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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d508765 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63718 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63718) diff --git a/old/63718-0.txt b/old/63718-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 44a0008..0000000 --- a/old/63718-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5203 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XVIII, No. 5, May -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. 5, May 1841 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George R. Graham - -Release Date: November 11, 2020 [EBook #63718] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, MAY 1841 *** - - - - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net -from page images generously made available by the Internet -Archive (https://archive.org) - - - - - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - Vol. XVIII. May, 1841. No. 5. - - - Contents - - Fiction, Literature and Articles - - Worth and Wealth - The Reefer of ’76 (continued) - The Haunted Castle - My Grandfather’s Story - The Parsonage Gathering - Leaves from a Lawyer’s Port-Folio - A Descent into the Maelström - May-Day - Sports and Pastimes—Dog Breaking - Review of New Books - - Poetry, Music and Fashion - - The Mother’s Pride - The Dusty White Rose - The Voice of the Spring-Time - Alethe - To an Old Rock - To The “Blue-Eyed Lassie” - I Cling to Thee - Soliloquy of an Octogenarian - Life - The Sweet Birds are Singing - Ladies of Queen Victoria’s Court, Correct - Likenesses - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: _Engraved by J. Sartain._ - -_The Mother’s Pride._ - -_Engraved for Graham’s Magazine from the Original Picture by De Franca._] - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - Vol. XVIII. MAY, 1841. No. 5. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE MOTHER’S PRIDE. - - - BY MRS. C. H. W. ESLING. - - - How beauteous is childhood—how blessed, how calm, - An eye full of sunshine—a bosom all balm— - A free gushing heart of unfetter’d delight, - Like a fount of pure water, untroubled, and bright. - - Such—such is the morning of innocent youth, - When hope’s every promise seems gilded with truth, - When flowers lay scatter’d in heaps ’neath our feet, - And each passing gale brings its odorous sweet. - - How fair to that baby—in half-dreamy rest - Reclining its head on a fond mother’s breast, - Looks the whole outward world to those soft smiling eyes! - How cloudless its visions—how brilliant its skies! - - How clear the blue heaven, whose bright borrow’d gleams - Are reflected far, far o’er the sun-lighted streams! - How gentle the music of low melody - That is whisper’d from blossom, and flower, and tree! - - The earth, like an Eden, is glowing with joy, - No serpent hath enter’d its peace to destroy, - A heaven-mission’d Angel—still watches the whole, - ’Tis the spirit of God, in that baby’s pure soul. - - Well, well may that mother look anxiously there - On that fair, snowy brow, all unshadow’d by care; - Then turn to the future with wondering gaze, - To trace on its pages its fast coming days. - - How long will her ringlets of raven-like fold, - Lie darkly amid its thick tresses of gold? - That seem in their beauty of darkness, and light, - Like the sunlight of morning in dalliance with night. - - She gazes upon him—her idol, her joy, - The hope of her bosom—her sunny-haired boy, - And feels the whole world in its domain so wide, - Hath nought in its gift, like her darling, her pride. - - She thinks of the days when a glad little child, - Her heart, as her baby’s, was playfully wild— - Of her own watchful mother—her blessing, her prayer, - Who guarded those days from the footsteps of care. - - Her far smiling home rises full on her view, - When she—like a blossom of summer growth, grew, - The fields where she roved in her innocent mirth, - And her indoor enjoyments around the old hearth. - - Those days have departed—their sunlight has fled, - And pale is the ray that gleams over the dead; - The stateliest tree may be felled to the ground, - And its branches unguarded, be scatter’d around. - - Her household is broken—her father no more - Recounts to his children the bright days of yore; - ’Tis broken and dreary—her fond mother lies - Encircled by earth, and watch’d o’er by the skies. - - She sees the old grave-yard—each white gleaming tomb, - And the forms that are slumbering in darkness and gloom, - And a tear of remembrance, and sadden’d regret - She sheds for the homestead she ne’er can forget. - - These dreamings are casting their shadows e’en now, - And dimming the gladness that erst deck’d her brow— - Her heart wanders back—when to all things beside - She was like her own baby—a dear mother’s pride. - - * * * * * - - - - - WORTH AND WEALTH, - - - OR THE CHOICE OF A WIFE. - - - BY ELLEN ASHTON. - - -“And so you intend to marry Lucy Warden—eh! Harry. What on earth has -put you in such a notion of that girl?” said Charles Lowry, to his -friend Henry Bowen, as they sat together, cracking almonds after dinner. - -“And why not marry Lucy Warden?” quietly said his friend. - -“Why? oh! because she’s not worth a sous; and besides I’ve heard she’s -the daughter of a brick-layer. You know, any how, that her mother kept a -little retail dry-goods store until an uncle left Mrs. Warden that -annuity on which they now just manage to subsist.” - -“A formidable array of evils, indeed; but still they do not dishearten -me. As for money I do not look for it in a wife, because I should never -feel independent if I was indebted to a bride for my bread. Besides an -heiress is generally educated in such expensive habits that it requires -a fortune to satisfy her luxurious wishes. As a mere matter of business -this marrying for money is nine times out of ten a losing speculation. -You are forced to live according to your wife’s former style, and being -thus led into expenses which your income will not afford, you too often -end by becoming bankrupt. Then, too late, you discover that your wife is -fit only for a parlor; she becomes peevish, or wretched, or sick, and -perhaps all together. Domestic felicity is at an end when this occurs—” - -“But her birth!” - -“A still more nonsensical objection. It is one of the prejudices of the -old colonial times, and was imported from England by the servile adorers -of rank, who came over the Atlantic to assume airs in the provinces -which they dared not assume at home, and to sneer at the honester -members of society, who, instead of being like themselves drones in the -public hive, earned their bread fairly. It is this latter class to which -our country is indebted for its subsequent prosperity—a prosperity -which all the aristocrats of Europe could not have bestowed upon it. The -revolution, while it made us politically equal, did not destroy this -social aristocracy. The same exclusiveness prevails now as then, but -with even more injustice, for it is opposed to the whole spirit of our -republican institutions. Nor is this all: the prejudice itself is -ridiculous. How can people, who scarcely know their own ancestors beyond -one or two generations, and whose blood has been derived from every -nation and occupation on the globe, talk with any propriety of birth? -Why, there is scarcely a man or woman of our acquaintance, who is not an -example of this pie-bald ancestry. Take, for instance, Walter Hastings, -who, you know, boasts of his family. I happen to know all about him, for -he is a second cousin to myself. His father made a fortune, and married -into our family. But who was he? The son of a German redemptioner. -Hastings’ mother, it is true, is the grand-daughter of an English baron, -and the sister—a far higher glory—of a signer of our Declaration of -Independence. Such is a fair sample of our best families. Why I would -undertake to furnish from the ancestry of any of them either a peasant -or a peer, either a laborer or a drone. Birth, forsooth! The only -persons who boast of it in this country are generally those who have the -least claim even to an honest parentage; and the noisiest pretender to -blood I ever met with was the grandson of a fellow who was hung fifty -years ago for forgery.” - -“Well, you’re really getting quite _low_ in your notions, Harry—where, -in the world, did you pick up such vulgar opinions? _You_, a gentleman -and a lawyer, to marry such a girl! She’s pretty enough I grant—amiable -no doubt—can sing and draw passably—and makes, I hear, a batch of -bread, or does dirty house-work as well as a common kitchen girl. But -perhaps that is what you want her for?” - -“Your sneer aside, yes! It is because Lucy Warden _is_ a good -house-keeper, that I intend to marry her. Not that I would have a bride -_only_ because she could, as you say, make a batch of bread. Education, -amiability, a refined mind, and lady-like manners are equally necessary. -But a knowledge, and a practical one too, of housekeeping is no slight -requisite in a good wife. I know such knowledge is scarce among our city -ladies, but that is the very reason why I prize it so highly. Believe -me, refinement is not incompatible with this knowledge.” - -“Pshaw, Harry; but granting your position, what is the _use_ of such -knowledge?” - -“It is of daily use. Servants will always impose on a mistress who knows -nothing of her duties as the domestic head of the house. You are an -importer; but how long, think you, would you prosper if you left every -thing to the care of clerks, who would naturally take advantage of your -carelessness to fleece you? A mistress of a house ought to oversee her -establishment in person. This she cannot do unless—to use a mercantile -phrase—_she understands her business_. If she does not do this, nothing -will be well done. The whole evil, believe me, arises from the desire of -our women to ape the extravagance of the English female nobility, whose -immense wealth allows them to employ substitutes to oversee their -domestic establishments. But even had we incomes of hundreds of -thousands of dollars we could not carry out the plan, owing to the total -absence of good servants of this character in our country; and in this -opinion I am borne out by Combe, Hamilton, two of the most observant and -just of English travellers.” - -“Well, Harry, you were born for a barrister, or you could not run on so -glibly. But it’s a shame that a gentleman who might command the choice -of the market, and marry the richest heiress in Walnut street, should -throw himself away upon a girl without a sixpence. Now there’s Charlotte -Thornbury and her sister who are co-heiresses,—why can’t you take the -one and I the other?” - -“Merely because I love another. You smile; but despite the sneer I am a -believer in love. Of Charlotte I have nothing to say, except that she is -beautiful. You know how often we have discussed the matter. I only hope -she will make you a good wife.” - -“_Allons!_ the ladies are awaiting us. You and I will never, on this -question, agree.” - -The foregoing conversation has given our readers a pretty accurate idea -of the two young men to whose acquaintance we have introduced them. -Henry Bowen was a young lawyer, with a small annual income, but of—what -is called—an unimpeachable family. This, with his acknowledged talents, -would have procured for him the hand of many a mere heiress, but he had -wisely turned away from them all, and sought a companion for life in -one, without name or fortune, but who, in every requisite for a good -wife, was immeasurably their superior. - -Charles Lowry, on the contrary, was a dashing young merchant, who by -dint of attention in the counting-house, could afford to be luxurious in -his style of living. He had imbibed many of the false notions of -fashionable society, and among others the idea that a rich wife was -indispensable. His sole object was to secure an heiress, as much for the -_éclat_ of the thing as for her fortune, although this latter was no -slight temptation to the young merchant. And he had finally succeeded. -Amid a host of rivals he had won the prize. Need we say that Charlotte -Thornbury, the beautiful, the gay, but the careless heiress, was the -guerdon? - -The two friends were married in the same week. The one took his wife to -a small, but neat and convenient house in one of our less fashionable -streets,—while the other entered at once into a splendid mansion in -Walnut street, whose furniture and decorations were the theme of general -envy and admiration. The one bride kept but a single servant, the other -had several. Yet the mansion of Mrs. Lowry, though always magnificent, -was never tidy, while the quiet home of Mrs. Bowen was a pattern of -neatness and simple elegance. The young merchant never went home without -finding that his wife had been out all day either shopping, or making -calls, and was in consequence tired and silent, or perhaps out of humor; -while the young lawyer always found a neat dinner and a cheerful wife to -welcome him. As for Charles, he had always sneered at love, and having -married from motives of vanity and interest, a woman whose mind he -despised, he had nothing of sympathy with her, nor was it long -consequently before he found her society irksome. When the toils of the -counting-house were over he went home, because it was the custom, but -not because he expected to derive any pleasure from the conversation of -his vain and flippant wife. He was glad when the season commenced with -its round of dissipation, because then he found some relief in attending -the fashionable entertainments of his own and his wife’s acquaintance. -Since his marriage he had never enjoyed a single hour of real domestic -felicity. - -How different was the wedded life of Henry and his bride. All through -the tedious duties of the day, the recollection of his sweet wife’s -greeting at night, cheered the young lawyer on in his labors. And when -evening came, and he had closed his office for the day, how smilingly, -and in what neat attire, would Lucy preside at the tea-table, or, after -their meal had been disposed of, bring out her work-stand, and sew at -something, if only at a trifle for a fair, while Henry read to her in -his rich, mellow voice. And then, sometimes, they would sit on the sofa, -and talk of a thousand plans for the future, when their income should be -extended, or, if it was in summer, they would stroll out for a walk, or -call upon some one of their few intimate friends. - -“Dear Henry,” said Lucy, one evening to her husband, as they sat talking -together after tea, “how wearied Mr. Lowry looks of late. I think he -must be in bad health. How glad I am you are always well. I know not -what I should do if you were to be taken sick.” - -“May that day be long averted, my own Lucy,” said the husband, as he -kissed her pure brow, “but I have noticed something of the same look in -Lowry; and have attributed it to the cares of business. His wife is a -woman, you know, who could do little to alleviate a husband’s -weariness.” - -“Oh! how can she be a wife, and not wish to soften her husband’s cares. -Indeed, indeed, if you only look the least worried I share your trouble -until your brow clears up.” - -“And it is that which makes me love you so dearly,” said the husband, as -he pressed her to his bosom. “Ah!” he continued to himself, “if Charles -saw me to-night I wonder whether he would not envy me?” - -That evening there was a brilliant party at the house of Mrs. Lowry, who -was smiling upon her guests in all the elation of gratified pride. Never -had she appeared more happy. But even the envied mistress of the revel -was not without her care. One or two favorite guests whom she had -invited did not come, and she could not help overhearing some of the -ill-natured remarks of her neighbors. Her only gratification was in -listening to the flatteries of others of her visitors, who were either -more fawning, or more deceitful. At length, however, the entertainment -was over, and wearied and dispirited she paused a moment in the deserted -parlors before retiring. Her husband was there. - -“Well, Mrs. Lowry,” said he, with a yawn, “so this grand affair is over -at length, and a pretty penny it has cost I do not doubt”—Charles had -latterly found that his income was frightfully beneath his expenses, and -had begun to wish his bride less extravagant—“But why did you purchase -those new ottomans—and these candelabra—and that,” and here he used an -oath, “expensive set of mirrors? I told you the old ones were good -enough, and here, when I come home, I find you have purchased them in -defiance of my orders. Why, madam, an earl’s fortune would not sustain -you in your extravagances.” - -“And