperial play,</p> -<p class='line0'>  She, in abandonment more wildly sweet,</p> -<p class='line0'>Melted the pearl of her pure <span class='it'>Life</span> away,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And poured the rich libation at its feet,</p> -<p class='line0'>And in exulting rapture <span class='it'>dreamed</span> the smile</p> -<p class='line0'>That should have answered in its eyes the while.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And all rare gifts she lavished on that altar,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Treasures the mines of India could not buy,</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor did her foot-fall for a moment falter,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Though the world watched her with an evil eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>And sad friends whispered “Soon she’ll wake to weep,</p> -<p class='line0'>For lo! she walks in an enchanted sleep.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh! glorious dreamer! with dark eyes upturned</p> -<p class='line0'>  In wondering worship to that godlike brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>How the rare beauty of thy spirit burned</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the rapt gaze and in the glowing vow,</p> -<p class='line0'>How didst thou waste on one thy soul should scorn</p> -<p class='line0'>The glory of a blush that mocked the <span class='it'>Morn</span>!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>She turned from all—from friendship and the world—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Only <span class='it'>Love</span> knew the way to that dim glade,</p> -<p class='line0'>And calm her sweet, yet queenly lip had curled</p> -<p class='line0'>  Had the world’s whisper reached her in that shade,</p> -<p class='line0'>But she was deaf and dumb and blind to all,</p> -<p class='line0'>Save to the charm that held her heart in thrall.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And Love, who loved her, flew at her sweet will,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Bringing all gems that hoard the rainbow’s splendor,</p> -<p class='line0'>And singing-birds with magic in their trill,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And what wild-flowers fairy-land could lend her,</p> -<p class='line0'>And flower and bird and jewel all were laid</p> -<p class='line0'>To grace that golden altar in the Shade.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Fair was that sylvan solitude I ween—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The lady’s charmed and trancéd spirit lent</p> -<p class='line0'>The starlight of its beauty to the scene,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And joy and music with the fountain went,</p> -<p class='line0'>While in a still enchantment on its throne</p> -<p class='line0'>The lucid statue cold and stately shone.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Love lent her, too, th’ enchanted lute he played</p> -<p class='line0'>  And she would let her light hand float at will</p> -<p class='line0'>Across its chords of silver, half afraid,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like a white lily on a murmuring rill,</p> -<p class='line0'>Till Music’s soul, waked by that touch, took wing,</p> -<p class='line0'>And mingling with it hers would soar and sing—</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Dost thou see—dost thou feel—oh, mine idol divine,</p> -<p class='line0'>How I’ve yielded the soul of my soul for thy shrine?</p> -<p class='line0'>Dost thou thrill to the tones of my melody sweet?</p> -<p class='line0'>Does it glide to thy <span class='it'>heart</span> on its musical feet?</p> -<p class='line0'>Dost thou love the light touch of my hand as I twine</p> -<p class='line0'>My passion-flower wreath for thy beauty benign?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Dost thou know how I’ve gathered all gifts that I own</p> -<p class='line0'>To bless and to brighten the place of thy throne,</p> -<p class='line0'>How my thoughts like young singing-birds flutter and fly</p> -<p class='line0'>With a song for thine ear and a gleam for thine eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>How Truth’s precious gems, that drink sunbeams for wine,</p> -<p class='line0'>Are wreathed into chaplets of light for thy shrine?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“How Fancy has woven her fairy-land flowers</p> -<p class='line0'>To garland with odor and beauty thine hours,</p> -<p class='line0'>While Feeling’s pure fountains play softly and free,</p> -<p class='line0'>And chant in their falling ‘For thee! for thee!’</p> -<p class='line0'>Dost thou feel—dost thou see—oh! mine idol divine,</p> -<p class='line0'>How I’ve yielded the soul of my soul for thy shrine.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thus sang the lady, but her waking hour</p> -<p class='line0'>  Drew near; for when her passionate song was mute,</p> -<p class='line0'>And no fond answer thrilled through that hushed bower</p> -<p class='line0'>  Into her listening heart, she laid the lute</p> -<p class='line0'>Within her loved one’s clasp and prayed him play</p> -<p class='line0'>Some idyl sweet to wile the hours away.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>From his cold hand the lute dropped idly down</p> -<p class='line0'>  And broke in music at the false god’s feet;</p> -<p class='line0'>Love’s lute! ah Heaven! how paled the peerless crown</p> -<p class='line0'>  Above that brow when with a quick wild beat</p> -<p class='line0'>Of fear and shame and sorrow at her heart,</p> -<p class='line0'>The lady from her dazzling dream did start.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And the dream fell beside the broken lute,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the flowers faded in their fairy grace</p> -<p class='line0'>And the fount stopped its glorious play, and mute</p> -<p class='line0'>  The birds their light wings shut in that sweet place,</p> -<p class='line0'>While the deep night that veiled the woman’s soul</p> -<p class='line0'>O’er shrine and idol cold and starless stole.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And in her desolate agony she cast</p> -<p class='line0'>  Her form beside Love’s shivered treasure there,</p> -<p class='line0'>And cried, “Oh, God! my life of life is past!</p> -<p class='line0'>  And I am left alone with my despair.”</p> -<p class='line0'>Hark! from the lute one low, melodious sigh</p> -<p class='line0'>Thrilled to her heart a sad yet sweet reply.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Then through the darkness rose a voice in prayer,</p> -<p class='line0'>  “My Father! I have sinned ’gainst Thine and Thee.</p> -<p class='line0'>The idol, whom I deemed so grandly fair</p> -<p class='line0'>  That its proud presence hid thy heaven from me,</p> -<p class='line0'>Shorn of his glory, shrunk to common clay,</p> -<p class='line0'>Behold for him and for my heart I pray.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Take <span class='it'>Thou</span> the lute—the shattered lute of love—</p> -<p class='line0'>  And teach my faltering hand to tune it right</p> -<p class='line0'>To some dear, holy hymn—which, like a dove,</p> -<p class='line0'>  From silver fetters freed, may cleave the night,</p> -<p class='line0'>And fluttering upward to thy starlit throne</p> -<p class='line0'>Die at <span class='it'>Thy</span> heart with blissful music moan.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk126'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='113' id='Page_113'></span><h1><a id='york'></a>THE CAPTIVE OF YORK.</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 STELLA MARTIN.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The winter of 1692 was no mild specimen of the -climate of the New England wilds. The settlers on -the inhospitable coast of Maine found its severity to -exceed all their apprehensions. The few comforts -which they had as yet been able to gather around -them, were inadequate to the wants of that long and -dreary season. Many fell victims of hardships and -despondency; while not a few toiled on, cheerful and -uncomplaining examples of endurance and suffering. -It was perhaps more fortunate for the northern settlements -than their pioneers, that they were commenced -in summer, for the cold and inclemency of their early -winters were enough to sadden the heart, and blast -the hopes of the most visionary dreamer. The stranger -who built his rude open hut in pleasant June, fanned -by cool breezes during his summer toil, wot not that a -few months would bring a bleakness of which he had -little conception. The settlements on the Piscataqua -are among the oldest in Maine; and to those who first -selected the romantic site of the now beautiful village -of York, it seemed enchanted land. Primeval forests -covered the whole country through which the Piscataqua -and its Naiad Sisters wound their way to the -sea. The delicate foliage of the beech and poplar, the -deep sombre green of the hemlock and fir, the pale, -graceful willow, and the bright emerald maple, all -blended to form a perfect forest robe, as yet untouched -by the devastating hand of man. Bald peaks lent -wildness to the scene, already diversified by the commanding -banks of the rivers which lay calmly mirrored -in their deep, clear waters. No wonder the early -adventurers looked with rapturous delight upon the -broad bays studded with islands, the green promontories -and quiet harbors into which the streams widening -their channels, gradually lost themselves in the -Atlantic. The sea-fowl bathed its drooping plumage -unmolested on the shores, the wild-cat ran at will, -guided only by the impulses of its savage nature, and -the graceful deer proudly reared its antlered head, and -bounded away, the undisturbed inhabitant of the -mighty wilderness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To him who, tired with the bondage of the old -world, sought refuge in the new, these were glowing -emblems of that liberty he so earnestly longed for. He -hailed the land spread out before him, in all the magnificence -of nature, as that which would realize his -most chimerical ideas of happiness. Imagination -added to its charms, and converted what was truly -wild and beautiful into a paradise. The toils and dangers -of the frontier life vanished away; and with a -buoyant heart the wanderer adopted the unknown -soil, alike ignorant and unmindful of the ills that would -cluster around his future path. When want shall have -been encountered in every form, sickness endured, -famine driven from the door, and “hope, the star that -leads the weary on,” delusive hope, shall whisper of -bliss to come, he is destined to find in the savage -tribes of the country, enemies more formidable than -the evils of his condition. Hard fate! to survive the -strife of the elements, to escape pestilence and danger -only to perish by a relentless <span class='it'>human</span> foe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The settlement of York had enjoyed several years -of prosperity, the effects of which were perceptible in -a considerable degree of neatness and comfort about -its dwellings. This appearance of thrift made it a -surer mark for destruction. In January, 1692, a band -of Abenakis and French burst upon this defenseless -village, “offering its inhabitants captivity or death.” -A terrible storm had just covered the earth with snow, -to a depth which would have proved a barrier to any -but these intrepid barbarians. They had walked on -snow-shoes, the long distance from the basin of the -St. John’s, the difficulties of the way only serving to -increase their insatiable thirst for bloodshed. It was -a serene winter’s evening, when the Abenaki braves -surrounded their council-fire, a few miles from the -doomed village, to determine upon their mode of -assault. The purity of nature in these snowy solitudes -strangely contrasted with the sanguinary deeds plotted -there. She witnesses in silence the offences of her -children. She beholds the members of the great brotherhood -of man rise up and destroy each other, yet -thunders no warning to the victim, nor hurls the fire -of heaven upon the destroyer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Stealthily advanced the murderers, while the peaceful -inhabitants of York were gathered around their -happy firesides. Ah, never more will those family -groups meet around the altar of prayer, never again -together join the festive dance. That ringing war-whoop -which strikes the ear is the death-knell of the -unsuspecting villagers. Mother, take a last look at -thy darling, ere its baby face is snatched forever from -you. Husband, clasp thy wife to thy bosom, for that -fond embrace shall be the last. Lover, thou art vainly -striving to wrest thy cherished one from the barbarian’s -grasp—thy agonizing efforts to save her, make -her a prize in those savage eyes; and, unfortunate girl, -instead of mingling thy blood with thy kindred, a captivity -awaits thee a thousand times more horrible -death.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This lot befell Amy Wakefield. She saw her mother -fall lifeless from the first blow of the tomahawk. -Her father, with the fury of a madman, sprung upon -the assassin, and proved the avenger of his wife. -Swift as thought, however, he was overborne by the -comrades of the dead Indian, and he lay a mangled -corse beside his beloved companion; one son and a -servant girl shared the same fate. Poor, gentle, timid -Amy! there she stood petrified by the awful sight before -her, but she made no effort to escape. Vain indeed -<span class='pageno' title='114' id='Page_114'></span> -would have been the attempt; her nonresistance -saved her life, and prolonged her sufferings. No scalping-knife -was uplifted over her head, but as if her -sentence was written on her brow, they proceeded -without a moment’s hesitation to bind her hands behind -her. Richard Russel rushed into the street at -the first alarm, and ye who know a lover’s heart -can tell why he flew with the speed of lightning, to -seek Amy Wakefield—his betrothed bride. He entered -the dwelling where he knew carnage and death -were doing their dreadful work; but what was danger -to him, with such an object at stake!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Richard,” said Amy, opening her lips for the -first time since her mother’s dying shriek had sealed -them, in a tone which would have melted a heart less -sensitive than his. He darted forward, seized the -Indian who was binding her, and with a maniac’s -gripe wrestled for the mastery. Young Russel, -tall and athletic, was considered the most vigorous -young man in the colony, but his strength was unequal -to that of the sinewy son of the forest. A blow from -a war-club felled him senseless to the earth. “Merciful -God!” cried poor Amy in the anguish of her soul, -as her last earthly hope was quenched within her. -She was dragged from the spot where lay all she held -dear. As she passed the door, a kindly stupor seized -her; neither the screams of the villagers, nor the -kindling flames of the cottages, roused her. She looked -vacantly around, but heeded not what she saw. She -felt no grief—she had no consciousness. The scenes -of the past half hour had banished her senses, and bewildered -her mind. They seemed like a terrific -vision in a dream—hideously vivid, without the power -of realizing or escaping from it. Why did not oblivion -forever steal over the past, or delirium cheat the -soul in future?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The work of death was done. The slain were -sepulchred in the ashes of their cottage homes; the -captives were divided as spoils among the warriors, -and toward morning they started for the northeast. -Amy Wakefield and three other prisoners were the -especial care of two Abenakis and a Frenchman, Jean -Mordaunt. The whole party moved rapidly, lest the -neighboring settlements should see the light of the -burning village, and pursue them; but this little company -were the foremost. The other captives with -Amy were men, but she kept pace with them and the -Indians.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She hurried along as if she were fleeing from enemies. -All that day she traveled on, taking no food, uttering -no complaint; and at last, when night came, she sunk -down unconcernedly to sleep. It was one of their -former stopping places, and the Indians rekindled the -fires, which had scarcely expired. The poor captives -gathered around them and welcomed the burning heat, -though hardly more comfortable than the chilling blasts -to which they had been exposed. Oh, the sorrows of -that weary journey—cold, hunger and thirst were -among the least of them. The Indians returned by -the trail in which they came; but the snow was untrodden -and deep, and the path lay through forests and -across rivers. Some drooped by the way and received -beatings for their manifestations of fatigue, -whilst many found snowy graves. For many days -they traveled on together, but finally separated in little -bands for the settlements where they belonged, each -carrying with them their captives. This last sad comfort -of friends and neighbors traveling together in their -misery, was now denied them, and they looked each -other a last adieu.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I said Amy slept. It was a blessed sleep, for it -carried her back to childhood’s days; now she was -gathering violets with her little brothers on the river’s -bank; now she saw her brother’s angel face, and -heard her father’s “dear little Amy.” Then time flew -by, and she felt her lover’s warm kisses; years seemed -moments, and moments years—and still she slept on. -Would that she might have slept “that sleep from which -none ever wake to weep.