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border-collapse: collapse; padding:3px; } - .tab1c1 { } - .tab1c2 { } - .tab2c1 { } - .tab2c2 { } - .tab1c1-col2 { border-right: 0px solid black; } - .tab2c1-col2 { border-right: 0px solid black; } - .tdStyle0 { - padding: 0px 5px; text-align:center; vertical-align:top; - } - .tdStyle1 { - padding: 0px 5px; text-align:left; vertical-align:top;padding-left:29px; text-indent:-24px; - } - .tdStyle2 { - padding: 0px 5px; text-align:left; vertical-align:top; - } - .pindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:1.5em; } - .noindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:0; } - .hang { padding-left:1.5em; text-indent:-1.5em; } - .literal-container { text-align:center; margin:0 0; } - .literal { display:inline-block; text-align:left; } - </style> - <style type="text/css"> - h1 { font-size: 1.3em; font-weight:bold;} - .pindent {margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0em;} - </style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XVIII, No. 4, April -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. 4, April 1841 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George R. Graham - -Release Date: November 10, 2020 [EBook #63706] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, APRIL 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) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0000' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;page-break-before: avoid;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:0.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XVIII.</span> April, 1841. No. 4.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:0.5em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>Contents</p> - -<table id='tab1' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 0.5em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0' colspan='2'><span class='bold'><span style='font-size:larger'>Fiction, Literature and Articles</span></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#ladyi'>The Lady Isabel</a> (continued)</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#our'>Our Bill</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#uneq'>Unequally Yoked</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#self'>Self-Devotion</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#defa'>The Defaulter</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#murd'>The Murders in the Rue Morgue</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#reef'>The Reefer of ’76</a> (continued)</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#out'>The Outlaw Lover</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#conf'>The Confessions of a Miser</a> (continued)</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#spor'>Sports and Pastimes</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#rev'>Review of New Books</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -</table> - -<table id='tab2' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 0.5em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle0' colspan='2'><span class='bold'><span style='font-size:larger'>Poetry, Music and Fashion</span></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#bril'>The Brilliant Nor-West</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#slig'>A Slighted Woman</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#apic'>A Picture</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#wint'>A Winter Scene</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#comp'>Comparisons</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#april'>An April Day</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#oldm'>Old Memories</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#chim'>Chimes of Antwerp</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#awin'>A Winter Scene</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#ohg'>Oh! Gentle Love</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#fash'>Fashions for April 1841</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;'><a href='#notes'>Transcriber’s Notes</a> can be found at the end of this eBook.</p> - -<hr class='tbk100'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i001.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0001' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span class='it'><span style='font-size:smaller'><span class='it'>Engraved by J. Sartain</span></span></span></p> <br/><span style='font-size:larger'><span class='it'>He Comes</span></span><br/> <br/><span style='font-size:smaller'><span class='it'>Engraved for Graham’s Magazine from the Original Picture by Leutze in the Possession of John W. Field Esq.<sup>r</sup></span></span> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk101'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;page-break-before: always;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<hr class='tbk102'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol.</span> XVIII. APRIL, 1841. <span class='sc'>No. 4.</span></p> - -<hr class='tbk103'/> - -<div><h1 class='nobreak'><a id='ladyi'></a>THE LADY ISABEL.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'>(<span class='sc'>Continued from page 99.</span>)</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><span class='sc'>Chapter IV.</span></h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='it'>The Disappearance.</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>There</span> is nothing so dreadful as the heart’s first -disappointment. To love vainly—oh! what is -more agonising. We feel as if every one had -turned against us; as if there was nothing left to -live for in this world; as if the springs of life, and -the joy of existence had departed forever from us. -The loss of a friend may be compensated for, and -the ruin of our fortunes can be borne without -despair; but the hopelessness of a first love can -never be ameliorated by aught on earth. Go where -we will, the blight of the heart will continue with -us. <span class='it'>We can never forget.</span> Hope will have dried -up within us. We feel, like a stranger in a strange -land, as an outcast on the world, beholding feelings -in which we can take no part around us, and reminded -daily of our misery by the happiness of -others. Alas! for the one disappointed in a first love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That night Isabel saw no more of her cousin. -But when the whole of the next day passed, and -she still did not meet him, she began to be alarmed. -She feared to ask for him. Her father had been -absent all day, and it was not until night that he -returned. When he did, he brought the intelligence, -that, in compliance with an old promise, he had -that morning visited the earl of ——, an influential -courtier of the neighboring county, in order to procure -for Lorraine a commission. The page had, -the preceding evening, begged to be allowed to join -the army so eagerly, that having nothing particularly -to do, and noticing and applauding his young -cousin’s anxiety to assume arms, he had ridden -over with him to —— castle, and after obtaining -the appointment for him, had left him there, at his -urgent request, with his new colonel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And I rejoice too at his determination,” continued -Lord Deraine, “although it was somewhat -of a sudden. I began almost to think that the lad -was growing too effeminate, with his lute, and other -lady pastimes, and forgetting the name that he bore. -But I ween had you beheld his eye glisten to-day, -when he was first addressed by his military title, -you would have said that he was every inch a Lorraine. -And God forfend that it should ever come -to disgrace! My mother was a daughter of that -house,” continued the aged nobleman, “and I feel a -strange interest in the boy’s success. Had you seen -him to-day you would have said he was a true -descendant of the iron-hearted warrior who led that -charge at Agincourt, which decided the fortune of -the day. Were I as I once was, I would e’en go -one campaign with him to learn how they fight in -these degenerate days, and show them the manner -in which we cavaliers of Prince Rupert used to -charge the canting round-heads.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But pa,” said Isabel, scarcely venturing to -speak, “did he leave no word—no message?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! I had almost forgot. He sent a note to -you—here it is—about some hawk, or lute, or his -greyhound perhaps—did he bid you farewell, by -the bye?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Isabel felt her heart beat faster at the enquiry of -her parent, but giving an evasive answer to his -question, she took the note, and left the apartment. -Little did Lord Deraine suspect the agony which -had driven his young kinsman from his halls, or -dream of the tears that Isabel shed that night over -her ill-fated cousin’s epistle. It ran thus:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>Dearest Isabel:—I know not whether to write to -you; and yet why should I not? Are we not cousins—brought -up under the same roof—taught to love -each other from childhood—bound to one another by -a thousand ties? Yet we cannot meet again as we -have met! Oh! little did I think twenty-four hours -ago that such agony as I now suffer would so soon be -my lot. But I will not blame you. You never said -you loved me—you never smiled on me except as a -cousin. It is only I who am wrong. Could I ever -think that you, the pure, the beautiful, the courted, -would look on a poor page with love? Yet I did: I -nursed the delusion long: and now—oh! God—the -dream is forever broken.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Forgive me, dear Isabel—for I will yet once more -call you by that name—forgive me, for I scarce know -what I write. I leave you for years, perhaps forever. -I go to seek a name of which you will not be ashamed, -or to die. God bless you, again and again, and again -dearest Isabel! May you be happy. Once more God -bless you!</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The tears of the maiden fell thick and fast as she -perused this passionate epistle, and she sighed,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Poor, poor Lorraine—would we had never -met, or that you had never loved.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The absence of the page was felt throughout the -castle, for all had loved the generous and high-souled -boy. For many a long day the old servitors -loved to recall his boyish deeds, and augur a glorious -career for the young soldier. And often, as Isabel -sat in her splendid chamber, while twilight deepened -through the gorgeously curtained windows, her -thoughts would wander away after her absent -cousin, and taking the melancholy hue of the hour, -she would indulge in mournful memories of the -past, and sigh that she could make no return to -Lorraine except what was all too cold for him,—her -friendship. Even De Courtenay, could he have read -her thoughts at such moments, would have pardoned -her that involuntary pang.</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><span class='sc'>Chapter V.</span></h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='it'>The Young Soldier.</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the eve of a battle. Far along the sides -of the hill stretched the camp of the allies, the long -lines of white tents gleaming in the starlight, and -the death-like silence of the sleeping army filling -the mind with an awe, second only to that inspired -by the holy silence of the calm and peaceful stars -above. Below was a wide extensive valley, through -which wound a narrow river, while here and there -along the plain were scattered rich farms, and -solemn woodlands. On the opposite range of uplands, -the camp of the enemy might be detected by -the long-line of watch-fires glittering on the horizon. -Occasionally the neigh of a steed, or the “all’s -well!” of the sentinel, floated past on the night air. -All else was still. A profound calm reigned where -to-morrow would be heard the shouts of thousands, -the booming of artillery, and the clash of meeting -squadrons.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was yet long before day when Lorraine sprang -from his couch, and hastily attiring himself, prepared -to join his troop, at the expected summons. -It was to him a day of the most intense interest, -for not only was he then for the first time to behold -the conflict of man with man, but he was to begin -that career of arms which he had determined should -give him renown or death.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes!” he exclaimed energetically, “though -Isabel may never love me, she shall hear my name -in every mouth, or else be told by some pitying -tongue that I have died in the heart of battle. I -feel that within me which will make or mar me. -To-day shall lay the first stone in my advancement, -and men will talk no longer of the idle page, when -they hear of the deeds of the warrior.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With such emotions stirring in his bosom, Lorraine -joined his corps on the morning of that eventful -day; nor did he, for a moment, through the long -hours of that celebrated battle, forget his vow. -Wherever the danger was the most imminent, there -the gallant young soldier was to be found. When -the battle was at its fiercest, Lorraine seemed only -more calm and collected; until even hoary veterans -were astonished at the fearless composure of the -young officer. Already had he performed deeds of -daring, which had been alone enough to make him -the wonder of his corps, when he was ordered to -charge, with his body of dragoons, on a battalion of -the enemy who were about making a movement on -the left of the allies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Flushed with the confidence thus displayed in his -coolness and valor, Lorraine dashed off to take -up his position so as to be able to check the enemy’s -advance at the most favorable moment. Rapid as -was his movement, however, he had been anticipated -by the foe, and before he could reach the -threatened position, the detachment of infantry defending -the farm-house had been driven in, half -their number made prisoners, and the rest compelled -to fall back in disorder. When Lorraine approached -their post, they were retreating up the hill immediately -in the rear of the farm-house, while a strong -body of the enemy’s infantry was pressing upon -them in the rear. A thick wood, running at right -angles with the road taken by the retreating corps, -effectually hid Lorraine’s dragoons from sight, until -the very moment when the enemy’s flank was -exposed to his charge. Perceiving his advantage, -the young soldier waved his sword, and turning to -his troops, shouted,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Charge!” and in an instant, like a whirl-wind -they burst upon the astonished enemy. The shock -was irresistible. Taken completely by surprise, -and already disordered by the pursuit, the foe scarcely -stood their ground a moment, but broke in all -directions. A scene of wild consternation ensued. -Through and through the tumultuous crowd of fugitives, -dashed the troopers of Lorraine, hewing and -treading down their antagonists at every step. -Amid this wild uproar, the young officer might be -detected by his snowy plume and white charger; -and wherever they were seen, there the battle was -sure to rage the thickest. But though broken in -nearly every direction, there was still a fragment of -the enemy’s corps, which, rallying around its -leader, endeavored for a while to maintain its -ground, and even succeeded in repelling the attack -made upon it by a portion of the late fugitives, -who, rallying at the first appearance of succor, under -charge of their commander, attempted to cut off -the retreat of the enemy. At this moment Lorraine -perceived their peril. Quick as lightning he dashed -to their aid, followed by a portion of his gallant -band; and arrived at the very moment when his -brother officer, having been struck from his horse, -lay at the mercy of the enemy’s uplifted sword. It -was but the work of a moment to strike up the -weapon of the assailant, and with another blow to -sever the arm of the French officer. Lorraine’s -troopers at the same instant, rushing like a thunder-bolt -upon the enemy, scattered them down the hill, -and before the young officer could stoop to raise his -fellow soldier, the enemy had vanished from around -them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To whom am I indebted for this timely aid?” -said the wounded man, endeavoring to rise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To a friend—Henry De Lorraine. As I have -just joined the army even my brother officers are -unknown to me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But you will not be long unknown to them, -for a more gallant charge I never saw made, and -even a De Courtenay may consider it an honor to -be the friend of a Lorraine.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young officer felt his heart beat as it had -not beat yet through all that day’s conflict. The -lover of his cousin was before him. With that -name rushed a thousand memories upon his mind, -and for an instant he stood silent and spell-bound -before De Courtenay. But recalling, with an effort, -his wandering thoughts, he bowed to the speaker’s -compliment, and assisting the wounded officer from -the field, recalled his troops, and prepared to maintain -the position he had so gallantly recovered.</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><span class='sc'>Chapter VI.</span></h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='it'>Fame: The new friend.</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'>The whole camp was ringing with the deeds -of Lorraine. The days of Roland were revived. -Old and young, officers and soldiery conversed only -of the youthful hero who had already won for himself -the title of “the bravest of the brave.” Not -only in his first battle, but in every successive engagement, -Lorraine had achieved wonders. He -had already been promoted through several grades; -general officers and titled princes courted his society; -and, as if by an enchanter’s wand, in less -than a year from the opening of his career as a -soldier, the name of the unknown page was ringing -in every capital of Europe. Oh! how delicious -was it for him to know that Isabel heard of his -deeds, and that though she might not love, she -could not pity him. No, he had saved himself -from that. His vow had been fulfilled. He had -become renowned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A strange friendship had sprung up between -Lorraine and him whom he had rescued. The -grateful De Courtenay had sought the intimacy of -his preserver in such a way as could not be refused, -and though it was, at first, agony for Lorraine to -be the confidant of his rival, yet he could not avoid -it without insulting his new friend, or exposing -his own hopeless love. But the former course he -scorned: and to the latter alternative he could not -listen. He was forced, therefore, to endure in silence -that, which, like the vulture of Prometheus, -was eating out his vitals. Daily did De Courtenay -pour into his ear his tale of love, thinking that as -the relative of Isabel, Lorraine would sympathise -with his long continued separation, and join in the -praises of his mistress; but little did the generous -young nobleman know of the agony he was thus -inflicting upon his new friend.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meantime the war continued. Siege after siege, -and battle after battle marked the conquering career -of the allies, and in every brilliant action the deeds -of the young hero shone forth with unabated lustre. -In the hottest of the conflict, heading the assault or -leading a charge, Lorraine was ever to be found, -seeming to bear a charmed life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet the cheek of the young hero grew thinner -daily, and amid all his splendid and rapidly increasing -renown, it was plain that his unquiet spirit was -tossing to and fro within him, and wearing out his -very existence. His brow grew darker as if with -long years of care; his eye burned with a deep, -restless, almost wild brilliancy; and his port became -prouder and prouder, for he grew more lofty as -the struggle with himself became fiercer. Yes! -the contest was still waged against his unhappy -love,—how hopelessly, let others in the same situation -tell.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His was not the love of days, or weeks, or -months, but of years: his was not an evanescent -feeling of admiration, but the deep, fathomless -passion of one whose whole soul was consumed by -his love. How could he conquer such an emotion? -No, he might fly from Isabel, but could he fly from -himself? His love had become a part of his being: -it was his sustenance, his life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was after a hard contested battle, in which -his corps had distinguished itself unusually, and he -had turned the tide of war on one wing by his own -valor and influence, that his sovereign filled up the -measure of his renown, by reviving in his person, -an honor long disused, and creating him a knight -banneret upon the field of conflict.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Rise, Sir Henry Lorraine,” said the monarch, -as, surrounded by a brilliant cortège, he waved his -hand for the kneeling knight to arise, “you have -this day won a name far more imperishable than -the title I have bestowed upon you. Were a tithe -of the gentlemen of my realm like you, England -would have a Bayard or a Roland for every -knight’s fee.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Such a compliment, from the lips of a phlegmatic -sovereign, placed the finishing stone on the renown -of Lorraine. He was henceforth without a rival. -Courted by the titled; adored by his fellow soldiers; -and smiled on by the young and beautiful; what -farther had this world to bestow upon him? Alas! -all these brought him no happiness. To Lorraine -they were but empty shadows, for they could not -give him the love of his cousin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah! how will Isabel rejoice to hear of this,” -said De Courtenay, the day after the young hero’s -knighthood, “you and she were playmates in childhood, -you know, and it will please her all the more -that I too love you. I wonder why she says -nothing of you in her letters, but then—.” De -Courtenay paused. Even the happy lover felt that -it would not do to say how wholly a mistress forgets -in her missives all but the object of her -adoration.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lorraine could not reply. His brow throbbed to -bursting, and he turned away. Yet he did not -betray himself. Never had De Courtenay suspected -that his friend loved Isabel; and Lorraine vowed -in his inmost heart that he never should.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And thus time rolled on, and day by day, and -week by week, and month by month, the renown -of the young soldier increased, while the blight at -his heart grew more venomous and deadly. <span class='it'>He -loved in vain.</span> Often in the still watches of the -night, when the camp lay buried in silence around -him, and the holy stars looked down like guardian -angels on the world below, he would stand for -hours, gazing on the hushed landscape around, and -wandering, in thought, back to the time when he -stood at the side of Isabel, and together they gazed -up upon the starry sky, or listened to the low -whisper of the night-wind across the firmament, -while their hearts held high communion, as if -linked in with each other by some mysterious sympathy. -Alas! those days were gone forever. Alone -Lorraine gazed up at the sky, while Isabel perhaps -thought of him no more.</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><span class='sc'>Chapter VII.</span></h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='it'>He Comes.</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your cousin, young Harry, now Sir Henry -Lorraine, knight banneret, is coming to visit us, -Isabel,” said Lord Deraine, one morning, as he -entered the breakfast room, holding an open letter -in his hand, “he has come over with despatches, -and says that he shall have a few days of leisure. -Here is his letter. It came by a special courier, to -whom I gave a reply, inviting Lorraine down here -at once. So you may expect the gallant boy to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But pa, how know you he will come?” said -Isabel, with ill-concealed agitation, for she had not -yet forgotten their last parting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come! why where else would he go, but to -those who love him like we do? Ah! I wonder if -glory has changed him. By the honor of my house -but it will make me young again to see the gallant -lad, who has made the name of a Lorraine to ring -like a watch word through Europe.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Isabel knew not scarcely how she felt. She -dreaded, and yet wished to meet her cousin. Long -did she think over it that night, and wonder if he -had conquered his ill-fated passion. And when at -length she fell asleep, it was after many a prayerful -hope that Lorraine might have learned to -look upon her only as a cousin, and have sought -among fairer and loftier ones, to whom he might -fearlessly aspire, a being more worthy of his fortunes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Why had Lorraine, after tearing himself away -from Isabel, determined to re-visit her? Alas! who -can tell the workings of that master passion <span style='font-size:smaller'>LOVE</span>? -How often do we resolve to see the face of some -dear one no more, and how often do we return -again and again to her presence, hoping even -against hope, until we feel that the cup of bliss is too -surely dashed from our lips forever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a glorious afternoon when he arrived at -the gates of the park, and at every step seeing -something to remind him of the past, he gradually -fell into a reverie, from which he was only aroused -by coming in front of the hall, and finding himself -welcomed by the noisy tenantry, as well as by a -score of old familiar faces in the shape of trusty -servitors. Their homely but joyous greetings went -to Lorraine’s heart, and almost drew tears from his -eyes, when he reflected how differently he had -passed that threshold the last time. His uncle met -him at the hall door, and falling into his arms, -blessed him: while Isabel frankly extending her -hand, greeted him as she would have done in their -old and happy hours.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dinner passed off, Isabel withdrew, and Lorraine -was alone with his uncle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How you have altered, Henry,” said the old -earl, “you left us a boy, and now your brow is that -of a warrior. Ah! I always knew you would prove -an honor to your house. Another glass of the Burgundy. -But now we are alone, let us hear of your -battles and sieges.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was almost evening when they rose from the -table, and Lorraine signified his wish to seek the -open air. His uncle pleaded his gout, and the -young knight stepped out upon the lawn.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Soon, however, as if led by a mysterious influence, -he sought the old terrace, where he had sat -at Isabel’s feet the last day he had spent at the hall. -His cousin was there. For a moment both were embarrassed. -A woman on such occasions, is always -the first to speak; and Isabel broke the spell by an -allusion to their early days. Long then they conversed; -for both their hearts were full. But neither -spoke of love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a golden evening, the very counterpart to -the one he had last spent there, and when, for a few -minutes both paused, it is not improbable that each -reverted to that memorable occasion, and for awhile -they gazed without speaking on the landscape. -And mournful were Lorraine’s thoughts as he gazed. -What was honor, or rank, or wealth to him, since -they brought him not Isabel? But was her love -then hopelessly lost to him? Alas! had not De -Courtenay assured him of her continued affection; -and would it not be even dishonorable to win that -affection if he could? Yet might there not be hope? -Such feelings, whirling through his mind, almost -determined Lorraine, in the excitement of the -moment, to fling himself at Isabel’s feet. Suddenly, -however, two horsemen appeared in the -distance, winding up the avenue of the park. -Isabel and himself started simultaneously, and -looked at each other. Could it be that both -divined in the foremost of the riders the same individual?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A moment passed, when their ears were aroused -by the rapid clattering of approaching hoofs, and -looking down they beheld a couple of horsemen -spring from their steeds. The eye of one of the -riders happened to fall upon them, and he turned -hastily in their direction. Surely it was not—yes! it -was—De Courtenay. He dashed up the terrace -with eager haste, and Isabel, forgetting, in her glad -surprise, everything except that the lover she had -not seen for years stood before her, rushed forward -to meet him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Edward—Edward!” was all the agitated -girl could utter, as she stooped to her half kneeling -lover.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Isabel—dearest Isabel, we meet at last,” passionately -exclaimed De Courtenay, as he looked up, -and clasped her in his arms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Oh! who can tell the agony of Lorraine during -that moment? Was it for this he had toiled; was -it for this he had struggled; was it for this he had -breasted the fierce assault? It was the last drop -in his cup of bitterness. His heart was wrung with -unutterable woe. He spoke no word, he breathed -no sigh; but he gazed a moment sadly on the spectacle, -and then noiselessly entered the apartment -behind. When the lovers looked around he was -gone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That night a solitary traveller might be seen on -the high road to London. He had just parted with -another, who had pursued him hotly for several -miles, and finally overtaken him. The two were -Lorraine and De Courtenay. The latter, learning -every thing from Isabel for the first time, had set -out and overtaken his preserver, with the generous -design to relinquish his mistress to the young knight. -But Lorraine would not listen to him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, no, you tempt me over much,” sadly said -Lorraine, “for can you give me the love of Isabel? -God bless you both. As for me, glory henceforth -is my only mistress. Farewell!” and pressing his -friend’s hand, he plunged his rowels into the flanks -of his steed, and dashed on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>De Courtenay had followed Lorraine to England -unexpectedly within twenty-four hours of the young -knight’s departure, and, having hastily transacted -his business in London, had hurried down to Deraine -hall, and met Lorraine as we have described.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>None of his house ever saw Lorraine again. He -appeared in a few days in the camp, but within a -week fell in an assault, the only man who had succeeded -in mounting the breach. There he fought -unsupported for several minutes, but finally sank -pierced with a hundred wounds.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And long did Isabel and De Courtenay weep for -the ill-fated page. And when the war was over, -and they were married, often would they sit on -that old terrace, and feel a melancholy pleasure in -talking of Lorraine. Need we wonder that their -eldest boy bore the name of Isabel’s unfortunate -cousin? * * *</p> - -<hr class='tbk104'/> - -<div><h1><a id='bril'></a>THE BRILLIANT NOR-WEST.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY J. K. MITCHELL.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Let</span> Araby boast of her soft spicy gale,</p> -<p class='line0'>And Persia her breeze from the rose-scented vale;</p> -<p class='line0'>Let orange-trees scatter in wildness their balm,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where sweet summer islands lie fragrant and calm!</p> -<p class='line0'>Give me the cold blast of my country again,</p> -<p class='line0'>Careering o’er snow-cover’d mountain and plain,</p> -<p class='line0'>And coming, though scentless, yet pure, to my breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>With vigor and health from the cloudless Nor-West.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I languish where suns in the tropic sky glow,</p> -<p class='line0'>And gem-studded waters on golden sands flow,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where shrubs blossom-laden, bright birds, and sweet trees,</p> -<p class='line0'>With odors and music encumber the breeze;</p> -<p class='line0'>I languish to catch but a breathing of thee,</p> -<p class='line0'>To hear thy wild winter-notes brilliant and free,</p> -<p class='line0'>To feel thy cool touch on my heart-strings opprest,</p> -<p class='line0'>And gather a tone from the bracing Nor-West.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Mists melt at thy coming, clouds flee from thy wrath,</p> -<p class='line0'>The marsh and its vapors are seal’d on thy path,</p> -<p class='line0'>For spotless and pure as the snow-covered North,</p> -<p class='line0'>Their cold icy cradle, thy tempests come forth.</p> -<p class='line0'>Thy blue robe is borrowed from clearest of skies,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thy sandals were made where the driven snow lies,</p> -<p class='line0'>And stars, seldom seen in this low world, are blest</p> -<p class='line0'>To shine in thy coronet—brilliant Nor-West.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Health bounds to thy pathway, joy shouts in thy course,</p> -<p class='line0'>The virtues of manhood thy breathings enforce;</p> -<p class='line0'>The pure, and the fair, and the brave, and the free,</p> -<p class='line0'>Are purer, and fairer, and braver, for thee;</p> -<p class='line0'>As flames sweeping wildly o’er mountain and heath,</p> -<p class='line0'>But burn the more fiercely the colder thy breath,</p> -<p class='line0'>So glow, but more brightly for thee, in the breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>The virtues of freedom—soul-stirring Nor-West.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Forever, forever, be thine, purest wind,</p> -<p class='line0'>The lakes and the streams of my country to bind;</p> -<p class='line0'>And oh, though afar I am fated to roam,</p> -<p class='line0'>Still kindle the hearths, and the hearts of my home!</p> -<p class='line0'>While blows from the Polar skies holy and pure,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thy trumpet of freedom, the land shall endure,</p> -<p class='line0'>As snow in thy pathway, and stars on thy crest,</p> -<p class='line0'>Unsullied and beautiful—glorious Nor-West.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Philadelphia, March, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk105'/> - -<div><h1><a id='our'></a>OUR BILL.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. LAMBERT.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“I am gone sir, and anon</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>I’ll be with you again.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:0.75em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Tempest.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Some</span> years since I chanced to stop, during one -of my summer rambles, in a pretty village, picturesquely -situated in the county of F——d. I -arrived about sun-set, and the quiet loveliness which -appeared every where around, won me to the spot. -A row of neat white houses, with pretty gardens in -front, arose on each side of the way, for the distance -of nearly half a mile. At this point the road -branched off in different directions, and exactly on -the centre of division stood the village church; a -plain, unpretending edifice, whose slender spire rose -high above the full tops of venerable elms and dark -pendant willows that surrounded its peaceful walls.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A row of fine trees planted regularly at the -road side, gave the appearance of an avenue to the -village street, which viewed from its entrance, has -an uncommonly pleasing effect, the eye ranging -through the grass-bounded road, and the umbrageous -arch which overshadows it, till the consecrated -building terminates the vista.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The country immediately adjoining the village is -divided into numerous enclosures, bearing marks of -good cultivation; while pretty farm-houses are scattered -in every direction, with woods, streams, rocks -and groves, beautifying the landscape. A chain of -hills, which might without the charge of an extraordinary -degree of presumption, aspire to the name -of mountains, bounds the view on the south-east—their -undulating outline beautifully marked against -the clear horizon. Through an opening of the -range, a glimpse is caught of the deep blue waters -of the sound—a sail just distinguished—diminished -by distance to a mere speck, gives frequent interest, -and adds to the magic of the scene.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pleasing, however, as was the village, and -abounding in objects most inviting to a lover of -simple life, I determined not to make it my place -of abode. Enquiring my way to a farm-house, of -which I had some previous knowledge, I directed -my steps thither. It was situated about a mile -from the village, at the foot of a gentle slope, and -adjoining a grove vocal in spring-time with the -notes of almost innumerable birds.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The master of it was a plain farmer, but one of -Heaven’s nobility, an honest man. He lived like -one of the Patriarchs of old, surrounded by his -descendants to the third generation. His still -athletic form was unbent by age, although his -venerable locks were whitened by the snows of -seventy winters.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I was received with all the kindness I could -wish. Every thing was done to make me comfortable, -and cause me, as the phrase goes, to feel -at home, and I did so.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The farm-house was a large, old building, -abounding in long, low rooms, the ceilings of -which were crossed by heavy beams, a century -ago considered no defect in architectural embellishment—narrow -windows, glazed with exceedingly -small panes, carefully leaded—a fire-place -built across one corner of the room, over the -mantel-piece of which appeared a wooden clock, -flanked on each side by a china figure, intending -to represent, as I supposed, Flora and Pomona.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The former of these heathen beauties balanced -her well-filled basket with sufficient gravity on a -head none of the smallest—but her companion -from the carelessness with which she held her -cornucopia, suffered its treasures to escape with -an indifference truly wonderful. A pair of pink-colored -candles, rising from sockets garnished with -curiously cut paper, finished the decorations of the -fire-place.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>My hostess was a little, fat, short, good-humored -woman, and with her youngest daughter, the only -one remaining unmarried, and a daughter-in-law, -whose husband was absent in a distant part of the -country, constituted those members of the family, -with whom I had most frequent and social communication. -There were, also, two or three large -dogs, of prepossessing physiognomy, and urbane -gentlemanly manners, with whom I soon found a -sort of companionship.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But of all the oddities, animate or inanimate, -with which I became acquainted during my visit -to Redbury, I saw none that interested me more -than an urchin who officiated in the family as a -sort of boy of all work.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Short, stout, broad-shouldered as an infant Hercules, -with a round, good-humored face, laughing -grey eyes, and elf-locks tanned to a dead flaxey -whiteness, by continual exposure to the sun and -wind—“Our Bill,” for so he was constantly and -familiarly denominated, was to be found every -where, and equal to every imposed duty. He -chopped wood, made the fires, fetched water, -brought the cows, and helped the maids to milk -them; went of all the errands, and did <span class='it'>all the -chores</span>. When the farmer came in wearied from -the field, “Our Bill” ran to the cellar and drew for -his refreshment a mug of hard cider. If an extra -hand was wanted in hay-time or harvest, it was -only to send to the house for “Our Bill.” If a -neighbor was at a loss for a messenger in any -emergency—the first thought was to request of -neighbor Dawkins the loan of “Bill.” In short, -he was in demand for every thing, and I began to -consider him ubiquitous.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The readiness with which he complied with every -requisition, his unvarying good-humor and promptness -to oblige, soon drew my attention and gained -my approbation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The first marked kindness which I received from -him I well remember. I was sitting in the apartment -allotted to my use, and taking my breakfast. -The morning was dark, and it rained violently. I -looked toward the windows with a sort of hopelessness -of feeling, for I expected that letters were -lying in the post-office in the village, from my -friends in the city, and I knew not how to procure -them. To be sure I might send “Our Bill,” but I -had not the heart to do so.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While meditating thus, a gentle tap came to my -door. I opened it, and who should appear but -“Our Bill.” His garments were soaked and dripping -with rain, which fell in rapid and discolored -drops from numerous ragged points and edges. -He held his tattered, crownless hat in one hand, -while he extended to me in the other no less than -three letters—three letters from dear friends in -town—how dear, let friendship in absence determine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I looked up at the windows involuntarily, as I -broke the seal of one missive.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why William, (I never could bear to call him -Bill,) you have been to the post-office—and through -all the storm—I hope you did not go entirely on -my account?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, but I did though.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, my lad, I never would have sent you -through such a tempest of wind and rain.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know that. But I heard you say last night -that you thought there were letters for you in the -village, so I determined you should have ’em.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are a kind boy, Will. Are you not -cold? You had better go quickly and change -your clothes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Change my clothes, oh no—I don’t mind a -wet jacket. I’ll make a fire up for you though, -if you please,” and he looked at my vacant hearth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do so,” said I, and while he was engaged I -perused my letters. Their contents were satisfactory -and pleasing, and I sat ruminating on the past, -with no painful anticipations about the future, while -the boy went on with his self-imposed employment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There,” exclaimed he, as a cheerful crackling -flame blazed up the chimney, “I think you’ll do, -now.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So do I, Willy, and here is something for your -pains.” I handed him a small silver piece. He -took it with a rustic bow, and looked at it with -delight. His face, cheerful before, now grew bright -with pleasure. Down he sat, <span class='it'>sans cérémonie</span>, upon -the hearth, and diving his hand into some unimaginable -recess about his person, brought to light a -dingy-looking rag, which he untied. In it I beheld -a few pieces of copper coin. He added to them -the silver which I had given him, retied his little -bag, thanked me again, and was about to leave the -room. My voice arrested him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, Willy, you are quite rich; what are you -going to do with so much money?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The boy actually blushed and hung his head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know,” he replied.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose you do,” said I, “my man, and may -I not know too?” He was silent. “It will go to -buy tops and marbles, I suppose,” I added.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No it won’t,” he answered, with quickness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps you are saving it till you get enough -to purchase a new hat, or a pair of shoes. If so, -I think, you are doing very right.