whose fortune, I wonder, buys these things?” said the passionate -beauty, “you wouldn’t let me have the common comforts of life if you had -your way.” - -“Pshaw! madam, none of your airs. But I tell you this extravagance I -neither can nor will submit to.” - -“You’re a brute,” said the wife, “so you are. Do you—you think” she -continued, bursting into tears, “I’d ever have married you, when I might -have had so many better husbands, if I’d thought you’d have used me this -way?” - -“Well, madam, so you’ve got up a scene,” coolly said the husband, “all I -wish is, that you had married some one of your other suitors.” - -“You do—you insult me—I won’t live with you a day. Oh! that I should -be abused in this way,” and the now really wretched woman burst into a -fresh flood of tears. - -“As you please madam!” - -But we omit the rest of this scene, which ended with a fit of hysterics -on the part of the wife, and a volley of curses on that of the husband. -The difficulty was the next day made up between the newly married -couple; but from that hour their altercations were frequent and bitter. -Charles began to think as his old friend had told him, that there was a -great difference betwixt marrying for love or for money. - -Three years passed. At the end of that period, how altered were the -circumstances of Charles and his friend! - -The expenses of his establishment had increased upon the former until -his fortune not only staggered but gave way under the pressure, and, -after several ineffectual attempts to retrieve it by speculations, -which, ending abortively, only increased his embarrassments, Charles -found himself upon the brink of ruin. In these circumstances he found no -consolation in the sympathy of his wife. She rather upbraided him with -the loss of her fortune, forgetting how much of it she had squandered in -her fashionable entertainments. Their altercations, moreover, had -increased in frequency and violence ever since the scene we have -recorded above, until Charles, unable to find even quiet at his own -fireside, sought for relief in the club. Hither he was led, moreover, by -the desire of retrieving his fortune, for his embarrassments were still -unknown to the world, and he trusted that by a lucky chance he might -place himself once more in security. Vain hope! How many deluded victims -have indulged in the same delusion before. His course from that hour was -downward. He became a gambler; he neglected all business; he lost; his -engagements failed to be met; and in a few weeks he was bankrupt. - -Meantime the husband of Lucy had been steadily gaining in reputation, -and increasing his business, so that at the end of the third year the -young couple were enabled to move into a larger and more elegant house, -situated in a more desirable quarter. This change of location materially -strengthened the business of the young attorney; he became known as one -of the _rising young men_; and he looked forward with certainty to the -speedy accumulation of a competency. - -“Have you heard any thing further?” said Lucy, one evening to her -husband, as he came in from a day’s hard work, “concerning poor Mrs. -Lowry or her husband?” - -“Yes! my love,” said he, “and it is all over.” - -“What! has any thing alarming happened?” said Lucy, anxiously. - -“Sit down, dearest, and don’t tremble so,” said her husband, tenderly, -putting his arm around her waist, and drawing her to the sofa, “and I -will tell you the whole of the melancholy story. - -“After his bankruptcy last week, some days elapsed before any thing was -known of the place to which my unfortunate friend had gone. It was -supposed at first that he had fled with what funds he could lay his -hands on. This was the more credible from the ignorance of his wife as -to whither he had gone. She, cold-hearted thing, seemed to care little -for his loss, but appeared to be chiefly affected by her deprivation of -fortune. She even upbraided her husband publicly, and it is said, when -some forgeries which he had perpetrated were discovered, and a strict -search set on foot after the criminal, she went so far as to hope he -might be taken and brought to condign punishment. But you know they -never lived happy together. - -Well, every attempt to trace the fugitive having failed, the search was -about being given up in despair, when intelligence was brought to the -city this morning, that a dead body, answering to the description of -that of Mr. Lowry, had been washed ashore, a few miles down the river. -You may well look alarmed, for the intelligence was too true. It was the -body of my poor friend. It is supposed that grief, shame at his -bankruptcy, and perhaps remorse for his crime, led him to commit -suicide. Poor fellow! his sad fate may be traced to his ill-assorted -marriage. He chose a woman whose extravagance always outstripped her -fortune, and who, from having brought him wealth, considered him beneath -her. He did not know the difference in a wife between Worth and Wealth. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE DUSTY WHITE ROSE. - - - BY MRS. VOLNEY E. HOWARD. - - - This is not thy place—oh! thou dusty white rose, - This is not thy place, by the dusty highway, - Thou shouldst bud where the murmuring rivulet flows, - And sings itself off through the meadows away. - - Yes—there is thy place, on the distant green lea, - Where the sweet hawthorn blossoms, and wild warblers sing. - There, fanned by the zephyr, and woo’d by the bee, - Thou mightst rival thy fair sister buds of the spring. - - Thou remindest me much, oh! thou poor blighted flower, - Of a fair human blossom, I met on life’s way; - She struggled and liv’d through dark Destiny’s hour, - But like thine, has her young bloom all wilted away. - - In life’s rugged pathway, it is not the bright, - Lovely blossoms of beauty that soonest depart, - Far more do I grieve how soon sullies the light, - The pure and untainted,—the bloom of the heart. - - Jackson, Md. 1841. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE VOICE OF THE SPRING-TIME. - - - BY MARTIN THAYER, JR. - - - I come! I come! from the flowery South, - With the voice of song and the shout of mirth; - I have wandered far, I have wandered long, - The valleys and hills of the South among; - On woodland and glen, on mountain and moor, - I have smiled as I smiled in days of yore; - In emerald green I have decked them forth, - And I turn again to my home in the North. - - I have roved afar through the storied East, - And held on her hills my solemn feast; - Through her cypress groves my voice was heard, - In the music sweet of my fav’rite bird; - Each plain I have clothed in sunlight warm, - And slumbered in peace ’neath the desert palm; - A garment of light to the sea I gave, - And melody soft to each rushing wave. - - O’er the isles that gem the Ægean sea, - I sported and flew with frolicksome glee; - ’Round the ruins grey of the olden time, - Bright garlands I hung of the creeping vine; - Ah little they thought, who slumber beneath, - That the warrior’s plume, and the victor’s wreath, - Would fade like the blossoms that spring-time flings, - ’Round the cotter’s grave, and the tombs of kings. - - O’er Marathon grey I walked in my pride, - And smiled o’er the plain where the brave had died. - On the field of Platæa I laid me down, - ’Neath the shadows deep of old Cithæron’s frown. - Full soundly I ween doth the Persian sleep, - When the fir trees mourn, and the wild flowers creep; - His requiem soft I sang as I lay, - And dreamed of the glory won on that day. - - O’er Italia’s hills soft sunlight I poured, - And her olive groves bloomed wherever I trod; - A coronet green to the mountains I gave, - And a robe of blue to each laughing wave; - With verdure I clothed each mouldering pile, - And laughed at the glory of man the while, - For I thought how old Time had trampled in scorn, - O’er the monuments proud of yesterday’s morn. - - I come! I come! with the song of the thrush, - To wake with its sweetness the morning’s blush; - To hang on the hawthorn my blossoms fair, - And strew o’er each field my flowrets rare. - The lark, he is up, on his heavenward flight, - And the leaves are all gemm’d with diamonds bright; - The hills are all bathed in purple and gold, - And the bleating of flocks is heard from the fold. - - Go forth! go forth! for the spring-time is come, - And makes in the North his bright sunny home; - The sky is his banner—the hills his throne— - Where in sunshine robed, he sits all alone; - In the depths of the woods his footsteps are seen - By each moss-covered rock and tell-tale stream; - And his voice is heard through each leaf-clad tree, - In the plaint of the dove and the hum of the bee. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE REEFER OF ’76. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR.” - - - THE SEA-FIGHT. - -“Sail ho!” sung out the look-out, one sunny afternoon, as we bowled -along before a pleasant gale. In an instant the drowsiest amongst us was -fully awake. The officers thronged the quarter-decks; the foretop-men -eagerly scanned the horizon; the skulkers stole out from beneath the -bulwarks where they had been dozing, and the late quiet decks of the -schooner, which but a moment since lay hushed in the drowsy silence of a -sultry afternoon, now swarmed with noisy and curious gazers. - -“Whereaway?” asked the officer of the deck. - -“Broad on the weather-beam.” - -“Can you make her out?” - -“A heavy square-rigged vessel.” - -“Do her royals lift?” - -“Aye, sir; but only this moment.” - -“How does she bear?” - -“West and by west sou’ west.” - -“A West Indiaman, perhaps.” - -“Ay, sir, I can see her to’-gallants now: they belong to a heavy craft.” - -“Pipe all hands to make sail, boatswain.” - -“Aye, aye, sir.” - -“The strange sail is hauling up into the wind,” sung out the look-out. - -“Ay—take the glass, Mr. Parker, and spring into the cross trees to see -what you can make of her. All hands aloft—loose and sheet home fore and -maintopsails. Merrily, there. How does she look, Mr. Parker?” - -“She seems a heavy merchantman by her rig; ah! now her topsails lift, -large and square, with a cross in them. It’s not the rig of a -man-o’-war.” - -“Ease off the sheet—man the lee-braces—hard down the helm.” - -“Ay, ay, sir,” said the quarter-master, as he whirled around the wheel, -and the gallant craft danced lightly up into the wind, like a racer -beneath the spur; while the men stood at their respective stations -eagerly waiting the command. - -“Round there, with the foretop-sail—haul in fore and aft—belay all!” -came in quick succession from the quarter-deck, as we bowed before the -breeze, and dashing the spray on either side our cutwater, went off -almost dead in the wind’s eye. The sharp wind, as it sang through our -cordage, and the momentary dashing of the sea across our bows, as we -thumped against the surges, afforded a pleasant relief to the occasional -creaking of the shrouds, or the dull monotonous sounds of the water -washing lazily alongside, which we had been listening to for the last -hour. The change had an exhilarating effect upon our spirits, which was -perceptible as well among officers as among men. Besides, we were all -eager for a prize. Every man, therefore, was at his station, and a -hundred eager faces looked out from the forecastle, the tops, or -wherever their owners chanced to be. The captain, too, was upon deck, -scanning the stranger with a scrutinising eye. - -“Can you see her hull yet, Mr. Parker?” he asked. - -“No, sir—her courses show to the very foot—but here it comes—six -ports on a side, sir, though they look like painted ones.” - -“She’s setting her light sails.” - -“Every one of them, sir: and wetting down their mainsail.” - -“How are her decks?” - -“Crowded, sir. There’s the glancing of a musket as I live; ah, of a -dozen. She carries troops, sir, I fancy.” - -“A transport?” - -“Aye, sir!” - -The interest had gone on deepening, during these rapid questions and -answers, until at my last reply a suppressed buzz ran around the ship. -No one spoke, but each looked into his messmate’s face, and it was -obvious that the question, “could we capture our opponents, or would we -ourselves become the prey?” was uppermost in every mind. But the person -most interested in the event was apparently the least concerned of any; -and without moving a muscle of his face, the captain leisurely closed -his glass, and turning, with a smile, to his lieutenant, said,— - -“We shall be likely to have a sharp brush, Mr. Lennox; in fact our men -are getting rusty, and we want something of a close-contested battle to -burnish them up. We shall open the magazine, and go to quarters -directly.” - -Every thing that could be made to draw, was by this time set, and we -were eating into the wind after the stranger with a rapidity that -promised even to the most sanguine of us a speedy realisation of our -hopes. As we gained upon the merchantman, the crowded state of his decks -became more and more apparent, and we could plainly detect, by means of -our glasses, that every exertion, even to wetting down the sails to the -royals, was being made on board of him to escape. But all was in vain. -Few vessels afloat could beat us on the tack we were now going, nor was -it long before we had the chase within range of our long Tom. - -“She hasn’t shown her bunting as yet,” said Captain Stuart, “but we’ll -throw a shot across her, run up our flag, and see what answer she -makes.” - -The long gun was cast loose, the foot of the foresail lifted, and the -gunner applying the match, the ball went whizzing on its way; while at -the same moment our flag was run up to the gaff, and blowing out to -leeward, disclosed the arms of our colony.[1] For a few minutes the shot -might have been seen ricocheting along the waves, until it plunged into -the sea a few fathoms on the larboard of the stranger. Still, however, -no ensign was shown by the chase. - -“Pitch a shot into her this time, Mr. Matchlock,” ejaculated the -skipper, addressing the gunner, “and see if that will bring her out.” - -“Ay, ay, sir,” said the old fellow, squinting along his piece, and aware -that he was one of the best marksmen afloat in any service, “ay, ay, -we’ll awake them to a sense of their condition presently; we’ll drive -the cold iron through and through the reprobates: too high, a little -more starboard—steadily all, and mark the mischief,” cried the old -fellow, applying the match. The rest of the sentence was lost in the -deafening report of the cannon; a sheet of fire was seen streaming out -an instant from the mouth of the piece; and as the pale white smoke -sailed slowly eddying away to leeward, the old gunner might have been -discerned, bending eagerly forward, and shading his eyes with his hands, -as he gazed after the path of the ball. - -“By the Lord Harry how it makes the splinters fly!” said the old fellow, -as the shot, striking full on the quarter of the chase, went through and -through her deck. - -“And there goes her flag at last,” said Westbrook, as the ensign of -England floated from the quarter of the merchantman, while at the same -moment a cloud of smoke puffed from his stern, and a shot, skimming -along the deep, toward us, plunged into the waters a cable’s length -ahead. - -“We’re beginning to make him talk, eh!” chuckled the gunner, waxing warm -in his work. “Let him have it again now—ah! that will bring out his -teeth—give it to ’em, you old sea-dog,” he continued, familiarly -patting his piece, “and by the continental Congress, he’s got it among -his sky-scrapers. There come his to’-gallant sails—hurrah!” - -The fight now became one of intense interest, for the merchantman -perceiving that escape was impossible, seemed determined to resist to -the last, and kept up a brisk and well-directed fire upon us from his -stern-guns. Their range not being, however, so great as that of our -piece, we were enabled after a while to regulate our distance so as to -cripple the chase effectually without sustaining any damage ourselves. -But it was not long that we were suffered to maintain the combat on our -own terms. Worried beyond endurance by the havoc made among his spars, -the chase soon put his helm up, wore round, and hauling up his courses -in gallant defiance, came down boldly toward us. - -“We shall have it now,” whispered Westbrook as he stood by the division -where he commanded, “they must outnumber us two to one—but we’ll give -them a lesson for all that.” - -“Ay! hand to hand, and foot to foot, will be the struggle, and God -defend the right.” - -No sooner had the chase altered his course, and shown a determination to -accept our challenge, than the firing on both sides ceased, and the two -ships steadily but silently approached each