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sun was high in the heavens ere they roused -them from their slumbers. The labors of the previous -day were exhausting even to the Indian’s strong frame. -Some of the wretched captives had passed a sleepless -night from fear or excessive weariness; and to some -their aching limbs forbade rest. But Amy still lay -with her head thrown back, her hands clasped; her -marble face and motionless lips rendered still more -striking by the profusion of black hair lying disheveled -about her. The Indian who advanced to awaken her, -paused, as if he shrunk from such a personification of -purity. He took hold of her shoulder and shook her; -but it seemed as if her senses were bound by death’s -icy chains. He struck her a rough blow on the side -of her head. She opened her eyes, and tried to rise, -but her limbs refused her support, and she fell back. -She looked up—her consciousness returned. The sight -of the Indian’s face brought back the scenes of that -dreadful night, and she trembled like an aspen leaf. -But another blow for her tardiness, brought a full conception -of her situation, and a flood of tears. Her stiff, -feeble movements, the tears running in torrents down -her cheeks, were a strange counterpart to the day before. -They started; she tried to proceed, but her -limbs seemed paralyzed, and her heart died within her. -She forgot all around, even her own wretchedness; -she remembered only that cottage scene, Richard, and -her parents—and she prayed for death. Her sobs -were heart-rending, still the cruel savages urged her -on. Oh, were there no friendly angels abroad in the -earth; was mercy fled, and vengeance dead! At -length the Indians, enraged at what they considered -the girl’s obstinacy, raised a club to strike her, but -Mordaunt, who, perhaps, had enough of humanity to -be touched by the spectacle before him, leaped forward, -averted the blow, and talking with them a few -moments in their own rude, wild tongue, seemed to -calm their anger. Soon after this there was a division -of the company; Amy and some others, who were incapable -of keeping up with the main party, were put -together and allowed to proceed more slowly; still -she went weeping on—that painful way was traced in -tears, and the desert solitudes echoed with her sighs. -After about three weeks, the Indians discerned their -“smokes” in the distance, and saluted them with -shoutings and expressions of great joy. Amy’s peculiar -grief had awakened some little pity, even in -<span class='pageno' title='115' id='Page_115'></span> -the bosoms of her savage captors. To this, and the -influence of Mordaunt, whose notice she had attracted -ever since the first morning, when she lay an unconscious -sleeper beside their fires, she owed her comparatively -easy lot. She was given to Wiloma, the -wife of Great Turtle, the last king, who kept her to do -her menial drudgery, but treated her with some -kindness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jean Mordaunt was a Jesuit missionary. He belonged -to a class of whom mankind has drawn widely -varying pictures. Pious, devoted, self-sacrificing, ambitious, -crafty and revengeful, are, doubtless, all true -descriptions of this fraternity, who have left no country -without its representatives, and whose name is Legion. -America, the “land of mountains and eagles,” early -drew them hither, and here we see their character in -all its phases. They penetrated nearly every recess -on the northern part of our continent, and visited -almost all of the Indian tribes, teaching them the name -of Jesus and the Virgin Mother; some affirming in their -enthusiasm, that “the path to heaven was as open -through a roof of bark, as through arched ceilings of -silver and gold.” “Not a cape was turned, nor a river -entered, but a Jesuit led the way,” says the eloquent -historian, Bancroft. “The cross and the lily, emblems -of France and Christianity,” were carved on -the trees, and inscribed on the rocks. Many, like -Mesnard, or the gentle Marquette, found quiet resting-places -in the wilderness; and the western waters -which wash their graves, perpetually sing their dirge. -But Gabriel Lallemand, Father Jaques, Jean De Brebeuf, -René Goupil, and many others, sealed their labors -with their blood. Their memory is precious -to the mother church; and what wonder that her -sons and daughters revere them as saints. But there -were a vast multitude who claimed the same mission -of love and mercy with these martyrs of holy zeal, -whose lives and characters too plainly betrayed their -hypocrisy. There were those whose religion cloaked -their ambition, and others in whom intrigue had supplanted -all the simplicity of the gospel. Instead of -religious teachers, they often became artful politicians. -That the French Jesuits participated in, and often instigated -the attacks upon the English border settlements, -is so well attested, that it cannot be denied. -The enmity between the French and English nations -was too deeply seated to be forgotten by their colonists, -and often led them to rouse the merciless savage against -their unguarded neighbors. It is difficult to conceive -how a minister of that blessed religion which proclaims -“peace and good-will to men,” should have so far -forgot its precepts, as to be present at the bloody massacre -of York; but Jean Mordaunt was there. Perhaps -he did not stain his hands with blood, but he -spotted his soul with guilt.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Amy Wakefield gradually recovered her spent -energies. Her elastic constitution rebounded from -the severe shocks it had received, but her sufferings -left an indelible impress on her spirits. Time could -not restore the loved ones sleeping in the dust, and -smiles bade adieu to her once happy face. Like -Egeria of yore, she forever mourned her heart’s lost -treasures. Mordaunt dwelt upon that beautiful sorrowing -face until it seduced him from his priestly -vows; but it was a problem to the wary Frenchman -how to approach Amy. Though a submissive slave, -she was unapproachable; she answered no signs, nor -noticed the broken English addressed to her. She -shunned every one, and seemed to scorn sympathy -with her foes. Months passed, and still she toiled on -in Wiloma’s cabin, but her grief was not assuaged, -nor the fountain of her tears dried up. As spring came, -she would steal away by herself without the wigwam -to admire the opening buds, which filled the air with -their perfume, and with delight would listen to the -carol of birds, as they hopped merrily from branch to -branch, fit emblems of happiness. The cheerfulness -and beauty of all around her, contrasted strangely with -her own condition, but at times she would forget her -sadness, and soothed by the wild music of the waterfall, -lose herself in some day-dream of happiness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Old Wiloma scarcely watched her captive. Indeed, -the thought of escape never entered the mind of Amy. -Where should she fly, when all she loved were in -heaven. True, she did not <span class='it'>know</span> that two of her -brothers were dead. The eldest, Winthrop, was at a -distant settlement at school; and little Johnny, the pet, -was sweetly sleeping in the chamber when they were -attacked, so it seemed certain that he was slain. But -the chance of life vanished when Richard fell.</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Alas! the love of woman; it is known</p> -<p class='line0'>  To be a lovely and a fearful thing;</p> -<p class='line0'>For all of hers upon that die is thrown,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And if ’tis lost, life has no more to bring</p> -<p class='line0'>To her, but mockeries of the past alone.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Amy was one day sitting in the wigwam-door when -she saw Mordaunt coming toward her, and rose to -retire. “In the name of Jesus, tarry,” said he, in a -manner so earnest and imperative, that she stopped -involuntarily. “I have prayed for thee to the Holy -Virgin and the Saints,” continued he, crossing himself. -It was the first intelligible sentence in her own language -that Amy had heard since she parted with her -companions in misery. Some of the Indians spoke a -broken English that she understood, but she had never -heard Mordaunt utter a word before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I need not thy prayers to thy saints,” said Amy, -after recovering from her astonishment, and recollecting -the teachings of her infancy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Speak not lightly of prayers, child, thy soul hath -need of them,” said Mordaunt.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know it, but those now sleeping in death, taught -me that there is but One that heareth prayer,” said she, -her eyes filling with tears, “and He is our Father in -Heaven.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They were heretics, and knew not the communion -of the true church,” said the Jesuit. “They -taught thee wrongly, child; and I fear their souls are -now suffering the pains of purgatory, but for thy sake -I would gladly pray them out.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Amy’s eyes flashed indignantly. “That may be thy -portion, deceiver; but those of whom you speak, -killed by your murderous bands, are angels in heaven. -I know it,” said she, with an assurance that silenced -Mordaunt. “I saw them last night, they beckoned -me upward. Oh, Father, have mercy!” and she -lifted her eyes and hands heavenward, with an expression, -<span class='pageno' title='116' id='Page_116'></span> -as if her soul were quitting its earthly tabernacle. -Mordaunt was awed. He sat silently gazing at her, -and she into the azure above. Old Wiloma, who had -been asleep in the wigwam, at this instant awoke, and -calling Amy, brought her wandering senses back to -earth. She rose and obeyed the bidding. Mordaunt -departed, but the expression of that upturned face -haunted him. There was a touching serenity about -Amy, as she gazed into the land of spirits, that commanded -his admiration. Duplicity had indeed made -him its disciple, but it had not entirely blunted his -perceptions of the beautiful; his coarse heart was not -impervious to a scene like that.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sought another interview, but Amy avoided him -more than ever after that conversation. Mordaunt -often visited old Wiloma’s cabin, for she had learned -the sign of the cross, but never could he gain an opportunity -of speaking with her who now had his -every thought. Cupid’s arrows were too deeply transfixed -to be withdrawn, and the more he was foiled, -the more necessary seemed the object he would gain. -One day Amy was walking in the woods, when Mordaunt -coming up hastily behind, surprised her with, -“My dear mademoiselle.” She could not retreat, and -had not time to reply, before his pent-up feelings found -utterance in the best English he could command. He -talked not of saints, or the “blessed Virgin.” He had -been seeking this opportunity too long, another was -too uncertain, and above all, he felt too deeply to -allow of any delay.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In a broken and tremulous manner he told her of -his love; how his thoughts had dwelt upon her night -and day, and swore to be faithful forever, would she -but bless him with her affection. Amy’s countenance -indicated no participation in the confusion manifested -by Mordaunt. The color came and went upon his -cheek, as hope or fear predominated—a fitful anxiety -pervaded his whole frame. Nothing could have astonished -Amy more than the declarations of Mordaunt. -She had felt a decided aversion to him, without knowing -why, or having the slightest suspicion of his real -state of feeling. Her features were rigid, and bespoke -no emotion, her voice calm, and her whole manner -self-possessed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have given my heart to my own dear Richard, -and though he lives no more, I will not, I wish not to -recall it. Where he lies, there lie buried my earthly -hopes and affections.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But,” said he, “you are pining in this captivity—love -me, and I will rescue you. I will fly with you. -We will make our home amid the vine-clad hills of -France; I will be thy deliverer and protector, and -happiness shall crown thy days.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am pining,” said Amy, “but it is not captivity -that makes me sigh; I grieve for that which thou canst -never restore; happiness has fled from my sad heart. -The world is desolate. This wilderness is lonely, -but even here nature has left witnesses of her loveliness,” -said she, pointing to the flowers at her feet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But be my bride,” continued the impassioned -lover, “and forget thy troubles.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never! never! I <span class='it'>cannot</span> forget, I <span class='it'>would not</span> be -thy bride.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mordaunt saw in her firm, determined manner, the -death-blow to his bliss; but in her refusal there was -something so pensive, so mournfully beautiful, that it -set his soul on fire; he could not be refused—he begged -on, as wretches do for life, for one assurance of -her affection, but in vain. Flatteries, promises and -entreaties were alike to her—she spurned them all. -Mordaunt really loved Amy as purely as he was capable -of doing, and could he have gained her by persuasion, -the base passions of his soul might not have -been roused from their lethargy; but the object was -too precious to be abandoned until every expedient -was exhausted. Desire prompted him—there was one -art untried; principle deterred him not—he had no -honor to forbid. He knew Amy’s shrinking nature; -he had observed her tremble when the Indians approached -her, as if she dreaded contamination.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Proud girl,” said Mordaunt, “thou must marry -me or an Indian.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Terrible alternative, but rather the savage than -thou, and rather death than either.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” responded the Jesuit, seeming to be satisfied; -“thy fair form will pander to the appetite of -Manuki. He will exultingly gloat over his pale-faced -bride. <span class='it'>Thine is a good taste.</span> Mordaunt or the -savage.” The last sentence fell from his lips livid -with anger; but Amy noticed it not. Had a thunderbolt -flashed out from the clear sky above, she would -not have been more terrified than at this disclosure. -She had been more kindly treated than the other captives—but -was it for this? Was it that Manuki, he -who had torn her from her home, and murdered her -lover, should press her to his bosom? Once, indeed, -the appalling idea, that she might be forced to become -her captor’s wife had crossed her mind, but it was only -a momentary suspicion. Manuki had been gone for -weeks on a hunting excursion, and the thought had -never returned until now—but now all was clear; -Mordaunt had confirmed her worst fears; it must be -so—he had all the Indian’s secrets. The announcement -was awful. A ghastly paleness overspread her -face, and cold sweat stood upon her brow. She was -a picture of misery and despair. She uttered not a -sigh, but a crushing heart-sickness came over her, and -she resigned herself to her fate. The keen eye of the -priest marked the change. He thought the victim was -within his grasp, and slowly advancing with an air of -fiendish triumph, he took her gently by the hand,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Poor girl,” said he, “while Mordaunt lives thou -art safe. Love me, I will save you from that you so -much dread.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No,” she returned, “the Indian’s embrace would -be less terrible than thine, thou hollow-hearted seducer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was too much for Mordaunt. The two passions, -love and anger, drove him to desperation. -Firmly grasping her arm, he said through his clenched -teeth, “Heretic! thou canst not escape me!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At this Amy seemed transformed; her eyes rolled -wildly in their orbits, and she quivered with anger. -In an instant Manuki and every thing connected with -her captivity was forgotten. One only thought took -possession of her soul, and that was of the priest before -<span class='pageno' title='117' id='Page_117'></span> -her. Hitherto she had feared and hated, now she -despised him. She shook him from her, as if he had -been a viper, saying, as she drew herself up to her full -height, “Back, vile wretch, back! call upon thy saints, -count thy beads, and pray poor souls out of purgatory, -but touch me not—I know thee.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was said in a tone so imperious and commanding, -that Mordaunt, accustomed as he was implicitly to -obey superiors, shrunk involuntarily back, and Amy, -turning slowly around, walked away. But there was -so much of the heroic in her despair, so much loftiness -of spirit in her defiance, that he dared not follow. -He knew not why, but there was something in that -poor girl that awed him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On that night, memorable to York, when so many -closed their eyes in death, Amy and the Indians left -Richard Russell senseless, and, as they supposed, lifeless. -But He who holds the springs of life, had ordered -otherwise, and reserved him for future purposes. The -blow which prostrated, stunned him so completely, -that it effectually deceived his enemies. Mr. Wakefield’s -house was one of the first attacked, and some time -elapsed before the pillagers had finished their work, -and were ready to fire the village. Richard lay in an -oblivious insensibility for a while; but when partially -recovered, he opened his eyes, and discerned by the -flickering firelight the devastation around him. He -comprehended his situation, sprung to his feet, and -running out the back way, and creeping behind fences, -he escaped unobserved just as the flames were blazing -out from the neighboring cottages. A large hollow -tree stood near the fence back in the clearing, and -Richard bethought himself of this asylum. He crawled -until he reached it, and gave a long leap into its capacious -trunk, sinking into the snow, and heaping it over -his head. By this artifice he saved himself. He staid -there long after the sounds of savage warfare ceased, -until he was nearly frozen. At length exhuming himself, -he looked toward the village, but he saw nothing -save the consuming habitations—he heard nothing but -their crackling timbers. He soon ventured out, and -was going to warm himself, but when the scorching -heat struck his chilled body, it caused intense pain. -This, and the fear of some lurking foe, induced him to -direct his steps toward the nearest settlement. He ran -most of the way, rubbing and striking his almost torpid -limbs, else he had never survived to tell the woful tale -of his sufferings. Half dead from fear and pain, he -reached the neighboring colony. The kind settlers -bound up his wounds, and ministered to his wants. He -now, for the first time, began to feel his loss, and exposure -added to injuries and dejection, threw him into -a violent fever. For weeks he lay upon the borders -of the grave, the prey of racking pains and fierce delirium. -Sometimes he seemed struggling with an unseen -foe; at others he would call wildly upon Amy, -and anon beckoning, seemed to fancy her by his side, -and fall gently to sleep. At last the disease left him, -but he was helpless as an infant. Gradually he recovered -his strength, but months had passed, when he -again stept upon the earth. Health returned to Richard, -and with it came thoughts of Amy. From his best recollection -of her it seemed certain she was made a -captive. <span class='it'>She must be redeemed.