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No answer, and at this moment Mrs. Dawkins -calling him, he left the room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This economy was a trait I little suspected in -my young acquaintance. Most boys of his age -expend the few pence which they casually acquire, -in the purchase of apples, or nuts, or gingerbread, -but I never saw “Our Bill” indulge in any luxuries -of this sort. I, therefore, could only return to my -first supposition, that he was hoarding up the means -of buying a Sunday jacket, trowsers, shoes or hat. -The chief things that I disapproved of, about the -boy, were the indifference which he evinced as to -his appearance, and his love of mischief. It is true -he had not much time to devote to personal neatness; -yet numerous as were his avocations, there -was not a solitary scheme of mischief carried into -effect within a mile of the village, in which Bill did -not bear a part. If mammy Jennings’s orchard -was to be thinned of its superfluous number of -golden pippins—or cross-grained old Squire Grummand’s -fine walnut tree laid under contribution—or -the Deacon’s melon-patch to be <span class='it'>examined</span> by moonlight, -I am sorry to say that “Our Bill” was sure -to be an assistant, if not officiating as president of -the board of directors. In short, he was a mischievous, -but good-natured and obliging boy, that -might by a little care exercised by some kind-hearted -individual, be rendered a good and useful -member of the community. But if neglected and -suffered to grow up in idleness, or desultory employment, -which is next akin to it, he stood a fair -chance of falling into a career of dissipation, profligacy -and vice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I took an early opportunity of enquiring more -particularly about this boy of Mrs. Dawkins: who -gave me the following account. His parents, who -were natives of the village, and poor, had married -early in life. They were industrious—the man -particularly so—and they were virtuous and honest. -For some time after their marriage the world went -hardly with them. An increase of family brought -an increase of cares and want, with no additional -means wherewith to answer them. James Lee -(that was his name) became dejected—and Nancy -unfortunately lost not her cheerfulness only, but her -good temper: and although James worked hard -from day to day, and gave her every penny of his -earnings, to lay up or expend in supplying the wants -of the family, as she chose; yet she was still peevish -and dissatisfied. Harassed by his wife’s growing -ill-temper, and threatened by all the evils attendant -upon increasing poverty, James began to seek in -company at the village tavern a temporary relief -from care. This only made matters worse; Nancy -instead of striving to make his home pleasant, and -soothing his uneasiness, by bidding him hope for the -best, always met him with tears and upbraidings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus matters went on for some time, when one -day as Mrs. Lee was about heating her oven for a -baking of bread, she found that there was no oven -wood cut. Her husband always prepared the wood -for her in the nicest manner; but he had somehow -or other forgotten to do so at this time. Instead -of going quietly out to him where he sat at work -in the little shop, opposite their house, (he was a -shoemaker by trade) she began by angrily accusing -him of negligence, and want of consideration for -her comfort—with sundry reflections on the manner -in which he had too frequently passed his hours of -late, to the great detriment of both purse and credit. -He heard all she had to say with exemplary patience; -and when she had finished arose from his -bench, and walked to the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you going to get the oven-wood?” she -asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Anne,” he replied meekly, and walked -away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Lee returned to her kitchen, and remained -waiting for the wood till a good hour had elapsed. -Out of all patience, she at last sent her daughter, a -fine, stout lass, of ten years, to hurry her father, -bidding her tell him her bread would be entirely -ruined by waiting so long.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl went, but searched for her father in -vain, returning to the house only to give an account -of her ill success. The displeasure of her -mother was again excited, and she sallied forth -herself, fully determined on giving James a piece of -her mind. But James was no where to be seen. -The wood lay uncut. His shop was still open—the -tools which he had been recently employing, -lay on a bench beside that on which he had been -sitting. In short, every thing remained just as he -had left it one short hour before; but from that -time to this, a period of seven years, James Lee -has never been heard of.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This is a surprising story,” said I, when the -good dame had concluded, “what do people suppose -became of Lee?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There’s no telling,” answered Mrs. Dawkins, -“some say one thing and some another. Whether -he left the country—or whether he made away with -himself, there’s nobody knows—for my own part -I think he was harassed out of his life by the odd -temper of his good woman—but there’s no knowing—well, -this here boy, that you’ve been asking -about is her son. She has but two children left—Nancy, -who is about seventeen, and ‘Our Bill.’ -My husband took the boy, to keep him out of evil -courses, and if he behaves himself, Mr. Dawkins -will do well by him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That is certainly very kind of your husband, -and I hope the lad will reward him by industry -and good conduct.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I hope so, too,” replied my hostess, “but Bill is -rather too much inclined to mischief—yet he is a -good boy, too, in many respects, and is very fond -of his mother, whom he goes to see regularly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What are her means of support?” I asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well—she has to work hard enough since the -loss of her husband; and many a time I have seen -her standing in the doorway, looking over at the -little shop in which he used to sit at work, with -her eyes brimful of tears. Ah, I guess it goes to -her heart to think how roughly she used to speak -to poor James. She takes in spinning and plain -work, and sometimes goes out a nursing; and her -daughter does a little at millinery, for she has a -pretty taste about such matters; and so they make -out a living.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is the daughter industrious?” I asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As industrious a girl as you would wish to see, -and as handsome. She has a lover too; indeed a -couple of them; but there her mother and she are -at odds; for the one that Nancy likes is not favored -by Mrs. Lee.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That is unfortunate; and what kind of a person -is the young man preferred by Nancy?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, he is a likely lad—the blacksmith of our -village. He has not much before hand to be sure, -but is honest, good, and true.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And the other?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, he is better off—quite rich. Keeps a store -in the village, and makes a great dash. But for -my own part I think Nancy’s choice is the best; -for Josiah Goodwin is steady as a clock, while -folks do say, that young Sturges, the shop-keeper, -likes a small spree now and then.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If that is the case,” said I, “it is to be hoped -that Nancy will remain firm in her determination -to have nothing to do with him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She has a sad time of it at any rate,” replied -my informant. “Her mother keeps her close at -home, and has ordered her never to see or speak to -young Goodwin; who is so troubled about it, that -he has closed his shop and left the village.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Really,” said I, “I am sorry for this poor girl, -and I should like to pay a visit to Mrs. Lee.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That you may do this evening, if you please,” -said Mrs. Dawkins, “my daughter is going to her -house to carry some work.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The circumstances of Mrs. Lee’s case as respected -her husband, greatly interested me; my -curiosity was awakened, and I agreed to accompany -Lizzy Dawkins. At the hour appointed we -set out together. After a pleasant walk through -winding roads, and shady lanes, we arrived at the -cottage of Mrs. Lee.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was an humble abode, unmarked by any exterior -improvement. One large sycamore grew in -front, and threw a portion of its branches across -the moss-grown roof. A rustic bench was placed -at the foot of the tree. This had been done by -James, in the earlier days of wedded love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The door of the house stood partly open, and -Lizzy, taking the privilege of an old acquaintance, -entered without knocking. I followed. We walked -into the kitchen, which large, clean and comfortable, -served as a reception room. I must acknowledge -that my first glance was directed toward the oven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Nancy greeted us with a kindly welcome; but -the first object that drew my attention was “Our -Bill,” standing by the side of his mother, and -emptying the contents of his dingy-looking purse -into her lap. In seeing us enter he started, and -looked as much confused as if he had been caught -in some act of delinquency. A look from me gave -him courage. I saw at once for what purpose the -money had been saved, and from that moment -determined that while I lived Bill should never -want a friend.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After Lizzy had delivered the work which she -had brought for her neighbor, the conversation fell -upon different matters. Nancy, however, bore but -a small part therein; she seemed absent and sad. -A young female friend of hers came in, and she -made an effort to appear more cheerful.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was now the season when whortleberries were -in their prime; and Bill was exceedingly anxious -that a party should be formed for gathering them -in the neighboring wood. Nancy’s young friend -joined warmly in the project. Lizzy Dawkins was -pleased with the arrangement. I agreed to make -one of the number. Nancy evinced small interest -in the matter, though she agreed to go with us if -her mother was willing: and as the good dame -was relieved from her apprehensions on the score -of Goodwin, since she had learned that he had left -the village, she gave her assent. The following -day was fixed upon for our little excursion; and as -the weather proved fine, we accordingly went.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The wood was not far distant from the house of -Mrs. Lee. It was wild, shady, and beautiful: the -resort of the squirrel and the rabbit—gay with innumerable -wild-flowers, and vocal with the sweet -music of its feathered denizens. Numerous openings -amid the thickets disclosed irregular knolls, -covered with the shrubby bushes which now hung -full of the purple berry of which we came in search, -and whose abundance in many past years had given -to this rural spot the name of Whortleberry, or in -village nomenclature, Huckle-berry wood. We soon -met with two or three other parties on the same -errand with ourselves: some acquaintances of Lizzy -and Nancy were among them: we united our forces, -filled our baskets with berries, and chatted and -laughed the hours away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was about noon, when, tired and rather hungry, -we concluded to seek for a shady spot where -we might rest, and partake of the refreshment with -which we had taken the precaution to provide ourselves. -Bill, who had acted the part of master of -the ceremonies during the whole of the day, now -preceded us, boasting aloud of his superior skill in -discovering a cool and pleasant spot for the purpose -we desired. After a few turns among the bushes -and underwood, we suddenly emerged upon the -borders of a broad and rapid brook, which was -murmuring its way most delightfully among the -reeds and wild-flowers that graced its margin. And -here we were at a stand. To arrive at the spot -designated by our young conductor, and represented -by him as the best in the wood, it was necessary -that we should cross the stream; but how to do so -was the question. Bill suggested the placing a few -large stones in the bed of the river, by means of -which we might easily step across. This was accordingly -done; and Bill, taking his sister by the -hand, preceded the rest of the party, who paused -while they marked the progress of the adventurers -across their unsteady footway. As soon as they -touched the opposite margin, a loud shout from -Bill electrified us. “A rattle-snake! a rattle-snake! -run—run for your lives!” and forgetful of the courage -which I had hitherto seen him assume on -almost every occasion, Bill dragged his terrified sister -up the rough bank, and disappeared with her in -the thick groves beyond.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The cry had affrighted all. Each one ran in a -different direction from his fellow, and each thought -the rattle-snake close at his heels. The panic -could scarcely have been greater had a boa-constrictor -appeared wreathing its voluminous folds -among the branches of the beech, walnut, and oak, -that rustled above our heads. It was sorrowful to -see the labors of the morning scattered in a moment, -for many of the well-filled baskets, overturned by -their respective owners in the precipitation of their -flight, poured their purple treasure among moss, -lichens, and fern-blossoms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, I looked in vain for the reptile -which had caused this alarm, and finding myself -left entirely alone, I concluded to follow the footsteps -of the valorous William and his gentle sister. -Crossing the stream, and clambering the bank on -the opposite side, I found myself in a charming -grove of tall young trees of rapid growth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All was still, save the whistle of the robin, or the -solitary call of the cat-bird. I wandered along, -almost forgetful of the cause which brought me -hither, when at the entrance of a thicket of young -hazels, seated at the end of a fallen tree, and leisurely -employed in stripping the bark from a sapling -branch, which he seemed desirous of forming into -something resembling a walking stick, I discovered -“Our Bill.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Surprised at the quiet in which I beheld him, -contrasted as it was with his late trepidation and -alarm, I immediately accosted him with enquiries -after his sister.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She isn’t far, I guess.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you know where she is?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wish to see her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well—stop a bit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I want to know if she is not hurt?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hurt?—what should hurt her?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The snake, perhaps.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The boy grinned archly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bill,” said I, “what has become of that snake, -think you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m sure I don’t know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you think there really was any there?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m sartain I cannot tell.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said I, advancing, “I shall continue my -search till I find Nancy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The boy started up, and putting his fingers to his -mouth, blew a shrill whistle. I looked at him, in -order to discover, if I could, the end and aim of this -new fantasy. A rustle among the bushes at a little -distance was heard. I turned my eyes in the direction -of the sound. There was Nancy, and by -her side, one of his arms encircling her waist, stood -as fine and good-looking a country youth as one -would wish to see.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They were about parting,—a few more last -words—a kiss and then farewell. Nancy came -tripping toward the spot where she had left her -brother, but on seeing me stopped and looked confused. -I hastened to re-assure her; and quickly retracing -our steps to the brook-side as a sort of -rendezvous, we soon were joined by our companions. -So much for the strategy of “Our Bill.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Gathering up our fruit as well as we were able, -we pursued our way through the mazes of “Huckle-berry” -wood. Bill who had been for some time in -advance of our party, now came running toward us -announcing our near approach to the house of Betty -Nares the fortune-teller. “The fortune-teller—the -fortune-teller” was echoed from lip to lip. And, -“who will have their fortune told?” was asked of -each, by the other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now we came in sight of Betty’s dwelling. -A lowly roof it literally was; for a person would -scarcely be able to stand upright except in the -midst of the only apartment which it contained, so -lowly and sloping was the roof,—so covered with -moss and lichens, that it resembled a green hillock -surrounded by trees. The interior was such as -might have been expected from its outward appearance. -An earthen floor; a stool with three legs; -an empty barrel, the elastic end of which answered -the purposes of a table; a glazed earthen pipkin; a -bowl or two; a wooden platter and spoon, completed -the number and variety of Betty’s furniture and -culinary utensils. A bundle of something indescribable—rolled -up in one corner, was supposed to be -the couch on which this modern sybil reposed her -wearied limbs. A heap of stones formed the fire-place—and -an aperture in the roof answered the -purpose of a chimney in so far as a portion of the -smoke occasionally made its escape thereat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We found the mistress of this inviting retreat -seated beside a few dying embers, over which she -extended her withered hand, seeking to animate -their torpidity by artificial heat. On seeing us she -rose, and presented to our view a veritable hag-like -face and form. Her garments were tattered, her -shoes decayed, and her grey locks imperfectly -covered by a dilapidated bonnet. She saluted us -in a shrill voice, and, in no very gentle terms, demanded -to know our business.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As this was a question we were not altogether -prepared to answer, each looked at his neighbor, -desirous that he or she should expound. Betty, -finding us silent, and growing rather impatient, commenced -an objurgation in a high key, accompanied -by a few ominous flourishes with a stunted broom -which she snatched from a corner near her fire-place. -At this moment Bill stepped up to her, and -in a low voice made some communication which -had the effect of mollifying her at once.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you wish to have your fortunes told, gentlemen -and ladies?” said she, addressing us with an -attempt at looking gracious. One of the village -girls presented her a small piece of money, while -Betty, from some private nook, brought out a terribly -soiled pack of cards, the corners worn by -constant attrition, and the edges blackened by -frequent devotion to the service of the curious in the -prescient art.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was amusing to see the interest displayed. The -cards were cut and divided. Attention became fixed. -The fair enquirer into the mysteries of the future, -placed before this modern oracle, looked pale and -red by turns. And now we were informed of a -strange man who would soon arrive and bring good -news to a certain family not many miles off. And -of a dark-haired woman who was a friend, and of a -light-haired woman who was an enemy, to the -young enquirer. How a journey would be made to -a distant land, and how somebody of fair complexion -and immense wealth was to come over the -water and offer himself a candidate for her fair hand. -There were letters to be expected without number, -and presents to be sent without name. At each -separate piece of intelligence sly looks were exchanged -among the circle; meaning smiles, and -conscious glances. “How wonderfully true!” “Surprising!” -“How she could have known such or -such a circumstance, it was hard to tell, but so it -was. She seemed to know every thing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Nancy Lee could not be prevailed upon to enquire -into the circumstances of her future lot, and -by such neglect considerably displeased Betty; and -to pacify her, Bill invited her to his mother’s house -the following evening. To which arrangement -she at last graciously consented.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We all returned home cheerful and happy; well -pleased with our day’s excursion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The following evening I walked out to see Mrs. -Lee, curious I must own, to learn the proceedings -of Betty Nares in persuading Nancy to have her -fortune told.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I found Mrs. Lee as usual in her neat kitchen. -She was sitting quietly there, for the business of the -day was finished, and that of the evening, which -consisted generally of knitting or spinning, was not -yet begun. Nancy was sitting on a low stool by -the side of her mother, and I thought she looked as -if she had been weeping. The milk pans had been -placed away, filled with their simple treasure. The -chairs stood aside, the hearth was swept up, and all -things looked the very abode of quiet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The last beams of the setting sun shone through -the open door, and threw a soft purple tint across the -humble apartment, which was reflected by a row of -brightly burnished tin pans—proofs of the industry -and neatness of Nancy—which decorated the opposite -wall—and—just as the last tints faded away, -a cricket from some crevice in the rural hearth-stone -commenced tuning his “tiny reed.”—It was -the hour of peace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Lee began to wonder why her son had not -returned. He had been absent she said, for two -hours in “Huckle-berry” wood. She wished with -all her heart that the season of gathering berries -was over. She dreaded every day when farmer -Dawkins would get out of patience with his idling, -and send him home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While she was speaking the window became -darkened by some opaque body, and on looking up -we recognised the head of Betty Nares. Directly -the fortune-teller entered, and took a seat near the -fire-place.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now Bill came in. “Well,” he exclaimed -on seeing Betty, “I’m glad you are here. Now -mother do just let her tell Nancy’s fortune. She -told a power of things to Lucy Harroby and Kitty -Dixon, and all of ’em came true—now do, mother.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t be a simpleton, Bill. I have no faith in -such stuff.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I looked at Nancy—she smiled faintly but said -nothing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You don’t believe me,” said the sybil—“you -won’t believe me I suppose, if I tell you that you -yourself are soon to be married?” I must confess -that I thought this a bold and daring assertion of -Betty, and calculated to strike at the root of all her -hopes of success: as Mrs. Lee was known to be -scrupulously correct and reserved in her deportment, -most particularly since the mysterious departure of -her husband. As I expected, Betty received a look -of disdain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You need not look so scornful, Mrs. Lee,” said -Betty, “what I tell you is true, and you can’t get -aside of it. And I’ll tell you more. The man you -want your daughter to marry, is going to meet with -a great deal of trouble in his worldly matters,—and -the one you don’t wish her to have is likely to be a -rich man—and more—the day you give your consent -that Nancy shall marry Goodwin, a stranger -from across the water will come here, and give her -a dowry that shall set them both well a going in -the world.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Lee in great displeasure asked Betty if she -really supposed “that she had lost her senses, that -she should for one minute be induced to credit such -idle trash.” Betty however, kept her ground, and -repeated her opinions with a tenacity that surprised -me. Bill still continued to entreat. Nancy hid -her face in her hands, and burst into tears. Mrs. -Lee scolded, and Betty solemnly shaking her head, -declared she “had her knowledge from one who -would not lie.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Feeling my presence, in the existing circumstances, -rather an incumbrance, I rose to take -leave. This I did, just as Bill was blowing a coal -in order to light a candle, and Betty was beginning -to shuffle her cards.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Some particular business of my own, prevented -me for a few days from inquiring into the civil and -domestic relations of the House of Lee. I saw -however, that my friend Bill was still in action. -Indeed he seemed more busy than ever. How the -boy sustained such a constant course of riding and -running, of chopping and lugging, of cattle-driving -and hog-feeding, with numerous other et ceteras, all -generally terminating—of late—in an excursion to -“Huckle-berry” wood, I could scarcely imagine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wishing one morning to speak to my hostess, I -went to the kitchen; secure of finding her there,—that -being the seat of empire, with a good New-England -house-wife. For once, however, I was -disappointed; but there sat Bill. Returned from -some nameless excursion, he was eating a late -breakfast. It was rather picturesque. His naked -feet, stained by the soil through which he had lately -plodded, were raised upon the cross piece of his -chair—his knees appearing through two very unnecessary -apertures in his nether garment—his -ragged hat lying on the floor at his feet, and two -large house-dogs seated on the ground—one on each -side, watching with eager interest each morsel that -he conveyed to his lips.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I have said that I was somewhat anxious on the -score of Bill’s health; but when I saw the devotion -with which he applied himself to his hashed pork -and potatoes, and the complacency with which -from time to time he eyed a smoking dish of -pumpkin-pudding which stood close at his elbow, -waiting his acceptance, I comforted myself with the -belief that the means and appliances with which he -strengthened his inward man, would abundantly -enable him to sustain the labors which heaven had -allotted to his share.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We had long been the best of friends, and perfectly -understood each other. He looked up at me -with his laughing grey eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Our Nance is going to be married.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You don’t say so—Bill, are you in earnest?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bill nodded, for by this time his mouth was again -full, and he could not speak. He took a draught -of cider from the great brown jug on the table. -“Yes, it’s true enough.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And to whom is she to be married?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Siah Goodwin.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bless me, what could have brought about such -a change?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Anan?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How has it all happened, Bill?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why Betty Nares told Mother it <span class='it'>was to be</span>; so -how could she hinder it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, very true. Well, when is the wedding to -take place?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To-morrow evening—won’t you come?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Certainly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do,—we shall have a main sight of pumpkin -pies; mother says it will be like a training day.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Was it possible that the artful and ignorant -Betty had succeeded in imposing upon the plain -good sense of Mrs. Lee? I was sure there must be -more in it than at first sight appeared. However, -I determined to be at the wedding. On enquiry, I -found that the Dawkinses were invited, and also that -they were as much surprised at the turn affairs had -taken as myself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next evening we all repaired to the house of -Mrs. Lee. On entering her little parlor, we found -a few of the neighbors assembled. Nancy sat near -a window, and beside her one whom I supposed to -be the bridegroom. I thought that I recognised in -him the same young man whom I had seen with -her in Huckle-berry wood. My doubts, if I had any -remaining, would soon have been dissipated by her -brother, who walking up to me, and looking expressively -in my face, and putting two of his fingers -to his mouth, produced in a subdued tone a sound -resembling the hissing of a snake. The whole truth -flashed upon me at once.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The exterior of Bill himself was greatly improved, -dressed as he was for the occasion, in a good suit -of home-spun cloth, his feet covered with a decent -pair of leather shoes, and his flaxen hair combed -smoothly over his forehead, cut short and even all -round, with the exception of two pendant locks, left -as a partial covering to his ears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Every thing was now in readiness, and we waited -only for the clergyman who had been sent for to -perform the marriage ceremony.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A knock came to the door. Bill flew to open it.—“Here -he is.” “That’s he”—was whispered -around—“No, not yet.”—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A fidgetty restlessness took possession of the -party. Steps were heard outside. The door again -opened, and Bill appeared preceding a stranger. He -was dressed like a plain countryman, of good-looking -face and appearance, and he bore in his arms a -rather unusual burthen, supposing him to be a -traveller. He advanced into the middle of the room. -Mrs. Lee rose from her seat and stared at him -wildly. The stranger extended his hand to her -smiling. “Nancy,” said he, “<span class='it'>I’ve brought in the -oven-wood</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The poor woman gave one shriek and fell on the -floor. Down went the wood on the hearth, and -the stranger flew to her assistance. Slowly she -regained her senses, and when she did so, she threw -herself in the arms of the new comer and wept -aloud. We all crowded around, eager for an explanation. -It was soon given. James Lee, distressed -by poverty, and worn by the fretful temper -of his wife, had, on the memorable morning of his -disappearance—on the impulse of the moment, resolved -to quit his home and seek his fortune in a -foreign clime. For this act, his only apology was -the bitterness of despair. He sought the nearest -port, and embarked as a common sailor on board a -vessel about sailing to the West-Indies. Changing -his name that he might not be traced, he made -himself useful, and became a favorite with his captain: -was generally esteemed, and by degrees -enabled to traffic a little on his own account. He -had made many voyages and been unusually successful. -He had acquired a snug competence with -which he now returned, for the purpose of enjoying -it in the bosom of his family. As he approached -his home, the recollection of the manner in which -he had left it suddenly occurred to him, and when -Bill opened the door, the thought struck him that -he would go to the wood-pile, fill his arms with -wood, and thus bring to his wife’s mind, for the -joke’s sake, the remembrance of their parting scene, -seven years before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When he had concluded, and we had offered our -congratulations on this happy event, a shrill voice -was heard to exclaim,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Didn’t I tell you so—didn’t I say you were -going to be married, Miss Lee—hasn’t everything -I said come to pass—didn’t I tell you?”—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Lee, smiling, “you told -me, as you tell others of things to happen which -you take good care to find out before-hand.” Betty -looked rather blank when she found that no credit -was allowed her for her skill in prescience, more -especially as “Our Bill” in the pride and fullness of -his heart unfolded the secret of his numerous expeditions -to the wood. Here at Goodwin’s farm -which was in the immediate neighborhood, Lee had -remained for a few days till the harmless plot which -he laid in conjunction with the young man was ripe -for development, and his wife had given her consent -to his daughter’s marriage with “Siah.” It -is scarcely necessary to say that Bill had met and -recognised his father—been made privy to his and -Goodwin’s scheme, and in short, been active agent -in the whole affair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Several years have passed since that period. -William Lee has grown to man’s estate. He is -married and has a snug little home of his own. -He is a carpenter by trade, and fills a respectable -station in the community of which he is a member.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For my own part, I love to think over the past, -for many a pleasing idea is connected with the reminiscences -of “Huckle-berry” wood, and “Our Bill.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk106'/> - -<div><h1><a id='slig'></a>A SLIGHTED WOMAN.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “HOWARD PINCKNEY.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>And</span> Helen, not neglectful she</p> -<p class='line0'>Of her proud sex’s dignity,</p> -<p class='line0'>If, in the mazes of the dance,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Perchance she met her loved of all,</p> -<p class='line0'>You’d think that nothing met her glance</p> -<p class='line0'>  Between her and the wall,</p> -<p class='line0'>Her eye around is thrown so free,</p> -<p class='line0'>Her laugh rings out so merrily:</p> -<p class='line0'>How soon a slighted woman learns</p> -<p class='line0'>  To hide that pang, however deep,</p> -<p class='line0'>Though in her tortured heart it burns,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Her bosom-thoughts seem all asleep:</p> -<p class='line0'>You’d think that peace was resting there,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With her light shawl upon her breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>That exercise and healthy air,</p> -<p class='line0'>And day-dreams that be wondrous fair,</p> -<p class='line0'>With hopes that sweetest fruitage bear</p> -<p class='line0'>  Had caused the slight unrest:</p> -<p class='line0'>Know you that her young heart bleeds—</p> -<p class='line0'>  That in this laughing mood.</p> -<p class='line0'>The Pelican of Passion feeds</p> -<p class='line0'>  Her ever hungry brood—</p> -<p class='line0'>The two extremes approach we know</p> -<p class='line0'>And therefore often laughs our woe;</p> -<p class='line0'>Hers tells, that laugh which rung so loud,</p> -<p class='line0'>Of withered hopes within their shroud.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk107'/> - -<div><h1><a id='uneq'></a>UNEQUALLY YOKED.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY REV. J. KENNADAY.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>Why</span> don’t you hurry, woman? Sure it is no -wonder that the child sleeps in your arms. And -yourself will be asleep next, if you walk at this -creeping rate.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Be patient, William. You know that the -mountain is steep; the child is heavy; and it’s but -little strength I have, any way.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was part of a dialogue I chanced to hear, -while passing the parties, who were clambering up -one of the most rugged roads in the Catskill mountains; -a road so steep indeed, that my horse puffed -at every step, and the saddle creaked beneath me as -I grasped the pummel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The man was some twelve or fifteen feet in -advance of the woman, and at the sound of my -horse’s feet, paused till I passed, when he turned the -hasty glance of his eye from me, in a heavy frown -upon her whom he upbraided. A light breath of -wind touching the hood, together with the effort of -the woman to step aside from the road till I passed, -laid open the face of the sleeping child, and gave -evidence, in the fullness of its face, of the weight of -its frame, and of health, derived almost at the -expense of the one upon whose bosom it reposed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Possessing an enormous and hardy frame, the -man trode the mountain path almost with the step -of an elephant, and appeared to require nothing but -a palanquin upon his huge shoulders to enable him -to carry both the mother and the babe. The -woman was of small and delicate form. Her face -was round and very fair, over which was cast the -mildness of a bright but modest eye. Although her -age was about thirty, she appeared at least fifteen -years younger than her husband.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A bend in the road, and the rapid walk of my -horse, soon led me so far in advance, that I ceased -farther to hear a dialogue which, as far as it was -heard, intimated the unfeeling character of the one, -and satisfied me that the other had ample opportunity -to manifest her piety in the perfect working of -her patience.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the progress of another mile of the ascending -road, I came to a pass, where, in a close of about -half an acre of level land, there stood a little hut, -immediately on the side of the road. The building -was formed of large unhewn logs, interlaid with -clay. The door, swinging upon hinges made of the -soles of worn-out shoes, being partially open, disclosed -the scanty and mutilated furniture within. -There was only one window, consisting of a slender -sash, designed for four small panes of glass, but in -which only two remained.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Notwithstanding the poverty indicated in the -appearance of every thing presented to my view, -there was a general neatness with which I was -forcibly struck. A thrifty honey-suckle climbed up -the little hut, and the garden was much enlivened -by a variety of lovely flowers. I know not how -correct the criterion may be found by others, but -my observations have long since confirmed me in the -accuracy of the inference that, however humble or -elegant a country dwelling-house may be, wherever -there is a choice collection of flowers in the garden, -there is usually taste and cleanliness within the -dwelling. The approach of a little boy and girl to -the door of this humble hut, with coarse but well -mended apparel, and the sedate and polite manner in -which they expressed their obeisance as I passed, -satisfied me that the mistress of this cot possessed -feelings worthy of a better home. The manners of -the children were the more perceptible, as they -could not have been acquired at school, in as much -as in this section of the mountains, schools are -seldom heard of. I knew of but one school-house -within a distance of three miles from these children, -and that was open only during three months of the -year, and when those who attended must wade -through highland snows.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Another mile brought me to my place of destination, -the glass-works, consisting of a low, spacious, -sombre frame building, standing in a field, every -where studded with the most formidable stumps of -the hemlock, a tree the most common in these -mountains, and the most majestic in its growth. -With a trunk measuring from five to eight feet in -diameter, and rising more than a hundred feet high, -this tree seems the fitting plumage of the mountain -it adorns. Scattered at various distances from the -glass factory were a few buildings, which, from their -dilapidated appearance, evidenced that their inmates -would never suffer persecution for belonging to a -suspected aristocracy. Perhaps, however, I ought -to except one building which stood in palace-like -contrast with the rest, and adjoined the “factory-store.” -This was the mansion of my friend, Dr. ——, -physician, agent of the glass-works, justice of -the peace, keeper of the store, and frequently member -of the Legislature.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here, with as much authority as is sometimes -possessed by a continental prince, the Doctor resided, -enjoying the character of a “people’s-man.” Strange -as it might appear, yet it is certain that the glass-blowers -and wood choppers seldom remove from -under his “agency,” without having a balance -against them on the Doctor’s book, either for -rent, medical attendance, justice, groceries or gin. -He, it is true, got rich, yet no one ventured to -question his integrity, or to doubt his protection of -the poor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was not until the following day that I was -able to gratify my curiosity by going into the -factory. The blower, at the furnace nearest to -which I stood, soon gave his instrument to another, -and kindly tendered his services to accompany me -through the works, and to give me the information -respecting the process of glass-blowing, of which I -was in quest. We had passed only one or two men -before I perceived, at one of the furnaces, the man -whom I passed in ascending the mountain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who is that man?” said I, to my guide.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That is Bill Hunter,” said he, “and a great -bear he is.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then you know him well?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ faith I do,” said the man, whose broad dialect -had shown before this that he was an Englishman. -“I have known him this many a year. A -fine woman is she, his wife, but a dog’s life it is, she -has with him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He drinks, I suspect.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, he does; but he’s a bad man when sober; -and it was a dark day for her when she left her -father’s house for such a dolt as Hunter.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then you know something of their history, I -presume. Did you know her father?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What, John Shaw of Spittlefields! indeed I -knew him well, and it’s all good I know of him. -Sure, a better man there never lived.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My curiosity is quite awake my friend,” said I, -“and you will greatly gratify me by giving me a -little of their history.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! but it is a sorry history for her, poor -woman,” said he. “Do you see, then, her father -was a wealthy manufacturer, and much thought on. -When Margaret was about fourteen years of age, -he took this same Hunter into his factory and store -to be a kind of porter or runner. For the purpose -of aiding in family errands, he boarded in Mr. -Shaw’s house. At the end of a year, the father -discovered that Margaret treated Hunter’s addresses -with favor, and in disgust and chagrin dismissed -him from his employ; not because he was poor, but -that he was so <span class='it'>ould</span>. We, who knew him, thought -it was strange that the poor wench could think any -thing of such a surly, selfish fellow. But then he -was good-looking, and as slender as ye. It was -not long before the whole town was in a stir, when -it was said that Shaw’s Margaret had gone to the -States with Hunter. Sure enough, it was true; for -it was found out that under pretended names they -had sailed from Liverpool for Philadelphia. The -vessel, however, went into Wilmington, in the state -of Delaware, where they were married and went -into the country, and found employment in a factory. -He was ever a low fellow and a fool, was Mr. Shaw, -for admitting him under his roof. About three -years since, he came to this place poor enough. -For Margaret’s sake, poor girl, whom I knew -when the whole town was proud of her, I gave -him an insight into this business. He scratches a -scanty living, having five children, and lives in the -hut that you passed down the mountain a piece. -He is but a brute to her, who shares a hard life on -it, poor thing; and must ever repent leaving a -father’s house for one so unworthy of her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With this simple narrative I was much interested, -and not the less so because it was to me an additional -evidence of what I had often thought to be -the case, that in the humbler walks of life, and in -some of the scenes, of poverty and suffering, there -are those often who spend years of pain in weeping -over the inadvertence of the hour in which their -affections were misplaced.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>March, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk108'/> - -<div><h1><a id='apic'></a>A PICTURE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. M. S. B. DANA.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>And</span> strangers gazed and wondered at the sight.</p> -<p class='line0'>Round that lone being glowed a hallowed light;</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon her pale, thin face a heaven-born smile</p> -<p class='line0'>Played like a sunbeam on some lonely isle.</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet plaintive were her tones in speech or song,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like the low moaning winds the trees among,</p> -<p class='line0'>And you could see her tender heart was riven,</p> -<p class='line0'>And all the love she had, she gave to Heaven,</p> -<p class='line0'>Oft, when the god of day had sunk to rest,</p> -<p class='line0'>And sunlight lingered in the rosy west,</p> -<p class='line0'>Still would she wander forth, with noiseless tread,</p> -<p class='line0'>And, by a secret influence spirit-led,</p> -<p class='line0'>Seek the same spot to which her steps would stray</p> -<p class='line0'>With those she loved—but now, oh! where are they?</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>March, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk109'/> - -<div><h1><a id='self'></a>SELF-DEVOTION.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. E. C. EMBURY.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“Warriors and statesmen have their meed of praise,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  And what they do or suffer men record;</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>But the long sacrifice of woman’s days</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  Passes without a thought—without a word;</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>And many a holy struggle for the sake</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  Of duties sternly, faithfully fulfilled—</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>For which the anxious mind must watch and wake,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  And the strong feelings of the heart be stilled,—</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Goes by unheeded as the summer wind,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  And leaves no memory and no trace behind!”