other. - -The eve of a battle is a solemn time. However men may talk in their -jovial hours, or feel amid the maddening excitement of the contest -itself, there is something inexpressibly awe-inspiring in the -consciousness that we are soon to be arrayed in deadly hostility against -our fellow-creatures; and now as I gazed along the silent decks, and -beheld our brave fellows gazing, as if spell-bound, upon the approaching -foe, I perceived that their emotions were akin to my own. Yet there was -nothing of fear in those hardy bosoms. There was a compression of the -lip, an occasional flashing of the eye, and a half-suppressed word now -and then among the men, which showed that amid all their other feelings, -a deep, unflinching detestation of their tyrants was uppermost in their -hearts. At times their eyes would glance proudly along our sanded deck, -with all its apparatus of cutlasses, boarding pikes, and cannon balls, -and then turn indignantly, and almost triumphantly, toward the enemy, -now bearing down upon us. Meantime a death-like silence hung upon them; -not a sound was heard except the sighing of the winds through the -hamper, and the dash of the waters under our bows. - -The chase had now approached almost within musket shot, and yet no -demonstration of an attack had been made. We could see that the chase -was alive with men. From every port, and look-out, and top, a score of -faces warned us of a bloody battle. Each man was at his post, -determination stamped on his countenance. As I gazed upon this -formidable array of numbers, and beheld the comparatively gigantic hull -of our adversary, steadily advancing on us, like some portentous monster -of the deep, I almost trembled for our victory; but when my eye fell -again on the brawny chests, and determined visages of our gallant crew, -I felt that nothing but extermination could prevent them from hoisting -our own flag above the proud ensign of our foe which now flapped lazily -in the breeze. But my reverie—if such it might be called—was cut short -by perceiving a sheet of flame rolling along the Englishman’s side, and, -while his tall spars reeled backward with the recoil, a shower of shot -came hurtling toward us. In an instant the gaff of our mainsail fell; -our sails were perforated in various places; and a cannon ball striking -us amid-ships, cut through both bulwarks, and laid one poor fellow dead -upon the deck. The men started like hounds when they see their prey. - -“Stand to your guns—my men!” thundered the captain in this emergency, -“let not a shot be fired until I give the word. Bear steadily on your -helm, and lay us across their bows.” - -The moments that elapsed before this endeavor could be consummated -seemed to be protracted into an age. Our gallant fellows could, -meanwhile, scarcely be restrained within the bounds of discipline. As -shot after shot came whizzing over us, the crew grew more and more -restive, casting uneasier glances at our commander at every successive -fire. Several of the spars had by this time been wounded, and our hull -showed more than one evidence of the foe’s skill in gunnery. At length a -shot came tearing through the bulwark but a short distance from where I -was stationed, and after knocking the splinters wildly hither and -thither, struck a poor fellow at his quarters, and laid him mangled and -bleeding across his gun. I ran to him. One of his shipmates had already -lifted the man’s head up, and laid it carefully in the lap of a comrade. -The face was dreadfully pale—the features unnaturally distorted. Agony, -intense and irresistible, was written in every line of the face. The -motion, however, revived him, and he opened his eyes with a groan. -Unsettled as was their gaze, they took in the anxious group around him. -He saw, on every face, the deepest commiseration. His glazing eye -lightened for a moment. - -“How are you, Jack?” said the shipmate, in whose lap he lay. - -The dying man shook his head mournfully. - -“Don’t you know me, Jack?” said his messmate. There was no answer. The -eyes of the sufferer were closed. “God knows I little thought you were -to die thus!” continued his shipmate, with emotion. “For twenty years, -in gale and calm, in winter and summer we have sailed together, and now -you’re going to part company, without being able even to bid an old -messmate farewell,” and he wiped the cold sweat from the dying man’s -brow. “Jack, Jack, don’t you know me? Can I do nothing for you?” - -The sufferer opened his eyes, and made a gesture as if he wished to be -lifted up. His desire was gratified. He looked around eagerly until his -eyes fell upon the enemy. - -“Bury—me,” he faintly articulated, “after you’ve—hauled—down her -flag. And—and Rover,” and his voice, for an instant, became stronger, -“send the prize-money to the old woman—and—a—a.” He gasped for -breath. - -“What?—in God’s name what?” But the senses of the dying man began to -wander. - -“Speak!—Jack—for the love of God!” - -“A—alls—we—e—el!” murmured the man, brokenly. He ceased. A quivering -motion passed across his face. His shipmate gently laid his head upon -the deck. - -“He’s dead—and now boys, for revenge!” said Rover, as he started to his -feet. - -The crisis had come. So rapidly had the foregoing scene passed, and so -intently had we all been gazing upon the dying man, that, in the -interval, the schooner had gained a position on the bow of the enemy, -and as the sturdy seaman rose up from beside his murdered companion, we -ran short across her in a raking position; and before the words had died -upon the air, the long-expected command came from the quarter-deck, to -open our fire. - -“Fire!” shouted our leader, “one and all—pour it into them—remember -you fight for your all!” - -“Give it to ’em like h—l, my boys,” thundered the gunner, “that’s it; -there goes her sprit-sail yard—hurrah!” - -It was a terrific scene. No sooner had the signal been given, than, as -with one accord, our gallant fellows poured in their deadly fire. Every -shot told. Stung almost beyond human endurance by the restraint in which -they had been kept, and maddened by the spectacle of a messmate slain at -his post before he could fire a shot, our crew fought like demons rather -than men, jerking their guns out as if they were playthings in their -hands. Nothing could withstand them. Not a shot was wasted on the -rigging of the foe: every one was driven along her crowded decks. The -slaughter was immense. Man and boy, sailor and marine, officers and crew -went down before that murderous, incessant fire. The flashes of the -cannon, the roars of the batteries, the crashing of spars, and the -shrieks of the wounded and the dying rose up together in terrific -discord. Meanwhile the thick clouds of smoke settling down upon us hid -the hull of the enemy completely from sight. Nothing but her masts, -rising tall and gallantly above the dim canopy of her decks, could be -seen. Directly one of these was seen to stagger; then it swayed to and -fro a moment; and directly giving a lurch, the whole lofty fabric of -spars and hamper went tumbling over her side. - -“Hurrah, boys! we have her now,” shouted the captain of a gun near me, -“there goes her fore-mast—let her have it again,” and, jerking out his -piece at the word, another deadly discharge of grape was sent hurtling -along the enemy’s decks. - -By this time the two vessels had got afoul, the bowsprit of the foe -having become entangled with the shrouds of our mainmast. Unable longer -to resist the whirlwind of grape poured along their decks, the crew of -the enemy determined on making a desperate effort to retrieve the tide -of battle by boarding, and gathering suddenly forward, at the call of -their leader, they made an instantaneous rush upon us. But their attack -was as quickly met. A momentary vacillation of the veil of smoke hanging -over the deck of the foe, by disclosing the numbers gathering upon her -forecastle, betrayed to our gallant leader the intention of the enemy. -He saw at a glance that the attack must be repulsed speedily or that we -were lost. The vessels were already rapidly swinging around side to -side, and in a few moments the overwhelming numbers of the Englishman -would be enabled to leap upon our decks, with almost as much ease as if -we were moored along side of their craft in port. Not a moment was to be -lost. Either the enemy must be repulsed at once, and so promptly as to -preclude all future attempts of the like character, or else we must lose -every advantage we had already gained, and be overpowered finally by the -mere force of numbers. What I have taken so long to describe, flashed -through our minds with inconceivable rapidity. The captain did not -hesitate a moment. Waving his sword aloft he thundered, - -“Boarders ahoy! muster at the main—to beat back the enemy,” and then in -a lower tone he added, “charge the long gun to the muzzle with grape—” - -Obedient at the word our gallant fellows hurried to their stations, and -stood eagerly awaiting the onset of the foe; who having, by this time, -mustered on the fore part of their craft, stood ready to spring upon our -decks at the first opportunity. That was now at hand. The two ships, -which had momentarily receded, now rolled together, and every man of the -enemy’s crew strained his muscles to their utmost tension, as he -prepared to spring on our decks. - -Never shall I forget that sight. Clustered around the fore-shrouds and -on the cat-head, and covering the whole space between, were the dense -masses of the enemy, their dark frowning countenances, and glittering -weapons forming prominent objects in the spectacle. They had sprung up, -as if by magic, from a score of lurking places, and gathering at the -call of their commander, now stood with threatening numbers about to -leap upon us. To resist such a whirlwind of cutlasses with our little -crew was well nigh madness. But our leader had already determined to -make their very numbers the cause of their ruin. At this moment, when -the two ships approached each other, he turned rapidly to the gunner, -and shouted, - -“Give it to them with the long gun—fire!” - -The effect was electric. With a noise, like the bursting of a volcano, -the instrument of death went off, belching forth its fiery torrent with -resistless fury. An avalanche could not have swept off its victims more -ruthlessly than did that discharge disperse the foe. Nothing could -withstand that hurricane of grape. Its effect was awful. Clearing a lane -through and through the crowd upon the forecastle of the enemy, it tore -its passage onward amid the spars and hamper of the ship with resistless -violence, almost drowning the shrieks of the dying, and the curses of -the wounded in its terrific crash. The enemy’s boarders staggered and -fell back, and before they could rally the two ships fell asunder. While -they were still wavering, our hamper became disentangled, and we once -more floated free of the enemy. As we passed along her side our fire was -renewed with redoubled impetuosity, while the Englishman, crippled as he -was by our last frightful discharge, could only feebly reply. - -“Pour it in, my lads,” shouted the gunner again, “and we’ll soon bring -her to quarters—give it to ’em now, for the honor of old Plymouth.” - -“God save the king;” came hoarsely back from the enemy, “blow the rebels -out of water.” - -The speaker was standing just abaft the mainmast, and had distinguished -himself, during the attempt to board us, by his vehement gestures, and -apparent influence over the men. I noticed that the eye of Westbrook -watched him keenly as he spoke. Suddenly an officer approached and gave -him an order. He looked around, started from his protected situation, -and dashed up the main-shrouds, with the intention, as we now perceived, -of reeving a rope which had been shot away, and the loss of which -prevented the main-topsail from being hoisted to the cap. - -“They’re about to make off,” said I to Westbrook, “he’s a daring fellow -to go aloft in this fire, any how.” - -“He’s not so sure of success,” said Westbrook, “for they’ll have a shot -at him from the forecastle.” - -The man had by this time, with almost inconceivable rapidity, effected -his purpose, although more than one musket had been fired at him from -our craft. He now turned to descend, but proud of his achievement, he -could not resist the temptation of a momentary bravado. He took off his -hat and gave a hurrah. - -“It’s your last boast,” cooly said Westbrook, as he snatched a musket, -and lifting it to his shoulder, glanced his eye along the barrel, and -fired. I shuddered involuntarily, even though an enemy was the victim, -for I knew Westbrook’s deadly aim. My presage was true. The man -staggered on his footing an instant; made an abortive grasp at the air -instead of a rope; and falling backward, struck the shrouds, and -re-bounded into the sea. He squattered a moment on the water like a -wounded duck, and then sank forever, leaving only a small dark stain of -blood upon the wave to tell where he disappeared. - -By this time the fire of the enemy had almost ceased, and, even amid the -smoke of battle, we could see that her scuppers were literally running -with blood. An ineffectual attempt was now made to escape from us, but -we ran down upon the enemy at the first symptom, and re-commenced our -fire with unabated fury. Their rigging was soon terribly cut up, as we -now aimed principally at that. As a few moments removed all possibility -of an escape on the part of the Englishman, and as we had suffered -ourselves in our hamper somewhat from his fire, we then ran off a short -distance, and began to repair our damages. An hour and a half sufficed -to place us in nearly as good a condition as before going into battle, -when running down upon the enemy we once more opened our battery. The -first gun, however, had hardly been fired, before the British ensign, -which had doggedly been kept flying, was hauled down. I was despatched -to board the capture. As I stepped upon her decks a scene of desolation -met my eye. My path was literally slippery with blood. Scarcely a man -was on deck. The helmsman, a single officer, two marines, and a few -common seamen, were the only ones, of all that numerous crew, who were -not wounded or dead. God knows a more terrific slaughter I had never -participated in! I think I behold it at this day. - ------ - -[1] The present national flag, consisting of the stars and stripes, was -not adopted until 1777, when Congress passed a resolution to that -effect. Prior to that time each commander used whatever device suited -his fancy. The first ensign of Paul Jones is said to have been a pine -tree, with a rattle-snake coiled at the foot, about to strike, and the -motto, “don’t tread on me.” The arms of a colony, as in this instance, -were often used.—Eds. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE HAUNTED CASTLE. - - - A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. - - -On the brow of a lofty and rugged hill, which overlooks the Rhine, stand -the ruins of the ancient Castle of Ehlendorf. The ivy has clambered over -its crumbling towers, as if to shield them from the destructive hand of -time, and bind with its creeping tendrils the wounds which he has made. -Once its halls resounded with the mirth of the young and gay, of brave -knights and ladies fair, while the songs of minstrels, and tales of -heroic enterprize, whiled away the hours of night, until the purple -light of dawn appeared. Now it has fallen to decay: the race of its -noble possessors has become extinct; and the ivy grows, and the owl -hoots amid its deserted courts. - -At the time when our tale commences, it was in the possession of Conrad, -Baron of Ehlendorf, the remaining scion of that noble family. His -brother had died in Palestine, leaving to him the title and all the vast -estates of his ancestors. In early life he had wedded the beautiful -Elfrida, of Aldenburg, and never was a purer gem more dearly valued than -the young bride of Ehlendorf by her doting lord. Years of bright, -unclouded happiness rolled over their heads; and if unalloyed pleasure -has ever dwelt on earth, it was the portion of Conrad, of Ehlendorf, -when he looked upon his angel bride and their little Katrine, scarcely -knowing which was the loveliest, the mother or the child. Often as he -saw their fair offspring, with bounding footsteps, dimpled cheeks, and -laughing eye, throwing back her golden curls, and rushing with -playfulness and love into her mother’s arms, he felt that without her -his treasures were but glittering dust. - -Like the other barons of ancient times, his retinue was composed of a -vast number of armed retainers, and his power and wealth were unequalled -by any other of equal rank in the country. His kindness and hospitality -were every where proverbial, and the noblest of the land delighted to -gather round his festive board. Thus, love, wealth and beauty conspired -to fill the heart of Ehlendorf with joy, and nought could dim his -happiness till his loved Elfrida was called from earth to blossom in a -fairer clime. Sad and afflictive was this bereavement to the young -baron, overthrowing as it did the dreams that he had been weaving -through eight bright years of wedded happiness. Still, as he turned in -anguish from the lifeless form of the object of his heart’s best -affections, one ray of hope enlivened the surrounding gloom. His lovely -Katrine grew more and more beautiful day by day, and in her he felt that -he possessed a purer treasure than wealth could afford. In his constant -watchful care over her helplessness, and the fond confiding affection -with which she repaid his tenderness, he found forgetfulness of every -sorrow. - -As successive years rolled on she grew more and more lovely, and new -charms in her unfolded daily. No opportunity had been neglected which -would tend to her intellectual advancement; and at the age of sixteen -she possessed the charms of beauty, and an intellect of the highest -degree. Their castle was thronged with young cavaliers, eager to win so -lovely a prize,—and though her smiles were bestowed on all, yet no one -of the noble train had received any evidence of her preference. Happy in -the fondness, nay, almost idolatry of her father, she remained -insensible to any other than paternal affection. The baron, though still -in the pride of manhood, had never indulged serious thoughts of a second -union, and when bright eyes beamed on him, and silvery voices fell in -tones of melody upon his ear, he had only to look upon the face of -Katrine, where every feature of her sainted mother was reflected as in a -faithful mirror, and his heart was steeled against every attraction. - -It was a beautiful morning in the month of June, when the baron and his -daughter went forth for their accustomed ride. The air was balmy; the -fragrance of the flowers was borne upon the breeze, and the groves were -vocal with the melody of the feathered songsters. Suddenly dark clouds -obscured the sky, and foretold a coming tempest. They hurried on, but -when they arrived at the castle, the storm-clouds hung darkly and -fearfully over its rugged towers. Then loud thunders rent the sky; -gleams of lightning darted from pole to pole. The rain fell in torrents -from the darkened sky, hour after hour, incessantly; the swollen waves -of the Rhine beat in fury upon their rugged banks. Katrine was seated at -her chamber window, watching the raging billows as they rushed in wild -commotion against the rocks. Suddenly her attention was attracted by the -sight of a cavalier upon the opposite shore. The vision was transient, -for scarcely had he appeared ere his fiery charger leaped from the -towering height of the rock into the boiling waves below. The baron’s -sturdy vassals had witnessed his disaster, and rushed forth to rescue -him if possible. Urged on by impassioned signs from Katrine, they put -forth every effort. For awhile he struggled successfully against the -foaming billows, but was at length thrown with violence against the -rocks, and when the vassals of the castle had succeeded in bearing him -to the shore, he was insensible. Hour after hour the baron and Katrine -hung anxiously over his couch, watching for signs of returning -consciousness, but he remained pale and motionless as the work of a -statuary; his faint breathing and a slight pulsation alone giving -evidence that life was not extinct. At length a delicate flush -overspread his marble countenance; his eyelids gently raised, and he -gazed in bewildered astonishment on all around him. - -“Fear not,” said the baron, “you are with friends, who will watch over -you carefully, until you have recovered from your late disaster.” - -The following morning he was able to relate the circumstances which had -led him there. He gave his name as Hildebrand, a young knight of -Hanover. He had been engaged in the chase, the day before, and had -followed the deer so far that he lost sight of his companions, and -wandered through the intricate mazes of the forest, not knowing whither -his way might lead. Soon the tempest arose, and as he reached the -opening of the forest, he spurred on his charger, ignorant of his -proximity to the Rhine, until he was precipitated down the frightful -chasm. He expressed his gratitude in the highest terms to his noble host -for his kindness, and a wish to leave the castle as soon as possible. -The extreme debility resulting from his late accident, however, -precluded the possibility of his immediate departure. Besides, the -ravages of the storm had rendered the highways impassable. - -During this time the fair Katrine left no means untried to cheer the -lingering hours. Her harp beguiled those moments which would otherwise -have been tedious, and her voice, whose melody was unrivalled, seemed -even more sweet than it was wont to be, as she sung the wild and -beautiful legends of their country. Charmed by her beauty, her -accomplishments, and filial affection, young Hildebrand became daily -more and more attached to Katrine, while she returned his affection with -fond idolatry. Thus passed day after day in peace and happiness, and the -only sorrow which dimmed Katrine’s pleasures was the thought of parting, -and his wish that their engagement should be concealed from her father, -until he should return to claim his affianced bride. Sincere and -trusting, she yielded to the conviction that he was urged to this wish -by powerful motives, then unknown to her, nor allowed the slightest -suspicion of his constancy to enter her mind. - -One bright morning three weeks after his arrival at the castle, a -courier alighted with despatches for Hildebrand. As he perused them, a -cloud rested upon his brow, and he hastened to find Katrine. He told her -that his presence was demanded at court, but with many promises of a -speedy return, he bade her a fond farewell. Weeks, nay, even months -passed away, and still Katrine received no tidings from her stranger -lover. She had withdrawn herself from gay society, and her gladsome -laugh no longer resounded through the silent halls. Her anxious parent -saw with anguish the sorrow of his child, and finally won from her the -tale of her love. In vain he used every endeavor to find the retreat of -their guest. The name of Hildebrand was unknown to any of the barons of -the vicinity, and he was forced to relinquish his fruitless inquiry. At -length it was announced that a tournament was to be held at the capital, -in honor of the nuptials of the Elector of Hanover, and the baron hoping -that this scene of gaiety would dissipate her melancholy, won the -consent of Katrine to accompany him. The morning of the day appointed -dawned with unusual splendor, and the eye of Katrine beamed with the -light of hope, as she took her place in a gallery commanding a full view -of the field of action. “Surely,” she thought to herself, “when the -bravest of the land are about to signalise themselves, Hildebrand will -not desert the noble band.” - -The field was elegantly prepared; and the tents, glittering with all the -splendor of martial panoply, added double richness to the scene. On -either side of the lists were galleries of blue and red and purple silk, -crowded with the beauty of the land. All was anxious expectation. Soon a -shout of joy from the assembled multitude announced that the elector and -his young bride were approaching. Mounted on a fiery charger, which he -managed with perfect skill, his noble form appeared to the best -advantage. His bride rode a beautiful white palfrey, and though there -was something noble in her flashing eye and masculine firmness, still -her beauty could not be compared, without disparagement, to the angelic -loveliness of Katrine. As they advanced near the place where Katrine was -seated, an undefined horror thrilled through her frame, yet her eyes -remained fixed upon the prince. Surely it was the same noble form. Could -it be Hildebrand? He turned his dark eye upon her and met her anxious -glance; the color receded from his cheek. She uttered a faint cry of -agony, pronounced the name of Hildebrand, and fell senseless into the -arms of her attendants. - -The tale can be told in a few words. Her faithless lover had been -summoned from his delightful retreat at Ehlendorf by the duties of -state; and ambition had led him to form an alliance from which his heart -revolted. In the cares of state and the hilarity of his nuptials he had -in a measure drowned the memory of Katrine, but now she seemed to rise -like a gentle spirit to reprove his falsehood. The arrows of remorse had -entered his soul and poisoned his enjoyment. Though surrounded by all -the honors and dignities of this world he found no peace. Katrine was -borne by her afflicted parent to their once happy home, but the light of -existence had fled forever, and the house of Ehlendorf was soon to be -remembered as among the dead. A few sad years rolled on. The baron was -borne to his last resting place. Katrine with her attendants alone -remained within the castle walls. At length she yielded up her vast -domains in favor of a distant relative, with this restriction, that the -old castle should remain undisturbed, and as it was reported, retired to -a convent in Switzerland. From this period the old fortress was left to -the ravages of time, uninhabited by any mortal, though the superstitious -inhabitants of the vicinity declared it to be the abode of supernatural -beings. A tall form according to the neighboring villagers, robed in -white, had been seen upon the battlements at midnight, while strains of -wild unearthly melody were heard floating on the breeze; and when the -storm was raging, the same spirit form was seen hovering over the -yawning chasm and keeping its fearful vigils where no mortal foot durst -approach. The benighted traveller turned away, choosing to wander -through the mazes of the forest, rather than pass the fearful place, and -even the adventurous mountain boy fled in terror from its lonely walls. - -Years had rolled on, when the Elector of Hanover chanced in hunting to -pass through the domains of Ehlendorf. One of his followers related to -him the superstitions concerning the castle, and despite their -entreaties he insisted upon exploring its recesses. He reached it just -as its towers were gleaming in the pure moonlight; and the waters of the -Rhine flowed gently on, while each tiny ripple wore its glittering -coronet of moonbeams. How vividly bright the visions of the past rose in -his memory, as he entered once more through the castle’s lonely gates. -Just as he passed the threshold the notes of an Æolian harp sent a -thrill of superstitious terror through every vein. He opened the door -which led to Katrine’s boudoir, when a sight met his eye which caused -him to recoil with terror. Extended on a couch, and guarded by an old -attendant, was the form of the once beautiful heiress of Ehlendorf. The -deep flush of agitation overspread her cheek as she recognised him and -said, - -“Why intrude upon the sanctity of one devoted to Heaven, or strive to -bind a heart to this earth which its sorrows have broken?” - -These words assured him that the true Katrine and not the spirit was -before him, and he slowly approached her saying, - -“I come, to crave the boon of pardon from one so deeply injured as you -have been.” - -A sweet smile beamed on her placid countenance as she said, - -“It is granted, and may kind Heaven forgive all your wanderings, as -freely as I now forgive your falsehood. I have found the bitterness of -earthly sorrow, and for awhile brooded sadly over disappointed love, but -the deep dream now is past. For years my hopes have been fixed upon a -brighter world, and not one lingering trace of earthly idolatry has -mingled in my devotions. I would have secluded myself in the sacred -walls of a monastery, but my heart clung with fondness to my father’s -halls. I have traced the Creator’s power in the starry heavens and -stolen abroad to view the glories of nature in the pure moonlight. This -has given rise to the superstitions of the peasantry, and I have -carefully avoided undeceiving them lest they should intrude upon my -retirement. And now, farewell. My sands of life are well nigh spent, and -I shall soon join my sainted parents in Heaven. Leave me in solitude, I -entreat you, lest the lingering spell be thrown again upon me. Once more -farewell.” - -Thus saying she motioned to the door where he had entered, and he -retired in sadness of spirit. A few weeks after, the form of Katrine was -deposited in the family vault, and the castle remained untenanted. The -peasantry still call it the Haunted Castle, asserting that the fair lady -of Ehlendorf is seen to wander by moonlight over its crumbling towers. - - EMMA. - - Female Seminary, Yonkers, N. Y. 1841. - - * * * * * - - - - - ALETHE. - - - BY J. S. FRELIGH. - - - I saw Alethe—she was young and fair: - A rose-bud op’ning to the balmy spring; - And as she knelt in holy, fervent prayer, - Her youthful heart to God surrendering, - The music of her voice in murmurs low, - Sounded like tones of sweetest melody, - Half-waking heard—or like the silver flow - Of some lone woodland stream—she seem’d to be - A type of perfect beauty—Heav’nly symmetry. - - Again I saw Alethe.—It was where - Dwelt sickness, poverty, and misery deep— - Where prison-walls enclos’d a parent dear; - And like an angel, she had come to keep - Watch while he slept—to comfort him—to pray. - In innocence she came, like Mercy’s dove, - With healing balm, to sooth his care away! - Oh! such sweet tenderness—such holy love, - Must be akin to that in the bright world above! - - Once more I saw Alethe—at her breast - Hung a sweet infant, and the radiant smile - That revell’d round its lips while calm at rest, - Was like the smile of cherubs,—free from guile. - Ethereal—bright—surpassing Fancy’s dreaming, - The mother shone—for Fancy ne’er could paint - Aught so much like a guardian Angel beaming - In full beneficence upon a saint - As sweetly innocent—as free from earthly taint. - - St. Louis, 1841. - - * * * * * - - - - - MY GRANDFATHER’S STORY. - - - BY LYDIA JANE PIERSON. - - -“Well, well,” said my grandfather, “sit down, girls, and I will tell you -all about it.” - -Cousin Sarah and myself accordingly got our work, and sitting down at a -proper distance, assumed the attitude of earnest listeners. - -“If you had ever been in France,” he commenced, “I could make you -understand my story much better, but your little rustic American -imaginations can never conceive any thing like the refinement, and yet -freedom of society in that polished country; the softness and beauty of -the earth and sky; or the striking magnificence of the old ruinous -chateaux; but as it is I shall be very brief in my sketches of these -things.” - -“Oh, no, no, grandfather,” we both exclaimed at once, “you must be the -more particular in your description; for being strange to us they are -the more interesting.” - -“Well,” he replied, “I will as much as I can, without making a long -story of it; but do not interrupt me, for that will utterly break the -chain of my recollections. - -“First, you must consider that although I am an old American citizen, I -was once a young French nobleman; and your grandmother whom you see -busied in household duties is a Stuart, of the royal blood of Scotland. -The estate of my ancestors lies in view of the ancient and noble city of -Lyons, stretching from the beautiful Rhone west to the Cervennes -mountains. A fine chateau near the river is the modern residence of our -family; but its ancient strong-hold is a rude and magnificent old -castle, built on the rocky summit of a mountain which stands alone in -its majesty, looking down with seeming scorn on the proud city, and the -river which can never more than kiss its feet. My noble grandsire had -two sons, of whom my father was the younger. My uncle, of course, -inherited the title and estate, and was sole lord of the old castle; -although my father occupied magnificent apartments in the chateau. I -remember when quite a child, accompanying my father in his visits to my -uncle, at such seasons as he chose to reside on the mountain. My awe and -admiration of the dark, old structure were boundless. There it sat, firm -as the eternal rock to which it was secured, utterly inaccessible on the -side toward the river; and scarcely approachable in any direction, save -by an expensively constructed