</span> But was she alive? -Could she outlive the dangers of the journey she must -have taken, when he sunk under the few trials he endured? -Long months had elapsed. Had she been -burnt at the stake, or more probably, had she not been -sacrificed to the passions of the Indians? All these -were painful suspicions, which constantly forced themselves -upon his mind. But Hope, the “lover’s staff,” -as Shakespeare truly says, stayed him up. As soon as -he was able to ride on horseback, he started to find -Winthrop Wakefield, who was about fifty miles distant, -and the only one of all the inhabitants of York -whom he knew to be alive. By riding slowly he performed -the journey in a few days, and found Winthrop, -who was quite overjoyed to see him, and learn that -there was any reason to believe that Amy was still -alive. From what he had gathered from the uncertain -reports of the destruction of his native village, he supposed -himself both orphan and friendless. This seemed -confirmed by the fact that no tidings of any of his -family later than that fatal night had ever reached him. -Winthrop needed no persuasion to enter into a plan for -rescuing his only sister from her deplorable condition. -It wanted more eloquence to enlist others. All pitied -the misfortunes, and were interested in the deliverance -of the unhappy girl, and the other captives, if yet living: -But there were so many difficulties attending the project, -that to most it seemed entirely impracticable. The -general direction of the Abenakis they knew; but it -was a long and difficult expedition; the tribe was large, -and scattered over an extensive tract of country, and -they would be a feeble, unprotected band, without -knowing to what particular point to direct their efforts. -It was late in the spring—just the season when it was -absolutely necessary for every man to be upon his little -plantation to provide for the coming year.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Peter the Hermit was not more indefatigable or -importunate than Richard. To him the crusade was -imperative, and the importance of the end to be secured -exceeded the perils of the enterprise. He at last succeeded -in inducing eight men from the different settlements -to accompany Winthrop and himself. Providing -for, and arming themselves as well as possible, they -started on their hazardous excursion. It was the beginning -of summer, and nature had on her gayest -mantle. Fragrant blossoms strewed their path, and -the groves were vocal with the melody of birds. As -they advanced new objects called forth their admiration. -The weather was fine, game was plenty, and -they met with no insurmountable obstacles. Their -march was much less tedious than they had anticipated. -A different history theirs from that of the gloomy passage -made by the captives the winter previous. When -they had arrived at the Penobscot, they were surprised -to find a man, whom they soon ascertained to be one -of the captives of York. Escaped from the Indians, he -had traveled many days, living on plants, twigs or roots, -without a gun or knife, with which to procure food or -defend himself. The poor man evinced the greatest -joy on meeting them, and offered to return and guide -them near where he conjectured Amy might be, though -he had not seen her during his captivity, and had no -positive knowledge concerning her. With more confidence -<span class='pageno' title='118' id='Page_118'></span> -and renewed courage, they now pressed forward -rapidly, not a little stimulated and incited by the -melancholy narrations of their guide. He led them -until they heard the sound of the waterfall, when he -prudently concealed himself, knowing that he would -be a sure mark for the missiles of the vindictive savages.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After the last interview with Mordaunt, Amy was -distracted with tormenting fears. The more she thought -the more painful became her apprehensions of coming -evil. She knew she had made a bitter enemy of the -Frenchman, and his lowering visage, and uneasy, -troubled appearance, boded no good. She was each -day more strongly convinced of the truth of the frightful -intelligence he communicated. She knew the warriors -were to return during that moon, which was a festival -time with the Abenakis, and she felt assured Manuki -would then carry his designs into execution. Her -misery was now complete. Distressing surmises by -day, only gave place to horrid dreams during her unquiet -sleep at night. Amy resolved to attempt an escape. -She knew not where to go; she had a vague hope, but -no expectation of reaching the haunts of civilized men. -But, thought she, “I would welcome death in the -wilderness, with no covering but the leaves of the -forest, and no memorial save the flowers that would -spring from my dust, rather than life and pollution with -the Indians.” In this state of mind she left old Wiloma’s -cabin, as if for her customary walk, intending never -to return. She looked back toward the wigwam where -she had passed so many wretched hours, and breathed -a prayer for its old occupant, whom she had seen for the -last time. She had none but feelings of good will toward -Wiloma. She had suffered her to go and come when she -pleased, and treated her kindly in her own way, and -Amy felt something akin to regret on leaving her. She -bent her steps toward the waterfall, for as she often -walked there, it would excite no suspicion. It was a -beautiful afternoon in the latter part of June; every -thing animate, save herself, seemed rejoicing. Since -the day Mordaunt overtook her in the woods, she had -ventured but a few steps away from their hut. For two -or three days she had missed him, and presumed he had -gone to meet the returning party; nevertheless, she -wound her way along, cautiously, and afraid, starting -back from the springing partridge and flying hare, -timorous, as if each rustling leaf portended danger. -The cascade which Amy often visited, was, indeed, a -charming sight. It was produced by a little mountain-stream, -which came tumbling impetuously down a -ledge of rocks, and lost itself in foam. By the distance -and vehemence of its fall, rather than the volume of -water, it made the hills resound with its mimic thunder. -The predilection which the red men have ever manifested -for the roar of water, was probably the reason -why the principal rendezvous of the Abenakis had -been selected within the echo of this little cataract. -Amy seated herself upon the rocks, where she could -look into the sea of bubbles and diamonds below. The -roar of the cataract contrasted strangely with the quiet -of every thing around, but it was in harmony with her -own agitated heart, and its dashings drowned the tumult -of her spirit, and calmed its perturbations. She gathered -the rich hanging moss which grew in profusion about -her, and felt irresistibly enchained to the spot. Thus -spell-bound by the simple grandeur of the place, -she forgot for a time her perplexities, and even her -original intentions. Ah, little did she think danger or -deliverance were so near.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After leaving their guide, Richard and his party proceeded -in the direction indicated by the sound of the -waterfall. Their plan was to secrete themselves in -the cliffs about there, until they could discover if the -chief part of the Indians were away. If so, they -would fall upon the villages and secure the captives; -but should the “braves” be there, they must await -some more favorable opportunity. Advancing noiselessly, -they came up within sight of the cascade, when -a female figure attracted their attention. She was -loosely clad; a robe of hair, dripping with spray, hung -wildly down her shoulders, and, as she sat on a projecting -rock, seemed the genius of the place. The -keen eyes of Richard and Winthrop failed to recognize -Amy. Her dress was devoid of every thing -characteristic of civilization, and they thought her an -Abenaki maid; still, something led them to doubt it. -They halted, and Richard proposed to go forward -alone and ascertain who it was. He could not see her -face, but felt assured, as he advanced, that hers was -no Indian form. Could it be Amy, thought he, proceeding -less cautiously. Hearing his footsteps she -turned her head. One wild scream of joy, and she was -in Richard’s arms. That meeting! who could describe -its smiles and tears? “Absence, with all its -pains, was by that charming moment wiped away.” -To Amy it was a resurrection from the dead; to -Richard a long lost jewel found again. Winthrop’s -affectionate heart was not long in comprehending the -scene before him, and following Richard, he embraced -and kissed his sister again and again. Tears of -joy choked his utterance as he sobbed forth his delight. -Amy and Winthrop had passed the morn of life joyously -with each other; they “grew together, slept -together, learned, played, <a id='ate'></a>ate together,” sharing their -childish happiness and wo; and when Winthrop -heard the tidings of his family’s misfortunes, it was -the loss of Amy that brought forth his bitterest tears. -This meeting brought back the associations of days -gone by; but the past, as well as the present, was -clouded by the recollection that all those near and dear -had passed away, save only this, “his first love and -his last.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Amy was not mistaken. Mordaunt <span class='it'>had</span> gone to -meet the returning Abenakis. They advanced with -shoutings, as usual, but the noise of the cataract overpowered -every thing beside, and the unguarded trio -were too much absorbed by their unexpected happiness -to think of safety. The reserve party heard the -yellings of the Indians, and foresaw the threatening -danger, but tried in vain to arrest the attention of -Richard and Winthrop. One of them bravely started -forward to warn them; but he had not advanced more -than a hundred paces when he saw the Indians emerging -from a little ravine opposite the falls, and sunk down -into the thicket. A shower of arrows was the first premonition -of their approach to the unfortunate dreamers. -One bruised Amy’s arm, one entered Richard’s hat and -<span class='pageno' title='119' id='Page_119'></span> -grazed the top of his head, and one sunk deep into the -breast of Winthrop. “I am killed,” cried he, as the -fatal shaft pierced his vitals. Richard caught the gun -that lay at his side, and, fleeing, discharged it toward -their enemies. Amy, following him, ran until the -sounds of the Indians grew faint and distant, and convinced -them they were not pursued.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Poor Winthrop had run but a few steps when he fell -dead into the bushes, unobserved by his forward associates. -“Where is Winthrop?” asked Amy, as soon -as recollection returned. The last few moments had -too much happiness crowded into them—evil spirits -looked down with malignity, and a blight came over -the scene. But who shall tell the frighted Amy that -Winthrop is no more? They listened—there seemed -a howling joined with the roar of the falls. A thrill of -horror passed over Amy as she thought that her poor -brother might have fallen, wounded, into the hands of -their foes. Exasperated at her loss, he would find far -less humanity than she had experienced. Still that -moaning sound continued and increased. Richard -climbed a tall tree, thinking he might hear more distinctly, -and perhaps discern what it was. What was -his amazement when he found that his position enabled -him to see the Indians—for in their hasty flight -they had not noticed their ascent of a hill. He saw -them crossing the stream below the waterfall. There -were a multitude of them near together, winding their -way upon the rocks. Richard had an acute, far vision; -he never exerted it more than now. The howling -swelled upon the breeze—what were they doing? -“Oh, Heavens!” murmured he, “it is Winthrop.” -They seemed carrying a man, and occasionally he -could distinguish the face of a white person. He looked -again and again—it was not a red man. But then, -thought he, would they be mourning over a slain enemy? -It must be for a captive lost. They were crossing -from the same side on which they had first seen -them. There had not been sufficient time, and there -could be no motive for crossing and recrossing with a -dead enemy; more probably they would leave him to -the wolves. But one thing was certain—Amy and -himself were in danger, and would be pursued. He -quickly descended, and taking her concealed themselves -in a clump of cedars growing thick and full -from the ground. So close was the covert that a -pointer could scarcely have found them. “Where is -Winthrop?” said Amy, imploringly. Richard dared -not—could not tell her his fears, but spoke cheerly, and -whispering of love she soon forgot every thing but her -lover and her joy in seeing him once more. But the -more Richard considered upon what he saw from the -tree, the more inexplicable it appeared, and he resolved -to relate it to Amy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah,” said she, “it was Mordaunt, that dead body; -and for him they were mourning. That random shot -of yours killed their priest, wicked, miserable Mordaunt. -You, Richard, have avenged my wrongs,” -continued she, bursting into tears at the remembrance -of her insult.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, that accounts for all—their carrying the body, -their howling, and not pursuing us,” said Richard, -still dwelling upon the sight and sounds of the afternoon. -“But dry up your tears, my sweet Amy; deliverance -and happiness have come at last,” and he -strained her in ecstasy to his bosom. But the transport -of her lover’s embrace soon gave way to grievous -apprehensions for the welfare of her favorite and now -only brother. “We will go and seek him and our -party,” said Richard. “The Indians will scarcely follow -us now; the burial of their priest will occupy -them too much to think of pursuit.” It was dim twilight -when they crept forth from their hiding place. -They had gone but a little distance when they heard a -whistle, which started Mary, but which Richard understood -was from one of his comrades, and soon they -saw a moving figure near them. This proved to be -the man who had vainly endeavored to warn them of -their peril before their attack.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you seen Winthrop?” asked Amy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Alas! my poor young woman,” said the kind, honest -man, “I hate to grieve you, if you do not know it, -but I saw the dear lad fall by the way.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tell me where he lies,” said the shocked, terrified -girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May be I can,” said the man. “I was looking for -some one to come with me, when I heard you and -whistled.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He led the way and they followed silently, except -the exclamations of grief that ever and anon broke -from Amy. They had nearly reached the falls, the -sight of which recalled the few delightful moments -spent with Winthrop, when their leader, stooping -down into a bunch of alder, said—“Poor, brave boy, -here he lies.” It was not yet dark; the pale twilight -just revealed his pale, dead face, his garments dyed -with blood, and the murderous arrow still deep in his -breast. Amy kissed his cold, pallid cheeks, and bathed -them in tears. “My ransom was too dearly paid,” -said she bitterly. “Why was Winthrop, so happy, so -noble and so young, the one to fall by savage hands, -when death would have been sweet to me, their -wretched slave?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Even so, Father, for so it seemeth good in thy -sight,” ejaculated their pious companion. “Clouds -and darkness are about His throne, but He doeth all -things well. We must not linger here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He and Richard bore the dead body, and Amy followed, -until they heard a signal, which told them they were -in the vicinity of their party. They halted, and their -friends gathered around them. The object before them -disclosed the tragical history of the afternoon, and they -mingled their tears for one whom they all loved. The -full moon rose, and looked down through the forest -trees upon that weeping band. The head of the dead -Winthrop rested upon Amy’s lap. He was even yet -beautiful—the lustre of his eye was gone, but the clustering -curls still lay life-like upon his placid brow, and -his features were tranquil as if he were sleeping. -There they sat, surrounding him, “dumb as solemn -sorrow ought to be.” At last a low voice fell upon -the air, and prayer arose from that stricken group—such -prayer as only ascends from the dependent, helpless -and bereaved wanderer in the wilderness. Comforted -and refreshed, they removed the fatal dart, brought -water from a spring and washed the body of poor Winthrop, -<span class='pageno' title='120' id='Page_120'></span> -wrapped it in a blanket, and buried his bloody -garments. They resolved to relieve each other by -turns, and carry the body with them until morning.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know they cannot hurt his corpse,” said Richard, -“but let us take it out of the enemy’s country. -He would have performed the like service for any of -us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An affecting sight was that funeral train. That solitary -female, bent like a drooping flower by the tempest -of grief that had swept over her, the chief mourner, -followed close behind the dead, borne without coffin or -bier. All that night they walked in slow procession, -the stillness only broken by the occasional sobs of Amy, -when her overwhelming grief burst its barriers afresh. -There was a “mournful eloquence” in that mute sorrow. -It bespoke deeper emotion than the clamorous -wailings of the Indians over their dead. The moon -sunk behind the hills, and the quiet stars shed their -mild radiance upon them, until their twinklings were -lost in the light of the breaking morn. Weary and sad, -they were cheered by the signs of returning day, and -by faith the pilgrims hailed it as the blest harbinger of -the resurrection morn, when, after the long night of -death has passed, the final trump will awake the -righteous to “life immortal in the skies.” Just as the -silver clouds began to streak the east, they reached a -beautiful green slope, with but few trees and a gentle -streamlet bounding two sides of it. They stopped—every -one seemed impressed with the fitness of the -place for the burial. Amy first broke the silence, exclaiming, -“It is a lovely spot!” but as they proceeded -to lay down their unconscious burthen, she commenced -weeping, and said, “Will you leave Winthrop here?” -She uncovered his head and again pillowed it in her -lap, kissing and caressing it, as if, perchance, she might -awaken a smile upon that ghastly face, then mourning -as if her heart would break when attracted toward -the grave they were preparing for him. It was under -a spreading oak that they chose his resting place. The -earth around was carpeted with flowers, the rivulet -gliding below, and the place was in unison with the -young and beauteous form they were about to entomb -there. They finished their work—they brought shrubs -and flowers and sprinkled in the grave, and wrapped -their cherished one in his rude pall and laid him in the -narrow bed. They knelt around, Richard supporting -Amy, who seemed to forget every thing but that form -so soon to be buried forever from her sight. The same -good man who led their supplications the evening before, -was now their chaplain, and his prayer brought -holy consolation to the hearts of the afflicted. He -spoke of the blessedness of the dead, who had passed -from the cares of earth and entered “the mansions of -rest above.” He prayed most fervently for the living, -who would, if faithful, soon partake of the same -glory. When they arose death seemed disarmed of -his terrors, and Heaven appeared <span class='it'>very</span> near. They -covered their companion with boughs and fresh earth, -and Amy cheerfully brought honey-suckles and strewed -over his grave. The sun had begun to pour his mellow -beams over the wakening world when, with grateful -and subdued hearts, they bade a final farewell to the -burial place of Winthrop.