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:0.75em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Mrs. Norton.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>Do</span> you believe, cousin Grace, that the world -is as disinterested as it was in the days of the -‘<span class='it'>preux chevaliers, sans peur et sans reproche</span>?’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do, Frank; and even though you quote the -great Edmund Burke, you will not convince me -that the days of chivalry are gone! The days of -knight-errantry are passed away, and well is it for -society that they are so, but there is as much of -the true chivalric spirit now existing as was to be -found in the time of Richard of the Lion Heart.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you really believe this, Grace?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let me retaliate by another question, cousin -Frank; do you believe that all the knights and -squires of olden time were inspired purely by a -noble desire to win fame and redress wrongs? Did -not avarice, ambition, selfish gratification, and love -of wild excitement mingle their elements then, even -as they do now, in the mass of human feeling?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Undoubtedly the grosser passions were often -commingled with the better qualities of man’s -nature; selfishness existed, but was not then so -widely diffused.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There we differ, Frank; the selfishness of -modern times certainly shows itself in less fearful -shapes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because society has been compelled to make -laws to protect itself against those who would -sacrifice all things to their own will; ‘might no -longer makes right,’ and therefore the selfishness -of human nature is shown less in high-handed -spoliations than in secret machinations.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, Frank, that there is enough, aye, and to -spare of selfishness on earth I do not mean to -dispute; but I still adhere to my first assertion -that there is no lack of the true chivalric spirit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And pray how does it exhibit its qualities in -this very dull and prosaic world?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Disinterestedness, self-devotion, purity of intention, -integrity of principle, delicacy of sentiment, a -high-toned sense of honor, and indomitable courage—these -are the essential qualities of a chivalric -character; and surely, Frank, there is no want of -arenas in which to exercise these virtues.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will find few knights ready to enter the -lists if such are the requisites, cousin Grace.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I hope you are mistaken in your estimate of -men, Frank; I have a better opinion of your sex -than to adopt your ideas. But if it be as you say, -if selfishness be so active a principle among <span class='it'>men</span>, -then have the virtues taken up their abode in the -hearts of <span class='it'>women</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do they possess the chivalric spirit, Grace?—courage -and all?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You need not laugh, I can prove what I say.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, no, Grace, I am willing to allow your sex -all superiority in goodness and purity of feeling, but -the virtues of women are of a passive nature,—they -have fortitude to suffer, patience to endure, -but rarely energy to act. Men <span class='it'>make</span> sacrifices—women -<span class='it'>suffer</span> them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How little you know of the sex when you -make such an assertion, Frank. A woman’s sacrifices -are of daily and hourly occurrence; she -lives but to minister to others, and to forget -herself. If her courage is of a more passive -nature it is because her sphere of action is very -properly limited. She is not called to stem the -tide of battle, or to face death in warrior’s array; -but is it nothing to look calmly upon the king of -terrors in the chamber of pestilence—to wait for -his fatal blow, with placid fortitude, when assailed -by sudden peril—to gaze, unmoved, upon the weltering -wave—or to perish with unquailing courage -amid flames and tortures? Yet all this has been -done by women. Awaken but a woman’s feelings, -arouse the hidden strength of her affections, and -earth holds not a peril which she will not brave.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are eloquent, cousin Grace, but you -scarcely make out your own case; according to -your own evidence woman must have a personal -motive for action; her strength of character must -be called forth by some individual affection, or to -use a less gentle term, by some selfish impulse.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“According to your way of viewing character, -then, Frank, the noblest impulses of our nature -arise from selfishness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I should like to hear you draw a parallel between -the sexes, cousin Grace; you seem to be so -impartial—to concede so much goodness to <span class='it'>man’s</span> -fallen nature, while you exalt so highly the weaker -sex, that I am a little curious to know how you -would distinguish them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You would probably only dispute my positions, -and make a jest of my distinctions, Frank.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will promise to do neither, Grace.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, then listen to the opinions of one who -is content with the dispensations of Providence, -and who believes that the finger of God himself -has marked out the line which separates the impulses, -the habits, the character of the two sexes:—Man -has <span class='it'>vigor</span>—woman <span class='it'>refinement</span>: man has the -<span class='it'>reasoning</span> faculty best developed—woman the <span class='it'>perceptive</span>: -man has the power of <span class='it'>abstraction</span>—woman -<span class='it'>rarely</span> possesses it: man is the creature of <span class='it'>calculation</span>—woman -of <span class='it'>impulse</span>: man is capable of deep -research, he proceeds slowly and cautiously, measuring -every distance, and counting every step of -his progress—woman bounds along with rapid foot, -observing the most prominent objects in her path, -and from them forms conclusions often erroneous, -but always ingenious. The intellectual faculty in -man is usually concentrated—in woman it is diffused: -men of genius commonly devote themselves -to some one favorite pursuit—women of genius are -remarkable for their versatility. Man has the more -correct <span class='it'>judgment</span>—woman the more correct <span class='it'>feelings</span>. -He has a <span class='it'>knowledge</span> of right which he -often forgets—she a <span class='it'>consciousness</span> of it which -never forsakes her, even in the midst of crime: -man possesses the stronger <span class='it'>passions</span>—woman the -stronger <span class='it'>affections</span>: man has <span class='it'>boldness</span>—woman -<span class='it'>fortitude</span>: man can perform heroic deeds—woman -can endure the extreme of suffering: man has the -more <span class='it'>physical</span> daring—woman the more <span class='it'>moral</span> -courage: man controls others by the <span class='it'>force</span> of his -character—woman influences by the <span class='it'>gentleness</span> of -hers. In a word, my dear Frank, the relative -position of the sexes is fixed beyond all change; -their respective duties are well defined. Man has -been given the weapons of moral and mental <span class='it'>warfare</span>, -that he may go out into the world, and do -battle with and for his fellows—while on woman -is bestowed that skill in moral and mental <span class='it'>culture</span> -which enables her to improve the field of duty at -home.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very clearly defined, cousin Grace; so then -you do not agree in opinion with those who are for -enlarging the boundaries of woman’s domain, and -would fain make her a gladiator in the arena, instead -of a spectator in the amphitheatre of action.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That women have some wrongs to be redressed -is an undoubted fact, but I am no friend to this -new warfare for the ‘<span class='it'>rights of women</span>;’ let the sex -only do their duty at home to parents, brothers, -husbands, or friends, and they will have little cause -to repine that the forum, the pulpit, or the poll is -closed against them. But I have not forgotten -your innuendoes respecting the selfishness of women, -Frank, and I should like to tell you a story which -will convince you of how much self-devotion a -woman may be capable, even when the strongest -passions of her nature are to be subdued.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fanny Wilbank was one of those patient, long -suffering creatures, who seem sent into the world -to fulfil the command, ‘<span class='it'>Bear ye one another’s burdens</span>,’ -for from her very childhood she had borne -the burdens of the whole family. Her father, one -of those good-hearted, thoughtless prodigals, who, -in their readiness to help other people, are apt to -forget their own interests, had been all his life -unfortunate. Nothing seemed to succeed in his -hands—the most promising business was sure to -fail if he undertook it, and as his family increased -his means diminished, until they were reduced to -the utmost straits to preserve that respectability of -station in which they were born and bred. Fanny -was the eldest of the family, and of course upon -her devolved the duty of assisting her sickly mother -in the care of the children, and the management of -their household. Here was a wide field for the -exercise of self-denial and patience. A weary lot -is that of hopeless poverty, when it relies on charity -alone for food and warmth and raiment; but wearier -still is the lot of those, who, amid privation and -want, still struggle to keep themselves from the -deep abyss of beggary, and strive with decent pride -still to retain their foothold in a world which too -often confounds misfortune with disgrace. It was -amid cares, and troubles, and anxieties of every -kind that Fanny Wilbank grew up to womanhood. -To say that she was beautiful would convey but -little idea of the gentleness, the delicacy, the loveliness -of her countenance. I might describe her -soft black eyes, her full bright lips, the jetty -blackness of her luxuriant tresses, the grace of -her slender form, and the elastic spring of her -bounding step, but it would need the painter’s art -to image the tender sweetness of her expression. -Her face was such as one might fancy for a -Madonna—pale, pensive and full of high-souled -thought; but Fanny knew little of her beauty and -cared less. Had she possessed the talisman of -wealth she might have been the artist’s model and -the poet’s theme; but the spell of beauty alone is -powerless to unlock the treasures of earth, and -Fanny was too poor to behold her own charms in -the magic mirror of flattery. Indeed she never -seemed to think of herself; she managed for every -body, ministered to the comfort of every body, and -took her share of enjoyment in beholding the -gratification of others. But it must not be supposed -that her beauty and goodness were unknown -and unappreciated. Several unexceptionable offers -of marriage were made to her—offers, which if -accepted, would have placed her far beyond the -reach of want and labor—but Fanny was not to -be influenced by sordid motives in so momentous -a matter, and resisting all the temptations of a life -of ease, still preserved her quiet cheerfulness to -illumine the home of her childhood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Her hour of severer trial, however, came at last. -Among the few companions of her childhood was -a youth of humble fortunes but of noble character, -whose name I shall conceal under that of William -Grey. Their regard for each other had grown up -so gradually in their hearts, probably neither was -aware of its strength, until the time when William -was to go out into the world and strive amid his -fellows to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow. -The grief which each felt at this separation, revealed -the nature of their feelings, and Fanny wondered at -herself when she found how closely her love for a -stranger had entwined itself with the affections -which she had hitherto devoted to the claims of -kindred. But they plighted faith to each other, and -looking forward to a future of mutual love and -quiet happiness, William obeyed the call of duty, -while the gentle Fanny continued to pursue her -routine of heavy cares with a cheerful and hopeful -spirit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“After an absence of two years, William full of -eager anticipation returned to claim the fulfilment -of her pledge, and to bear her to a humble home in -another part of the country. Fanny’s heart misgave -her sadly, when she looked on her pale mother -and thought of the burden which would fall upon -her when she was gone. She half repented of her -promise to William, dearly as she loved him, for -she had so long been accustomed to think of the -comfort of others, in preference to her own, that -self gratification seemed to her almost a sin. But -her scruples were soon put to rest, for her parents, -unwilling to make any sacrifices on their part for -their self-denying child, positively refused to listen -to her lover’s suit. Nay, they even accused Fanny -of selfishness, and made out a charge of black -ingratitude against her, for wishing to leave them. -With the usual impatience of man’s temper, William -was deeply incensed at such treatment, and endeavored -to persuade Fanny to a clandestine marriage. -Her answer to his proposal was one which might -be remembered with profit by those who rush heedlessly -to the altar, even when their path lies over -the crushed hearts of those who watched their -helpless infancy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘How could I hope to perform my duties to you, -William,’ said she, ‘if I came to you with the -curse of a broken commandment clinging to me? -Think you a disobedient child could prove a good -wife? No, dearly as you now love me, you would -be the first to doubt me, were I to give you such a -proof of my selfish disregard to the ties of blood. -We are both young yet, let us then wait until the -future shall bring us better prospects.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘God knows, Fanny, I would serve for you even -as Jacob did for Rachel, could I but hope to see you -my own, but I know not how time is to remove the -obstacles which divide us,’ was his reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Oh, Mary will soon be old enough to fill my -place, and then I can be spared from home,’ -said she.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Alas if I am to wait till your place can be -supplied by another, I shall but live on hope to die -in despair,’ said William despondingly; ‘no one can -ever be the same, thoughtful, patient, affectionate, -ministering angel that you have been to all around -you.’ And thus they again parted, but which think -you suffered most keenly from this disappointment? -Was it he whose love was but the episode in the -striving tale of life—who listened to the voice of -affection, but as soft music played between the acts -of the great tragi-comedy of existence? No! the -shaft of pain sunk deepest in the heart of her who -remained in the seclusion of home, shut up within -the narrow circle of duties which daily, hourly -reminded her of the almost hopeless nature of her -feelings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Time sped on and brought its usual changes. -The boys grew old enough to be provided with -situations beyond the parental roof, and Fanny -began to look forward once more to a union with -her lover. But in the midst of her brightening -hopes, her mother died, leaving to Fanny as her -last bequest, the charge of watching over the youth -of her only sister. This sacred duty was one which -Fanny might easily have fulfilled without the sacrifice -of a single desire of her own heart, had not -Mary’s failing health rendered it a task of unceasing -anxiety. An accident received in infancy had -slowly and insidiously undermined the once vigorous -constitution of the child, and soon after the mother -was laid within the tomb, an incurable disease of -the spine confined Mary entirely to her bed. It -was then, with a heart bleeding over the severed -ties of kindred, that Fanny first taught herself to -reflect upon the necessity of a final sacrifice of her -hopes of happiness. Her father was fast sinking -under the infirmities of age, and Mary was now -helplessly dependent on her for every comfort; how -then could she indulge the vain dream of being able -to study her own welfare. There was a bitter -struggle in the heart of the poor girl ere she could -bring herself to write a letter of renunciation to -William. But she swerved not her duty, however -severe might be its requisitions, and while the -tears fell like rain over the thoughts of her blighted -hopes, not one drop was allowed to blister the -page which bore him her final farewell. But Fanny -was sadly mistaken when she fancied that the -severest part of the conflict was past. The letter -only served to bring William in person to combat -the resolution she had formed, and she was now -to endure the redoubled anguish of beholding her -lover’s sorrow. But in vain he sought to alter her -decision. She knew that instead of being a help-meet, -she could now be only a hindrance to one -who was obliged to labor for his daily bread, and -her unselfish love taught her that it was for her</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>‘Alone to suffer and alone to strive.’</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My fate is fixed, William,’ said the hopeless -girl; ‘I cannot perform the duties of a poor man’s -wife, without neglecting my afflicted sister; her -sufferings would mar your daily comfort, and her -necessities demand my undivided attention. God -knows how tenderly I have loved you, and how -gratefully I feel your faithfulness, in thus abiding -constant through years of absence and disappointment, -but that must be at an end now, William;—our -long engagement must be forgotten,—you are -free—and may heaven grant you a happier destiny -than to be linked with one who seems born only -for sorrow.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Poor Fanny! how bitterly she wept as she uttered -these words of self-immolation! But she knew she -was right, and even William, when the first burst of -grief had subsided, and he was able to reflect calmly -upon all the circumstances, acknowledged within -himself, that Fanny had judged wisely for both. -He could appreciate the honest pride which forbade -her to fill a husband’s home with her own helpless -relatives, and he could well understand the disinterested -affection which taught her to make her own -heart the victim rather than heap heavier burdens upon -one with whom the world had already dealt hardly. -Again they parted, but no hope of reunion now -cheered their last farewell;—henceforth they were -to meet as friends, but never more to exchange the -sweet tones of lovers’ vows. How much less heroism -is required to perform noble deeds in the sight, -and beneath the applause of thousands, than thus to -sacrifice love, and hope, and happiness, in silence -and secrecy on the altar of duty! Yet the warrior -receives his meed of glory, while the woman who -calmly surrenders the ‘life of life’ without the stimulus -of fame or the hope of guerdon;—she who -patiently lives on, ‘in helpless, hopeless, brokenness -of heart,’ ministering meekly to others, while a -wasting grief is eating into her very soul—goes -down to the grave unnoticed and unknown—perhaps -regarded as a cold and eccentric being by those -who cannot fathom the pure depths of such a mind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Fanny’s cheek grew pale and hollow, but she -gave no other evidence of secret sorrow, for she -well knew that Mary’s keen eye would watch for -traces of her heart’s struggle, and she would not -pain her suffering sister by a knowledge of the bitter -price at which her comfort had been purchased. At -length she heard of William’s marriage, and this -severed the last frail link that bound their hearts -together. From that time his name was never -mentioned, and resolutely forbidding her thoughts to -dwell upon the past, Fanny Wilbank compelled herself -to cheerfulness. But a shadow had gone over -her bright face, and her voice learned a new tone of -melancholy pathos—<span class='it'>she spoke like one who often -weeps</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The death of her father soon after left her alone -with her helpless sister, and having a small apartment, -Fanny now commenced the task of obtaining -a livelihood for both by the labors of her needle. -The constant attention which Mary required, rendered -this very difficult, for many an hour which -should have been employed in earning their daily -bread, was spent in soothing the pangs of the -afflicted invalid. It was at that period that I first -met with this heroine of humble life, for what I have -hitherto been telling you I learned long afterward. -My mother had occasion to employ a sempstress, -and Fanny Wilbank having been recommended to -her, I was sent to make some enquiry of her -previous to giving her the work. I was a giddy -school-girl at the time, but I shall never forget the -impression made upon me by the neatness of the -apartment, the snowy whiteness of the bed-linen, -and above all, by the extreme beauty of both the -females. Mary’s disease did not in the least impair -the bloom of her lovely countenance, and as -she sat propped up in bed by pillows, she looked in -far better health than her pale sister. But I soon -found that her face was the only part of her frame -which had escaped the distorting touch of pain, for -her body was shrunken to the size of that of a -child, and her limbs were sadly mis-shapen. My -business with them was soon settled, but the interest -which they had awakened in my bosom did not so -quickly subside. My mother became one of their -warmest patrons, and having heard their history -from one of their early friends, I need scarcely add -that we felt increased respect and regard for the -self-devoted Fanny Wilbank.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And did she meet with no reward for all her -virtues, cousin Grace?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Alas! Frank, it is only in novels I fear, that -we find virtue always rewarded and vice signally -punished. Such things are rarely recompensed on -earth, it is only in Heaven that we are told ‘all -tears shall be wiped away.’ But I have not yet -finished my story. Medical skill was procured for -Mary, which, though it could not cure a disease -ingrafted in her whole system, yet afforded some -alleviation of her severest sufferings. Constant employment -was also secured to Fanny, so that as far -as pecuniary matters went, their condition was -much improved; but no human hand could bring -back health to the one, or restore the blighted -blossoms of hope in the bosom of the other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Some few years later I married, and accompanied -my husband to Europe, and my parents having -about the same time removed to the south, I lost -sight of Fanny Wilbank. When, however, after -some years absence I returned to my native city, -one of my first wishes was to learn something of -her present condition. But the friends who had -promised to employ her, had neglected to do so -until it was too late; all trace of her had vanished, -and I was left to conjecture her fate. I was one -day passing a handsome house in —— street, when -I heard a voice from an upper window exclaim -‘Mrs. ——! I am sure it is Mrs. ——!’ I looked -up in surprise and beheld Fanny Wilbank. The -next moment the hall door opened, and Fanny -hurrying down the steps, grasped my hand with the -warmth of earnest affection. I followed her into a -neatly furnished room, and mechanically seating -myself, wondered what it all meant. Fanny divined -my thoughts, for she smiled, blushed, and seemed -about to tell me some news, when a little chubby -boy, of some three summers, twaddled into the room -and saluted her by the appellation of ‘mother.’ -This solved the whole mystery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Come into the next room, where you will -find Mary,’ said Fanny, ‘and I will tell you all -about it. For you really did not know that I was -married?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No indeed,’ was my reply, ‘pray how long -have you been a wife?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Almost a year.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Almost a year?’ I exclaimed in stupid wonder! -‘and that child?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Is my husband’s youngest boy.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Then you married to take care of another’s -children.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes, I could not refuse him,—fortune had -prospered him, so that he could afford to take care -of poor Mary, and I consented, though I was almost -ashamed to become a bride at my age.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘At your age! why you look younger and prettier -than ever, Fanny, in that tasteful little cap.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Do not laugh at me, dear Mrs. ——, I know -it was foolish to marry for love at forty-five, but -William was so lonely, and his poor children were -so desolate.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Then it was William Grey you married?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘To be sure;—<span class='it'>did you think it could be any -one else?</span>’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Ah!’ said Mary smiling, ‘William would not -have won her even now, if it had not been for his -motherless children. Fanny has been so long accustomed -to sacrifice her own inclinations, that she cannot -be persuaded to any self-indulgence unless some -duty be closely connected with it.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fanny Wilbank still lives; the beauty of her noble -countenance has faded beneath the touch of time, -and many a thread of silver is mingled with her -dark locks, yet is she the centre of a circle of loving -and beloved friends, still the same, patient, tender, -self-forgetting being, that she was in the day of her -early adversity.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So she was at last rewarded, cousin Grace, notwithstanding -your assertion to the contrary.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And do you deem her after fortunes a fitting -recompense for the trials of her youth, Frank? -The bloom of youth, the freshness of feeling, the -glow of hope, the buoyancy of health,—all things -that give a charm to life, faded one by one from her -view, even as the stars vanish in the slowly-gathering -tempest cloud,—patience, long suffering, meekness, -and resignation had taken the place of bright -anticipation in her bereaved heart,—time had laid -his cold touch upon her fair brow, aye, and upon -her warm heart too, and then, at the last she was -<span class='it'>rewarded</span>—how?—why forsooth, by wedding the -object of her early love, after her life had ‘fallen -into the sear and yellow leaf,’—and thus obtaining -the enviable privilege of educating the children of -her predecessor.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What became of poor Mary, cousin?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you not remember, Frank, the sick lady on -whose bed you loved to clamber, when you were -a merry little urchin, who used to cover your balls -so neatly, and paint so many pretty devices for your -kites?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To be sure I do;—I remember too how bitterly -I cried when they told me she was dead, and I saw -them bring in the small coffin for her shrunken form. -You don’t mean to say that was Mary Wilbank?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was, cousin Frank, and in the story of Fanny -Wilbank, I have been relating to you the early life -of one whom you have ever loved with filial tenderness—I -mean your excellent step-mother.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She is the only mother I have ever known, -cousin Grace, and you can tell me nothing good -of her which I cannot readily believe; so if you take -her for an example, I have no more to say against -the existence of disinterestedness in this selfish -world. It is only a pity there are so few like her.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk110'/> - -<div><h1><a id='wint'></a>A WINTER SCENE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY E. CLEMENTINE STEDMAN.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Unclouded</span> the sun from his glittering throne</p> -<p class='line0'>Looked radiantly down where the tempest had gone!</p> -<p class='line0'>For in darkness it came with the tokens of wrath,</p> -<p class='line0'>But fled at the dawn on its ice-covered path.</p> -<p class='line0'>And straight in the sunbeams the forest displayed</p> -<p class='line0'>A host in the armor of battle arrayed;</p> -<p class='line0'>There the “helmet of brass,” and the shield glistened clear,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the bright flashing steel of the sword and the spear.</p> -<p class='line0'>The garden, where Flora in summer is green,</p> -<p class='line0'>At the glance of the sun was all dazzling with sheen;</p> -<p class='line0'>And never a princess outvied, with her gems,</p> -<p class='line0'>The jewels that hung there on numberless stems!</p> -<p class='line0'>The lawn trees which stand in the glory alone,</p> -<p class='line0'>Each sparkled with diamonds, like kings, on a throne,</p> -<p class='line0'>And ne’er when o’erspread with their green foliage shade,</p> -<p class='line0'>Were they in such beauty or splendor arrayed!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And silver and gold, as in Solomon’s reign,</p> -<p class='line0'>Were plenty as stones by the wayside again,</p> -<p class='line0'>And bright did the spire and the roof with them glow,</p> -<p class='line0'>While diadems shone on the tall mountain brow.</p> -<p class='line0'>I gazed on the scene with unearthly delight,</p> -<p class='line0'>And thought, while its radiance enraptured my sight.</p> -<p class='line0'>Of that city, which one did in visions behold,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose gates were of pearl, and its streets paved with gold.</p> -<p class='line0'>Again I looked forth, while the sunlight yet shone,</p> -<p class='line0'>But the scene of enchantment I sought for was gone!</p> -<p class='line0'>The sun, which had gilded each shrub with its ray,</p> -<p class='line0'>Was melting the landscape of glory away!</p> -<p class='line0'>Thus my hopes have dissolved, which once glistened so bright</p> -<p class='line0'>In the sun of youth’s morn, to my fanciful sight;</p> -<p class='line0'>Their brilliancy passed off in tears,—oh! how soon!</p> -<p class='line0'>As the sleet-jewels melt in the sunbeams of noon.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk111'/> - -<div><h1><a id='defa'></a>THE DEFAULTER.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY JOHN T. MAULL.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Ou trouverez vous un homme sans défauts?</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-left:1em;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:0.75em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Télémaque.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>In</span> the beautiful season of youth, when life is -just budding forth in all the dewy freshness of -ardent hope; when the heart is buoyant, and the -energies alive, and panting after objects around -which to shed the virtuous influence of their association, -oh! then it is that we feel, like the harp -that is delicately attuned, the full force of every -impression:—of what moment, therefore, are those -early connections and restraints which are voluntarily -assumed to fit us for our companionship with -the world, or in other words to form the character -by which we are to be known and appreciated -among our fellow men; but that character when -formed, like the vestal fire of the ancients, demands -the constant vigilance of our noblest faculties to -keep alive and perpetuate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>George Morris was in his twenty-fourth year, -when partly by the intercession of rich relatives, -and in a great measure by the possession of personal -endowments of no ordinary kind, he was -called upon to assume an office of public trust. -I knew him well. Gay without frivolity—proud -in the consciousness of correct principle, and gifted -with enviable powers of pleasing, his career, indeed, -seemed to offer the rich rewards, if not of honorable -fame, at least of high respectability. He loved, -and after a short courtship, was wedded. Never -were two hearts more willingly allied. The whole -ardor of his soul was devoted to the fair being -whom he had chosen for his own, and in the -retirement of his home did he acknowledge his -earthly happiness. Did reflection dwell on the -noise and bustle of the world without, it was only -to assure him of the comforts of his peaceful fire-side. -Thus did time glide on with silken wing, -dispensing the calm and rational pleasures of domestic -life, which Morris of all others was so -formed to appreciate. He began his career, which -it was foretold would be so honorable to him, in -the capacity of one of the chief officers of an institution -of public monetary trust. Here, with principles -of integrity, deep rooted as the rock, he -persevered in industrious habits, and by continued -vigilance deservedly won the esteem of the community. -His probity had been tested, and the man -of business implicitly confided in him. Society -courted him. Living in a populous city, as years -progressed, he occupied an advanced position -among his fellow men—honorable alike to himself -and to a growing family: no cares had with him -an abiding place, for his children, whom he dearly -loved, were gladdening the father’s heart, and -yielding him bright hopes for the future. All -was happiness—all love and tranquillity. Who -then would venture to disturb this domestic Eden? -What baneful influence could bring desolation -here? Who could wring the tear of anguish from -that young and doating mother—or the helping -cry from that unprotected child—who convert, as -with magic wand, the happy homestead into the -refuge of want and affliction? The husband! the -father himself! Mystery of mysteries! yet did -Morris work to himself this very ruin. Lured by -the expensive fashions of the day, the splendid -equipage, and the gay coterie of wealth, and desirous -to equal, if not eclipse the brilliance which he -saw in the circles wherein he was called to move, -he had given the rein to his appetite and ambition, -until he was forced to do an act—an act from -which he once would have shrunk aghast, with -horror and dismay. He defrauded, and was detected—he -fled: but could he avoid himself? -Could he escape the guilty conscience—the bitter -remorse? It was in vain. Go where he would, -fancy would revert to that blighted, ruined home; -and the thought of that one withering act—it -was insupportable—it was madness. His reputation -was irrecoverably gone, and he roamed -abroad far from his native land—a wandering -outcast. Of what avail were now to him the -common blessings of nature? the light to him was -as the darkness—the very air was heavy, and -laden as with the vapors of a dungeon—the -world itself was one vast prison-house. Did he -sleep—frightful phantoms would haunt his couch, -and drive away repose; supplicating hands of beggared -orphans and stricken widows would rise in -airy forms, while strange, unearthly voices would -cry aloud, and pierce the air in wail and lamentation, -then die away as if in mock and derision.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Afar from country, relatives and friends, lived -the Defaulter. Bitter was the cup which that man -drained to the very dregs. Providence had set its -sure seal of condemnation on his destiny, and although -the laws of man were impotent, the great -law of the Omniscient failed not. There was no -retreat from that <span class='it'>presence</span>, which hath so solemnly -declared “thou shalt not steal.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length news was brought to him from afar—it -told him that the wife of his bosom was dead—his -children dependant upon the charity of strangers. -It was upon the receipt of this intelligence -that I met Morris, who was dwelling in a retired -part of one of the chief cities upon the Continent. -I dared not think upon what might be the probable -result of my interview. Conflicting emotions were -agitating my breast, but I had fully resolved on the -meeting, and on my arrival accordingly, sought out -his residence. It was about eight o’clock, of a -summer’s night, that, in an abstracted mood, I -sauntered leisurely toward the house. Having presented -myself, I was admitted to a small chamber, -neatly furnished, where I found him alone. I -knew not how to begin, how to address myself to -my early friend—so altered. He was lying on a -couch, evidently in the last stage of a fever. You -felt at once he was a dying man. His presence -bewildered me; the hollow and glassy eye riveted -my gaze, until recollecting myself, in a subdued -tone I spoke of the country I had left—my object -in travelling—my desire to obtain tidings of himself; -and then ventured to recall his memory to -the many happy days we had spent in each other’s -society.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Gone, gone!” said he, groaning aloud, and -seeming to awaken from a listless reverie. In a -moment he continued. “Will not one human -creature compassionate George Morris?—a stranger -in a strange land! My Julia—my wife—the -mother of my little ones, they tell me is dead; and -I, who loved her so, poor thing, they say was her -destroyer. Oh, God! have mercy on thy creature, I -feel thy indignation, and am smitten in the dust. -Come death, come the grave—welcome your embraces! -But I cannot—cannot endure the iron -that is now thrusting itself in my soul.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There is something grand and terrible in the -moral subjugation of man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“L——,” he faintly articulated, after a pause, -during which he wept—yes, wept for the first and -<span class='it'>last</span> time, “I feel that I am dying—thank God! -for his mercy; forgive, my friend, the weakness of -these tears—they are of contrition—of—of penitence.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Exhausted by this effort, he sank into my arms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“L——,” continued he, reviving, and raising -his voice—“do you not see her—there L——, -there she is, she’s beckoning to me—she looks -the same as on that bridal night—she smiles, too, -upon me—and look, L——, look, she forgives -me—I come! we were sundered once, but now -they cannot disunite us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A struggle ensued, but it was short; a moment -more, and he was <span class='it'>dead</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The flickering flame of the taper had gone out; -the moonlight rested upon the pale features of the -corpse; and the soul of the Defaulter had sped to -its eternal reckoning.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>March, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk112'/> - -<div><h1><a id='comp'></a>COMPARISONS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY CHARLES WEST THOMSON.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A leaf upon the stream,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When the brook is rushing by</p> -<p class='line0'>In its glorious summer dream,—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Such am I.—</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A feather in the air,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When the autumn breeze is high,</p> -<p class='line0'>Driven here and driven there,—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Such am I.—</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A wild flower in the glade,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where the quiet Zephyrs sigh,</p> -<p class='line0'>Most happy in the shade.—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Such am I.—</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>As the aspen among trees,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where the sleeping waters lie,</p> -<p class='line0'>Stirred by every passing breeze,—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Such am I.—</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But the leaf will find a shore,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The feather cease to fly,</p> -<p class='line0'>And both be seen no more,—</p> -<p class='line0'>  So will I.—</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The flower soon will fade,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the aspen’s leaves be dry,</p> -<p class='line0'>Both forgotten in the glade,—</p> -<p class='line0'>  So am I.—</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>March, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk113'/> - -<div><h1><a id='murd'></a>THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY EDGAR A. POE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> is not improbable that a few farther steps in -phrenological science will lead to a belief in the -existence, if not to the actual discovery and location -of an organ of <span class='it'>analysis</span>. If this power (which -may be described, although not defined, as the -capacity for resolving thought into its elements) be -not, in fact, an essential portion of what late philosophers -term ideality, then there are indeed many, -good reasons for supposing it a primitive faculty. -That it may be a constituent of ideality is here suggested -in opposition to the vulgar dictum (founded, -however, upon the assumptions of grave authority,) -that the calculating and discriminating powers -(causality and comparison) are at variance with -the imaginative—that the three, in short, can -hardly coexist. But, although thus opposed to -received opinion, the idea will not appear ill-founded -when we observe that the processes of -invention or creation are strictly akin with the -processes of resolution—the former being nearly, -if not absolutely, the latter conversed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It cannot be doubted that the mental features -discoursed of as the analytical are, in themselves, -but little susceptible of analysis. We appreciate -them only in their effects. We know of them, -among other things, that they are always to their -possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source of -the liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults -in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises -as call his muscles into action, so glories the -analyst in that moral activity which <span class='it'>disentangles</span>. -He derives pleasure from even the most trivial -occupations bringing his talent into play. He is -fond of enigmas, of conundrums, of hieroglyphics—exhibiting -in his solutions of each and all a degree -of acumen which appears to the ordinary apprehension -preternatural. His results, brought about by -the very soul and essence of method, have, in truth, -the whole air of intuition.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The faculty in question is possibly much invigorated -by mathematical study, and especially by that -highest branch of it which, unjustly, and merely -on account of its retrogade operations, has been -called, as if <span class='it'>par excellence</span>, analysis. Yet to calculate -is not in itself to analyse. A chess-player, -for example, does the one without effort at the -other. It follows that the game of chess, in its -effects upon mental character, is greatly misunderstood. -I am not now writing a treatise, but simply -prefacing a somewhat peculiar narrative by observations -very much at random—I will, therefore, -take occasion to assert that the higher powers -of the reflective intellect are more decidedly and -more usefully taxed by the unostentatious game of -draughts than by all the elaborate frivolity of chess. -In this latter, where the pieces have different and -bizarre motions, with various and variable values, -that which is only complex is mistaken (a not -unusual error) for that which is profound. The -<span class='it'>attention</span> is here called powerfully into play. If it -flag for an instant, an oversight is committed, resulting -in injury or defeat. The possible moves -being not only manifold but involute, the chances -of such oversights are multiplied; and in nine cases -out of ten it is the more concentrative rather than -the more acute player who conquers. In draughts, -on the contrary, where the moves are unique and -have but little variation, the probabilities of inadvertence -are diminished, and the mere attention -being left comparatively unemployed, what advantages -are obtained by either party are obtained by -superior acumen. To be less abstract. Let us -suppose a game of draughts, where the pieces are -reduced to four kings, and where, of course, no -oversight is to be expected. It is obvious that -here the victory can be decided (the players being -at all equal) only by some recherché movement, -the result of some strong exertion of the intellect. -Deprived of ordinary resources, the analyst throws -himself into the spirit of his opponent, identifies -himself therewith, and not unfrequently sees thus, -at a glance, the sole methods (sometimes indeed -absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce into -miscalculation or hurry into error.