road, dug or built along the margin of a -brook which flows at the bottom of a ravine, down the mountain, toward -the river. This traversed ravine presented to my eyes a thousand wild, -beautiful, and romantic spots. I had not then seen the forests, and -mountains, and wild glens, of this panorama of nature’s most grand and -beautiful works; this land of the majestic and the terrible; the lovely -and the sweet; from the savage chieftain beside the soul-stunning -Niagara, to the enameled humming bird kissing the blossoms that overhang -the silver fountain. Oh! this is a glorious country; but it is not my -native France. - -“In that dear land every perpendicular rock, every babbling cataract, -every gnarled tree, or ragged shrub was a picturesque and wonderful -object to my young imagination; and to be allowed to visit my uncle at -the castle was the highest reward at which my efforts were aimed. My -uncle was a widower. At thirty years of age he married a beautiful child -of seventeen, whom he fervently idolised: but in less than two years the -fair creature began to fade. He carried her to balmy Italy, but he -returned alone. From that time he was sad and gloomy, almost morose. He -never left the castle, except to ramble over the mountains, among the -wild recesses of which he often spent whole nights, and I sometimes -shuddered as I heard the domestics hint that he was or would be utterly -crazed. Such was my uncle’s condition, when on a beautiful summer -morning my father set out with me toward the castle. I was eight years -of age, and had just been made master of a fine sleek mule, which I was -permitted to ride by the side of my father’s noble Arabian horse. That -was a proud day to me. Never since have I felt myself of as much -consequence as then. My uncle’s steward who saw in me the future lord of -the estate, always paid me great deference, and I was an idol in his -family. Of course I spent the time of my visits with them, after paying -my respects to my uncle, who always saluted me with grave courtesy, and -then turned sorrowfully away. I was an especial pet of the steward’s -daughter, a pretty girl of about seventeen, who always treated me with -choice cakes and delicious fruits. On this day she spread a table in a -garden arbor with her choicest viands, adding rich creams and -sweet-meats, to which we sat down joyfully. But she soon made me sad by -saying that in all probability I should not soon dine with her again. -She was about to be married, and go far away. But she wished to tell me -something of great importance, only she feared that I was too young to -have discretion sufficient to manage so strange an affair. This -mysterious prelude wrought my curiosity to the highest pitch. I -protested and promised every thing she required of me, and so she began: - -“‘You see the square tower all covered with ivy that stands on the angle -of that perpendicular rock. Did you ever notice how lonely it is; how -small and high the windows are, and that there is no way of getting to -it from without? Well, you see it is only connected with the rest of the -building by one long, dark gallery; the other sides being closed up with -strong walls. This tower has been called the Haunted Tower these hundred -years. I used to be afraid to go near it. You were a very little baby -when your beautiful aunt died abroad, and your uncle came home a mourner -to this place. I was then about as old as you are now. I cried bitterly -for the loss of my young lady, and pitied my lord exceedingly. I -observed that he went frequently to that tower, and remained for hours -within it. Once I ventured to follow him. I know not what impelled me; -but I was surprised when I entered the hall. It was tastefully -furnished, and adorned with the most beautiful and fragrant exotic and -native plants and shrubs. I stood a moment lost in admiration, when I -thought I heard low voices in conversation. I listened; I distinctly -heard my lord speaking, and detected the murmur of a soft female voice. -A door on one side the hall stood partly open. I approached it -stealthily, and saw my lord kneeling before a most beautiful woman, who -sat upon a low seat, resting her face upon her hand, seemingly in deep -sorrow. She was dressed in black, and her hair was of the same dark hue, -while her hands, face, and shoulders were white as alabaster, I did not -look long, but I saw my lord press her hand to his lips, when she -suddenly withdrew it with a shudder, and bending down placed both her -hands over her face and wept. I stole away; but whether I was observed, -or my intrusion suspected, or from some other cause, my lord ever after -secured the door behind him, so that I entered there no more. Yet often -in the mellow twilight I have heard strains of solemn music, so soft and -sorrowful that I have sat down and wept until the melody ceased. But I -never saw the lady since that time. I have heard others assert that they -have seen an apparition, which they say is like our deceased lady, and -that while they gazed it vanished away. But the person whom I saw was as -unlike my lady as possible, and as to vanishing, as these sights were -always seen in the evening, I suppose she wore a white dress and a black -mantle, which on being alarmed she drew around her, and so became -invisible. Now who she is, or how she came here, or why she keeps -herself concealed I cannot guess. I have kept it secret out of respect -to your uncle, but I thought as you will be lord here after his death, -and as he is slowly wasting away, I would tell you, and so when you come -to the estate you will examine into it. But do not mention it until -then; for I am sure that any discovery or investigation would greatly -afflict your poor uncle, whose melancholy I am sure is connected with -this mystery.’ - -“Now, girls,” said my grandfather, “if you can tell me how such a piece -of information would make you feel, I shall have no need of telling you -the wonder, the terror, the curiosity and anxiety which it awakened in -my mind. Sleeping or waking my thoughts were full of Annette’s story. -Once I ventured to ask my mother why people thought my uncle’s castle -haunted? ‘It is a common thing,’ she replied, ‘for the vulgar to tell -marvellous tales of old buildings, castles in particular; but I hope -that you will show your superior breeding, by never giving heed to such -tales. Your father has been there much by day and night, and he never -saw any thing wonderful; and it would grieve him if he knew that you had -been listening to stories of supernatural agency.’ I assured her that I -did not believe in ghosts; and I never again ventured to propose the -subject. As years passed on, the impression became less vivid, until -Annette’s tale of wonder seemed to me like some old familiar legend. I -was about eighteen when I was suddenly summoned from the University to -attend my uncle’s death-bed. When I found myself again in that old -familiar place, although the old steward had died, and his place was -filled by a stranger, the story of the old tower came first among the -recollections of the past. My uncle was so wan and wasted that I should -not have known him, yet he seemed exceedingly glad to see me. In the -night as I sat beside his bed, he dismissed the nurse, saying that she -must need rest and sleep. He then said that as I was his kinsman and -successor, he hoped that he might confide to me something which nearly -concerned his honor. I remarked that as his honor was mine he need be -under no apprehension. So he commenced. - -“‘I was, according to custom, betrothed in my boyhood to a sweet little -babe almost as soon as she saw the day. Our fathers were sworn friends, -and I saw the little Adela frequently, and loved her as a dear sister. -But when I began to consider myself a man, I sometimes felt as if I -could not wait for her, for she was much younger than I. Being fond of -reading, and naturally romantic, I drank in with avidity every wild and -passionate legend, and longed for some thrilling adventure. My alliance -was tasteless, because it lacked the excitement of adventure or -opposition. And yet when weary of noise and pleasure, I found it sweet -to pass an hour in her society; she was so gentle, unassuming, and -affectionate. At the age of twenty-five I departed on my travels, with a -soul thirsting for adventure. I pass over all, however, until I arrived -at Constantinople. Here among the licentious I felt that all the -passions of man’s nature had full licence. I shall not carry you by my -details into scenes by which I pray God you may never be polluted. -Suffice it that a young and lovely creature, whose innocence and fond -confiding I should have respected, forgot her alliance to her nominal -lord, and became mine with a fervor of affection which is never -equalled, or even understood in these cold climes. I thought only of -dallying with her awhile when I first sought to win her; but there was -an enchantment about her which I often fancied to be in reality the -magic of which I had often read. At length the time of my sojourn in -that unequalled city was expiring. I sought to tear myself away, for I -never dreamed of taking Alma with me. But she would not leave me. I felt -embarrassed as to the manner in which I should dispose of her if she -accompanied me to France. But my hackneyed heart felt no compunction for -the deceit I had practised upon her; and I resolved formally to retain -her, keeping her, if possible, in ignorance of our laws and customs, and -of Christianity of course; and to marry Adela according to contract. So -I gave myself up to the pleasures of her society; and she dreamed not of -the workings of the heart which she fondly considered all her own. - -“‘Arrived at home, I placed her in an elegant mansion, furnished her -with attendants, and every elegance and luxury of life; and while -preparations were going forward for my union with Adela, found my -highest enjoyment in the society of the ardent Alma. She was a perfect -contrast to Adela in every particular. I loved them both, just as you -may admire the lily and the rose. The wedding-day arrived, and I pledged -to Adela a perjured vow. - -“‘I had been married one year when my wife enquired of me who the -beautiful girl was whom I was in the habit of attending to places of -public amusement. I was prepared for this, and told her that it was a -Turkish lady, the wife of a sea captain, a particular friend of mine, -who was absent at sea. Adela insisted on being introduced to her, for -she said she felt a great curiosity to look on the woman whose beauty -had become the theme of every tongue. Here was a dilemma for which I was -utterly unprepared. I could make no reasonable excuse, and the hesitancy -and embarrassment of my manner excited or confirmed suspicion. It seemed -that Adela was completely a woman, and determined to gratify her -curiosity, although by so doing she made herself wholly miserable. When -I next visited Alma I found her sorrowful and pale. She had been visited -by a lady, whom, from her description, I knew to be my wife, who had -drawn from her artless tongue her whole history, and then set before her -the ignominy and sinfulness of her present situation. These were strange -words for the poor girl’s ear, yet I succeeded in calming her mind, and -left her with emotions of such sorrow as I never felt before. I fully -comprehended the wrong that I had done her, and the anguish that must -from this time be her portion. I felt angry at Adela, and yet how could -I blame her. She discovered a coldness and restraint in my manner, and -became herself cold and restrained; in short, we were all three -wretched. Adela in her zeal employed her confessor to teach Alma the -mysteries of religion. Alma was ever in tears; and Adela began to pine -and waste away. At length she became so ill that the physician declared -that nothing could help her unless it were a journey and short residence -in Italy. But before I set forward I conveyed Alma to this castle, and -placed her in the tower which superstition had cast a spell around; -entrusting her to the sole care of an aged female domestic, lest during -my absence she should be persuaded to enter a convent. - -“‘I came home widowed, but not in heart. I flew to Alma, and told her -there was no drawback on our happiness now; that she should now possess -both hand and heart. She wept long and agonisingly upon my bosom, and -then told me that the magic glass of life was broken. That the clear -cold light of reality now lay upon all the ways of love. That earth to -her was no longer a blissful paradise. And finally, that she had -resolved to enter a nunnery. Oh! the agony of that hour. I sought by -every argument to divert her from her purpose, but she was unyielding. -For a long time I refused to let her go, and kept her prisoner in the -tower. But when I could by no means move her, when she turned ever -weeping from me, or kneeling besought me no longer to keep her from the -court of heaven, I gave her the keys of her prison, and left the castle. -I returned after a few days. She was gone. I was desolate; and from that -hour I have been dying. - -“‘Last week my confessor put a letter into my hand, observing that it -was given him by one who said that it required no answer as the writer -was dead. It was from Alma. She said she must be brief, for her minutes -on earth were few. She bade me reproach myself on her account no more, -as she was passing away to heaven, leaving me her prayers and blessings. -She had loved me ever and alone. She begged that I would freely pardon -her if she had done me wrong. But her chief object in writing was to -entreat my protection for _our child_. Oh! my God, how that word -thrilled me. I had not dreamed of such a thing. Yet she said that during -my absence with my _injured wife_ she had borne a female child. That she -had concealed the circumstances from me, lest it should be made an -impediment to her becoming a nun. That the child was named Adela, was -now in the convent, and was ignorant of her parents. She desired me to -suffer her to continue so, if she should prefer to remain and take the -veil; but if she should leave her sanctuary, she besought me to be her -guardian. I visited the convent; I knelt on the cold marble that lies -above my Alma’s colder bosom—I saw my daughter; she told me that she -would take the veil. I passed as her mother’s uncle; told her that she -was an orphan, and offered her protection if she would leave the -convent. She replied that as she had no earthly parents she would never -leave her present place of refuge. I came home and lay down to die. - -“‘I have now, my dear nephew, told you that which I had thought would -never pass my lips; but it is for the sake of my poor child. My heart -bleeds for her, orphan, and pennyless as she is. I could not speak of -her to your father; but you are young, and your heart is as yet -uncalloused. You will eventually succeed to these estates. Albert, I do -not wish my child to become a nun; I will give you a letter and casket; -you will find them in that bureau; take them to her when I am no more. -Say I bade you deliver them only to her. You will thus obtain an -interview with her. I am sure you will love her, for she is the image of -her mother. If so, take her from the convent, and make her your wife. -Promise to do this and I will die content. Your relationship need be no -obstacle, for it is known only to yourself. Will you promise?’ ‘I swear -to do all you ask, provided Adela is willing.’ ‘Thank you, my son. Now I -can depart in peace.’ - -“My uncle died, and was laid in the stately mausoleum of the family. I -went to execute his commission to my cousin. As I looked upon her face -and figure I no longer wondered that my uncle loved her mother. She was -beautiful beyond all description. No eye could scan her features, for -her face was like a pellucid fountain, in which all lovely objects of -earth and heaven were constantly and changefully reflected. - -“As she was not of the sisterhood I was allowed to see her daily, and -converse with her through the grate, and I need not tell you that I -loved her madly. She confessed that her heart was mine, and promised to -leave the convent and become my wife. I was now obliged to go on -business into Germany. I told Adela that I would be back in eight weeks. - -“I wrote to her frequently, and at length despatched a letter naming a -day for our meeting. Soon after I had mailed it, I fell on the ice and -broke my leg, beside injuring my head so severely that I was unconscious -of my own existence for nearly three weeks. As soon as I was -sufficiently recovered I wrote an account of the accident to Adela, and -continued to write at short intervals until I was able to travel. - -“I arrived at home after an absence of four months, and flew to the -convent to see my soul’s delight once more. Judge of my agony when I was -told that I could not see her, and that she had taken the veil. I felt -as if the whole beautiful world had become a miserable chaos, amid the -horrors of which I was eternally lost. At length I began to hope. I got -a letter conveyed to her, in which I pictured as forcibly as language -could, the distraction of my mind, and besought her to give me some -consolation. She sent me an agonising reply. She had ever been taught -that men were false, and that love was sin. When I failed in my return -these precepts were enforced, and she gave them renewed credence. She -saw no letter from me afterward, and being urged to join the sisterhood, -in her despair and agony consented, and was now lost to me forever. But -I could not so resign her. I plead with her that her promise to me being -prior made her monastic vows null; and I urged her to elope with me to -America. - -“She at length gave a reluctant consent. I gathered up a large sum of -money, and we soon found ourselves on ship-board, and plying from our -native land. Think you that I was then happy? Alas for human hopes and -passions! I was in possession of my adored and beautiful Adela, but I -was a fugitive from my country, I was fleeing like a felon from my -father’s house, and I felt that I had left mourning and bitterness in -the places where I should have been diffusing peace and joy. Of the rank -and wealth that I had relinquished I thought little, for poverty and -contempt had not then taught me to value them. But I was sad even in the -hour in which I had attained that for which I would freely have given -life itself. Adela and I were united by the chaplain of the ship, on -board of which we sailed, but he was a Protestant. Poor Adela scrupled -at the validity of a ceremony thus performed; and the prejudices of her -education, with the vows she had broken, were persecuting spirits ever -torturing her heart, and mixing gall and venom forever with the cup of -joy. Her eyes lost their lustre, and her smile was sorrowful; I saw it, -and my heart grew sad. I had one hope left, that she would regain her -spirits when we should arrive amid the novel and beautiful scenes of the -New World; and then I hoped that she would become a Protestant, in which -case she would cease to agonise over her monastic vows. The chaplain, at -my request, used every argument with her in vain; her distress augmented -and ere we had been one month at sea she was attacked by a violent -fever. - -“Oh! the bitter, dreadful agony with which I watched beside her couch. -Her pains of body were intense, but her distress of mind was more -terrible still. At length her reason failed her, and her death-bed scene -was indeed agony. But as death approached more nearly, her pains -remitted, and her phrenzy passed away. She said that she was forgiven, -and ready to appear before God, leaning on the mercy of her Redeemer. -She besought me to seek His consolations, and bidding me a fond -farewell, her young spirit passed away. - -“And now what remained to me of all my treasures? I had bartered every -thing for her; and a cold and rigid form was all that I had left. -Terrible and hideous as death had come to her, I longed to feel his hand -upon me also. But he turned from me. I was obliged to live and see my -poor Adela cast into the deep sea, almost as soon as her spirit had -departed. My misery was now overflowing. I was bereft, and alone in the -world. I dared not return to France, for I feared the power of the -religion whose sanctuaries I had feloniously invaded. I assumed the name -which I and all my descendants bear, and landed in Philadelphia a -heart-broken and sorrowing stranger. I was greatly disappointed; for I -had been taught to believe America a beautiful paradise, in which wealth -and happiness awaited every adventurer who was so fortunate as to set -his foot upon its shores. But I learned in time to procure a decent -livelihood; the romance of youth was dissipated; I became a reasonable -creature; I married your good grandmother with rational expectations, -and now I am an old man, surrounded by a numerous progeny, and almost -ready to depart in peace. And now girls that I have told you the story -of my life, which you have entreated of me so often, I hope you will -find instruction in it, and learn to value the frail and evanescent -things of time, less than the peace of others, and the approbation of -your own mind. Now go, and leave me to seek the repose which agitation -of mind occasioned by retracing the scenes of my youth renders so -necessary for me.” - - * * * * * - - - - - THE PARSONAGE GATHERING. - - - BY MRS. E. C. STEDMAN. - - -The last Sabbath of the year 18— was far spent, and the little band of -worshippers who had assembled in the village church of ——, were -preparing to return to their respective homes, and digest the homily of -their worthy pastor; when deacon Gravely advanced toward the altar, with -all the dignity of official-bearing in his step, where pausing in the -measured tones of one who is in authority, he requested the congregation -to “tarry a moment.” There was a sudden revolution of faces—a quick -rustling of cloaks, and rattling of foot-stools, and then all was so -still, one might have heard a pin drop, and every eye bent with eager -curiosity on the speaker; who only wished to remind them that the annual -visit to their “beloved pastor” would take place as usual on January -first, and it was hoped there would be a general attendance on the -occasion. - -An instantaneous gleam of pleasure ran over the faces of the audience, -followed by a motion for the door, which was obstructed here and there -by the meeting of female friends, who kept impatient footsteps in the -rear, whilst in audible whispers, they exchanged opinions touching the -sermon, the proposed visit, and their various domestic grievances. But -the little church was at length empty, and the sexton proceeded to -extinguish the fire in the stove, and close its sacred doors against any -week-day intruders. It would be detracting from the solemnising-powers -of the respected dominie, to say that the few words spoken by the -deacon, had been more effectual than his well-written discourse on the -departure of the year, and uncharitable to suppose that the church-going -villagers thought more and talked more on their way home, of visiting -their minister, than of attending to the admonitions he had that day -given them; and though I am telling a true story, it does not follow -that the _whole_ truth must be told; so let me pass on to the following -Monday, which dawned without a cloud. - -There was an earlier stirring than usual in the village, particularly -among the farmers’ wives, who must needs get their week’s-washing out of -the way as soon as possible, that preparations might commence for the -anticipated visit, which was to take place on Wednesday. The city-reader -may not be aware that it is a custom in country villages throughout many -of the older states, to atone somewhat for the meagre salaries allotted -to the ministerial department, by donations from those whose hearts are -opened to give of such things as they have, to him who breaks the “Bread -of Life” to their souls. Furthermore, it is so arranged by the -considerate deacons’ wives, that these donations shall be sweetened on -the part of the donors, by a social cup of tea at the parsonage; which -certainly cannot be considered as among “The multitude of Sins” which -need the mantle of charity for a covering. - -By the hasty moving to and fro of the villagers through Monday and -Tuesday, it was evident that until their memories were jogged by deacon -Gravely, they had thought nothing of, nor made any reservations for the -annual gathering: but to their credit be it said, that they were not -slow to act on this occasion, and designed having everything in -“apple-pie order.” The farmer unlocked the rich treasures of his -granary, corn-crib and fruitery: wheat in “good measures, pressed down” -and overflowing, was laid aside; the best of the yellow corn was -selected; the golden pippins packed systematically, and even the more -solid wealth of the pork barrel gave of its abundance to complete the -New Year’s offering. The axe too of the woodman resounded through the -neighboring forests, and many a sturdy hickory and oak bowed the willing -head, at the bright promise of adding cheerfulness and comfort to the -parsonage hearth. Nor was the ambitious house-wife to be out-done by her -lord: from the “wool and the flax,” which she had sought and worked -“willingly with her hands,” a worthy portion was chosen for the pastor’s -wife and her nursery-flock. And the store-room held out its donation of -butter and cheese; not forgetting that weightier matter of economy, -ycleped “_black_-butter”—so indispensable to the farmer’s table! (being -a mixture of quinces and apples, boiled down to sauce in sweet cider, -and eaten on bread by the children, instead of butter.) Nor was this -all: Doughnuts and twisted cakes were soon dancing merrily over the -fire, plumcakes swelling in the oven, and many a little delicacy -contrived by the inventive geniuses that were busy on the occasion;—for -it is understood that these gatherings are to be no source of trouble or -expense to the minister’s wife. One of the neighboring house-wives is -appointed to the high office of mistress of ceremonies, and some half -dozen others move at her beck and call through the parsonage-house, -making all needful arrangements, while the lady herself is but an -admiring spectator of the scene, and has only to dress and receive her -_profitable_ visiters. - -The farmers were not alone in their “labors of love,” for the -enterprising shop-keepers were as busy on their part in preparation. -“Dry-goods and Groceries,” read their signs, and “the signs of the -times,” were read in the liberal offerings that were made ready for the -day, each having the savor of their trade withal. - -And _the_ day at length arrived! A New Year’s sun enlivened the spirits -of the villagers, (albeit, they knew nothing of fashionable “calls” on -Time’s natal day,) and threw open the gates of the parsonage. At an -early hour might be seen gliding over the polished surface of a late -fallen snow, the farmer’s sled, bearing its ponderous load of wood; here -and there, wheel-barrows and hand-barrows, groaning with the burden of -such variety as would puzzle any head to remember, all wending their way -to the pastor’s dwelling. Two o’clock, P. M. found the elder portion of -his congregation, having sent their gifts as a passport, preparing to -appear in person before their minister. For once, the “Sunday suit” of -true blue and shining gilt, was put in requisition on a _work_-day; and -the buxom dame came forth from her toilet in her “best” gown and cap, -and when in addition, the “meeting-bonnet” and hat were donned, away -trudged the farmer and his “better half,” leaving the care of the -homestead to the young folks, who were to take their turn at -candle-light; when it was understood that the old folks were to return, -and give them a chance by themselves. - -Ye who love the cheerful, unostentatious scene, peep with me in -imagination into the minister’s parlor:—see that weather-beaten group -of farmers in the corner, animated by the light of each other’s -countenances, while the crops of the late season are compared, and the -improvements in modern husbandry denounced as “innovations,” and hostile -to the wisdom and practice of their respected fore-fathers. Or if you -would hear of broken banks and money-matters in general, listen to that -trio, which comprises the chief of the village merchants: and then pass -to those social wives and spinsters who are rocking, knitting and -gossiping, all most industriously at the same moment. The latter -accomplishment they evidently excel in; as can be proved by their -remarks on the domestic qualifications of Mrs. Tidifield; the lax -government of Mrs. Gadabroad; the inferior household management of Mrs. -Carelittle, and the “high notions” of Mrs. Citybred, (a late comer among -them,) which they “_guess_ will have to come down, after she has lived -in the country awhile,” &c. &c. But as these industrious _ladies_ had no -ill _meaning_ in this species of detraction, and would do “a good turn” -for any of their erring neighbors before mentioned, we must attribute -this propensity for scandal, to the “original sin” which is inherent to -their sex. The tea “goes off” in old presbyterian style, and each -discovers something of her own handiwork amid the variety spread before -them. * * * But alas! all earthly pleasures must terminate. As the -evening shades gather without, there is a breaking up of the gathering -within, and the afternoon visiters disperse to the “quickstep” of -“Homeward bound.” - -The first light that gleamed through the parsonage-windows was a signal, -that seemed well understood by the belles and beaux of the village; who -light of heart and light of step, hurried in blooming clusters to the -evening gathering, evidently reckoning on a merry-making of no common -order. But after the excitement of arriving was over, and the last guest -had been ushered into the presence of the company, there arose a -question in the minds of some, as to what they had met together for; and -in sooth no one seemed exactly to know. On one side of the ample -apartment, in bright array, were seated all the fair of the -neighborhood, in blushing, simpering silence! While opposite, in -formidable rows, sat the young farmers and shop-keepers of the village, -as “slick” as pomatum and starch could make them, twisting their thumbs -one way for lack of thought, and the other way, for lack of talk; but -not daring to cross the dividing-line, into “_fairer_ realms beyond.” - -“The awful pause” was at length broken by a proposition which came from -some unknown source, to “get up a play,” and many were the bright smiles -that responded to it. Every one knows, that when the young folks of a -village once throw off the stiffness of distance, and mingle in the -unrestrained mirth of a rustic game, they are the happiest of the happy! -On this New Year’s evening, they would have had a regular -“_jollification_,” but for the timely caution of deacon Gravely, who -remained to sustain the dignity of his office, by keeping the lambs of -the flock within due bounds; reminding them that they were at the -_minister’s house_: a fact which they seemed quite willing to forget. - -The deacon’s notice proved something of a damper upon their gaiety; but -after all was far less _effectual_ than that given on the preceding -Sunday; as many a chasing for the kiss which was to redeem a pawn, and -loud bursts of merriment testified; much to the discomfiture of the -deacon. But there were at the party _two_ who kept themselves aloof from -the festivities of the evening, and were observed to sit in a corner -together, engaged in conversation and apparently unconscious of the -merry scenes around them. They were none other than the daughter of Mrs. -Citybred, and the intelligent young physician of the village. It was -evident that they had been accustomed to the refinements of education -and good society, and were for the first time in their lives at a -parsonage gathering. Many were the sly jokes and whisperings -interchanged by the company touching these _exclusives_; but of none -effect on the doctor and his unsuspecting companion. - -What they conversed _about_ is none of our business; but certain it was -that the lady’s countenance glowed with pleasure; and it was observed by -all that the doctor never looked happier before. On the breaking up of -the party, it did not escape observation nor remark, that the doctor -waited on Mrs. Citybred’s daughter home. - -What the effect of such an agreeable meeting was, none could say -decidedly; but as they were afterward seen riding together several times -in a very _exclusive_ looking vehicle; and as the doctor has never -before been known to ride out with a lady alone, since he settled in the -village, of course there were _rumors_ of a wedding to take place before -the next gathering, and much commiseration wasted on the doctor in -anticipation of his “extravagant wife.” But as the next New Year’s day -found him still a bachelor, it yet affords matter for gossip and -conjecture among the villagers whether the Dr. and Mrs. Citybred’s -daughter will ever be married or not. - - Liberty, Pa. April, 1841. - - * * * * * - - - - - TO AN OLD ROCK. - - - BY G. G. FOSTER. - - - Well! hands of friends have all been pressed— - My mother’s kiss is on my cheek— - My father’s hands and eyes have blessed - His first-born—though he could not speak! - And now I break the ties that bind - Me to the last of my own kind. - - But yet, to thee, my old grey rock, - I hasten as in days of yore; - And memories sweet and pleasant flock - In throngs around me, as I pour - My last heart-gushes over thee, - Friend of my wayward infancy! - - For oft ere yet my tongue expressed - The wild emotions of my soul, - And strange, proud feelings heaved my breast, - Like tides beneath the moon’s control, - I’ve wandered to this cool retreat, - The Spirit of the place to meet. - - And often in the solemn night, - While kissing winds slept on the lake - Which murmurs at thy base, and light - And starry music kept awake - The thronging fires of thought within, - I’ve stolen to thee an hour to win - - From all the carking care which rushed - Over my untamed spirit’s mood, - And leaned on thee, like infant hushed, - And felt, as thus secure I stood, - The god whose shrine was in my brain, - Return to his old haunts again! - - And when the friends of youth grew cold, - And loving eyes were turned away, - And even Hope was growing old, - And all my heart-flowers withered—aye, - I turned to thee, my firm old rock, - And learned, like thee, to bear the shock. - - But now, I go—Old Rock, farewell! - And thou my tiny lake, adieu! - Proud Hope my wandering steps impel - O’er yonder mountain calm and blue. - When fame is won and withered too, - Old friends! I will return to you. - - * * * * * - - - - - TO THE “BLUE-EYED LASSIE.” - - - BY THE LATE J. G. BROOKS.