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What though they left him without guard or memorial, -alone in the wilderness! Kind hands had laid him -there, prayer had hallowed the spot, tears of affection -bedewed his grave, and guardian spirits would watch -with jealous care his “sleeping dust.” “Rest, thee, my -brother, last of my kindred,” said Amy, sending a lingering -look backward.</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“There softly lie, and sweetly sleep,</p> -<p class='line0'>      Low in the ground,</p> -<p class='line0'>The storm that sweeps the wintry sky</p> -<p class='line0'>  No more’ll disturb thy deep repose,</p> -<p class='line0'>Than summer evening’s latest sigh,</p> -<p class='line0'>      That shuts the rose.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk127'/> - -<div><h1><a id='kubl'></a>KUBLEH.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A STORY OF THE ASSYRIAN DESERT.</p> - -<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='blockquote0r9'> - -<p class='pindent'>Sofuk, the Sheik of the Shammar Arabs, was the owner of a mare of matchless beauty, called, as if the property of -the tribe, the Shammeriyah. Her dam, who died about ten years ago, was the celebrated Kubleh, whose renown extended -from the sources of the Khabour to the end of the Arabian promontory, and the day of whose death is the epoch -from which the Arabs of Mesopotamia now date the events concerning their tribe. Mohammed Emir, Sheik of the -Jebour, assured me that he had seen Sofuk ride down the wild ass of the Sinjar on her back, and the most marvelous -stories are current in the desert as to her fleetness and powers of endurance. Sofuk esteemed her and her daughter -above all the riches of the tribe; for her he would have forfeited all his wealth, and even Amsha herself.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='sc'>Layard’s Nineveh.</span></p> - -</div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The black-eyed children of the Desert drove</p> -<p class='line0'>Their flocks together at the set of sun.</p> -<p class='line0'>The tents were pitched; the weary camels bent</p> -<p class='line0'>Their suppliant necks, and knelt upon the sand;</p> -<p class='line0'>The hunters quartered by the kindled fires</p> -<p class='line0'>The wild boars of the Tigris they had slain,</p> -<p class='line0'>And all the stir and sound of evening ran</p> -<p class='line0'>Throughout the Shammar camp. The dewy air</p> -<p class='line0'>Bore its full burden of confused delight</p> -<p class='line0'>Across the flowery plain, and while, afar,</p> -<p class='line0'>The snows of Koordish Mountains in the ray</p> -<p class='line0'>Flashed roseate amber, Nimroud’s ancient mound</p> -<p class='line0'>Rose broad and black against the burning west.</p> -<p class='line0'>The shadows deepened and the stars came out,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sparkling in violet ether; one by one</p> -<p class='line0'>Glimmered the ruddy camp-fires on the plain,</p> -<p class='line0'>And shapes of steed and horseman moved among</p> -<p class='line0'>The dusky tents, with shout and jostling cry,</p> -<p class='line0'>And neigh and restless prancing. Children ran</p> -<p class='line0'>To hold the thongs, while every rider drove</p> -<p class='line0'>His quivering spear in the earth, and by his door</p> -<p class='line0'>Tethered the horse he loved. In midst of all</p> -<p class='line0'>Stood Shammeriyah, whom they dared not touch—</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='pageno' title='121' id='Page_121'></span></p> -<p class='line0'>The foal of wondrous Kubleh, to the Sheik</p> -<p class='line0'>A dearer wealth than all his Georgian girls.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But when their meal was o’er—when the red fires</p> -<p class='line0'>Blazed brighter, and the dogs no longer bayed—</p> -<p class='line0'>When Shammar hunters with the boys sat down</p> -<p class='line0'>To cleanse their bloody knives, came Alimar,</p> -<p class='line0'>The poet of the tribe, whose songs of love</p> -<p class='line0'>Are sweeter than Balsora’s nightingales—</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose songs of war can fire the Arab blood</p> -<p class='line0'>Like war itself: who knows not Alimar?</p> -<p class='line0'>Then asked the men: “O Poet, sing of Kubleh!”</p> -<p class='line0'>And boys laid down the knives, half-burnished, saying:</p> -<p class='line0'>“Tell us of Kubleh, whom we never saw—</p> -<p class='line0'>Of wondrous Kubleh!” Closer flocked the group,</p> -<p class='line0'>With eager eyes about the flickering fire,</p> -<p class='line0'>While Alimar, beneath the Assyrian stars,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sang to the listening Arabs:</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                          “God is great!</p> -<p class='line0'>O Arabs, never yet since Mahmoud rode</p> -<p class='line0'>The sands of Yemen, and by Mecca’s gate</p> -<p class='line0'>That wingéd steed bestrode, whose mane of fire</p> -<p class='line0'>Blazed up the zenith, when, by Allah called,</p> -<p class='line0'>He bore the Prophet to the walls of Heaven,</p> -<p class='line0'>Was like to Kubleh, Sofuk’s wondrous mare:</p> -<p class='line0'>Not all the milk-white barbs, whose hoofs dashed flame</p> -<p class='line0'>In Bagdad’s stables, from the marble floor—</p> -<p class='line0'>Who, swathed in purple housings, pranced in state</p> -<p class='line0'>The gay bazars, by great Al-Raschid backed:</p> -<p class='line0'>Not the wild charger of Mongolian breed</p> -<p class='line0'>That went o’er half the world with Tamerlane:</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor yet those flying coursers, long ago</p> -<p class='line0'>From Ormuz brought by swarthy Indian grooms</p> -<p class='line0'>To Persia’s kings—the foals of sacred mares,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sired by the fiery stallions of the sea!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Who ever told, in all the Desert Land,</p> -<p class='line0'>The many deeds of Kubleh? Who can tell</p> -<p class='line0'>Whence came she, whence her like shall come again?</p> -<p class='line0'>O Arabs, like a tale of Sherezade</p> -<p class='line0'>Heard in the camp, when javelin shafts are tried</p> -<p class='line0'>On the hot eve of battle, is her story.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Far in the Southern sands, the hunters say,</p> -<p class='line0'>Did Sofuk find her, by a lonely palm.</p> -<p class='line0'>The well had dried; her fierce, impatient eye</p> -<p class='line0'>Glared red and sunken, and her slight young limbs</p> -<p class='line0'>Were lean with thirst. He checked his camel’s pace,</p> -<p class='line0'>And while it knelt, untied the water-skin,</p> -<p class='line0'>And when the wild mare drank, she followed him.</p> -<p class='line0'>Thence none but Sofuk might the saddle gird</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon her back, or clasp the brazen gear</p> -<p class='line0'>About her shining head, that brooked no curb</p> -<p class='line0'>From even him; for she, alike, was royal.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Her form was lighter, in its shifting grace,</p> -<p class='line0'>Than some impassioned Almée’s, when the dance</p> -<p class='line0'>Unbinds her scarf, and golden anklets gleam</p> -<p class='line0'>Through floating drapery, on the buoyant air.</p> -<p class='line0'>Her light, free head was ever held aloft;</p> -<p class='line0'>Between her slender and transparent ears</p> -<p class='line0'>The silken forelock tossed; her nostril’s arch,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thin-drawn, in proud and pliant beauty spread,</p> -<p class='line0'>Snuffing the desert winds. Her glossy neck</p> -<p class='line0'>Curved to the shoulder like an eagle’s wing,</p> -<p class='line0'>And all her matchless lines of flank and limb</p> -<p class='line0'>Seemed fashioned from the flying shapes of air</p> -<p class='line0'>By hands of lightning. When the war-shouts rang</p> -<p class='line0'>From tent to tent, her keen and restless eye</p> -<p class='line0'>Shone like a blood-red ruby, and her neigh</p> -<p class='line0'>Rang wild and sharp above the clash of spears.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“The tribes of Tigris and the Desert knew her:</p> -<p class='line0'>Sofuk before the Shammar bands she bore</p> -<p class='line0'>To meet the dread Jebours, who waited not</p> -<p class='line0'>To bid her welcome; and the savage Koord,</p> -<p class='line0'>Chased from his bold irruption on the plain,</p> -<p class='line0'>Has seen her hoof prints in his mountain snow.</p> -<p class='line0'>Lithe as the dark-eyed Syrian gazelle,</p> -<p class='line0'>O’er ledge and chasm and barren steep amid</p> -<p class='line0'>The Sinjar hills, she ran the wild ass down.</p> -<p class='line0'>Through many a battle’s thickest brunt she stormed,</p> -<p class='line0'>Reeking with sweat and dust, and fetlock deep</p> -<p class='line0'>In curdling gore. When hot and lurid haze</p> -<p class='line0'>Stifled the crimson sun, she swept before</p> -<p class='line0'>The whirling sand-spout, till her gusty mane</p> -<p class='line0'>Flared in its vortex, while the camels lay</p> -<p class='line0'>Groaning and helpless on the fiery waste.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“The tribes of Taurus and the Caspian knew her:</p> -<p class='line0'>The Georgian chiefs have heard her trumpet neigh</p> -<p class='line0'>Before the walls of Teflis; pines that grow</p> -<p class='line0'>On ancient Caucasus have harbored her,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sleeping by Sofuk in their spicy gloom.</p> -<p class='line0'>The surf of Trebizond has bathed her flanks,</p> -<p class='line0'>When from the shore she saw the white-sailed bark</p> -<p class='line0'>That brought him home from Stamboul. Never yet,</p> -<p class='line0'>O Arabs, never yet was like to Kubleh!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“And Sofuk loved her. She was more to him</p> -<p class='line0'>Than all his snowy-bosomed odalisques.</p> -<p class='line0'>For many years she stood beside his tent,</p> -<p class='line0'>The glory of the tribe.</p> -<p class='line0'>                        At last she died.</p> -<p class='line0'>Died, while the fire was yet in all her limbs—</p> -<p class='line0'>Died for the life of Sofuk, whom she loved.</p> -<p class='line0'>The base Jebours—on whom be Allah’s curse!—</p> -<p class='line0'>Came on his path, when far from any camp,</p> -<p class='line0'>And would have slain him, but that Kubleh sprang</p> -<p class='line0'>Against the javelin points, and bore them down,</p> -<p class='line0'>And gained the open Desert. Wounded sore,</p> -<p class='line0'>She urged her light limbs into maddening speed</p> -<p class='line0'>And made the wind a laggard. On and on</p> -<p class='line0'>The red sand slid beneath her, and behind</p> -<p class='line0'>Whirled in a swift and cloudy turbulence,</p> -<p class='line0'>As when some star of Eblis, downward hurled</p> -<p class='line0'>By Allah’s bolt, sweeps with its burning hair</p> -<p class='line0'>The waste of darkness. On and on, the bleak,</p> -<p class='line0'>Bare ridges rose before her, came and passed,</p> -<p class='line0'>And every flying leap with fresher blood</p> -<p class='line0'>Her nostril stained, till Sofuk’s brow and breast</p> -<p class='line0'>Were flecked with crimson foam. He would have turned</p> -<p class='line0'>To save his treasure, though himself were lost,</p> -<p class='line0'>But Kubleh fiercely snapped the brazen rein.</p> -<p class='line0'>At last, when through her spent and quivering frame</p> -<p class='line0'>The sharp throes ran, our hundred tents arose,</p> -<p class='line0'>And with a neigh, whose shrill excess of joy</p> -<p class='line0'>O’ercame its agony, she stopped and fell.</p> -<p class='line0'>The Shammar men came round her as she lay,</p> -<p class='line0'>And Sofuk raised her head and held it close</p> -<p class='line0'>Against his breast. Her dull and glazing eye</p> -<p class='line0'>Met his, and with a shuddering gasp she died.</p> -<p class='line0'>Then like a child his bursting grief made way</p> -<p class='line0'>In passionate tears, and with him all the tribe</p> -<p class='line0'>Wept for the faithful mare.</p> -<p class='line0'>                          They dug her grave</p> -<p class='line0'>Amid Al-Hather’s marbles, where she lies</p> -<p class='line0'>Buried with ancient kings; and since that time</p> -<p class='line0'>Was never seen, and will not be again,</p> -<p class='line0'>O Arabs, though the world be doomed to live</p> -<p class='line0'>As many moons as count the desert sands,</p> -<p class='line0'>The like of wondrous Kubleh. God is great!”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk128'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='122' id='Page_122'></span><h1><a id='mem'></a>A 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 MRS. JANE TAYLOR WORTHINGTON.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>The shadows are dark on thy soul,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  And thoughts of the lost will throng,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>For a voice hath vanished from the earth,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  Sweeter than the spring bird’s song.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Thou lookest on the still blue sky,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  And pinest ’mid its peace to be,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>For the grass springeth green on a grave,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  And the world hath a grief for thee.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>The flowers may be bright as they were,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  And a fragrance as soft may fling,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>But the verdure hath faded from thy life—</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  And the heart hath but one sweet spring!</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>I was a transient dweller in a strange land—one distant -from my childhood’s home, and far away from -those who knew me first and loved me best. Gradually, -as the vivid excitements of life had surrounded -me, as new ties had sprung up and old hopes faded, I -had lost the intimate knowledge of the welfare or the -afflictions of many who had formerly been familiar -friends, and a lengthened separation had produced that -ignorance of the details of their destiny frequently occurring, -even where affection still lingers unaltered. -But there are periods when, as it were, remembrance -irresistibly presses upon us, and we all have seasons -when old times and buried associations crowd around -us with inexplicable distinctness—when the actual -loses for a while its absorbing interest, and the past, -with all its radiant dreams, its rainbow illusions, is enchanting -reality once more.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I was sitting alone, at the close of a lovely autumn -afternoon, before an open window, my fancy busy -with the throng of older associations, and inattentive to -the beautiful view stretching beneath me, strikingly -fair as were its features, now glowing through the -crimsoning sunlight. But something—I know not -what, for such glimpses are among the spirit’s mysteries—had -recalled other times, and my soul communed -with itself and was still. The mind has its own restless -and concealed creation—its hidden world of active -silentness; and to those who have battled with the depression -attendant on human experience, there is untold -luxury in reveling amid the crowding memories -that “longest haunt the heart.” Even as I sat thus -idly reflecting, a paper reached me, sent by some -friendly hand from my early home, and earnestly as I -would have read a loving letter, I <a id='pored'></a>pored over the contents -of that every-day record. It spoke to me as a -messenger from the absent; each well-known name -mentioned in its columns, held a thousand clustering -reminiscences for me; the trivial local news was like -welcome household tidings; and I spoke aloud the old -familiar names I had not heard for years, as if a spell -lay in their sound. Last of all I turned to the page -where, side by side, were chronicled marriages and -deaths. The first were those of strangers; among the -last was noticed the final departure of one whom I -had once loved, as we only love in the purity of youth. -The announcement was worded in the usual form with -which we herald to the careless world that a soul has -gone to the mysterious future. Nothing was there to -arrest the contemplation of the reader—to speak of inevitable -human destiny to a throbbing human heart—to -reveal the agony of mortality, the bitterness of death, -or the trials of the wearily burdened and loving ones, -perchance well-nigh borne down by that one event. -“Died at sea, during her homeward voyage, Mary -Vere, aged 24, for three years a resident missionary in -Persia.” And this was all! The ending of the saddest -life I ever knew, the knell of as pure a spirit as -was ever bowed and fettered by earthly cares—this -was the cold, brief recording of the history of a warm -nature, that had patiently toiled and uncomplainingly -suffered—that even in its youth had been old in grief—that -had wandered abroad and found no rest, and then, -like a wounded bird, had winged its way homeward to -die! Ah, Mary! little dreamed we, in our sunny days, -that mine eyes should ever trace the chronicle of such -a destiny for thee!