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diff --git a/old/63665-0.txt b/old/63665-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7151a3c..0000000 --- a/old/63665-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5442 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XVIII, No. 2, -February 1841, 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. XVIII, No. 2, February 1841 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George R. Graham - -Release Date: November 7, 2020 [EBook #63665] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, FEBRUARY 1841 *** - - - - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net -from page images generously made available by the Internet -Archive (https://archive.org) - - - - - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - Vol. XVIII. February, 1841. No. 2. - - - Contents - - Fiction, Literature and Articles - - The Blind Girl of Pompeii - The Reefer of ’76 (continued) - My Grandmother’s Tankard - The Rescued Knight - The Silver Digger - The Syrian Letters (continued) - The Saccharineous Philosophy - The Confessions of a Miser - Sports and Pastimes. Shooting - Review of New Books - - Poetry, Music and Fashion - - The Dream of the Delaware - Little Children - Skating - The Soul’s Destiny - Winter - The Fairy’s Home - Not Lost, But Gone Before - Not for Me! Not for Me! - Fashions for February, 1841 - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: _J. Sartain sc._ - -The Blind Girl of Pompeii - -_Eng^{d} for Graham’s Magazine from the Original Picture by Leutze in the - possession of J. Sill Esq. Phil^{a.}_] - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - Vol. XVIII. FEBRUARY, 1841. No. 2. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE BLIND GIRL OF POMPEII. - - -Who that has read the “Last Days of Pompeii” can forget Nydia, the blind -flower-girl? So sweet, and pure, and gentle, and devoted in her -unrequited love, she steals insensibly upon the heart, and wins a place -therein, which even the brilliant Ione fails to obtain! Poor, artless -innocent, her life, alas! was one of disappointment from its birth. - -We cannot better portray the character of this guileless being than by -copying the exquisite description of Bulwer. The scene opens with a -company of gay, young Pompeiians—among whom is Glaucus, the hero of the -story—taking a morning stroll through the town. We let the story speak -for itself. - -“Thus conversing, their steps were arrested by a crowd gathered round an -open space where three streets met; and just where the porticoes of a -light and graceful temple threw their shade, there stood a young girl, -with a flower-basket on her right arm, and a small three-stringed -instrument of music in the left hand, to whose low and soft tones she -was modulating a wild and half-barbaric air. At every pause in the music -she gracefully waved her flower basket round, inviting the loiterers to -buy; and many a sesterce was showered into the basket, either in -compliment to the music, or in compassion to the songstress—for she was -blind. - -“‘It is my poor Thessalian,’ said Glaucus, stopping; ‘I have not seen -her since my return to Pompeii. Hush! her voice is sweet; let us -listen.’ - - THE BLIND FLOWER GIRL’S SONG. - - Buy my Flowers—O buy—I pray, - The Blind Girl comes from afar: - If the Earth be as fair as I hear them say, - These Flowers her children are! - Do they her beauty keep? - They are fresh from her lap, I know; - For I caught them fast asleep - In her arms an hour ago, - With the air which is her breath— - Her soft and delicate breath— - Over them murmuring low!— - - On their lips her sweet kiss lingers yet, - And their cheeks with her tender tears are wet, - For she weeps,—that gentle mother weeps - (As morn and night her watch she keeps, - With a yearning heart and a passionate care,) - To see the young things grow so fair; - She weeps—for love she weeps— - And the dews are the tears she weeps - From the well of a mother’s love! - - Ye have a world of light, - Where love in the lov’d rejoices; - But the Blind Girl’s home is the House of Night, - And its Beings are empty voices. - - As one in the Realm below, - I stand by the streams of wo; - I hear the vain shadows glide, - I feel their soft breath at my side, - And I thirst the lov’d forms to see, - And I stretch my fond arms around, - And I catch but a shapeless sound, - For the Living are Ghosts to me. - - Come buy—come buy!— - Hark! how the sweet things sigh - (For they have a voice like ours,) - “The breath of the Blind Girl closes - The leaves of the saddening roses— - We are tender, we sons of Light, - We shrink from this child of Night; - From the grasp of the Blind Girl free us, - We yearn for the eyes that see us— - We are for Night too gay, - In our eyes we behold the day— - O buy—O buy the Flowers!” - -“‘I must have yon bunch of violets, sweet Nydia,’ said Glaucus, pressing -through the crowd, and dropping a handful of small coins into the -basket; ‘your voice is more charming than ever.’ - -“The blind girl started forward as she heard the Athenian’s voice—then -as suddenly paused, while the blood rushed violently over neck, cheek, -and temples. - -“‘So you are returned!’ said she in a low voice; and then repeated, half -to herself, ‘Glaucus is returned!’ - -“‘Yes, child, I have not been at Pompeii above a few days. My garden -wants your care as before, you will visit it, I trust, to-morrow. And -mind, no garlands at my house shall be woven by any hands but those of -the pretty Nydia.’ - -“Nydia smiled joyously, but did not answer; and Glaucus, placing the -violets he had selected in his breast, turned gayly and carelessly from -the crowd. - -“‘So, she is a sort of client of yours, this child?’ said Clodius. - -“‘Ay—does she not sing prettily? She interests me, the poor -slave!—besides, she is from the land of the Gods’ hill—Olympus frowned -upon her cradle—she is of Thessaly.’” - -How exquisitely is the love of Nydia told in her joy at the return of -Glaucus! Only a master-hand could have described it in that blush, and -start, and the glad exclamation, “Glaucus is returned!” - -The revellers meanwhile pass on their way, and it is not till the -following morning that the flower-girl appears again upon the scene. But -though she comes even while the Athenian is musing on his mistress Ione, -there is a beauty around Nydia’s every movement which makes us hail her -with delight. It is her appearance at this visit which the artist has -transferred to the canvass. Lo! are not the limner and the author -equally inimitable? - -“Longer, perhaps, had been the enamored soliloquy of Glaucus, but at -that moment a shadow darkened the threshold of the chamber, and a young -female, still half a child in years, broke upon his solitude. She was -dressed simply in a white tunic, which reached from the neck to the -ankles; under her arm she bore a basket of flowers, and in the other -hand she held a bronze water vase; her features were more formed than -exactly became her years, yet they were soft and feminine in their -outline, and without being beautiful in themselves they were almost made -so by their beauty of expression; there was something ineffably gentle, -and you would say patient, in her aspect—a look of resigned sorrow, of -tranquil endurance, had banished the smile, but not the sweetness, from -her lips; something timid and cautious in her step—something wandering -in her eyes, led you to suspect the affliction which she had suffered -from her birth—she was blind; but in the orbs themselves there was no -visible defect, their melancholy and subdued light was clear, cloudless, -and serene. ‘They tell me that Glaucus is here,’ said she; ‘may I come -in?’ - -“‘Ah, my Nydia,’ said the Greek, ‘is that you? I knew you would not -neglect my invitation.’ - -“‘Glaucus did but justice to himself,’ answered Nydia, with a blush, -‘for he has always been kind to the poor blind girl.’ - -“‘Who could be otherwise?’ said Glaucus, tenderly, and in the voice of a -compassionate brother. - -“Nydia sighed and paused before she resumed, without replying to his -remark. ‘You have but lately returned? This is the sixth sun that hath -shone upon me at Pompeii. And you are well? Ah, I need not ask—for who -that sees the earth which they tell me is so beautiful can be ill?’ - -“‘I am well—and you, Nydia?—how you have grown! next year you will be -thinking of what answer we shall make your lovers.’ - -“A second blush passed over the cheek of Nydia, but this time she -frowned as she blushed. ‘I have brought you some flowers,’ said she, -without replying to a remark she seemed to resent, and feeling about the -room till she found the table that stood by Glaucus, she laid the basket -upon it: ‘they are poor, but they are fresh gathered.’ - -“‘They might come from Flora herself,’ said he, kindly; ‘and I renew -again my vow to the Graces that I will wear no other garlands while thy -hands can weave me such as these.’ - -“‘And how find you the flowers in your viridarium? are they thriving?’ - -“‘Wonderfully so—the Lares themselves must have tended them.’ - -“‘Ah, now you give me pleasure; for I came, as often as I could steal -the leisure, to water and tend them in your absence.’ - -“‘How shall I thank thee, fair Nydia?’ said the Greek. ‘Glaucus little -dreamed that he left one memory so watchful over his favorites at -Pompeii.’ - -“The hand of the child trembled, and her breast heaved beneath her -tunic. She turned around in embarrassment. ‘The sun is hot for the poor -flowers,’ said she, ‘to-day, and they will miss me, for I have been ill -lately, and it is nine days since I visited them.’ - -“‘Ill, Nydia! yet your cheek has more color than it had last year.’ - -“‘I am often ailing,’ said the blind girl, touchingly, ‘and as I grow up -I grieve more that I am blind. But now to the flowers!’ So saying, she -made a slight reverence with her head, and passing into the viridarium, -busied herself with watering the flowers. - -“‘Poor Nydia,’ thought Glaucus, gazing on her, ‘thine is a hard doom. -Thou seest not the earth—nor the sun—nor the ocean—nor the -stars—above all, thou canst not behold Ione.’ - -Nydia, too, is a slave, and to a coarse inn-keeper, who would make a -profit by her beauty and her singing. How her heart breaks daily at the -brutal treatment of her master, and the still more cruel language of his -patrons! But at length Glaucus purchases her, and she is comparatively -happy. And through all her melancholy history how does her hopeless love -shine out, beautifying and making more sweet than ever, her guileless -character! It is a long and mournful tale. Glaucus at length succeeds in -winning Ione; they escape fortunately from the destruction of Pompeii; -but Nydia, uncomplaining, yet broken-hearted, disappears mysteriously -from the deck of their vessel at night. Need we tell her probable fate? - - * * * * * - - - - - THE REEFER OF ’76. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUIZING IN THE LAST WAR.” - - - FORT MOULTRIE. - -How often has the story of the heart been told! The history of the love -of one bosom is that of the millions who have alternated between hope -and fear since first the human heart began to throb. The gradual -awakening of our affection; the first consciousness we have of our own -feelings; the tumultuous emotions of doubt and certainty we experience, -and the wild rapture of the moment, when, for the first time, we learn -that our love is requited, have all been told by pens more graphic than -mine, and in language as nervous as that of Fielding, or as moving as -that of Richardson. - -The daily companionship into which I was now thrown with Beatrice was, -of all things, the most dangerous to my peace. From the first moment -when I beheld her she had occupied a place in my thoughts; and the -footing of acquaintanceship, not to say intimacy, on which we now lived, -was little calculated to banish her from my mind. Oh! how I loved to -linger by her side during the moonlight evenings of that balmy latitude, -talking of a thousand things which, at other times, would have been void -of interest, or gazing silently upon the peaceful scene around, with a -hush upon our hearts it seemed almost sacrilege to break. And at such -times how the merest trifle would afford us food for conversation, or -how eloquent would be the quiet of that holy silence! Yes! the ripple of -a wave, or the glimmer of the spray, or the twinkling of a star, or the -voice of the night-wind sighing low, or the deep, mysterious language of -the unquiet ocean, had, at such moments, a beauty in them, stirring -every chord in our hearts, and filling us, as it were, with sympathy not -only for each other, but for every thing in Nature. And when we would -part for the night, I would pace for hours, my solitary watch, thinking -of Beatrice, with all the rapt devotion of a first, pure love. - -But this could not last. The dream was pleasant, yet it might not lead -me to dishonor. Beatrice was under my protection, and was it right to -avail myself of that advantage to win her heart, when I knew from the -difference of our stations in life, that it was madness to think that -she could ever be mine. What? the heiress of one of the richest Jamaica -residents, the grand-daughter of a baron, and the near connexion of some -of the wealthiest tory families of the south, to be wooed as an equal by -one who not only had no fortune but his sword, but was the advocate, in -the eyes of her advisers, of a rebellious cause! Nor did the service I -had rendered her lessen the difficulty of my position. - -These feelings, however, had rendered me more guarded, perhaps more -cold, in the presence of Beatrice, for a day or two preceding our -arrival in port. I felt my case hopeless: and I wished, by gradually -avoiding the danger, to lessen the agony of the final separation. -Besides, I knew nothing as yet of the sentiments of Beatrice toward -myself. I was a novice in love; and the silent abstraction of her -manner, together with the gradually increasing avoidance of my presence, -filled me with uneasiness, despite the conviction of the hopelessness of -my suit. But what was it to me, I would say, even if Beatrice loved me -not? Was it not better that it should be so? Alas! reason and love are -two very different things, and though I was better satisfied with myself -when we made the lights of Charleston harbor, yet the almost total -separation which had thus for nearly two days existed between Beatrice -and myself, left my heart tormented with all a lover’s fears. - -It was the last evening we would spend together, perhaps for years. The -wind had died away, and we slowly floated upward with the tide, the -shores of James Island hanging like a dark cloud on the larboard beam, -and the lights of the distant city, glimmering along the horizon -inboard; while no sound broke the stillness of the hour, except the -occasional wash of a ripple, or the song of some negro fishermen -floating across the water. As I stood by the starboard railing, gazing -on this scenery, I could not help contrasting my present situation with -what it had been but a few short weeks before, when I left the harbor of -New York. So intensely was I wrapt in these thoughts, that I did not -notice the appearance of Beatrice on deck, until the question of the -helmsman, dissolving my reverie, caused me to look around me. For a -moment I hesitated whether I should join her or not. My feelings at -length, however, prevailed; and crossing the deck, I soon stood at her -side. She did not appear to notice my presence, but with her elbow -resting on the railing, and her head buried in her hand, was pensively -looking down upon the tide. - -“Miss Derwent!” said I, with a voice that I was conscious trembled, -though I scarce knew why it did. - -“Mr. Parker!” she ejaculated in a tone of surprise, her eyes sparkling, -as starting suddenly around she blushed over neck and brow, and then as -suddenly dropped her eyes to the deck, and began playing with her fan. -For a moment we were both mutually embarrassed. A woman is, at such -times, the first to speak. - -“Shall we be able to land to-night?” said Beatrice. - -“Not unless a breeze springs up—” - -“Oh! then I hope we shall not have one,” ejaculated the guileless girl; -but instantly becoming aware of the interpretation which might be put -upon her remark, she blushed again, and cast her eyes anew upon the -deck. A strange, joyous hope shot through my bosom; but I made a strong -effort and checked my feelings. Another silence ensued, which every -moment became more oppressive. - -“You join, I presume, your cousin’s family on landing,” said I at -length, “I will, as soon as we come to anchor, send a messenger ashore, -apprising him of your presence on board.” - -“How shall I ever thank you sufficiently,” said Beatrice, raising her -dark eyes frankly to mine, “for your kindness? Never—never,” she -continued more warmly, “shall I forget it.” - -My soul thrilled to its deepest fibre at the words, and more than all, -at the tone of the speaker; and it was with some difficulty that I could -answer calmly,— - -“The consciousness of having ever merited Miss Derwent’s thanks, is a -sufficient reward for all I have done. That she will not wholly forget -me is more than I could ask; but believe me, Beatrice,” said I, unable -to restrain my feelings, and venturing, for the first time, to call her -by that name, “though we shall soon part forever, never, never can I -forget these few happy days.” - -“Why—do you leave Charleston instantly?” said she, with emotion, “shall -I not see you again after my landing?” - -I know not how it is, but there are moments when our best resolutions -vanish as though they had never been made; and now, as I looked upon the -earnest countenance of Beatrice, and felt the full meaning of the words -so innocently said, a wild hope once more shot across my bosom, and I -said softly,— - -“Why, Beatrice, would it be aught to you whether we ever met again?” - -She lifted her eyes up to mine, and gazed for an instant almost -reproachfully upon me, but she did not answer. There was something, -however, in the look encouraging me to go on. I took her hand: she did -not withdraw it: and, in a few hurried, but burning words, I poured -forth my love. - -“Say, Beatrice?” I said, “can you, do you love me?” - -She raised her dark eyes in answer up to mine, with an expression I -shall never forget, and murmured, half inaudibly,— - -“You know—you know I do,” and then overcome by the consciousness of all -she had done, she burst into tears. - -Can words describe my feelings? Oh! if I had the eloquence of a Rosseau -I could not portray the emotions of that moment. They were wild; they -were almost uncontrollable. The tone, the words, everything convinced me -that I was beloved; and all my well-formed resolutions were dissipated -in a moment. Had we been alone I would have caught Beatrice to my bosom; -but as it was, I could only press her hand in silence. I needed not to -be assured, in more direct terms, of her affection. Henceforth she was -to me my all. She was the star of my destiny! - -The first dawn of morning beheld us abreast of the town, and at an early -hour the equipage of Mr. Rochester, the relative of Beatrice, and whose -guest she was now to be, was in waiting on the quay for my beautiful -charge. - -“You will come to-night, will you not?” said she, as I pressed her hand, -on conducting her to the carriage. - -I bowed affirmatively, the door was closed, and the sumptuous equipage, -with its servants in livery, moved rapidly away. - -It was now that I had parted with Beatrice, that the conviction of the -almost utter hopelessness of my suit forced itself upon my mind. Mr. -Rochester was the nearest male relative of Beatrice, being her maternal -uncle. Her parents were both deceased, and the uncle, whose death I have -related, together with the Carolinian nabob, were, by her father’s will, -her guardians. Mr. Rochester was, therefore, her natural protector. Her -fortune, though large, was fettered with a condition that she should not -marry without her guardian’s consent, and I soon learned that a union -had long been projected between her and the eldest son of her surviving -guardian. How little hope I had before, the reader knows, but that -little was now fearfully diminished. It is true Beatrice had owned that -she loved me, but how could I ask her to sacrifice the comforts as well -as the elegancies of life, to share her lot with a poor unfriended -midshipman? I could not endure the thought. What! should I take -advantage of the gratitude of a pure young being—a being, too, who had -always been nourished in the lap of luxury—to subject her to privation, -and perhaps to beggary? No, rather would I have lived wholly absent from -her presence. I could almost have consented to lose her love, sooner -than be the instrument of inflicting on her miseries so crushing. My -only hope was in winning a name that would yet entitle me to ask her -hand as an equal: my only fear was, lest the length of time I should be -absent from her side, would gradually lose me her affection. Such is the -jealous fear of a lover’s heart. - -Meanwhile, however, the whole city resounded with the din of war. A -despatch from the Secretary of Slate, to Gov. Eden, of Maryland, had -been intercepted by Com. Barron, of the Virginia service, in the -Chesapeake. From this missive, intelligence was gleaned that the capital -of South Carolina was to be attacked; and on my arrival I found every -exertion being made to place it in a posture of defence. I instantly -volunteered, and the duties thus assumed, engrossing a large part of my -time, left me little leisure, even for my suit. Still, however, I -occasionally saw Beatrice, though the cold hauteur with which my visits -were received by her uncle’s family, much diminished their frequency. - -As the time rolled on, however, and the British fleet did not make its -appearance, there were not wanting many who believed that the -contemplated attack had been given up. But I was not of the number. So -firm, indeed, was my conviction of the truth of the intelligence that I -ran out to sea every day or two, in a smart-sailing pilot-boat, in -order, if possible, to gain the first positive knowledge of the approach -of our foes. - -“A sail,” shouted our look-out one day, after we had been standing off -and on for several hours, “a sail, broad on the weather-beam!” - -Every eye was instantly turned toward the quarter indicated; spy-glasses -were brought into requisition; and in a few minutes we made out -distinctly nearly a dozen sail, on the larboard tack, looming up on the -northern sea-board. We counted no less than six men-of-war, besides -several transports. Every thing was instantly wet down to the trucks, -and heading at once for Charleston harbor, we soon bore the alarming -intelligence to the inhabitants of the town. - -That night all was terror and bustle in the tumultuous capital. The -peaceful citizens, unused to bloodshed, gazed upon the approaching -conflict with mingled resolution and terror, now determining to die -rather than to be conquered, and now trembling for the safety of their -wives and little ones. Crowds swarmed the wharves, and even put out into -the bay to catch a sight of the approaching squadron. At length it -appeared off the bar, and we soon saw by their buoying out the channel, -that an immediate attack was to take place by sea,—while expresses -brought us hasty intelligence of the progress made by the royal troops -in landing on Long Island. But want of water among our foes, and the -indecision of their General, protracted the attack for more than three -weeks, a delay which we eagerly improved. - -At length, on the morning of the 28th of June, it became evident that -our assailants were preparing to commence the attack. Eager to begin my -career of fame, I sought a post under Col. Moultrie, satisfied that the -fort on Sullivan’s Island would have to maintain the brunt of the -conflict. - -Never shall I forget the sight which presented itself to me on reaching -our position. The fort we were expected to maintain, was a low building -of palmetto logs, situated on a tongue of the island, and protected in -the rear from the royalist troops, on Long Island, by a narrow channel, -usually fordable, but now, owing to the late prevalence of easterly -winds, providentially filled to a depth of some fathoms. In front of us -lay the mouth of the harbor, commanded on the opposite shore, at the -distance of about thirty-five hundred yards, by another fort in our -possession, where Col. Gadsen, with a respectable body of troops was -posted. To the right opened the bay, sweeping almost a quarter of the -compass around the horizon, toward the north,—and on its extreme verge, -to the north west, rose up Haddrell’s point, where General Lee, our -commander-in-chief, had taken up a position. About half way around, and -due west from us, lay the city, at the distance of nearly four miles, -the view being partly intercepted by the low, marshy island, called -Shute’s Folly, between us and the town. - -“We have but twenty-eight pounds of powder, Mr. Parker, a fact I should -not like generally known,” said Col. Moultrie to me, “but as you have -been in action before—more than I can say of a dozen of my men—I know -you may be trusted with the information.” - -“Never doubt the brave continentals here, colonel,” I replied, “they are -only four hundred, but we shall teach yon braggarts a lesson, before -to-day is over, which they shall not soon forget.” - -“Bravo, my gallant young friend! With my twenty-six eighteen and twenty -four pounders, plenty of powder, and a few hundred fire-eaters like -yourself I would blow the whole fleet out of water. But after all,” said -he with good-humored raillery, “though you’ll not glory in rescuing Miss -Derwent to-day, you’ll fight not a whit the worse for knowing that she -is in Charleston, eh! But, come, don’t blush—you must be my aid—I -shall want you, depend upon it, before the day is over. If those -red-coats here, behind us, attempt to take us in the rear, we shall have -hot work,—for by my hopes of eternal salvation, I’ll drive them back, -man and officer, in spite of Gen. Lee’s fears that I cannot. But ha! -there comes the first bomb.” - -Looking upward as he spoke, I beheld a large, dark body flying through -the air; and in the next instant, amidst a cheer from our men, it -splashed into the morass behind us, simmered, and went out. - -“Well sent, old Thunderer,” ejaculated the imperturbable colonel, “but, -faith, many another good bomb will you throw away on the swamps and -palmetto logs you sneer at. Open upon them, my brave fellows, as they -come around, and teach them what Carolinians can do. Remember, you fight -to-day for your wives, your children, and your liberties. The -Continental Congress forever against the minions of a tyrannical court.” - -The battle was now begun. One by one the British men-of-war, coming -gallantly into their respective stations, and dropping their anchors -with masterly coolness, opened their batteries upon us, firing with a -rapidity and precision that displayed their skill. The odds against -which we had to contend were indeed formidable. Directly in front of us, -with springs on their cables, and supported by two frigates, were -anchored a couple of two-deckers; while the three other men-of-war were -working up to starboard, and endeavoring to get a position between us -and the town, so as to cut off our communications with Haddrell’s Point. - -“Keep it up—run her out again,” shouted the captain of a gun beside me, -who was firing deliberately, but with murderous precision, every shot of -his piece telling on the hull of one of the British cruizers, “huzza for -Carolina!” - -“Here comes the broadside of Sir Peter’s two-decker,” shouted another -one, “make way for the British iron among the palmetto logs. Ha! old -yellow breeches how d’ye like that?” he continued as the shot from his -piece, struck the quarter of the flag-ship, knocking the splinters high -into the air, and cutting transversely through and through her crowded -decks. - -Meanwhile the three men-of-war attempting to cut off our communications, -had got entangled among the shoals to our right, and now lay utterly -helpless, engaged in attempting to get afloat, and unable to fire a gun. -Directly two of them ran afoul, carrying away the bowsprit of the -smaller one. - -“Huzza!” shouted the old bruiser again, squinting a moment in that -direction, “they’re smashing each other to pieces there without our -help, and so here goes at smashing their messmates in front here—what -the devil,” he continued, turning smartly around to cuff a powder boy, -“what are you gaping up stream for, when you should be waiting on -me?