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Whist has long been noted for its influence upon -what are termed the calculating powers; and men -of the highest order of intellect have been known -to take an apparently unaccountable delight in it, -while eschewing chess as frivolous. Beyond doubt -there is nothing of a similar nature so greatly tasking -the faculty of analysis. The best chess-player -in Christendom <span class='it'>may</span> be little more than the best -player of chess—but proficiency in whist implies -capacity for success in all those more important -undertakings where mind struggles with mind. -When I say proficiency, I mean that perfection in -the game which includes a comprehension of all -the sources (whatever be their character) from -which legitimate advantage may be derived. These -are not only manifold but multiform, and lie frequently -among recesses of thought altogether inaccessible -to the ordinary understanding. To observe -attentively is to remember distinctly; and so far -the concentrative chess-player will do very well at -whist; while the rules of Hoyle (themselves based -upon the mere mechanism of the game) are sufficiently -and generally comprehensible. Thus to -have a retentive memory, and to proceed by “the -book,” are points commonly regarded as the sum -total of good playing. But it is in matters beyond -the limits of mere rule where the skill of the -analyst is evinced. He makes, in silence, a host -of observations and inferences. So perhaps do his -companions; and the difference in the extent of the -information obtained lies not so much in the falsity -of the inference as in the quality of the observation. -The necessary knowledge is that of <span class='it'>what</span> to observe. -Our player confines himself not at all; nor, because -the game is the object, does he reject deductions -from things external to the game. He examines -the countenance of his partner, comparing it carefully -with that of each of his opponents. He considers -the mode of assorting the cards in each -hand; often counting trump by trump, and honor -by honor, through the glances bestowed by their -holders upon each. He notes every variation of -face as the play progresses, gathering a fund of -thought from the differences in the expression of -certainty, of surprise, of triumph or of chagrin. -From the manner of gathering up a trick he judges -whether the person taking it can make another in -the suit. He recognises what is played through -feint by the air with which it is thrown upon the -table. A casual or inadvertent word; the accidental -dropping or turning of a card, with the accompanying -anxiety or carelessness in regard to its -concealment; the counting of the tricks, with the -order of their arrangement; embarrassment, hesitation, -eagerness or trepidation—all afford to his -apparently intuitive perception indications of the -true state of affairs. The first two or three rounds -having been played, he is in full possession of the -contents of each hand, and thenceforward puts -down his cards with as absolute a precision of -purpose as if the rest of the party had turned outward -the faces of their own.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The analytical power should not be confounded -with simple ingenuity; for while the analyst is -necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man is often -utterly incapable of analysis. I have spoken of -this latter faculty as that of resolving thought into -its elements, and it is only necessary to glance -upon this idea to perceive the necessity of the -distinction just mentioned. The constructive or -combining power, by which ingenuity is usually -manifested, and to which the phrenologists (I believe -erroneously) have assigned a separate organ, -supposing it a primitive faculty, has been so frequently -seen in those whose intellect bordered -otherwise upon idiocy as to have attracted general -observation among writers on morals. Between -ingenuity and the analytic ability there exists a -difference far greater indeed than that between the -fancy and the imagination, but of a character very -strictly analogous. It will be found, in fact, that -the ingenious are always fanciful, and the <span class='it'>truly</span> -imaginative never otherwise than profoundly analytic.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The narrative which follows will appear to the -reader somewhat in the light of a commentary -upon the propositions just advanced.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Residing in Paris during the spring and part of -the summer of 18—, I there contracted an intimacy -with a Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin. This young -gentleman was of an excellent, indeed of an illustrious -family, but, by a variety of untoward events, -had been reduced to such poverty that the quondam -energy of his character succumbed beneath it, and -he ceased to bestir himself in the world, or to care -for the retrieval of his fortunes. By courtesy of -his creditors there still remained in his possession -a small remnant of his patrimony; and upon the -income arising from this he managed, by means of -a vigorous economy, to procure the necessaries of -life, without troubling himself about its superfluities. -Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries, and in Paris -these are easily obtained.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Our first meeting was at an obscure library in -the Rue Montmartre, where the accident of our -both being in search of the same very rare and -very remarkable volume brought us into closer -communion. We saw each other again and again. -I was deeply interested in the little family history -which he detailed to me with all the candor which -a Frenchman indulges only when self is his theme. -I was astonished, too, at the vast extent of his -reading—and above all I felt my soul enkindled -within me by the wild fervor, and what I could -only term the vivid freshness, of his imagination. -Seeking in Paris the objects I then sought, I felt -that the society of such a man would be to me a -treasure beyond price; and this feeling I frankly -confided to him. It was at length arranged that -we should live together during my stay in the city; -and, as my worldly circumstances were somewhat -less embarrassed than his own, I was permitted to -be at the expense of renting, and furnishing in a -style which suited the rather fantastic gloom of our -common temper, a time-eaten and grotesque mansion, -long deserted through superstitions into which -we did not inquire, and tottering to its fall in a -retired and desolate portion of the Faubourg St. -Germain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Had the routine of our life at this place been -known to the world, we should have been regarded -as madmen—although, perhaps, as madmen of a -harmless nature. Our seclusion was perfect. We -admitted no visiters whomsoever. Indeed the locality -of our retirement had been carefully kept a -secret from my own former associates; and it had -been many years since Dupin had ceased to know -or be known in Paris. We existed within ourselves -alone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what -else shall I call it?) to be enamored of the Night -for her own sake; and into this <span class='it'>bizarrerie</span>, as into -all his others, I quietly fell; giving myself up to -his wild whims with an utter <span class='it'>abandon</span>. The sable -divinity would not herself dwell with us always, -but we could counterfeit her presence. At the -first dawn of the morning we closed all the massy -shutters of our old building, lighting a couple of -tapers which, strongly perfumed, threw out only the -ghastliest and feeblest of rays. By the aid of these -we then busied our souls in dreams—reading, writing, -or conversing, until warned by the clock of -the advent of the true Darkness. Then we sallied -forth into the streets, arm in arm, continuing the -topics of the day, or roaming far and wide until a -late hour, seeking, amid the wild lights and shadows -of the populous city, that infinity of mental excitement -which quiet observation would afford.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At such times I could not help remarking and -admiring (although from his rich ideality I had -been prepared to expect) a peculiar analytic ability -in Dupin. He seemed, too, to take an eager delight -in its exercise, if not exactly in its display; -and did not hesitate to confess the pleasure thus -derived. He boasted to me, with a low chuckling -laugh, that most men, in respect to himself, wore -windows in their bosoms, and was wont to follow -up such assertions by direct and very startling -proofs of his intimate knowledge of my own. His -manner at these moments was frigid and abstract; -his eyes were vacant in expression; while his voice, -usually a rich tenor, rose into a treble which would -have sounded petulantly but for the deliberateness -and entire distinctness of the enunciation. Observing -him in these moods I often dwelt meditatively -upon the old philosophy of the Bi-Part Soul, and -amused myself with the fancy of a double Dupin—the -creative and the resolvent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Let it not be supposed, from what I have just -said, that I am detailing any mystery, or penning -any romance. What I have described in the -Frenchman was but the result of an excited, or -perhaps of a diseased intelligence. But of the -character of his remarks at the periods in question -an example will best convey the idea.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We were strolling one night down a long dirty -street, in the vicinity of the Palais Royal. Being -both, apparently, occupied with thought, neither of -us had spoken a syllable for fifteen minutes at -least. All at once Dupin broke forth with these -words—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He is a very little fellow, that’s true, and -would do better for the <span class='it'>Théâtre des Variétés</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There can be no doubt of that,” I replied -unwittingly, and not at first observing (so much -had I been absorbed in reflection) the extraordinary -manner in which the speaker had chimed in with -my meditations. In an instant afterward I recollected -myself, and my astonishment was profound.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dupin,” said I, gravely, “this is beyond my -comprehension. I do not hesitate to say that I -am amazed, and can scarcely credit my senses. -How was it possible you should know I was -thinking of ——?” Here I paused, to ascertain -beyond a doubt whether he really knew of -whom I thought.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>——“of Chantilly,” said he, “why do you -pause? You were remarking to yourself that his -diminutive figure unfitted him for tragedy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was precisely what had formed the subject -of my reflections. Chantilly was a quondam cobbler -of the Rue St. Denis, who, becoming stage-mad, -had attempted the role of Xerxes, in Crebillon’s -tragedy so called, and been notoriously pasquinaded -for his pains.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tell me, for God’s sake,” I exclaimed, “the -method—if method there be—by which you have -been enabled to fathom my soul in this matter.” -In fact I was even more startled than I would -have been willing to express.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was the fruiterer,” replied my friend, “who -brought you to the conclusion that the mender of -soles was not of sufficient height for Xerxes <span class='it'>et id -genus omne</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The fruiterer!—you astonish me—I know no -fruiterer whomsoever.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The man who ran up against you as we entered -the street—it may have been fifteen minutes -ago.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I now remembered that in fact a fruiterer, carrying -upon his head a large basket of apples, had -nearly thrown me down, by accident, as we passed -from the Rue C—— into the thoroughfare where -we now stood; but what this had to do with Chantilly -I could not possibly understand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was not a particle of <span class='it'>charlatânerie</span> about -Dupin. “I will explain,” he said, “and that you -may comprehend all clearly, we will first retrace -the course of your meditations, from the moment -in which I spoke to you until that of the rencontre -with the fruiterer in question. The larger links of -the chain run thus—Chantilly, Orion, Dr. Nichol, -Epicurus, Stereotomy, the street stones, the fruiterer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There are few persons who have not, at some -period of their lives, amused themselves in retracing -the steps by which particular conclusions of -their own minds have been attained. The occupation -is often full of interest; and he who attempts -it for the first time is astonished by the apparently -illimitable distance and incoherence between the -starting-point and the goal. What then, must have -been my amazement when I heard the Frenchman -speak what he had just spoken, and when I could -not help acknowledging that he had spoken the -truth. He continued—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We had been talking of horses, if I remember -aright, just before leaving the Rue C——. This -was the last subject we discussed. As we crossed -into this street, a fruiterer, with a large basket upon -his head, brushing quickly past us, thrust you upon -a pile of paving-stones collected at a spot where -the causeway is undergoing repair. You stepped -upon one of the loose fragments, slipped, slightly -strained your ankle, appeared vexed or sulky, muttered -a few words, turned to look at the pile, and -then proceeded in silence. I was not particularly -attentive to what you did—but observation has -become with me of late a species of necessity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You kept your eyes upon the ground—glancing -with a petulant expression at the holes and ruts in -the pavement, (so that I saw you were still thinking -of the stones) until we reached the little alley called -Lamartine, which has been paved, by way of experiment, -with the overlapping and riveted blocks. -Here your countenance brightened up, and, perceiving -your lips move, I could not doubt that you -murmured to yourself the word ‘stereotomic.’ You -continued the same inaudible murmur, with a knit -brow, as is the custom of a man tasking his -memory, until I considered that you sought the -Greek derivation of the word ‘stereotomy.’ I knew -that you could not find this without being brought -to think of atomics, and thus of the theories of -Epicurus; and as, when we discussed this subject -not very long ago, I mentioned to you how singularly, -yet with how little notice, the vague guesses -of that noble Greek had met with confirmation in -the late nebular cosmogony, I felt that you could -not avoid casting your eyes upward to the great -nebula in Orion, and I certainly expected that you -would do so. You did look up; and I now was -assured that I had correctly followed your steps. -But in that bitter <span class='it'>tirade</span> upon Chantilly, which appeared -in yesterday’s ‘<span class='it'>Musée</span>,’ the satirist, making -some disgraceful allusions to the cobbler’s change of -name upon assuming the buskin, quoted a very -peculiar Latin line upon whose meaning we have -often conversed. I mean the line</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Perdidit antiquum litera prima sonum.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>I had told you that this was in reference to Orion, -formerly written Urion; and from certain pungencies -connected with this explanation I was aware -that you could not have forgotten it. It was clear, -therefore, that you would not fail to combine the -two ideas of Orion and Chantilly. That you did -combine them I saw by the character of the smile -which passed over your lips. You thought of the -poor cobbler’s immolation. So far, you had been -stooping in your gait—but now I saw you draw -yourself up to your full height. I was then sure -that you reflected upon the diminutive figure of -Chantilly. At this point I interrupted your meditations -to remark that as in fact he <span class='it'>was</span> a very -little fellow—that Chantilly—he would do better -at the <span class='it'>Théâtre des Variétés</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Not long after this we were looking over an -evening edition of “Le Tribunal,” when the following -paragraphs arrested our attention.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>Extraordinary Murders.</span>—This morning, -about three o’clock, the inhabitants of the Quartier -St. Roch were aroused from sleep by a succession -of terrific shrieks, issuing, apparently, from the -fourth story of a house in the Rue Morgue, known -to be in the sole occupancy of one Madame L’Espanaye, -and her daughter, Mademoiselle Camille -L’Espanaye. After some delay, occasioned by a -fruitless attempt to procure admission in the usual -manner, the gateway was broken in with a crowbar, -and eight or ten of the neighbors entered, -accompanied by two <span class='it'>gendarmes</span>. By this time the -cries had ceased; but as the party rushed up the -first flight of stairs, two or more rough voices in -angry contention were distinguished, and seemed -to proceed from the upper part of the house. As -the second landing was reached, these sounds, also, -had ceased, and every thing remained perfectly quiet. -The party spread themselves, and hurried from room -to room. Upon arriving at a large back chamber -in the fourth story, (the door of which, being found -locked, with the key inside, was forced open) a -spectacle presented itself which struck every one -present not less with horror than with astonishment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The apartment was in the wildest disorder—the -furniture broken and thrown about in all directions. -There was only one bedstead; and from this the -bed had been removed, and thrown into the middle -of the floor. On a chair lay a razor, besmeared -with blood. On the hearth were two or three long -and thick tresses of grey human hair, also dabbled -in blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by -the roots. Upon the floor were found four Napoleons, -an ear-ring of topaz, three large silver spoons, -three smaller of <span class='it'>metal d’Alger</span>, and two bags, containing -nearly four thousand francs in gold. The -drawers of a <span class='it'>bureau</span>, which stood in one corner, -were open, and had been, apparently, rifled, although -many articles still remained in them. A -small iron safe was discovered under the <span class='it'>bed</span> (not -under the bedstead.) It was open, with the key still -in the door. It had no contents beyond a few old -letters, and other papers of little consequence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of Madame L’Espanaye no traces were here -seen; but, an unusual quantity of soot being observed -in the fire-place, a search was made in the -chimney, and (horrible to relate!) the corpse of -the daughter, head downward, was dragged therefrom; -it having been thus forced up the narrow -aperture for a considerable distance. The body -was quite warm. Upon examining it many excoriations -were perceived, no doubt occasioned by the -violence with which it had been thrust up and -disengaged. Upon the face were many severe -scratches, and upon the throat dark bruises, and -deep indentations of finger nails, as if the deceased -had been throttled to death.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After a thorough investigation of every portion -of the house, without farther discovery, the party -made its way into a small paved yard in the rear of -the building, where lay the corpse of the old lady, -with her throat so entirely cut that, upon an attempt -to raise her, the head fell off, and rolled to some -distance. The body, as well as the head, was fearfully -mutilated—the former so much so as scarcely -to retain any semblance of humanity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To this horrible mystery there is not as yet, we -believe, the slightest clew.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The next day’s paper had these additional particulars.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue.</span> Many individuals -have been examined in relation to this -most extraordinary and frightful affair.” [The -word ‘<span class='it'>affaire</span>’ has not yet, in France, that levity -of import which it conveys with us,] “but nothing -whatever has transpired to throw light upon it. -We give below all the material testimony elicited.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Pauline Dubourg</span>, laundress, deposes that she -has known both the deceased for three years, -having washed for them during that period. The -old lady and her daughter seemed on good terms—very -affectionate toward each other. They were -excellent pay. Could not speak in regard to their -mode or means of living. Believed that Madame -L. told fortunes for a living. Was reputed to have -money put by. Never met any persons in the house -when she called for the clothes or took them home. -Was sure that they had no servant in employ. -There appeared to be no furniture in any part of -the building except in the fourth story.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Pierre Moreau</span>, tobacconist, deposes that he has -been in the habit of selling small quantities of -tobacco and snuff to Madame L’Espanaye for -nearly four years. Was born in the neighborhood, -and has always resided there. The deceased and -her daughter had occupied the house in which the -corpses were found for more than six years. It -was formerly occupied by a jeweller, who under-let -the upper rooms to various persons. The house -was the property of Madame L. She became dissatisfied -with the abuse of the premises by her -tenant, and moved into them herself, refusing to let -any portion. The old lady was childish. Witness -had seen the daughter some five or six times during -the six years. The two lived an exceedingly -retired life—were reputed to have money. Had -heard it said among the neighbors that Madame L. -told fortunes—did not believe it. Had never seen -any person enter the door except the old lady and -her daughter, a porter once or twice, and a physician -some eight or ten times.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Many other persons, neighbors, gave evidence to -the same effect. No one was spoken of as frequenting -the house. It was not known whether there -were any living connexions of Madame L. and her -daughter. The shutters of the front windows were -seldom opened. Those in the rear were always -closed, with the exception of the large back room, -fourth story. The house was a good house—not -very old.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Isidore Musèt</span>, gendarme, deposes that he was -called to the house about three o’clock in the morning, -and found some twenty or thirty persons at the -gateway, endeavoring to gain admittance. Forced -it open, at length with a bayonet—not with a crowbar. -Had but little difficulty in getting it open, on -account of its being a double or folding gate, and -bolted neither at bottom nor top. The shrieks -were continued until the gate was forced—and then -suddenly ceased. They seemed to be screams of -some person (or persons) in great agony—were -loud and drawn out, not short and quick. Witness -led the way up stairs. Upon reaching the first -landing heard two voices in loud and angry contention—the -one a gruff voice, the other much shriller—a -very strange voice. Could distinguish some -words of the former, which was that of a Frenchman. -Was positive that it was not a woman’s -voice. Could distinguish the words ‘<span class='it'>sacré</span>’ and -‘<span class='it'>diable</span>.’ The shrill voice was that of a foreigner. -Could not be sure whether it was the voice of a -man or of a woman. Could not make out what -was said, but believed the language to be Spanish. -The state of the room and of the bodies was -described by this witness as we described them -yesterday.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Henri Duval</span>, a neighbor, and by trade a silver-smith, -deposes that he was one of the party who -first entered the house. Corroborates the testimony -of Musèt in general. As soon as they forced an -entrance, they reclosed the door to keep out the -crowd, which collected very fast, notwithstanding -the lateness of the hour. The shrill voice, this -witness thinks, was that of an Italian. Was certain -it was not French. Could not be sure that it was -a man’s voice. It might have been a woman’s. -Was not acquainted with the Italian language. -Could not distinguish the words, but was convinced -by the intonation that the speaker was an Italian. -Knew Madame L. and her daughter. Had conversed -with both frequently. Was sure that the -shrill voice was not that of either of the deceased.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>—— <span class='it'>Odenheimer</span>, restaurateur. This witness -volunteered his testimony. Not speaking French -was examined through an interpreter. Is a native -of Amsterdam. Was passing the house at the time -of the shrieks. They lasted for several minutes—probably -ten. They were long and loud—very -awful and distressing. Was one of those who -entered the building. Corroborated the previous -evidence in every respect but one. Was sure that -the shrill voice was that of a man—of a Frenchman. -Could not distinguish the words uttered. -They were loud and quick—unequal—sometimes -quick, sometimes deliberate—spoken apparently in -fear as well as in anger. The voice was harsh—not -so much shrill as harsh. Could not call it a -shrill voice. The gruff voice said repeatedly ‘<span class='it'>sacré</span>,’ -‘<span class='it'>diable</span>,’ and once ‘<span class='it'>mon dieu</span>.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Jules Mignaud</span>, Banker, of the firm of Mignaud -et Fils, Rue Deloraine. Is the elder Mignaud. -Madame L’Espanaye had some property. Had -opened an account with his banking house in the -spring of the year —— (eight years previously.) -Made frequent deposites in small sums. Had -checked for nothing until the third day before her -death, when she took out in person the sum of 4000 -francs. This sum was paid in gold, and a clerk sent -home with the money.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Adolphe Le Bon</span>, clerk to Mignaud et Fils, -deposes that on the day in question, about noon, he -accompanied Madame L’Espanaye to her residence -with the 4000 francs, put up in two bags. Upon -the door being opened Mademoiselle L. appeared -and took from his hands one of the bags, while the -old lady relieved him of the other. He then bowed -and departed. Did not see any person in the street -at the time. It is a bye street—very lonely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>William Bird</span>, tailor, deposes that he was one of -the party who entered the house. Is an Englishman. -Has lived in Paris two years. Was one of -the first to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in -contention. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. -Could make out several words, but cannot -now remember all. Heard distinctly ‘<span class='it'>sacré</span>’ and -‘<span class='it'>mon dieu</span>.’ There was a sound at the moment -as if of several persons struggling—a scraping and -scuffling sound. The shrill voice was very loud—louder -than the gruff one. Is sure that it was not -the voice of an Englishman. Appeared to be that -of a German. Might have been a woman’s voice. -Does not understand German.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Four of the above-named witnesses, being recalled, -deposed that the door of the chamber in which was -found the body of Mademoiselle L. was locked on -the inside when the party reached it. Every thing -was perfectly silent—no groans or noises of any -kind. Upon forcing the door no person was seen. -The windows both of the back and front room -were down and firmly fastened from within. A -door between the two rooms was closed, but not -locked. The door leading from the front room -into the passage was locked with the key on the -inside. A small room in the front of the house, on -the fourth story, at the head of the passage, was -open, the door being ajar. This room was crowded -with old beds, boxes, and so forth. These were -carefully removed and searched. There was not an -inch of any portion of the house which was not -carefully searched. Sweeps were sent up and -down the chimneys. The house was a four story -one, with garrets, (<span class='it'>mansardes</span>). A trap door on -the roof was nailed down very securely—did not -appear to have been opened for years. The time -elapsing between the hearing of the voices in contention -and the breaking open of the room door -was variously stated by the witnesses. Some made -it as short as three minutes—some as long as five. -The door was opened with difficulty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Alfonzo Garcio</span>, undertaker, deposes that he -resides in the Rue Morgue. Is a native of Spain. -Was one of the party who entered the house. Did -not proceed up stairs. Is nervous, and was apprehensive -of the consequences of agitation. Heard -the voices in contention. The gruff voice was that -of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish what was -said. The shrill voice was that of an Englishman—is -sure of this. Does not understand the English -language, but judges by the intonation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Alberto Montani</span>, confectioner, deposes that he -was among the first to ascend the stairs. Heard -the voices in question. The gruff voice was that -of a Frenchman. Distinguished several words. -The speaker appeared to be expostulating. Could -not make out the words of the shrill voice. Spoke -quick and unevenly. Thinks it the voice of a -Russian. Corroborates the general testimony. Is -an Italian. Never conversed with a native of -Russia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Several witnesses recalled, here testified that the -chimneys of all the rooms on the fourth story were -too narrow to admit the passage of a human being. -By ‘sweeps’ were meant cylindrical sweeping-brushes, -such as are employed by those who clean -chimneys. These brushes were passed up and -down every flue in the house. There is no back -passage by which any one could have descended -while the party proceeded up stairs. The body of -Mademoiselle L’Espanaye was so firmly wedged in -the chimney that it could not be got down until -four or five of the party united their strength.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Paul Dumas</span>, physician, deposes that he was -called to view the bodies about day-break. They -were both then lying on the sacking of the bedstead -in the chamber where Mademoiselle L. was found. -The corpse of the young lady was much bruised and -excoriated. The fact that it had been thrust up -the chimney would sufficiently account for these -appearances. The throat was greatly chafed. -There were several deep scratches just below the -chin, together with a series of livid spots which -were evidently the impression of fingers. The face -was fearfully discolored, and the eye-balls protruded. -The tongue had been partially bitten through. A -large bruise was discovered upon the pit of the -stomach, produced apparently by the pressure of a -knee. In the opinion of M. Dumas, Mademoiselle -L’Espanaye had been throttled to death by some -person or persons unknown. The corpse of the -mother was horribly mutilated. All the bones of -the right leg and arm were more or less shattered. -The left tibia much splintered, as well as all the -ribs of the left side. Whole body dreadfully bruised -and discolored. It was not possible to say how the -injuries had been inflicted. A heavy club of wood, -or a broad bar of iron, a chair, any large heavy and -obtuse weapon, would have produced such results, -if wielded by the hands of a very powerful man. -No woman could have inflicted the blows with any -weapon. The head of the deceased, when seen by -witness, was entirely separated from the body, and -was also greatly shattered. The throat had evidently -been cut with some very sharp instrument—probably -with a razor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Alexandre Etienne</span>, surgeon, was called with M. -Dumas to view the bodies. Corroborated the testimony, -and the opinions, of M. Dumas.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Nothing farther of importance was elicited, -although several other persons were examined. A -murder so mysterious, and so perplexing in all its -particulars, was never before committed in Paris—if -indeed a murder has been committed at all. The -police are entirely at fault—an unusual occurrence -in affairs of this nature. There is not, however, -the shadow of a clew apparent.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The evening edition of the paper stated that the -greatest excitement still continued in the Quartier St. -Roch—that the premises in question had been carefully -re-searched, and fresh examinations of witnesses -instituted, but all to no purpose. A postscript, -however, mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon had been -arrested and imprisoned—although nothing appeared -to criminate him, beyond the facts already detailed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dupin seemed singularly interested in the progress -of this affair—at least so I judged from his -manner, for he made no comments whatever. It -was only after the announcement that Le Bon had -been imprisoned, that he asked me my opinion -respecting it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I could merely agree with all Paris in considering -it an insoluble mystery. I saw no means by -which it would be possible to trace the murderer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We must not judge of the means,” said Dupin, -“by this shell of an examination. The Parisian -police, so much extolled for acumen, are cunning, -but no more. There is no method in their proceedings, -beyond the method of the moment. They -make a vast parade of measures; but not unfrequently -these are so illy adapted to the objects -proposed, as to put us in mind of Monsieur -Jourdain’s calling for his <span class='it'>robe-de-chambre—pour -mieux entendre la musique</span>. The results attained -by them are not unfrequently surprising, but, for the -most part, are brought about by simple diligence -and activity. When these qualities are unavailing -their schemes fail. Vidocq, for example, was a good -guesser, and a persevering man. But, without educated -thought, he erred continually by the very -intensity of his investigations. He impaired his -vision by holding the object too close. He might -see, perhaps, one or two points with unusual clearness, -but in so doing he necessarily lost sight of the -matter, as a whole. Thus there is such a thing as -being too profound. Truth is not always in a well. -In fact as regards the more important knowledge I -do believe that she is invariably superficial. The -depth lies in the valleys where we seek her and not -upon the mountain tops where she is found. The -modes and sources of this kind of error are well -typified in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies. -To look at a star by glances—to view it in a side-long -way by turning toward it the exterior portions -of the retina (more susceptible of feeble impressions -of light than the interior) is to behold the star -distinctly—is to have the best appreciation of its -lustre—a lustre which grows dim just in proportion -as we turn our vision <span class='it'>fully</span> upon it. A greater -number of rays actually fall upon the eye in the -latter case, but in the former there is the more -refined capacity for comprehension. By undue profundity -we perplex and enfeeble thought—and it is -possible to make even Venus herself vanish from the -firmament by a scrutiny too sustained, too concentrated, -and too direct.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As for these murders, let us enter into some -examinations for ourselves, before we make up an -opinion respecting them. An inquiry will afford us -amusement,” [I thought this an odd term, so applied, -but said nothing] “and, besides, Le Bon once -rendered me a service for which I am not ungrateful. -We will go and see the premises with our -own eyes. I know G——, the <span class='it'>Préfet de Police</span>, -and shall have no difficulty in obtaining the necessary -permission.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This permission was obtained, and we proceeded -at once to the Rue Morgue. This is one of those -miserable thoroughfares which intervene between -the Rue Richelieu and the Rue St. Roch. It was -late in the afternoon when we reached it, for this -quarter is at a great distance from that in which -we resided. The house we readily found; for there -were still many persons gazing up at the closed -shutters, with an objectless curiosity, from the -opposite side of the way. It was an ordinary -Parisian house, with a gateway, on one side of -which was a glazed watch-box, with a sliding panel -in the window, indicating a <span class='it'>loge de concierge</span>. Before -going in we walked up the street, turned down -an alley, and then, again turning, passed in the rear -of the building—Dupin, meanwhile, examining the -whole neighborhood, as well as the house, with a -minuteness of attention for which I could see no -possible object.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Retracing our steps we came again to the front -of the dwelling, rang, and having shown our credentials, -were admitted by the agents in charge. We -went up stairs—into the chamber where the body -of Mademoiselle L’Espanaye had been found, and -where both the deceased still lay. The disorders -of the room had as usual been suffered to exist. -I saw nothing beyond what had been stated in the -“Tribunal.” Dupin scrutinized every thing, not -excepting the bodies of the victims. We then went -into the other rooms, and into the yard; a gendarme -accompanying us throughout. Our examination -occupied us until dark, when we took our departure. -On our way home my companion stepped in for a -moment at the office of one of the daily papers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I have said that the whims of my friend were -manifold, and that—<span class='it'>Je les menagais</span>:—for this -phrase there is no English equivalent. It was his -humor now to decline all conversation on the subject -of the murder, until after we had taken a bottle -of wine together about noon the next day. He -then asked me, suddenly, if I had observed any -thing <span class='it'>peculiar</span> at the scene of the atrocity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was something in his manner of emphasizing -the word “peculiar,” which caused me to -shudder, without knowing why.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, nothing <span class='it'>peculiar</span>,” I said, “nothing more, -at least, than we both saw stated in the paper.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Le Tribunal,” he replied, “has not entered, I -fear, into the unusual horror of the thing. But we -will not revert to the idle opinions of this print. It -appears to me that this mystery is considered insoluble, -for the very reason which should cause it to -be regarded as easy of solution—I mean for the -<span class='it'>outré</span> character of its features. The police are confounded -by the seeming absence of motive—not for -the murder itself—but for the atrocity of the murder. -They are puzzled by the seeming impossibility of -reconciling the voices heard in contention, with the -facts that no one was discovered up stairs but the -assassinated Mademoiselle L’Espanaye, and that -there were no means of egress without the notice -of the party ascending. The wild disorder of the -room; the corpse thrust with the head downward -up the chimney; the frightful mutilation of the body -of the old lady; these considerations, with those -just mentioned, and others which I need not mention, -have sufficed to paralyze the powers, by putting -completely at fault the boasted acumen, of the -government agents. They have fallen into the -gross but common error of confounding the unusual -with the abstruse. But it is by these deviations from -the plane of the ordinary, that reason feels its way, -if at all, in its search after the true. In investigations -such as we are now pursuing, it should not -be so much asked ‘what has occurred,’ as ‘what -has occurred which has never occurred before.’ In -fact, the facility with which I shall arrive, or have -arrived, at the solution of this mystery, is in exact -ratio with its apparent insolubility in the eyes of the -police.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment. -He continued.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am now awaiting,” continued he, looking -toward the door of our apartment—“I am now -awaiting a person who, although perhaps not the -perpetrator of these butcheries, must have been in -some measure implicated in their perpetration. Of -the worst portion of the crimes committed it is -probable that he is innocent. I hope that I am -right in this supposition; for upon it I build my -expectation of reading the entire riddle. I look for -the man here—in this room—every moment. It -is true that he may not arrive; but the probability is -that he will. Should he come, it will be necessary -to detain him. Here are pistols; and we both -know how to use them when occasion demands -their use.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what I did, -or believing what I heard, while Dupin went on, -very much as if in a soliloquy. I have already -spoken of his abstract manner at such times. His -discourse was addressed to myself; but his voice, -although by no means loud, had that intonation -which is commonly employed in speaking to some -one at a great distance. His eyes, vacant in -expression, regarded only the wall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That the voices heard in contention,” he said, -“by the party upon the stairs, were not the voices -of the women themselves, was fully proved by the -evidence. This relieves us of all doubt upon the -question whether the old lady could have first -destroyed the daughter, and afterward have committed -suicide. I speak of this point chiefly for the -sake of method; for the strength of Madame L’Espanaye -would have been utterly unequal to the task -of thrusting her daughter’s corpse up the chimney -as it was found; and the nature of the wounds -upon her own person entirely preclude the idea of -self-destruction. Murder, then, has been committed -by some third party; and the voices of this third -party were those heard in contention. Let me -now advert—not to the whole testimony respecting -these voices—but to what was peculiar in that -testimony. Did you observe anything peculiar -about it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed -in supposing the gruff voice to be that of a Frenchman, -there was much disagreement in regard to the -shrill, or as one individual termed it, the harsh voice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That was the evidence itself,” said Dupin, “but -it was not the peculiarity of the evidence. You -have observed nothing distinctive. Re-employing -my own words, I may say that you have pointed -out no prominence above the plane of the ordinary, -by which reason may feel her way. Yet there <span class='it'>was</span> -something to be pointed out. The witnesses, as -you remark, agreed about the gruff voice; they -were here unanimous. But in regard to the shrill -voice the peculiarity is—not that they disagreed—but -that, while an Italian, an Englishman, a Spaniard, -a Hollander, and a Frenchman attempted to describe -it, each one spoke of it as that <span class='it'>of a foreigner</span>. -Each is sure that it was not the voice of one of his -own countrymen. Each likens it—not to the voice -of an individual of any nation with whose language -he is conversant—but the converse. The Frenchman -supposes it the voice of a Spaniard, and ‘might -have distinguished some words <span class='it'>had he been acquainted -with the Spanish</span>.’ The Dutchman maintains -it to have been that of a Frenchman; but we find it -stated that ‘<span class='it'>not understanding French this witness -was examined through an interpreter</span>.’ The Englishman -thinks it the voice of a German, and -‘<span class='it'>does not understand German</span>.’ The Spaniard -‘is sure’ that it is that of an Englishman, but -‘judges by the intonation’ altogether, ‘<span class='it'>as he has -no knowledge of the English</span>.’ The Italian believes -it the voice of a Russian, but ‘<span class='it'>has never conversed -with a native of Russia</span>.’ A second Frenchman -differs, moreover, with the first, and is positive that -the voice is that of an Italian; but, <span class='it'>not being cognizant -of that tongue</span>, is like the Spaniard, ‘convinced -by the intonation.’ Now, how strangely unusual -must that voice have really been, about which such -testimony as this <span class='it'>could</span> have been elicited!—in -whose <span class='it'>tones</span>, even, denizens of the five great divisions -of Europe could recognise nothing familiar! -You will say that it might have been the voice of -an Asiatic—of an African. Neither Asiatics nor -Africans abound in Paris; but, without denying the -inference, I will just now merely call your attention -to three points which have relation to this topic. -The voice is termed by one witness ‘harsh rather -than shrill.’ It is represented by two others to -have been ‘quick and <span class='it'>unequal</span>.’ No words—no -sounds resembling words—were by any witness -mentioned as distinguishable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know not,” continued Dupin, “what impression -I may have made, so far, upon your own -understanding; but I do not hesitate to say that -legitimate deductions even from this portion of the -testimony—the portion respecting the gruff and -shrill voices—are in themselves sufficient to engender -a suspicion which should bias, or give direction -to all farther progress in the investigation of the -mystery. I said ‘legitimate deductions;’ but my -meaning is not thus fully expressed. I designed to -imply that the deductions were the <span class='it'>sole</span> proper ones, -and that the suspicion arose <span class='it'>inevitably</span> from them -as the single result. What the suspicion is, however, -I will not say just yet. I merely wish you to -bear in mind that with myself it was sufficiently -forcible to give a definite form—a certain tendency—to -my inquiries in the chamber.