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We had first met, in childhood, at the country residence -of a friend, where we were both spending the -summer months. She accompanied her mother—her -only surviving parent, then slowly declining in the last -stage of consumption. Mary and myself, thrown continually -together, without other companions, speedily -became warm friends, though her pensive, irresolute -disposition, had little in common with my natural impetuous -animation. She had been the attendant on -suffering from her earliest recollection, for her father -had died after a lingering illness, during which he had -desired the constant enlivenment of his only child’s -society, and her mother had for years been a resigned -but hopeless invalid. All who have closely observed -children, are aware of the influence such things half-unconsciously -exert over minds susceptible to every -impression, and it was not strange that one so used to -look on sorrow, should have learned at last to doubt -the very existence of happiness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary was a strikingly beautiful child, with dark, -soul-revealing eyes, bright with the mystical fire of the -burning thoughts within. I well remember their rapturous -expression when she was excited by some tale -of heroism—for she was full of a strange, quiet <a id='enth'></a>enthusiasm, -that wasted itself in fruitless sympathy with the -moral greatness of others, but shrank with painful distrust -from reliance on its own impulsive guidance. -She was quick of feeling, and easily touched by the -most trivial deed of kindness, and her being was too -<span class='pageno' title='123' id='Page_123'></span> -sensitive for her ever to be thoughtlessly happy. Her -look and manner were peculiarly winning in their tranquil, -subdued gentleness; and when this was, occasionally, -though rarely, laid aside for awhile, amid the -irrepressible mirth of childish amusement, her laugh -had the ringing, silvery melody which seems the musical -essence of enjoyment. For two successive summers -we met and were inseparably intimate, and then -four years elapsed before we were again together. -During this interval Mary’s mother died, and she went -far from my home, to reside with a distant relation. -We had, from our first parting, corresponded regularly, -and her letters were, like herself, poetical and visionary. -I know not wherefore, for she wrote no murmur, but -they left the impression that she was not satisfied with -her new home, and my heart yearned to comfort her, -to remove from her lot its loneliness, from her soul its -dimness. But she shrunk, with what then appeared to -me morbid delicacy, from all approach to confidence -on this subject, and gradually grew in all things less -communicative regarding herself, as if doubting the response -of sympathy. There was evidently a constraint -placed on her spontaneous emotions—a quiet -concealment of her deeper interests, which to me -spoke mournfully, and recalled that silent, dejected -consciousness of mental and spiritual solitude, which -is the saddest portion and the most touching consequence -of an orphan’s unshared and melancholy destiny. -It was not until long afterward that I learned -the domestic trials and annoyances to which she had -been subjected, and the dreary, joyless routine in which -she dragged on the years that should have been her -brightest ones.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was with many a sweet anticipation of friendly, -unreserved intercourse and affectionate solace—such -dreams as are borne by loving angels to hearts strong -in youth and rich in tenderness, that I looked impatiently -forward to my next meeting with my old playmate, -for now we had both glided from childhood to -womanhood, and the firm bond was between us that -links those who remember together. I shall never forget -my astonishment when, after our first fond and impetuous -greeting, I turned, with tearful eyes, to mark -the alteration time had wrought in the appearance of -my companion. She was calm and composed, almost -to coldness, and there was no visible exhibition of the -agitation struggling beneath, or of all the afflicting reminiscences -which I knew were recalled by looking on -my face again. She had grown from the timid, irresolute -girl, to the proud, self-possessed woman, and her -manner had the tranquil air of one aware of her own -moral strength, and of the existence of impulses and -feelings too pure and sacred to be lightly displayed to a -world which had nothing in common with them. She -was more beautiful than ever, and I have never seen a -being whose polished, intellectual tranquillity was so -faultlessly graceful. She had acquired the early maturity -of mind given in kindness to those who are tried -in their youth; for she had evidently “thought too -long and darkly;” her feelings were still from their intensity, -and hers was the reflective repose which, wearied -and desponding, folds its drooping pinions and -sleeps on the bosom of darkness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ah, me! it is a dreary thing to feel alone in the -world—to have no eye brighten at our coming, no voice -ever ready with its eager welcoming, nothing to tell us -we are beloved, and that fond thoughts and wishes are -around our onward pathway. O, ye who have never -felt this worst of desolations—ye whose best affections -bind ye still, who have no link broken, no yearnings -unfulfilled, fold to your hearts the precious blessing -that lives in domestic ties and speaks in household -love, and greet kindly and gently those whose life is -lonely—who look around them and find no answering -gaze, who pine with many tears for one glimpse of the -tenderness whose living light is daily yours, who go -forward sadly and silently, with none to love them, -save those who are angels in Heaven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But there is a romance in every one’s experience, -evanescent though it be; and at length its bright change -rose upon Mary’s existence. I heard she was soon to -be married, to a young clergyman, of whom all spoke -in terms of approval and admiration. I sincerely rejoiced -at an event so calculated to relieve at once her -perplexities and regrets, and to summon sweet visions -for one who had too long lived without affection in the -world. I wrote to her, expressing all I felt—all my -fervent hopes for her dawning welfare. I longed impatiently -for her answer, anxious to discover if she realized -as I wished the brighter career opening before -her; but several weeks wended on, and brought me -no reply. It was from another source I learned the -dangerous and protracted illness of her lover, and a -paper, tremulously directed by Mary’s hand, at length -informed me of his death.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Finally a letter came, with its black seal. It was -the last farewell of one who loved me—the last pouring -forth of tenderness from a heart that was broken; -and yet, sorrowful as those lines were, they spoke of -hopes unshadowed and immortal—of a pilgrimage -troubled and toilsome, but full of reward, and of all an -enthusiast’s delusive anticipations in the sacred enterprise -before her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She wrote on the eve of her departure from her native -land, and with her singular, acquired shrinking -from the avowal of her feelings, she made no allusion -to the connection recently broken; and not a word revealed -the grief that clouded over her fairest prospects -and sent her forth an exile. Frequently afterward -I saw her name mentioned as one of unwavering -zeal in her adopted cause, and faithfully devoted to -the laborious responsibilities of her mission. But between -herself and her early friends a gulf seemed to be, -perhaps because she did not wish to revive the over-powering -recollections of the past. The absence of all -communication with those once dear to her, must have -been intentional, for she was not one to forget. Three -years of this unbroken existence of care and labor had -gone by, and then I had thus accidentally learned the -mournful doom of a being endowed with all earth’s -purest impulses, yet so soon recalled from its wanderings. -Hers is no uncommon history—for many such -are on our daily annals. O! give them kind thoughts -and words, for these are the sad heart’s treasured -gems!</p> - -<hr class='tbk129'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='124' id='Page_124'></span><h1><a id='this'></a>THIS WORLD OF OURS.</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'>This world of ours is beautiful—right beautiful, I ween,</p> -<p class='line0'>Are all its mountains tipt with gold, its valleys tinged with green,</p> -<p class='line0'>Its thousand laughing streams that sport, half sunshine and half shade,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like love’s first herald seen upon the rosy cheeked maid.</p> -<p class='line0'>The springing flowers are beautiful that open to the day,</p> -<p class='line0'>And spread their perfume far and wide along the sunny way;</p> -<p class='line0'>The vine-clad rocks and shady dells that bask in beauty’s sheen;</p> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours is beautiful—wherever it is seen.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours was beautiful in those good olden days</p> -<p class='line0'>When knights would battle valiantly for ladies’ smiles and praise;</p> -<p class='line0'>When in the list and on the turf, with lance and spear and sword,</p> -<p class='line0'>These iron-handed men would meet no bond but plighted word.</p> -<p class='line0'>Each castle was a fortress then; each man could bend the bow,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or lead the dance, or join the song with voice as soft and low,</p> -<p class='line0'>As maidens when at night they hear their lovers’ whispered praise;</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! was not the world beautiful in those good olden days?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours was beautiful, when troubadours first sang,</p> -<p class='line0'>And castle hall and cottage roof with love and glory rang;</p> -<p class='line0'>When high-born damsels clustered round—perhaps to hear of one</p> -<p class='line0'>Who joined the armies of the Cross, to fight ’neath Syria’s sun;</p> -<p class='line0'>How he had borne the banner high amid the thickest fight,</p> -<p class='line0'>And placed his name where it will shine like stars amid the night;</p> -<p class='line0'>And then bright eyes would brighter beam, despite the truant tear;</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! was not the world beautiful when minstrelsy was here?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours was beautiful when Rome was great and free,</p> -<p class='line0'>And proudly shone her mountain-bird, the type of Liberty;</p> -<p class='line0'>When Freedom found a resting-place within those trophied walls,</p> -<p class='line0'>And circled with her eagle wing its temples and its halls;</p> -<p class='line0'>When on the yellow Tiber’s wave the shouts of victory came,</p> -<p class='line0'>And pride and glory mingled with the conqueror’s lauded name;</p> -<p class='line0'>Then came the proud triumphal march, the heroes crowned with bays;</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! was not the world beautiful in those her palmy days?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours was beautiful when Venice ruled the tide,</p> -<p class='line0'>And thousand voices rose to greet the old man’s ocean bride;</p> -<p class='line0'>The waters gladly danced around the castles old and proud,</p> -<p class='line0'>And from the latticed balconies, upon the passing crowd,</p> -<p class='line0'>Gleamed forth the light of beauty’s eye—Venetia’s daughters fair,</p> -<p class='line0'>With hearts as pure as were the gems that glistened in their hair;</p> -<p class='line0'>As bold in danger, true in love, as brave men’s brides should be;</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! was not the world beautiful when Venice ruled the sea?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours was beautiful when ’neath Italia’s skies</p> -<p class='line0'>Her passion sons, like meteor stars, flashed on their wondering eyes.</p> -<p class='line0'>Born in that sunny clime of love, where beauty tints the air,</p> -<p class='line0'>And earth and ocean, sun and shade, are more divinely fair;</p> -<p class='line0'>No marvel that their minds upgrew full freighted with each tone,</p> -<p class='line0'>And Love and Beauty sheltered them within their magic zone,</p> -<p class='line0'>Till all they saw and all they felt found in each work a birth;</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! was not the world beautiful when Genius walked the earth!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours was beautiful when by fair Arno’s stream</p> -<p class='line0'>Sweet Florence lay bedecked with gifts, like beauty in her dream;</p> -<p class='line0'>So soft her skies, so mild her suns, such perfume in each breeze,</p> -<p class='line0'>Such songs of gladness from her plains, such flowers upon the trees;</p> -<p class='line0'>And then her dowered children stood like jewels in her crown,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or sun-clad monuments on which Time’s rays come proudly down,</p> -<p class='line0'>To gild with beauty e’en decay—but what decay hast thou?</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! was not the world beautiful when Florence decked her brow?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours was beautiful in England’s palmy times,</p> -<p class='line0'>When merrily from church and tower pealed out the sportive chimes,</p> -<p class='line0'>When deep within the greenwood haunts dwelt honest men and free,</p> -<p class='line0'>With hearts as gay and minds as light as birds upon the tree;</p> -<p class='line0'>Right honestly the day was passed; at night, upon the green,</p> -<p class='line0'>All joining in the merry dance the young and old were seen,</p> -<p class='line0'>And many a jocund song was sung, and many a tale was told;</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! was not the world beautiful in those good days of old?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours was beautiful when valiant men and true</p> -<p class='line0'>Spread their white sails, and sought a home beyond the waters blue—</p> -<p class='line0'>They found it ’neath the forest old, ’mid wild and savage men,</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='pageno' title='125' id='Page_125'></span></p> -<p class='line0'>Beside the ocean’s rocky shore, within the mountain glen;</p> -<p class='line0'>And there was heard the childish laugh, and there the mother’s tone,</p> -<p class='line0'>Brought joy and gladness in their sound to many an altar-stone;</p> -<p class='line0'>Men toiled and strove, and strove and toiled, through all the weary hours,</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! was not the world beautiful, this western world of ours?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours was beautiful, when Freedom first awoke,</p> -<p class='line0'>Its cradle song the trumpet call, its toy the sabre stroke,</p> -<p class='line0'>Full armed, like Pallas, then she stood amid the deadly fight,</p> -<p class='line0'>And man by man stood boldly up, and clenched their hands of might,</p> -<p class='line0'>The tempest came, no cheek turned pale, no heart unnerved with fear,</p> -<p class='line0'>They grasped their swords more tightly then—’twas victory or a bier;</p> -<p class='line0'>Long was the struggle, hard the fight, but liberty was won;</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! was not the world beautiful beneath fair Freedom’s sun?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours was beautiful in times long, long ago,</p> -<p class='line0'>When those good men of earnest souls dwelt with us here below;</p> -<p class='line0'>Large was their faith in human kind; their mission seemed to be</p> -<p class='line0'>To teach man all his duties here—Love, Faith and Energy,</p> -<p class='line0'>To link each man to brother man, with links of firmest steel;</p> -<p class='line0'>Then touch the spark of sympathy, and all the shock will feel;</p> -<p class='line0'>Stamp the nobility of truth upon each deathless soul;</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! was not the world beautiful beneath such pure control?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours <span class='it'>was</span> beautiful, and still is so to me;</p> -<p class='line0'>Since boyish days I’ve clung to it, with wildness and with glee;</p> -<p class='line0'>Have laughed when others talked of wo beneath so fair a sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>When time, like flights of singing birds, with melody went by,</p> -<p class='line0'>Have roved amid its fairy bowers, and drank of every stream</p> -<p class='line0'>Of joy and gladness, till I lived within a blissful dream,</p> -<p class='line0'>And life, deep ladened with its fruits, slept like a weary child;</p> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours is beautiful as ’twas when Eden smiled?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This world of ours is beautiful despite what cynics say;</p> -<p class='line0'>There must be storms in winter time as well as flowers in May;</p> -<p class='line0'>But what of that?—there’s joy in both the sunshine and the shade,</p> -<p class='line0'>The light upon the mountain-top, the shadow in the glade.</p> -<p class='line0'>Be free of Soul, and firm of Heart, read all life’s lessons right,</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor look for roses in the snow, nor sunbeams in the night.</p> -<p class='line0'>Up! up! to action, armed with Love, Faith and Energy;</p> -<p class='line0'>And then this world is beautiful, as beautiful can be.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk130'/> - -<div><h1><a id='spirit'></a>MY SPIRIT.</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 MORFORD.</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'>Spirit, my own proud spirit!</p> -<p class='line0'>  We may not sleep in dust,</p> -<p class='line0'>There is a path marked out for us</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of a high and a holy trust;</p> -<p class='line0'>Spirit, tried spirit, we were not born,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To die as cravens die,</p> -<p class='line0'>With no proud niche for the wreathed urn,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No record on the sky.