—take that you varmint, and see if you can do as neat a thing as -this when you’re old enough to point a gun. By the Lord Harry I’ve cut -away that fore-top-mast as clean as a whistle.” - -Meantime the conflict waxed hotter and hotter, and through the long -summer afternoon, except during an interval when we slackened it for -want of powder, our brave fellows, with the coolness of veterans, and -the enthusiasm of youth, kept up their fire. A patriotic ardor burned -along our lines, which only became more resistless, as the wounded were -carried past in the arms of their comrades. The contest was at its -height when General Lee arrived from the mainland to offer to remove us -if we wished to abandon our perilous position. - -“Abandon our position, General!” said Colonel Moultrie, “will your -excellency but visit the guns, and ask the men whether they will give up -the fort? No, we will die or conquer here.” - -The eye of the Commander-in-Chief flashed proudly at this reply, and -stepping out upon the plain, he approached a party who were firing with -terrible precision upon the British fleet. This fearless exposure of his -person called forth a cheer from the men; but without giving him time to -remain long in so dangerous a position, Colonel Moultrie exclaimed, - -“My brave fellows, the general has come off to offer to remove you to -the main if you are tired of your post. Shall it be?” - -There was a universal negative, every man declaring he would sooner die -at his gun. It was a noble sight. Their eyes flashing; their chests -dilated; their brawny arms bared and covered with smoke, they stood -there, determined, to a man, to save their native soil at every cost, -from invasion. At this moment a group appeared, carrying a poor fellow, -whom it could be seen at a glance was mortally wounded. His lips were -blue; his countenance ghastly; and his dim eye rolled uneasily about. He -breathed heavily. But as he approached us, the shouts of his fellow -soldiers falling on his ear, aroused his dying faculties, and lifting -himself heavily up, his eye, after wandering inquiringly about, caught -the sight of his general. - -“God bless you! my poor fellow,” said Lee, compassionately, “you are, I -fear, seriously hurt.” - -The dying man looked at him as if not comprehending his remark, and then -fixing his eye upon his general, said faintly, - -“Did not some one talk of abandoning the fort?” - -“Yes,” answered Lee, “I offered to remove you or let you fight it -out—but I see you brave fellows would rather die than retreat.” - -“Die!” said the wounded man, raising himself half upright, with sudden -strength, while his eye gleamed with a brighter lustre than even in -health. “I thank my God that I am dying, if we can only beat the British -back. Die! I have no family, and my life is well given for the freedom -of my country. No, my men, never retreat,” he continued, turning to his -fellow soldiers, and waving his arm around his head, “huzza for -li—i—ber—ty—huz—za—a—a,” and as the word died away, quivering in -his throat, he fell back, a twitch passed over his face, and he was -dead. - -Need I detail the rest of that bloody day? For nine hours, without -intermission, the cannonade was continued with a rapidity on the part of -our foes, and a murderous precision on that of ourselves, such as I have -never since seen equalled. Night did not terminate the conflict. The -long afternoon wore away; the sun went down; the twilight came and -vanished; darkness reigned over the distant shores around us, yet the -flash of the guns, and the roar of the explosions did not cease. As the -evening grew more obscure the whole horizon became illuminated by the -fire of our batteries, and the long, meteor-like tracks of the shells -through the sky. The crash of spars; the shouts of the men; and the -thunder of the cannonade formed meanwhile a discord as terrible as it -was exciting; while the lights flashing along the bay, and twinkling -from our encampment at Haddrell’s Point, made the scene even -picturesque. - -Long was the conflict, and desperately did our enemies struggle to -maintain their posts. Even when the cable of the flag-ship had been cut -away, and swinging around with her stern toward us, every shot from our -battery was enabled to traverse the whole length of her decks, amid -terrific slaughter, she did not display a sign of fear, but doggedly -maintained her position, keeping up a straggling fire upon us, for some -time, from such of her guns as could be brought to bear. At length, -however, a new cable was rigged upon her, and swinging around broadside -on, she resumed her fire. But it was in vain. Had they fought till -doomsday they could not have overcome the indomitable courage of men -warring for their lives and liberties; and finding that our fire only -grew more deadly at every discharge, Sir Peter Parker at length made the -signal to retire. One of the frigates farther in the bay had grounded, -however, so firmly on the shoals that she could not be got off; and when -she was abandoned and fired next morning, our brave fellows, despite the -flames wreathing already around her, boarded her, and fired at the -retreating squadron until it was out of range. They had not finally -deserted her more than a quarter of an hour before she blew up with a -stunning shock. - -The rejoicing among the inhabitants after this signal victory were long -and joyous. We were thanked; feted; and became _lions_ at once. The tory -families, among which was that of Mr. Rochester, maintained, however, a -sullen silence. The suspicion which such conduct created made it -scarcely advisable that I should become a constant visitor at his -mansion, even if the cold civility of his family had not, as I have -stated before, furnished other obstacles to my seeing Beatrice. Mr. -Rochester, it is true, had thanked me for the services I had rendered -his ward, but he had done so in a manner frigid and reserved to the last -degree, closing his expression of gratitude with an offer of pecuniary -recompense, which not only made the blood tingle in my veins, but -detracted from the value of what little he had said. - -A fortnight had now elapsed since I had seen Beatrice, and I was still -delayed at Charleston, waiting for a passage to the north, and arranging -the proceeds of our prize, when I received an invitation to a ball at -the house of one of the leaders of ton, who affecting a neutrality in -politics, issued cards indiscriminately to both parties. Feeling a -presentiment that Beatrice would be there, and doubtless unaccompanied -by her uncle or cousin, I determined to go, and seek an opportunity to -bid her farewell, unobserved, before my departure. - -The rooms were crowded to excess. All that taste could suggest, or -wealth afford, had been called into requisition to increase the splendor -of the _fete_. Rich chandeliers; sumptuous ottomans; flowers of every -hue; and an array of loveliness such as I have rarely seen equalled, -made the lofty apartments almost a fairy palace. But amid that throng of -beauty there was but one form which attracted my eye. It was that of -Beatrice. She was surrounded by a crowd of admirers, and I felt a pang -of almost jealousy, when I saw her, as I thought, smiling as gaily as -the most thoughtless beauty present. But as I drew nearer I noticed -that, amid all her affected gaiety, a sadness would momentarily steal -over her fine countenance, like a cloud flitting over a sunny summer -landscape. As I edged toward her through the crowd, her eye caught mine, -and in an instant lighted up with a joyousness that was no longer -assumed. I felt repaid, amply repaid by that one glance, for all the -doubts I had suffered during the past fortnight; but the formalities of -etiquette prevented me from doing aught except to return an answering -glance, and solicit the hand of Beatrice. - -“Oh! why have you been absent so long?” said the dear girl, after the -dance had been concluded, and we had sauntered together, as if -involuntarily, into a conservatory behind the ball room, “every one is -talking of your conduct at the fort—do you know I too am a rebel—and -_do_ you then sail for the north?” - -“Yes, dearest,” I replied, “and I have sought you to-night to bid you -adieu for months—it may be for years. God only knows, Beatrice,” and I -pressed her hand against my heart, “when we shall meet again. Perhaps -you may not even hear from me; the war will doubtless cut off the -communications; and sweet one, say will you still love me, though others -may be willing to say that I have forgotten you?” - -“Oh! how can you ask me? But you—will—write—won’t you?” and she -lifted those deep, dark, liquid eyes to mine, gazing confidingly upon -me, until my soul swam in ecstacy. My best answer was a renewed pressure -of that small, fair hand. - -“And Beatrice,” said I, venturing upon a topic, to which I had never yet -alluded, “if they seek to wed you to another will you—you still be mine -only?” - -“How can you ask so cruel a question?” was the answer, in a tone so low -and sweet, yet half reproachful, that no ear but that of a lover could -have heard it. “Oh! you know better—you know,” she added, with energy, -“that they have already planned a marriage between me and my cousin; but -never, never can I consent to wed where my heart goes not with my hand. -And now you know all,” she said tearfully, “and though they may forbid -me to think of you, yet I can never forget the past. No, believe me, -Beatrice Derwent where once she has plighted her faith, will never -afterward betray it,” and overcome by her emotions, the fair girl leaned -upon my shoulder and wept long and freely. - -But I will not protract the scene. Anew we exchanged our protestations -of love, and after waiting until Beatrice had grown composed we returned -to the ball room. Under the plea of illness I saw her soon depart, nor -was I long in following. No one, however, had noticed our absence. Her -haughty uncle, in his luxurious library, little suspected the scene that -had that night occurred. But his conduct, I felt, had exonerated me from -every obligation to him, and I determined to win his ward, if fortune -favored me, in despite of his opposition. My honor was no longer -concerned against me: I felt free to act as I chose. - -The British fleet meanwhile, having been seen no more upon the coast, -the communication with the north, by sea, became easy again. New York, -however, was in the possession of the enemy, and a squadron was daily -expected at the mouth of Delaware Bay. To neither of these ports, -consequently, could I obtain a passage. Nor indeed did I wish it. There -was no possibility that the Fire-Fly would enter, either, to re-victual, -and as I was anxious to join her, it was useless to waste time in a port -where she could not enter. Newport held out the only chance to me for -rejoining my vessel. It was but a day’s travel from thence to Boston, -and at one or the other of these places I felt confident the Fire-Fly -would appear before winter. - -The very day, however, after seeing Beatrice, I obtained a passage in a -brig, which had been bound to another port, but whose destination the -owners had changed to Newport, almost on the eve of sailing. I instantly -made arrangements for embarking in her, having already disposed of our -prize, and invested the money in a manner which I knew would allow it to -be distributed among the crew of the Fire-Fly at the earliest -opportunity. My parting with Col. Moultrie was like parting from a -father. He gave me his blessing; I carried my kit on board; and before -forty-eight hours I was once more at sea. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE DREAM OF THE DELAWARE. - - - “Sleep hath its own world, - And a wide realm of wild reality, - And dreams in their development have breath, - And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy.” - - On Alligewi’s[1] mountain height - An Indian hunter lay reclining, - Gazing upon the sunset light - In all its loveliest grace declining. - Onward the chase he had since dawn - Pursued, with swift-winged step, o’er lawn, - And pine-clad steep, and winding dell, - And deep ravine, and covert nook - Wherein the red-deer loves to dwell, - And silent cove, and brawling brook; - Yet not till twilight’s mists descending, - Had dimmed the wooded vales below, - Did he, his homeward pathway wending, - Droop ’neath his spoil, with footsteps slow. - Then, as he breathless paused, and faint, - The shout of joy that pealed on high - As broke that landscape on his eye, - Imaginings alone can paint. - - Down on the granite brow, his prey, - In all its antlered glory lay. - His plumage flowed above the spoil— - His quiver, and the slackened bow, - Companions of his ceaseless toil, - Lay careless at its side below. - - Oh! who might gaze, and not grow brighter, - More pure, more holy, and serene; - Who might not feel existence lighter - Beneath the power of such a scene? - Marking the blush of light ascending - From where the sun had set afar, - Tinting each fleecy cloud, and blending - With the pale azure; while each star - Came smiling forth ’mid roseate hue, - And deepened into brighter lustre - As Night, with shadowy fingers threw - Her dusky mantle round each cluster. - Purple, and floods of gold, were streaming - Around the sunset’s crimson way, - And all the impassioned west was gleaming - With the rich flush of dying day. - Far, far below the wandering sight, - Seen through the gath’ring gloom of night, - A mighty river rushing on, - Seemed dwindled to a fairy’s zone. - No bark upon its wave was seen, - Or if ’twas there, it glided by - As viewless forms, that once have been, - Will flit, half-seen, before the eye. - - Long gazed the hunter on that sight, - ’Till twilight darkened into night, - Dim and more dim the landscape grew, - And duskier was the empyrean blue; - Glittered a thousand stars on high, - And wailed the night-wind sadly by; - And slowly fading, one by one, - Cliff, cloud, ravine, and mountain pass - Grew darker still, and yet more dun, - ’Till deep’ning to a shadowy mass, - They seemed to mingle, earth and sky, - In one wild, weird-like canopy. - - Yet lo! that hunter starts, and one - Whom it were heaven to gaze upon, - A beauteous girl,—as ’twere a fawn, - So playful, wild, and gentle too,— - Came bounding o’er the shadowy lawn, - With step as light, and love as true. - It was Echucha! she, his bride, - Dearer than all of earth beside,— - For she had left her sire’s far home, - The woodland depths with him to roam - Who was that sire’s embittered foe! - And there, in loveliness alone, - With him her opening beauty shone. - But even while he gazed, that form, - As fades the lightning in the storm, - Passed quickly from his sight. - He looked again, no one was there, - No voice was on the stilly air, - No step upon the greensward fair, - But all around was night. - - She past, but thro’ that hunter’s mind, - What wild’ring memories are rushing, - As harps, beneath a summer wind, - With wild, mysterious lays are gushing. - - Fast came rememb’rance of that eve, - Whose first wild throb of earthly bliss - Was but to gaze, and to receive - The boon of hope so vast as this— - To clasp that being as his own, - To win her from her native bowers; - And form a spirit-land, alone - With her amid perennial flowers. - And as he thought, that dark, deep eye, - Seemed hovering as ’twas wont to bless, - When the soft hand would on him lie, - And sooth his soul to happiness. - - Like the far-off stream, in its murmurings low, - Like the first warm breath of spring, - Like the Wickolis in its plaintive flow, - Or the ring-dove’s fluttering wing, - Came swelling along the balmy air, - As if a spirit itself was there, - So sweet, so soft, so rich a strain, - It might not bless the ear again, - Now breathed afar, now swelling near, - It gushed on the enraptured ear;— - And hark! was it her well-known tone? - No—naught is heard but the voice alone. - - “Warrior of the Lenape race, - Thou of the oak that cannot bend, - Of noble brow and stately grace, - And agile step, of the Tamenend, - Arise—come thou with me! - - Echucha waits in silent glade, - Her eyes the eagle’s gaze assume, - As daylight’s golden glories fade, - To catch afar her hunter’s plume,— - But naught, naught can she see. - - Her hair is decked with ocean shell, - The vermeil bright is on her brow, - The peag zone enclasps her well, - Her heart is sad beneath it now, - She weeps, and weeps for thee. - - With early dawn thou hiedst away, - In reckless sports the hours to while, - Oh! sweet as flowers, in moonlit ray, - Shall be thy look, thy voice, thy smile, - When again she looks on thee! - Oh! come, come then with me.” - - Scarce ceased the strain, when silence deep, - As broods o’er an unbroken sleep, - Seemed hovering round; then slowly came - A glow athwart the darkling night, - Bursting at length to mid-day flame, - And bathing hill and vale in light. - While suddenly a form flits by - With step as fleet, as through the sky - The morning songster skims along - Preceded by his matchless song. - So glided she; yet not unseen - Her graceful gait, her brow serene, - Her finely modelled limbs so round, - Her raven tresses all unbound, - That flashing out, and hidden now, - Waved darkly on each snowy shoulder,— - As springing from the mountain’s brow, - Eager and wild that one to know, - The hunter hurried to behold her. - - On, on the beauteous phantom glides - Beneath the sombre, giant pines - That stud the steep and rugged sides - Of pendant cliffs, and deep ravines; - Down many a wild descent and dell - O’ergrown with twisted lichens rude; - Yet where she passed a halo fell - To guide the footsteps that pursued,— - Like that fell wonder of the sky - That flashes o’er the starry space, - And leaves its glitt’ring wake on high, - For man portentous truths to trace. - And onward, onward still that light - Was all which beamed upon the sight. - Of figure he could naught descry, - Invisible it seemed to fly; - Alluring on with magic art - That half disclosing, hid in part. - - Bright, beautiful, resistless Fate! - Oh! what is like thy magic will, - Which men in blind obedience wait, - Yet deem themselves unfettered still! - By thee impelled that hunter sped - Through shadowy wood, o’er flowery bed; - When angels else, beneath his eye, - Had passed unseen, unnoticed by. - - The Indian brave! that stoic wild, - Philosophy’s untutored child, - A being, such as wisdom’s torch - Enkindled ’neath the attic porch, - Where the Phoenician stern and eld, - His wise man[2] to the world revealing, - Divined not western wildness held - Untutored ones less swayed by feeling; - Whose firm endurance fire nor stake - Nor torture’s fiercest pangs might shake. - Yes! matter, mind, the eternal whole, - In apprehension revelling free, - Evolved that fearlessness of soul - Which Greece[3] saw but in theory. - - Still on that beauteous phantom fled, - And still behind the hunter sped. - Nor turned she ’till where many a rock - Lay rent as by an earthquake’s shock, - And through the midst a stream its way - Held on ’mid showers of falling spray, - Marking by one long line of foam - Its passage from its mountain home. - - But now, amid the light mist glancing - Like elf or water-nymph, the maid - With ravishment of form entrancing - The spell-bound gazer, stood displayed. - So looked that Grecian maiden’s face, - So every grace and movement shone, - When ’neath the sculptor’s wild embrace, - Life, love, and rapture flushed from stone. - She paused, as if her path to trace - Through the thick mist that boiled on high, - Then turning full her unseen face, - There, there, the same, that lustrous eye, - So fawn-like in its glance and hue - As when he first had met its ray, - Echucha’s self, revealed to view— - She smiled, and shadowy sank away. - - Again ’twas dawn: that hunter’s gaze - Was wand’ring o’er a wide expanse - Of inland lake, half hid in haze - That waved beneath the morning’s glance. - The circling wood, so still and deep - Its sombre hush, seemed yet asleep; - Save when at intervals from tree - A lone bird woke its minstrelsy, - Or flitting off from spray to spray - ’Mid glittering dew pursued its way. - When lo! upon the list’ning ear - The rustling of a distant tread, - That pausing oft drew ever near - A causeless apprehension spread. - And from a nook, a snow-white Hind - Came bounding—beauteous of its kind!— - Seeking the silver pebbled strand - Within the tide her feet to lave, - E’re noonday’s sun should wave his wand - Of fire across the burnished wave. - - Never hath mortal eye e’er seen - Such fair proportion blent with grace; - A creature with so sweet a mien - Might only find its flitting place - In that bright land far, far away - Where Indian hunters, legends say, - Pursue the all-enduring chase. - The beautifully tapered head, - The slender ear, the eye so bright, - The curving neck, the agile tread, - The strength, the eloquence, the flight - Of limbs tenuitively small, - Seemed imaged forth, a thing of light - Springing at Nature’s magic call. - - The sparkling surge broke at her feet, - Rippling upon the pebbly brink, - As gracefully its waters sweet - She curved her glossy neck to drink. - Yet scarce she tasted, ere she gazed - Wildly around like one amazed, - With head erect, and eye of fear, - And trembling, quick-extended ear. - - Still as the serpent’s hushed advance, - The hunter, with unmoving glance, - Wound on to where a beech-tree lay - Half buried in the snowy sand: - He crouches ’neath its sapless spray - To nerve his never-failing hand. - A whiz—a start—her rolling eye - Hath caught the danger lurking nigh. - She flies, but only for a space; - Then turns with sad reproachful face; - Then rallying forth her wonted strength, - She backward threw her matchless head, - Flung on the wind her tap’ring length, - And onward swift and swifter sped,— - O’er sward, and plain, and snowy strand, - By mossy rocks, through forests grand, - Which there for centuries had stood - Rustling in their wild solitude. - - On, on, in that unwearied chase - With tireless speed imbued, - Went sweeping with an eldrich pace - Pursuing and pursued! - ’Till, as the sinking orb of day, - Glowed brighter with each dying ray, - The fleetness of that form was lost, - Dark drops of blood her pathway crost, - And faint and fainter drooped that head,— - She falters—sinks—one effort more— - ’Tis vain—her noontide strength has fled— - She falls upon the shore. - - One eager bound—the Hunter’s knife - Sank deep to end her struggling life; - Yet, e’en as flashed the murd’rous blade, - There came a shrill and plaintive cry: - The Hind was not—a beauteous maid - Lay gasping with upbraiding eye. - The glossy head and neck were gone, - The snowy furs that clasped her round; - And in their place the peag zone, - And raven hair that all unbound - Upon her heaving bosom lies - And mingles with the rushing gore, - The sandaled foot, the fawn-like eyes; - All, all are there—he needs no more— - “Echucha—ha!” The dream hath passed; - Cold clammy drops were thick and fast - Upon the awakened warrior’s brow, - And the wild eye that flashed around - To penetrate the dark profound, - Seemed fired with Frenzy’s glow. - Yet all was still, while far above, - Nestling in calm and holy love, - The watchful stars intensely bright - Gleamed meekly through the moonless night. - - The Hunter gazed,—and from his brow - Passed slowly off that fevered glow, - For what the troubled soul can bless - Like such a scene of loveliness? - He raised his quiver from his side, - And downward with his antlered prey, - To meet his lone Ojibway bride, - He gaily took his joyous way. - A. F. H. - ------ - -[1] The Alleghany. - -[2] Zeno imagined his wise man, not only free from all sense of -pleasure, but void of all passions, and emotions capable of being happy -in the midst of torture. - -[3] The stoics were philosophers, rather in words than in deeds. - - * * * * * - - - - - MY GRANDMOTHER’S TANKARD. - - - BY JESSE E. DOW. - - -My grandmother was one of the old school. She was a fine, portly built -old lady, with a smart laced cap. She hated snuff and spectacles, and -never lost her scissors, because she always kept them fastened to her -side by a silver chain. As for scandal she never indulged in its use, -believing, as she said, that truth was stranger than fiction and twice -as cutting. - -My grandmother had a penchant for old times and old things, she -delighted to dwell upon the history of the past, and once a year on the -day of thanksgiving and prayer, she appeared in all the glories of a -departed age. Her head bore an enormous cushion—her waist was doubly -fortified with a stomacher of whale-bone and brocade. Her skirt spread -out its ample folds of brocade and embroidery below, flanked by two -enormous pockets. Her well-turned ankles were covered with blue worsted -stockings, with scarlet clocks, and her underpinning was completed by a -pair of high quartered russet shoes mounted upon a couple of extravagant -red heels. When the hour for service drew near, she added a high bonnet -of antique form, made of black satin, and a long red cloak of narrow -dimensions. Thus clothed, as she ascended the long slope that led to the -old Presbyterian meeting house, she appeared like a British grenadier -with his arms shot off, going to the pay office for his pension. - -Her memory improved by age, for she doubtless recollected some things -which never happened, and her powers of description were equal to those -of Sir Walter Scott’s old crone, whose wild legends awoke the master’s -mind to a sense of its own high powers. - -My grandmother came through the revolution a buxom dame, and her legends -of cow boys and tories, of white washed chimnies and tar and -featherings, of battles by sea, and of “skrimmages,” as she termed them, -by land, would have filled a volume as large as Fox’s book of the -Martyrs, and made in the language of the day a far more _readable work_. - -I was her pet—her auditor: I knew when to smile, and when to look -grave—when to approach her, and when to retire from her presence; her -pocket was my paradise, and her old cup-board my seventh heaven. - -Many a red streaked apple and twisted doughnut have I munched from the -former,—and many a Pisgah glimpse have I had of the bright pewter and -brighter silver that garnished the latter. Among the old lady’s silver -was a venerable massive tankard that had come down from the early -settlers of Quinapiack, and she prized it far above many weightier and -more useful vessels. This relic always attracted my notice—a coat of -arms was pictured upon one side of it, and underneath it the family name -in old English letters, stood out like letters upon an iron sign. It was -of London manufacture, and must have been in use long before the -Pilgrims sailed for Plymouth. It had, doubtless, been drained by -cavaliers and roundheads in the sea girt isle, - - “Ere the May flower lay - In the stormy bay, - And rocked by a barren shore.” - -The history of this venerable relic was my grandmother’s hobby, and as -she is no longer with us to relate the story herself, I will hand it -down in print, that posterity, if so disposed, may know something also -of - - - MY GRANDMOTHER’S TANKARD. - -In the year 1636, a company of fighting men from the Massachusetts -colony, pursued a party of Pequots to the borders of a swamp in the -present county of Fairfield, in Connecticut, and destroyed them by fire. - -The soldiers on their return to the colony spoke in rapture of a goodly -land through which they passed in the south country, bordering upon a -river and bay, called by the Indians Quinapiack, and by the Dutch the -Vale of the Red Rocks. - -In the year 1637, the New Haven company, beaten out by the toils and -privations of a long and boisterous voyage across the Atlantic, landed -at the mouth of the Charles River, and continued for a season inactive -in the pleasant tabernacles of the early pilgrims. Hearing of the fair -and goodly land beyond the Connectiquet, or Long River, and disliking -the sterile shores of Massachusetts bay, the newly arrived company sent -spies into the land to view the second Canaan, and bring them a true -report. - -In 1638, having received a favorable account from the pioneers, the -company embarked, and sailed for that fair land, and at the close of the -tenth day the Red Rocks appeared frowning grimly against the western -horizon, and the Quinapiack spread out its silver bosom to receive them. -The vessel that brought the colony, landed them on the eastern shore of -a little creek now filled up and called the meadows, about twenty rods -from the corner of College and George streets, in New Haven, and -directly opposite to the famous old oak, under whose broad branches Mr. -Davenport preached his first sermon to the settlers, “Upon the -Temptations of the Wilderness.” Time, that rude old gentleman, has -wrought many changes in the harbor of Quinapiack since the days of the -pilgrims; and a regiment of purple cabbages are now growing where the -adventurers’ bark rested her wave-worn keel. - -In 1638, having laid out a city of nine squares, the company met in -Newman’s barn, and formed their constitution. At this meeting it was -ordered that the laws of Moses should govern the colony until the elders -had time to make better ones. - -Theophilus Eaton, Esq. was chosen the first governor: and the whole -power of the people was vested in the governor, Mr. Davenport, the -minister, his deacon, and the seven pillars of the church of Quinapiack. -Here was church and state with a vengeance, and the pilgrims who sought -freedom to worship God found freedom to worship him as they pleased, -provided they worshipped him _as Mr. Davenport_ directed. - -The seven pillars of the church were wealthy laymen, and were its -principal support; among the number I find the names of those staunch -old colonists, Matthew Gilbert and John Panderson. - -Governor Eaton was an eminent merchant in London, and when he arrived at -Quinapiack, his ledger was transformed into a book of records for the -colony. It is now to be seen with his accounts in one end of it, and the -records in the other. The principal settlers of New Haven were rich -London merchants. They brought with them great wealth, and calculated in -the new world to engage in commerce, free from the trammels that clogged -them in England. They could not be contented with the old colony -location. They now found a beautiful harbor—a fine country—and a broad -river: but no trade. Where all were sellers there could be no buyers. -They had stores but no customers: ships but no Wapping: and they soon -began to sigh for merry England, and the wharves of crowded marts. In -three years after landing at New Haven, a large number of these settlers -determined to return to their native land. - -Accordingly a vessel was purchased in Rhode Island, a crazy old tub of a -thing that bade fair to sail as fast broadside on as any way, whose -sails were rotten with age, and whose timbers were pierced by the worms -of years. Having brought the vessel round to New Haven, the colonists, -under the direction of the old ship master Lamberton, repaired and -fitted her for sea. - -The day before Captain Lamberton intended to sail, Eugene Foster, the -son of a wealthy merchant in London, and Grace Gilman, the daughter of -one of the wealthy worthies of Quinapiack, wandered out of the -settlement and ascended the East Rock. - -Grace Gilman was the niece of my great, great grandmother. Possessing a -brilliant mind, a lovely countenance, and a form of perfect symmetry, -she occupied no small share of every single gentleman’s mind asleep or -awake, in the colony. Her dark hair hung in ringlets about a neck of -alabaster, and sheltered with smaller curls a cheek where the lily and -the rose held sweet communion together. - -Foster had followed the object of his love to her western home, and -having gained Elder Gilman’s consent to his union with the flower of -Quinapiack, he was now ready to return in the vessel to his native land, -for the purpose of preparing for a speedy settlement in the colony. - -Eugene Foster was a noble, spirited youth, of high literary attainments. -Besides his frequent excursions with the scouts, had made him an -experienced woodman and hunter. His countenance was pleasant; his eye -possessed the fire of genius; and his form was tall and commanding. - -It was a glorious morning in autumn. The whole space around the -settlement was one vast forest, and the frost had tipped the leaves of -the trees with russet crimson and gold. The bare sumac lifted its red -core on high, and the crab apple hung its bright fruit over every crag. -The maple shook its blood-colored leaves around, and the chesnut and -walnut came pattering down from their lofty heights, like hail from a -summer cloud. The heath hens sate drumming the morning away upon the -mouldering trunks, whose tops had waved above the giants of the forest -in former ages. The grey squirrel sprang from limb to limb. The flying -squirrel sailed from tree to tree in his downward flight; and