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to -that chamber. What shall we first seek here? The -means of egress employed by the murderers. It is -not too much to say that we neither of us believe -in præternatural events. Madame and Mademoiselle -L’Espanaye were not destroyed by spirits. The -doers of the dark deed were material, and escaped -materially. Then how? Fortunately, there is but -one mode of reasoning upon the point, and that -mode <span class='it'>must</span> lead us to a definite decision. Let us -examine, each by each, the possible means of egress. -It is clear that the assassins were in the room -where Mademoiselle L’Espanaye was found, or at -least in the room adjoining, when the party ascended -the stairs. It is then only from these two apartments -that we have to seek for issues. The police -have laid bare the floors, the ceilings, and the -masonry of the walls, in every direction. No <span class='it'>secret</span> -issues could have escaped their vigilance. But, not -trusting to their eyes, I examined with my own. -There were, then, <span class='it'>no</span> secret issues. Both doors -leading from the rooms into the passage were -securely locked, with the keys inside. Let us turn -to the chimneys. These, although of ordinary -width for some eight or ten feet above the hearths, -will not admit, throughout their extent, the body of -a large cat. The impossibility of egress by means -already stated being thus absolute, we are reduced -to the windows. Through those of the front room -no one could have escaped without notice from the -crowd in the street. The murderers <span class='it'>must</span> have -passed, then, through those of the back room. Now, -brought to this conclusion in so unequivocal a -manner as we are, it is not our part, as reasoners, -to reject it on account of apparent impossibilities. -It is only left for us to prove that these ‘impossibilities’ -are not such.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There are two windows in the chamber. One -of them is unobstructed by furniture, and is wholly -visible. The lower portion of the other is hidden -from view by the head of the unwieldy bedstead -which is thrust close up against it. The former -was found securely fastened from within. It resisted -the utmost force of those who endeavored to -raise it. A large gimlet-hole had been pierced in -its frame to the left, and a very stout nail was found -fitted therein nearly to the head. Upon examining -the other window a similar nail was seen similarly -fitted in it; and a vigorous attempt to raise this sash -failed also. The police were now entirely satisfied -that egress had not been in these directions. And, -<span class='it'>therefore</span>, it was thought a matter of supererogation -to withdraw the nails and open the windows.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My own examination was somewhat more -particular, and was so for the reason I have just -given—because here it was, I knew, that all apparent -impossibilities <span class='it'>must</span> be proved to be not such -in reality.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I proceeded to think thus—<span class='it'>a posteriori</span>. The -murderers <span class='it'>did</span> escape from one of these windows. -This being so, they could not have re-fastened the -sashes from the inside as they were found fastened,—(the -consideration which put a stop, through its -obviousness, to the scrutiny of the police in this -quarter). Yet the sashes <span class='it'>were</span> fastened. They -<span class='it'>must</span>, then, have the power of fastening themselves. -There was no escape from this conclusion. I stepped -to the unobstructed casement, withdrew the nail -with some difficulty, and attempted to raise the -sash. It resisted all my efforts, as I had anticipated. -A concealed spring must, I now knew, exist; and -this corroboration of my idea convinced me that my -premises, at least, were correct, however mysterious -still appeared the circumstances attending the nails. -A careful search soon brought to light the hidden -spring. I pressed it, and, satisfied with the discovery, -forbore to upraise the sash.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I now replaced the nail and regarded it attentively. -A person passing out through this window -might have reclosed it, and the spring would have -caught—but the nail could not have been replaced. -The conclusion was plain, and again narrowed in -the field of my investigations. The assassins <span class='it'>must</span> -have escaped through the other window. Supposing, -then, the springs upon each sash to be the same, as -was probable, there <span class='it'>must</span> be found a difference between -the nails, or at least between the modes of their -fixture. Getting upon the sacking of the bedstead, -I looked over the head-board minutely at the second -casement. Passing my hand down behind the board -I readily discovered and pressed the spring, which -was, as I had supposed, identical in character with -its neighbor. I now looked at the nail. It was as -stout as the other, and apparently fitted in the same -manner—driven in nearly up to the head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will say that I was puzzled; but if you -think so you must have misunderstood the nature of -the inductions. To use a sporting phrase, I had -not been once ‘at fault.’ The scent had never for -an instant been lost. There was no flaw in any -link of the chain. I had traced the secret to its -ultimate result—and that result was <span class='it'>the nail</span>. It -had, I say, in every respect, the appearance of its -fellow in the other window; but this fact was an -absolute nullity (conclusive as it might seem to be) -when compared with the consideration that here, at -this point, terminated the clew. ‘There <span class='it'>must</span> be -something wrong,’ I said, ‘about the nail.’ I -touched it; and the head, with about the eighth of -an inch of the shank, came off in my fingers. The -rest of the shank was in the gimlet-hole, where it -had been broken off. The fracture was an old one -(for its edges were incrusted with rust) and had apparently -been accomplished by the blow of a hammer, -which had partially imbedded in the top of the -bottom sash, the head portion of the nail. I now -carefully replaced this head portion in the indentation -whence I had taken it, and the resemblance to -a perfect nail was complete. I gently raised the sash -for a few inches; the head went up with it, remaining -firm in its bed, I closed the window, and the -semblance of the whole nail was again perfect.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The -assassins had escaped through the window which -looked upon the bed. Dropping of its own accord -upon their exit (or perhaps purposely closed by -them) it had become fastened by the spring; and it -was the retention of this spring which had been -mistaken by the police for that of the nail—farther -inquiry being thus considered unnecessary.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The next question is that of the mode of descent. -Upon this point I had been satisfied in my -walk with you around the building. About five -feet and a half from the casement in question there -ran a lightning-rod. From this rod it would have -been impossible for any one to reach the window -itself, to say nothing of entering it. I observed, -however, that the shutters of the fourth story were -of the peculiar kind called by Parisian carpenters -<span class='it'>ferrades</span>—a kind rarely employed at the present -day, but frequently seen upon very old mansions at -Lyons and Bourdeaux. They are in the form of -an ordinary door, (a single, not a folding door) -except that the lower half is latticed or worked in -open trellis—thus affording an excellent hold for -the hands. In the present instance these shutters -are fully three feet and a half broad. When we -saw them from the rear of the house, they were -both about half open—that is to say they stood off -at right angles from the wall. It is probable that -the police, as well as myself, examined the back of -the tenement; but, if so, in looking at these <span class='it'>ferrades</span> -in the line of their breadth, (as they must have -done) they did not perceive this great breadth itself, -or, at all events, failed to take it into due consideration. -In fact, having once satisfied themselves -that no egress could have been made in this quarter, -they would naturally bestow here a very cursory -examination. It was clear to me, however, that the -shutter belonging to the window at the head of the -bed would, if swung fully back to the wall, reach to -within two feet of the lightning-rod. It was also -evident that, by exertion of a very unusual degree -of activity and courage, an entrance into the window, -from the rod, might have been thus effected. -By reaching to the distance of two feet and a half -(we now suppose the shutter open to its whole -extent) a robber might have taken a firm grasp -upon the trellis-work. Letting go, then, his hold -upon the rod, placing his feet firmly against the -wall, and springing boldly from it, he might have -swung the shutter so as to close it, and, if we imagine -the window open at the time, might even have -swung himself into the room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wish you to bear especially in mind that I -have spoken of a <span class='it'>very</span> unusual degree of activity as -requisite to success in so hazardous and so difficult -a feat. It is my design to show you, first, that the -thing might possibly have been accomplished:—but, -secondly and <span class='it'>chiefly</span>, I wish to impress upon your -understanding the <span class='it'>very extraordinary</span>—the almost -præternatural character of that agility which could -have accomplished it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will say, no doubt, using the language of -the law, that ‘to make out my case,’ I should -rather undervalue, than insist upon a full estimation -of the activity required in this matter. This may -be the practice in law, but it is not the usage of -reason. My ultimate object is only the truth. My -immediate purpose is to lead you to place in juxtaposition, -that <span class='it'>very unusual</span> activity of which I have -just spoken, with that <span class='it'>very peculiar</span> shrill (or harsh) -and <span class='it'>unequal</span> voice, about whose nationality no two -persons could be found to agree, and in whose utterance -no syllabification could be detected.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At these words a vague and half-formed conception -of the meaning of Dupin flitted over my mind. -I seemed to be upon the verge of comprehension, -without power to comprehend—as men, at times, -find themselves upon the brink of remembrance, -without being able, in the end, to remember. My -friend went on with his discourse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will see,” he said, “that I have shifted the -question from the mode of egress to that of ingress. -It was my design to convey the idea that both were -effected in the same manner, at the same point. -Let us now revert in fancy to the interior of the -room. Let us survey the appearances here. The -drawers of the bureau, it is said, had been rifled, -although many articles of apparel still remained -within them. The conclusion here is absurd. It -is a mere guess—a very silly one—and no more. -How are we to know that the articles found in the -drawers were not all these drawers had originally -contained? Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter -lived an exceedingly retired life—saw no company—seldom -went out—had little use for numerous -changes of habiliment. Those found were at least -of as good quality as any likely to be possessed by -these ladies. If a thief had taken any, why did he -not take the best—why did he not take all? In a -word why did he abandon four thousand francs in -gold to encumber himself with a bundle of linen? -The gold <span class='it'>was</span> abandoned. Nearly the whole sum -mentioned by Monsieur Mignaud, the banker, was -discovered, in bags, upon the floor. I wish you, -therefore, to discard from your thoughts the blundering -idea of <span class='it'>motive</span> engendered in the brains of the -police, by that portion of the evidence which speaks -of money delivered at the door of the house. Coincidences -ten times as remarkable as this (the delivery -of the money, and murder committed within -three days upon the party receiving it,) happen to -each and all of us every hour of our lives, without -attracting even a momentary notice. Coincidences -in general are great stumbling-blocks in the way of -that class of thinkers who have been educated to -know nothing, and care less, of the theory of probabilities—that -theory to which the most glorious -objects of human research are indebted for the most -glorious of illustration. In the present instance, -had the gold been gone, the fact of its delivery -three days before would have formed something -more than a coincidence. It would have been corroborative -of this idea of motive. But, under the -real circumstances of the case, if we are to suppose -gold the motive of this outrage, we must also imagine -the perpetrator so vacillating an idiot as to -have abandoned his gold and his motive together.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Keeping now steadily in mind the points to -which I have drawn your attention—that peculiar -voice, that unusual agility, and that startling absence -of motive in a murder so singularly atrocious as -this—let us glance at the butchery itself. Here is -a woman strangled to death by manual strength, -and thrust up a chimney, head downward. Ordinary -assassins employ no such modes of murder as -this. Least of all, do they thus dispose of the murdered. -In the manner of thrusting the corpse up -the chimney, you will admit that there was something -<span class='it'>excessively outré</span>—something altogether irreconcilable -with our common notions of human -action, even when we suppose the actors the most -depraved of men. Think, too, what must have -been the degree of that strength which could have -thrust the body <span class='it'>up</span> such an aperture so forcibly that -the united vigor of several persons was found barely -sufficient to drag it <span class='it'>down</span>! Turn now to other -indications of the employment of a vigor most marvellous. -On the hearth were thick tresses, very -thick tresses—of gray human hair. These had -been <span class='it'>torn out by the roots</span>. You are aware of the -great force necessary in tearing thus from the head -even twenty or thirty hairs together. You saw the -locks in question as well as myself. Their roots -(a hideous sight!) were clotted with fragments of -the flesh of the scalp—sure token of the prodigious -power which had been exerted in uprooting perhaps -a million of hairs at a time. The throat of the old -lady was not merely cut, but the head absolutely -severed from the body. The instrument was a mere -razor. Here again we have evidence of that vastness -of strength upon which I would fix your attention. -I wish you also to look, and to look steadily, -at the <span class='it'>brutal</span> ferocity of these deeds. Of the bruises -upon the body of Madame L’Espanaye I do not -speak. Monsieur Dumas, and his worthy coadjutor, -Monsieur Etienne, have pronounced that they were -inflicted by some obtuse instrument; and so far -these gentlemen are very correct. The obtuse instrument -was clearly the stone pavement in the -yard, upon which the victim had fallen from the -window which looked in upon the bed. This idea, -however simple it may now seem, escaped the police -for the same reason that the breadth of the -shutters escaped them—because, by the affair of the -nails, their perceptions had been hermetically sealed -against the possibility of the windows having ever -been opened at all.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If now, in addition to all these things, you have -properly reflected upon the odd disorder of the -chamber, we have gone so far as to combine the -ideas of a strength superhuman, an agility astounding, -a ferocity brutal, a butchery without motive, a -<span class='it'>grotesquerie</span> in horror absolutely alien from humanity, -and a voice foreign in tone to the ears of men -of many nations, and devoid of all distinct or intelligible -syllabification. What result, then, has ensued? -What impression have I made upon your -fancy?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I shuddered as Dupin asked me the question. -“A madman,” I said, “has done this deed—some -raving maniac, escaped from a neighboring <span class='it'>Maison -de Santé</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In some respects,” he replied, “your idea is not -irrelevant. But the voices of madmen, even in their -wildest paroxysms, are never found to tally with -that peculiar voice heard upon the stairs. Madmen -are of some nation, and their language, however -incoherent in its words, has always the coherence -of syllabification. Besides, the hair of a madman -is not such hair as I now hold in my hand. I disentangled -this little tuft from among the tresses remaining -upon the head of Madame L’Espanaye. -Tell me what you can make of it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good God,” I said, completely unnerved, “this -hair is most unusual—this is no <span class='it'>human</span> hair.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have not asserted that it was,” said he, “but -before we decide upon this point, I wish you to -glance at the little sketch which I have here traced -upon this paper. It is a fac-simile drawing of what -has been described in one portion of the testimony -as ‘dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger -nails,’ upon the throat of Mademoiselle L’Espanaye, -and in another, (by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne,) -as ‘a series of livid spots, evidently the impression -of fingers.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will perceive,” continued my friend, spreading -out the paper upon the table before us, “you -will perceive that this drawing gives the idea of a -firm and fixed hold. There is no <span class='it'>slipping</span> apparent. -Each finger has retained—possibly until the death -of the victim—the fearful grasp by which it originally -imbedded itself. Attempt now to place all -your fingers, at one and the same time, in the impressions -as you see them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I made the attempt in vain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We are possibly not giving this matter a fair -trial,” he said. “The paper is spread out upon a -plane surface; but the human throat is cylindrical. -Here is a billet of wood, the circumference of which -is about that of the throat. Wrap the drawing -around it, and try the experiment again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious -than before. “This,” I said, “is the mark of -no human hand.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Assuredly it is not,” replied Dupin; “read now -this passage from Cuvier.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptive -account of the large fulvous Ourang-Outang of -the East Indian Islands. The gigantic stature, the -prodigious strength and activity, the wild ferocity, -and the imitative propensities of these mammalia are -sufficiently well known to all. I understood the -full horrors of the murder at once.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The description of the digits,” said I, as I made -an end of reading, “is in exact accordance with this -drawing. I see that no animal but an Ourang-Outang, -of the species here mentioned, could have -impressed the indentations as you have traced them. -This tuft of yellow hair is identical in character -with that of the beast of Cuvier. But I cannot possibly -comprehend the particulars of this frightful -mystery. Besides, there were two voices heard in -contention, and one of them was unquestionably the -voice of a Frenchman.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“True; and you will remember an expression -attributed almost unanimously, by the evidence, to -this voice,—the expression, ‘<span class='it'>mon Dieu!</span>’ This, -under the circumstances, has been justly characterized -by one of the witnesses (Montani, the confectioner,) -as an expression of remonstrance or -expostulation. Upon these two words, therefore, I -have mainly built my hopes of a full solution of the -riddle. A Frenchman was cognizant of the murder. -It is possible—indeed it is far more than probable—that -he was innocent of all participation in the -bloody transactions which took place. The Ourang-Outang -may have escaped from him. He may have -traced it to this chamber; but, under the agitating -circumstances which ensued, he could never have -re-captured it. It is still at large. I will not pursue -these guesses—for I have no right to call them -more than guesses—since the shades of reflection -upon which they are based are scarcely of sufficient -depth to be appreciable by my own intellect, and -since I could not pretend to make them intelligible -to the understanding of another than myself. We -will call them guesses then, and speak of them as -such. If the Frenchman in question be indeed, as -I suppose, innocent of this atrocity, this advertisement, -which I left last night, upon our return home, -at the office of ‘Le Monde,’ (a paper devoted to -the shipping interest, and much sought for by sailors,) -will bring him to our residence.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He handed me a paper, and I read thus:—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Caught</span>—<span class='it'>In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the -morning of the — inst.</span>, (the morning of the murder,) -<span class='it'>a very large, tawny-colored Ourang-Outang -of the Bornese species. The owner, (who is ascertained -to be a sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel,) -may have the animal again, upon identifying it -satisfactorily, and paying a few charges arising -from its capture and keeping. Call at No. —, -Rue ——, Faubourg St. Germain—au troisième.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“How was it possible,” I asked, “that you -should know the man to be a sailor, and belonging -to a Maltese vessel?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do <span class='it'>not</span> know it,” said Dupin. “I am not -<span class='it'>sure</span> of it. Here, however, is a small piece of ribbon, -which has evidently, from its form, and from -its greasy appearance, been used in tying the hair in -one of those long <span class='it'>queues</span> of which sailors are so -fond. Moreover, this knot is one which few besides -sailors can tie, and is peculiar to the Maltese. I -picked the ribbon up at the foot of the lightning-rod. -It could not have belonged to either of the deceased. -Now if, after all, I am wrong in my induction from -this ribbon, that the Frenchman was a sailor belonging -to a Maltese vessel, still I can have done -no harm in stating what I did in the advertisement. -If I am in error he will merely suppose that I have -been misled by some circumstance into which he -will not take the trouble to inquire. But if I am -right—a great point is gained. Cognizant of the -murder, although not guilty, the Frenchman will -naturally hesitate about replying to the advertisement—about -demanding the Ourang-Outang. He -will reason thus:—‘I am innocent; I am poor; -my Ourang-Outang is of great value—to one in my -circumstances a fortune of itself—why should I lose -it through idle apprehensions of danger? Here it -is within my grasp. It was found in the Bois de -Boulogne—at a vast distance from the scene of that -butchery. How can it ever be suspected that a -brute beast should have done the deed? The police -are at fault—they have failed to procure the slightest -clew. Should they even trace the animal, it would -be impossible to prove me cognizant of the murder, -or to implicate me in guilt on account of that cognizance. -Above all, <span class='it'>I am known</span>. The advertiser -designates me as the possessor of the beast. I am -not sure to what limit his knowledge may extend. -Should I avoid claiming a property of so great a -value, which it is known that I possess, I will render -the animal at least, liable to suspicion. It is -not my policy to attract attention either to myself -or to the beast. I will answer the advertisement—get -the Ourang-Outang, and keep it close until this -matter has blown over.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Be ready,” said Dupin, “with your pistols, but -neither show them nor use them until at a signal -from myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The front door of the house had been left open, -and the visiter had entered without ringing or rapping, -and advanced several steps upon the staircase. -Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently -we heard him descending. Dupin was moving -quickly to the door, when we again heard him -coming up. He did not turn back a second time, -but stepped up quickly, and rapped at the door of -our chamber.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come in,” said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty -tone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The visiter entered. He was a sailor, evidently—a -tall, stout, and muscular-looking man, with a certain -dare-devil expression of countenance, not altogether -unprepossessing. His face, greatly sunburnt, -was more than half hidden by a world of whisker -and <span class='it'>mustachio</span>. He had with him a huge oaken -cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise unarmed. He -bowed awkwardly, and bade us “good evening,” in -French accents, which, although somewhat Neufchatel-ish, -were still sufficiently indicative of a Parisian -origin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sit down, my friend,” said Dupin, “I suppose -you have called about the Ourang-Outang. Upon -my word, I almost envy you the possession of him; -a remarkably fine, and no doubt a very valuable -animal. How old do you suppose him to be?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a -man relieved of some intolerable burden, and then -replied, in an assured tone,—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have no way of telling—but he can’t be more -than four or five years old. Have you got him -here?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh no—we had no conveniences for keeping -him here. He is at a livery stable in the Rue Dubourg, -just by. You can get him in the morning. -Of course you are prepared to identify the property?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To be sure I am, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shall be sorry to part with him,” said Dupin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t mean that you should be at all this -trouble for nothing, sir,” said the man. “Couldn’t -expect it. Am very willing to pay a reward for -the finding of the animal—that is to say, any reward -in reason.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” replied my friend, “that is all very fair, -to be sure. Let me think!—what reward ought I -to have? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shall -be this. You shall give me all the information in -your power about that affair of the murder in the -Rue Morgue.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dupin said these last words in a very low tone, -and very quietly. Just as quietly, too, he walked -towards the door, locked it, and put the key in his -pocket. He then drew a pistol from his bosom and -placed it, without the least flurry, upon the table.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sailor’s face flushed up with an ungovernable -tide of crimson. He started to his feet and grasped -his cudgel; but the next moment he fell back into -his seat trembling convulsively, and with the countenance -of death itself. He spoke not a single word. -I pitied him from the bottom of my heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My friend,” said Dupin, in a kind tone, “you -are alarming yourself unnecessarily—you are indeed. -We mean you no harm whatever. I pledge you -the honor of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman, that -we intend you no injury. I perfectly well know -that you are innocent of the atrocities in the Rue -Morgue. It will not do, however, to deny that you -are in some measure implicated in them. From -what I have already said, you must know that I -have had means of information about this matter—means -of which you could never have dreamed. -Now the thing stands thus. You have done nothing -which you could have avoided—nothing certainly -which renders you culpable. You were not even -guilty of robbery, when you might have robbed with -impunity. You have nothing to conceal. You have -no reason for concealment. On the other hand, -you are bound by every principle of honor to confess -all that you know. An innocent man is now -imprisoned, charged with that crime of which you -can point out the perpetrator.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sailor had recovered his presence of mind in -a great measure, while Dupin uttered these words; -but his original boldness of bearing was all gone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So help me God,” said he, after a brief pause, -“I <span class='it'>will</span> tell you all that I know about this affair;—but -I do not expect you to believe one half that I -say—I would be a fool indeed if I did. Still, I <span class='it'>am</span> -innocent, and I will make a clean breast if I die -for it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I do not propose to follow the man in the circumstantial -narrative which he now detailed. What -he stated was, in substance, this. He had lately -made a voyage to the Indian Archipelago. A party, -of which he formed one, landed at Borneo, and -passed into the interior on an excursion of pleasure. -Himself and a companion had captured the Ourang-Outang. -This companion dying, the animal fell -into his own exclusive possession. After great -trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his -captive during the home voyage, he at length succeeded -in lodging it safely at his own residence in -Paris, where, not to attract towards himself the unpleasant -curiosity of his neighbors, he kept it carefully -secluded, until such time as it should recover -from a wound in the foot, received from a splinter -on board ship. His ultimate design was to sell it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Returning home from some sailors’ frolic on the -night, or rather in the morning of the murder, he -found his prisoner occupying his own bed-room, -into which he had broken from a closet adjoining, -where he had been, as it was thought, securely confined. -The beast, razor in hand, and fully lathered, -was sitting before a looking-glass, attempting the -operation of shaving, in which he had no doubt -previously watched his master through the key-hole -of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so dangerous -a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious, -and so well able to use it, the man, for some -moments, was at a loss what to do. He had been -accustomed, however, to quiet the creature, even in -its fiercest moods, by the use of a strong wagoner’s -whip, and to this he now resorted. Upon sight of -it, the Ourang-Outang sprang at once through the -door of the chamber, down the stairs, and thence, -through a window, unfortunately open, into the -street.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Frenchman followed in despair—the ape, -razor still in hand, occasionally stopping to look -back and gesticulate at his pursuer, until the latter -had nearly come up with him. He then again made -off. In this manner the chase continued for a long -time. The streets were profoundly quiet, as it was -nearly three o’clock in the morning. In passing -down an alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, the -fugitive’s attention was arrested by a light (the only -one apparent except those of the town-lamps) gleaming -from the open window of Madame L’Espanaye’s -chamber, in the fourth story of her house. Rushing -to the building, he perceived the lightning-rod, -clambered up with inconceivable agility, grasped the -shutter, which was thrown fully back against the -wall, and, by its means swung himself directly upon -the head-board of the bed. The whole feat did not -occupy a minute. The shutter was kicked open -again by the Ourang-Outang as he entered the room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced -and perplexed. He had strong hopes of now recapturing -the ape, as it could scarcely escape from -the trap into which it had ventured, except by the -rod, where it might be intercepted as it came down. -On the other hand, there was much cause for anxiety -as to what the brute might do in the house. -This latter reflection urged the man still to follow -the fugitive. A lightning rod is ascended without -difficulty, especially by a sailor; but, when he had -arrived as high as the window, which lay far to his -left, his career was stopped; the most that he -could accomplish was to reach over so as to obtain -a glimpse of the interior of the room. At this -glimpse he nearly fell from his hold through excess -of horror. Now it was that those hideous shrieks -arose upon the night, which had startled from slumber -the inmates of the Rue Morgue. Madame -L’Espanaye and her daughter, habited in their night -clothes, had apparently been occupied in arranging -some papers in the iron chest already mentioned, -which had been wheeled into the middle of the room. -It was open, and its contents lay beside it on the -floor. Their backs must have been towards the -window; and, by the time elapsing between the -screams and the ingress of the ape, it seems probable -that he was not immediately perceived. The -flapping-to of the shutter they would naturally have -attributed to the wind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As the sailor looked in, the gigantic beast had -seized Madame L’Espanaye by the hair, (which was -loose, as she had been combing it,) and was flourishing -the razor about her face, in imitation of the -motions of a barber. The daughter lay prostrate -and motionless; she had swooned. The screams -and struggles of the old lady (during which the hair -was torn from her head) had the effect of changing -the probably pacific purposes of the Ourang-Outang -into those of ungovernable wrath. With one determined -sweep of his muscular arm he nearly severed -her head from her body. The sight of blood inflamed -his anger into phrenzy. Gnashing his teeth, -and flashing fire from his eyes, he flew upon the -body of the girl, and imbedded his fearful talons in -her throat, retaining his grasp until she expired. -His wandering and wild glances fell at this moment -upon the head of the bed, over which those of his -master, glazed in horror, were just discernible. The -fury of the beast, who no doubt bore still in mind -the dreaded whip, was instantly converted into -dread. Conscious of having deserved punishment, -he seemed desirous to conceal his bloody deeds, and -skipped about the chamber in an apparent agony of -nervous agitation, throwing down and breaking the -furniture as he moved, and dragging the bed from -the bedstead. In conclusion, he seized first the -corpse of the daughter, and thrust it up the chimney, -as it was found; then that of the old lady, with -which he rushed to the window, precipitating it immediately -therefrom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As the ape approached him with his mutilated -burden, the sailor shrunk aghast to the rod, and -rather gliding than clambering down it, hurried at -once home—dreading the consequences of the butchery, -and gladly abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude -about the fate of the Ourang-Outang. The -words heard by the party upon the staircase were -the Frenchman’s exclamations of horror and affright, -commingled with the fiendish jabberings of the -brute.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I have scarcely anything to add. The Ourang-Outang -must have escaped from the chamber, by the -rod, just before the breaking of the door. He must -have closed the window as he passed through it. -He was subsequently caught by the owner himself, -who obtained for him a very large sum at the <span class='it'>Jardin -des Plantes</span>. Le Bon was instantly released -upon our narration of the circumstances (with some -comments from Dupin) at the <span class='it'>bureau</span> of the <span class='it'>Préfet de -police</span>. This functionary, however well disposed -to my friend, could not altogether conceal his -chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and -was fain to indulge in a sarcasm or two, in regard -to the propriety of every person minding his own -business.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let him talk,” said Dupin, who had not thought -it necessary to reply. “Let him discourse; it will -ease his conscience. I am satisfied with having -defeated him in his own castle. In truth, he is too -cunning to be acute. There is no <span class='it'>stamen</span> in his -wisdom. It is all head and no body—like the pictures -of the goddess Laverna—or at least all head -and shoulders, like a codfish. But he is a good -fellow, after all. I like him especially for one master -stroke of cant, by which he has attained that -reputation for ingenuity which he possesses. I mean -the way he has ‘<span class='it'>de nier ce qui est, et d’expliquer -ce qui n’est pas</span>.’ ”</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Philadelphia, March, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk114'/> - -<div><h1><a id='april'></a>AN APRIL DAY.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>The</span> spring has come, the low south wind</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is breathing sweet,—</p> -<p class='line0'>The showers are patt’ring in the wood,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like fairy feet.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Hark! in yon silent grove a bird</p> -<p class='line0'>  Pours out its lay,—</p> -<p class='line0'>Such strains, I ween, have not been heard</p> -<p class='line0'>  For many a day.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The feath’ry clouds scud o’er the sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The sun between,—</p> -<p class='line0'>A thousand rain-drops glisten bright,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Upon the green.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And such is life—an April morn,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A changing sky,—</p> -<p class='line0'>To mingled joy and grief we’re born,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And born to die.</p> -<p class='line0'>                          A. A. I.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Philadelphia, March, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk115'/> - -<div><h1><a id='harp'></a>TO THE ÆOLIAN HARP.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Say</span> magic strain—from whence thy wild note straying?</p> -<p class='line0'>  Comes it in sadness, or in raptured glee?</p> -<p class='line0'>Art thou a thing of earth, that sweetly playing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Blends in each fitful blast, so tenderly?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Or, art thou from the star-gem’d vault of Heav’n,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Perchance the music of some distant sphere,</p> -<p class='line0'>That faintly echoes on the gales of even,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To claim from earth—grief’s solitary tear?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Art thou the revelling of some fairy sprite,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Tripping the dewy world fantastically,</p> -<p class='line0'>To keep its tryst beneath the clear moonlight,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Awak’ning tones of deepest minstrelsy?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Or, art thou, breathing from a holier clime,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A voice, that calleth tremulously low;</p> -<p class='line0'>To lure the enraptured soul to things divine,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Far from deluding joys it meets below?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thou com’st with inspiration ’mid thy sighing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A melody, unearthly and unknown;</p> -<p class='line0'>A mingled strain, that on the night-breeze dying,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Wakens the heart-strings to thy thrilling tone.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Recalling wanderings of the spirit-past,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The wayward visions of our fleeting youth;</p> -<p class='line0'>The ling’ring day-dreams that in mem’ry last,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Untouch’d by Time’s realities of truth.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Again we roam where forest-shadows blending,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Ring with the gladness of our playful hours,</p> -<p class='line0'>Along the murm’ring stream once more we’re wending,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Lured by the sunny mead, soft winds, and flowers—</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Or, oft renew the link that death hath broken,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The cherish’d dead—again recall to view;</p> -<p class='line0'>Hear ’mid thy varied tones, the fond words spoken,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That erst from sorrow’s fount deep anguish drew.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And fairest visions float through Fancy’s fane,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Caught from the soul’s illuminated shrine;</p> -<p class='line0'>Elysian forms, that purer realms retain,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thoughts of the blest, ethereal, and divine.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Earth too is mingling with her mortal hours,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The touching softness of her gentle things;</p> -<p class='line0'>And Love—deep-gushing Love—with winged powers,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Chimes with the ecstacy each wild note brings.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Hast thou not sounds to rouse the soul to madness,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To flattering joys—emotions long enshrined;</p> -<p class='line0'>Deep silent melodies of youthful gladness,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That spring unbidden to the raptur’d mind?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This, then thou art—the power of plaintive measure,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To call forth passion by the wind-swept wire;</p> -<p class='line0'>To mingle Hope, with memory’s sad pleasure,</p> -<p class='line0'>  This is thy power—Oh! sweet Æolian lyre.</p> -<p class='line0'>                                      A. F. H.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk116'/> - -<div><h1><a id='reef'></a>THE REEFER OF ’76.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>THE MESS-ROOM.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> is scarcely necessary to detail the occurrences -of that celebrated cruize. Success appeared to follow -us wherever we went. After our escape from -the man-of-war,—which we subsequently learned to -be the Solebay, mounting twenty-eight guns—we -ran farther eastward, and soon fell in with several -prizes. One morning, however, our look-out detected -a strange frigate hovering upon the sea-board, -nor was it long before we discovered her to -be an enemy. We made her out, by the aid of -our glasses, to be a light frigate, pierced for sixteen -guns on a side. Every rag that would draw was -instantly set. With equal alacrity the stranger followed -our example, and a running fight was commenced, -which lasted nearly the whole day; for -our daring leader, finding that we could easily -outsail the enemy, kept just out of range of her -guns, so that, although she maintained a constant -fire, every shot fell short. Toward night-fall, however, -we gave full rein to our gallant craft, and, to -the astonishment and chagrin of the Englishman, -left him hull down in a few hours.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After hauling aboard our tacks, we ran up toward -Canseau, and for some time inflicted serious damage -upon the enemy’s fishermen, around the coast of -Nova Scotia. Having finally captured no less than -sixteen sail, some of them very valuable, we left the -scene of our late exploits, and swept down the coast -toward Montauk.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a cloudless afternoon when we made -Block Island, and, as the sun set behind its solitary -outline, tinting the sky with a thousand varied dyes, -and prolonging the shadow of the coast along the -deep, we beheld a small schooner, close-hauled, -opening around the northern extremity of the island. -In less than a half hour she was close to windward -of us. As it was the first friendly craft we had seen -for weeks, we were all naturally anxious to learn -the state of affairs on land. Paul Jones himself -leaped into the rigging and hailed,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ahoy! what craft is that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Mary Ann of Newport,” answered a nasal -voice from the low deck of the stranger, “what -vessel air you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Providence continental sloop—come to -under our lee and send a boat aboard.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, ay, sir!” answered the same voice, but in -an altered tone, and with the ready alacrity of a -true seaman, “round her to, boys; but may be,” -continued he, again addressing us, “you hain’t -heerd the news yet. I calculate it’ll make the -British think we Yankees ain’t to be made slaves -of arter all—<span class='it'>independence is declared</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What!—the Congress declared itself independent -of Great Britain?” asked Paul Jones, quickly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes! by —,” but the half muttered oath of the -seaman died away in a prolonged whistle, as he remembered -how unbecoming an oath would be from -a deacon of the church. For an instant there was -a profound silence, while we gazed into each other’s -faces, with mingled wonder, delight, and pride. The -news was not wholly unhoped for, though we had -scarcely ventured to expect it. A topman was the -first to speak. Forgetting every thing in his enthusiasm, -he shouted,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Three cheers, my boys, for freedom,—huzza!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And, suiting the action to the word, he broke -into a thundering shout, which, taken up by our -own crew, was answered back by that of the -schooner, until the very heavens seemed to echo -the sound. It was a stirring moment. A universal -transport appeared to have seized upon our -gallant fellows; they threw up their hats, they -shook each other’s hands, they laughed, they swore, -and the more volatile even danced; while Paul -Jones himself, with a flushed cheek and kindling -eye, timed the huzzas of his patriotic crew.