[2] - - - They tell me thine eyes are blue, lassie, - They tell me thy cheek is fair. - May grief never spoil its hue, lassie, - Nor give its bloom to the air. - - The world lies before thee now, lassie, - And when time rolls a few more years - Its troubles may blight thy brow, lassie, - And dim thy blue eyes with tears. - - Thou art come to a stormy life, lassie, - Where often the hurricanes lower— - Where wild are the waves of strife, lassie, - And strong is affliction’s power. - - Where flowers soon fade away, lassie, - And strew their leaves to the blast— - Where one moment the sky is gay, lassie, - The next with clouds overcast. - - Thou art the new-born rose of spring, lassie, - As soft, as fair, and as frail— - The hands of the storm oft fling, lassie, - The rose of spring to the gale. - - May that hand never fall on thee, lassie, - To blight thy rose in its pride, - Mayst thou glide o’er a sunny sea, lassie, - On a calm and gentle tide. - - May the cup of thy life never cloy, lassie, - May thy heart e’er be light and gay; - Mayst thou meet with the smile of joy, lassie, - And a blest, and a cloudless day. - ------ - -[2] Through the kindness of the mother of the poet, (the well-known and -lamented _Florio_) we are enabled to present our readers with the above -sweet little poem—one of his earliest compositions, and certainly not -one of his worst. By mere accident it has hitherto remained -unpublished.—Eds. - - * * * * * - - - - - LEAVES FROM A LAWYER’S PORT-FOLIO. - - - THE ROBBERY AND MURDER. - - - _Macd._ O, horror! horror! horror! tongue, nor heart, - Cannot conceive nor name thee! - _Macbeth._ - -“James,” said a mild but feeble voice, “cheer up, God will yet send us -relief. Has he not said that he heareth even the young raven’s cry, and -think you that he will suffer us to starve? Oh! no,” continued the sick -wife, forgetting her own sufferings in those of her husband, “believe it -not. Succor will yet come: we shall once more see happy days—” - -“Ay!” answered the husband, bitterly, “when we are in our graves. Ay! -when want has driven the nails in our coffins: but not till then. My -God!” he exclaimed suddenly, with the fierceness of despair, “was it for -this I was sent into the world?” - -“Oh! James,” said the meek wife, bursting into tears, “I can bear all -except such terrible repinings. Father,” she continued, raising her -streaming eyes to heaven, “forgive him, for he knows not what he says.” - -The husband was moved. He turned his head away from his wife, perhaps to -hide a tear; but if so, his weakness vanished as he gazed upon the -ruinous and desolate apartment to which poverty had driven them, while -all the bitterness of his soul once more lowered on his face. - -The room was a low garret, black with age, and tottering to ruin. In its -best days it had been at most but a wretched apartment, for at its -highest part it would scarcely admit of a man standing upright, while on -the opposite side the cracked and leaky ceiling shelved down until it -met the floor. The walls had once been plastered, but age had long since -peeled them nearly bare; and the time-stained beams of which the -building had been constructed—it was a wooden one—now gaped through -many a crevice. In several places even the weather-boarding without had -given way or rotted off, admitting in copious draughts, the biting -wintry blast which roared around the house. A solitary candle burned in -the room, flaring wildly as the gusts whirled through the apartment. -There was no fire-place in the garret—God knows it was well -enough!—for the poverty-stricken inmates had not wherewithal to -purchase food, much less fuel. No furniture was in the room, except an -old chest, a broken cup or two, and the ricketty bedstead, on which, -with a mattress of straw beneath her, lay that suffering wife. She was -pale, emaciated, and evidently ill, but, amid it all, you could see on -her wasted countenance, traces of the rarest beauty. The marble -forehead; the classic eye-brow; the Grecian contour of face; the finely -chiselled mouth and throat; and above all, the dark blue eye, its -chastened expression lighting up the whole countenance as with an -angel’s purity, told what must have been the loveliness of the sufferer, -before care, or poverty, or woe had driven their iron ploughshares -through her soul. Oh! well might it fill her husband’s heart with agony -to look upon her now, and think of the day when in far different -circumstances, he led her a blushing bride, to his home. But if such -were his feelings when gazing on his angelic wife, how far more poignant -did they become as his eye fell upon the almost famished babe lying in -her arms. Poor little thing! it had fallen asleep at length, after -crying long for that sustenance which its mother had not to give, -although she would have drained her heart’s blood, if, by so doing, she -could have appeased the hunger of her babe. By its side lay a boy, -apparently about four years of age, his little delicate face worn with -hunger and privation, and his thin fingers tightly grasping the -bed-clothes, as though he feared lest some one should snatch the scanty -covering from around his form. Alas! he had been early introduced to -misfortune. Often had he gone supperless to bed of late, forbearing even -to ask for food, because he knew his mother had it not, and that it -would only pain her to refuse him; and often, too, when her husband -being absent in the vain search after employment, his mother would -indulge freely in the tears she checked in his presence, her little boy -would climb upon her knee, and throwing his wan arms around her neck, -kiss her and tell her not to cry. At such times the mother’s tears would -only fall the faster, and clasping her babes convulsively to her bosom, -she would find a melancholy pleasure in the sympathy of her child. But -all these things were now forgotten by the boy. He lay in the deep sleep -of infancy; and as he slumbered a smile played across his little face. -Perhaps he was dreaming of the angels in heaven. - -James Stanhope was a young man of good family, a fine personal -appearance, and the manners of a gentleman. Destitute, however, of a -fortune, he obtained a livelihood by acting as a clerk in a public -office. He moved in good society, and enjoyed a moderate income, which, -by proper economy afforded him, at least once a year, the means of -spending a fortnight at one of those public places of amusement to which -beauty, wealth, and fashion annually resort. During a visit to one of -these summer pleasure haunts he met, and formed an acquaintance with -Miss Howard, a young lady, scarcely seventeen, a beauty, and an heiress, -who was spending a month at the watering-place, with a maiden cousin for -a chaperon. An intimacy was the result of a casual introduction, which -soon ripened into that most dangerous of all things to two young -hearts—an acknowledged friendship. In one short word, they loved, and -loved as few have done. But Stanhope, while he addressed the younger, -did not neglect the older cousin; and the consequence was that the -simple-hearted spinster fancied that it was her company to which the -handsome young stranger was attracted. She thus shut her eyes -effectually to the increasing intimacy between the young people, and -their love had become not only unconquerable, but so evident as to be -the theme of general remark, before the deluded chaperon, became aware -of Miss Howard’s entanglement. She was then thunder-struck at her own -indiscretion. She was more: she was enraged at the deception which had -been practised upon her, or rather which she had practised upon herself. -Dreading, moreover, the consequences of Mr. Howard’s displeasure, she -determined at once, by flying from the place, to escape the attentions -of Stanhope. Her carriage was instantly ordered to the door, their -baggage hastily collected, and with scarcely an hour’s warning, Miss -Howard was torn from her lover’s presence, without a moment being -afforded her to communicate with him. She was not able even to wave him -a silent adieu, as he was absent that morning on a ride. Disturbed by a -thousand fears lest her lover should think her faithless, and compelled -to listen to the bitter recriminations of her cousin, when sympathy was -rather needed for her tortured mind, the poor girl lay back in the -corner of the carriage and wept with a bitterness of heart such as she -had never experienced before. Oh! who can picture the agony of one thus -rudely torn from the object of her love. Life seemed to her to have lost -its charm. Death, in those first moments of crushing anguish would -almost have been welcome. - -But if such were Miss Howard’s feelings, what were those of her lover -when, on returning from his ride, he learned her sudden departure! A -thousand doubts tortured him. At length, however, he gleaned enough of -the real cause of Miss Howard’s disappearance, to convince him that her -flight did not, as he had at first feared, originate in herself. Oh! the -joy, the bliss of that knowledge. Ellen still loved him, loved him as -warmly as ever. But here another reflection shot across his mind. With -the sanguine temper of youth he had indulged the hope that his want of -fortune would be overlooked by Mr. Howard, especially as his cousin had -suffered the intimacy between his daughter and Stanhope to continue so -long unopposed; but now—how could he resist the intimation so plainly -given to him? Few can tell the agony of the lover’s feelings who have -not passed through the same terrible ordeal. - -“I will follow her,” at length he said, “I will see her once more. To -live without beholding Ellen is more than I can endure,” and having come -to this conclusion the ardent young man set out within a day to the city -which was the residence alike of himself and his mistress. - -We will not detail the progress of these two young beings’ passion. As -in every like case opposition only fanned their love. Young, ardent, and -uncalculating they had already exchanged those vows, which are only less -lasting and holy than the marriage ones,—and the pure mind of Miss -Howard looked upon it as sacrilege to break her troth, even had her -heart whispered a willing assent thereto. But, on the contrary, all that -was said against her lover, only increased her admiration of his -character, and consequently heightened her affection. There is nothing -like injustice to draw a woman’s heart closer to that of her lover. In -vain they originated slanders to lower him in her eyes; in vain they -even brought pretended letters to convince her of his infidelity; she -remained inflexible, for every one, who knew Stanhope, joined in -asserting his innocence, and it was impossible to conceal this from her -without secluding her wholly from society. How often does a woman, in -some trying circumstances, rise above herself, and display a sudden -energy of character which those who had known her for years had thought -foreign to her. Thus it was with Miss Howard. How long this reliance in -her lover’s unabated integrity might have continued, if she had remained -without meeting him, we know not; but Stanhope soon found a means to -open a communication with his mistress, which effectually checked all -danger, and deepened incalculably their mutual love. - -Foiled in his attempts to obtain an interview with his mistress, -Stanhope had found out the church which she attended, and thither he -resorted every Sunday, to enjoy the happiness of at least, beholding, if -he could not address her. It was not long before Ellen detected his -presence, and the stolen glances they exchanged across the church, were -mutual assurances of their unabated love. How Stanhope’s heart fluttered -as he saw her enter the church, and move up the aisle to her father’s -splendid pew. And if, perchance, when the family turned to depart, Ellen -could, unobserved, give him a smile and a nod of recognition, how would -he long to clasp the dear girl to his arms, and thank her for her -kindness. Weeks passed in this manner, however, before the two lovers -found an opportunity for an interview. At length one Sunday morning -Ellen came alone. As Stanhope beheld her enter the door unattended, he -could hardly contain himself in his seat, so great was his joy. The -moment the service was over he hurried down stairs, and amid the crowd -in the vestibule, with a beating heart, awaited her. Her agitation was -scarcely less than his own, as he addressed her. A thousand eyes seemed -to her fancy to be bent upon her, and she turned pale and trembled by -turns. They had proceeded some distance down the street before either -could speak more than the common words of salutation. At length Stanhope -broke the silence. - -“Ellen, dear Ellen, do we meet at last?” he said, in a low tone, “oh! -how can I describe the joy of this moment. Since we last parted what -agony have I not endured: doubt, fear, hope, despair have all succeeded -each other in my mind.” - -“How could you be so unjust?” said the sweet girl, reproachfully, “oh!” -she thought to herself, “if he only knew what I have suffered for his -sake.” - -“Pardon me, dear Ellen, but though I felt convinced of your truth, yet I -knew not what false accusations might be made against me. It was that -which troubled me. I never doubted you, believe me. But oh! you cannot -know how terrible it is to be forever excluded from your presence. How -often have I watched your window at night, hoping to catch even a -glimpse of your shadow, and how long and hitherto how fruitlessly have I -waited for this blessed opportunity, if only to assure you of my -unabated love, and to ask if you are still my own Ellen. Answer me but -once more, dearest: let me hear it from your own lips again.” - -The arm of Ellen trembled within her lover’s during this passionate -address, and, as he continued, her agitation increased so visibly that -when he ceased, and looking up into his face, she essayed to answer him, -for a moment, she could not speak. At length she murmured brokenly. - -“Why do—you ask me—such a cruel question?” and giving her lover a look -of mingled reproach and affection that dissolved him with tenderness, -she continued, “you know I love you!” and overcome, by her emotions, and -even forgetting her public situation, she burst into tears. - -If Stanhope could have that moment clasped her to his arms, and poured -forth upon her bosom his thanks for her renewed avowal, what would he -not have given! But he could only press her arm as it lay within his -own, and murmur his gratitude. Oh! the ecstacy of that moment: it -repayed him for all he had suffered during the months he had been -separated from Ellen. - -Their conversation was long and full of moment to their future lives. -Urged passionately by her lover, and half persuaded by her own heart, -Ellen consented at length to meet Stanhope in her morning walks; and -then, bursting afresh into tears, left him at the corner of the street, -not far from her father’s princely dwelling, and hurried home. It was a -hard task for her that day at the dinner table to