the -growling wild cat glided swiftly down the vistas of the wood with her -shrieking prey. - -The blue jay piped all hands from the deep woods—and the hawk, as he -sailed over the partridge’s brood, shrieked the wild death cry of the -air. A haze rested upon the distant heights, and a cloud of mellow light -rolled over the little settlement, and faded into silver upon the broad -sound that stretched out before it. - -It was nearly noon when the lovers—whose conversation on such an -occasion I must leave the reader to imagine—turned from the enchanting -prospect, which at this day exceeds any thing in America—to return to -the settlement. Two Indians, of the Narragansett tribe, now bounded from -the thicket, and before Foster could bring his musketoon to its -rest—for he always went armed—they levelled him to the earth. A green -withe was speedily twined around his arms, and he was apparently as -powerless as a child. Grace sprang to a little path that led to the -parapet of the bluff and screamed for help; that scream was her -salvation, for the Indian who was binding Foster’s hands, left the withe -loose, and sprang toward her. In a moment the rude hand of the red-man -rested heavily upon her shoulder, and his grim look sent the blood -tingling from her cheeks. Another withe was speedily passed around her -arms, and then the two Narragansetts seated themselves to make a hurdle -to bear the pale faced maiden away. As they were busily engaged Grace -heard a whisper behind her. She turned her head half round—Foster, by -great exertions, had got loose from his withe, and was crawling slowly -toward his musketoon. - -The Narragansetts, suspecting nothing, were sitting behind a little -clump of sassafras, and nothing but their brawny chests could be seen -through a small bend in the trunks of the trees that composed the -thicket. - -Stealthily crept the experienced Foster to the tree where his musketoon -rested. Not a crackling twig, nor rustling leaf, gave the slightest -evidence of his movements. The Indians spoke in their own wild gutterals -of the beauty of the pale-faced squaw, and chuckled with delight at the -speedy prospect of roasting the young long knife by Philip’s council -fire. - -The musketoon was just as he had left it: not a grain of powder had left -the pan,—the match burned brightly at the butt, and every thing seemed -to be as effective as possible. Foster seized it and motioned to Grace -to stoop her head, so as to give him a chance to bring the red men in a -range through the opening in the thicket. - -Grace bent her head to the ground, while her heart beat with fearful -anticipation. The young pilgrim aimed his deadly weapon, as a fine -opportunity presented itself. The two savages were sitting cross-legged, -side by side, and their brawny breasts were seen, one bending slightly -before the other. Foster aimed so as to give each a fair proportion of -slugs—for he had a charge for a panther in his barrel—and fired. A -loud report rang down the aisles of the forest, and rattled in echoes -over the settlement, while the two Indians bounded up with a fearful -yell, and fell dead upon the half-made hurdle. Foster sprang to the side -of Grace, and casting loose the withe that confined her swollen arms, -bore her over the bodies of the Narragansetts, whose horrid scowls never -were forgotten by the affrighted maid. - -A war-whoop now rang in the usual pathway to the settlement, and Foster -saw that he must take a shorter cut or die. Grace had fainted, and every -thing depended upon his manliness and strength. He therefore approached -the brink of the precipice. A wild grape vine, that had grown there -since the morning of time, for aught he knew, extended far up the -perpendicular rock, from a crag below. He bound the fair girl to his -breast with his neckcloth and shot-belt, and grasping the stem of the -vine, descended. As he slipped down, the vine began to yield, and just -as his foot touched the narrow crag, the whole vine, with a mass of -loose earth and stones, gave way with a tremendous crash, and hung, from -the crevice where he stood, like a feather quivering beneath his feet. -Foster was for a moment dizzy, but he cast his eyes upward, and beheld -the eyes of an Indian glaring upon him from the top of the rock. He was -nerved in a moment: and seeing a ledge a foot and a half broad, beyond a -fissure, about eight feet over, and very deep, he determined to spring -for it. Grace Gilman, however, was a dead weight to the young man, and -he feared the result. The ledge seemed to run at an angle of forty-five -degrees along the front of the rock, to a side hill, formed by fallen -rocks and earth. A wild vine hung down over the fissure, covered with -tempting fruit. He reached out his hand and grasped the main stem as it -waved in the breeze,—it was strong, and its roots seemed firmly -imbedded in a crevice above him. Commending himself to that Creator -whose tireless eye takes in at a glance his creatures, he made his leap! -The damp wind from the fissure rushed by his ears; the vine cracked and -rustled above him; rich clusters of luscious fruit came tumbling upon -his head; and the birds of night came shrieking out from their dark -shelters in the fissure as he swung past. Foster, however, did not -waver, his foot struck the ledge and he leaned forward; the vine flew -back like a pendulum as he let it go, and he slid down the smooth ridge -of the ledge in safety. In a short time he brought up against a heap of -earth that had fallen from the mountain top, and springing up, bounded -like the chamois hunter from crag to crag, until he stood upon the broad -bottom, without a bruise or a scratch upon himself or his fair charge. -In twenty minutes the young pilgrim entered the settlement by the forest -way, with the almost lifeless form of his beloved buckled to his breast, -while savage yells of disappointment came down from the summit of the -East Rock, and caused the young mothers of Quinapiack to press their -startled babes closer to their trembling hearts. - -None had dared to follow the adventurous pilgrim’s course down the -mountain’s perpendicular side: and the ledges that jut out like faint -shadows from the bluff, are called Foster’s Stepping Stone by those who -know the incident to this day. - -The report of the musketoon was heard in the settlement. The soldiers of -the colony stood to their arms, and when Foster had made his report, -several strong parties went out upon a scout; but it was of no use; -drops of blood only were discovered sprinkled upon the sassafras-leaves, -and a heavy trail leading toward the Long River. The fighting men of -Quinapiack, after a weary march, gave up the pursuit of the -Narragansetts, and returned leisurely to the settlement. Night now -settled like a raven upon the land—the drums beat to prayers—one by -one the lights went out in the cottages of the pilgrims; and as the -watch-fire sent forth its ruddy blaze from the common—now the college -green—the colony slumbered in sweet forgetfulness, or wandered in -visions amid the scenes of their childhood by the broad Shannon or the -silver Ayr. - -Who can tell the strange thoughts that agitated the sleepers’ souls? The -old men, had they no pleasures of memory? The young men and the maidens, -had they no dreams of joy—no bright pictures of trysting trees and -lovely glens where the white lady moved in her noiseless path, or the -fairies danced on the moonlight sward? Had the politician no dream of -departed power? No sigh for his rapid fall? Had the soldier no dream of -glory—no sound of stirring bugles melting upon his ear? Had the -minister of God no dream of greatness—when before the kings and princes -of the world he stood? and like Nathan of old said in Christ-like -majesty to the offending monarch— - - “Thou art the man.” - - * * * * * - -It was sunrise at Quinapiack, and the seven pillars were no longer seven -sleepers. Eugene Foster stood beside Grace Gilman, while the old elder -wrestled valiantly in prayer. When the morning service was ended, and a -substantial breakfast had been stowed away with no infant’s hand, Foster -imprinted a kiss upon the cheek of the bashful puritan. - -“Farewell, Grace,” said he, “we are ready to sail. In a few months more -the smoke shall curl from my cottage chimney, and the good people of the -colony shall wait at the council board for good man Foster.” - -“Eugene,” said Grace, with eyes suffused with tears, “your time will -pass pleasantly in England; but, oh! how long will the period of your -absence seem in this lone outpost of civilization. Do not, then, tarry -in the land of your fathers beyond the time necessary for accomplishing -your business. There are many Graces in England, but there are but few -Fosters here.” - -“Grace,” said Foster blushing, “there is no Grace in England like the -Grace of Quinapiack, and he who would leave the blooming rose of the -wilderness, for the sick lily of the hot-house, deserves not to enjoy -the fresh blessings of Providence. The wind that blows back to the -western continent shall fill my sails, and I will claim my bride.” - -The old puritan now gave the young man his blessing. Foster drew from -his cloak fold this silver tankard,—marked, as you now see it,—[so -said my grandmother, as she held the antique vessel up to the light,] -and presented it to Grace as an earnest of his love. The elder, after -seeing that it was pure silver, exclaimed against the gew-gaws, and the -drinking measures of a carnal world, and left the room. Two hearty -kisses were now heard, even by the domestics in the Gilman family. The -elder entered the breakfast room in haste; Eugene bounded out of the -door—Grace glided like a fairy up stairs, and the old tankard rested -upon the table. - -After placing on board of the return ship the massive plate, and other -valuables of the discontented merchants, those whose hearts failed them, -embarked amid the tears and prayers of Davenport and his faithful -associates. The sails were spread to the breeze—the old ship bowed her -head to the foam, and dashed out of the harbor in gallant style. Grace -watched the vessel as she departed, and when the evening came, she wept -in her silent chamber, for her heart was sad. - -It was a sad day for the remaining colonists when the ship dipped her -topsails in the southern waves. A feeling of loneliness, such as the -traveller feels when lost in a boundless wood, seized upon them, and the -staunchest wept for their native land, and the air was damp with tears. -The next morning the settlement became more cheerful, for what can raise -the drooping soul like the still glories of a New England autumn -morning? The ship would, in all probability, return in a few months with -necessary stores for the colonists, and then, should the company grow -weary of the new country, they could return to their native land with -their wives, and recount to kind friends the perils of an ocean voyage, -and of a solitary home in a savage land. - - * * * * * - -Six long and melancholy months rolled away, and no tidings of the -pilgrims’ ship had reached the ears of the anxious settlers of -Quinapiack. A vessel had arrived at Plymouth after a short passage, but -nothing had been heard of Lamberton’s bark when she sailed. A terrible -mystery hung over the ill-filled and crazy ship. Autumn now came in its -beauty, and still no tidings came to cheer the sinking soul, and gladden -the heavy heart. Grace Gilman now began to pine, like the fair flower, -whose root the worm of destruction has struck, and whose brightness -slowly fades away. At length the good people of Quinapiack could stand -this state of suspense no longer, and the Rev. Mr. Davenport, and his -little flock, besought the Lord with sighs and tears, and heartfelt -prayers to shew them the fate of their friends by a visible sign from -heaven. - -Four successive Sabbaths the worthy minister strove for a revelation of -the mystery, and on the afternoon of the last day, when silence brooded -over the settlement; when even the barn-fowl grew silent upon his roost, -and the well-trained dog lay watching by the old family clock, for -sunset, and the hour of play, the cry came up from the water side,—“A -sail! a sail!”—and the drums beat with a double note, and the gravest -leaped for joy. The cry operated like an electric shock upon the whole -mass of the people. The old and the young, the sick and the well, went -out upon the shore to view the approaching stranger, and the seaman -stood by the landing place ready to make her fast. Grace Gilman was in -the centre of the throng, and the worthy minister, Davenport, waited -silently by her side. - -There is no moment so full of interest to us as that when a vessel from -our native land approaches us upon a distant shore. How many anxious -hearts are waiting to rise or fall, as good or bad tidings salute their -ears. How many watch the faces that throng the deck, and turn from -countenance to countenance with eager look, until their eyes rest upon -some familiar face, and their anxiety is satisfied. - -There are cold hearts also in such a crowd,—worldly men, who come to -gather news. What care they for affection’s warm greeting, or the throb -of sympathy? What know they of a sister’s love; aye! or of that deeper -love which only exists in the breast of woman! which carried her to -Pilate’s hall, to Calvary’s scene of blood, and to Joseph’s tomb? The -price of cotton, of tobacco, bread-stuffs, rise of fancy stocks, -election of a favorite candidate, or the death of a rich relative, are -sweeter than angel whispers to their ears, and _a rise of two pence on -corn_ is enough to fill a whole exchange with raptures. - -There were but few such worldlings on the landing place of Quinapiack on -the Sabbath eve when the gallant vessel of the pilgrims approached the -shore. Silence reigned upon the landing, and a dreadful stillness hung -over the approaching ship. Gallantly she entered the harbor, and the -boldest on shore trembled for her temerity in carrying such a press of -canvass. Not a sail had she handed—not a man was aloft. Her course -varied not—neither did the water ripple before her bows. All was now -anxiety. A hail went forth from the land,—a moment of breathless -curiosity passed, but no answer came. Another hail was treated with the -same neglect. At length Mr. Davenport hailed the stranger. As the words -slowly burst from the brazen trumpet, a bright ray of sunlight gleamed -full upon the vessel. Her top-masts now faded into air—then the sails -and rigging down to her courses—her ensign next rolled away upon the -breeze, and when the East Rock sent back the last echo of the trumpet, -the pilgrims’ ship had vanished away. A similar ship, though of much -smaller dimensions, now appeared upon a heavy cloud that hung over Long -Island, and faded away with the brightness of the day. - -“It is the promised sign,” said Mr. Davenport. - -“Our friends are lost at sea,” cried the multitude. - -“Eugene is drowned!” screamed Grace Gilman, and the crowd dispersed to -weep alone. - -As the throng moved away from the water side, a maniac girl who had been -gathering wild flowers upon the East Rock, came running in from the -forest way, chaunting the following words to a plaintive air:— - - She leaves the port with swelling sails, - And gaudy streamer flaunting free, - She woos the gentle western gales, - And takes her pathway o’er the sea. - The vales go down where roses bloom— - The hill tops follow green and fair; - The lofty beacon sinks in gloom, - And purpled mountains hang in air. - - Along she speeds with snowy wings, - Around her breaks the foaming deep; - The tempest thro’ her rigging sings, - And weary eyes their vigils keep. - Loud thunders rattle on the ear; - Saint Elmo’s fire her yard-arms grace, - The boldest bosom sinks in fear, - While death stands watching face to face. - - Months roll, and anxious friends await - Some tidings of the home-bound bark, - But ah! above her hapless fate - Mysterious shadows slumber dark. - No tidings come from Albion’s shore - To wild New England’s rocky lee; - Hope sickens, dies, and all is o’er, - The pilgrim’s bark is lost at sea. - - But see around yon woody isle - A gallant vessel sweeps in pride, - Her presence bids the mourners smile, - And hope reviving marks the tide. - But ah! her topsails fade away, - Her gaudy streamer floats no more, - A shadow flits across the bay, - The pilgrim’s dying hope is o’er. - - * * * * * - -Upon a couch, in a little parlor in Quinapiack, surrounded by a number -of the worthy settlers of both sexes, rested, at the close of that -Sabbath day, Grace Gilman. Her cup of sorrow was full, and she prayed -for the approach of the angel of death. Beside her stood the silver -tankard, and her dim eye endeavored in vain to read the inscription. -“Aunt Tabitha,” said the sufferer to my great great grandmother, “read -the inscription for me.” The good aunt bent over the vessel, and read -aloud:— - - “Sir JOHN FOSTER, OF LONDON, - _MASTER OF THE ROLLS_.” - -And underneath, in small capitals, she read:— - - “Eugene Foster, to Grace Gilman, as an earnest of his love. - - “_An empty cup to hold our tears,_ - _A flowing bowl to drown our fears,_ - _In life or death, this cup shall be_ - _A poor remembrancer of me._” - -“Brother,” said Mr. Davenport, as he slowly entered the room, “why -weepest thou? Daughter of the church, why sittest thou in sadness? -Children of God, why shed these useless tears? Arise, and let us bless -the Lord, for he is good, and his mercy endureth forever.” - -The broken-hearted girl folded her hands. The aged father bent over her -pillow. The friends leaned upon their staves, and the minister poured -forth his soul in unstudied prayer. - -A sweet strain of thrilling music now broke upon the ear,—a sound of -gentle voices echoed in the hall,—a rustling of wings was heard -overhead,—a faint whisper of “Eugene! Eugene! I—come—” died away on -the sufferer’s pillow: and when the prayer was ended, the little company -found themselves alone, watchers with the dead. - -Grace Gilman had breathed her last, and the betrothed of the pilgrim -joined her lover in heaven. - - * * * * * - -The poor girl was buried agreeably to her wishes, upon the mountain -side. The tankard became the property of her aunt Tabitha, and finally -came to a rest in my grandmother’s cupboard. And now when the Sabbath -evening commences, the rustic swain, as he passes the foot of the -mountain, fancies that he sees a white figure beckoning to him from the -cliff, and hears, amid the sighing of the woods, a low, but fearfully -distinct whisper, saying—“Eugene! Eugene! I come!” And oft since, -through the dim twilight of a summer’s Sabbath evening, has been seen -the spirit-ship of the long-lost Pilgrims, ploughing her unruffled -course through the calm waters of Quinapiack, and, when hailed, -instantly disappearing. - - Washington, January, 1841. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE RESCUED KNIGHT. - - - A TALE OF THE CRUSADES. - -It was starlight on Galilee. The placid lake lay at the feet, slumbering -as calmly as an infant, with the wooded shores, and the tall cliffs -around, reflected darkly in its surface. Scarcely a breath disturbed the -quiet air. Occasionally a ripple would break on the shore with a low, -measured harmony, and anon a tiny wave would glisten in the starlight, -as a slight breeze ruffled the surface of the lake. The song of the -fisherman was hushed; the voice of the vine-dresser had ceased on the -shore; the cry of the eagle had died away amongst his far-off hills, and -the silence of midnight, deep, hushed, and awe-inspiring, hung over -Galilee. - -A thousand years before, and what scenes had that sea beheld! There, had -lived Peter and his brethren; there, had our Saviour taught; upon those -shores had his miracles been wrought; and on the broad bosom of -Gennesserat he had walked a God. What holy memories were linked in with -that little sea! How calm and changeless seemed its quiet depths! A -thousand years had passed since then, and the apostles and their -children had mouldered into dust, yet the stars still looked down on -that placid lake unchanged, shining the same as they had done for fifty -centuries before. - -On the shore of the lake, embowered in the thick woods, stood a large -old, rambling fortified building, bearing traces of the Roman -architecture, upon which had been engrafted a Saracenic style. It -enclosed a garden, upon one side of which was a range of low buildings, -dark, massy, frowning, and partly in ruins, but which bore every -evidence of being still almost impregnable. - -Within this range of buildings, in a dark and noisome cell, reclined, -upon a scanty bed of straw, a Christian knight. His face was pale and -attenuated, but it had lost, amid all his sufferings, none of his high -resolve. It was now the seventh day since he had lain in that loathsome -dungeon, and the morrow’s sun was to see him die a martyr, for not -abjuring his religion. - -“Yes!” he muttered to himself, “the agony will soon be over: it is but -an hour at the most, and shall a Christian knight fear fire or torture? -No: come when it may, death should ever be welcome to a de Guiscan; and -how much more welcome when it brings the glories of martyrdom. But yet -it is a fearful trial. I could fall in battle, for there a thousand eyes -behold us, but to die alone, unheard of, with only foes around, and -where none shall ever hear of my fate.—Oh! that indeed is bitter. Yet I -fear not even it. Thank God!” he said, fervently kissing a cross he drew -from his bosom, “there is a strength given to us in the hour of need, -which bears us up against every danger.” - -The speaker suddenly started, ceased, and looked around. The bolt of his -door was being withdrawn from the outside. Could it be that his jailor -was about to visit him at this hour? Slowly the massy door swung on its -hinges, and a burst of light, streaming into the cell, for a moment -dazzled the eyes of the captive; but when he grew accustomed gradually -to the glare, he started, with even greater surprise, to behold, not his -jailor, but a maiden, richly attired in the Oriental dress. For an -instant the young knight looked amazed, as if he beheld a being of -another world. - -“Christian!” said the apparition, using the mongrel tongue, then adopted -by both Saracens and Franks in their communications, but speaking in a -low, sweet voice, which, melting from the maiden’s tongue, made every -word seem musical, “do you die to-morrow?” - -“If God wills it,” said the young knight firmly, “but what mean -you?—why are you here?” - -“I am here to save you,” said the maiden, fixing her eye upon his, “that -is,” and she paused and blushed in embarrassment, “if you will comply -with my conditions.” - -The young knight, who had eagerly started forward at the first part of -her sentence, now recoiled, and with a firm voice, though one gentler -than he would have used to aught less fair, exclaimed,— - -“And have you too been sent to tempt me? But go to those from whom you -came, and tell them that Brian de Guiscan, will meet the stake -rejoicing, sooner than purchase life by abjuring his God—” - -“You wrong—you wrong me,” hastily interposed the maiden, “I come not to -ask you to desert your God, but to tell you that I also would be a -Christian. Listen,—for my story must be short—my nurse was a Christian -captive, and from her I learned to love your Saviour. I have long sought -to learn more of your religion, and I am come now,” and again she -blushed in embarrassment, “to free you, sir knight, if you will conduct -me to your own land. I am the daughter of the Emir; I have stolen his -signet, and thus obtained the keys to your cell—” - -“It is enough, fair princess, my more than deliverer,” said the knight -eagerly, “gladly will I sell my life in your defence.” - -“Hist!” said the maiden in a whisper, placing her finger on her lips, -“if we speak above a murmur we shall, perhaps be overhead—follow me,” -and turning around, she passed swiftly through the door, and -extinguishing her light, looked around to see if she was followed, and -flitted into a dark alley of overhanging trees. - -Who can describe the emotions of de Guiscan’s bosom, as he traversed the -garden after his guide? His release had been so sudden that it seemed -like a dream, and he placed his hand upon his brow as if to assure -himself of the reality of the passing scene. Nor were the sensations, -which he experienced, less mixed than tumultuous. But over every other -feeling, one was predominant—the determination to perish rather than to -be re-taken, or, least of all, to suffer a hair of his fair rescuer’s -head to be injured. - -Their noiseless, but rapid flight toward the lower end of the garden, -and thence through a postern gate into the fields beyond, was soon -completed,—and it was only when, arriving at a clump of palms, beneath -which three steeds, and a male attendant, could be seen, as if awaiting -them, that the maid broke silence. - -“Mount, Christian,” she said in her sweet voice, now trembling with -excitement; and then turning toward her father’s towers, she looked -mournfully at them a moment, and de Guiscan saw, by the starlight, that -she wept. - -In a few minutes, however, they were mounted; and so complete had been -the maiden’s preparations, that de Guiscan’s own horse, lance, and -buckler, had been provided for him. But on whom would suspicion be less -likely to rest than on the Emir’s daughter? - -They galloped long and swiftly through that night, and just as morning -began to break across the hills of Syria, they turned aside into a thick -grove, and, dismounting, sought rest. The attendant tied the foaming -steeds a short distance apart, and, for the first time, the princess and -de Guiscan were alone since his escape. - -“Fair princess,” said the young knight, “how shall I ever show my -gratitude to you? By what name may I call my deliverer?” - -“Zelma!” said the maiden modestly, dropping her eyes before those of the -knight, and speaking with a certain tremulousness of tone that was more -eloquent than words. - -“Zelma!” said de Guiscan astonished, “and do I indeed behold the -far-famed daughter of the Emir, Abel-dek, she for whom the Saracenic -chivalry have broken so many lances? Thou art indeed beautiful, far more -beautiful than I had dreamed. The blessed saints may be praised, that -thou wishest to be a Christian.” - -“Such is my wish,” said the maiden meekly, as if desiring to change the -conversation from her late act, “and I pray that, as soon as may be, we -may reach some Christian outpost, where you will place me in charge of -one of those holy women, of whom I have heard my nurse so often speak; -and after that, the only favor I ask of you, sir knight, is, that, -should you ever meet my father, Abel-dek, in battle, you will avoid him, -for his daughter’s sake.” - -“It is granted, sweet Zelma,” said de Guiscan enthusiastically. But the -attendant now returning, their conversation was closed for the present. - -Why was it that de Guiscan, instead of retiring to rest, when, having -formed a rude couch for Zelma, he persuaded her to take a short repose, -kept guard for hours, busy with his own thoughts, but without uttering a -word? Was it solely gratitude to the fair Saracen which forbid him to -trust her safety even for a moment to her attendant, or had another and -deeper feeling, arising partly from gratitude, and partly from a -tenderer source, taken possession of his soul? Certain it is, that -though the young knight had gazed on the bright eyes of his own Gascony, -and seen even the fair-haired maidens of England, yet never had he -experienced toward any of them, such feelings as that which he now -experienced toward Zelma. Hour after hour passed away, and still he -stood watching over her slumbers. - -It was late in the afternoon when the little party again set forth on -their flight. De Guiscan, when the road permitted it, was ever at the -bridle reins of Zelma, and though his keen eye often swept anxiously -around the landscape, their conversation soon grew deeply interesting, -if we may judge by the stolen glances and heightened color of Zelma, and -the eager attention with which the young knight listened to the few -words which dropped from her lips. How had their demeanor changed since -the night before! Then the princess was all energy, now she was the -startled girl again. Then de Guiscan followed powerless as she led, now -he it was upon whom the little party leaned for guidance. - -“Pursuit, the saints be praised, must long since have ceased,” said de -Guiscan, “for yonder is the last hill hiding us from the Christian camp. -When we gain that we shall be able to see, though still distant, the -tents of my race.” - -The eyes of the maiden sparkled, and giving the reins to their steeds, -they soon gained the ascent. The scene that burst upon them was so grand -and imposing that, involuntarily, for a moment, they drew in and paused. - -Before them stretched out an extensive plain, bounded on three sides by -chains of hills, while on the fourth, and western border, glistened far -away the waters of the Mediterranean. Rich fields of waving green; -sparkling rivers, now lost and now emerging to sight; rolling uplands, -crowned with cedar forests; and, dimly seen in the distance, a long line -of glittering light, reflected from the armor of the Crusaders, and -telling where lay the Christian camp, opened out before the eyes of the -fugitives. - -“The camp—the camp,” said de Guiscan joyously, pointing to the far-off -line of tents. - -The maiden turned her eyes to behold the glittering sight, gazed at it a -moment in silence, and then casting a look backward, in the direction of -her father’s house, she heaved a deep sigh, and said calmly: - -“Had we not better proceed?” - -“By my halidome, yes!” said de Guiscan with sudden energy, “see yon -troop of Saracens pricking up the mountain side in our rear—here—in a -line with that cedar—” - -“I see them,” said Zelma, breathlessly, “they are part of the Emir’s -guard—they are in pursuit.” - -“On—on,” was the only answer of the young knight, as he struck the -Arabian on which the maiden rode, and plunged his spurs deep into his -horse’s flanks. - -They had not been in motion long before they beheld their pursuers, -approaching, better mounted than themselves, sweeping over the brow of -the hill above, in a close, dense column. - -“Swifter—swifter, dear lady,” said the knight, looking back. - -“Oh! we are beset,” suddenly said Zelma, in a voice trembling with -agitation, “see—a troop of our pursuers are winding up the path below.” - -The knight’s eyes following the guidance of the maiden’s trembling -finger, beheld, a mile beneath him, a large company of infidel horse, -closing up the egress of the fugitives. He paused an instant, almost -bewildered. But not a second was to be lost. - -“Where does this horse path lead?” he said, turning to