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Before twenty-four hours we were at anchor in -Newport, and almost the first craft that I beheld in -the harbor, was the saucy little <span class='sc'>Fire-Fly</span>. The -welcome I received from my shipmates I will not -attempt to describe. Over our cold junk and -Jamaica, I listened to the narrative of their adventures -since our parting, and rehearsed in return my -own. My arrival was opportune, for the schooner -expected to sail in less than a week, and had I been -delayed many days longer, I might have found it -impossible to have rejoined her during the war. -The little time that we remained in port after my -arrival, was spent in a constant round of amusements, -such only as a set of gay reckless reefers -know how to indulge in. Many a gay song was -trolled, and many a mirthful tale related by lips -that have long since been stilled in death.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But what of Beatrice? Had she forgotten me? -No—the dear creature had availed herself of one -of the rare opportunities which then presented -themselves occasionally of communicating with the -north, to answer a long epistle I had transmitted to -her, by a chance vessel, we met a few days after -leaving Charleston. Oh! with what simple, yet -nervous eloquence did she assure me of her unabated -love, and how sweetly did she chide me for -the doubts I had—sinner that I was—whispered -respecting it. I kissed the dear missive again and -again; I read it over and over a thousand times; I -treasured it the more because I knew not when the -chances of war would suffer me to hear from her -again. I feared not now the influence of her uncle: -I felt in my inmost soul that Beatrice was too pure, -too self-devoted in her love ever to sacrifice it for -lucre. And as I felt this it flashed across me that -perhaps she might have heard of my being lost -overboard from the merchantman; and who knew -but that even now she might be mourning me as -dead? Happily a brig was now in port about to -sail for Charleston. I seized the opportunity, and -wrote to inform Beatrice of my safety.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In a few days our outfit was completed, and -bidding adieu to my friends on board the Providence, -we set sail from Newport. The day was -bright and glorious, and the sunbeams danced merrily -upon the waves. A light breeze murmured -through the rigging; the gay song of the sailors -from the merchantmen in port floated softly past; -and the scream of the sea-birds broke shrilly over -us, high in the clear blue sky.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As the day advanced, however, a thin, gauze-like -vapor gradually spread over the horizon, deepening -before four bells in the afternoon watch to an impervious -canopy of black, which stretching from pole -to pole, obscured the whole firmament, and threw -a premature and sickly gloom over the deep beneath. -The wind, too, began to rise, blowing in -irregular puffs, and whitening the surface of the sea -in patches over the whole of its wide extent; while -occasionally a low, half-smothered murmur, as if -arising out of the very heart of the ocean, betokened -that the elements of the storm were at work far -down in their wild recesses. As the day advanced -the sky became even more ominous, until long -before night-fall its weird-like grandeur excelled any -thing I had ever beheld. By this time, too, the -wind had increased almost into a hurricane, and -with every thing trimmed down, we were cleaving -through the fast whitening billows with an exhilarating -velocity that only a sailor can appreciate. -The rain meanwhile was falling fast. As night -came on the watch was set, and most of us went -below, so that all off duty were soon congregated -in our mess-room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A wild night,” said the last comer, as he shook -the wet from his shaggy jacket, “and I see you’re -determined to make the most of it, my boys—push -us the Jamaica, Parker, and don’t forget the junk -in passing. Here’s to the thirteen united colonies, -hurrah!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hurrah! hurrah! hip—hip—hurrah!” rung -around the crowded room, as we drank off our -bumpers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can’t you give us a toast, O’Shaughnessy?” -sung out Westbrook.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Shure and what shall it be?” said he, with -humorous simplicity. A general roar of laughter -followed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Any thing, my hearty,” said Westbrook, -cramming a piece of junk into his mouth as he -spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Arrah thin, and ye’ll not refuse to dhrink the -memory of our gallant comrade,” said he, looking -hard at me, “present this blessed minit, who fought, -bled, and died at Fort Moultrie—Misther Parker, I -mane, boys.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The explosions of laughter which followed this -speech, like successive peals of thunder, were -enough to lift the deck of the schooner off bodily -from overhead. But the most laughable part of all -was the amazement of poor O’Shaughnessy, who, -unable to understand this new burst of merriment, -looked from one to another, in humorous perplexity. -As soon, however, as the company could compose -itself, the toast was drunk amid a whirlwind of -huzzas. I rose to return thanks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hear him—hear him,” roared a dozen voices. -I began.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Honored as I am, gentlemen, by this token -of—of,” but here I was interrupted by the entrance -of the purser, who, poking his head through the -narrow doorway, said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Gentlemen, the captain must be informed of -this riot if it continues.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The purser was a stiff, starch, precise old scoundrel, -with a squint in his eye, a nasal twang, and -an itching after money beyond even that of Shylock. -To make a dollar he would descend to the meanest -shifts. But this would not have irritated the mess -so much, even though he had at one time or another -fleeced every member of it, had it not been -his constant practice to inform on such of the tricks -inseparable to a set of youngsters as came under -his notice. He was, in short, a skulking spy. -Added to this he was continually affecting a strictness -of morals which was more than suspected to -be hypocritical.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And who made you keeper of the skipper’s -conscience?—eh! old plunderer,” said Westbrook, -as he shied a biscuit at the purser’s head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Really, gentlemen, really—I—I must—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come in, or you’ll catch cold in the draught,” -sung out our reckless comrade, “your teeth chatter -so now you can’t talk. Haul him in there, -O’Shaughnessy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Quick as the word the unlucky interloper was -dragged in, the door shut, and he stood turning -from one to another of our group in speechless -amazement. We were all ready for any mischief. -The rattling of the cordage overhead, the thunder -of the surge, and the deafening whistle of the hurricane -we knew would drown all the uproar we -might occasion, and afford us impunity for any -offence. Besides it was no part of his duty to be -intruding on our mess, and threatening us with -punishment. We had a long account to settle -with our extortioner.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hope you find yourself at home—take a sociable -glass, that’s a good fellow—glad to see you -amongst us,” sung out as many voices as biscuit -after biscuit was sent at the purser’s head, while -Westbrook mixing a stiff tumbler of salt and water -proffered it to our victim to drink.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Spu—spu—gentlemen, spu, I promise you—the -utmost penalty of—of the regulations—you -shall be mast-headed—disrated—you shall, so help -me God.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A penalty! a penalty! the worthy man is profane: -how shall we punish such immorality?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cob him,” said one.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Keel-haul him,” said another.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Make him receipt for his bill,” roared a third.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Give him the salt and water,” chimed in Westbrook, -and the salt and water it was agreed should -be the penalty. Three stout reefers held the loathing -victim fast, while Westbrook proceeded to administer -the draught.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Gentlemen—I—I—protest—a—gainst—you -shall suffer for this—you shall—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aisy, you spalpeen you, aisy,” said O’Shaughnessy, -giving the purser a shake.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Westbrook, I warn you—I warn you,” -said the purser raising his voice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But our comrade was not to be intimidated. -Taking the glass in one hand, he placed himself at -a proper distance in front of the struggling man, -and gravely commenced haranguing him on the -enormity of his offence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It pains me, indeed, Mr. Sower,” and here -Westbrook laid his hand upon his heart, “to hear -a man of your character use such language as you -have been convicted of, especially in the presence -of these misguided young reprobates,” here there -was a general laugh, “example, example, my dear -sir, is every thing. But the deed is done: the -penalty alone remains to be paid. With a heart -torn with the most poignant anguish I proceed to -execute your sentence.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Westbrook, again I warn you—spe—e—u—uh.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But in vain the purser kicked, and struggled, and -spluttered. The mess was too much for him. One -seized him by the nose, a second forced open his -mouth, and Westbrook, with inimitable gravity, -apologising for, and bemoaning his melancholy duty,—as -he called it—in the same breath, poured the -nauseating draught down the victim’s throat, amid -roars of laughter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“D——n, I’ll make you pay for this—I will—I -will,” roared the purser, almost choked with rage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Open the door and let him run,” laughed Westbrook.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The mandate was obeyed, and with one bound the -purser sprang out of the mess-room, while his merry -persecutors, holding their sides, laughed until the -tears ran out of their eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A song—give us a song, Westbrook!” shouted -the one at the foot of the table, as soon as the merriment, -ceasing for a while, but renewed again and -again, had finally died away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What shall it be?” said our jovial messmate, -“ah! our own mess-room song, Parker hasn’t -heard it yet—shove us the jug, for I’m confoundedly -dry.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Having taken a long draught, Westbrook hemmed -twice, and sang in a fine manly tenor, the -following stanzas:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Oh! what is so gay as a reefer’s life!</p> -<p class='line0'>  With his junk and Jamaica by him,</p> -<p class='line0'>He cares not a fig for the morning’s strife.</p> -<p class='line0'>  He seeks but the foe to defy him;</p> -<p class='line0'>He fights for his honor and country’s laws,</p> -<p class='line0'>  He fights for the mother that bore him,—</p> -<p class='line0'>And the hireling slave of a tyrant’s cause</p> -<p class='line0'>  Will quail, like a coward, before him.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“The deep may unfetter its surges dread,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The heavens their thunders awaken,</p> -<p class='line0'>The tempest howl as it sweeps overhead,—</p> -<p class='line0'>  He smiles at all danger unshaken;</p> -<p class='line0'>With an unblenched eye, and a daring form</p> -<p class='line0'>  He fearlessly gazes before him,</p> -<p class='line0'>Though he fall in battle, or sink in the storm,</p> -<p class='line0'>  His country, he knows, will weep o’er him.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“In her sun-lit vallies are daughters fair</p> -<p class='line0'>  To greet us from battle returning,</p> -<p class='line0'>With their song and smile to banish each care</p> -<p class='line0'>  By the hearth-fire cheerily burning.</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! who would not fight for beings like these,</p> -<p class='line0'>  For mothers, for grandsires hoary?</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a besom we’ll sweep the foe from the seas,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or die, in the strife, full of glory.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bravo! three times three!” and the triple sound -rolled stunningly from our throats.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hark! wasn’t that the boatswain’s whistle?” -said I, and for a moment we paused in our applause -to listen. But the tumult of the storm drowned -everything in its fierce uproar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Again, boys—hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” and -the cheers were renewed with redoubled vigor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Gentlemen, all hands on deck,” said the quarter-master, -opening the door at this moment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay! ay! sir,” was the simultaneous response -of every member of the mess, and in less than a -minute our late noisy apartment was as quiet as -the tomb, and we had each taken his post on deck. -Such is discipline.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The spectacle that met our vision as we reached -the deck, drove at once, all the excitement of our potations -off; and we were as calm and collected in a -second after leaving the gang-way, as if we had -kept above during the whole evening. Never can -I forget that moment. The rain was pouring down -in torrents, not perpendicularly, however, but slant-wise, -as it was driven before the hurricane. Now -it beat fiercely into our faces, and now was whirled -hither and thither in wild commotion. Around, all -was dark as pitch. We could not see a dozen -fathoms in any direction, except where the white -crests of the surges flashed through the gloom. -These could, however, be detected close under our -lee glancing through the darkness, while the dull -continued roar in that quarter, betokened our immediate -vicinity to breakers. They were in fact, -close aboard. Had they not been detected the -instant they were, we should have run on to them -the next minute, and perished to a soul. Happily -we had just room to wear. This had been done -before we were summoned on deck. We had now -close-hauled every thing, and were endeavoring, as -our only hope, to claw off the shore.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next fifteen minutes were spent in that -agonising suspense, for more terrible than death -itself, which men experience when the king of terror -smiles grimly in their faces, and yet witholds -the blow. As we gazed out, through the driving -rain, upon the dimly seen breakers on our starboard -beam, and heard their wild monotonous roar as of -hounds yelling for their prey, a sense of inexpressible -awe stole upon our minds, which, though totally -devoid of fear, was yet appalling. Who knew but -that, before another hour, aye! before a quarter of -that time, our mangled bodies might be floating at -the mercy of the surge? Every moment deepened -our anxiety, for though our little craft breasted the -waves with gallant determination, sending the spray -as high as her mast head at every plunge, yet there -was no perceptible increase in our distance from the -shore. Fierce, and fiercer, meanwhile, grew the -tempest. The surge roared under our lee; the -wind howled by like the wailings of the damned; -and the occasional lightnings, which now began to -illuminate the scene, lit up the whole firmament a -moment with their ghastly glare, and then left it -shrouded in darkness deeper than that of the day of -doom. At intervals the thunder bellowed overhead -or went crackling in prolonged echoes down the -sky. The schooner groaned and quivered in every -timber. Now we rose to the heavens; now wallowed -in the abyss. The men, grasping each a -rope, looked ominously at the scene around, or cast -hurried glances aloft as if fearful that our masts -would not stand the strain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hark!” said Westbrook, who stood beside me, -“was not that a gun?—there again?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As he spoke the sullen roar of a cannon boomed -across the deep, and for several successive minutes, -in the intervals of the thunder, followed the same -awful sound. We looked at each other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They are signals of distress,” I ejaculated, -“God have mercy on the sufferers! for man can -afford them no help.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I had scarcely ceased speaking when a succession -of rapid, vivid flashes of lightning, illumined the -stormy prospect for several minutes, as with the -light of day; and for the first time we caught a glimpse -of the rocky coast, on our lee, against which the -surge was breaking in a hurricane of foam. But -fearful as was the spectacle of our own danger, it -was surpassed by the sight which met our eager -gaze. About a cable’s length ahead, and a few -points on our lee bow, was a tall and gallant bark, -dismantled and broached to, upon a reef of jagged -rocks, now buried in foam. Her weather quarter -lay high upon the ledge, and was crowded with -unfortunate human beings, men, women and children, -over whom the surges broke momentarily in cataracts. -I hear now their wild despairing cries, -although years have passed since then. I see their -outstretched hands as they call on heaven for mercy. -I feel again the cold chill, freezing up my very -blood, which then rushed across my heart, as I -thought of their inevitable doom, and knew not but -that in a few moments I should share its bitterness -with them. I was startled by a deep voice at my -side. It was that of an old warrant officer. The -tears were streaming down his weather-beaten cheeks, -and his tones were husky and full of emotion as he -said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s a sad spectacle that for a father, Mr. -Parker.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is, Hawser—but why do you shed tears?—cheer -up, man—it’s not all over with us yet,” said I.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah! sir, it’s not fear that makes me so, but I -was thinking what my little ones, and their poor -mother would do for bread to eat, should I be -taken away from them. You are not a father, Mr. -Parker.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“God forgive me, Hawser, for my suspicion. I -honor your emotions,” said I, pressing his horny -hand, and turning away to conceal my own feelings. -But as I did so, I felt something hot fall -upon my finger. It was the old man’s tear.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We must give her another reef, I fear,” said -the captain, as he saw how fearfully the vessel -strained, “no, no,” he added, as he glanced again -at the rocky coast, “it will never do. Keep her to -it,” he thundered, raising his voice, “keep her to it, -quarter-master.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, ay, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We were now almost abreast of the ill-fated -wreck. Driving rapidly along, the dark waters sinking -in foam beneath our lee as we breasted the -opposing surge, our fate promised soon to be the -same with that of the wretches on the reef. The -crisis was at hand. We were in dangerous proximity -to the dismantled ship; and the least falling off -would roll us in upon her. It was even doubtful -whether we could weather the reef, should we still -hold our own. At this moment a ray of hope appeared. -We perceived that the shore shelved in -just beyond the wreck, and that, if we could escape -the ledge, our safety would be ensured. The captain -took in at a glance this new situation of affairs, -which, by holding out hope, redoubled every motive -to action.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How bears she?” he anxiously inquired.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The man answered promptly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hard up—press her down more,” he shouted, -and then muttered, between his teeth “or we are -lost.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She is almost shaking.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How does she bear?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A point more in the wind’s eye.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Harder yet, harder.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, ay, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How now?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Another point, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The crisis had now come. Bending almost to -the horizon, under the enormous press of her canvass, -the schooner groaned and struggled against -the seas, and for one moment of intense agony, -during which we held our breaths painfully, and -even forgot the cries of the sufferers upon our lee, -we thought that all was over; but, although the -schooner staggered under the successive shocks, -she did not yield, and as the last billow sank away, -whitening beneath her lee, and we rose gallantly -upon its crest, the rocky reef shot away astern, -and we were safe. As the wreck vanished in the -gloom behind, the cries of her despairing passengers -came mingled with the roar of the tempest, in -awful distinctness, to our ears.</p> - -<hr class='tbk117'/> - -<div><h1><a id='out'></a>THE OUTLAW LOVER.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY J. H. DANA.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><span class='sc'>Chapter I.</span></h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Com.</span> And left your fair side all unguarded, Lady?</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:0.75em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Comus.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> was a summer afternoon, and the sunlight, -glimmering through the branches of the old oak -trees, fell with a rich glow upon the green sward -beneath, lighting up the dark vistas of the forest, -and disclosing long avenues of stately trees, through -which the deer trotted in the distance, presenting -altogether a picture of woodland scenery such as -the eye rarely beholds, when two females might -have been seen sauntering idly along, listening to -the gay echoes of their own voices as they conversed -in those light-hearted tones, which only youth -and innocence employ. The foremost of the two, -by the stateliness of her mien, and the richness of -her dress, appeared to be of higher rank than her -companion; and as she turned occasionally to converse -with her attendant, she disclosed one of the -most beautiful countenances that poet ever dreamed -of, or painter pictured. A noble contour; a snowy -forehead; a finely chiselled mouth; and a pair of -dark lustrous eyes that shone like a cloudless night -into the gazer’s soul, made up a face of surpassing -loveliness. And as she conversed, each successive -thought would flash up into her countenance, making -it, as it were, the mirror of the pure soul beneath, -and giving it an expression, such as the pen -would find it impossible to describe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ruth! Ruth!” said this fair vision, suddenly -pausing, “hear you nothing—surely that was the -cry of dogs—can we have wandered so far from -the lodge?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The color faded from the attendant’s cheek as -her mistress ceased speaking, and the deep bay of -approaching hounds floated down the avenues of -the forest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let us fly—fly, dear lady,” said the terrified -girl, “or the stag will be upon us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The words had scarcely left her mouth before a -crashing was heard in a neighboring thicket, and -before the females could move more than a few -steps from their position, a huge antlered stag, -dripping with blood and foam, burst out of the -copse, and made toward them. The attendant -shrieked, and clasping her mistress’ robe, stood -unable to move. Had the maiden been equally -paralysed, their destruction would have been unavoidable. -But in that moment of peril, though -the cheek of the lady Margaret became a trifle -paler than usual, her presence of mind did not -desert her. Seizing her attendant’s arm energetically, -she dragged her toward a huge oak behind -them, whose giant trunk would afford a momentary -barrier against the infuriated animal. Had the lady -Margaret been alone and unencumbered, she would -have succeeded in her endeavor, but her nearly -senseless companion so retarded her progress that -the stag had almost overtaken them while yet -several paces from the tree. Another instant and -their fate would be sealed. But at that crisis she -heard a whizzing by her ear, and an arrow, sped -by an unseen hand, pierced the heart of the stag, -who leaping madly forward with a last effort, fell -dead at her feet. At the same moment a light and -active form, arrayed in a dress of Lincoln green, -sprang out from a neighboring copse, and lifting -his cap to the ladies, begged to enquire after their -affright, in a tone so courtly for one of his apparent -station, that Margaret involuntarily looked closer -at the stranger.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was apparently about twenty-five years of -age, with an open and generous countenance, enlivened -by one of those merry blue eyes which -were characteristic in those days, of the pure -Saxon blood of their possessor. A jaunty cap, -with a long white feather drooping over it, was set -upon the stranger’s head; while a green coat, made -somewhat after the fashion of a hunting frock of -the present day, and crossed by a wide belt from -which depended a bugle, set off his graceful form. -Altogether the intruder was as gallant a looking -forester as ever trod the greensward.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The hounds are in full cry,” continued the -stranger, without shrinking at the scrutiny of the -lady, “and will soon be upon us. Will you suffer -me to be your protector from this scene?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The lady Margaret bowed, and pointing to her -attendant, who had now fainted, thanked their preserver -for his offer, and signified her willingness to -accept it. The youth made no answer, but seizing -the prostrate maiden in his arms, he pointed to the -copse from which he had emerged, and hastily followed -Margaret into it. The branches, where they -passed in their retreat, had scarcely ceased vibrating, -when the hounds dashed into the space they -had left, and in a moment after a gay train of -hunters followed with horn and halloo.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meantime the young stranger, bearing the form -of Ruth in his arms, hastily traversed the forest, by -paths that others could scarcely have detected, until -he reached the margin of an open glade, at whose -extremity stood a low-roofed lodge, such as was -then used for the residence of a keeper of the -forest. Here the stranger hesitated a moment, but -finally perceiving that no one was in sight, he pressed -across the glade, and only paused when he had -deposited his now reviving burden on a cot in the -lodge. The next moment he turned to depart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May—may we know to whom we are indebted -for this timely aid?” faltered the lady Margaret, -crimsoning as she spoke, with an agitation of manner -unusual to the high-bred heiress.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The youth hesitated a moment, looked wistfully -at the maiden, and seemed on the point of answering, -when footsteps were heard approaching. Hastily -bowing to Margaret, he ejaculated,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We may meet again, farewell!” and vanished -from the portal. His form disappeared in the forest -as the keeper entered and saluted the lady Margaret -and his daughter.</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><span class='sc'>Chapter II.</span></h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Cel.</span> Soft! comes he not here?</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:0.75em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>As You Like It.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The Earl of Mountfort’s only daughter, the lady -Margaret, was at once an heiress and a beauty. -Early deprived of a mother’s care; buried in the -seclusion of her father’s various castles; and knowing -nothing of the great world without, she had -attained the age of eighteen, without suffering any -diminution of that enthusiasm which is so beautiful -in early youth, but which a few year’s collision with -mankind wears off.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From her earliest childhood Ruth Herewood, the -forester’s daughter, had been her bosom companion; -for in that day, when young females of noble rank -could rarely associate together, their handmaidens -were often their sole confidants. Ruth, moreover, -was a foster sister to the lady Margaret, and the -tie, therefore, which bound them together was one -not lightly thought of, nor easily severed. It was -no unusual thing for the young heiress, at least -once a year, to spend a fortnight or even more at -the lodge of Mr. Herewood, who held the office of -a keeper in one of the king’s forests. At such -times she was unattended, except by a few faithful -servants. It was during one of these visits that -her life had been preserved in the manner we have -related. With these explanations let us return to -our story.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A significant sign from her mistress put Ruth -upon her guard, and as the stranger had disappeared -before her father’s entrance, Mr. Herewood -remained in ignorance of the danger from -which the females had escaped. The motives -which prompted Margaret to this concealment we -shall not attempt to divine. Perhaps it was only -a passing whim; but if so it was changed into a -settled resolution, when, on the following morning -Ruth’s father acquainted them with the fact that a -stag had been found shot in the forest by the royal -hunting party, and that so daring a breach of the -forest laws would assuredly be punished with the utmost -penalty that rigorous code afforded. Alarmed -and perplexed, Margaret determined to conceal all -knowledge of the stranger, lest, by her means, he -might be detected; for she feared that her rescuer -was one of those outlaws who were known to infest -the forest, and that though he might find immunity -for that particular offence, he could not -escape being convicted of others as heinous.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet Margaret could not forget her preserver. In -her waking or sleeping dreams his manly form was -ever before her, looking as it did when he sprang -from the copse to her rescue; and as often as the -vision recurred to her memory she owned to herself -that she had never seen anyone of such rare manly -beauty. She strolled oftener than ever into the -forest, and Ruth noticed—for are not all women -quick to notice such things?—that whenever her -theme of conversation was their unknown preserver, -her mistress listened to her with more than common -interest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Several days had now elapsed since their escape -from the stag, when, one afternoon, Margaret and -Ruth, found themselves in that portion of the forest -where their fright had occurred. As it was some -distance from the lodge, they felt fatigued by their -walk, and sitting down on a shady knoll, naturally -fell into a conversation on the stranger who had so -opportunely come to their aid. But a few minutes -had thus passed when a light step was heard approaching, -and as the females hastily arose, the -stranger stood before them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Be not alarmed, fair lady,” said he, lifting his -cap, and addressing Margaret, “I said when we -parted the other day that we might meet again. I -redeem my word. But if my presence affrights you -I retire.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The maiden blushed deeply at this address, so -unlike that of one in the speaker’s sphere of life. -Her bosom was agitated, meanwhile, with contending -emotions, which produced a momentary embarrassment -and confusion in her countenance, only -serving to heighten her beauty in the stranger’s -eyes. At length she spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, sir stranger, do you not run a risk by -this? Believe me I would not have you come to -ill, but I know that danger besets your footsteps. -Then,” she added, more earnestly than the next -moment she thought maidenly, “fly from the -forest.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The stranger smiled as he answered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You think that the outlaw’s life is hazardous; -but I have only to sound this,” and he lightly -touched his bugle, “and a score of stout arms are -around me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was something so fascinating in the stranger’s -manner that, despite her better judgment, Margaret -felt chained to the spot. Nor did Ruth show -any greater disposition to depart. Before five minutes -had elapsed, Margaret found herself conversing -with the gallant outlaw as freely as if she had -known him for months. If, for a moment, she -would think such conduct improper, the next -reflection would be had he not saved her life? -Besides was not Ruth at hand? Is it a wonder, -therefore, that the grateful girl suffered the stranger -to linger by her side for nearly an hour, or that -after they had parted, she thought of him oftener -than she would have been willing a week before to -admit she could ever think of any one except her -father? Is it a wonder that she often strolled into -the forest with Ruth, and that she never returned -without having seen the outlaw? In a word is it -any wonder that she loved?</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><span class='sc'>Chapter III.</span></h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Never met, or never parted,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>They had ne’er been broken-hearted.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:0.75em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Burns.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>There is nothing in this care-worn world so -sweet and innocent as a young girl’s first love. -Then—when the heart is fresh, when every thought -is pure, when the poetry of life has not yet been -crushed out of the soul, when as we are nearer to -our childhood we are nearer to heaven—then it is -that we love with an intensity such as we never -love with again. And thus Margaret loved. She -knew it not until it was impossible for her to drive -away her passion. It had crept on her, slowly but -surely, and oh! how sweetly, until it became a part -of her being, and the day in which she did not see -her lover, passed tediously and mournfully to her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet though loving as few love, even in the fervor -of a first passion, Margaret was still ignorant -of her lover’s name. Often would she be tortured -by fears lest he might have already forfeited his life -in the career of an outlaw, but as often would she -quiet her alarm by reflecting how impossible that a -mere freebooter should be so courteous and even -refined. In all this there was a mystery which did -but feed the love of her highly imaginative mind, -and though, day after day, would she resolve to -question her lover so closely respecting himself that -he could not evade her inquiries, yet, day after day, -would she be diverted from, and forget it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Nearly three weeks had now elapsed, and the -period limited for her stay at the lodge had passed, -when a messenger arrived from her father, to conduct -her to one of his castles in the vicinity of -London. Who can tell her feelings at receiving this -summons?—a summons which would tear her from -her lover, perhaps forever. But it opened to her -more fully than ever the state of her heart, convinced -her of her imprudence in suffering herself -to love an unknown stranger, and determined her -to learn that very day from her lover’s lips his -name and station in life. Ah! pitiable indeed were -her feelings as she reflected on her folly. But a -flood of tears afforded her partial relief, and calling -for Ruth to accompany her she set forth into the -forest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What a glorious old place was that royal hunting -ground. For miles before you stretched a succession -of hills and dales, covered with venerable and -gigantic trees, or spreading out into rich meadows; -while herds of deer might be seen trotting far off -through the vistas of the forest, and here and there -a cottage peeping out from beneath the verdant foliage. -In some places the dark overshadowing -trees completely obscured the light of day, and in -others, the sunbeams struggling between the leaves -gilded the greensward beneath. Such was the -scene through which Margaret took her way, until -she reached the open glade, where, of late, she had -met her lover. Scarcely had she emerged from the -surrounding woods before he sprang to her side, and -in a moment she was in his arms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We meet again, dearest,” said he, kissing the -fair cheek that blushed crimson at his caress.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And I fear, for the last time,” said Margaret, -“my father has sent for me, and to-morrow I leave -this place. Oh! when,” and she looked into his -eyes with all a woman’s tenderness, “shall we meet -again?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Going!—and so soon!” muttered her lover, -abstractedly, “why dearest, why did you not tell -me of this before?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was but this morning that I heard of it. -Alas! that we should part so soon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But how know you, sweet one, that we must -part?” said her lover half smilingly. It recalled to -Margaret’s mind her determination to learn her -lover’s history.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why,” said she, “are you not a mere,” and -her voice faltered, “a mere soldier of fortune, perhaps—,” -and again she faltered and looked down, -“an outlaw? Can you follow me? Oh! would you -could,” and the unhappy maiden burst into tears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And why not, dear Margaret? Have not good -men and true, at times, been driven to the greenwood -for a temporary livelihood. Know you not how -the good Earl of Huntingdon long kept wassail -under the trees of old Sherwood with his ‘merrie -men?’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! then say you are like him—say you are -not an outlaw! Did you but know how my heart -reproves me for all this—how I weep to think that -my father will never forgive me—and how my only -consolation is in your love—did you know all this, -you would keep me in suspense no longer!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her lover was deeply moved by her passionate -entreaties, and pressing her to his bosom, kissed -the tears from her cheek, and soothed her agitation -by those words of kind endearment which are so -eloquent when coming from one we love. He -seemed too about to speak; but if so, he was prevented -by a sudden baying of hounds, mingled with -loud and approaching shouts, and directly a couple -of dogs, followed by three keepers dashed out of the -neighboring copse. Margaret, terrified and agitated, -hastily followed whither her lover pointed, and -retreated into the shadow of a cluster of oaks, followed -by Ruth. She had scarcely done so unperceived, -when the keepers rushed upon her lover, -shouting,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Down with him—the outlaw—down with him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Frightened almost out of consciousness, she could -only see that her lover attempted what resistance he -could, and that after a short but fierce contest he -was overpowered, almost unarmed as he was, and -borne to the ground. With all a woman’s devotion -she rushed forward to his protection. But she had -scarcely made a step, before she staggered and -fainted. Ruth, too, was so alarmed as to be of -little service; yet while, with trembling hands, she -assisted to recover her mistress, so fearful was she -of being discovered, that she would scarcely suffer -herself to breathe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! Ruth,” were the first audible words of -her mistress “what have they done with him? Are -they gone? Why did you not try to save him?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Alas! dear lady, it would have been in vain,” -said Ruth, mingling her tears with those of her -mistress, “what could I, or both of us have done, -for one who had broken the forest laws?”</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><span class='sc'>Chapter IV.</span></h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>I’ll call thee, Hamlet.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:0.75em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Shakspeare.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Hurried away early on the ensuing morning, -Margaret had no opportunity of learning the fate of -her lover. She only knew that all delusion was at -an end, and that—alas! for her future happiness—she -had bestowed her affections on an outlaw, one -who might soon suffer the penalty of his transgressions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On her arrival at Mountfort castle, she learned -that her father had determined to celebrate the approaching -anniversary of her birth, by a tournament -to be given to all comers at his castle. The preparation -for this festivity, though it partially diverted -her mind, could not drive away her melancholy. -Often would she steal away with Ruth, to find a -mournful pleasure in conversing of the happy days -they had spent at her father’s lodge. Such conversations -would generally end in a flood of tears, in -which the tender-hearted hand-maiden would share. -Yet never, not even for one moment, did Margaret -suffer herself to dream of again meeting her lover, -for well she knew that such a thing would call -down upon her the eternal displeasure of her parent. -Let it be recollected that in that age the distinctions -of rank were almost as impassable as the grave. -Nevertheless, the worm had fastened itself upon her -heart, and like thousands before and since, the heiress -found how fearful it was to love without hope.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meantime the preparations for the tournament -proceeded, and on the morning of the expected day, -crowds thronged to the plain in front of the castle, -on which the lists had been erected. The unrivalled -beauty of the heiress in whose honor the festivities -were to be given, had drawn together the chivalry -of the realm, and a series of courses was expected -to be run such as had not been heard of for years. -But especially every tongue was loud in the praise -of the young Earl of Hastings, who, had just returned -from the Holy land, where he had been since -boyhood, with the reputation of the best lance of -the army. There were many, however, of the competitors -who sneered at his pretensions, and promised -themselves to unhorse him at the first shock.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Margaret,” said her father, on the morning of -the tournament, “you will see lord Hastings in the -lists to-day, and I wish you to mark him well, for -having heard of you by report, he has solicited your -hand. Such an alliance would raise higher than -ever our noble house. I did not hesitate. But -now never blush, sweet one,—you maidens are ever -thus,—what! in tears. Go to your bower, child, -and get ready for the pageant. Many a proud -dame will envy your lot to-day.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Little did the inflexible, though affectionate father -know of the agony he was inflicting on that young -heart. Margaret saw that her doom was sealed, -and she knew her parent too well even to expostulate, -She went to her chamber, but it was to weep. -All hope was over. She had nourished the romantic -idea of continuing faithful to her unhappy lover -by refusing every alliance, never dreaming that her -father would interfere. Short-sighted girl! Already -had he chosen for her, and she knew that the decrees -of fate were less inflexible than her parent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length, however, she aroused herself and proceeded -to the lists, in all the pomp of the heiress of -her father’s vast possessions. How few knew the -heavy heart which throbbed in agony beneath that -jewelled boddice. The lists were gorgeously fitted -up. A gallery in their centre, opposite to where the -shock of the combatants would take place was appropriated -to Margaret, who was to preside as queen -of the festivities. Around were her father’s countless -guests, numbering half the nobility of the realm, -their wives and daughters flashing with jewels, and -all envying the fortunate being, who, at that moment, -would willingly have exchanged her rank and splendor -for the peasant’s garb, if it came attended by -happiness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The tournament began. Several courses had -been run with various success, when a herald rode -into the lists and proclaimed that three courses yet -remained, all of which Sir Robert De Laney, a -renowned knight, would engage in with any three -combatants, until overpowered or victorious. Several -knights instantly presented themselves. The lot -fell upon three, the Earl of Warren, Sir Edward -Sidney, and lord Hastings. At once the challenger -presented himself for the first antagonist. But -the skill of his opponent was in vain. Lord Warren -was hurled bleeding to the ground.