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>We came up life together,</p> -<p class='line0'>  We have lived but a few short years,</p> -<p class='line0'>We have tasted well at the fountain head</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of human hopes and fears;</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet life is young, shall we not be so?</p> -<p class='line0'>  Shall we not drink and sing</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the many glorious hopes that flow</p> -<p class='line0'>  From many a hidden spring?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Ay, and the streams shall gather</p> -<p class='line0'>  In a broad and open sea,</p> -<p class='line0'>The laving of whose crystal tide</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is immortality;</p> -<p class='line0'>There shall be a time when we shall rest,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Some gentle summer even,</p> -<p class='line0'>With a calm content, upon its breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And an opening view of heaven.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Storms will be wild around us</p> -<p class='line0'>  Before that time shall come,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the thunder of blame will fill the air,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the voice of praise be dumb;</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet as we draw from the glorious stars</p> -<p class='line0'>  Beauty and light and love,</p> -<p class='line0'>Hope’s wing shall gild the closing bars</p> -<p class='line0'>  That shut us from above.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Spirit, my own proud spirit,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou wilt not fail me now,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thy hands shall wreathe the chaplet well</p> -<p class='line0'>  And place it on my brow;</p> -<p class='line0'>Spirit, tried spirit, we were not born</p> -<p class='line0'>  To die as cravens die,</p> -<p class='line0'>With no proud niche for the wreathed urn,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No record on the sky.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk131'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='126' id='Page_126'></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/i125.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0004' style='width:400px;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span class='bold'>Sarcoramphus Gryphus, male.</span></p> -</div> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>THE CONDOR. (<span class='it'>Sarcoramphus Gryphus.</span>)</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>This bird is one of the largest of the vultures. The -early Spanish writers on America gave the most exaggerated -accounts of its size and strength; and its -true history and dimensions have been only recently -ascertained. The bird was compared with the Roc of -the Arabian romance writers. Acosta says that the -bird called Condor is able singly to eviscerate and devour -a whole sheep or a calf. Garcilaso de la Vega -makes them measure 16 feet from tip to tip of the extended -wings; he says their beaks are sufficiently -strong to perforate and tear off a bull’s hide, and to rip -out its entrails; and that a single Condor “will set -upon and slay boys of ten or twelve years;” which -last exaggeration, though now exploded, has found its -way into our common school geographies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Investigation has shown that the Condor is merely a -large, perhaps not the largest of the vultures. “The -Condor,” writes Mr. Bennett, “forms the type of a -genus, a second species of which is the <span class='it'>Vultur papa</span> -of Linnæus, the king of the vultures of British writers. -They are both peculiar to the New World, but approach -in their most essential characters very closely -to the vultures of the Old Continent, differing from the -latter principally in the large, fleshy, or rather cartilaginous, -caruncle which surmounts their beaks, in the -large size of their oval and longitudinal nostrils, placed -almost at the very extremity of the cere; and in the -comparative length of their quill feathers, the third -being the longest of the series. The most important -of these differences, the size and position of their nostrils, -appears to be well calculated to add to the already -highly powerful sense of smell possessed by the typical -vulture, and for which the birds have been almost proverbially -celebrated from the earliest ages. There is -also a third species, the Californian vulture, two noble -specimens of which, the only pair in Europe, are preserved -in the London Zoological Society’s Museum, -rivaling the Condor in bulk, and agreeing in every respect -with the generic characters of the group, except -in the existence of the caruncle, of which they are entirely -destitute.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In size the Condor is little, if at all, superior to the -Bearded Griffin, the Lämmergeyer of the Alps, with -which Buffon was disposed conjecturally to confound -it, but to which it bears at most but a distant relation. -The greatest authentic measurement scarcely carries -the extent of its wings beyond fourteen feet, and it -appears rarely to attain so gigantic a size. M. Humboldt -met with none that exceeded nine feet, and was -assured by many credible inhabitants of the province -of Quito that they had never shot any that measured -more than eleven. The length of a male specimen -somewhat less than nine feet in expanse was three -feet three inches from the tip of the beak to the extremity -of the tail; and its height, when perching with -the neck partly withdrawn, two feet eight inches. Its -beak was <a id='two'></a>two inches and three quarters in length, and -an inch and a quarter in depth when closed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='127' id='Page_127'></span> -“The beak of the Condor is straight at the base, but -the upper mandible becomes arched toward the point, -and terminates in a strong and well curved hook. The -basal half is of an ash brown, and the remaining portion, -toward the point, is nearly white. The head and -neck are bare of feathers, and covered with hard, -wrinkled, dusky reddish skin, on which are scattered -some short brown or blackish hairs. On the top of -the head, which is much flattened above, and extending -some distance along the beak, is attached an oblong -firm caruncle or comb, covered by a continuation -of the skin which invests the head. This organ is -peculiar to the male. It is connected to the beak only -in its anterior part, and is separated from it at the base -in such a manner as to allow a free passage of the air -to the large oval nostrils, which are situated beneath -it at that part. Beyond the eyes, which are somewhat -elongated, and not sunk beneath the general surface of -the head, the skin of the neck is, as it were, gathered -into a series of descending folds, extending obliquely -from the back of the head over the temples, to the -under side of the neck, and there connected anteriorly -with a lax membrane or wattle, capable of being dilated -at pleasure, like that of the common turkey. The -neck is marked by numerous deep parallel folds, produced -by the habit of retracting the head, in which the -bird indulges when at rest. In this position scarcely -any part of the neck is visible.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Round the lower part of the neck both sexes, the -female as well as the male, are furnished with a broad -white ruff of downy feathers, which forms the line of -separation between the naked skin above and the true -feathers covering the body below it. All the other -feathers, with the exception of the wing coverts, and -the secondary quill feathers, are of a bright black, -generally mingled with a grayish tinge of greater or -less intensity. In the female the wing coverts are -blackish gray; but the males have their points, and -frequently as much as half their length, white. The -wings of the latter are consequently distinguished from -those of the female by their large white patches. The -secondary quill feathers of both sexes are white on -the outer side. The tail is short and wedge shaped. -The legs are excessively thick and powerful, and are -colored of a blueish gray, intermingled with whitish -streaks. Their elongated toes are united at the base -by a loose but very apparent membrane, and are terminated -by long black talons of considerable thickness, -but very little curved. The hinder toe is shorter than -the rest, and its talon, although more distinctly curved, -is equally wanting in strength, a deficiency which renders -the foot much less powerful as an organ of prehension -than that of any other of the large birds of the -raptorial order.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Condor is found in various parts of the vast -mountain chain on the western border of the American -continent, but it is most common in Peru and <a id='chile'></a>Chile. -Its habitation is most frequently at an elevation of -10,000 or 15,000 feet above the level of the sea, and -there these birds are seen in groups of three or four, -but never in large companies like the true vultures. -Some of the mountain peaks bear names which in the -Indian tongue mean Condor’s Look-out, Condor’s -Roost and Condor’s Nest. Two of them will attack -a vicuna, a heifer or even a puma, and overcome it -by repeated strokes of their beaks and talons. When -gorged, says Humboldt, they sit sullen and sombre on -the rocks; and when thus overloaded with food they -will suffer themselves to be driven before the hunter -rather than take wing. They do not attack men or -even children, although it is admitted that two of them -would be a match for a powerful man without -weapons. Sir Francis Head gives an amusing account -of a contest between one of his Cornish miners and a -gorged Condor, which lasted an hour, and terminated -in the escape of the bird.</p> - -<hr class='tbk132'/> - -<div><h1><a id='edit'></a>EDITOR’S TABLE.</h1></div> - -<hr class='tbk133'/> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>My Dear Jeremy.</span>—I presume you are shaking the -spray from your locks, and are over head and ears in love -with salt water, while I am among the weeping willows -in these days of hydrophobia, when water—that we cannot -get at—provokes a feeling of madness. You glory in a -proprietorship over which your plough passes, turning up -soil that is all your own, while the nodding grain, golden -and pulpy, ripens in your absence for your abundant -granaries, while I cultivate this, my small patch, “a -tenant at will,” whose harvest of gleaning would be blown -to the winds without a painstaking care and watchfulness. -You are the lord of acres, while I wander around forbidden -enclosures, and look upon many a Castle of Indolence -longing but for a yard of ground all my own, upon which -to plant a firm foot, to sound the challenge and cry—war! -The very utterness of poverty is grandeur and riches, -compared to the feeling of having the pent-up energies -which have found a full outlet in enterprise, growing fiery -in inaction, and panting for room, continually battling at -the heart, and knocking in vain for freedom and exercise. -But if you have ever felt the utter insignificance of -wealth and high advantage combined with indolence and -inactivity, and forever do-nothingness, before the godlike -attributes of persevering energy and indomitable will, you -have felt the pride of manhood in its full force and power. -You have reaped in anticipation the rewards of high -courage, of manly resolve, of personal industry and victory. -You have enjoyed in your day-dreams the full -fruition of assured success—and awoke to hope on, to resolve -and to conquer. Consider me, my dear Jeremy, as -winding myself up for the next seven years, after having -run down—as having stopped, if you please, to blow; and -while you are luxuriating in the surf, and shaking the briny -water from your shoulders, as throwing off surfdom, with -a defiant air, and a determined purpose of taking a few -strides forward, to meet that “good time a coming.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Who does not love the sound of the breakers at Cape -May, who has once listened to their wild melody? What a -chance for love-making is the evening stroll upon the beach. -On the one side the rugged bank, on which the white houses -sit like a flock of wild-birds suddenly alighted, and the -faint twinkle of rush-like lights dancing like fire-flies in -the night air; on the other, the wild waters—sad emblem -of the wild unrest of the human heart—their huge waves -reflecting from their sides the quiet light of the moon, -<span class='pageno' title='128' id='Page_128'></span> -while the white-caps come trooping in, like a squadron -of dragoons, with their plumes dancing, and a roar, as if -the tread of an army were near, and a thousand park of -artillery were booming in the distance. The music of -rich voices hushed amid the uproar—the light of kind eyes -sparkling with a subdued eloquence—the loved face impressively -thoughtful, indicating that God has laid his -hand upon the heart, and whispered amid the tumult of -its worldly thoughts, “be thou still!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was my good fortune to see both Cape May and the -Falls of Niagara, for the first time, by moonlight, and -whether the hush of evening naturally associated in the -mind with twilight, deepened the impressions of awe and -wonder with which I gazed upon them, or to the greatness -of the novelty was added through the misty twilight, -a dim religious sanctity to the impression, I know not, but -they have never since charmed me so much in the broad -glare of day, as in the evening, with a quiet moon looking -placidly down upon the flashing foam, seemingly rebuking -the uproar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The bathers, too, at mid-day, screaming like sea-birds -amid the surf, with their many-colored garments dancing -amid the foam—beauty floating upon the breakers as calmly -as if reposing upon the virgin snow of her own pillows. -Manhood breasting the billow, and riding securely far out -where the huge porpoise rolls lazily along, while tiny -feet go patting, and tiny hands go clapping along the shore, -the very idleness and luxury of the sport impressing upon -the beholder a sense of enjoyment, a feeling of relief from -the work-day world, a consciousness of manhood and -freedom above the value of dollars—a heart eased of the -oppressiveness of brick and mortar, and open to a sense -most acute of the very luxury of being idle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If Philadelphians had made half as much of Cape May -as the New Yorkers have of Saratoga, or the Yankees -have of Newport, its visiters from all parts of the country -would number tens of thousands; but I question whether -its present character of being Philadelphia in holyday -dress, let loose for a romp, does not add much to its charms. -The relief from absurd ceremony, where every face is -familiar. The easy, unrestrained life, the freedom of remark -and retort, and the exuberant gayety of the whole -company, add to the enjoyment of the place, and make it -a home in a family circle greatly enlarged and full of good -humor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But, my dear Jeremy, you must have observed that at -Cape May we got along comfortably, without the towering -and overshadowing influence of the “upper ten thousand,” -which stands up to be worshiped by the people -without money or <span class='it'>brains</span>. It might be a serious question, -how long a man may exist, with great self-complacency, -without <span class='it'>heart</span>, or intellect, yet with a purse well lined -with gold—regarding the world of men and of matter as -especially made for him—the lord paramount of the soil, -and of the sinews, which of right belong to his betters. -Cannot some one curious in nature and philosophy, analyze -one of this genus, and tell the world how the appearance -of humanity can be preserved without a single attribute -of it, existing life-like and active in his breast. The -whole effort of this air-drawn animal appears to be to -rise, to get up in society, to overlook the pigmies who toil -and sweat for bread—to loose his identity in the upper -circle, that he may forget his grandfather, the soap-boiler, -upon whose bubbles he has been shot upward—as we expel -a pea from an air-gun. Prick the bubble, and the -thing vanishes into air, without leaving behind him a -trace of existence of the value of a pepper-corn, and <span class='it'>so</span>,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>      ——“Grows dim and dies</p> -<p class='line0'>All that this world is proud of.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>The gifts of <span class='sc'>God</span> are equal. He sheds upon us all the -same glorious sunlight, and gives us the same heritage -of dew and showers. The air has no monopolist, but its -balmy odors as kindly kiss as well the beggar as the king. -The mountain stream and the mountain flower acknowledge -no master but the hand that formed them. The very -beast that roams over the boundless prairies, and tosses -his wild mane to the breeze, snuffs in an atmosphere sanctified -by its freeness. God, over all his own works sheds -the benignant light of universal benevolence and goodwill. -The hues of a heaven-tinted charity blend kindly -together the world over—the laws of a love undistinguishing -are impressed upon all nature.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is <span class='it'>man</span>—but a handful of his mother earth—that -wrongs her kind bosom, and says to his brother, stand -aside, the heritage is mine—we are not equals in birth-right. -I claim by pre-emption a supremacy which makes -me thy master. The very purple I wear, when contrasted -with the faded russet of thy poor garb, makes me thy lord. -The jeweled rings of these fingers clasp thy neck, and -make thee bondsman. Thou shalt go at my bidding and -come at my call. Thou shalt toil until thy weary bones -crack, to pamper to my luxurious desires! Thou shalt not -even <span class='it'>think</span> but at thy peril! By the high authority of -what is called <span style='font-size:smaller'>LAW</span>, thou art enslaved!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By this right of <span class='it'>law</span>, how many wrongs are done, -which the cold eye of day gazes on in silence, whilst -hearts wrung with anguish weep on unpitied. This strong -arm, when its fist clutches dollars, how terrible is it in its -willingness to crush and overwhelm the unsheltered, the -unbefriended, the poor, unpitied victim. But if a breast -sparkling with diamonds interposes, how palsied and feeble -becomes the blow—<span class='it'>the justice, the equity of the law</span>, how -considerate and kind!