the attendant, -and pointing to a narrow way, winding amongst precipitous rocks, toward -the left. - -“It joins the greater road, some distance below.” - -“Then, in God’s name let us enter it, trusting to heaven for escape. If -it comes to the worst I can defend it against all comers, provided there -is any part of it too narrow for two to attack me abreast.” - -“There are many such spots!” - -“Then the saints be praised. In, in, dear lady—in all.” - -Their pace was now equally rapid until they reached a narrow gorge, -overhung by high and inaccessible rocks, and opening behind into a wide -highway, bordering upon a plain below. - -“Here will I take my position, and await their attack,” said de Guiscan. -“How far is the nearest Christian outpost?” - -“A league beneath.” - -“Hie, then, away to it, and tell them de Guiscan escaped from a Saracen -prison, awaits succor in this pass. We cannot all go, else we may be -overtaken. Besides, you may be intercepted below. If you live to reach -the crusaders, I will make you rich for life. By sundown I may expect -succor if you succeed. Till then I can hold this post.” - -The man made an Oriental obeisance, and vanished, like lightning, down -the acclivity. - -“Here they come,” said de Guiscan, “they have found us out, and are -swooping like falcons from the heights.” - -The maiden looked, and beheld the troop of Saracens defiling down the -mountain, one by one; the narrowness of the path forbidding even two to -ride abreast. - -“Allah il Allah!” shouted the foremost infidel, perceiving the knight, -and galloping furiously upon him as he spoke. - -Not a word was returned from the crusader. He stood like a statue of -steel, awaiting the onset of the fiery Saracen. As the infidel swept on -his career, he gradually increased his distance from his friends, until -a considerable space intervened between him and the troop of Moslems. -This was the moment for which the young knight had so anxiously waited. - -“Allah il Allah!” shouted the infidel, waving his scimitar around his -head, as he came sweeping down upon the motionless crusader. - -“A de Guiscan! a de Guiscan!” thundered the knight, raising the war-cry -of his fathers, as he couched his lance, and shot like an arrow from the -pass. There was a tramp—a wild shout—a fleeting as of a meteor—and -then the two combatants met in mid-career. Too late the infidel beheld -his error, and sought to evade that earthquake charge. It was in vain. -Horse and rider went down before the lance of the crusader, and the last -life-blood of the Saracen had ebbed forth before de Guiscan had even -regained his position. - -The savage cry of revenge which the companions of the fallen man set up, -would have apalled any heart but that of de Guiscan. But he knew no -fear. The presence of Zelma, too, gave new strength to his arm, and new -energy to his soul. For more than an hour, aided by his strong position, -he kept the whole Saracen force at bay. Every man who attacked him went -down before his lance, or fell beneath his sword. At length, as sunset -approached, the Saracens hemming him in closer and closer, succeeded in -driving him back behind a projecting rock, which, though it protected -his person, prevented him from doing any injury to his assailants, who, -meanwhile, were endeavoring, by climbing up the face of the rock, to -attack him from overhead. He found that it was impossible to hold out -many moments longer. He turned to look at the maiden: she was firm and -resolved, though pale. - -“We will die together,” said she, drawing closer to his side, as if -there was greater protection there than where she had been standing. - -“Yes! dear Zelma, for that is, I fear me, all that is left for us to -do.” - -“Hark!” suddenly said the maiden, “hear you not the clattering of -horses’ feet—here—in the rear?” - -“Can it be your attendant returned?” - -“Yes—yes! it is—praised be the Christian’s God.” - -“I vow a gold candlestick to the Holy shrine at Jerusalem!” - -On, like a whirlwind, came the host of the Christians, over the plain -beneath, and through the broad highway, until, perceiving their rescued -countryman still alive with his charge, they raised such a cry of -rejoicing that it struck terror into every Moslem’s heart. In a few -moments all danger to the fugitives was over. - -The infidels, now in turn retreating, were pursued and cut off almost to -a man, by a detachment of the Christian force; while another party of -the succorers bore the rescued fugitives in triumph to the Christian -outpost. - -In the parlor of the —— convent, at Jerusalem, a few months later De -Guiscan awaited the appearance of Zelma. Since the day when they had -together reached the Christian outpost, he had not beheld that beautiful -Saracen, for she had seized the first opportunity to place herself under -the instruction of the holy abbess of the —— convent at Jerusalem. -During that separation, however, de Guiscan had thought long and -ardently of his rescuer. In the bivouac; amid the noise of a camp; in -the whirl of battle; surrounded by the beautiful and gay; wherever, in -short, he went, the young knight had carried with him the memory of the -fair being who, at the peril of her life, had saved him from the stake. -Their hurried conversation in the palm grove was constantly recurring to -his memory. Oh! how he wished that he might once more behold Zelma, if -only to thank her anew for his life. But constantly occupied in the -field, he had not been at leisure to visit Jerusalem, until a summons -come from France, informing him of his father’s death, and the necessity -that he should immediately proceed homeward, to preserve the succession -to his barony. He determined to see Zelma once more, if only to bid her -farewell forever. - -As he was swayed thus by his emotions, he heard a light step, and -looking up, he beheld the Saracen princess. - -“Zelma!” he ejaculated. - -“De Guiscan!” said the maiden, eagerly advancing, but checking herself -as instantly, she stood, in beautiful embarrassment, before the knight. - -Both felt the difficulty of their relative positions, and both would -have spoken, but could not. At length de Guiscan said,— - -“Lady! I have come to thank you again for my life, before I leave this -land forever.” - -“Leave Jerusalem—Palestine forever!” ejaculated Zelma. - -A bright, but long-forbidden hope lighted up the countenance of the -young knight, and perceiving the renewed embarrassment with which the -speaker paused, he said: - -“_Dear_ lady! I am going to my own sunny land far away; but I cannot -depart without telling you how deeply I love you, and that I have -thought of you, only of your sex, ever since we parted. Oh! if not -presumptious, might I hope?” - -The still more embarrassed maiden blushed, but she did not withdraw the -hand which the young knight had grasped. He raised and kissed it. The -next moment the trembling, but glad girl, fell weeping on his bosom. -She, too, had thought only of him. - -The proudest family in the south of France, to this day, trace their -origin to the union of Zelma and de Guiscan. * * * - - * * * * * - - - - - LITTLE CHILDREN. - - - BY MRS. C. H. W. ESLING. - - - I love those little happy things, they seem to me but given, - To mirror on this lower earth, the far-off smiling heaven, - Their blue eyes shining ever bright like violets steep’d in dew. - Their looks of angel innocence—who’d not believe them true? - - The echo of the merry laugh, so full of heartfelt glee, - The very revelry of joy, untameable, and free; - The little feet that almost seem to scorn our mother earth, - But ever, ever lisping on in frolic, and in mirth. - - Oh! how we look on them, and think of all our childhood’s hours, - When we were sunny-hearted too, and wander’d among flowers, - When like to theirs, our floating locks, were left to woo the breeze, - Oh! Time, in all thy calendar, thou’st no such times as these. - - I do forget how many years have sadly passed me by, - Since my young sun of rising morn, shone gayly in the sky; - When I behold these happy things in all their joyous play, - Pouring the sunshine of their hearts, upon my cloudy way. - - Would I could watch their gentle growth, and guard them from the - blight, - That ever tracks the steps of Time, like darken’d clouds of night, - Would I could see their laughing eyes still innocently wear - The looks of guileless purity, unmixed with woe, or care. - - Dear little children, ye have been to me, a source of joy, - The sweet drop in the bitter cup of life’s too sad alloy, - In ye, mine early days return, the rainbow days of youth, - Of single-hearted blessedness, of tenderness, and truth. - - Philadelphia, January, 1841. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SILVER DIGGER. - - - BY J. TOPHAM EVANS. - - -“Ha! ha! ha!” shouted Piet Albrecht, “and so old Chriss Mienckel is -going to be married at last, and to pretty Barbara Mullerhorn, the -violet of the forest! Your gold and silver are the best suitors after -all! Give me a purse of yellow pieces before all the rifles of the -mountain. What sayest thou, comrade,” continued he, clapping upon the -back a young man, who sat next to him, “dost thou not think that old -Mullerhorn, the gold-lover, would have fancied thee much better, if thou -hadst carried more metal in thy pouch than upon thy shoulder?” - -“I pray thee, Piet,” responded the young man, “keep thy scurvy jests to -thyself. My soul is far too heavy for mirth.” - -“Holy Saint Nicholas!” said Piet, “he thinks of little Barbara! Well, -courage, comrade, and drink somewhat of this flask. Right Schiedam, and -full old, I warrant thee. What, not a drop? Well, here’s to thee, then.” - -“Aye,” said a tall, dark visaged man, attired in a hunter’s garb, “aye! -these love sick spirits are hardly worth the trouble of enlivening. Once -was Adolf the gayest hunter in the hills; but of late, his courage is as -dull as a hare’s, and all for a green girl, whose old schelm of a father -loves his own broad pieces too well, to bestow her upon a ranger of the -free woods.” - -“Peace, Franz Rudenfranck,” said the youth; “I will hear such words, not -even from thee. If old Mullerhorn continues to refuse me, I will leave -these, my native mountains, and wander in some far distant land, -hopeless and broken hearted.” - -“Pshaw,” rejoined Rudenfranck, “thou art far too young for despair as -yet. Throw thine ill-humor to the fiend, whence it came. There are other -lasses as fair as Barbara Mullerhorn, and, by my faith, not so difficult -to obtain. Therefore, fill comrades, let us pass a health to the -recovery of Adolf’s heart, and a more favorable issue to his passion.” - -And the cup went gaily round, amid the shouts of the revellers. - -Adolf Westerbok had been the gayest huntsman of the F——g district, and -the truest and merriest lad in the mountain, until an accidental meeting -with Barbara Mullerhorn at a dance, had entirely changed the current of -his feelings. It is an old story, and a much hackneyed one, that of -love. Let us spare the description. Suffice it to say that Adolf and -Barbara met often, and that a mutual affection subsisted between them. - -Adolf proposed himself to old Mullerhorn, and demanded Barbara in -marriage. But old Philip Mullerhorn, a rude, churlish, and avaricious -farmer, scornfully rejected the proffer of Adolf, and forbade him any -farther interview with Barbara, alleging, as the grounds of his -disinclination, the poverty of the hunter. Barbara was no less afflicted -than Adolf. Still, meetings between them were contrived. At last, on the -very evening, upon which the conversation, narrated above, took place, -Barbara informed her distracted lover, that her father had announced to -her his intention of bestowing her in marriage upon Chriss Mienckel, an -elderly widower, whose share of this world’s goods was ample enough to -attract the covetous regards of old Philip Mullerhorn. - -Burning with rage, and filled with tumultuous thoughts, Adolf quitted -Barbara, after bestowing upon her a long embrace, and repaired to the -inn of the hamlet, in hopes of finding Franz Rudenfranck, a huntsman, -who had professed a singular attachment for him, and who had signalised -this attachment by many personal proofs of friendship. - -The news of old Mienckel’s success had reached the hamlet before him, -and he had not been seated many minutes, before Piet Albrecht, the -professed joker of the village, began to rally him upon the subject. -Piet had already irritated Adolf in no small measure; but the lover had -thus far concealed his feelings. - -“Ha! ha!” exclaimed Piet, gaily, “to think that the old, shrivelled -widower of threescore should outcharm the youth of twenty! If I had been -Adolf Westerbok, I don’t think that Chriss would have carried matters -so, and I should have worn the wedding ribbon in spite of his ducats. -But there’s no accounting for tastes, eh? What say you, comrades?” - -The hunters laughed; and Adolf, annoyed at length beyond endurance, -rejoined in somewhat of a surly tone; to which Piet answered more -jestingly than before. - -“Silence, fool!” said Rudenfranck, now interfering, “thou hast neither -wit nor manners, and I should but serve thee rightly, did I lay my -ramrod soundly over thy shoulders.” - -Piet shrank back abashed, for there was that expression upon the brow of -Rudenfranck that few cared to see, and fewer to withstand. The hunters -were silent for a moment, but one of them, at last, answered -Rudenfranck. - -“That would I fain see, Franz Rudenfranck. Keep thy ramrod for thy -hound; for, by the holy apostles, if thou layest the weight of thy -finger upon Piet, I will try whether my bullet or thy skin proves the -harder, albeit some say no lead can harm thee.” - -“Peace, Hans Veltenmayer,” rejoined Rudenfranck. “If thou wert wise, -which any fool may plainly perceive thou art not, thou wouldest chain -that unruly tongue within thine ugly mouth, or keep those threats for -thy wife, who, if some say aright, would receive them so kindly, as to -repay thee, not in words, but in heavier coin. Tush man, never lift thy -rifle at me.” - -He turned sharply upon the hunter, who had seized his rifle and was -levelling it toward him; wrested it from his hand, and by a slight -motion, cast him rudely upon the ground. Veltenmayer rose, and slunk -among his laughing companions, muttering. - -“Come, Adolf,” said Rudenfranck, “I know what thou wouldst have. Leave -we this merry company, and go thou with me to my hut.” - -They left the inn, and plunged deep into the forest. - - - Chapter II. - -The F——g district, as it is called, where the scene of this legend is -laid, is one of the highest points in the great range of the Alleghany -mountains. High, broken peaks, capped with towering pines, rise upon -every side in billowy confusion; while the loftier and more regular -chains of mountains stretch far away in every direction, fading and -sinking upon the eye, until from a rich, dark green, they seem to meet -and unite with the azure of the sky. Rough, rocky precipices; a red and -stony soil, where the green mosses crawl and intertwist, in confused, -yet beautiful arrangement, over the sward; thick low underwood, and -forests almost impenetrable from their density; deep ravines, and craggy -watercourses, some entirely destitute of water, and others, gushing -precipitately along, flushed by unfailing springs, are the -characteristics of this mountain district. The rude log cabins of the -few inhabitants of this country, lie distant and scantily scattered -through the almost pathless woods, and the entire appearance of the -scenery has a sublime, though a savage and uncultivated air. The -original settlers of this tract were Germans and Swiss, whose -descendants, even at the present day, are almost the sole tenantry of -these hills. Their nature seems congenial to the surrounding mountains; -and the national exercise of the rifle, the merry dance and song, and -those yet more venerable Dionysia, the apple-butter boilings, quilting -parties, and log liftings, still constitute the favorite amusements of -this primitive people. Even their religion, a strange compound of German -mysticism, engrafted upon a plentiful stock of superstition, seems -peculiarly appropriate to their mode of living, and their wild country. -Nay, the very dress of a century back, still holds its fashion among -these hills; and the peasant or hunter, loosely attired in his homespun -suit of brown or blue adorned with fringe, or decked out with large, -antique, silver or pewter buttons, occasionally garnished with the -effigies of some popular saint; his large, broad brimmed wool hat, -flapped over his face; his leather leggings; and dark, curly beard, -presents a lively image of his fathers, the original settlers of the -district. Add to this, the bright, keen wood-knife, sheathed in its -leather case, and stuck in a broad girdle, with the powder horn and -pouch; and the unfailing rifle strapped across the shoulder, and you -have a perfect description of the general appearance of that people, who -inhabit the F——g settlement, and the back-woods of Pennsylvania, at -the present day. - -Rudenfranck and his companion strode onward through the woods for some -time without speaking. The elder hunter eyeing his friend keenly, at -last broke the unsocial silence. - -“I need not ask of thee, Adolf, why thy brow is clouded, and thine eye -so heavy. I, myself, although thou mayest smile at such confession from -me, have suffered long, and deeply, from a like cause. But my tale shall -not now interrupt thy grief, and I have often thought that the very -leaves of the forest would find tongues to repeat a story, which might -move nature herself. I would afford thee aid; not gall thy wounds by the -recital of my own. Speak; is it not thus? Thou hast met Barbara -Mullerhorn, even after her churlish father had forbidden thy suit. I -know too well, Adolf, that the more we are opposed the brighter burns -our love. But in pursuing thus thy suit, thou hast not done wisely. Yet -I may still aid thee, and I will do so.” - -“Alas, good Franz,” replied the youth, “this complaint is far beyond thy -remedy. Gold alone can sway the determination of Philip Mullerhorn, and -well dost thou know that Chriss Mienckel is the richest man in the -settlement. How then canst thou, a poor hunter like myself, afford that -aid, which wealth alone can give? No! no! I see nought save -disappointment—save despair!” - -“Thou knowest but little of me, Adolf,” said Rudenfranck, solemnly, “but -thou art destined to learn more. See, the moon is already rising through -the pines, and on this evening, the annual recurrence of which, is -fraught with dread and woe to me; and each succeeding anniversary of -which, brings me nearer to my stern destiny, shalt thou learn of me a -secret, which, if thou hast the fearlessness of soul to fathom, all may -be well, at least with thee. But thou canst only learn it of me.” - -“Rudenfranck,” said Adolf, “the hunters speak much evil of thee, and -strange tales are current concerning thee in the settlement. Unholy -things, it is said, flit round thy hut in the hushed hour of midnight. -Unholy sounds are heard resounding through the deep glen where thou -abidest. Old men speak warily of thee, and cross themselves as thou -passest by, and the village maidens shrink from thy hand in the dance. -These may be idle tales; but, Rudenfranck, thy words to-night are -suspicious. Nevertheless, be thou wizard or enchanter; be thy knowledge -that of the good saints, or of a darker world, to thee and to that -knowledge I commit myself. Thou hast proved thy friendship, and, for -weal or woe, I will trust thee.” - -“Men speak not all aright,” rejoined the hunter, while a dark shadow -obscured his visage, and his words fell as though he spake them -unwillingly, “nor say they altogether wrong.” The young huntsman looked -at Rudenfranck for a moment; then, grasping his hand, he cried— - -“Then thou canst aid me, Rudenfranck?” - -“That will I, as I have the power,” said the hunter; “but we are at the -hut. Thy hand upon it, that what I shall tell thee will find a grave in -thy breast. Else I will not, I cannot assist thee.” - -“My hand upon it,” replied Adolf. - -“Enter then,” said the hunter, “let fear be a stranger to thy breast, -and all shall yet be well.” - -As they entered the cottage, a shadowy form flitted past the door, and -the wind sighed mournfully through the forest. - - - Chapter III. - -The hut of Rudenfranck differed but little in appearance from the -ordinary dwellings of the settlers of the district. Large pine logs, -piled rudely together, and cemented with mud, in order to exclude the -wind from the chinks, composed the cabin. Two or three common chairs, a -pine table, and a camp bed, with a few culinary utensils, constituted -the entire furniture of the hunter’s hut. A torch of resinous wood, -which flared from an iron bracket, gave light to the room, and a large -fire soon occupied the wide hearth. A few articles of sylvan warfare -hung round the cabin; and on a shelf, some pewter mugs and earthen -dishes, a pair of stag’s antlers, and two or three old folios, their -ponderous covers clasped together with silver clenches, lay exposed. A -large, rawboned dog, rough of coat, and muscular of form, whose fine -muzzle and bright eye, spoke of rare blood, was extended before the -hearth. Roused by the noise made by Rudenfranck and his companion in -entering, he sprang up, erected his bristles, and uttered a low growl. - -“Down, Fritz, be quiet,” said Rudenfranck, as the dog, recognising his -master, fawned upon him; “welcome to my poor hut, Adolf. I can give thee -no better cheer than our coarse mountain fare will afford, although I -may assist thee in some other important matters. Come, draw thy chair to -the fire, man. The wind is somewhat sharp to-night, and I will endeavor -to make out some refreshment for thee.” - -He retired for a moment, and entered again, bearing a noble supply of -fat venison, which he immediately set about preparing for their supper. -The rich steam of the savory steaks soon attracted the attention of -Fritz, who, stretched out before the fire with lion-like gravity, -inhaled their genial flavor with manifest symptoms of approbation. -Rudenfranck’s preparations were soon completed, and, producing a curious -green flask, and two tall silver cups from a recess, he invited Adolf, -by precept and example, to partake of the viands set before him. - -But the spirit of Adolf was too heavy for feasting, and the morsel lay -untasted on the trencher before him. Rudenfranck himself, although he -pressed Adolf to eat, neglected his meal, and the table was speedily -cleared, Fritz being accommodated with the relics of the repast. - -“Taste this wine,” said Rudenfranck, “although myself no great lover of -the grape, I am somewhat curious in my choice of wines, and may indulge -my little vanity so far as to quaff the juice I drink, out of a more -costly metal than falls to the lot of most gay hunters.” - -“Truly, Rudenfranck,” replied Adolf, “thy promised plans for the relief -of my unfortunate condition seem to have escaped thy memory. For rather -would I hearken to them, than drink thy wine, even from a silver cup.” - -“Not so, Adolf,” said the hunter, “I will now fulfil my promise to thee. -But first, the secret of my power to aid thee, and the means by which -this assistance may be rendered, must be explained to thee. Listen, -then, and regard not my countenance but my words.” - -“You have heard the elders of the hamlet speak of Count Theodore -Falkenhelm, a renowned noble of Alsace, in Germany. This Falkenhelm was -known to have sailed from Germany, with many other settlers for America. -Few knew his reasons for quitting his native country, for he was a dark, -unsocial man, and some have said that he had dealings with the Spirit of -Evil. He had not been resident here for a long time, before it was -observed that he became averse to society, cautious of remark, and -jealous of scrutiny. The spot in which he had fixed his abode, was -visited by few footsteps, for his mood was fierce, and his society, at -times, was dangerous. It was concluded that he was insane. But it was -not so. Mark me. - -“A youth, some five years after the count had taken his dwelling in -these mountains, arrived here from Germany. He had not long ranged these -woods, before the fame of the count inspired him with a boyish curiosity -to see and to know him. An opportunity was soon afforded; for returning -one evening, wearied with the chase, a thunder storm and night overtook -him near the cottage of the count. He demanded hospitality, and was -admitted, though reluctantly. What he saw that night, when all was -hushed in the death of sleep, he never told to mortal; but he raved -wildly of fiends and phantoms, and died, soon after, a maniac. - -“Shortly after this event, the count disappeared, nor has since been -heard of here. But many succeeding years brought news of a dismal -tragedy in Germany, and from the account of him who brought the report, -it was supposed by those who remembered the count, that he was the -principal actor in the scene of blood. - -“The hut which the recluse had deserted, was the source of continual -dread to the superstitious peasants, whose fears had magnified the -ruinous cabin into a palace, where the revels of the great fiend were -held. But one, whose heart was bolder, and who had lately arrived in the -settlement, took possession of the hut, repaired it, and there fixed his -abode. That man, Adolf Westerbok, stands before you. - -“I have not always been what I now appear. I was well born, although -poor, and had served in my country’s battles, not without reputation. I -loved the daughter of a baron, of high family and large estates, whose -castle, on the Aar, stood near the dwelling of my father. Thy tale of -love is mine, thus far. Although loved in return, and loving—O! spirit -of my injured Thekla!—deeper, far deeper than mortal, whose blood -burned not like mine, could love; she was torn from me—me, who would -have died for her; whose only aim in life was to approve myself worthy -of her—and whose love was mine alone—torn from me, and dragged, an -unwilling, wretched sacrifice, to the castle of a rich nobleman of our -country. Here, her tears and visible decay, instead of moving compassion -in the heart of her husband, rendered him jealous and morose. On one -occasion, he struck her to the earth in furious rage—struck her, do you -mark me?—aye, inflicted a blow on that fair breast which I would have -braved hell to defend! It caused her death, for she was pregnant—she -died that day. I—yon insulted heaven knows how deeply!—I avenged her, -and the steel which struck the life blow to his heart, never has been, -and never shall be cleansed. Look at it—I keep it as a memorial of most -holy revenge!” - -Rudenfranck drew from his vest a broad, sharp dagger, and threw it on -the table before Adolf, who saw with horror that the blade and hilt were -encrusted with the stains of long-spilled blood. - -“I was forced to quit Germany, and wandered through Spain an aimless, -hopeless man. Here I became acquainted with Count Falkenhelm. He was in -danger from the Inquisition, and I aided his escape from their toils. A -hater of mankind, naught, save the knowledge of how bitter an enmity -Falkenhelm bore to it, prompted me to rescue him from the snare. A -murder was committed in Alsace. Letters came to me from Falkenhelm, -desiring me to hasten to him, and ere he met the inevitable doom of his -crime, to receive a last legacy which he wished to bequeath me. - -“I hastened to him, and on the night ere he was executed, he imparted to -me this secret: that, deep within these forests, the mighty treasures of -a long buried sage and necromancer, whose power could control the -elements, and the spirits of fire, lay hidden. These were the treasures -of Bructorix, borne from Germany by magic spells. They were guarded by -potent spirits of hell. To me did he commit this knowledge, together -with those books, at which you have often wondered, and this spell, -which commands the world of demons.” - -As he spoke, he again went to the recess, drew forth a small gold box, -and opening it with reverence, displayed a fair linen cloth, folded in -such a manner as to present five angles, at equal distances, in the -centre of which was fixed an opal, of immense value, upon which certain -mysterious letters were engraved. The letters which formed the spell, -glistened and flashed as though with internal fires, as the light fell -upon the polished jewel. - -“This,” said Rudenfranck, closing the box, “is the magic pentagon, the -key to the treasures of King Bructorix.” - -“Heavens!” cried Adolf, “you received, then, this most fatal gift?” - -“I did; and took upon myself an awful penalty. I said, ‘Ambition! thou -shalt be my God, for love is lost to me!’ I came on to this country -immediately after the execution of the count, and have discovered the -treasure. Reasons, unimportant for you to know, have detained me here -some years, disguised as the hunter Rudenfranck. This is the point, -then. You cannot obtain Barbara Mullerhorn without gold; nor dare I, if -I could, bestow this treasure upon you. You must follow my example, and -call upon the spirit of Bructorix yourself. I will instruct you in the -manner, but you must undertake the adventure.” - -“And the penalty you spoke of,” said Adolf, trembling, as the hot eyes -of Rudenfranck glared upon him. - -“I cannot tell you. The spirit proposes different sacrifices. Mine is—” - -A loud gust of wind interrupted the speaker, and Adolf shuddered, as he -fancied he could distinguish the flapping of pinions through the blast. - -“Ha!” said Rudenfranck, breathing hard, and speaking low,—“I had -forgot!