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Earl of Hastings now rode into the lists, and -at his appearance a buzz of admiration ran around -the spectators. His mien, his horsemanship, his -comparative youth, and the renown he had brought -with him from the east, enlisted the popular wish in -his favor. Nor did he disappoint it. At the first -shock he splintered his lance against his antagonist’s -front, while De Laney’s shaft just grazed by him. -The older knight reeled in the saddle, and scarcely -saved himself from falling. A shout of general -applause rewarded the young Earl’s skill.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But there yet remained an equally renowned -competitor with whom to contend. By the laws of -the tournament, Sir Edward Sidney had a right to -contest with the conqueror for the honors of the -day, a privilege of which he instantly signified his -intention of availing himself. With equal readiness -the young Earl prepared for the contest. The combatants -took their places, and after a breathless -hush of an instant the signal was given, and they -vanished from their stations. The shock of their -meeting was like that of an earthquake. The -knight directing his lance full at his adversary’s -breast, aimed to bear him by main force to the -ground, but at the very instant of meeting, the -young Earl bent in the saddle to evade the blow, -and altering the direction of his own lance as he -did so, he bore it full upon the breast of his antagonist, -striking him with such force as to hurl him -from the saddle like a stone from a sling. The -discomfited knight fell heavily to the earth, and was -borne off by his squires; while the victor swept -onward amid the acclamations of the spectators. -The heralds now proclaimed lord Hastings the -conqueror of the day, and led him toward the lady -Margaret to receive the prize.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Who can tell her feelings as she beheld the gallant -train approaching? She saw before her, her -destined lover, and however she might have admired -his gallant exploits had her heart been disengaged, -could she—loving another as she did—look upon -him with aught but aversion? But though her emotion -nearly overpowered her, she composed herself -sufficiently to go through with her approaching -duty. As the victor knelt at her feet, what sudden -feeling was it which shot through her bosom? Why -did her cheek crimson, her breath come quick, her -heart flutter wildly? And why, as the helmet was -removed from lord Hastings, did she drop the crown -with which she was to reward him, and with a -half suppressed scream, faint away? Why! but -that in the victor of the tourney she recognised her -own outlaw lover.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The joy of the reviving maiden when she found -her preserver bending over her, and conjuring her -to speak to him once more and forgive his stratagem, -we shall not attempt to describe. Suffice it to -say that the day of the tourney which opened as -the darkest, set as the brightest, in her life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young Earl happening to see his mistress -accidentally had imbibed the romantic idea of wooing -her as an unknown and untitled stranger. For this -purpose he had secretly followed her down to the -lodge, and attired in an outlaw’s dress, had hovered -around her path, waiting for a fitting opportunity to -introduce himself. The manner in which he was -at length favored by circumstances, as well as his -subsequent success in his suit, the reader has seen. -But his pretended character was not without its -evils. He was seen, suspected, and captured by the -forest keepers in the way we have described. He -only escaped by revealing his rank. After his recovery -from the wound he had received on that -occasion, he had arrived at lord Mountfort’s castle, -determining to contest the prize in the approaching -tourney, and then reveal himself to his mistress.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was but a few weeks after the fête, when the -young Earl of Hastings led to the altar the fair -daughter of the house of Mountfort, who never forgot, -in her titled husband, the unknown <span style='font-size:smaller'>OUTLAW -LOVER</span>.</p> - -<hr class='tbk118'/> - -<div><h1><a id='oldm'></a>OLD MEMORIES.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. C. H. W. ESLING.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>How</span> swiftly do old memories float about our riper hours!</p> -<p class='line0'>They’re like the fragrant breath that fills the vase of perish’d flowers;</p> -<p class='line0'>They bear an unextinguish’d ray, a light that never dies,</p> -<p class='line0'>A borrow’d radiance gilding earth with lustre from the skies.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The joys that gather round us now, with all their rainbow beams,</p> -<p class='line0'>Are bright, but evanescent, as the shadows in our dreams;</p> -<p class='line0'>They pass before us like the leaves swept by the autumn’s blast,</p> -<p class='line0'>Alas! too fragile for the earth—too beautiful to last.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>We see the human flowers cut down, the kindred ones of home,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose garden was the loving heart, where storm clouds seldom come,</p> -<p class='line0'>Making within that temple fair, a wilderness of woes,</p> -<p class='line0'>A desert drear of that which once could “blossom as the Rose.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>We see the clasping chains unloose, and sever link by link,</p> -<p class='line0'>Till hope turns shudderingly away, from sorrow’s fearful brink,</p> -<p class='line0'>The band of sweet relationship, of close unwoven ties,</p> -<p class='line0'>Is broken here—to reunite forever in the skies.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But memory with her guardian care, hath linger’d o’er each scene,</p> -<p class='line0'>To paint them on the heart again when long years intervene.</p> -<p class='line0'>When life’s bright summer days have gone, and all their beauty fled,</p> -<p class='line0'>It brings us back the halcyon hours, that perish’d with the dead.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh! soft as music’s dying fall, from some loved voice’s tone,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thine influence, mild and gentle power, across my mind is thrown;</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon the harp strings of my heart, thine angel spirits play,</p> -<p class='line0'>While fond old memories light its gloom, with many a moonlit ray.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk119'/> - -<div><h1><a id='conf'></a>THE CONFESSIONS OF A MISER.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY J. ROSS BROWNE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'>(<span class='sc'>Continued from Page 104.</span>)</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><span class='sc'>Part III.</span></h2> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>That</span> man,” says Theophrastus, “is justly -called a lover of filthy lucre, to whom the relish -and value of a gain are enhanced by the baseness -of the means that have been employed in its acquisition.” -I had failed in my designs; but my brutal -triumph over the cause of this failure was almost -equal in effect to success. I did not relent; I felt -no remorse; I would have acted the same part -again: parental affection was irrevocably dead. I -enjoyed a kind of secret satisfaction at the awful -result of my violence. A long and lingering illness, -augmented by the horrors of our parting interview, -had brought Valeria to the verge of the grave. She -had given birth to a son. Poverty had sternly asserted -its supremacy over the happiness of the young -couple. Though since the rupture between us had -taken place, I had never visited or enquired about -her, there were many interlopers sufficiently officious -to convey to me news of her approaching dissolution. -These hints I would have disregarded, but -for the sinister reports which from this time forth -were so liberally circulated to my disadvantage. A -note hastily placed in my hands one evening by a -muffled figure, in whom, notwithstanding the attempted -disguise, I fancied I recognised the manly -form and contour of Da Vinci, confirmed me in my -determination to witness the results of my violence. -It was traced in a tremulous hand, and read as -follows:—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“Father!—for Christian meekness and humanity, -still compel me to call you by the endearing name—will -you not soften your heart toward one, who, by -all the laws of nature and of man, should be its solace -and its idol; and whose last wish is that death should -separate us in amity and mutual affection? Will you -not, now at least, when she, who was once the delight -of your old age, and the comforter of your -bereaved heart, is on the bed of death,—will you not -hearken to her dying wish, and grant the boon she -so eagerly desires? O, have some mercy, my father—my -benefactor! Hasten to the death-bed of your -wretched—wretched daughter! May God forgive -you, is the prayer of your erring</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-top:0.5em;'>“<span class='sc'>Valeria</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Two motives induced me to comply with the -request contained in this note. First, I was anxious -to avoid the contumely of those who watched -my actions; and secondly, I felt a fiendish desire to -behold the consummation of my revenge. Throwing -a hasty disguise over my person I sallied out, and -rapidly pushed my way through the thoroughfares -of Venice, to a remote part of the city called <span class='it'>Francesco -della Vigna</span>. Here, in an obscure lane, and -surrounded by filth and poverty, I traced my way -to the wretched tenement of Da Vinci and Valeria. -A kind of involuntary sickness came over me as I -ascended the stairs leading to the miserable loft -in which they lodged. It proceeded not from remorse; -it was not prompted by humanity; it was -instinct conquering nature. With some hesitation -I entered the apartment of the dying woman. A -spectacle, which to any one but myself, would -have appeared heart-rending, caused me to shudder -for the immensity of my guilt.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The haggard and wasted form of Valeria was -stretched on the bare floor. Her half-famished -infant lay upon her breast. She breathed with -difficulty. Her eyes were sunken, her complexion -pallid and unearthly. Her features betrayed evidences -of the most intense agony, both mental and -physical.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the most shocking part of the scene was the -ghastly semblance of Da Vinci, as he sat by the -bed-side of his dying wife. His hands were crossed—his -knees drawn together; his elbows rested on -a broken table; his hair fell in long and matted -locks from his head; his skin was ashy and squalid; -and in place of the manly beauty which every lineament -of his countenance had once betrayed, his -features were now haggard and care-worn, and his -once mellow and intellectual eye, was fixed with an -unmeaning stare on the wretch before him. Three -days had scarcely elapsed since I had recognised -him in the strength and beauty of manhood, but, -oh, how changed! how fallen! how wretched!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On drawing near this afflicted group, I was -startled and alarmed at the change that came -over the countenance of Da Vinci. At first the -bereaved man fixed upon me a stupid and sullen -gaze; but on recognising the author of his misery, -his eyes flashed with maniacal ferocity; his lips -became pale and compressed; the large veins on -his temples swelled, and throbbed violently; and -he exhibited the most alarming symptoms of madness. -I endeavored to draw back; but I was too -late. His deadly purpose was fixed. With a wild, -shrieking laugh he sprang upon me. In an instant -his nails were buried in my neck. I struggled with -desperate energy. Incontinence and debauchery -had sapped my vital principle, and age had laid his -searing hand on my frame; but I contended for -life, and I was powerful. On the other hand, Da -Vinci, nerved by the delirium which had taken possession -of him, was irresistible.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fiend!” he shouted—“die!—die!—die!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will murder me!” I groaned, already suffocating -under his vice-like grasp, “have mercy, for -God’s sake!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You showed <span class='it'>her</span> none!” he answered hoarsely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I repent—I shall make amends.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Too late—she is dying.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, God, stop!—you strangle me! I am not -fit to die.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So much the better. Die—villain, die!” and -with a desperate exertion he bore me to the floor. -I essayed in vain to release myself from his deadly -grasp. A moment more, and death would have -rescued me; but the Almighty ordained that I -should live to reap the fruits of my crimes. Involuntarily, -as the agonies of dissolution came upon -me, my hand sought one of those small daggers, -with which an Italian is never unprovided. I drew -it from my bosom. I raised it to strike. Da Vinci -saw his danger; but he was too late. With irresistible -strength I plunged it in his side. He uttered -no groan; he rolled from my person a dead man. -I stooped over the bleeding corpse in mute horror. -The eyes were fixed upon me with a glassy gaze. -It was a fearful spectacle—one which was well -calculated to strike awe into the bosom of a murderer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I turned a searching eye toward the prostrate -form of my daughter. It was inanimate. No -sign of life or recognition illumined her ghastly -countenance. She had evidently swooned. As if -in mockery of the dreadful tragedy which had just -transpired, the infant boy slumbered peacefully by -her side. The reproach was more than I could -bear. Guilt—guilt was whispered in my ear by a -thousand voices. I rushed from the blood-stained -spot. I hurried to my desolate home. Here new -miseries awaited me, I bolted the doors; but they -afforded me no security. I drank deeply—but inebriation -came not. I endeavored to sleep; but my -horrors were increased. This fearful state drove -me to desperation. I tried to pray: the Almighty -heard me not. My heart was too black—too -guilty. Night had come. My sufferings were too -intense for human endurance. The lonely and -ruinous garret in which I lay, augmented the -dreadful vividness with which I created the most -revolting phantasmas in every recess and corner; -and the hollow moaning of the wind against the -roof filled my soul with ominous and harrowing -sensations. A strange—an indefinable desire to -return to the scene of death, took possession of my -mind. It became too absorbing—too interminable -to be resisted. The moon had by this time ascended -her throne in all her queenliness and majesty. I -rushed rapidly through the empty streets to the -quay for the night-gondoliers; and aided by the -moonlight, soon succeeded in reaching <span class='it'>San Francesco della Vigna</span>. -Hastily dismissing the gondolier, -I won my way to the abode of the dead. An -ominous silence reigned around it. I shuddered—I -turned pale; but I did not hesitate. Up the -tottering stairs I rushed; the door of the death-room -was open; and my eyes at once fell upon a -picture which is indelibly engraved on my memory.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Valeria had, on recovering her senses, crept to -the body of her husband. She held the slumbering -babe in one arm, while with the other she raised -the head of the dead man and reclined it on her -bosom. She knew he was dead—that he would -never wake again; she saw the life-blood oozing -from his heart; but her devotion was superior to -the evidence of her senses; her constancy to the -sword of death. She chafed his temples; she -fondly smoothed his hair; she kissed again and -again his icy lips; and she fervently prayed for the -salvation of the dead. A pale, unearthly glow was -thrown over the group by occasional glances of the -moon-beams; and everything conspired to strike me -with awe and remorse. But I was not susceptible -of the better feelings of humanity. I possessed no -refined sensibility. Whatever I felt was common -to the lowest of God’s creation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why,” I cried in a hollow voice, “why must -this be? Why must my peace be blasted by such -scenes as these? I murdered him—is it not enough -that he should die? I seek nothing from him after -death. Why—why do you persecute me, Omnipotent -God!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“See!” shrieked a piercing voice, “see what -you have done!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a moment I could not answer. The anguish -of the accuser deprived me of speech. But at -length I stammered out,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I did but defend my life.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You drove him mad.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He ruined, deceived, beggared me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is a calumny!” said Valeria, with flashing -eyes, seeming for an instant to forget her grief in -indignation at the charge, “he honored you!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I forgive him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He is dead.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I was silent. The last words were said in a -voice of such exquisite anguish that they went to -my heart—stony as it was. If ever a pang of remorse -vibrated in my soul it was then. Valeria -regarded me with an expression more of sorrow -than of anger. She clasped the infant to her arms -as if it were now her only solace; and burst into a -flood of tears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Father,” she murmured, when her agitation had -in some measure subsided; “the hand of death is -upon me. God in his infinite goodness has given -you the means of atonement for your crimes. A -few hours and I shall be no more. Take my child—you -are rich—rich in worldly things—take him, -and have him brought up as he should be. I rely -on you—I beseech you—I command you! You -cannot be so utterly callous to humanity, as to -refuse; let him not die in this miserable place. O, -be kind to him—be more merciful to him than you -were to my poor, dead husband!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Exhausted and heart-broken, the young mother -sank upon the corpse of the murdered man. Her -eyes grew dim; her breathing became short and -violent; her hands and lips seemed bloodless; and -after a few spasms she lay still. I approached her. -I placed my hand upon her heart. Already her -skin was cold and clammy. The sufferer was dead!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A chill crept over me as I stooped to examine -the corpse. It seemed as if the ghastly expression -of the countenance was but the effect of some -horrible incubus—so vivid—so real—so revolting -was it to the observer. Fearfully did the presentiment -of future retribution come upon me at that -moment. I was no longer the proud politician, -concerting magnificent schemes; I had nothing left -of the bold and desperate gambler; the greatness of -purpose and energy of execution which had hitherto -marked my career, were at an end. I was now, -what my crimes had made me—an abject, guilty -wretch. I shuddered to think of my awful destination; -I felt how terrible would be the punishment -I so richly merited; but remorse—penitence—sorrow—entered -not my obdurate heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Necessity compelled me to comply with the dying -request of Valeria. I was aware that my conduct -had excited much suspicion. It therefore became -my policy to avoid public attention; and I took the -earliest opportunity to have the unfortunate objects -of my malevolence interred, and the infant orphan -confided to the care of a nurse. No suspicion was -excited at first; but strange things soon began to -be whispered by the individuals who occupied the -lower part of the tenement in which the tragedy had -been enacted. The storm gradually gathered its -forces for a general explosion. Rumors, so liberally -circulated at my expense, reached the ears of the -official authorities under the Doge. Manini was -not predisposed to turn a deaf ear to anything pertaining -to my downfall. His suspicions relative to -my integrity had long been confirmed. Enemies -and interlopers were not wanted to construe every -thing into its most criminal aspect. The result was -such as might be expected. I was arrested by the -city functionaries, on a charge of murder. Universal -horror was expressed when my crimes were -made known. It was evident that I had nothing -to expect from public sympathy.—How many are -there who profess benevolence and charity, ever -ready to persecute the unfortunate with the most -unmitigated severity! I experienced the full effects -of this human failing. My trial was long and -doubtful. Everything in the shape of evidence, -however trivial or absurd, was adduced in order to -convict me. But nothing of a positive nature could -be brought up against me. It was true I had treated -my daughter with severity and inhumanity; but I -could not be found guilty on so general a charge. -It was also true that a noise had been heard in the -apartment of Da Vinci a few hours before his corpse -had been discovered by the lower tenants of the -house; but I was not seen. The whole affair then -though well understood, was in the eye of the law, -uncertain and inconclusive. Public opinion in -a case like mine was not regarded as having -any weight. I was dismissed. My persecutions, -however, did not end so soon. A few devoted -minions of the Doge, glad to have an opportunity -of satisfying their resentment for my former conduct -toward them, followed me unceasingly, and -spared no pains to ensure my self-conviction.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But I baffled them. My life, however, became -one of extreme misery and watchfulness. I feared -to sleep lest I should be robbed or assassinated. I -dreaded a sight of the human countenance; for in -every man I fancied I recognised an enemy. Neither -could I hide myself in solitude—my guilt was too -fearful—too relentless. I dared not walk in the -public thoroughfares; for the utmost detestation was -pictured in every face; and my ears were assailed -with reproaches and contumely. I could not roam -the most obscure parts of the city, without being -dogged and persecuted by the blood-hounds of Manini. -It was a miserable situation. Health—comfort—happiness, -were gone forever. Not even the -common enjoyments of life fell to my lot. I could -not sleep—I knew no pleasure in drink—I was -too decrepid and impotent to enjoy artificial stimulants: -what then must have been the depth of my -misery? It was too great to be borne. I resolved -to leave the theatre of my misfortunes; and to bury -myself in the busy haunts of the great English metropolis. -In the costume and character of a Jew, -I embarked for the city of my destination. Arrived -there, I set up a small establishment as a usurer. -My thirst for accumulation was not satisfied by my -crimes; nor did my honesty profit by inaction. The -great object was, however, in some measure effected. -I enjoyed as the guilty may enjoy the security of -my secluded situation. I passed many years in a -state of negative happiness. My internal miseries -lost none of their poignancy; but they caused me -no physical inconvenience. I was free from immediate -conviction; and had every prospect of continuing -unmolested. Time soothed my terrors, -though I still looked forward with fear and anxiety -to the day, when something worse might turn up, -than mere imaginary fears.</p> - -<hr class='tbk120'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Age and imbecility have come upon me. I have -spun out nearly the remains of my guilty existence, -in security and prosperity. I have acquired riches; -but have never enjoyed them. I have sinned and -suffered; but my crimes are not atoned for. A -day will come when the fearful debt must be paid. -I await it with calmness. I repent of nothing that -I have done. I ask forgiveness neither of God nor -of man. Let the full measure of His retribution be -my eternal ruin. I am content to die as I have -lived—fearless—guilty—unrelenting.</p> - -<hr class='tbk121'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Here</span> ends the Autobiography of this false and -evil man. It is a highly-colored, but we trust, not -an extravagant picture of the effects of avarice. -The moral remains to be told. If, in the sequel or -fourth part, we can show that sooner or later retribution -will fall upon the guilty; we may say of our -hero what Scott quotes of Charles the Twelfth:—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“He left the name at which the world grew pale,</p> -<p class='line0'>To point a moral, and adorn a tale.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk122'/> - -<div><h1><a id='chim'></a>CHIMES OF ANTWERP.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>One</span>, two, and three, with measured stroke and numbers on they go,</p> -<p class='line0'>For Ghentish Charles ’twas thus they woke, for blood-stained Alva so,</p> -<p class='line0'>And still from out their airy cage of wreathed and trelliced stone,</p> -<p class='line0'>They tell us of our pilgrimage another hour has flown.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>They float above the Plâce de Mer, and o’er thy roofs and towers,</p> -<p class='line0'>Fair Antwerp, with thy solemn air and antique Flemish bowers;</p> -<p class='line0'>And sweet and stately is the sound, and melancholy too,</p> -<p class='line0'>As it should be where Memory the fabler dwells with you.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>One, two, and three, with measured strokes and numbers they awake!</p> -<p class='line0'>’Twas thus on Rubens’ ear at eve their sounds were wont to break;</p> -<p class='line0'>And still o’er his best monument, with monumental tone,</p> -<p class='line0'>They tell us of our pilgrimage another hour has flown.</p> -<p class='line0'>                                            J. H.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk123'/> - -<div><h1><a id='awin'></a>A WINTER SCENE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY LYDIA JANE PIERSON.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Oh</span> how magnificent. How beautiful</p> -<p class='line0'>The old grey wood appears. Each sturdy tree</p> -<p class='line0'>Crown’d with a glorious diamond diadem</p> -<p class='line0'>Of wreathen plumes and garlands. Every bush</p> -<p class='line0'>And slender sapling, bending with the weight</p> -<p class='line0'>Of its bright ornaments, seems to the view</p> -<p class='line0'>Like youthful genius shrinking and o’erwhelm’d</p> -<p class='line0'>With the chill weight of the cold world’s applause.</p> -<p class='line0'>The sun is rising now, and every spray,</p> -<p class='line0'>And feathery evergreen, grows radiant</p> -<p class='line0'>With more than earthly glory. One might deem</p> -<p class='line0'>Each twig a chain of gold profusely set</p> -<p class='line0'>With ruby, emerald, and amethyst,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sapphire and living diamond, splendid all</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And dazzling past description. Yet there lives</p> -<p class='line0'>No balm, no melody of loving birds</p> -<p class='line0'>Amongst the icy branches; grandeur reigns</p> -<p class='line0'>And frigid beauty, without life or joy.</p> -<p class='line0'>No gentle breezes woo the branches now,</p> -<p class='line0'>To bend and kiss their sweetly sighing lips,</p> -<p class='line0'>And fling a cloud of incense, and bright flow’rs</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon their lingering pinions. No young fruits</p> -<p class='line0'>Lie in their curtain’d cradles, rocking soft</p> -<p class='line0'>To the glad lullaby which smiling Hope</p> -<p class='line0'>Sings round the fragrant clusters. No young birds</p> -<p class='line0'>Lie chirping in their nests amongst green leaves.</p> -<p class='line0'>No passing streamlet lingers in the bow’rs,</p> -<p class='line0'>Forgetting, for a while, its morning hymn,</p> -<p class='line0'>To touch the rich lip of the fragile flower</p> -<p class='line0'>That lives upon its love one summer day,</p> -<p class='line0'>Then lays the dying head so gently down</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon its bosom, while the trembling depth</p> -<p class='line0'>Reflects with sympathy the blighted gem,</p> -<p class='line0'>And murmurs promise of another life,</p> -<p class='line0'>And blest re-union at return of spring.</p> -<p class='line0'>No young fawns gambol through the silent wood,</p> -<p class='line0'>In the delight of life’s first consciousness</p> -<p class='line0'>Of freedom, strength, and beauty. No fair child</p> -<p class='line0'>Crushes the sweet buds with its little feet,</p> -<p class='line0'>While bounding after the bright butterfly</p> -<p class='line0'>Which floats upon its rich, brocaded wing</p> -<p class='line0'>In graceful carelessness from bloom to bloom.</p> -<p class='line0'>No merry laughter, no light-hearted lay,</p> -<p class='line0'>No lover’s whisper floats among the bowers;</p> -<p class='line0'>But all is icy beauty, cold and still,</p> -<p class='line0'>Radiant and passionless, and void of bliss;</p> -<p class='line0'>A glory that will quickly melt away</p> -<p class='line0'>And leave no trace behind.</p> -<p class='line0'>                    And such I deem</p> -<p class='line0'>Is life within a nunnery; pure and bright</p> -<p class='line0'>With heaven’s reflected glory; but all cold</p> -<p class='line0'>And destitute of the fond sympathies</p> -<p class='line0'>That are at once the bliss, the ornament,</p> -<p class='line0'>And agony of life.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Liberty, Pa. March, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk124'/> - -<div><h1><a id='ohg'></a>OH! GENTLE LOVE.</h1></div> - -<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>SUNG BY</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:1.2em;'>MR. WILSON,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:1.2em;'>IN AUBER’S OPERA OF LESTOQ,</p> -<p class='line'>ARRANGED BY</p> -<p class='line' style='margin-bottom:0.5em;font-size:1.2em;'>T. COOKE.</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Geo. W. Hewitt & Co. No. 184 Chesnut Street, Philadelphia.</p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i112.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0002' style='width:75%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh gentle love, thy spirit o’er us beaming,</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i113.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0003' style='width:75%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Doth thro’ the soul its tenderness diffuse,</p> -<p class='line0'>E’en as the glow, from morning’s sun light streaming,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Smiles o’er the earth, and tempereth its hues</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! gentle love, thy spirit o’er us beaming,</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i114.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0004' style='width:75%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Doth thro’ the soul its tenderness diffuse,</p> -<p class='line0'>A magic all have felt and feel, how e’er they struggle to conceal</p> -<p class='line0'>  A magic all have felt and feel, how e’er they struggle to conceal,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or as the dew upon the flowrets sleeping,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Over the leaves a distillation rains,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which tho’ the day dissolve its pearly weeping,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Still in their heart reviving them remains.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk125'/> - -<div><h1><a id='spor'></a>SPORTS AND PASTIMES.</h1></div> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>PARTRIDGE SHOOTING.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='sc'>Concluded.</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Unless</span> there be continual rain, or it be the depth -of winter, birds will visit their basking place some -time in the course of the day, whether the sun shine -or not. The basking place is generally, but not invariably, -on the sunny side of the hedge. Birds may -be most easily approached in fine weather. All kinds -of birds lie better in small enclosures than in large -ones, that is, when the cover in each is alike. It -need scarcely be added, that the more bushy the -brambles, or the higher the grass the more closely -will lie the game.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A person who knows how to walk up to a bird will -obtain more shots than one who does not, especially -in windy weather. Birds will not only allow the -shooter to approach nearer to them when he faces -the wind, but they present on rising, a fairer mark.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the legs of a bird fired at fall, it is almost a -certain proof that it is struck in a vital part. A bird -so struck should be narrowly watched, when, in most -instances, it will be seen, after flying about a hundred -yards if a grouse, or fifty yards if a partridge, to tower -or spire in the air, and fall down dead. When only -one leg falls, the bird should be watched, but in the -latter case, it generally happens that the leg or thigh -only has been struck. Any bird that flinches, on -being fired at, or whose feathers are in the least disordered, -should be marked down, and followed. -Grouse more frequently fly away wounded than partridges. -Grouse are often recovered several hundred -yards from the gun.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Until November or December, young grouse, black-game, -partridges, and pheasants, may be distinguished -from old ones by the lower beak not being strong -enough to bear the weight of their bodies. The -lower beak of an old partridge is strong enough to -sustain the weight of a brace of birds; but a young -bird cannot be raised by the lower beak without the -lower beak bending under the weight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The number of birds in a covey varies much, perhaps -the average may be from ten to fifteen. In -some years, when the coveys are larger after a fine -hatching season, it is not uncommon to see upward -of twenty birds in a covey; and sometimes after a -wet season, ten birds may be deemed a fair covey. -Birds are most numerous after a dry summer. When -there are thunder-storms about midsummer, great -numbers of young birds are drowned. The young -birds have many enemies besides the elements, such -as cats, young dogs, hawks, foxes, and vermin of different -descriptions. When the eggs are taken, or -the young birds destroyed soon after leaving the -shell, there will be a second hatch. Sportsmen often -meet with second hatches in September, when the -old birds rise screaming, and generally alight within -fifty yards, as if to induce the young birds to follow. -In that case the fair sportsman will not fire at the -old birds, but will call in his dogs and leave the -ground. At such times he should look well after the -young dogs, as, when they see the birds running, -they are apt to snatch up such of them as cannot get -out of the way. The very young birds are called -cheepers, from their uttering a scream as they rise. -Full grown birds never scream as they rise, except -when the young ones are helpless, nor do young birds -after they are large enough for the table.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There are shooters who acquire an unsportsman-like -habit of firing at a covey immediately as it rises, -before the birds are fairly on the wing, and, thus -without aiming at any individual bird, bring down -two or three. And sometimes they will make a foul -shot by flanking a covey; the birds being on the -wing, come upon them suddenly, and make a simultaneous -wheel; they take them on the turn, when, -for a moment—and but for a moment—half the covey -are in a line, and floor them rank and file. These are -tricks allied to poaching, and almost as reprehensible -as shooting at birds on the ground, which is nothing -less than high treason.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The cock partridge is distinguished from the hen -by the brown feathers which form a crescent, or -horse-shoe, as it is sometimes called, on the breast.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The pointer is decidedly the best dog for partridge -shooting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dog should fall when the gun is fired, and remain -down until he is told to seek, when he should -point the dead bird. A pointer that drops to shot, -becomes an excellent retriever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dog should be taught to obey the eye and the -hand, rather than the voice. A dog that will do so is -invaluable, in open grounds, when birds are wild.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Whenever speaking to a dog, whether encouragingly -or reprovingly, the sportsman should endeavor -to look what he means, and the dog will understand -him. The dog will understand the look, if he does -not the words. The sportsman should never, with a -smile on his countenance, punish a dog; nor commend -him when he has done well, but with an apparent -hearty good will: the dog will then take an -interest in obeying him.</p> - -<hr class='tbk126'/> - -<div><h1><a id='rev'></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h1></div> - -<hr class='tbk127'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>“Night and Morning.” A Novel. By the author -of Pelham, Rienzi, Eugene Aram, &c. 2 vols. -Re-published by Harper & Brothers, New York.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The Right Hon. Charles Leopold Beaufort, of -Beaufort Court, England, a proud and misanthropical -old bachelor, with a rental of twenty thousand pounds, -has two nephews, Philip and Robert Beaufort. The -former, who is the elder of the two, and heir-apparent -to the uncle’s estate, is thoughtless and generous, -with unsteady principles. The latter is a crafty man-of-the-world, -whose only honesty consists in appearing -honest—a scrupulous decorist. Philip, in love -with Catharine Morton, the daughter of a tradesman, -and in fear of his aristocratic uncle’s displeasure, is -married clandestinely, in a remote village of Wales, -by a quondam college friend, to whom he had presented -a living—the Rev. Caleb Price. The better to -keep the secret, a very old Welshman, certain soon -to die, and William Smith, Philip’s servant, are the -sole witnesses of the ceremony. This performed, -Smith is hired to bury himself in Australia until called -for, while the deaf man dies as expected. Some time -having elapsed, Philip, dreading accident to the register, -writes to Caleb for an attested copy of the -record. Caleb is too ill to make it, but employs a -neighboring curate, Morgan Jones, to make and attest -it, and despatches it, just before dying, to Philip, who, -fearing his wife’s impatience of the concealment required, -deposites the document, without her knowledge, -in a secret drawer of a bureau. The register -itself is afterwards accidentally destroyed. Catharine -has soon two children—first Philip, the hero of the -novel, and then Sydney. For their sakes she bravely -endures the stigma upon her character. She continues -to live openly with her husband as his mistress, bearing -her maiden name of Morton; and the uncle, -whose nerves would have been shocked at a mis-alliance, -and who would have disinherited its perpetrator, -winks at what he considers the venial vice. The -old gentleman lives on for sixteen years, and yet no -disclosure is made. At last he dies, bequeathing his -property to his eldest nephew, as was anticipated. -The latter prepares forthwith to own Catharine as -his wife; relates to his brother the facts of the clandestine -marriage; speaks of the secreted document, -without designating the place of deposit; is disbelieved -by that person entirely; mounts his horse to -make arrangements for a second wedding, and for -proving the first; is thrown, breaks his neck, and expires -without uttering a word. Catharine, ignorant -of the secret drawer (although aware that a record -had been secreted), failing to find William Smith, and -trusting her cause to an unskilful lawyer, is unable to -prove her marriage, but in the effort to do so makes -an enemy of Robert Beaufort, who takes possession -of the estate as heir at law. Thus the strict precautions -taken by the father to preserve his secret during -the uncle’s life, frustrate the wife in her attempts to -develop it after his death, and the sons are still considered -illegitimate. This is the pivot of the story. -Its incidents are made up of the struggles of the -young men with their fate, but chiefly of the endeavors -of the elder, Philip, to demonstrate the marriage -and redeem the good name of his mother. This he -finally accomplishes, (after her death, and after a host -of vicissitudes experienced in his own person) by the -accidental return of William Smith, and by the discovery -of an additional witness in Morgan Jones, -who made the extract from the register, and to whom -the rightful heir is guided by this long-sought document -itself, obtained from the hands of Robert Beaufort, -(who had found it in the bureau,) through the -instrumentality of one Fanny, the heroine, and in the -end the wife of the hero.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We do not give this as the plot of “Night and -Morning,” but as the ground-work of the plot; which -latter, woven from the incidents above mentioned, is -in itself exceedingly complex. The ground-work, as -will be seen, is of no very original character—it is -even absurdly common-place. We are not asserting -too much when we say that every second novel since -the flood has turned upon some series of hopeless -efforts, either to establish legitimacy, or to prove a -will, or to get possession of a great sum of money -most unjustly withheld, or to find out a ragamuffin of -a father, who had been much better left unfound. But, -saying nothing of the basis upon which this story has -been erected, the story itself is, in many respects, -worthy its contriver.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The word “plot,” as commonly accepted, conveys -but an indefinite meaning. Most persons think of it -as of simple <span class='it'>complexity</span>; and into this error even so -fine a critic as Augustus William Schlegel has obviously -fallen, when he confounds its idea with that of -the mere <span class='it'>intrigue</span> in which the Spanish dramas of -Cervantes and Calderon abound. But the greatest -involution of incident will not result in plot; which, -properly defined, is <span class='it'>that in which no part can be displaced -without ruin to the whole</span>. It may be described -as a building so dependently constructed, that to -change the position of a single brick is to overthrow -the entire fabric. In this definition and description, -we of course refer only to that infinite perfection -which the true artist bears ever in mind—that unattainable -goal to which his eyes are always directed, but -of the possibility of attaining which he still endeavors, -if wise, to cheat himself into the belief. The reading -world, however, is satisfied with a less rigid construction -of the term. It is content to think that plot a -good one, in which none of the <span class='it'>leading</span> incidents can -be <span class='it'>removed</span> without <span class='it'>detriment</span> to the mass. Here indeed -is a material difference; and in this view of the -case the plot of “Night and Morning” is decidedly -excellent. Speaking comparatively, and in regard to -stories similarly composed, it is one of the best. This -the author has evidently designed to make it. For this -purpose he has taxed his powers to the utmost. -Every page bears marks of excessive elaboration, all -tending to one point—a perfect adaptation of the very -numerous atoms of a very unusually involute story. -The better to attain his object he has resorted to the -expedient of writing his book backwards. This is a -simple thing in itself, but may not be generally understood. -An example will best convey the idea. Drawing -near the <span class='it'>dénouement</span> of his tale, our novelist had -proceeded so far as to render it necessary that means -should be devised for the discovery of the missing -marriage record. This record is in the old bureau—this -bureau is at Fernside, originally the seat of -Philip’s father, but now in possession of one Lord -Lilburne, a member of Robert Beaufort’s family. -Two things now strike the writer—first, that the retrieval -of the hero’s fortune should be brought about -by no less a personage than the heroine—by some -lady who should in the end be his bride—and, secondly, -that this lady must procure access to Fernside. Up -to this period in the narrative, it had been the design -to make Camilla Beaufort, Philip’s cousin, the heroine; -but in such case, the cousin and Lord Lilburne being -friends, the document must have been obtained by -fair means; whereas foul means are the most dramatic. -There would have been no <span class='it'>difficulties</span> to overcome -in introducing Camilla into the house in question. -She would have merely rung the bell and walked in. -Moreover, in getting the paper, she would have had -no chance of getting up a scene. This lady is therefore -dropped as the heroine; Mr. Bulwer retraces his -steps, creates Fanny, brings Philip to love her, and -employs Lilburne, (a courtly villain, invented for all -the <span class='it'>high</span> dirty work, as De Burgh Smith for all the -<span class='it'>low</span> dirty work of the story,) employs Lilburne to abduct -her to Fernside, where the capture of the document -is at length (more dramatically than naturally) -contrived. In short, these latter incidents were -emendations, and their really episodical character is -easily traced by the critic. What appears first in the -published book, was last in the original MS. Many -of the most striking portions of the novel were <span class='it'>interleaved</span> -in the same manner—thus giving to after-thought -that air of premeditation which is so pleasing. -Effect seems to follow cause in the most natural and -in the most provident manner, but, in the true construction, -the cause (and here we commit no bull) is -absolutely brought about by the effect. The many -brief, and seemingly insulated chapters met with in -the course of the narrative, are the interposed after-thoughts -in question.