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet law, according to the lawgiver, “is the perfection -of reason,” which must account, I suppose, for the difficulty -which the learned counsel experiences in expounding it -to an “intelligent jury.” The poor thief therefore remains -in profound ignorance of the equity of the decision, -by which he is consigned to three years of penitence is -solitary confinement, while his gayer brother in crime -dashes through the streets with his carriage and scarlet -housings, basking in the worship of wondering and approving -eyes, <span class='it'>his</span> penalty for having started a bank, <span class='it'>and -stopped it</span>, by which thousands of poor men lost the dollars -which paid for the equipage, and furnished the viands for -his pampered appetite, the meanest of which would have -driven starvation from their doors. He is beyond the law. -Let an hundred operatives agree in thinking that the -wretched pittance for their daily labor will not suffice to -feed the mouths of a half dozen famishing children, the law -has its kind and protecting eye upon them at once—and if -they <span class='it'>dare</span> express so infamous a sentiment, it immediately -takes care of them as conspirators. But the masters of an -hundred mills may openly avow their determination to -close their doors and send starvation into a whole village, -the law instantly closes its watchful eye, and dozes over -the scene, deeming it right and proper that capital should -be indulged in its absurdities.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Should John, upon the box of a gentleman’s carriage, -come in contact with the hub of the humble cab of Jehu, -and thereby disfigure the carriage and irritate the temper -of the great owner, his honor, who may have had <span class='it'>dealings</span> -with him, deals with Jehu, who is glad to get off for his -five dollars, and thinks it a kindness that he is not imprisoned -for the intolerable crime of John not giving an -inch of the road to a vulgar cabman. When diamonds are -trumps, take care of knaves.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is a fiction of law—for even “perfect reason” has her -fictions, it seems—that people who are standing at a distance -in a riot, are as culpable as those who are throwing -<span class='pageno' title='129' id='Page_129'></span> -the brickbats—and it is certain they are the more likely to -be killed, probably from a humane feeling of not wishing -to irritate those who are too near—and it is for this reason, -we presume, that after the riot is over, a number of citizens, -against whom nothing can be proved, are arrested, to -assert the majesty of the law, while the real rioters and -murderers are perfectly unknown to the police. The law -being discriminative thus administered, as well as stringent -when necessary.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Great names, which provoke a riot, or lack the nerve -and manliness to suppress it, have an overshadowing influence, -which awes even the majesty of the law—it -would be indecorous in the law to meddle with greatness, -even when it is impertinent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“La-w me!” exclaims an old lady, who has upset the -contents of her frying-pan into the fire. But the poor soul -little knows the calamity she invokes. It is doubtful -whether fire and frying-pan would not follow, if her request -were complied with. The law being at times both expensive -and speedy.</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“<span class='it'>So wags the world along.</span>”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>But, my dear Jeremy, I have rambled somewhat in this -letter, so without more ado, I’ll <span style='font-size:smaller'>CUT</span> this.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;margin-top:0.5em;'>G. R. G.</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i134.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0005' style='width:450px;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span class='bold'>“THE UPPER TEN” AND “THE LOWER FIGURE.”</span></p> -</div> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><span class='pageno' title='130' id='Page_130'></span>LENDER’S BOOKS.—NO. II.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>By my right hand, Graham! by my right hand, which -for —— odd years hath traveled and travailed over much -foolscap, (and under much fool’s-cap quoth the fiend,) I -am more and more convinced of the truth of the words of -the preacher, “Vanity of vanities! all is vanity!” I have -just laid aside “Mardi,” (the gift of my warm-hearted -friend, L. G. C., of the Knickerbocker,) it lies atop of old -Du Bartas and some withered budlets of forget-me-not, -and in like manner <span class='it'>I</span> sit with a few fragmentaries of old -literature at bottom for my <span class='it'>primiter</span>, some tender remembrances -for my <span class='it'>secondary</span>, and for the <span class='it'>alluvial</span> stratum of -my pericranicks (as gentle Charles hath it) these fripperies -by the Author of Typee. Confound the book! there -are such beautiful Aurora-flashes of light in it that you -can almost forgive the puerilities—it is a great net-work -of affectation, with some genuine <span class='it'>gold</span> shining through -the interstices.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Let us turn over the leaves a little—hear ye now—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“And what to me thus pining for some one to page me -a quotation from Burton on Blue-Devils.” V. I. p. 15.</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>What is <span class='it'>paging</span> a quotation?</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“Anoint the ropes and they will travel deftly through -the subtle windings of the blocks.” p. 33.</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Why not say—“apply some oleaginous substance to -the ambulatory cords, and prevent the inarticulate dissonance -caused by the inharmonious attrition of the flaxen -fibres against the ligneous particles?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But this passage I especially commend:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good old Arcturion! Maternal craft, that rocked me -so often in thy heart of oak, I grieve to tell how I deserted -thee on the broad deep. (‘Maternal craft—maternal old -oaken-hearted craft—maternal old oaken-cradle hearted -craft’ is good!) So far from home, with such a motley -crew, so many islands, whose heathen babble <span class='it'>echoing -through thy Christian hull must have grated harshly on -every carline</span>.” p. 38.</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“Many there are who can fall,” says Martinus Scriblerius, -“but few can arrive at the felicity of falling gracefully.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>How beautifully he embellishes the most commonplace -ideas:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“Among savages, severe personal injuries are, for the -most part, accounted but trifles. When a European would -be taking to his couch in despair <span class='it'>the savage would disdain -to recline</span>.” p. 96.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At Ravavai I had stepped ashore some few months -previous; and now was embarked on a cruise for the -whale, <span class='it'>whose brain enlightens the world</span>!” p. 1.</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Jarl steals a keg of tobacco—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“From the Arcturion he had brought along with him a -small half-keg, at bottom impacted with a solitary layer -of sable Negrohead, fossil-marked, like the primary stratum -of the geologists.” (Ahem! primary stratum <span class='it'>fossil</span>-marked!) -p. 68.</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>He surmiseth that Samoa likes to get swipesy—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nor did I doubt but that the Upoluan, like all Polynesians, -much loved getting high of head; and in that state -would be more intractable than a Black Forest boar.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Sometimes he breaks into hexameter:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“In the verdant glen of Ardair, far in the silent interior of Amma,</p> -<p class='line0'> Shut in by hoar old cliffs, Yillah the maiden abode.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This reminds one of Evangeline—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“In the Acadian land, on the shores of the basin of Minos,</p> -<p class='line0'> Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand Pré</p> -<p class='line0'> Lay in the fruitful valley.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Let us hexametrize another passage, and we will have -done with these fopperies:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“’Tis no great valor to perish sword in hand, and bravado</p> -<p class='line0'> On lip; cased all in panoply complete. For even the alli-</p> -<p class='line0'> Gator dies in his mail, and the sword-fish never surrenders.</p> -<p class='line0'> To expire, mild-eyed, in one’s bed, transcends the death of Epam-Inondas.” p. 46.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>I have done with Mardi—one is reminded in reading it -(after Typee) that “there is as much skill in making dikes -as in raising mounts—there is an art of <span class='it'>diving</span> as well as -flying,” and who knows but what the author, after attaining -a comfortable elevation by his former works, may not -have made this plunge <span class='it'>on purpose</span>, as men do who climb -to the top of a high mast that they may dive the deeper.</p> - -<hr class='tbk134'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Now do those crushed, withered budlets of forget-me-not, -peeping from under the book covers, remind me of -those beautiful hope-flowers that opened their pale blue -eyes in the morning of my life, and bloomed and drooped—and -passed away—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  “How fair was then the flower—the tree!</p> -<p class='line0'>   How silver-sweet the fountain’s fall!</p> -<p class='line0'> The soulless had a soul to me!</p> -<p class='line0'>   My life its own life lent to all!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“The universe of things seemed swelling</p> -<p class='line0'>   The panting heart to burst its bound,</p> -<p class='line0'> And wandering fancy found a dwelling</p> -<p class='line0'>   In every shape, thought, deed and sound.</p> -<p class='line0'> Germed in the mystic buds, reposing,</p> -<p class='line0'>   A whole creation slumbered mute;</p> -<p class='line0'> Alas! when from the buds unclosing,</p> -<p class='line0'>   How scant and blighted sprung the fruit!”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Alas! alas! young life, and young hopes are not perennials; -even in the lofty conservatories and crystal hot-houses -of wealth and station they flush into a sickly existence, -and then perish like the meanest flower by the -wayside. Did it ever strike you how much we are alike -in this particular? Every one looking back upon his past -life as the shipwrecked merchant looks upon the broad -sea that hath swallowed up irretrievable treasures. Do -you believe that if one had the power of investing his -new created babes with a course of life, that he would -say, “Do as I have done—pass through my joys and my -afflictions, and in the experience of my experience you -will be happy!” Do you believe that any one—even the -wisest, the purest, the best could say this? By my -faith, I do not! And the great focal-glass of a common -destiny brings down prismatic, many-hued humanity -to a point hue, as a convex lens gathers and concentrates -prism-bundles of light and heat from the broad disk of the -sun. Human suffering is the chord universal that swells -from the vibration of numberless strings.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy;</p> -<p class='line0'>This vast and universal theatre</p> -<p class='line0'>Contains more woful pageants than the scene</p> -<p class='line0'>Whereon we play—”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>But, “Mardi” and forget-me-nots have spoiled three -good sheets of foolscap, and I fear that I am too much i’ -the sentimental vein; let me therefore conclude with -quoting a sweet little piece of philosophy, and lay aside -these <span class='it'>lender’s books</span> for a period.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>    “A swallow in the spring</p> -<p class='line0'>Came to our granary, and ’neath the eaves</p> -<p class='line0'>Essayed to make a nest, and then did bring</p> -<p class='line0'>    Wet earth, and straw, and leaves.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>    “Day after day she toiled,</p> -<p class='line0'>With patient heart; but ere her work was crowned</p> -<p class='line0'>Some sad mishap the tiny fabric spoiled,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And dashed it to the ground.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>    “She found the ruin wrought,</p> -<p class='line0'>But, not cast down, forth from the place she flew,</p> -<p class='line0'>And, with her mate, fresh earth and grasses brought,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And built her nest anew.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>    “But scarcely had she placed</p> -<p class='line0'>The last soft feather on its ample floor,</p> -<p class='line0'>When wicked hand, or chance, again laid waste,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And wrought the ruin o’er.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>    “But still her heart she kept,</p> -<p class='line0'>And toiled again; and last night, hearing calls,</p> -<p class='line0'>I looked, and lo! three little swallows slept</p> -<p class='line0'>    Within the earth-made walls.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>    “What truth is here, O man!</p> -<p class='line0'>Hath hope been smitten in its early dawn!</p> -<p class='line0'>Have clouds o’ercast thy purpose, trust or plan?</p> -<p class='line0'>    <span class='it'>Have</span> <span style='font-size:smaller'>FAITH</span> <span class='it'>and struggle on</span>!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Here endeth the second fifth.—<span class='sc'>Richard Haywarde.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk135'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='131' id='Page_131'></span><h1><a id='review'></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h1></div> - -<hr class='tbk136'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Characteristics of Literature. Illustrated by the Genius of -Distinguished Men. By Henry T. Tuckerman. Phila.: -Lindsay & Blakiston. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Tuckerman has written many interesting books, but -we think the present volume is his most attractive if not -his best production. It is characterized by his usual refinement -of analysis, wealth of illustration, felicity of allusion, -and mellow richness of style, while in the range it -evinces over widely varied provinces of thought and character, -it indicates more versatility than any of his other -compositions. The volume includes a discussion and -representation of eleven departments of literature, through -a searching examination of as many authors, each of whom -is taken as the exponent of a class. Thus Channing -stands for the Moralist, Sir Thomas Browne for the Philosopher, -Swift for the Wit, Shenstone for the Dillettante, -Charles Lamb for the Humorist, and Macaulay for the -Historian. The selection of men to illustrate the subjects -is, of course, not free from cavil. We should say that -Burke was not exactly the man to stand as an expression -of the Rhetorician, for his rhetoric, though matchless of -its kind, is secondary to his philosophy. He appears to -us, even as analyzed by Mr. Tuckerman, in the character -of a profound, vigorous and vital thinker, and is no more -a rhetorician, in any exclusive sense of the term, than -Bacon, Hooker, Taylor, or even Milton. Where style is -the <span class='it'>incarnation</span> of thought, the visible image of the mind -that employs it—and this is its nature in all the greatest -authors—the word rhetoric is hardly applicable to it. -Macaulay is more emphatically the rhetorician than -Burke.</p> - -<hr class='tbk137'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Select Comedies; Translated from the Italian of Goldoni, -Giraud and Nota. New York: D. Appleton & Co. -1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>A volume like the present, giving the English reader -a good idea of the spirit and form of Italian comedy, has -long been wanted, and we have little doubt that it will be -successful. To the lover of the English drama the plays -may seem to lack solid character and unctuous humor; -but they are still distinguished by a fertility in the invention -of ludicrous incidents and positions, and a mischievous -quick-footed spirit of intrigue, that no person with a sense -of the comic can read them without exhilaration. The -translations are, we believe, from an American pen, and -appear to be well executed. Six complete comedies are -given, and the translator has been fortunate in his selections -both in respect to merit and variety. The two -comedies of Goldoni are alone richly worth the price of -the book.</p> - -<hr class='tbk138'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Kaloolah, or Journeyings to the Djebel Kumri. An Autobiography -of Jonathan Romer. Edited by W. S. Mayo, -M. D. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>It is something strange for a writer to present himself -for the first time as a candidate for public favor with a -volume indicating so much power and originality of mind, -and such practiced talents of composition as the present. -The book is a regular tale of adventures, as interesting as -exciting incidents racily told can make it, and inweaved -with the story are many graphic descriptions of scenery -and keen delineations of character. Considered in respect -to the originality of its conception, the new vein of -romance it opens, and the admirable method of the narration, -we think the volume cannot fail to attract the -attention which it will certainly reward.