—I had forgot!” - -“Is this thy plan?” said Adolf, “I fear me it is unhallowed. I will -begone and pray to be delivered from the evil one. Rudenfranck, I will -not accept of such assistance.” - -“Thy life upon it,” said the hunter, “if thou betrayest me.” - -“I have given my hand to secresy, and yet—” - -“Choose well and warily, Adolf.” - -“That will I, Rudenfranck. There can be no sin, I trust, in hearing so -unholy a tale. Is this the only plan—?” - -“It is the only one. But, away, if thou canst not accept this aid. I can -give thee no other.” - -“Then,” said Adolf, as he turned slowly to leave the hut, “I am ruined -and desperate!” - -“Aye, go,” said Rudenfranck bitterly, looking after the retreating form -of Adolf, with a fiendish sneer, “go, fool! Thus is it ever with that -microcosm of folly, man. Aye, I can plainly see that the treasure of -King Bructorix will soon acquire a new guardian. Another victim, and I -leave these fatal shores, and forever.” - - - Chapter IV. - -As Adolf returned homeward, many and various were the contending -reflections which embittered his mind. At one time he thought of the -misery which he must endure in beholding the object of his dearest -affections, united to Mienckel, her profound aversion; now, vague dreams -of the wealth and happiness which the possession of the hidden treasure -would confer upon him, flitted across his mind; but a chill damp struck -through his soul as he remembered the intimated penalty; and wild -imaginations of spectral forms, demoniac faces, and the awful legendary -tales, so current among the peasantry, filled his breast with horror. He -reached his cottage, and threw himself upon his humble couch, agonised -by conflicting emotions. No sleep visited his pillow, and early the next -morning he arose and went forth, hoping to subdue the fever of his blood -by exercise in the cold air. He wandered about for some time, listless -in which direction he took his way, until he found himself near the farm -house of old Mullerhorn. - -It was a jolly day at the house of that ancient. Turkeys, geese, pigs, -and the promiscuous tenantry of the barn yard, bled beneath the knives -of the rosy Dutch damsels. The smoke curled in copious volumes from the -ample chimneys, and the hissing of culinary utensils, employed at the -genial occupation of preparing divers dainties, together with the savory -odors from the purlieus of the kitchen, gave indisputable tokens that -something highly important was taking place in the house. Adolf viewed -this busy scene with melancholy feelings enough, for he well presaged -what it meaned. He paused, and leaned sadly on his rifle; but his heart -felt still heavier, when, from a window of the farm house a fair white -hand was extended, waving a handkerchief toward him. A tear stole down -his cheek, as he acknowledged the signal, and, raising his rifle, was -about to depart, when a slight tap on the shoulder arrested him, and a -plump little maiden, whose rosy cheeks, and smiling face, were the very -emblems of good humor, in fact, a perfect Dutch Hebe, accosted him. - -“Why, how now, master Adolf? Have you not a word for an old -acquaintance?” - -“Ah, Agatha, is it thou? How dost thou, my good lass?” - -“Better, Adolf, than either yourself or Barbara, if there is any -judgment in your looks. Why, you look as if you had seen a spectre, and -if you will keep company with that black-looking wretch, that Franz -Rudenfranck, I wouldn’t insure that you will not see one, some of these -dark nights. Bless me, how you change color. Are you sick?” - -“No, no, Agatha. Not so sick in body as in heart. How fares Barbara?” - -“Why, indeed, Dolf, for I will call you Dolf again, and it’s a shame for -father Philip to make us all call you master Adolf; master indeed! she -has done nothing but cry all night. But she is to be married to old -Chriss this morning—the odious fool! I’m sure she hates him—and I’ve a -thousand things to do; so good bye to you Dolf.” - -The lively little girl ran off, and Adolf again was about to pursue his -path, when old Mullerhorn, accompanied by the intended bridegroom, and -some of his neighbors, arrived at the farm. - -“What, Adolf,” said the old man, while a cynical smile played over his -thin features, “Adolf here. Thou hast been a stranger of late, lad. But, -come, wilt thou not in with us and witness this merry marriage? In -faith, it will gladden my little Barbara to see thee there. Come, thou -must aid in this gay ceremony.” - -Adolf was, for a moment, undecided what answer to make old Mullerhorn; -but curbing his indignation, and repressing an angry reply—he thought -it most prudent to accept the invitation. - -“I thank you, neighbor Philip,” said he, “and willingly will go with -you.” - -“Why, that is well spoken, boy,” replied the old man, unusually elated -by the occasion. “I always liked thee, Adolf; but no ducats, lad, no -ducats.” - -“They are not so very difficult to procure,” whispered a voice in -Adolf’s ear; he turned, and beheld Rudenfranck. - -“Well, in, Adolf; and eh? Franz Rudenfranck too? But, in—in with ye -both,” said old Mullerhorn, and the party entered the farm-house. - -The room into which they were ushered, was an ample, commodious -apartment, constructed in the true Dutch fashion, with a polished oak -floor, and noble rafters of the same wood. It was hung around with some -few gay colored prints, illustrating Scripture subjects, and some bright -tin sconces; and the furniture was substantial, although homely. A large -mahogany press, whose bright surface and polished brass knobs, might -have compared in brilliancy with the mirror, stood in one corner; an old -fashioned Indian chest, ponderous and highly japanned, ornamented the -opposite niche. Some heavy chairs with long, high backs, and formal arms -and legs; the never failing spinning wheel and Dutch clock; and a pair -of tall, ill-shaped, brass fire-dogs, completed the garniture of the -apartment. The walls were decorated with festoons of evergreen, -tastefully arranged by the fair hands of Barbara herself. Two -ill-looking, dingy paintings, also occupied a couple of recesses; and a -neatly polished cherry table, near a window, displayed an inviting array -of apple brandy, cherry wine, cider, and such refreshments as were -indigenous to the country. The good dame, after welcoming kindly her -guests, bustled off to resume the superintendence of the kitchen; and -the unfortunate Barbara herself, arrayed in bridal trim, and looking -through her tears, as lovely as the violet, freshly bathed in dew, -remained, seated in one of the large chairs, and vainly endeavoring to -conceal her emotion. As Adolf entered, her heart palpitated violently, -and she could with difficulty so far command herself, as to bid him -welcome. Nor did the sight of Barbara in such distress, fail equally to -afflict her lover; a grief which Rudenfranck artfully increased, by -hinting strongly to Adolf, the possibility of changing the entire face -of the scene. - -The magistrate having arrived, and matters being so arranged as to bring -the affiance to a conclusion, Rudenfranck took the opportunity to lead -Adolf apart from the rest. - -“Thou thrice sodden ass,” said he, “can’st thou call thyself a lover, -and yet allow so much innocence and beauty to be sacrificed to age and -avarice? Say thou the word; promise to obey me, and thou shalt yet -possess her. See, they are about to sign. Hesitate a moment longer—and -look, Barbara implores thee—she is lost. Farewell.” - -“Stay,” rejoined Adolf, hurriedly, “this must not—shall not be. -Rudenfranck, I promise.” - -“Then, demand of old Mullerhorn that the ceremony be delayed, and leave -the rest to me.” - -“Father Philip,” said Adolf, addressing Mullerhorn, who was just about -to affix his name to the deed, “you are aware how long and how truly I -have loved Barbara. To see her thus sacrificed, is more than I can bear, -and I entreat you to consider farther upon this matter, and to defer -this marriage.” - -The guests looked utterly confounded. Chriss Mienckel opened wide his -large, gray eyes, and stared upon the bold hunter in profound amazement. -Barbara turned red and pale by turns; and old Mullerhorn crimsoned with -rage. - -“Have I not told ye, Adolf Westerbok, that I would never bestow Barbara -upon a beggarly hunter? What devil then, prompts thee to interrupt a -match which thou hast no power to prevent?” - -“Dearest father,” said Barbara, clasping the hard hand of the old man, -“hearken to Adolf.” - -“Away, idle girl! Adolf, tempt me not to do thee an injury.” - -“Nay,” said the hunter, “is it even so? Well, then; gold for gold—ducat -for ducat—nay, double each ducat that old Mienckel can bestow, will I -lay before you, Philip Mullerhorn.” - -“Thy morning draught has been somewhat of the strongest, Adolf. Where -should’st thou have met with these sums?” Chriss Mienckel chuckled -portentously, and thrusting each hand into his capacious pockets, a -melodious harmony of jingling coins soon resounded from their precincts. - -“Look in thy pouch,” whispered Rudenfranck. Adolf did so, and drew forth -two purses, richly furnished with gold. Astonishment fairly stupified -the guests; and the covetous eyes of old Mullerhorn glistened at the -sight of money. But the recollection of Mienckel’s broad lands and fair -cattle crossed his mind. - -“Gold for gold,” said he, musingly. “Well, well, it may be so; and -Adolf, when thou canst certify me concerning these riches, thou shalt, -perhaps, find me not altogether opposed to thee. This ceremony, for the -present, with the consent of Mienckel, shall be postponed.” - -Mienckel nodded his assent; for he was a man of but few words. But -Adolf, holding the hand of Barbara, demanded an immediate trial. - -“Be it so, then,” replied Mullerhorn. “My neighbor’s property is well -known. Let it be thy task to prove thy fortune equal to his.” - -“Yes,” said Mienckel, “house and farm—cattle and gear—broad -lands—rich farming ground—bright ducats——” - -“To balance which, I throw, as earnest, these purses,” said Adolf. -“Rudenfranck, can’st thou not aid me now?” whispered he, turning to the -hunter. - -“Not now,” rejoined Rudenfranck, “you have the last of my gold. -To-night——” - -“To-night!” said Adolf, impatiently, “an age! Father Philip, I pledge -myself that on the morrow I will prove myself worthy your regard in -purse as well as in love.” - -“Agreed,” said Mullerhorn, “until to-morrow let the espousal be -deferred. If thou can’st then satisfy my doubts, Barbara shall be thine. -If not, this marriage shall no longer be prevented.” - -“Thanks, father, and farewell. Come thou with me, Rudenfranck. Ere -to-morrow night, sweet Barbara, all shall be accomplished.” - -Rudenfranck and Adolf left the house, and walked through the forest in -the direction of the hut of Rudenfranck. Few words were exchanged -between them, until, being arrived at the hut, they closed the door -carefully, and Adolf broke silence. - -“Now, Rudenfranck,” said he, “I must know the means by which this -treasure may be discovered. Speak then, and quickly. I promise obedience -in all matters, faithfully and truly.” - -“Then,” replied Rudenfranck, “it is thus. Meet me to-night, as the moon -casts a straight shadow over the range of the Wolf Hills. You know the -dark cavern by the run, where, it is said, that old Schwearenheim was -carried off bodily, by the Evil One——” - -“It is a fearful place, and a fearful hour,” said Adolf. - -“Fool, thou hast gone too far to recede. Only hint at doing so, and, by -all the fiends of hell, I withdraw every hope of my assistance from -thee. Wilt thou excite the expectations of Barbara, only to dash them -again to the earth? Wilt thou thus vacillate, until it becomes too late -to save her from Mienckel? If thou dost so, thou art the veriest -driveller that wears man’s attire. Mark me, and answer not. Meet me -there, at the cave, when the midnight hour arrives; and hark thee, thou -must procure a wafer of the consecrated host. Bring thy rifle with thee, -and leave the rest to my care.” - -“Be it so,” said Adolf, “it is too late to recede.” - -“See that thou fail not,” said Rudenfranck, “and now promise to -Mullerhorn what thou wilt. Keep thou but faith with me, and thou shalt -enjoy all that thou hast ever hoped for. Be not seen with me to-day. Go -to the village. Look cheerily; procure that which I have directed thee, -and fail not at midnight.” - - - Chapter V. - -The shades of evening were gradually enveloping the country in darkness, -as Adolf and Barbara sat together, in the mansion of the Mullerhorns. -They spoke of love and happier times, and the bright eyes of the maiden -beamed joyously upon the countenance of the youth. Adolf had learned the -art of dissimulation in a brief space of time. Alas! it is but the first -step in evil that alarms, and he, that has abandoned the paths of -virtue, but for a moment, finds it far more difficult to retrace his -steps, than to continue in the ways of error. To the enquiries of -Barbara, concerning the wealth which he had so lately acquired, he -replied, that the death of a relation, whose property was ample, had -enabled him to compete, in point of riches, even with Christopher -Mienckel. Barbara fully believed him; for true love is ever ready of -faith; and fondly pictured to herself many a scene of happiness and of -domestic felicity. Thus the evening wore on; and the hunter was startled -to hear the hour of ten strike from the clock, as he arose to quit the -society of Barbara, and to join the companion of his unhallowed -undertaking. - -“Whither away to-night, and so early, Adolf?” asked Barbara, as the -hunter made ready to depart. - -“I have shot a buck in the forest, and must seek aid to bring him in,” -replied Adolf. - -“It is full late to seek your game in the broad forest to-night, Adolf,” -said Piet Albrecht, who had been solacing himself with a dish of -discourse with Agatha, in the kitchen, and now came to bid Barbara good -night. “Yet, if you would wish my help, to show you that I have -forgotten our difference, I don’t care if I go with you.” - -“I thank thee, Piet,” replied the young man, “but the game lies far off, -and Franz Rudenfranck has promised to go with me.” - -“Where have you left it?” asked Barbara. - -“Deep in the forest; near the Wolf Hills. At the cave of Schwearenheim.” - -“I know not,” said Piet, shuddering, “what could tempt me to go there, -so near midnight. It will be nearly that, Adolf, when you reach there, -and the cave is, the saints be good to us, an unholy spot.” - -“Pshaw, Piet, this is mere superstition,” said the hunter; but his cheek -glowed, and his flesh trembled. “Why should the cave be a more unholy -spot than any other part of the forest?” - -“You know as well as I do, Adolf, that few of the hunters have the -courage to pass there after dark. My father has told me awful things of -the place, and one of them happened to himself.” - -“What was that, pray, Piet?” said Agatha, “did he tumble into the run, -and fancy that the water was Schiedam?” - -“Nothing of the sort, Mistress Agatha,” responded Piet. “You must know -that my father was a woodsman, as bold as any man among the hills. He -happened to be late out one evening, after game; and had chased a large -mountain cat to the run, where the cat climbed up an old hollow tree. My -father followed him closely, and mounted after him; but his hold gave -way, as he was looking down the hollow, and he slipped clear through the -hole, good forty feet down the inside of the tree. Well, he thought that -his hour was come, and that he should starve to death there; for the -inside of the tree was so smooth that he could get no hold for either -hand or foot; and so he had lost all hope of ever escaping, when he saw -something black come sliding down the tree. He recommended himself to -God, and when the thing, whatever it was, came within reach, he seized -hold of it, and it climbed up again, dragging my father after it. It had -no sooner reached the top of the tree; but a loud clap of thunder was -heard, and the thing sailed away in a flame of fire, far away over the -tree tops. My father clung fast to the trunk of the tree, and slid down -the outside, after he had clambered out of the hollow; then thanking -Providence for his deliverance, he went home as fast as his legs could -carry him.” - -“A wonderful tale, indeed, Piet,” said Agatha, laughing. - -“Wonderful enough,” said Piet. - -“Well, Piet,” said Adolf, “was this truth?” - -“Truth!” replied Piet, “I should like to have heard any man tell my -father that it was otherwise.” - -“Do not go to-night, dearest Adolf,” said Barbara, turning pale. - -“This is mere folly, sweet Barbara. If I failed to bring home my buck, -all the hunters would cry shame upon me.” - -The clock struck the half hour, and Adolf, snatching up his rifle, bade -Barbara good night, and leaving the house, struck into the path which -led to the Wolf Hills. - -“Aye, aye,” said Piet, looking after him, “he doesn’t believe in any -such matters; but I fear it is no good that he is bent upon. So much -gold, too, and so lately. But it’s no affair of mine. Did you mark the -wildness of his eye, though, Agatha?” - - - Chapter VI. - -The moon shone brightly and calmly over the still woods, and the gentle -breath of the night wind sighed mournfully over the ear, as it kissed -the forest branches, and swept through the tops of the pines. The murmur -of the stream, as it flowed smoothly onward between the high mountain -passes, added to the soft influence of the scene. All nature was lulled -into repose. A small charcoal fire, burning on a rocky ledge, beneath a -tall cliff, disclosed the mouth of a dark cavern, at the entrance of -which sat Rudenfranck, the hunter, wrapped in a cloak, to protect his -person from the heavy damps of the night. He rose from his seat, and -moved restlessly about, making some arrangements in the mouth of the -cavern, and occasionally casting an anxious glance over the surrounding -hills, as if impatiently expecting his victim. - -“I think that he will hardly fail me,” muttered he. “No, he has too much -at stake to abandon this enterprise. How still the night is! Strange, -that he comes not, and yet the hour approaches rapidly. All is -prosperous thus far. O, star of my destiny, triumph in this hour, which -is doomed to complete the anxious toil of years! Rejoice in the -anticipated majesty of high dominion! But why do I feel so sad? What -small voice is that, which whispers me to desist from my undertaking? -Repentance—repentance! My spirit is too dark, and I could not, if I -would, repent. How quickly my heart beats as the time speeds on! Yet one -more victim! Why, I shall be a king? that word is too weak, to express -the glorious extent of wisdom and power which I shall enjoy. But -happiness—no, no!—that feeling I shall never more experience! These -thoughts—the recollection of past crime. Why should I think of crime, -who am beyond the hope of salvation? Ha! he comes! ’Twas but the plash -of an otter. No! he is here!” - -“Rudenfranck, is it thou?” said Adolf, “lend me thy hand. So. I have met -with strange warnings in my path toward thee. I fear to go on. Can -nothing be devised save this dread trial?” - -“I have already told thee, nothing. Come up. The air is damp, and my -fire burns brightly. Have you procured that which I desired of thee?” - -“I have it; but, Rudenfranck, sacrilege was the price of it.” - -“Never regard the price, so as thou hast it. This is right,” said the -hunter, as he received the consecrated wafer. “Help me to build this -pile, which must be raised before we commence our solemn work.” - -Adolf assisted Rudenfranck to build a small pile of stones, upon which -were deposited the box containing the pentagon, the consecrated wafer, -and a small cruse, in which was a dark red liquid. Rudenfranck also -placed a brazier on the pile, into which he deposited some slips of -parchment, inscribed with talismanic characters. As they finished their -task, the moon cast a straight and gigantic shadow across the Wolf -Hills, and the pines seemed to dilate, in the white glare, to an -unearthly size. - -“It is the hour,” said Rudenfranck. “Be firm. Shrink not; and expect the -full reward of thy bravery. Help me to don these vestments.” He threw -across his shoulders a furred robe, which he bound tightly round his -body with a broad, red girdle. He then placed on his head a conical cap, -and taking in his hand a sword, inscribed with characters, and without a -guard, he described on the earth, the form of a pentagon, the centre of -the figure being occupied by the altar stones, at the side of which -Rudenfranck placed his companion. - -“Lay thine hand on the altar,” said Rudenfranck, “and pour from this -cruse into the brazier, the liquid which it contains. Stay not to look -around thee, but feed the fire steadily, while I perform our magic -ceremonies.” - -Rudenfranck lit a fire in the brazier as he spoke, and drawing a dagger -from his girdle, plunged it violently into his arm. The blood flowed -freely. He allowed it to run upon the five angles, reciting in a strange -language, mysterious charms. He then placed the linen pentagon in front -of his breast, and commanded Adolf to feed the flame as he had -instructed him. Adolf poured the liquid from the cruse into the burning -brazier; and Rudenfranck, gradually raising his voice, until from a -measured chaunt, he broke into furious vehemence, suddenly pronounced -the charm of the opal. The moon, which had till now shone brightly, -changed its color to a deep red; thunder rolled, and the forked -lightning flashed frequently and fearfully. The stars shot wildly across -the face of heaven. The wind whistled and groaned through the trees. The -earth quaked; and the whole frame of nature seemed to shudder at the -incantation. A furious crash resounded through the cavern; brilliant -lights danced through the gloom; the magic words engraved on the opal -gave out a dense and aromatic smoke, and the entire body of rock, -seeming to split asunder, with a tremendous crash, disclosed a -magnificent brazen gate, ornamented with characters similar to those on -the opal, at the sides of which two gigantic skeletons, crowned with -diadems, and bearing strange weapons in their bony grasp, stood, the -grisly warders of the charmed treasure. - -Rudenfranck paused from his incantations, and, turning to Adolf, said in -a hoarse whisper, - -“This is the portal which encloses the treasures of Bructorix; but the -phantom of the sage must now be invoked. Take thou this holy wafer, and -affix it to yon brazen gate. Do this speedily, and fear not.” - -Adolf, highly excited and bewildered by the scene, obeyed without -hesitation. Once, as he was about to affix the consecrated element to -the gate, he fancied that some invisible arm endeavored to restrain his -hand; but he performed the commands of Rudenfranck, and returned to the -altar. - -“Now,” said Rudenfranck, “but one more thing remains for thee to -perform. Raise thy rifle; take good aim, and shoot at the wafer of the -host. Shoot bravely!” - -The wretched and abandoned Adolf followed the instructions of -Rudenfranck. He raised his rifle, took deliberate aim at the holy -emblem, and fired. A demoniac shout rang through the cave. The angles of -the pentagon shot forth vivid lightnings. The skeleton guardians of the -gate threw down their weapons, while red light flamed from their eyeless -skulls. The massive leaves of the gate flew wide open, and displayed an -immense vault, filled with huge vases of gold and jewels, which shone -with ineffable brilliance. The arched and fretted roof was sustained by -bronze pillars, representing strange and hideous animals, contorted into -the most grotesque attitudes. Thousands of gnomes, swarmed through the -vault, of misshapen forms, whose fierce and raging eyes dwelt upon the -hunters, with anger and contempt. Thrice did Rudenfranck, bowing himself -to the earth, call upon the name of Bructorix. Thrice hollow thunder -pealed throughout the cavern, and, at the third appeal, a gigantic -figure rose slowly through the earth, and stood before them. The figure -was enveloped in an imperial robe of purple, embroidered with jewels, -precious beyond description. A girdle of living fire encircled his -waist, and a crown of various and brilliant gems bound his white and -flowing locks. In his hand he carried an ivory sceptre. His countenance, -scathed by flames, looked like that of some ghastly denizen of the tomb, -newly raised to-day; and its expression was lofty, haughty and -commanding. - -“Who calls upon the name of Bructorix?” asked the spectre, in a -sepulchral voice. - -“The seeker of his power, mighty spirit,” answered Rudenfranck. “I bring -to thee the promised victim, and expect the reward of my services. Once -more prolong the date of my life, and execute those promises made me; -when by mighty spells, I had raised thee from the abode of the dead, in -Germany. That term expired, I bring unto thee another soul, or else -resign my own.” - -“Would this youth enjoy my treasures,” asked the phantom, “and knows he -the nature of the obligation I demand of him?” - -“He asks wealth of thee, and, in return, will accede to thy demands.” - -“Let him sign the deed, which gives over to my master his soul and body, -and his wishes shall be gratified.” - -Rudenfranck drew from his breast a parchment scroll, and the infatuated -Adolf, with his own blood, subscribed to his eternal ruin. - -“Take of my treasures,” said the sceptre, “what thou would’st have, and -use it as thou wilt. In exchange for the gift of thy soul, contained in -this writing, thou shalt have full access to my treasure. But, mark me. -Seven years are granted unto thee, at the close of which time, thou must -return, and pay thy homage to the lord of these realms.” - -“And myself?” asked Rudenfranck, “shall I not reap the harvest for which -I have labored? Recollect thy promises made me in Germany.” - -“They are thine,” said the spirit. “This sceptre controls the fiercest -demons. Take it. Return to thy native land, and revel in the possession -of all earthly wisdom, riches, and power. But when thy date of life has -again expired, seek not to renew it. It is enough. Dismiss me.” - -“Depart to thy place, accursed spirit,” said the hunter. The spirit of -Bructorix descended, and the phantoms hastened to pile the vases of gold -and jewels outside of the brazen gate, until the first grey light of the -dawn began to glimmer through the clouds. Instantly, the gorgeous scene -disappeared, and the cavern resumed its original appearance. Adolf and -Rudenfranck, loading themselves with gold, carefully filled up the mouth -of the cavern with rocks and brushwood, and returned warily, homeward. - - - Chapter VII. - -The guests of the preceding day were assembled in the farm house of -Philip Mullerhorn, eagerly awaiting the arrival of Adolf. Old Mullerhorn -went frequently to the door, and looked out, with anxiety, down the road -which Adolf usually took when he visited the farm. - -“I fear all is not right with him,” said he. “Adolf is late in coming -this morning. He should have been here a full hour before this.” - -“Peradventure,” snuffled Chriss, “the young man has fled, doubting -whether he could make good his boasts of yesterday.” - -“Not so fast, my good friend,” said the voice of Adolf himself, who then -entered, bearing in his hand a valise, evidently containing articles of -weight. “We shall soon prove whose boasts shall be first accomplished.” -As he spoke, he threw the valise upon the table, before Mullerhorn, “I -am come,” said he, “Father Philip, to receive my bride.” - -“Heavens!” said Barbara, earnestly regarding the countenance of Adolf, -“what has thus blanched thy brow, and changed thy visage? Thy cheek is -ghastly, and thy look unearthly! Why glares thine eye so wildly? What -hast thou done? The light of thine eye is not from heaven! Holy Virgin! -the cave! the cave!” cried she, fainting. - -“Adolf, what ails thee?” asked Mullerhorn. “Thy brow is indeed pale, and -thine eye fierce and blood-shot. Thou comest from no holy work this -morning. Hadst thou the whole treasure of earth, no daughter of mine, -Adolf Westerbok, should’st thou wed, until the secret of thy conduct is -explained.” - -“It is nothing,” said Adolf, stammering as he spoke, “a weariness—a -sickness—it will soon be over.” - -“I fear the mark on thy brow is of no earthly malady. Remain here no -longer. Depart from us, for thy society is not for that of Christian -men.” - -“I come to claim my bride!” cried Adolf, hoarsely, “and to pay the -dower. No man shall prevent me from this. Why gaze ye thus on me? Stand -back; the man who interferes in this shall rue his intrusion. Barbara, -dear Barbara, you cannot, do not thus repulse me?” - -“Adolf,” said Barbara, gaining courage, and her voice before faltering, -becoming firm and steady, “depart from me. All is now explained. Thy -anxiety of last evening; thy expedition to the cave of Schwearenheim; -all is explained. Barbara Mullerhorn may have loved thee, and she did -so; but she will never consent to be the bride of a forsaken wretch like -thee.” - -A sudden exclamation from Piet Albrecht attracted the attention of all -present, and aroused Adolf from the stupor into which the words of -Barbara had thrown him. The room was filled with a rich, purple light, -in which the figure of Rudenfranck, arrayed in his magical vestures, and -holding the ivory sceptre of Bructorix, appeared to the terrified -spectators. Well might they be terrified; for upon the brow of the -hunter a brilliant star gleamed brightly with a sulphurous light, and -his tall figure seemed to dilate to superhuman size. - -“Why dost thou stare at me?” sneered Rudenfranck to Adolf, who gazed -upon him with a bewildered look; “why dost thou stare at me? Produce thy -treasure and claim thy bride.” - -“No! no bride of hell!” shouted Mullerhorn. “I doubted this yesterday. -Away from us, Adolf Westerbok; and thou, mysterious being, whether thou -be phantom or devil, in the name of God I defy thee.” - -“And see,” cried Mienckel, tearing open the valise, “what is here?” - -“Old chips of iron and leather, as I live,” said Albrecht. “It is the -Evil One. Let us fly from here, else we die!” - -Adolf gazed wildly at the valise, and with a loud cry of despair, seized -his rifle, and vainly endeavored to destroy himself. - -“Ha! ha!” laughed Rudenfranck, “thou hast yet seven years to enjoy thy -gold. These are the treasures for which thou hast forfeited thy soul. -Miserable fool! Did’st thou think it mattered to me whether thy fate was -prosperous or not! Into the snare thou did’st enter of thine own accord, -and thou must pay the penalty. Farewell! My ends are accomplished! For -the prescribed space of my life, wealth, wisdom, and power in the -fullest are mine! That space expired, I will mock at thee in the halls -of the fiend. This sacrifice of thy soul hath ensured my success, and I -thank thee for it. Farewell, Adolf Westerbok. Fool! idiot! driveller! -Thou hast thy hire, and I triumph over the world of spirits.” - -As he spoke, he waved his magic sceptre. The cloud enveloped him in its -folds, and he disappeared, with a laugh of malicious scorn. - - * * * * * - -Barbara Mullerhorn survived the misfortunes which had attended her early -love, and lived to marry a wealthy farmer of the neighborhood, who -proved himself every way worthy of her choice. - -Piet and Agatha also entered upon the matrimonial engagement, and their -descendants may still be found among the hills. - - * * * * * - -For some years after, a wan, gaunt, and ragged wretch might have been -seen toiling and digging incessantly along the range of the Wolf Hills. -The fire of lunacy burned in his eye, he spoke to no one, and never -uttered language, save in his insane self-communings. The neighbors -universally shunned him, and no charitable voice soothed his misery. He -dwelt in the gloomy cave by the run, where the unholy rites of -Rudenfranck had been celebrated. His sole occupation consisted in a -continual search after hidden treasure. - -Seven years had elapsed since the occurrences above narrated, were -reported to have taken place, when a hunter, pursuing his game among the -Wolf Hills, accidentally discovered the dead body of a man, shockingly -torn and mangled, at the entrance of the cavern of the recluse. It was -the corpse of Adolf Westerbok, the Silver Digger of the Wolf Hills. - - - NOTE. - - This legendary tale, we learn, is founded upon a superstitious - tradition, still current among the backwoodsmen of Pennsylvania. - The outline of the tale is preserved as far as the nature of the - legend would permit. The cavern is yet to be seen, where the - hidden treasures are supposed to have been concealed; and the - hardy hunter of the mountains still regards it with fear, and - prefers taking a long circuit through the woods, to passing the - cavern after nightfall. The whole country, indeed, is full of - such traditions, which only require the pen of a Scott to be - perpetuated, alike for the amusement and wonder of posterity. - Let no man say that America is without legendary lore, let no - one deny that she affords materials for poetry! Every hill; - every stream; every valley; every plain has its own wild story - of border troubles, or Indian traditions. When shall _our_ - minstrel arise to hallow them in undying song?