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So careful has been our author in this working-up -of his story—in this nice dovetailing of its constituent -parts—that it is difficult to detect a blemish in any -portion. What he has intended to do he has done -well; and his main intention, as we have before -hinted, was <span class='it'>perfection of plot</span>. A few defects, indeed, -we note; and note them chiefly to show the -skill with which that narrative is wrought, where -such blemishes are the sole ones.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the first place, there are some descriptive passages -such as the love adventures of Caleb Price, the -account of Gawtrey’s early life, prefaced by that of -his grandfather, and the dinner-scene at Love’s, which -scarcely come within the category of matters tending -to develop the main events. These things, in short, -might have been omitted with advantage (because -without detriment) to the whole.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At page 254, vol. 2, we perceive the first indications -of slovenliness, (arising no doubt from the writer’s -anxiety to conclude his task) in an incident -utterly without aim, and composed at random. We -mean the relapse of Philip into a second illness when -nursed by Fanny through the first, at the house of old -Gawtrey.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At page 21, vol. 1, we are told that Caleb Price, -having received from his friend Beaufort a certain -letter (whose contents would have been important -in the subsequent attempts to establish Catharine’s -claim) held it over the flame of the candle, and that -“as the paper dropped on the carpetless floor, Mr. -Jones prudently set thereon the broad sole of his -boot, and the maid servant brushed it into the grate.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, trample it out; hurry it among the ashes. -The last as the rest,” said Caleb, hoarsely. “Friendship, -fortune, hope, love, life—a little flame—and then—and then—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Don’t be uneasy—it’s quite out</span>,” said Mr. Jones.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now this is related with much emphasis; and, upon -reading it, we resolved to hold in memory that this -important paper, although torn, was still unburned, -and that its fragments had been thrown into a vacant -grate. In fact, it was the design of the novelist to -re-produce these fragments in the <span class='it'>dénouement</span>—a design -which he has forgotten to carry out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We have defined the word “plot,” in a definition -of our own to be sure, but in one which we do not -the less consider substantially correct; and we have -said that it has been a main point with Mr. Bulwer in -this his last novel, “Night and Morning,” to work up -his plot as near perfection as possible. We have asserted, -too, that his design is well accomplished; but -we do not the less assert that it has been conceived -and executed in error.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The interest of plot, referring, as it does, to cultivated -thought in the reader, and appealing to considerations -analogous with those which are the -essence of sculptural taste, is by no means a popular -interest; although it has the peculiarity of being appreciated -in its atoms by all, while in its totality of -beauty it is comprehended but by the few. The -pleasure which the many derive from it is disjointed, -ineffective, and evanescent; and even in the case of -the critical reader it is a pleasure which may be purchased -too dearly. A good tale maybe written without -it. Some of the finest fictions in the world have -neglected it altogether. We see nothing of it in Gil -Blas, in the Pilgrim’s Progress, or in Robinson Crusoe. -Thus it is not an essential in story-telling at all; -although, well-managed, within proper limits, it is a -thing to be desired. At best it is but a secondary and -rigidly artistical merit, for which no merit of a higher -class—no merit founded in nature—should be sacrificed. -But in the book before us <span class='it'>much</span> is sacrificed -for its sake, and every thing is rendered subservient -to its purposes. So excessive is, here, the involution -of circumstances, that it has been found impossible -to dwell for more than a brief period upon any particular -one. The writer seems in a perpetual flurry -to accomplish what, in autorical parlance, is called -“bringing up one’s time.” He flounders in the vain -attempt to keep all his multitudinous incidents at one -and the same moment before the eye. His ability -has been sadly taxed in the effort—but more sadly the -time and temper of the reader. No sooner do we -begin to take some slight degree of interest in some -cursorily-sketched event, than we are hurried off to -some other, for which a new feeling is to be built up, -only to be tumbled down, forthwith, as before. And -thus, since there is no sufficiently continuous scene -in the whole novel, it results that there is not a -strongly effective one. Time not being given us in -which to become absorbed, we are only permitted to -admire, while we are not the less chilled, tantalised, -wearied, and displeased. Nature, with natural interest, -has been given up a bond-maiden to an elaborate, -but still to a misconceived, perverted, and most unsatisfactory -Art.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Very little reflection might have sufficed to convince -Mr. Bulwer that narratives, even one fourth so long -as the one now lying upon our table, are <span class='it'>essentially</span> -inadapted to that nice and complex adjustment of incident -at which he has made this desperate attempt. -In the wire-drawn romances which have been so long -fashionable, (God only knows how or why) the pleasure -we derive (if any) is a composite one, and made -up of the respective sums of the various pleasurable -sentiments experienced in perusal. Without excessive -and fatiguing exertion, inconsistent with legitimate -interest, the mind cannot comprehend at one -time, and in one survey, the numerous individual -items which go to establish the whole. Thus the -high ideal sense of the <span class='it'>unique</span> is sure to be wanting:—for, -however absolute in itself be the unity of the -novel, it must inevitably fail of appreciation. We -speak now of that species of unity which is alone -worth the attention of the critic—the unity or totality -<span class='it'>of effect</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But we could never bring ourselves to attach any -idea of merit to mere <span class='it'>length</span> in the abstract. A long -story does not appear to us necessarily twice as good -as one only half so long. The ordinary talk about -“continuous and sustained effort” is pure twaddle -and nothing more. Perseverance is one thing and -genius is another—whatever Buffon or Hogarth may -assert to the contrary—and notwithstanding that, in -many passages of the dogmatical literature of old -Rome, such phrases as “<span class='it'>diligentia maxima</span>,” “<span class='it'>diligentia -mirabilis</span>,” can be construed only as “great -talent” or “wonderful ability.” Now if the author -of “Ernest Maltravers,” implicitly following authority -like <span class='it'>les moutons de Panurge, will</span> persist in writing -long romances because long romances have been -written before—if, in short, he cannot be satisfied -with the brief tale (a species of composition which -admits of the highest development of artistical power -in alliance with the wildest vigor of imagination)—he -must then content himself, perforce, with a more -simply and more rigidly narrative form.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And here, could he see these comments upon a -work which, (estimating it, as is the wont of all artists -of his calibre, by the labor which it has cost -him,) he considers his <span class='it'>chef d’œuvre</span>, he would assure -us, with a smile, that it is precisely because the book -is <span class='it'>not</span> narrative, and <span class='it'>is</span> dramatic, that he holds it in so -lofty an esteem. Now in regard to its being dramatic, -we should reply that, so far as the radical and ineradicable -<span class='it'>deficiencies</span> of the drama go—it is. This continual -and vexatious shifting of scene, with a view of -bringing up events to the time being, originated at a -period when books were not; and in fact, had the -drama not preceded books, it might never have succeeded -them—we might, and probably should, never -have had a drama at all. By the frequent “bringing -up” of his events the dramatist strove to supply, as -well as he could, the want of the combining, arranging, -and especially of the <span class='it'>commenting</span> power, now in -possession of the narrative author. No doubt it was -a deep but vague sense of this want which brought -into birth the Greek chorus—a thing altogether apart -from the drama itself—<span class='it'>never</span> upon the stage—and -representing, or personifying, the expression of the -sympathy of the audience in the matters transacted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In brief, while the drama of colloquy, vivacious and -breathing of life, is well adopted into narration, the -drama of action and passion will always prove, when -employed beyond due limits, a source of embarrassment -to the narrator, and it can afford him, at best, -nothing which he does not already possess in full -force. We have spoken upon this head much at -length; for we remember that, in some preface to one -of his previous novels, (some preface in which he -endeavored to pre-reason and pre-coax us into admiration -of what was to follow—a bad practice,) Mr. -Bulwer was at great pains to insist upon the peculiar -merits of what he even then termed the dramatic -conduct of his story. The simple truth was that, -then as now, he had merely concentrated into his -book all the <span class='it'>necessary evils</span> of the stage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Giving up his attention to the one point upon which -we have commented, our novelist has failed to do -himself justice in others. The overstrained effort at -perfection of plot has seduced him into absurd sacrifices -of verisimilitude, as regards the connexion of -his <span class='it'>dramatis personæ</span> each with each, and each with -the main events. However incidental be the appearance -of any personage upon the stage, this personage -is sure to be linked in, will I nill I, with the -matters in hand. Philip, on the stage-coach, for example, -converses with but one individual, William -Gawtrey; yet this man’s fate (not subsequently but -previously) is interwoven into that of Philip himself, -through the latter’s relationship to Lilburne. The -hero goes to his mother’s grave, and there comes in -contact with this Gawtrey’s father. He meets Fanny, -and Fanny happens to be also involved in his <span class='it'>destiny</span> -(a pet word, conveying a pet idea of the author’s) -through <span class='it'>her</span> relationship to Lilburne. The witness -in the case of his mother’s marriage is missing, and -this individual turns up at last in the brother of that -very Charles De Burgh Smith with whom so perfectly -accidental an intimacy has already been established. -The wronged heir proceeds at random to look for a -lawyer, and stumbles at once upon the precise one -who had figured before in the story, and who knows -all about previous investigations. Setting out in -search of Liancourt, the first person he sees is that -gentleman himself. Entering a horse-bazaar in a -remote portion of the country, the steed up for sale at -the exact moment of his entrance is recognised as the -pet of his better days. Now our quarrel with these -coincidences is not that they sometimes, but that they -everlastingly occur, and that nothing occurs besides. -We find no fault with Philip for chancing, at the -identically proper moment, upon the identical men, -women, and horses necessary for his own ends and -the ends of the story—but we do think it excessively -hard that he should <span class='it'>never happen upon anything else</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In delineation of character, our artist has done little -worth notice. His highest merit in this respect is, -with a solitary exception, the negative one of not -having subjected himself to dispraise. Catharine and -Camilla are—pretty well in their way. Philip is very -much like all other heroes—perhaps a little more -stiff, a little more obstinate, and a little more desperately -unlucky than the generality of his class. Sydney -is drawn with truth. Plaskwith, Plimmins, and -the Mortons, just sufficiently caricatured, are very -good outline copies from the shaded originals of -Dickens. Of Gawtrey—father and son,—of De Burgh -Smith, of Robert Beaufort and of Lilburne, what is -it possible to say, except that they belong to that -extensive firm of Gawtrey, Smith, Beaufort, Lilburne -and company, which has figured in every novel since -the days of Charles Grandison, and which is doomed -to the same eternal configuration till romance-writing -shall be no more?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For Fanny the author distinctly avows a partiality; -and he does not err in his preference. We have -observed, in some previous review, that <span class='it'>original</span> characters, -so called, can only be critically praised as -such, either when presenting qualities known in real -life, but never before depicted (a combination nearly -impossible) or when presenting qualities which, -although unknown, or even known to be hypothetical, -are so skilfully adapted to the circumstances around -them, that our sense of fitness is not offended, and we -find ourselves seeking a reason why those things -<span class='it'>might not have been</span> which we are still satisfied <span class='it'>are -not</span>. Fanny appertains to this latter class of originality—which -in itself belongs to the loftier regions of -<span class='it'>the Ideal</span>. Her first movements in the story, before -her conception (which we have already characterized -as an after-thought) had assumed distinct shape in the -brain of the author, are altogether ineffective and -frivolous. They consist of the unmeaning affectation -and rhodomontade with which it is customary to -invest the lunatic in common-place fiction. But the -subsequent effects of love upon her mental development -are finely imagined and richly painted; and, -although reason teaches us their impossibility, yet it -is sufficient for the purposes of the artist that fancy -delights in believing them possible.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Bulwer has been often and justly charged with -defects of <span class='it'>style</span>; but the charges have been sadly deficient -in specification, and for the most part have -confounded the idea of mere language with that of -style itself, although the former is no more the latter, -than an oak is a forest, or than a word is a thought. -Without pausing to define what a little reflection will -enable any reader to define for himself, we may say -that the chief constituent of a good style (a constituent -which, in the case of Washington Irving, has been -mistaken for the thing constituted) is what artists -have agreed to denominate <span class='it'>tone</span>. The writer who, -varying this as occasion may require, well adapts it to -the fluctuations of his narrative, accomplishes an -important object in style. Mr. Bulwer’s tone is -always correct; and so great is the virtue of this quality -that he can scarcely be termed, upon the whole, a -bad stylist.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His mere English is grossly defective—turgid, involved, -and ungrammatical. There is scarcely a -page of “Night and Morning” upon which a school-boy -could not detect at least half a dozen instances -of faulty construction. Sentences such as this are -continually occurring—“And at last silenced, if not -convinced, his eyes closed, and the tears yet wet upon -their lashes, fell asleep.” Here, strictly speaking, it -is the eyes which “fell asleep,” and which were -“silent if not convinced.” The pronoun, “he,” is -wanting for the verb “fell.” The whole would read -better thus—“And at last, silent, if not convinced, he -closed his eyes, and fell asleep with the tears yet -on the lashes.” It will be seen that, besides other -modifications, we have changed “upon” into “on,” -and omitted “wet” as superfluous when applied to -tear; who ever heard of a dry one? The sentence in -question, which occurs at page 83, vol. 1, was the -first which arrested our attention on opening the -book at random; but its errors are sufficiently illustrative -of the <span class='it'>character</span> of those faults of phraseology -in which the work abounds, and which have arisen, -not so much through carelessness, as from a peculiar -bias in the mind of the writer, leading him, per force, -into <span class='it'>involution</span>, whether here in style, or elsewhere in -plot. The beauty of simplicity is not that which can -be appreciated by Mr. Bulwer; and whatever may be -the true merits of his intelligence, the merit of luminous -and precise thought is evidently not one of the -number.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At page 194, vol. 1, we have this—“I am not -what you seem to suppose—exactly a swindler, certainly -not a robber.” Here, to make himself intelligible, -the speaker should have repeated the words “I -am not,” before “exactly.” As it stands, the sentence -does not imply that “I am not exactly a -swindler, &c.” but (if anything) that the person addressed, -imagined me to be certainly not a robber but -exactly a swindler—an implication which it was not -intended to convey. Such awkwardness in a practised -writer would be inconceivable, did we not refer in -memory to that moral bias of which we have just -spoken. Our readers will of course examine the -English of “Night and Morning” for themselves. -From the evidence of one or two sentences we cannot -expect them to form a judgment in the premises. -Dreading indeed the suspicion of unfairness, we had -pencilled item after item for comment—but we have -abandoned the task in despair. It would be an endless -labor to proceed with examples. In fact it is -folly to particularize where the blunders would be -the rule, and the grammar the exception.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sir Lytton has one desperate mannerism of which -we would be glad to see him well rid—a fashion of -beginning short sentences, after very long ones, with -the phrase “So there,” or something equivalent, and -this too, when there is no sequence in the matter to -warrant the use of the word “So.” Thus, at page -136, vol. I,—“So there they sat on the cold stone, -these two orphans;” at page 179,—“So there by the -calm banks of the placid lake, the youngest born of -Catharine passed his tranquil days,”—and just below, -on the same page,—“So thus was he severed from -both his protectors, Arthur and Philip;” and at page -241, vol. II,—“So there sat the old man,” &c. &c.—and -in innumerable other instances throughout the -work.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Among the <span class='it'>niäiseries</span> of his style we may mention -the coxcombical use of little French sentences, without -the shadow of an excuse for their employment. -At page 22, vol. 2, in the scene at the counterfeiter’s -cellar, what can be more nonsensical than Gawtrey’s -“<span class='it'>C’est juste; buvez donc, cher ami</span>,”—“<span class='it'>C’est juste; -buvez donc, vieux rénard</span>,”—and “<span class='it'>Ce n’est pas vrai; -buvez donc Monsieur Favart?</span>” Why should these -platitudes be alone given in French, when it is obvious -that the entire conversation was carried on in that -tongue? And, again, when, at page 49, Fanny exclaims—“<span class='it'>Méchant</span>, -every one dies to Fanny!”—why -could not this heroine have as well confined herself -to one language? At page 38, the climax of absurdity, -in this respect, is fairly capped; and it is difficult to -keep one’s countenance, when we read of a Parisian -cobbler breathing his last in a garret, and screaming -out “<span class='it'>Je m’étouffe</span>—Air!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Whenever a startling incident is recorded, our -novelist seems to make it a point of conscience that -somebody should “fall insensible.” Thus at page -172, vol. 1,—“ ‘My brother, my brother, they have -taken thee from me,’ cried Philip, and he fell insensible,”—and -at page 38, vol. 2, “ ‘I was unkind to him -at the last,’ and with these words she fell upon the -corpse insensible,” &c. &c. There is a great deal too -much of this. An occasional swoon is a thing of no -consequence, but “even Stamboul must have an end,” -and Mr. Bulwer should make an end of his syncopes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again. That gentlemen and ladies, when called -upon to give alms, or to defray some trifling incidental -expense, are in the invariable habit of giving the -whole contents of their purses without examination, -and, moreover, of “throwing” the purse into the -bargain, is an idea most erroneously entertained. At -page 55, vol. 1, we are told that Philip, “as he spoke, -<span class='it'>slid</span> his purse into the woman’s hand.” At page 110, -“a hint for money restored Beaufort to his recollection, -and he <span class='it'>flung</span> his purse into the nearest hand -outstretched to receive it.” At page 87, “Lilburne -<span class='it'>tossed</span> his purse into the hands of his valet, whose -face seems to lose its anxious embarrassment at the -touch of the gold.” It is true that the “anxious embarrassment” -of any valet out of a novel, would have -been rather increased than diminished by having a -purse of gold tossed at his head—but what we wish -our readers to observe, is that magnificent contempt -of filthy lucre with which the characters of Sir Edward -Lytton Bulwer “fling,” “slide,” “toss,” and tumble -whole purses of money about!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the predominant and most important failing of -the author of “Devereux,” in point of style, is an absolute -mania for metaphor—metaphor always running -into allegory. Pure allegory is at all times an abomination—a -remnant of antique barbarism—appealing -only to our faculties of comparison, without even a -remote interest for our reason, or for our fancy. -Metaphor, its softened image, has indisputable force -when sparingly and skilfully employed. Vigorous -writers use it rarely indeed. Mr. Bulwer is all metaphor -or all allegory—mixed metaphor and unsustained -allegory—and nothing if neither. He cannot express -a dozen consecutive sentences in an honest and manly -manner. He is the king-coxcomb of figures-of-speech. -His rage for personification is really ludicrous. The -simplest noun becomes animate in his hands. Never, -by any accident, does he write even so ordinary a -word as time, or temper, or talent, without the capital -T. Seldom, indeed, is he content with the dignity -and mysticism thus imposed;—for the most part it is -<span class='sc'>Time</span>, <span class='sc'>Temper</span> and <span class='sc'>Talent</span>. Nor does the common-place -character of anything which he wishes to -personify exclude it from the prosopopeia. At page -256, volume 1, we have some profound rigmarole, seriously -urged, about piemen crying “all hot! all hot!” -“in the ear of Infant and Ragged Hunger,” thus -written; and, at page 207, there is something positively -transcendental all about LAW—a very little thing -in itself, in some cases—but which Mr. Bulwer, in -his book, has thought proper to make quite as big as -we have printed it above. Who cannot fancy him, in -the former instance, saying to himself, as he gnaws -the top of his quill, “that is a fine thought!” and exclaiming -in the latter, as he puts his finger to the side -of his nose, “ah, how <span class='it'>very</span> fine an idea that is!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This absurdity, indeed, is chiefly observable in -those philosophical discussions with which he is in -the wicked habit of interspersing his fictions, and -springs only from a rabid anxiety to look wise—to -appear profound—even when wisdom is quite out of -place, and profundity the quintessence of folly. A -“still small voice” has whispered in his ear that, as -to the real matter of fact, <span class='it'>he is shallow</span>—a whisper -which he does not intend to believe, and which, by -dint of loud talking in parables, he hopes to prevent -from reaching the ears of the public. Now, in truth, -the public, great-gander as it is, is content to swallow -his romance without much examination, but cannot -help turning up its nose at his logic.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The men of sense,” says Helvetius, “those idols -of the unthinking, are very inferior to the men of -passions. It is the strong passions which, rescuing us -from Sloth, can alone impart to us that continuous -and earnest attention necessary to great intellectual -efforts”—Understanding the word “efforts” in its -legitimate force, and not confounding it altogether -with achievements, we may well apply to Mr. Bulwer -the philosopher’s remark, thence deducing the secret -of his success as a novelist. He is emphatically the -man “of passions.” With an intellect rather well -balanced than lofty, he has not full claim to the title -of a man of genius. Urged by the burning desire of -doing much, he has certainly done something. Elaborate -even to fault, he will never write a bad book, and -has once or twice been upon the point of concocting -a good one. It is the custom to call him a fine -writer, but in doing so we should judge him less by -an artistical standard of excellence, than by comparison -with the drivellers who surround him. To Scott -he is altogether inferior, except in that mock and -tawdry philosophy which the Caledonian had the -discretion to avoid, and the courage to contemn. In -pathos, humour, and verisimilitude he is unequal to -Dickens; surpassing him only in general knowledge, -and in the sentiment of Art. Of James he is more -than the equal at all points. While he could never -fall as low as D’Israeli has occasionally fallen, neither -himself, nor any of those whom we have mentioned, -have ever risen nearly so high as that very -gifted and very extraordinary man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In regard to “Night and Morning” we cannot -agree with that critical opinion which considers it -the best novel of its author. It is only not his worst. -It is not as good as Eugene Aram, nor as Rienzi—and -is not at all comparable with Ernest Maltravers. -Upon the whole it is a good book. Its merits beyond -doubt overbalance its defects, and if we have not -dwelt upon the former with as much unction as upon -the latter, it is because the Bulwerian beauties are -precisely of that secondary character which never -fails of the fullest public appreciation.</p> - -<hr class='tbk128'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>“Sketches of Conspicuous Living Characters of -France.” Translated by R. M. Walsh. Lea and -Blanchard.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The public are much indebted to Mr. Walsh for -this book, which is one of unusual interest and value. -It is a translation from the French, of fifteen biographical -and critical sketches, written, and originally -published in weekly numbers at Paris, by some one -who styles himself “<span class='it'>un homme de rien</span>”—the better -to conceal the fact, perhaps, that he is really un -<span class='it'>homme de beaucoup</span>. Whatever, unhappily, may be -the case with ourselves, or in England, it is clear -that in the capital of France, at least,—that hot-bed -of journalism, and Paradise of journalists—nobody -has any right to call himself “nobody,” while wielding -so vigorous and vivacious a pen as the author of -these articles.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We are told in the Preface to the present translation -that they met with the greatest success, upon -their first appearance, and were considered by the -Parisians as perfectly authentic in their statement of -facts, and “as impartial in their appreciation of the -different personages sketched as could be desired.” -“As impartial, &c.” means, we presume, entirely so; -for in matters of this kind an absolute impartiality, -of course, is all, but still the least “that could be -desired.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Walsh farther assures us that Châteaubriand -wrote the author a letter “of a highly complimentary -tenor” which was published, but of which the translator, -“unfortunately, does not happen to have a copy -in his possession.” A more unfortunate circumstance -is that Mr. W. should have thought it necessary to -bolster a book which needs no bolstering, by the -authority of any name, however great; and the most -unfortunate thing of all, so far as regards the weight -of the authority, is that Châteaubriand himself is belauded -<span class='it'>ad nauseam</span> in those very pages to the inditer -of which he sent that letter of the “complimentary -tenor.” When any body shall puff <span class='it'>us</span>, as this Mr. -Nobody has bepuffed the author of <span class='it'>The Martyrs</span>, we -will send them a letter “of a complimentary tenor” -too. We do not mean to decry the general merit of -the book, or the candor of him who composed it. We -wish merely to observe that Châteaubriand, under the -circumstances, cannot be received as evidence of -the one, nor his biography as instance of the other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>These sketches of men now playing important -parts in the great drama of French affairs would be -interesting, if only from their subjects. We have -here biographies, (sufficiently full) of Thiers, Châteaubriand, -Laffitte, Guizot, Lamartine, Soult, Berryer, -De La Mennais, Hugo, Dupin, Béranger, Odillon -Barrot, Arago, George Sand, and the Duke De -Broglie. We are most pleased with those of Thiers, -Hugo, Sand, Arago, and Béranger.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Among many good stories of Thiers, this is told. -A prize had been offered by the Academy of Aix for -the best eulogium on Vauvenargues. Thiers, then -quite a boy, sent a M. S. It was deemed excellent; -but the author being suspected, and no other candidate -deserving the palm, the committee, rather than -award it to a Jacobin, postponed their decision for a -year. At the expiration of this time our youth’s -article again made its appearance, but, meanwhile, a -production had arrived from Paris which was thought -far better. The judges were rejoiced. They were -no longer under the cruel necessity of giving the first -honor to a Jacobin—but felt bound to present him -with the second. The name of the Parisian victor -was unsealed. It was that of Thiers—Monsieur -Tonson come again. He had been at great pains to -mystify the committee; (other committees of the same -kind more frequently reverse affairs and mystify the -public) the M. S. had been copied in a strange hand, -and been sent from Aix to Paris and from Paris to -Aix. Thus our little friend obtained both the main -prize and the <span class='it'>accessit</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An anecdote somewhat similar is related of Victor -Hugo. In 1817, the Academy offered a premium for -the best poem on the advantages of study. Hugo -entered the lists. His piece was considered worthiest, -but was rejected because a falsehood was supposed to -be implied in the concluding lines, which ran thus:—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Moi qui, toujours fuyant les cités et les cours,</p> -<p class='line0'>De trois lustres à peine ai vu finir le cours.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>The Academy would not believe that any one under -twenty-five years of age had written so fine a poem, -and, supposing a mystification designed, thought to -punish the author by refusing him the prize. Informed -of the facts, Hugo hastened to show the certificate -of his birth to the reporter, M. Raynouard; but -it was too late—the premium had been awarded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of Laffitte many remarkable incidents are narrated -evincing the noble liberality of his disposition.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the notice of Berryer it is said that, a letter -being addressed by the Duchess of Berry to the legitimists -of Paris, to inform them of her arrival, it was -accompanied by a long note in cypher, the key of -which she had forgotten to give. “The penetrating -mind of Berryer,” says our biographer, “soon discovered -it. It was this phrase substituted for the -twenty-four letters of the alphabet—<span class='it'>Le gouvernement -provisoire</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All this is very well as an anecdote; but we cannot -understand the extraordinary penetration required in -the matter. The phrase “<span class='it'>Le gouvernement provisoire</span>” -is French, and the note in cypher was addressed -to Frenchmen. The difficulty of decyphering -may well be supposed much greater had the key been -in a foreign tongue; yet any one who will take the -trouble may address us a note, in the same manner -as here proposed, and the key-phrase may be either -in French, Italian, Spanish, German, Latin or Greek, -(or in any of the dialects of these languages), and we -pledge ourselves for the solution of the riddle. The -experiment may afford our readers some amusement—let -them try it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But we are rambling from our theme. The genius -of Arago is finely painted, and the character of his -quackery put in a true light. The straight-forward, -plainly-written critical comments upon this philosopher, -as well as upon George Sand, and that absurd -antithesis-hunter, Victor Hugo, please us far more -than that mere cant and rhapsody in which the -biographer involves himself when speaking of Châteaubriand -and Lamartine. We have observed that -all great authors who fall occasionally into the sins of -ranting and raving, meet with critics who think the -only way to elucidate, is to out-rant and out-rave -them. A beautiful confusion of thought of course -ensues, which it is truly refreshing to contemplate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The account of George Sand (Madame Dudevant) -is full of piquancy and spirit. The writer, by dint of -a little chicanery, obtained access, it seems, to her -boudoir, with an opportunity of sketching her in -dishabille. He found her in a gentleman’s frock -coat, smoking a cigar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Speaking of the equivocal costume affected by this -lady, Mr. Walsh, in a foot-note, comments upon a -nice distinction made once by a soldier on duty at the -Chamber of Deputies. Madame D., habited in male -attire, was making her way into the gallery, when -the man, presenting his musket before her, cried out -“<span class='it'>Monsieur</span>, les <span class='it'>dames</span> ne passent pas par ici!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But we regret that our space will not allow us to cull -even a few of the good things with which the book -abounds. The whole volume is exceedingly <span class='it'>piquant</span>, -and replete with that racy wit which is so peculiarly -French as to make us believe it a consequence of the -<span class='it'>tournure</span> of the language itself. But if a Frenchman -is invariably witty, he is not the less everlastingly -bombastic; and these memoirs are decidedly French. -What can we do but smile when we hear any one talk -about Châteaubriand’s <span class='it'>Essay upon English Poetry</span>, -with his <span class='it'>Translation of Milton</span>! as a task which he -alone was qualified to execute!—or when we read -page after page in which Lamartine is discoursed of -as “a noble child, with flaxen locks,” “disporting -upon the banks of the Seine,” “picking up Grecian -lyres dropped by the mild Chenier,” “enriching them -with Christian chords,” and “ravishing the world -with new melodies!” What can we do but laugh outright -at such phrases as the “sympathetic swan-like -cries,” and the “singular lyric precocity of the crystal -soul”—of such an ass as the author of Bug-Jargal?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So far as mere translation goes, the volume now -before us is, in some respects, not very well done. -Too little care has been taken in rendering the French -idioms by English equivalents; and, because a French -writer, through the impulses of his vivacity, cannot -avoid telling, in the present tense, a story of the past, -it does not follow that such a misusage of language -is consonant with the graver genius of the Saxon. -Mr. Walsh is always too literal, although sufficiently -correct. He should not employ, however, even in -translation, such queer words as “to legitimate,” -meaning “to legitimatize,” or “to fulmine,” meaning -“to fulminate.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At page 211, the force of the compound “<span class='it'>l’homme-calembourg</span>” -is not conveyed by the words “<span class='it'>the</span> punster,” -even when we italicize <span class='it'>the</span>. <span class='it'>The walking-pun</span>, -perhaps, is an analogous phrase which might be more -properly employed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There is some odd mistake at page 274, where the -translator speaks of measuring the diameter of the -earth by measuring its <span class='it'>rays</span>. We presume the word -in the original is <span class='it'>rayons</span>; if so we can only translate -it by the Latin <span class='it'>radii</span>. No doubt a radius, literally, is -a ray; but science has its own terms, and <span class='it'>will</span> employ -them. We should like to see either Mr. Walsh or -Monsieur Arago (or both together) trying to measure -a <span class='it'>ray</span> of the earth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The mechanical execution of the book is good, -saving a thousand outrageous typographical blunders, -and <span class='it'>that</span> lithograph of Thiers. We have no doubt in -the world that this gentleman (who ran away during -the three days and hid himself in the woods of Montmorency), -is a somewhat dirty, insignificant little -fellow, and so be it; but we will never be brought to -believe that any individual in Christendom ever did or -could look half as saucy, or as greasy, as does “Monsieur -Mirabeau-mouche” in that picture.</p> - -<hr class='tbk129'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>“Heads of the People: or Portraits of the English.” -Drawn by Kenny Meadows. With Original Essays -by Distinguished Writers. Carey & Hart.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The design of this book is among the number of -those which are <span class='it'>obviously</span> good—and the book itself is, -upon the whole, an amusing one. It might have been -better, no doubt. With designs by Cruikshanks, and -letter-press by <span class='it'>the best</span> of the English literati, how -glorious a work might have been concocted “upon -this hint!” Not that some of the names here found -are <span class='it'>not</span> among the best—but we should have had the -<span class='it'>Dii majorum gentium</span> exclusively—one paper from -each. These papers, too, should have been written -with some uniformity of manner, or of plan, and -have confined themselves to racy and truthful delineation -of that character which is <span class='it'>peculiarly</span> British, -while the engravings should have been careful -embodiments of the text. As it is, the publication -has something of a hap-hazard, and, if the truth must -be told, of a catchpenny air, which makes very much -against it, notwithstanding the exceeding merit of -several of the essays, and of three or four of the -designs. The preface seems to have been written by -some one who had a proper sense of what the volume -<span class='it'>should be</span>, but affords no indication of what it really <span class='it'>is</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There are twenty-six “Heads” in all. Some of -them are pure caricatures without merit—“The Creditor,” -for example, and “The Debtor,” (injudiciously -placed as frontispieces), The “Diner-Out,” The -“Sentimental Singer,” “The Man of Many Goes” -and “The Printer’s Devil.” Others are equally -caricatures, but of so vivid and truth-preserving an -exaggeration, that we admire without scruple:—we -allude to “The Lion of the Party,” “The Waiter,” -“The Linen-Draper’s Assistant” and “The Stock-Broker.” -Some are full of natural truth—for instance -“The Young Lord,” “The Dress-Maker,” “The -Young Squire,” “The Basket Woman,” “Captain -Rook” and “Mr. Pigeon.” “The Last Go” is the best -thing in the volume—combining the extreme of the -ludicrous with absolute fidelity. “The Fashionable -Authoress,” “The Cockney” and “The Family -Governess” are tame and unmeaning. The rest have -no particular merit or demerit. About the whole -there is a great deal of bad drawing, which we know -not whether to attribute to the designer or engraver.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The same variety of value is observable in the text. -In general the articles are not very creditable; although -one or two are of surpassing excellence. The -longest called “Tavern Heads” (illustrated by seven -or eight sketches) is a rambling, disjointed narrative -in imitation of Dickens, and written probably by the -author of a clever production entitled “Pickwick -Abroad,” never yet republished, we believe, in this -country. The paper called “Captain Rook and Mr. -Pigeon,” and superscribed with the name of William -Thackeray, is one of the finest specimens of easily-mingled -humor and wit we have ever had the pleasure -of perusing.</p> - -<hr class='tbk130'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>“The Flying Dutchman.” By the author of Gentleman -Jack. 2 vols. Carey & Hart.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The legend of the Flying Dutchman has long since -been worn out, and its attempted resuscitation by this -author has, as he should have known, proved an -entire failure. Indeed we have rarely read a less -creditable novel than this. The characters are -strange; the incidents unnatural; and the descriptions -of the mighty deep surpassed by nine out of ten of -our ordinary sea-writers. The tyranny which formerly -existed, and indeed still exists in a measure, in -the British navy is, however, sketched with a bold -pencil; but with this single redeeming trait, the public, -much less the critics, will scarcely be satisfied. -The desertion of Ramsay on the Island; his miraculous -meeting with the very one he wished to meet, -Angela; the whole farcical story, of the deception -practised in the appearance of the Flying Dutchman’s -frigate; the singular preservation of Capt. Livingston -from drowning, when cast overboard unseen at night; -and the clap-trap of the trial scene, when the aforesaid -captain and the corporal appear so unexpectedly, -furnish a series of improbabilities only to be endured -by a novel-reader of sufficient voracity to gorge, -shark-like, any and everything, no matter what.</p> - -<hr class='tbk131'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>“Patchwork.” By Capt. Basil Hall. 2 vols. Lea & -Blanchard.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Captain Hall is one of the most agreeable of -writers. We like him for the same reason that we -like a good drawing-room conversationist—there is -such a pleasure in listening to his elegant nothings. -Not that the captain is unable to be profound. He -has, on the contrary, some reputation for science. -But in his hands even the most trifling personal adventures -become interesting from the very piquancy -with which they are told.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The present work is made up of a series of desultory -sketches of travels, in every quarter of the globe, -and extending through a period of nearly thirty years. -You almost forget yourself as you read, and fancy -that you are listening to an oral narrative from Capt. -Hall in person. In the most charming manner possible -you are transported from the glaciers of the Alps -to the waters of the Pacific, and then whisked back -again to old Europe, and hurried to Vesuvius, Malta, -and Etna in pleasing succession. The descriptions -of these various places, mingled with scientific observations, -and narratives of personal adventures, form -altogether one of the pleasantest books for after-dinner -perusal, especially on a sunny April day, when, -reposed at length upon a sofa, beside an open casement, -with the birds carolling without, and the -balmy spring breathing across us, we forget, for a -while, the dull business of life.</p> - -<hr class='tbk132'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>“Georgia Illustrated.” W. & W. C. Richards, -Penfield, Ga.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is a praiseworthy work, and reflects high -credit on all concerned in it. The views are selected -with taste, and give us a high opinion of the scenery -of Georgia. They are accompanied by a letter-press -description, from the pen of the editor, W. C. -Richards. The engravings are executed in excellent -style by Messrs. Rawdon, Wright, Hatch and Smillie. -Such works cannot be too extensively patronised. -They encourage the arts; foster a love for the beautiful; -and acquaint the public with some of the loveliest -gems of our native scenery. Was it not a disgrace -to our country that both “Hinton’s Topography” and -the still later “American Scenery,” emanated wholly -from England—the capital embarked, the sketchers -and engravers employed, and even the place of publication -being English?</p> - -<hr class='tbk133'/> - -<p class='pindent'><a id='fash'></a></p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i133.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0005' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span class='bold'><span style='font-size:smaller'>FASHIONS FOR APRIL 1841 FOR GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</span></span></p> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk134'/> - -<p class='line' style='margin-top:2em;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'><a id='notes'></a>Transcriber’s Notes:</p> - -<p class='noindent'>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. A cover was created for this ebook and is placed in the public domain.</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p class='noindent'>[The end of <span class='it'>Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XVIII, No. 4, April 1841</span>, George R. Graham, Editor]</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XVIII, No. 4, -April 1841, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, APRIL 1841 *** - -***** This file should be named 63706-h.htm or 63706-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/7/0/63706/ - -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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