</p> - -<hr class='tbk139'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Earth and Man: Lectures on Comparative Physical -Geography, in its Relation to the History of Mankind. -By Arnold Guyot. Boston: Gould, Kendall & Lincoln. -1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The author of this valuable Manual is Professor of -Physical Geography and History in the same institution -to which Agassiz is attached, and originally delivered the -present lectures in French to an audience in Boston. They -have been elegantly translated by Professor Felton, of -Harvard University, and are very warmly recommended -by the New England Savans for their union of profundity -and simplicity. The subject is one of the most important -in the whole range of science, and is one in which all can -take an interest, and all obtain information, as popularized -by Professor Guyot. Agassiz says of the book and its -author: “Having been his friend from childhood, as a -fellow student in college, and as colleague in the same -university, I may be permitted to express my high sense -of the value of his attainments. Mr. Guyot has not only -been in the best school, that of Ritter and Humboldt, and -become familiar with the present state of the science of -our earth, but he has himself in many instances drawn -new conclusions from the facts now ascertained, and presented -most of them in a new point of view. Several of -the most brilliant generalizations developed in his lectures, -are his; and if more extensively circulated, will not only -render the study of geography more attractive, but actually -show it in its true light, namely, as the science of -the relations which exist between nature and man, -throughout history.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk140'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Life of Maximilien Robespierre. With Extracts from -his Unpublished Correspondence. By G. H. Lewes. -Phila.: Casey & Hart. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The author of this biography is but little known in this -country, and has hardly received his deserts from the -critics on either side of the water. He is a clear, close, -vigorous thinker, an accomplished scholar, and a nervous, -condensed and brilliant, though slightly aphoristic writer. -Though his ideas and style occasionally betray the <a id='inin'></a>influence -of Carlyle, and though his English nature has -been a little modified by an infusion of French metaphysics, -he generally appears as an independent as well as a forcible -thinker. In the present volume, though he appears largely -indebted to the works of Lamartine, Michelet, and Louis -Blanc, he has still produced a book original in the main, -and has been especially happy in steering a middle course -between those writers who have represented Robespierre -as a monstrosity of malignity and cruelty, and those who -have tried hard to make him appear a persecuted and -virtuous patriot, whose most questionable acts sprung -from exalted motives. The reader closes the book with -the feeling that he has gained a better insight into the -character of the immortally infamous revolutionary leader -than he had before. The letters of Robespierre, which -the author obtained in MS. from Louis Blanc, and the -extracts from his speeches in the Convention, add much -to the interest and value of the volume.</p> - -<hr class='tbk141'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>History of Maria Antoinette. By John S. C. Abbott. With -Engravings. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 16mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is another of Mr. Abbott’s beautiful series of pocket -histories, having for its subject a story so exciting and so -mournful that the novelist or dramatist could hardly treat -<span class='pageno' title='132' id='Page_132'></span> -its incidents with more pathetic effect than the chronicler -who confines himself to the literal facts. The characteristic -merit of Mr. Abbott’s books is the knowledge they -display not merely of their subjects but of the exact nature -of the ignorance of the general class of readers, and this -merit is well illustrated in the present volume. The -French Revolution is to most minds a confused mass of -terrible events without any connecting principles; but -few can read its history, as far as it is presented in Mr. -Abbott’s simple and orderly narrative, without obtaining -clearer ideas of the whole matter.</p> - -<hr class='tbk142'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>A History of American Baptist Missions in Asia, Africa, -Europe and North America. By William <a id='gamm'></a>Gammell, A. M., -Professor in Brown University. Boston: Gould, Kendall -& Lincoln. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>We like the present volume for the indication it gives -of the rich materials for history and biography which lie -almost unused in the various records of Christian missions. -All the heroic qualities developed in man and woman by -religious principles and religious passions, are visible in -those records to the initiated eye, but they are commonly -so submerged in the affected phraseology and sectarian -jargon of mediocre compilers, that they are commonly set -aside as vulgar and fanatical by the general reader. Professor -Gammell has written a volume in which all the -worn and wasted terms of the pedants of cant are discarded, -and the subject, as far as the Baptist missions are -concerned, is treated in a style intelligible to all who have -any perception of beauty, holiness or heroism. The work, -apart from its theological character, is one of great interest -and excellence.</p> - -<hr class='tbk143'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Sacred Rhetoric; or Composition and Delivery of Sermons. -By Henry J. Ripley. Boston: Gould, Kendall & Lincoln. -1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This treatise should be carefully pondered by all clergymen -who have a contempt for the graces and proprieties -of composition, arising from their apprehension of being -interesting to their congregations. Professor Ripley has -produced a searching treatise, in which, with a true critical -remorselessness, he lays bare the defects of arrangement -and composition most likely to beset the productions of his -profession, and gives a clear statement of those principles -which should guide the brain and pen of the preacher. -The volume also includes Dr. Ware’s admirable “Hints -on Extemporaneous Preaching.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk144'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>History of Wonderful Inventions. Illustrated with numerous -Engravings on Wood. New York: Harper & Brothers. -1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The publishers of this elegantly printed volume have included -it in a series called the Boy’s Own Library, but its -interest and value are hardly confined to youth. It is a -book containing carefully written accounts of the invention -of the Mariner’s Compass, Gunpowder, Clocks, Printing, -the Telescope and Microscope, the Steam-Engine, -the Electric Telegraph, and many other wonderful events -in the history of the intellect. We never read a volume -of this sort without giving a new and vivid impression of -the grandeur of human nature, considered as possessing -the powers of creation and combination.</p> - -<hr class='tbk145'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Manual of Ancient Geography and History. By Wilhelm -Putz. Translated from the German. New York: D. -Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Professor Green, of Brown University, is the American -editor of this valuable manual, and his name is a guarantee -that it has been revised and corrected with scrupulous -care. To the general student of history the volume will -be of great service, as it maps out the whole ground of -historical study, gives the names of the authorities for the -history of each nation, and in the smallest possible space -consistent with dearness, presents a view of the history, -geography, religion, literature and art of all the ancient -nations, European and Asiatic. The work indicates an -erudition as minute as it is vast.</p> - -<hr class='tbk146'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Spy, a Tale of the Neutral Ground. By the Author of -The Pilot. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Longevity is no characteristic of novels, and Old Parr -is the last name which could be applied to a hero of fiction. -The romances which flare in the parlors of one year are -pretty sure to repose in the cemeteries of the next. To -this empirical law, Cooper’s Spy is one of the honorable -exceptions. It at once attained popularity, and it has -kept it, surviving all those mutations of the public taste -which, since its first appearance, have consigned so many -brilliant fictions to oblivion. As an old friend in a new -dress, we welcome this volume. Its value is enhanced -by the revision of the author, and the addition of an introduction -and notes.</p> - -<hr class='tbk147'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>A Visit to Monasteries in the Levant. By the Hon. Robert -Curzon. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The author of this volume is careful to write himself -down an “honorable” on his title page, and the whole -tone of the composition evidences that self-satisfaction -which is so apt to accompany social position. Though the -reader is inclined to be prejudiced against an amateur -author who assumes so confident a tone, the feeling wears -away as he reads the volume. It contains a great deal of -information pleasantly told, has some capital sketches of -curious character, and ranks among the sprightliest of -recent books of travels. The American edition is illustrated -by numerous wood-cuts.</p> - -<hr class='tbk148'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Adventures of Captain Bonneville, U. S. A., in the -Rocky Mountains and the Far West. Digested from his -Journal and Illustrated from various other sources. By -Washington Irving. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. -1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This delightful work forms the tenth volume of the -revised edition of Irving’s works, and has for its subject -a theme especially interesting at the present time, when -more than ever, “westward the course of empire takes its -way.” We hardly know of a more felicitous partnership -than that of Bonneville and Irving—one to perform the -deeds of adventure which the other records.</p> - -<hr class='tbk149'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Life in the Far West. By George Frederic Ruxton. New -York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The author of this volume died at an early age, but not -before he had partly fulfilled the destiny to which his -talents and adventurous spirit pointed. “His adventures -in Mexico and the Rocky Mountains,” and the present -work, indicate not merely the courage and enthusiasm of -a traveler, but much felicity in transferring to other minds -the objects and incidents which filled his own.</p> - -<hr class='tbk150'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Pottleton Legacy.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is the title of a novel, by Albert Smith, published -in the cheap form of the present day, by Carey & Hart. -It is a pleasant, readable, and interesting work, and will -be found caustic as well as funny. The characters are -well sustained and the plot well developed.</p> - -<hr class='tbk151'/> - -<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/i141f.jpg'> -<img src='images/i141.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0006' style='width:475px;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'>Boulevart S<sup>t.</sup> Martin, 61</p> -<p class='line'><span style='font-size:larger'><span class='it'>Toilettes de Longchamps</span>,</span></p> -<p class='line'><span class='it'>Chapeaux de M<sup>me.</sup></span> Baudry, <span class='it'>r. Richelieu, 87—Plumes et fleurs</span> Chagot <span class='it'>ainé, r. Richelieu, 81,</span></p> -<p class='line'><span class='it'>Robes de</span> Camille—<span class='it'>Dentelles de</span> Violard, <span class='it'>r. Choiseul 2<sup>bis.</sup></span></p> -<p class='line'>Graham’s Magazine.</p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk152'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='133' id='Page_133'></span><h1><a id='yes'></a>YES, LET ME LIKE A SOLDIER FALL</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:0.5em;font-weight:bold;'>AS SUNG, IN THE OPERA OF “MARITANA,”</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MR. FRAZER.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:0.5em;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'>MY FATHER HE WAS NOT A KING.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:0.5em;font-weight:bold;'>WRITTEN AND ADAPTED TO THE FOLLOWING AIR,</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>BY E. R. JOHNSTON.</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<a href='images/i142f.jpg'> -<img src='images/i142.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0007' style='width:475px;height:auto;'/> -</a> -</div> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>My father, he was not a king,</p> -<p class='line'>A soldier brave was he.</p> -<p class='line'>He fell responding to the call</p> -<p class='line'>That made his Country free.</p> -<p class='line'>Yes! let me like a Soldier fall,</p> -<p class='line'>Upon some open plain.</p> -<p class='line'>This breast expanding for the ball,</p> -<p class='line'>To blot out ev’ry stain.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<a href='images/i143f.jpg'> -<img src='images/i143.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0008' style='width:475px;height:auto;'/> -</a> -</div> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>No prouder title I would claim,</p> -<p class='line'>No prouder boast! ’tis well,</p> -<p class='line'>The blood that courses thro’ my veins</p> -<p class='line'>No brighter birth may tell,</p> -<p class='line'>The blood that courses thro’ my veins</p> -<p class='line'>No brighter birth may tell.</p> -<p class='line'>No brighter birth may tell.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Brave manly hearts confer my doom</p> -<p class='line'>That gentler ones may tell,</p> -<p class='line'>Howe’er forgot, unknown my tomb,</p> -<p class='line'>I like a Soldier fell.</p> -<p class='line'>Howe’er forgot, unknown my tomb,</p> -<p class='line'>I like a Soldier fell,</p> -<p class='line'>I like a Soldier fell!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>             1</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>My mother she was not a queen!</p> -<p class='line'>  Nor titles graced her brow;</p> -<p class='line'>But <a id='hers'></a>hers a free and noble heart,</p> -<p class='line'>  In heaven rests ere now.</p> -<p class='line'>And I in Freedom’s mould am cast,</p> -<p class='line'>  No prouder boast! ’tis well,</p> -<p class='line'>The blood that courses thro’ my veins</p> -<p class='line'>  No brighter birth may tell.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>             2</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>I only ask of that proud race</p> -<p class='line'>  Which ends its blaze in me,</p> -<p class='line'>To die the last and not disgrace</p> -<p class='line'>  Its ancient chivalry.</p> -<p class='line'>Tho’ o’er my clay no banner wave,</p> -<p class='line'>  Nor trumpet requiem swell,</p> -<p class='line'>Enough, they murmur o’er my grave,</p> -<p class='line'>  He like a Soldier fell.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>             3</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>There is a land where Freedom dwells</p> -<p class='line'>  A land where all are blest,</p> -<p class='line'>A land that holds the glorious tombs</p> -<p class='line'>  Of heroes now at rest;</p> -<p class='line'>That land I love, it is my home,</p> -<p class='line'>  Of it I boast, ’tis well!</p> -<p class='line'>The blood that courses thro’ my veins</p> -<p class='line'>  No brighter birth may tell.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk153'/> - -<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 75, In the mornining ==> In the <a href='#morn'>morning</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 76, derelection of Hubert ==> <a href='#dere'>dereliction</a> of Hubert</p> -<p class='line'>page 77, up the close-pins, ==> up the <a href='#pins'>clothes-pins</a>,</p> -<p class='line'>page 77, over the close-fold, ==> over the <a href='#fold'>clothes-fold</a>,</p> -<p class='line'>page 78, its apprisal, and then ==> its <a href='#app'>appraisal</a>, and then</p> -<p class='line'>page 85, persistance in whatever ==> <a href='#pers'>persistence</a> in whatever</p> -<p class='line'>page 87, ere I had had heard ==> ere I <a href='#had'>had</a> heard</p> -<p class='line'>page 91, with an unfaultering and ==> with an <a href='#falter'>unfaltering</a> and</p> -<p class='line'>page 93, sprained ancle. Gentle ==> sprained <a href='#ank'>ankle</a>. Gentle</p> -<p class='line'>page 93, world was you doing ==> world <a href='#were'>were</a> you doing</p> -<p class='line'>page 93, the bed of Dalhias ==> the bed of <a href='#dahl'>Dahlias</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 93, Your beautiful Dalhias ==> Your beautiful <a href='#dahl2'>Dahlias</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 95, the battle of Corrunna ==> the battle of <a href='#corr'>Corunna,</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 96, harrass that honorable ==> <a href='#har'>harass</a> that honorable</p> -<p class='line'>page 107, was brought fourth wounded, ==> was brought <a href='#for'>forth</a> wounded,</p> -<p class='line'>page 107, some characteristic attententions ==> some characteristic <a href='#atten'>attentions</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 109, the day thus began in ==> the day thus <a href='#begun'>begun</a> in</p> -<p class='line'>page 118, played, eat together, ==> played, <a href='#ate'>ate</a> together,</p> -<p class='line'>page 122, I poured over ==> I <a href='#pored'>pored</a> over</p> -<p class='line'>page 122, a strange, quiet enthuasm, ==> a strange, quiet <a href='#enth'>enthusiasm</a>,</p> -<p class='line'>page 126, beak was too inches ==> beak was <a href='#two'>two</a> inches</p> -<p class='line'>page 127, common in Peru and Chili ==> common in Peru and <a href='#chile'>Chile</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 131, betray the ininfluence ==> betray the <a href='#inin'>influence</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 132, By William Gammel ==> By William <a href='#gamm'>Gammell</a></p> -<p class='line'>music page 2, But her’s a free ==> But <a href='#hers'>hers</a> a free</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXV, No. 2, -August 1849, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, AUGUST 1849 *** - -***** This file should be named 55372-h.htm or 55372-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/3/7/55372/ - -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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