—Eds. - - Mt. Savage, Md. January, 1841. - - * * * * * - - - - - SKATING. - - - “The winter has come, and the skaters are here.” - - BY GEORGE LUNT. - - - The earth is white with gleaming snow, - The lake one sheet of silver lies, - Beneath the morning’s ruddy glow, - The steaming vapors gently rise. - - Keen is the cool and frosty air, - That waves the pine trees on the hill, - And voiceless as a whispered prayer, - Breathes down the valley clear and still. - - Come, ’tis an hour to stir the blood - To glowing life in every vein! - Up,—for the sport is keen and good - Across the bright and icy plain. - - On each impatient foot to-day, - The ringing steel again we’ll bind, - And o’er the crystal plain away, - We’ll leave the world and care behind. - - And, oh! what joy is ours to play, - In rapid, round, and swift career, - And snatch beneath the wintry day, - One moment’s rest, and hasty cheer. - - Then, when the brief, sweet day is done, - And stars above begin to blink, - As home the swift lake bears us on, - Our sweethearts meet us on the brink. - - Then gather’d round the cheerful blaze, - While gusts without are blowing shrill, - With laugh, and jest, and merry lays, - We pass the jocund evening still. - - Around the board our feats all told, - Comes nature’s welcome hour of rest, - And slumbers never bought with gold, - Sit light on each untroubled breast. - - No lagging pulse impedes our sleep, - No startling dreams our couch annoy, - But health and peace, in quiet deep, - Smile hovering round the country boy. - - Then, when the morning bright and clear, - Springs gayly o’er the glistening hill, - With hardy sports we hail it near, - Or hardy labors bless it still. - - Newburyport, Massachusetts, January, 1841. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SYRIAN LETTERS. - - - WRITTEN PROM DAMASCUS, BY SERVILIUS PRISCUS OF CONSTANTINOPLE, TO HIS - KINSMAN, CORNELIUS DRUSUS, RESIDING AT ATHENS, AND BUT NOW TRANSLATED. - - - Damascus. - - Servilius to Cornelius—Greeting: - -Your reply to my last epistle, my dear Cornelius, was the more pleasing, -because so unexpected. - -The speed of its transmission shows the great measure of our obligation -to the sagacity and enterprise of Constantine. For who, until our -emperor bent to it the considerations of his active mind, ever knew of -such rapidity of communication? - -In the fair lines before me, I again greet the face of a friend, and -hold cheering communion with one divided by long distance. I promised in -my last to give you some description of the curious ceremonies of those -worshippers, and I find you are urgent that I should fulfil it, since I -was so fortunate as to witness some of the hidden mysteries. - -You esteem it strange that I, a foreigner, and but a few hours in -Baalbec, should have stood at once upon such good terms with Mobilius, -as to have induced him to conduct me to one of the most secret recesses -of the temple—with all the perils of exposure through my carelessness. -I have nothing to offer in answer to your surmise but conjecture. -Mobilius was certainly upon some familiar footing with the priests, and -perhaps being partly moved by the hope that the imposing magnificence of -the ceremonial would win a convert to his creed, he ventured to -introduce me. If such was his anticipation, how signally in error! how -vain to fancy that the sense can blind the judgment! that the splendor -of the cloud that curtains some yawning chasm in the mountain side, can -be mistaken for the solid pathway. - -The sun had long gone down beneath the dizzy peaks of Lebanon, indeed -night had far advanced, when Lactantius, Mobilius, and myself, properly -arrayed in dark vestments, sallied toward the temple of the sun. Hurried -along at a rapid pace, for he feared we had tarried too long, we soon -came in view of the temple’s towering portico, which may still be seen -by the curious stranger, even in the absence of the moon; for -ever-burning lamps, filled, as they say, by never-failing oil, hang -beneath the architrave. Entering at the great door, we were stopped by -the porter, but recognising Mobilius, he permitted us to pass, without -farther scrutiny, though he was evidently displeased; for although I -could not clearly distinguish what he spoke, I heard him mutter angrily -in the Syrian tongue. - -We did not cross the grand courts, which, like the portico, were filled -with perpetual lamps, but hastened through low corridors, vaults, and -crooked passages, which might defy the skill of man to retrace, but -Mobilius seemed well accustomed to them, so that I inferred he had acted -as a guide on more than one occasion. After endless windings, we came -into an archway, faintly lighted from without, and proceeding farther, -entered a dark room. Here we were obliged to grope our way, and were -commanded by Mobilius to tread with the utmost caution. We speedily, -however, came to a spot, from which we beheld the great floor of the -temple, through a narrow opening, artfully concealed in one of the -ornaments of the entablature. All was still. - -“Earlier than I expected,” whispered Mobilius, “the ceremonies have not -yet begun.” - -This leisure enabled me to examine the exquisite architecture of the -edifice. - -The temple was the loftiest of all those that surrounded it, and which -had their position and style of architecture in strict reference to -this, as their great centre. The roof was of marble, and I could clearly -distinguish, by the lamps around, the delicacy and lightness of its -mouldings, pannels, and compartments. In the centre was a sun, carved in -the full glory of his rays: marshalled at equal distances, surrounded by -its sculptured edge, and sunk deeply into the marble, like a picture in -its frame, were the heads of Venus, or as this people designate her, the -“Syrian Goddess,” and also of Jupiter and other deities; and if I do not -err, I could discern, constellated like the rest, the heads of -Antoninus, and of other Roman emperors. - -The marble walls were carved with niches and tabernacles disposed in two -rows, which were filled with statues, between the floor and the roof, -and supporting the latter, stood pilasters and columns of the same order -as those which sustain the architrave. - -Upon the tesselated pavement in the centre of the temple was erected a -gorgeous altar, composed in part of precious metals, and of rare and -various marbles, tastefully inlaid, and yet all designed in conformity -with the strict rules of the architect. The fires upon it threw a -reddened glow upon the walls and pillars, and a representation of the -sun seemingly illumined from within, by a mildly burning light, whether -real or unsubstantial, I cannot say, hovered above the altar, resembling -the undulating brightness which the agitated waters in the vase cast -upon the tapestry, or the flickering pale reflection of the moonbeams on -the ground, as they struggle through the trembling leaves. My thoughts -now reverted to the ceremonies we had come to witness, and some -perplexing fancies, in spite of resolution, stole upon me. First, the -brief acquaintance of Mobilius; the knowledge that Lactantius was a -Christian, and his increased apparent dislike of that form of worship, -since Constantine had threatened to close the temples of his faith; and -Lactantius had expressed a hope it might be so, and the fact that there -was, unquestionably, a connection between Mobilius and some of the -priests. But again I thought could he be so base as to delude and betray -those who had reposed such confidence, and would not his fears prevent, -if he even would, because of the certainty of detection? While these -reflections were flashing through my mind, the soft mingling of many -voices swelling into the full pitch of harmony, and then sinking and -dying as if wafted away upon the wings of the wind, broke the spell, and -aroused my attention. Such clear, rich, enrapturing melody, I never -heard, even surpassing that which floated from the shores of Cyprus; and -a thrill of pain ran through my veins as it suddenly ceased, just as if -you were to dash a harp into pieces in the midst of its sweetest -outpourings. - -“What means this?” I whispered, but a low murmur from Mobilius brought -me to instant silence. Directly I heard a silvery ringing voice swell -forth a chaunting note, and all the voices fell in one by one, with -sweet and heavenly accord, until the lofty temple echoed and re-echoed -with the sounds. - -The great door then sprang asunder—without the jarring of a hinge—by -some imperceptible agency, revealing in magnificent array, numerous -ranks of priests, clothed in vestments of the costliest dyes, and -walking to the sound of instruments, with measured tread, in glittering -procession. Some bore many of the symbols of their faith—such as the -heifer’s head—the crescent, the golden bull—some ears of corn, others -silver torches, when ascending the altar steps, they lit them at its -fires, which threw into still brighter effulgence, the dazzling -ornaments of the priests, and all the solemn pageants. This was, as -Mobilius whispered, the splendid ceremonial which precedes the great -sacrifice. Now came a bewildering and elaborate observance of the usual -ceremonies, but so numerous and complicated, that it were tedious to -recount them, if I even could. - -After a little the music was again heard, both of instruments and -voices, swelling, blending, and pouring forth the same entrancing -harmonies. The priests, in three rows, circling round the altar, sent up -a swelling chaunt, and in a moment, as it were, with the quickness of -lightning, three bright fires sprang from the different portions of the -altar-top, so brilliant, as that for many seconds, I was not able to -discern a vestige of what I had just seen. At this, Mobilius, taking us -by the hand, said, “we must depart,” and led us by a different route -from that through which we entered. At one place, in suddenly opening -the gate, at the end of a long passage, I was startled by a flood of -light, illuminating a colonnade, which seemed to lead into a -subterraneous passage, plainly connected with another temple. We shortly -reached the great door itself, and glided through the portico, seemingly -unobserved, though I doubt not it was guarded by some unseen janitor. We -now emerged into the open air, and hurried rapidly on. Upon turning to -take a parting glance at the temple, my eye was riveted in deep and -reverential admiration. The moon was at a towering height, and shone -down clear and silvery. Not a cloud spotted the heavens, nor the -bright-eyed stars, that like watch-lights, palely burnt around her. No -sound disturbed the silence of the night, except the faintly dying note -of a trumpet, as it softly echoed from some far, far distant battlement, -or the rattling of some chariot wheels in its progress homeward, from -the banquet of the wealthy Heliopolitan, which lingered for a moment on -the ear, then was lost forever. - -The lights upon the temple paled away in the eternal brightness of the -queen of night, throwing the portico in bold relief, as if it were -covered with a mantle of snow, and casting its deep recesses into the -shades of midnight. Beside the temple rose a grove, bathed in a silvery -flood of light, and the tall obelisks, which being but faintly visible -among the foliage, stood like spectres, and upon steady contemplation, -appeared to stir from the place of their foundation, such is the power -of fancy. - -I turned; my companions were gone. They had passed on unheeded, and I -wandered as I best could toward the mansion of Septimus. - -The gorgeous streets of this great city, lined, as they were, with -marble palaces and temples, and thronged but a few hours since with the -gay, the beautiful maiden of Heliopolis, or the busy wayfarer, were now -as silent as the place of tombs. The cold beams of the pale moon shone -still undimmed and uninterrupted, save here and there by a projecting -shade or darkling grove, whose loftiest boughs closely interweaving, -reared a verdant arch, revealing now and then through the thick foliage, -the night’s illumined heaven, and its cold azure depths. So I wandered, -cheered at intervals by the soft murmur of the fountains among the -trees, whose waters sparkled in the moonbeams. - -This grove was ornamented with statues, and verily, I believe, of all -the Gods in the Pantheon, among which was Mars, whose highly polished -shield shone like another moon. - -Now completely lost, I found myself near one of the city gates, and -hearing an approaching footstep, I recognised a citizen, some gay -Heliopolitan, I supposed, returning from a midnight banquet. - -“Can you tell me,” I enquired, “in what direction lies the house of -Septimus?” - -“Oh! readily,” he answered, “I will go with you, for it stands nearly in -my path. I perceive, my friend, you are a stranger, and we dare not -break our ancient rule of friendship.” Thanking him for his kindness, we -proceeded forward, and I found him a communicative and entertaining -companion. - -“Pray,” said I, “what noble edifice is that immediately before us, now -silvered by the moon?” - -“That is the temple of fortune, erected many years ago, after some -signal benefit had fallen on the city, through the beneficence of the -Gods. It is the work of the lamented Epamenides, his first, his last -design,” and he appeared much affected by the reflection. He continued, -“behold the proportions.” - -I no longer doubted but that my friend was some young architect, -enthusiastic in his profession, and not being able to understand his -learned phrases, endeavored to divert the conversation. - -“In what you say I cordially concur, but what is fame and fortune since -but a few lustres must snatch us from their enjoyment, though they be -the highest and the brightest which the generosity and admiration of our -countrymen can award? Man toils much ere he reaps, so that if the -harvest is not scanty it is ours for the enjoyment of but a brief -space.” - -“You do not draw your conclusion,” said he, “after the manner of the -model of all that is great in reason and philosophy. Were the votary to -hold such doctrines as these, he would never reach the fires, however -ardently he might fix his gaze upon them; he would never attain the -consummation of his burning wishes. But he would reason after this -manner—toil would be well were the goal worth the reaching. So mark the -inconsistency.” - -Although not convinced, I was compelled, forsaking my former conjecture, -to conclude that the stranger was some eminent philosopher of -Heliopolis, so ingeniously did he argue. Though I thought it could not -be of so severe a school as some sternly avow. - -Walking a little, we met a man in the agonies of a strange sickness. -Here I fancied will be afforded an opportunity of testing the truth of -my conjecture—for philosophers, especially those of the present day, -are ever ready to prescribe both for afflictions of body and of mind -precepts which they are most rarely in the habit of practising -themselves. But I was again mistaken, for, taking the sick man by the -hand, he examined his pulse, and closely scrutinised his features, upon -this abstracting a small casket, containing medicines, from his robes, -he administered a portion, and its good effects were wonderful. All -conjecture was now put to flight; for I at once decided that my new -friend was a disciple of Hippocrates. - -How fruitless is all surmise, for he afterward informed me he was a -member of the forum, and held an office under the emperor. This brought -me to the widely spreading portal of Septimus—which almost seemed to -welcome me after my absence. I met Lactantius pacing to and fro the hall -with Mobilius, as if theirs had been an intimacy of months. “Ah!” said -the latter, “we were about sallying out for you—but yet knew it would -prove of no avail in such a city as this.” - -“Welcome,” exclaimed Lactantius, “I was anxious on your account. How -came you to leave us?” - -“I did not leave you—it was you who left me—doubtless in the heat of -controversy upon the Chaldean mysteries.” - -“I understand your meaning, Servilius,” said he, smiling, “but how came -you here at all; you are not acquainted with the streets of Baalbec, -especially by moonlight?” - -“Through the kindness,” I replied, “of Apicius.” - -“You are fortunate,” ejaculated Mobilius, “and should deposite your -offering to-morrow in the temple of fortune, as is the custom here. He -is the first of statesmen and advocates; an accomplished orator, and a -very generous and learned citizen. If he pressed you to visit him at his -palace, you are still more fortunate.” - -“And so he did,” I rejoined. - -It proved as Mobilius predicted, for I did not meet a kinder or more -noble-hearted friend than this same Heliopolitan. - -“As it is late,” observed Lactantius, “we will seek our couches, and -to-morrow,” archly glancing at Mobilius, “we may examine the Egyptian -mysteries.” - -But I must draw to a conclusion, least I should sketch this epistle to a -tedious length. I bid you an affectionate - - Farewell. - - * * * - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SOUL’S DESTINY. - - - BY MRS. M. S. B. DANA. - - - And oh! the soul! she saw in visions bright, - The veil withdrawn which hides the world of light, - With eye of faith she gazed in tearful joy, - And they were there! her husband and her boy! - Sweet hope of Heaven! thou art a healing balm— - If storms arise thy deep rich holy calm - Comes with a spirit influence to the breast, - And to the weary mourner whispers “rest!” - Rest—for the fondly loved, the early dead! - Rest—for the longing spirit Heavenward fled! - Rest—from a tiresome path in weakness trod! - Rest—in the bosom of the Saviour, God! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SACCHARINEOUS PHILOSOPHY. - - -“Her ‘prentice han’ she try’d on man, and then she made the _Lasses_ O.” - - -Gentle reader—art thou fond of molasses? Not only molasses in its -simple state, but in its various compounds? If thou art not I pity thee. -Thy taste relishes not that which would otherwise be a source of -inexpressible pleasure. Eatables may be divided into the two great -classes of the sweet and the sour. From the full enjoyment of at least -one-half then of the good things of life (and that the better half) art -thou deprived. Again I pity thee. - -But some may say, that although not lovers of molasses or sugar, (as I -shall consider them the same in this essay,) yet they are really very -fond of many sweet things. They like a portion of the saccharine, though -not fond of the gross and clogged sweetness of molasses. Let such, -however, think not of escaping in this manner. What! like a thing in -part and not in fulness—like the rose-bud and not the open rose—like -an amiable and not a perfectly angelic being—like five dollars and not -five hundred—like middling and not good health—like imperfect and not -perfect happiness—like strawberries and cream, and not sugar or -molasses—I tell thee, man, woman, or child—Caucasian, African, or -Malay, thou art crazy, bewitched, or tasteless. - -How shall I describe the delicious sensations which the saccharine -matter imparts to the outward man? Alike in fruit, and flower, and -honey-comb most gratefully apparent. And thou, ice-cream! who has so -often diffused throughout the body of this “me,” a most delicious -coolness, what wouldst thou be without that essence, whose merits I am -exalting? Insipid and unmeaning, like unto a flower without color or -fragrance. - -Oh! how well can I remember the time, when, released from school, I -hastened home, and, sitting on the kitchen door-sill, enjoyed my bread -and molasses. I never felt more thankful than when, plate in hand, and a -huge slice of the wheat loaf in reserve, the preparatory pause was made -“according to the good order used among friends.” And then, also the -“switchel,” that nutritious and cooling drink, (molasses and water, with -a _little_ vinegar,) with which our revolutionary fathers quenched their -thirst, when rooting up their ditch on old Bunker. Even the horrid tales -told me in childhood by the pestered servants, of thumbs, and fingers, -and bloody streaks, the evidence of cruel treatment in the Indian isles, -turned not the edge of my keen desire. - -But I shall no longer occupy paper with the advocacy of the merely -sensual claims of molasses. It has other and higher demands upon your -notice. The author of this lately perused, with pleasure, that most -important work upon “The Philosophy of Clothes,” by Thomas Carlyle. It -suggested an interesting train of thoughts upon the subject before us. -Molasses, and its kindred sweets are the well fitting garments of the -spirit of love and purity. Here then we have an unfailing index by which -to judge of the characters of our fellow men. Herein is contained the -germ of our new and spiritual philosophy. - -Charles Lamb in his “Elia,” quotes and endorses the sentiment of one of -his friends: “that no man be entirely reprobate who is fond of -apple-dumplings.” This I grant to be true. He did not, however, remember -that both the apples and the dumplings contain a portion of saccharine -matter; and this accounts _partly_ for the dislike felt toward them by a -reprobate spirit. And again—who ever heard of eating apple-dumplings -without sugar or molasses? I therefore bring Charles Lamb, who, although -he did not perceive the great _principle_ coiled up in this succulent -eatable, has taken notice of the above interesting _fact_, as a witness -to the truth of my theory. - -When do we find that the love of all sweet things most commonly -prevails? In youth undoubtedly. When the mind is pure, free from worldly -guile, innocent, and _lamb_-like. When the fresh and untainted spirit -drinks eagerly and deeply at the fount of truth, and its type or -representative on earth (according to Swedenborg) pure water. Then, -sugar-plumes are a delight—ginger-bread a blessing—molasses candy, -especially when rolled and pulled out into sticks, _bright_ or _dull_ -yellow, according to the cleanliness of the maker’s hands, “the staff of -life.” - -The child becomes a man. He grows selfish and proud. He loses his relish -for innocent enjoyments, and with it his taste for molasses. The spirit -of love becomes impregnated with impure desires, and his outward man -changes accordingly. The saccharine matter no longer suits him in its -natural state—it must be fermented, and gases added, and gases -deducted, to correspond with the altered soul. What a beautiful emblem -is this change of saccharine substance to the poisonous liquor, of the -transition state of the immortal in man. First the spirit as in -childhood, pure and gentle, like the sweet juice of the grape. Then -youth, with its noble and generous bearing, comparable to the result of -the first fermentation. Manhood comes on, and with it the fermentation -proceeds. Soon the soul is agitated with innumerable gases—and from -their bubblings, and combinations, and effervescence, it comes forth a -new creature. Well satisfied are most if they go no farther than this, -but succeed in calming the troubled elements at this second -fermentation. While some, unable to arrest their progress, plunge into -the third and woful state; from which, if they succeed in coming out, -they appear all soured, and be-vinegared, your universal fault-finders -and found-fault-with. Too many, alas! emerge not even at this third -gate, but dash recklessly into the fourth, the last and worst, and -hope-decaying state—and when dragged through it, are cast out with the -blessed feelings of childhood putrified—the flesh rotted off, and -exposing the then loathsome skeleton of the soul, the never to be -destroyed framework of an eternal nature. - -How beautiful also the resemblance in another sense. Wherever you meet -the poison fire, under whatever name it may assume, whether brandy, gin, -whiskey, wine, cider, or beer, as you are confident that the innocent -sugar must have been its basis; so in whatever form you meet vice in the -human heart, you may be also assured, that there was, and perhaps is -yet, in that heart a stronger or weaker basis of God-like love. - -Although the good, spiritually, is to be considered the cause of the -liking for the saccharineous, yet they are to some extent mutually -creative. The outward may appeal so strongly as even to produce the -inward. “Hang up a coat in the highway, and will it not soon find a body -to fill it?” Who has not often observed the child when requested by its -parents to swallow the bitter dose of (so called) medicine? What a -struggle between duty and disgust! What measures are then taken by the -wise parent in order that the right may conquer? How is the virtuous -appealed to and strengthened? One single lump of sugar, perhaps not -larger than a hickory nut decides the question. Duty prevails. How shall -we account for such things without adopting a similar doctrine to that -which I have thus partly illustrated? - -Reader, thou wilt believe or not, as thou choosest. But before this is -dismissed as unworthy, for thy own sake, examine facts. Find among thy -acquaintances, that man, sullen, and morose, and cruel, who loves -molasses. Understand me—_loves_ molasses—not who sometimes eats it, -but who clings to it with a passionate devotion—who prefers it to the -best pie ever baked, apple, mince, peach, or cranberry,—as I do. If -thou canst find such a being—thou thinkest I’ll recant? Not I. Such a -man is an anomaly, a monster, deserves not to live—and if he knows what -a beautiful theory he is practically marring, and has the least spark of -generosity within him, is willing to die. If he wont die I care -not,—he’s only an exception, and “proves the truth of the general -rule,” as all metaphysicians will tell thee. - -If it were needful I could skip from individuals to nations—could prove -the truth of my doctrines by referring to the Irish with their potatoes, -buttermilk, and whiskey—the Hindoo and his rice—the West Indian slave -with his patient endurance, the result of his frequent sucking at the -juicy cane. - -But why multiply proof? Why refer to the bee with his industrious -habits, caused by living entirely upon honey—the bear with his good -nature, hugging you, even when in anger, to his bosom, how he also likes -sweet things—the humming-bird, with its love for the sweets of -flowers—the—but why instance more? - -Oh! ye wise, give ear while I call your attention to this new -philosophy, which I name saccharine, and not transcendental. Parents, -guardians, physicians, nurses,—“they that have ears to hear let them -hear.” - - Ella. - - * * * * * - - - - - WINTER. - - - BY J. W. FORNEY. - - - The leaf hath fallen! - E’en the withered leaf; and from the trees - Hath faded Nature’s robe of living green; - While, thro’ their naked boughs the wintry breeze, - Makes mournful music o’er the vanished scene— - The funeral requiem of those blushing flowers, - That bloomed and flaunted in the sunny air, - When the coy spring-time and her laughing hours, - The graceful monarchs of the season were. - - The song is hushed! - And gone those warblers for a softer clime, - Whose morning welcome, and whose evening hymn - Made the gay summer but a trysting time, - And prayerful music poured aloft to Him! - - No more they usher, with their mellow song, - The bright-eyed morning beaming through the cloud— - Where erst they met, in bright melodious throng, - Now roars the tempest in its wrath aloud. - - The brook is frozen! - The babbling streamlet sparkles now no more - In the full glory of the sun’s warm beam; - The ice-king’s sceptre has been wafted o’er, - And sleep is brooding on the modest stream. - There are no flowers on its frozen side— - The sun shines only with a cheerless glance: - Still is its melody; and the valley’s pride, - Is calm as Beauty in a pleasing trance. - - Lancaster, Pa. January, 1841. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE CONFESSIONS OF A MISER. - - - BY J. ROSS BROWNE. - - - Part I. - - One who dothe hymself professe to be the teller of a hystorye, - must often be contente to doe that whych in annye other - character he would be ashamed to owne to. He must unryddle - thoughts, telle tales, spake of factes done pryrilye and not for - worldlye showe. - - _A Legende of the Monasterye of Lylis._ - -When life ceases to afford us gratification, we not unfrequently take a -strange delight in reviewing and pondering over the misdeeds of the -past, and in anticipating the weird and desolate future. This revelling -in the consequences of our own depravity; this spirit of darkness and -recklessness; this tendency to a defiance of all moral and religious -consolation—when morality and religion no longer dwell within us—may -be termed the wreck of hope, and life, and salvation; for as the -mariner, engulphed by the tempest, faces death in boisterous revelry, so -we seek to riot in our own wickedness, and plunge into perdition, -rejoicing in the sin, and reckless of its consequences. - -Even while I write, the recollection of deeds which might well cause the -blood to curdle and the flesh to crawl, thrills me with an awful and -savage delight. The open gates of hell are ready to receive me, but I -rejoice in anticipating the hour of eternal ruin! - -I am a native of Italy—a Venitian by birth; a wanderer by choice. -During the political disturbances under the doge, Paolo Reniers, I -obtained an office of considerable value; by which I was enabled to -enjoy a handsome annuity. For some time the French forces, commanded by -Bonaparte, had been endeavoring to take possession of Verona; and had -already made some attempts on Venice; but these eruptions were if any -thing the means of my promotion. Before the downfall of my patron, I -acquired a fortune which placed me on a footing with the patricians of -the day. Had heaven so ordained it, I might then have retired to my -villa, and in peace and seclusion enjoyed the fruits of my industry; but -the seeds of avarice were sown—I was destined to reap their harvest. -The intrigues of political life were not sufficiently disgusting to -deter me from applying for employment under the government, to the -successor of Reniers. That wary craft which had rendered me so -indispensable to this corrupt and imbecile monarch, was not overlooked -by Lugi Manini; for in a country where duplicity is the chief point, in -the education of individuals, to whom the official authority is -entrusted; and where art and cunning are so universal as to render every -man a match for his fellow, superiority of this kind is regarded with -peculiar veneration. - -The satellites who swarmed about the court of Manini, were not slow in -betraying their jealousy at the preference with which he regarded me; -but where jealousy exists there is dissention; and even among my enemies -I had my partisans. The rancor of political strife rendered me fierce -and haughty; and few dared to avow their hostility in my presence. -Hardened in dissimulation, I could at once assume the gentlest tones of -friendship, or the most cutting sarcasm, and the coldest frown of -dignity. Increase of influence gradually compelled those who at first -resorted to the basest methods for my overthrow, to relinquish their -attempts, and acquiesce in my measures. - -Power, however, was not my chimera. I had contracted an undying thirst -for riches. I longed to regard myself as the master of millions. The -very clink of gold was sweeter to me than the applause of an enraptured -populace. Daily—hourly—my thoughts were concentrated on the darling -object of my ambition. That cold and stern temperament, which, in my -political schemes, had been fostered by every act of diplomacy, and -every duty of my office, rendered me callous to all worldly allurements, -save the desire of personal emolument. - -Constantly moving in the gaudy circles of the court, I was at once -disgusted with the prodigal splendor of every thing around me, and -incited to aspire for the most exalted degree of opulence. Those whose -power was greater than mine, I merely looked upon as instruments by -which the great object of my life was to be effected. Even Manini -himself I did not consider in any other light than as one ultimately to -be the means of my success. Deceit in the service of others had made me -too wary a courtier not to cloak my designs in professions of the most -disinterested friendship toward him who was already the tool of my -machinations. - -The schemes were too well concerted to fail. A few years of untiring -zeal found the doge still nominally my patron, but in reality my minion. -Wealth had poured in upon me. No longer was the desire of riches a -chimera; no longer had I to live in feverish and dreamy suspense; no -longer was I fortune’s votary. - -Though in the prime of life, I too, passionately loved the possession of -my gold, to violate in my enjoyment the strictest rules of economy. I -gambled—but that was my business. I drank—but the excitement was -necessary to sustain my vital principle. - -Having adhered to my victim till he was weak and worthless, I abandoned -him for more lucrative game. I sought out the haunts of the young and -inexperienced. I became a kind of polite sharper; for though I generally -gambled for the riches of my victims, I so managed as to secure the -spoils in defiance of ill-fortune. - -We all know that the peculiar vices of a man’s character increase in -extent as his evil course of life is persisted in; even when that course -is not more intrinsically depraved by continuance. It was the case with -me. I did not actually rob; I did not murder; I committed no more -heinous crime than that of swindling or gambling; and yet every day I -became a worse and worse black-hearted man. - -Before this epoch in my career had drawn to a close, I became acquainted -with the daughter of a Venitian banker. She was not beautiful; she was -not accomplished; she was not amiable—but she was rich. At this time, I -too, was rich. Both fortunes united would make a brilliant coalescence. -I pressed my suit, and succeeded. The foolish girl did not discover till -too late, that I despised herself, though I adored her fortune. My -wealth was now immense; and it might be supposed that I was satisfied; -but my thirst for accumulation was only excited by what I had already -acquired. Had I been possessed of the world’s wealth, I am pursuaded I -would have wept, like Alexander, because there was nothing left to -satisfy my desires. - -That fortunate tissue of events which had hitherto marked my career, was -destined to be speedily reversed. In Venice there lived at this time an -individual, who, if he had not my boldness of purpose and capacity for -scheming, was at least my equal in shrewdness and avarice. This person -was called Carlo Dolci—a nomenclature which he boasted as certain -evidence that he was descended from the great painter of that name. -Dolci met me at my accustomed resort—one of those hells with which -Venice then abounded. His appearance was peculiarly forbidding; but I -fancied I had seen too much of the world to be prejudiced by mere -outward show. We were introduced by a mutual friend. I found that my new -acquaintance was a man of some knowledge, and of polished and persuasive -manners. His characteristic trait was extreme cunning; nor did his grey, -twinkling eye and piercing glance contradict what his manners and -language bespoke. - -One topic led to another. We spoke of games. Dolci with his infernal -art, flattered me out of all prudence, by declaring he had heard so much -of my skill at play that he was determined to avoid strife in such an -accomplished quarter. Fired with a desire to verify his words, I -immediately challenged him. We began with moderate stakes, and I won. We -doubled, and I still won. We continued to increase the stakes till they -amounted to an immense sum. Both were equally excited; but my good -fortune did not yet leave me. Dolci, I knew, was rich; and I was -determined to fleece him. I doubled the largest stakes we had yet -contended for. Dolci was the winner. Maddened at such an unusual -reverse, I dared him to contend—fortune against fortune! Each now -staked his entire wealth. It was to be riches or poverty to me. The -swollen veins stood out on my forehead. A cold perspiration teemed from -the brow of Carlo Dolci. His teeth were clenched; his hair wild and -matted—his eye unusually haggard. The dice were thrown. I gasped for -breath. A dimness came over my eyes. With a dreadful effort I strained -them to catch a glimpse of my fate. Merciful God! I had lost—I was a -beggar! - -With a grim smile, Dolci grasped the stakes. I rushed from the hell, a -frenzied wretch. A mocking laugh was borne after me; and I knew no more. -For several days I was a raving maniac. When I recovered my reason, I -found myself stretched on a pallet in my own house. My wife stood by, -with disgust and hatred pictured in her countenance. Her first words -were those of contumely and reproach. She did not make any allowance for -my situation; she reflected not that it was the province of the female -to forgive error, and to administer consolation. I married her for her -money; that was gone, and I now was to feel all the miseries of my -choice. - -The only solace to my afflictions, was a little daughter about eight -years old, but uncommonly mature both mentally and physically. She -attended me with untiring assiduity; she lifted the cup to my lips; she -soothed with her silvery tones the agony of my mind; she sang for me her -plaintive airs; she bathed my burning temples; she prayed for me—she -wept for me—she was every way the beau ideal of innocence and -affection. - -“Father,” she would say, “why do you clench your hands—why do you rave -of ruin and beggary? We shall all go to work when you recover; and we -shall earn more money and be very happy.” - -Alas poor Valeria! she little knew the loss I had sustained. It was not -the loss of luxury for that I never enjoyed; it was not the loss of -domestic peace—for I was a stranger to it; it was not the loss of -reputation, for I cared nothing about it; but it was the loss of -MONEY—of that which gave the only zest and pleasure to my life. - -One mortification was spared us in our beggary. No splendid edifice was -to be abandoned—no luxurious equipage to be sold—no servants to be -dismissed—no fine costumes to be sacrificed—no sensitive feelings to -be wounded by a change from affluence to penury and want; our condition -remained unaltered. While blessed with riches I was too careful of them -to be guilty of extravagance. My avarice, not my prodigality, was my -ruin. I did not gamble for the pleasure of the game, but from sheer -desire to accumulate immense sums of money. I then conducted my affairs -on a grand scale. Wealth poured in on me not by degrees, but in floods. -Now, however, the time arrived when I was doomed to begin a new career -under new auspices. I had no Reniero or Manini to plunder by a few acts -of political sagacity. I had no immense states to retrieve my want of -luck with Carlo Dolci. To toil up the rugged path—to exert my humble -acquirement—to trade—to barter—to beg—were now the only means in my -power to make amends for want of prudence. - -Having settled my wife and daughter in a small house, I procured, partly -on credit and partly with what little was left, a meagre stock of -jewelry, with which I sallied out as a travelling pedlar. By adopting -this course of life I sacrificed no fine feelings; I never was proud of -any thing except of my riches. I considered not that because I had -wielded an intriguing pen in the great contest between Bonaparte and -Lugi Manini, my dignity would in any degree be lessened by honest -exertions for the retrieval of my fortune. - -The succeeding epoch in my career may be passed over. To detail the -vicissitudes of my wandering life—to dwell upon the manifold reverses -of fortune—to trace succinctly the gradual and disheartening manner in -which I acquired money—and to portray the eagerness—the infantile -delight with which I grasped it and hoarded it to my bosom—would be -alike futile and uninteresting. - -In struggling between penury and avarice, the autumn of my life passed -away. The misery of connubial contention, I am persuaded, whitened the -hair of my head, even before my winter had blasted it with its frosts; -but heaven ordained it that my declining age should not be harassed by -the persecutions of her with whom I had never known an hour of true -happiness. She died in a fit of madness—a malady to which her -passionate and ungovernable temper had frequently subjected her. It -would be adding hypocrisy to my manifold sins to say that I regretted -this instance of divine dispensation. I still had a -companion—differently, but no less intimately dependent on me for her -support and protection. This was my daughter, who had attained her -eighteenth year. - -Valeria was beautiful—extremely beautiful. I had roamed in the -Florentine and Venitian Vatican; I had studied, if not with the eye of -an artist, at least with the eye of an ardent admirer, the most -exquisite productions of Georgione, Titian, Correggio, and Veronese; I -had dwelt in ecstacy on the master-works of every school from the -Appellean and Protogenean, to the Lombard, the Bolognese, the Carraci, -and the Rasain; but I had never seen any thing either ideal or -substantial, so exquisitely symmetrical—so etherially chiselled in -every feature—so thoroughly the impersonation of angelic beauty and -sweetness, as Valeria. I speak it with a father’s pride; I may be -partial, but I believe I am sincere. The dark, luxuriant hair—the -languishing eye—the finely rounded arm—the faultless figure bespoke -Italian blood; and that too of a gentle quality; for though I claim no -distinction, I am myself of noble descent. - -In Valeria, then, I saw my future fortune. I had sufficient to support -life; but I desired wealth. To sell my daughter to the best advantage -was now the sole and engrossing subject of my thoughts. I cared not -whether I gained her an honorable alliance or not; money, not titular -distinction, was the object for which I determined she should be -sacrificed. - -There lived in Venice, at this time, a Neapolitan nobleman, of agreeable -and accomplished manners, and fine fortune, named Don Ferdinand Razzina, -upon whom I had long looked as the instrument by which my schemes were -to be consummated. Razzina was young and volatile. His imprudence -rendered him easily subservient to my machinations. By the most -consummate art I managed that he should get a glimpse at Valeria. This -proved sufficient stimulus to an ardent imagination, to fire him with -the most extravagant notions of her beauty. He had barely seen her as a -flitting shadow: that shadow surpassed to him in loveliness the beau -ideal of his airiest dreams. I knew too much of the human heart not to -concert my measures on the fact that mystery is the food of love; and in -a very short time Don Ferdinand was supplicating at my feet for -information concerning the fairy vision he had seen. - -“Nothing,” said he, “shall be spared in remuneration for your services. -I love her. I shall never love another. My peace and happiness for ever -more depend on her. If you respect the passions common to humanity; if -you are not devoid of every feeling of sympathy; if you value your own -welfare, and my peace of mind—procure me an interview!” - -Schooled in cunning, I treated the matter with indifference; I dwelt on -other themes—but finding Don Ferdinand deaf to aught, save the -engrossing object of his thoughts, I consented to introduce him, on an -enormous advance, to my daughter. He seemed much surprised at this -declaration; for he had fancied—from what cause I know not—that -Valeria was my protege, and the unfortunate pledge of some noble amour. -In a moment the truth of my schemes burst upon him. He was -young—ardent—impetuous—but he neither wanted penetration nor -humanity. - -“Wretch!” he cried, with all the indignant fervor of one unaccustomed to -such unnatural cupidity—“you would sell your daughter’s honor!—you -would ruin her for your own emolument!” He paused in agitation for some -moments, during which I maintained a grim and stony smile—then -continued, “but your villainy is nothing to me. I shall not upbraid you -for what turns to my own advantage. Here is the sum. Recollect, however, -_we perfectly understand each other as to the terms_.” I answered merely -by a leering nod of the head. Razzina departed—promising to call on the -ensuing evening. - -That short but active interview had laid bare the character of the noble -prodigal. He was evidently gifted with no common intellect. He had seen -little of the world; so that whatever sagacity he had was inherent. Much -good was mixed with the evil which formed his prominent traits. He was -young and passionate; but he had no small share of the milk and honey of -human kindness. His opinions respecting my course I regarded with -contempt. I had studied too deeply the mysteries of human nature to be -baulked in my designs by a beardless and soft-hearted youth. I knew that -the bait was too well administered to be rejected. - -Returning to a miserable garret in which I always slept to avoid the -expense of furnishing the lower part of the house, and also to enjoy the -solitude, I flung myself on a pallet, and spread the gold on the floor. - -A filthy lamp threw a sickly and flickering light on every thing around. -The wretched place was strewn with rubbish and dirt; here and there lay -a broken stool, or the remains of a chair; in the centre stood a greasy -and ricketty table, and hung up in confusion, on the walls, were -battered tin-cups—a few platters—a spoutless coffee-pot—and sundry -tattered habiliments. - -I glanced around me with a smile of sinister meaning. I piled up the -gold—threw it down again—and scattered it about, and grasped it once -more with childish eagerness. Then, as if fearful of detection, I hid -it, fervently praying that the Almighty would watch over, and preserve -it. - -It was now necessary that my daughter should become acquainted with part -of my designs; and I summoned her. In a moment she was at my feet. - -“Valeria—” and as I addressed her, I endeavored to modulate my voice -into tones as affectionate and as soothing as possible—“Valeria, we are -very poor—God knows we are.” - -“Yes; but father why speak of it now? We are as well off as most people, -and I am sure we need no luxuries.” - -“My child, you know not our poverty. You see me now a decrepid and -palsied old man. I am unable to make a living; and henceforth on you I -must depend.” - -“I shall cheerfully do what I am able, father.” - -“I know it my child—I know it; but your utmost exertions cannot save us -from starvation, unless properly directed. Valeria, listen to me. I ask -you as a father will you obey my commands?” - -“As long as they are bounded by reason and virtue, I shall. I have -always obeyed you—I am not disobedient, I sincerely believe.” - -“Valeria, can you love?” - -“I can. I _do_ love.” - -“Ha! whom do you love?” - -“I love you, my father—and—” - -“Speak!” - -“I love Marco da Vinci—I never intended to deny it.” - -In a frenzy of rage and astonishment, I started to my feet, and stood -for some moments like one transfixed. My lips were white; my mouth -foamed; my cheek was blanched; my eye fiery and distorted; and my whole -frame convulsed with passion. - -“God’s curse be on you!” I shrieked, shaking my clenched hand in the -face of the terrified girl—“God’s curse be on you, for the declaration. -_You_ _love Marco da Vinci?_ May a father’s ban fall like the flames of -perdition on you! May the heart that you so foolishly bestowed, be -blighted and withered in its bloom! May the avenging hosts gather round -you at your death-bed; and taunt you, and riot in your agony!” - -“Father! Father! O, cease those horrible words! you will drive me mad!” - -“No,” I replied, in a stern but more softened tone, “I shall not drive -you mad, Valeria; but I have news that will make you feel as if madness -would be a blessing. _You are sold._ Here is the money”—and I drew -forth the gold I had received from Don Ferdinand. “Yes, to-morrow you -will be the mistress of Don Ferdinand Razzina.” - -“Never!—so help me God!” cried Valeria, in a voice so calm and -determined, that I feared for the success of my schemes; “death—aye, a -thousand deaths before dishonor!” - -“We shall see,” I replied, with a grim smile. - -“_We shall!_” said Valeria, retiring; and in tones so deep and ominous -that I shuddered. She repeated, “_we shall!_” - -Hitherto I have devoted my pen almost exclusively to the narrative of my -own confessions. I must now diverge a little to introduce the reader to -a character, of whom nothing has yet been mentioned except his name. - -Marco da Vinci was a young painter, of extraordinary talents, and great -mental accomplishments. He was descended from a noble house; and might -have enjoyed the height of affluence had not misfortune set her seal -upon him at an early age. Favored in an unusual degree as to his mental -and physical capacities, he received all the care and cultivation that a -fond father could bestow; and on attaining his eighteenth year few could -boast a more vigorous mind—a more profound education, or a more chaste -and amiable character. Thus far was Marco successful. - -Smitten with an undying thirst for distinction, he resolved henceforth -to abandon the quiet enjoyments of leisure and affluence, and dedicated -himself altogether to the nobler calls of ambition. Alas! he knew not -that he had yielded the substantial enjoyments of life for a misnomer—a -chimera! - -It was the ardent hope of Da Vinci’s father, that the youth should, at -no remote period, occupy an exalted station in the affairs of the -government; but the rancor and bitterness of political life had no -charms for the young enthusiast. Enraged and disappointed at the -unexpected determination of his son, Don Ignatius da Vinci, abjured him -in the zenith of his passion—disowned him, and left him an outcast and -a beggar. - -The ambitious Marco wended his way to Venice, where his talents soon -attracted the attention of a distinguished painter. Under this -individual, Da Vinci studied with all the devotion of an enthusiast, and -an unfeigned lover of the art. A very short time was requisite to make -him a finished painter. That pruning to rule—that softening and -chastening, which can only be attained by painful and almost hopeless -perseverance in most cases, were soon mastered by the ardent disciple. - -In the course of time, Marco da Vinci accumulated, by his industry, -sufficient capital to begin business on a small scale. At first he -succeeded beyond his expectations; but soon he found that novelty is the -spice of patronage, and that before him he had every probability of -sinking into oblivion, and of eking out his days in starvation. Too -proud to apply for assistance to those by whom he had been so basely -injured, he determined to submit to his fate with manliness and -fortitude, and to merit, if possible, sufficient patronage to support -him, while he should by an extraordinary effort of his pencil retrieve -his past misfortunes. - -A premium had been offered by the Academy of Arts, for the best portrait -of a female that could be placed in the gallery in time for the annual -exhibition. Da Vinci resolved to take his model from nature. The fame of -Valeria’s beauty was proverbial throughout the city; and the candidate -for the palm of excellence, sought out our miserable tenement, and -implored permission to have a sitting. Too proud of the opportunity to -extend her reputation, I consented to the proposition. Fool! fool! that -I was! Why could I not see the danger of placing this young and ardent -soul in such a temptation? Da Vinci was young—handsome—and -intellectual: Valeria was innocent—amiable—and beautiful—could they -but love? Fool, I say, fool that I was! - - Louisville, Kentucky, January, 1841. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE FAIRY’S HOME. - - - Our home is far ’mid the greenwood trees, - Where the rose-bloom floats on the burden’d breeze, - Where the moon’s beams glance on the sleeping tide, - And the lily grows in its stainless pride. - - There, deep in our flowery homes we dwell, - In the cavern’d shades of the fairy’s cell, - Where the sound of the wavelet’s ceaseless song, - Shall glad the ear of the fairy throng. - - There calm as the blue of the “bending skies,” - Whose beauty may bless e’en fairy’s eyes; - We will pass those hours of careless glee, - Whilst the woods shall ring with our melody. - - Our lamp shall be of the fire-fly’s light - That shines ’mid the gloom of the darksome night, - And led by its star-like rays we’ll roam - ’Mid the scenes that grace our woodland home. - - The notes of the song-bird echo there, - And are warbled again by our sisters fair; - And the tones of each pure and gentle thing, - Are voiced in the strains the fairies sing. - - Away from the cares and toils of life, - No part have we in its scenes of strife, - But calm as the sleep of the tideless sea, - Our rest in our Fairy Home shall be. - S. H. - - Philadelphia, January, 1841. - - * * * * * - - - - - NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE. - - - BY CHARLES WEST THOMSON. - - - The dead but sleep—they do not die, - They live in mem’ry’s holy cell— - The woodland green, the summer sky - Of them in gentle language tell. - - Each scene that knew them daily speaks - Of all their love so fond and true, - And tears that tremble on our cheeks, - But nerve our sadness to renew. - - The grief that rent our hearts when first - Death broke our early bond in twain, - Within our souls, by memory nurst, - Will oft times freshly burst again. - - Yet why indulge unfading grief, - For those we loved and now deplore? - Theirs is a slumber calm and brief— - They are “not lost, but gone before.” - - January, 1841. - - * * * * * - - - - - NOT FOR ME! NOT FOR ME! - - - A popular Air in the Opera of - - CATHERINE GRAY, - - _AS SUNG BY MRS. WOOD_. - - THE MUSIC COMPOSED BY M. W. BALFE. - - Geo. W. Hewitt & Co. No. 184 Chesnut Street, Philadelphia. - -[Illustration: musical score] - - Not for me, not for me, - Regal halls and courtly life, - Oh! more - -[Illustration: musical score continued] - - blest, my lot would be, - Far from ev’ry scene of strife, - From the world from all retiring, - Gladly would this heart remove, - One dear boon alone desiring - Still to be with thee I love: - Still to be with thee I love. - - 2 - - Let me seek that tranquil home, - Once I knew in happier hours, - Free to wander, free to roam, - Thro’ my own lov’d peaceful bow’rs. - Not for me the world’s false pleasures, - Not for me where splendour moves, - More than these my bosom treasures, - More than these my heart now loves, - More than these my heart now loves. - - * * * * * - - - - - SPORTS AND PASTIMES. - SHOOTING. - - -We open this month with the first of a series of excellent papers on -Shooting, from the pen of the author of the paper on Angling, given in -our last. It contains some valuable hints to young sportsmen, on the art -of Taking Aim. - -The pursuit and destruction of wild animals for security, food, -clothing, or pastime, have been among the occupations of men in all -ages, since the primeval _bruere_ overspread the earth, - - And wild in woods the noble savage ran! - -Before the more refined arts are introduced into any country, the chase -is a necessity, and the chief business of life. The stronger and more -noxious animals are destroyed for individual safety; the weaker for -food. It is not until civilisation and her handmaid luxury have seated -themselves, that the chase becomes a pastime. Nor does it appear when -the sportsman first sprang into existence. There is no corresponding -word in any ancient language, since that could not be called a sport -which was a necessity. It is probable that in the earliest ages of -society, the dog was the sole agent employed by the hunter. Afterward -various weapons, manual, missile, and projectile—as the club, the dart, -the arrow, were used by the hunter and fowler. Then would follow -springs, traps, nets, and all that class of devices for the capture of -beasts and birds _feræ naturæ_, comprehended in the term toils. As dogs -were employed to hunt quadrupeds, so, in process of time, hawks were -trained to bring down birds for the service of their master. The -arbalest or cross-brow, preceded the matchlock, which, however, could -scarcely be called an implement of the chase, but which, in the order of -succession, brings us down to the rifle, and original fowling-piece with -its long, heavy barrel, and flint and steel lock; and lastly, we arrive -at the double barrels and detant locks of the modern shooter. - -[Illustration] - - - TAKING AIM. - -When the dog points, or when birds rise near to the shooter, he should -immediately draw back one hammer with the right thumb; experienced -sportsmen disapprove of the practice of cocking both barrels at the same -time. They think that it ought to be a rule never to cock either barrel, -until the game be upon the wing, then that the left barrel should be -cocked and fired, and thereafter taken from the shoulder. The right -barrel should then be cocked and fired if necessary; if not discharged, -it should be put back to the half-cock, and the left re-loaded. He -should never be in haste. It is more prudent to let the bird escape than -to fire hastily. If on open ground, he should not fire until the bird is -more than twenty yards distant. He should be deliberate in bringing up -the piece to his shoulder, and in making it to bear on the object, but -the moment he has brought it to bear, the finger should act in -co-operation with the eye, the eye being kept open the while, so that -the shooter may see whether the bird falls, or feathers fall from it, -for if he does not see it distinctly at the moment of firing, there is -something defective in his system of taking aim. - -The shooter, when learning, should never aim directly at the body of a -rabbit on foot, or of a bird on the wing. This precaution is scarcely -necessary when the motion of the object is slow, but by habituating -himself to it on all occasions, he will the sooner become an adept. His -mark should be the head, the legs, or a wing, if within twenty yards. -When farther off, he should make some allowance, according to the -distance and speed of the object moving. His aim should be at the head -of a bird rising or crossing—the legs of a bird flushed on an eminence -and moving downward from him—the wing of a bird flying from him in an -oblique direction. His aim should be at the head of a rabbit, in -whatever way it may be moving. The same rules apply when the object is -more than twenty paces distant from the shooter, making allowance for -the speed. Thus, for a partridge crossing, the allowance of aim before -it with a detonator, at twenty paces, will be one inch—at thirty paces -two inches—at fifty paces five inches—at fifty-five paces seven -inches. Half this allowance will be proper when the bird moves in an -oblique direction. When an object moves directly from the shooter, at -more than twenty paces distance, he should fire a little above it. When -a bird or rabbit approaches the shooter directly, he should not aim at -it until it has passed him, or has turned aside. The moment it has -altered its course the gun should be brought up, and no time should be -lost in firing. - -It is not easy at all times to form a correct idea of the distance of a -bird from the gun. The nature of the situation, and the state of the -weather often deceive the eye. Thus, on a bright day birds appear to be -near, and on a dull day distant. It is much easier to estimate the -distance of a bird in small enclosures, where hedges or trees serve as -guides, than on open ground. The hedges, indeed, tend to deceive the -unpractised eye; the object is supposed to be much farther off, while on -open ground it is supposed to be nearer, than it really is. It is often -very difficult to determine whether a grouse is within range; and -sometimes the mist increases the difficulty, for then the bird is either -scarcely seen, or else magnified, by the sun’s rays gleaming through the -mist, to an unnatural size. In general, grouse are farther off than they -are supposed to be. The shooter, however, has a peculiar sight: every -bird he brings down, in good style, is at sixty yards distance. It is -amusing sometimes to hear persons talk, after they have been _watched_, -of the distances at which they have effected their shots; they ever -think the game so much farther off than it really was. The sportsman who -has not convinced himself by actual measurement, often seems to be -laboring under a species of hallucination when speaking of his -distances, and, if he bets on them, to a certainty loses. Birds killed -at fifteen paces are thought to be at twenty-five, and those at -twenty-five are estimated at thirty-five or forty, and so on to the end -of the story! - -When a covey or brood rises, the shooter should fix his eye on one bird, -and shoot at that bird only. He should not be diverted from it by other -birds rising nearer to him while he is bringing up his gun, unless the -bird he first set his eye upon be decidedly out of all reasonable -distance, so as to render the chance of killing exceedingly remote. By -observing this rule, he is not only more certain of bringing down his -game, but he will more frequently kill the old birds—a desideratum, for -two reasons; first, because he will, in all probability, disperse the -covey, which being done, any sportsman may generally, without -difficulty, bag a few brace; and secondly, because the old birds make a -better show in the game-bag. - -We think that all shooters, except the veriest bunglers, use a gun -properly as regards throwing the end of it upon the object aimed at, and -drawing the trigger, and that any inaccuracy of aim must be attributed -to the eye not being in the proper place when the aim is taken. - -The habit of missing arises not from inability to throw the end of the -gun upon the bird, but from the eye not being directly behind the -breech, which it necessarily must be for good shooting. - -If there were a sight at each end of the barrel, it would be requisite, -when taking aim, to keep shifting the gun until both sights were in a -line between the eye and the mark; that, however, with a gun not well -mounted to the eye and shoulder, would be too complex an operation, for -before it could be performed, a swift bird would be out of reach; it -follows, then, that the shooter’s attention should be directed only to -the sight at the top of the barrel; and the breech end should come up -mechanically to the proper level. - -When a person is nervous, or afraid of the recoil, he naturally raises -his head, and consequently shoots above the mark; on firing, he -unconsciously throws his head back, and then seeing the bird above the -end of the gun, he fancies he shot under it, when the reverse is the -fact. We may also observe that if the shooter does not keep his head -down to the stock, he will probably draw it aside, so that his aim will -be as if taken from one of the hammers, which would, of course, throw -the charge as much on one side of the mark, as raising the head would -above it. - -The main point, then, in taking aim, is _to keep the head down to the -stock, and the eye low behind the breach_. The sportsman who, from habit -or practice, can invariably bring his eye down to the same place, and -keep it steadily there, so that he may always take aim from the same -starting point, will distance all competitors. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _“The Antediluvians, or the World Destroyed.” A narrative poem, - in ten books. By James McHenry, M. D. Author of the “Pleasures - of Friendship,” &c. 1 vol. J. B. Lippincott & Co.: Philada._ - -There are two species of poetry known to mankind; that which the gods -love, and that which men abhor. The poetry of the Dr. belongs to the -latter class, though he seems lamentably ignorant of this, from the long -essay on taste which he has given to the world in the shape of a preface -to the work before us, and in which his own peculiar merits and demerits -are discussed at sufficient length. He tells us that he has long been -tormented with an itching after immortality, and that, being convinced -not only that the writing of a poem was the surest passport to it, but -that the choice of a subject was the greatest difficulty in the way of -such a work, he has spent some years of his life in selecting the -present theme. He has also the modesty to acquaint the public that his -subject is inferior to Milton’s alone, leaving us, by a parity of -reasoning, to conclude that Dr. McHenry is next in glory to the heavenly -bard. We congratulate the Dr. on his finesse. There is nothing like -connecting one’s name with that of a genius, for if the world is not -deceived by it, you persuade yourself, like Major Longbow, by a constant -repetition of your story, of its truth. You become a great man in your -own conceit, fancy that the world does injustice to your talents, and go -down to posterity, if not as the falcon’s mate, at least as - - “A tom-tit twittering on an eagle’s back.” - -Having thus associated himself with Milton, the Dr. proceeds to inform -us that, in the Deluge, he at length found a theme “exalted and -extensive enough for the exercise of poetic talents of the highest -order,” leaving us, a second time, to infer, what he is too modest -except to insinuate, that his own genius is unequalled. He then calls -our attention to the plot, asserting that the general “plan and scope” -of a poem are second only to its theme—that is, that diction, style, -and imagination, in short every requisite of a true poet, are but -“flimsy stuff.” The Dr. seems to know his own weak points, and when the -“galled jade winces;” but even his elaborated plot is worse than nine -men out of ten would construct. We have gleaned little from it except a -few facts, which would be strange, were they not ridiculous. There is a -description of a harem in the second book, from which we learn that -velvets, and embroidery were as much in vogue among the antediluvians as -now; an account of a siege in the eighth book, which settles the -disputed question, whether Greek fire, melted lead, and catapults, were -used then or not; and a detail of a battle in the same book, which gives -the divisions and manœuvres of the contending armies, and puts at rest -the assertions of military men, who trace our present tactics back no -farther than the invention of gunpowder. Besides this, there are two -marriages—a rescued maiden—one or more heroes, and as many heroines, -with an innumerable catalogue of minor incidents, in short, the -materials of a half a dozen bad novels, woven into a worse poem. - -We are told in the outset that the “versification is not particularly -modelled after that of any preceding author,” and that our classic poets -afford no style “exactly suitable for this work,” and, consequently, we -are but little astonished when we meet with such passages as the -following: - - “Subservient to the foul, malignant fiends, - The abandoned race of Cain their God forsook, - And to the infernal agents gave their hearts. - Oh! preference worse than foolish, choice insane! - Which drove celestial spirits from their charge - Of guardianship o’er human feebleness, - And left the hapless Cainites in the power - Of hellish tyrants, whom they blindly served, - Lured by the sensual pleasures amply given - In transient, poisonous recompense for guilt.” - _Page 14._ - -Or this: - - “Here reigned the fierce Shalmazar, giant king, - _Sprung from a mixture of infernal strain_, - His sire, the power of lewdness, Belial named, - Who, amorous of an earth-born beauty, won - Astoreth, princess of Gal-Cainah’s realm, - To his unhallowed love.” - _Page 16._ - -What the meaning of the author is in the line above italicised, we -challenge all Christendom to discover. But even no sense at all, is -better than mere verbiage, or coarse or improbable metaphor, as thus: - - “Repose at last, where it is ever found - By weary mortals, in the peaceful grave, - _In which his heir, that moralising youth,_ - _The melancholy Lameth, had before_ - _Laid down the o’erpowering burden of his woes._” - _Page 12._ - -And again: - - “The _harnessed-spirits_ spreading forth their wings.” - _Page 11._ - -And thus: - - “Then was the hour of vengeance; then the stern - _Hell-generated_ tyrant felt dismay, - And in his chariot fled—” - _Page 262._ - -But we must bring a still heavier charge against the Dr., that of a -total want of originality. The whole plan and conception of the -Antediluvians is copied, but “longo intervallo,” after Paradise Lost. -Had Milton never written poetry, Dr. McHenry would never have published -bombast. Yet the one is only the shadow of the other’s shade. This -imitation is perceptible, not only in various attempts to copy the -versification, but oftentimes in more glaring and less defensible -plagiarisms. Would it, for instance, be believed that the second book of -the Antediluvians begins with a passage so nearly resembling the opening -of the second book in Paradise Lost, as to make, as Dogberry has it, -“flat burglary?” Thus: - - “High on a throne of royal state, which far - Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, - Or where the gorgeous east, with richest hand, - Showers on her kings barbaric, pearls and gold, - Satan exalted sat.” - _Paradise Lost, Book II._ - - “In royal robes, magnificently bright, - On his imperial throne of burnished gold, - And polished ivory, which sparkling shone, - With gems innumerable, of various hues, - That shed a blaze of streaming radiance round - The gorgeous hall, the haughty monarch sat.” - _Antediluvians, page 29._ - -And so on diluting the idea of Milton into a dozen more lines, and -shewing, at once, the grandeur of the model, and the feebleness of the -imitation. Yet Dr. McHenry calls himself a poet, and pretends to the -divine afflatus. But again: - - “Such scenes of cruelty and blood, - Exhibited before appalled Heaven, - _To make the angels weep_, to look on earth!” - _Antediluvians, page 202._ - - “But man, frail man, - Drest in a little brief authority, - Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, - As make the angels weep.” - _Shakspeare._ - -We might multiply such instances;—but enough. Has the Dr. forgotten the -celebrated verse of Virgil? - - “Hos ego versiculos feci, tulit alter honores.” - -The Dr. appears fond of the use of epithets, especially such ones as -“infernal, fiendish, hellish,” and other coarse adjectives. We do not -object to the use of the two former, provided they appear sparingly and -in place, but really the work before us is seasoned rather highly with -such epithets for our taste. The Dr. however, appears to be of the -Tompsonian school in literature, and not only spices strongly, but -swashes away right and left at the accredited school. We advise him, -once for all, to give up poetry, which he disgraces, for physic, which -he may adorn. God never intended him for an immortal fame. We are -satisfied that, if he should be arraigned for writing poetry, no sane -jury would ever convict him; and if, as most likely, he should plead -guilty at once, it would be as quickly disallowed, on that rule of law, -which forbids the judges to decide against the plain evidence of their -senses. - - * * * * * - - _“The Dream, and other Poems.” By the Hon. Mrs. Norton. Carey - and Hart, Philadelphia: 1841._ - -Hemans, Baillie, Landon, and loveliest of all, Norton!—what a glorious -constellation for one language. France with her gaiety: Italy with her -splendid genius: even Greece with her passionate enthusiasm, cannot -rival such a galaxy. And this glory too, belongs wholly to the present -century, for though the harp of England has often been struck by female -hands, it has heretofore only given forth a rare and fitful cadence, -instead of the rich, deep, prolonged harmony which now rolls from its -chords. - -Mrs. Norton is unquestionably,—since the death of Mrs. Hemans, the -queen of English song. In many respects she resembles that gifted -poetess: in some she is strikingly dissimilar. The same pathos, the same -sweetness, the same fancy characterize both; but in all that -distinguishes the practised author, rather than the poetess, Mrs. Hemans -has the advantage of her successor. Thus, the one is sometimes faulty in -the rhythm: the other never. Mrs. Norton will now and then be betrayed -into a carelessness of diction; Mrs. Hemans was rarely, if ever, guilty -of such solecisms. Such expressions, for instance, as the “harboring” -land, the “guiding” hand, the “pausing” heart, the “haunting” shade, and -others of like character, taken at random from the volume before us, -though not strictly improper, yet, as they are plainly expletive, and -weaken, instead of strengthening a sentence, are never to be found in -the poems of Mrs. Hemans, or of any one “learned in the craft.” - -But, if Mrs. Norton is less correct than Mrs. Hemans, she is, on the -other hand, more nervous, more passionate, and at times more lofty. No -one can read “The Dream” without being struck by the truth of the -remark, that Mrs. Norton is the Byron of our female poets. There are -passages in some of her poems of greater power than any passages of like -length in Mrs. Hemans’ writings, though at the same time, there are a -far greater number of inferior lines in the poetry of Mrs. Norton, than -in that of her gifted sister. In short, the one is the more equal, the -other is the more daring. One is the more skilful writer: the other -shows glimpses of a bolder genius. There is less prettiness, and not so -much sameness in Mrs. Norton as in Mrs. Hemans. The former is not yet, -perhaps, the equal of the latter, but she possesses the power to be so, -if her rich fancy and deep feeling, now scarcely known to herself, -should ever be brought so completely under her control as were the -talents of Mrs. Hemans. - -If Mrs. Norton had written nothing before, this volume would have -established her claim to be the first of living poetesses; but who that -is familiar with the world of song can forget the many gems—rich, and -beautiful, and rare—with which she has spangled beforetime her starry -crown? The world has taken more care of her glory than she has herself, -and the random pieces she has poured forth so divinely at intervals, and -which hitherto she has made no effort to preserve, have found their way -into the hearts of all who can be touched by the mournful or the -beautiful, until her name is cherished alike in the humble cottage and -the princely hall. And now she has come forth in more stately guise, not -as a new author among strangers, but as one long tried and known, one -endeared to us by old association, one whose melancholy music is, as it -were, a part of our very being. - -“The Dream” is the longest poem in the volume before us, but, as it -makes no pretension to be considered a story, and has really no plot, we -shall not judge it by the ordinary rule of criticism. We shall consider -it only as a string of pearls, loosely joined together by the simplest -contrivance, the idea of a dream, narrated by a daughter to her -mother,—and, judging it in this way, we give it unqualified praise. -That its merit is unequal, is, in our eyes, no objection to its -beauty,—for have not all poets skimmed the ground as well as soared to -heaven? Yes! “The Dream” is unequal, but so is Lallah Rookh, so is -Marmion, so are all the tales of Byron, and so—to ascend a step -higher—is Comus, or Hamlet, or even the Iliad. - -But Mrs. Norton, like her gifted sister, possesses one quality which -distinguishes her above all other writers, in this or in any tongue—we -mean in giving utterance to, what is emphatically, _the poetry of -woman_. In this they resemble no cotemporary, unless it is Miss Landon. -Women have written poetry before, but if it had been shewn to a -stranger, he could not have told from which sex it sprung. It is not so -with the poetry of these two gifted females. Every line betrays the -woman—each verse breathes the tender, the melting, the peculiar -eloquence of the sex. - -Scarcely a page, moreover, occurs in the writings of either, which does -not bear testimony to woman’s suffering and worth. Yes! while it is the -fashion to sneer at the purity of woman’s heart, and while a pack of -literary debauchees are libelling our mothers and our sisters unopposed, -from the ranks of that insulted sex have risen up defenders of its -innocence, to shame the heartless slanderers to silence. Hear in what -eloquent numbers Mrs. Norton vindicates her sex: - - “Warriors and statesmen have their meed of praise, - And what they do or suffer men record; - But the long sacrifice of woman’s days - Passes without a thought—without a word; - And many a holy struggle for the sake - Of duties sternly, faithfully fulfill’d— - _For which the anxious mind must watch and wake,_ - _And the strong feelings of the heart be still’d_,— - Goes by unheeded as the summer wind, - And leaves no memory and no trace behind! - Yet it may be more lofty courage dwells - In one meek heart which braves an adverse fate, - Than his, whose ardent soul indignant swells, - Warmed by the fight, or cheer’d through high debate: - The soldier dies surrounded;—_could he live_ - _Alone to suffer, and alone to strive?_ - - Answer, ye graves, whose suicidal gloom - Shows deeper honor than a common tomb! - _Who sleep within?_ - -Aye! who? Not woman, we can answer for it. God bless her who has written -thus. The wretches who would rob the sex of their purity of heart, and -their uncomplaining endurance of suffering, deserve to die, uncheered by -woman’s nurture, unwept by woman’s tenderness. Such beings are not men: -they are scarcely even brutes: they are _aliquid monstri_, monsters in -part. But again: - - “In many a village churchyard’s simple grave, - Where all unmarked the cypress branches wave; - In many a vault, where Death could only claim - The brief inscription of a woman’s name; - Of different ranks, and different degrees, - From daily labor to a life of ease, - (_From the rich wife, who through the weary day_ - _Wept in her jewels_, grief’s unceasing prey, - To the poor soul who trudg’d o’er marsh and moor, - And with her baby begg’d from door to door,—) - Lie hearts which, ere they found that last release, - Had lost all memory of the blessing, “Peace;” - Hearts, whose long struggle through unpitied years, - None saw but Him who marks the mourner’s tears; - _The obscurely noble!_ who evaded not - The woe which he had will’d should be their lot, - But nerved themselves to bear!” - -“The Dream,” as a whole, is the finest piece in the volume before us. It -abounds with glorious passages, of which we can only give two more -examples—the one, impassioned, nervous, and stirring as a trumpet—the -other sweet, and low, and musical as the rustle of an angel’s wing. Few -authors can boast such a varied power. - - “Heaven give thee poverty, disease, or death, - Each varied ill that waits on human breath, - Rather than bid thee linger out thy life, - In the long toil of such unnatural strife. - To wander through the world unreconciled, - Heart-weary as a spirit-broken child, - _And think it were an hour of bliss like heaven,_ - _If thou couldst_ DIE—_forgiving and forgiven_,— - Or with a feverish hope of anguish born, - (Nerving thy mind to feel indignant scorn - Of all the cruel foes that twixt ye stand, - Holding thy heart-strings with a reckless hand,) - Steal to his presence, now unseen so long, - And claim _his_ mercy who hath dealt the wrong! - Into the aching depths of thy poor heart, - Dive, as it were, even to the roots of pain, - And wrench up thoughts that tear thy soul apart, - And burn like fire through thy bewildered brain. - Clothe them in passionate words of wild appeal, - To teach thy fellow creatures how to feel,— - Pray, weep, exhaust thyself in maddening tears,— - Recall the hopes, the influences of years,— - Kneel, dash thyself upon the senseless ground, - Writhe as the worm writhes with dividing wound,— - Invoke the Heaven that knows thy sorrow’s truth, - By all the softening memories of youth— - By every hope that cheered thine early day— - By every tear that washes wrath away— - By every old remembrance long gone by— - By every pang that makes thee yearn to die; - And learn at length how deep and stern a blow - Man’s hand can strike, and yet no pity show!” - -What force! what passion! Never has Mrs. Hemans written thus,—few -indeed have done so except Byron. - -We must pass “The Dream” with a single other quotation. It is on the -evening hour, and is sweet as a moonlit landscape, or a child’s dream of -heaven. - - “_That_ hour, once sacred to God’s presence, still - Keeps itself calmer from the touch of ill, - The holiest hour of earth. _Then_ toil doth cease, - Then from the yoke, the oxen find release— - Then man rests, pausing from his many cares, - _And the world teems with children’s sunset prayers!_ - Then innocent things seek out their natural rest, - The babe sinks slumbering on its mother’s breast, - The birds beneath their leafy covering creep, - Yea, even the flowers fold up their buds in sleep; - And angels, floating by on radiant wings, - Hear the low sounds the breeze of evening brings, - Catch the sweet incense as it floats along, - The infant’s prayer, the mother’s cradle-song, - And bear the holy gifts to worlds afar, - As things too sacred for this fallen star.” - -There is, in reading these poems, an abiding sense of the desolation -that has fallen on the heart of the writer, a desolation which only adds -to the mournful music of her lyre, like the approach of death, is -fabled, to give music to the swan. We have studiously avoided, -heretofore, touching upon this subject, as we would not, by awakening -pity, blind the judgment of the public, but we cannot avoid the remark, -that every page of this volume bears evidence that the heart of the -authoress, like that of Rachel, will not be comforted. The arrow has -entered deep into her soul. Like Mrs. Hemans, unfortunate in her -domestic life—for the miscreant who would still believe her guilty is -an insult to humanity—she “seeks, as the stricken deer, to weep in -silence and loneliness.” Hers is a hard lot; deserted by the one who has -sworn to love her, and maligned by the unfeeling world, she has not even -the consolation of weeping with her children, and finding some relief in -their caresses for her broken heart. Hear her once more—we have almost -wept as we read—hear her, when gazing in the twilight at the pictures -of her absent children. - - “Where are ye? Are ye playing - By the stranger’s blazing hearth; - Forgetting, in your gladness, - Your old home’s former mirth? - _Are ye dancing? Are ye singing?_ - _Are ye full of childish glee?_ - _Or do your light hearts sadden_ - _With the memory of me?_ - Round whom, oh! gentle darlings, - Do your young arms fondly twine, - Does she press you to _her_ bosom - Who hath taken you from mine? - _Oh! boys, the twilight hour_ - _Such a heavy time hath grown_,— - It recalls with such deep anguish - All I used to call my own,— - That the harshest word that ever - Was spoken to me there, - Would be trivial—would be _welcome_— - In this depth of my despair! - Yet no! Despair shall sink not. - While life and love remain,— - Tho’ the weary struggle haunt me, - And my prayer be made in vain: - Tho’ at times my spirit fail me - And the bitter tear-drops fall, - _Tho’ my lot be hard and lonely,_ - _Yet I hope—I hope thro’ all._” - -And then, with what a burst of eloquence, she carries out the idea! - - “By the living smile which greeted - The lonely one of Nain, - When her long last watch was over, - And her hope seemed wild and vain; - By all the tender mercy - God hath shown to human grief, - When fate or man’s perverseness - Denied and barr’d relief,— - By the hopeless woe which taught me - To look to him alone, - From the vain appeals for justice, - And wild efforts of my own,— - By thy light—thou unseen future, - And thy tears—thou bitter past, - _I will hope—tho’ all forsake me_, - _In His mercy to the last!_” - Twilight. - -But we must close this article. There are many exquisite shorter pieces -in the volume, besides The Dream and Twilight. The Creole Girl; The -Child of Earth; I cannot Love Thee; The Visionary Portrait; The Banner -of the Covenanters; Weep not for him that Dieth; and several of the -Sonnets may be instanced as among the finest. Let us, in conclusion, -commend the poems of Mrs. Norton to our fair countrywomen as those of a -mind of a high order. Less egotism, a more extended scope of feeling, -and greater attention to the rules of her art, will place her foremost -among the female poets of England. - - * * * * * - - _“Bancroft’s History of the United Slates.” Vol. 3._ - -The first two volumes of this history have now been some years before -the public, and criticism has long since given them its _fiat_. The -characteristics of Mr. Bancroft are a rigid scrutiny of facts, a general -impartiality, and a style, usually nervous, but sometimes savoring of -transcendental obscurity. The style of the second volume, however, is an -improvement on that of the first, and the volume before us surpasses, in -our opinion, either of the former two. There is a philosophy in Bancroft -which other historians might well emulate. No man has traced so clearly -the causes of the American Revolution. It was the stern, hard, -independence of the Pilgrims, handed down to their posterity, and united -with the gallant and chivalric freedom of the South, which brought about -the greatest revolution of modern times. - -The pictures which Mr. Bancroft draws in pursuing the thread of his -narrative, are often highly graphic. The early adventures of Soto and -others; the colony of Raleigh at Roanoke; the landing of the Pilgrims; -the Indian wars of New England, are all described with force if not with -beauty. The gradual dissemination of the Democratic principle is also -faithfully depicted; and it is clearly shown that the Puritans, the -Swedes, and the Quakers, alike formed pure democracies in their -settlements. In short, the history is something more than a mere -chronicle: it is a continuous essay on the philosophy of the American -Revolution. - -The third volume brings the subject down to the period of the old French -war, an epoch which may be considered at the threshold of the struggle -for independence. Here, for the present, he drops the curtain. A fitter -point, for such a pause could not have been chosen. Behind, is the long -succession of trials, and dangers, through which the infant colonies had -just passed: before is the wild, shadowy future, soon to become vivid -with its startling panorama. Such a reflection might well fill the mind -of the historian with a kind of solemn awe; and it is while such -feelings overpower his readers, that he introduces Washington, the -future hero of the scene. - -The work is beautifully printed, in a style highly creditable to the -American press. - -We leave Mr. Bancroft with the hope that his historic labors will be -pursued with redoubled zeal, satisfied that in him America possesses a -philosophic annalist of the highest order. - - * * * * * - - _“Bryant’s American Poets.” 1 vol. Harper & Brothers._ - -This work does credit to the editor, although he has admitted some, and -left out others, of our poetical writers, whom we think he ought not so -to have treated. However, a compilation like this can never be made to -suit all. The true question is, who can do better? - - * * * * * - - _“Travels to the City of the Caliphs.” By Lieutenant Wellsted. 2 - vols. Lea & Blanchard._ - -This is a light, entertaining work. The adventures of the hero (Lieut. -Ormsby) are highly pleasing; and he evinces a laudable desire to fall in -love, as well for his own as for the convenience of the reader. On the -whole, the book is well written, and quite amusing. - - * * * * * - - - - - FASHIONS FOR FEBRUARY, 1841. - - - CARRIAGE DRESS. - -Fig. 1.—Robe of one of the new figured silks; the skirt trimmed with -two _bias_ flounces; half-high _corsage_, and bishop’s sleeve. Cambric -_collerette-fichû_, trimmed with Valenciennes lace. Violet satin -_mantelet_, lined with _gros de Naples_, and bordered with a broad band -of violet velvet; it is of the scarf form, but made long and ample, and -with a small pointed hood. Green satin _chapeau_, a round brim, -something deeper than they are in general; the interior is trimmed on -each side with a half wreath of blush-roses; the exterior with bands and -knots of green ribbon, and a white and green shaded _marabout_ plume. - - - EVENING DRESS. - -Fig. 2.—Lemon-colored satin robe, trimmed with a deep flounce of -antique point lace, surmounted by roses placed singly at regular -distances above the flounce; low tight _corsage_ and sleeve, both -trimmed with point. Head-dress of hair, disposed in thick masses of -ringlets at the sides, and a low open bow behind; it is decorated with -flowers, and a gold cross, _Châle bournouss_ of white cashmere, lined -with white satin, and bordered with a band of black and plaid velvet. - -Fig. 3.—India muslin robe; the skirt is trimmed with a closely plaited -_volan_, which encircles the bottom of the border, mounts in the drapery -style on one side, and is terminated by a _nœud_ of muslin, similarly -finished at the ends; a _chef d’or_ head the _volan_. _Corsage en gerbe_ -and short full sleeve, both ornamented with _chefs d’or_. The head dress -gives a front view of the one just described. Opera cloak of brown _rep_ -velvet, lined with blue satin: it is made shorter than the dress, of -moderate width, and trimmed with three blue satin _rouleaus_, each -placed at some distance from the other, and a light embroidery -surmounting the upper one. A small hood, and a very deep lappel complete -the ornaments. - - - OPERA DRESS. - -Fig. 4.—_Douilette_ of white cashmere, wadded, and lined with pink -_gros de Naples_; the lining quilted in a lozenge pattern; the _corsage_ -is made tight to the shape, and half-high. Demi-large sleeve; the front -of the skirt is finished on each side by fancy silk trimming. _Mantelet_ -of a large size, and of the same materials, bordered with a rich white -and pink _chenille_ fringe. Black velvet _chapeau à la Louis XIII_, -trimmed with white and pink feathers. - -[Illustration: FASHIONS FOR FEBRUARY 1841 FOR GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.] - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Archaic -spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious punctuation and -typesetting errors have been corrected without note. - -[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XVIII, No. 2, February 1841_, George R. -Graham, Editor] - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XVIII, No. 2, -February 1841, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, FEBRUARY 1841 *** - -***** This file should be named 63665-0.txt or 63665-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/6/6/63665/ - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net -from page images generously made available by the Internet -Archive (https://archive.org) - -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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