conceal her emotion; -but she did so. When the meal was over, she hurried to her room to -indulge in her feelings. Had she done right in thus consenting to meet -her lover clandestinely? Her heart answered yes—her reason no. A fresh -flood of tears came to her relief, and thus tortured by conflicting -emotions, she sank toward morning into a troubled sleep. - -Well—they met—once—twice—daily. It was a dream of bliss, but it -could not last. Every time they saw each other their love grew stronger. -Yet Ellen, although urged by her lover to elope, was unwilling to -consent to it. Indeed on this point she was inflexible. With tears she -said to herself in the solitude of her chamber, that if she had erred at -first through her inexperience, and allowed her affections to be placed -irrevocably on one whom her parent even unjustly disapproved of, she -would not go farther on the path of disobedience. She was young, and she -_hoped_. She trusted that time would make all right. But a bolt was -about to fall upon her head, which, for the honor of human nature, we -would gladly escape recording. - -We have said little as yet directly of Mr. Howard, though a glimmering -of his character must have been perceptible in the foregoing pages. -Mean, crafty, purse-proud, haughty, and inflexible to obstinacy, he had -nothing in common with his daughter, except the tie of relationship. -Ellen was like her mother in every thing, but that mother had been long -since dead,—and could the secrets of her grave have been unfolded, -perhaps it might have been seen that she died of a broken heart. Yes! -her husband was her destroyer. But he did nothing which made him -amenable to the law. No. He was always outwardly respectful to his wife. -It was only at home that his brutality broke forth; and Mrs. Howard was -too meek and forgiving to publish her own sufferings. And thus like too -many gentle beings in our midst she drooped, and sickened, and died; and -when they laid her in her gorgeous coffin, and bore her to her tomb, -amid all the splendor of wealth, how little did they think that she had -been murdered—aye! murdered by her husband’s brutality. God help the -thousands who thus die of a broken heart! - -With such a father had Ellen now to do. He had forbidden her all -communication with her lover as soon as he suspected that they met, -threatening to disown her at once if she disobeyed, and Ellen was -returning from a parting interview with Stanhope, in which she had told -him of her father’s commands, and rejecting every proposal to elope, had -signified, with a burst of tears, her determination to obey her parent, -when on reaching the door-step she met Mr. Howard. He was in a towering -passion, though he affected at first to conceal it. - -“Very well, Miss, very well. You’ve seen fit to disobey my orders,” he -commenced, “have you? I’ve watched you, you hussy, myself,” he -continued, following his daughter into the hall, and closing the door, -“what have you to say?” - -Ellen made a vain attempt to speak, but her emotions overpowered her, -and looking up imploringly into his face, she burst into tears. - -“By G—, Miss, I’m not to be answered this way,” said Mr. Howard, not -longer affecting to conceal his rage, and brutally seizing his -daughter’s arm he shook it violently, “why don’t you speak? None of your -whining: Answer me!” and again he shook her. - -Never before had her parent used her thus. This personal indignity, -added to his brutal language, cut her to the heart, and brought on a -fresh flood of tears, which only increased her father’s rage. By this -time, too, the servants had gathered in the hall, and were witnesses of -the whole of this deplorable scene. - -“D—n it,” he said, his face flushing with passion, as he again shook -her violently, “I’ll bring an answer out of you—I will. Ain’t you going -to speak? I told you I’d disown you for this,—and,” here he muttered an -oath I dare not repeat, “I will. You and your beggarly, upstart -paramour”—oh! had that father a heart?—“may go to the alms-house -together. Out of my door this instant. You are no daughter of mine. Out, -I say. Open the door, John.” - -The man hesitated an instant. It only increased the rage of Mr. Howard. - -“Open the door, I say. By G— am I to be disobeyed by all of you? I’ll -remember you for this, you villain—you—” - -“I’m sure I don’t care,” said the man, almost crying; for he had lived -in the family since Ellen was a babe, and loved her as his own, “for if -you are going to turn my poor dear mistress out of doors the sooner I -follow the better. I’d not live with such a brute,” continued he, -boldly, “for millions.” - -“Out of the house, both of you, out, I say,” roared Mr. Howard, with a -volley of curses, for he was now stung to an ungovernable rage, and -cared not what he did, “begone!” and taking his daughter by the -shoulders he pushed her violently toward the door. - -Up to this period of the scene, the events of which had passed in less -time than we take to describe them, Ellen, stupefied and astonished, had -been unable to utter a word. Her father’s unparalleled barbarity called -forth continued floods of tears. But she now spoke. - -“Oh! father,” she said, “do not turn me from your doors. You are my only -parent, and I will, I would have told you all. I only went to bid -farewell to him—indeed, indeed I did—” - -“You met him, you own to it,” said Mr. Howard, almost choked with rage, -“before my face. This is too much—out I say.” - -“Father! Father!” said Ellen, falling on her knees, “do not cast me off. -For the love of heaven do not. I will be all you ask. I will never see -him again; I have parted with him forever—oh! father! father—” - -“Yes! you may father, father me now till you are tired; but it’s too -late. Go, and see if your beggar of a clerk can help you. Go, and God’s -and a father’s curse go with you!” and, with the fury of a madman the -brutal parent seized his daughter by the arms, lifted her up, and -pushing her so violently from the door that she went reeling down the -steps, slammed it to after her. Ellen was alone—no! not alone, for the -faithful John, who had sacrificed his place for her was at her side, and -as the innocent outcast looking wildly up at the portal which was thus -forever closed upon her, gave a faint cry, and fell insensible to the -pavement, he caught her in his arms, and bearing her to a neighboring -shop, gave her in charge to the females there, to restore her. - -Shall we pursue the details of this melancholy story? Oh! let us rather -hurry to its close. It terminated as might have been expected. Thrust -from her father’s doors, dreading his brutality even if she could -return, and knowing not where to seek protection in this sudden -emergency, Ellen yielded to the solicitations of her lover, and was -married. Poor girl! though she never looked lovelier than on her -wedding-day, in her pale, sweet face might be seen the traces of that -sorrow which had already begun to darken her life. - -From the hour when Mr. Howard so inhumanly turned his daughter from his -doors, he never was heard to make the slightest enquiry respecting her. -He seemed to have discarded her forever from his mind. He never even -mentioned her name; he appeared to feel no remorse for the deed into -which his passion had hurried him. Not that his conscience never smote -him. God knows that would have displayed a malignity of heart worthy of -a fiend. But no one ever saw these visitings of remorse,—for his pride -forbade him to betray them, as much as it hindered him from re-opening -his doors to his daughter. Yet day by day he grew more irascible. The -worm was at his heart: he felt, though he would not own its sting. - -And for awhile the young pair was supremely happy, or if a care did -cloud the young wife’s brow when she thought of her father’s curse, it -was kissed away by her adoring husband. They had enough to provide them -the necessaries, and they cared little for the superfluities of life. -The birth of a charming boy only served to knit their hearts closer to -each other. - -The first spring after their marriage Stanhope embarked in business, for -he found his salary insufficient for the wants of a family. And for -three years he seemed to prosper. But then came reverses. The times were -critical; even heavy capitalists could scarcely weather the storm; and, -in a word, Stanhope was compelled to fail, after having sunk all he had -embarked by heavy losses. Had he been a large trader, and becoming -bankrupt, dragged scores into ruin with him, he would have been -universally pitied, and perhaps his creditors would have yielded up to -him from the wreck of millions a sufficiency for the rest of his life; -but as he was only a poor man his case met no commiseration. He -determined, however, to pay every debt. The endeavor exhausted almost -literally his last dollar. He had barely a sufficiency left to transport -his family to the village of ——, having been offered a situation as a -clerk in a store in that obscure hamlet. Before leaving the city, -however, his sweet wife, believing that under such circumstances her -father must relent, had, without informing her husband of her intention, -sought admittance at her parent’s mansion, determining to fling herself -at his feet, and solicit his forgiveness and aid. But she was -repulsed—my pen shakes as I record it—she was repulsed like a common -beggar from her own father’s door. - -Let us hurry on. Have we not often seen how misfortune when it once -begins to lower on a man, will sometimes continue its pitiless shower -without intermission, until it has laid its victim in his grave? Well! -every day beheld Stanhope, in despite of his utmost exertions, sinking -lower and lower into distress. His scanty salary barely afforded his -family the coarsest food, and even this was lost within a year, and -directly after the birth of a daughter, by an illness which -incapacitated him from labor, for so long a period that his employer was -forced to discharge him, and procure a substitute. At length he -recovered; but how fearfully was he in debt! A year’s labor at his late -scanty pittance would scarcely discharge his liabilities. Ellen had -foreseen this, and ventured to write to her father, but the letter was -returned unopened. To add to Stanhope’s distress, after various efforts -to procure steady employment, which only resulted in constant -disappointment, his furniture was sold under a distress, and his now -alarmed creditors falling like vultures on what remained, left him with -nothing but the bedding on which they slept, and the clothes which they -wore, with the few other articles protected by the law from an -execution. These, however, he was soon, forced to dispose of to gain -sustenance for his family. In this strait they had found shelter in the -crumbling garret, where they now were,—and though a month had elapsed, -and every thing they had to part with was sold, Stanhope was still -without employment. His wife, after bearing up till nature could endure -no longer, had for several days been lying on a bed of sickness; and -that night they had—oh! God can it be true?—gone dinnerless and -supperless to bed. - -Until within a few days Stanhope had breasted the storm with unshrinking -firmness, although, at times, when he looked upon his angelic wife and -little ones, suffering the full horrors of poverty, his resolution had -almost given way. But even he could not withstand the accumulated -miseries which now beat so bitterly upon his unsheltered head. Let it -not be thought that we exaggerate his misfortunes. God forbid! Even in -our boasted city, and at this day, too, when _charity has become -fashionable_, more than a dozen die annually from sheer starvation. -Stanhope saw nothing but this before them. He could not seek employment -in other places, for how would his family subsist in his absence?—nor -could he take them with him, for alas! he had not the money to transport -them. Broken in spirits and maddened with despair, the thoughts which -rushed through his mind as he gazed around the room can be easier -imagined than described. In that moment his whole life passed before him -as in a panorama. He thought of his happy boyhood; of the bright hopes -of his youth; of his first sanguine love for Ellen; of the bitter -disappointment which followed; of the hopes, and fears of their -separation, and the joy of their first meeting afterward; of the tumult -of feelings, all, however extatic, with which he welcomed the houseless -wanderer to his own humble home; of the three bright and happy years -which, like a dream of heaven, followed their union; and finally of the -series of misfortunes, heaped one upon another, and growing daily more -and more intense, which had closed the whole, and brought him down to -abject poverty. Had he been alone in the world he could have borne it -all without a murmur. But to see his darling uncomplaining Ellen, his -little Henry, his innocent babe, starving before his eyes! Oh! it was -too much. Frenzied with agony he started from his seat, placed his hand -to his brow, and gazing a moment wildly around the room, rushed from the -house. - -Hour after hour passed, and still he returned not. His wife grew -alarmed. She had noticed his wild air as he left the room; she had seen -that his soul was tortured almost to madness; and she now trembled lest -he might in his despair have made away with himself. But no!—it could -not be. Her Stanhope would never do that. Yet it was almost dawn and he -was still absent. She rose painfully from her bed, and staggered to the -door to look out. A light snow covered the ground to the depth of an -inch; and the whole landscape was as silent as death, except when the -wind moaned out a moment in the neighboring forest. For some moments she -gazed vainly through the twilight, but could perceive no one. At length -her straining eyes detected the outlines of a form, and—could it -be?—yes! it was her husband. She rushed into his arms, almost fainting -with joy, as soon as he reached the threshold, murmuring,— - -“Thank God, dear James! you are returned—oh! how glad, how glad I am,” -and then burst into tears. - -“Thank God! too, Ellen for I have brought you money—I begged it—we -shall not starve, no matter at what cost it was gained,” said her -husband wildly, as he flung a small purse upon the floor. Ellen scarcely -noticed the manner or the tone of the speaker in her joy at his return. - -The night passed away rapidly: indeed the day was breaking when Stanhope -returned. She still wept on her husband’s bosom. At length they returned -up stairs, when the contents of the purse were examined. They were not -very valuable; yet they sufficed to ensure that family from starvation, -mind, only _from starvation_, for at least a fortnight. Such a timely -relief seemed indeed providential, and once more they suffered -themselves to hope. - -“Did I not tell you God would not utterly forsake us?” said the sweet -wife. “Oh! let us thank him, dear James,” and falling upon her knees, -while her agitated husband followed her example, that angelic being -poured out her gratitude before her maker. Stanhope was deeply affected, -and he sobbed aloud. When, at length they arose, they saw that their -sweet boy, who had awoke in the interval, had also fallen on his little -knees beside them. They clasped him to their arms, and wept afresh. But -they were tears of joy—the first they had shed for weeks. Alas! they -were destined to be but too short lived. - -That morning the whole village was thrown into consternation, by the -intelligence that the mail had been robbed, and a passenger murdered, -just before daybreak, and within a mile of the hamlet. After the first -burst of horror had passed, measures were taken to ferret out the -perpetrators of this awful deed. The nearest magistrate entered promptly -upon this duty; witnesses of all kinds were examined; and after a -laborious, though secret investigation of several hours, a warrant was -issued for the apprehension of James Stanhope charged with the double -crime of mail-robbery and murder. Do not start reader! When you shall -have heard the evidence which led to this fearful accusation you will -yourself have painful doubts. And yet _could_ the generous, the noble, -the high-minded Stanhope be a _murderer_? Listen. - -It appears that the mail-coach, on that calamitous night, had but three -passengers besides the driver. The snow was falling fast, but evidently -subsiding, when, about a mile from the village, and in sight of the -turnpike-gate light at its hither extremity, three men, emerging from a -hedge by the road side, had stopped the horses, cut the traces, knocked -down the driver, and after rifling the mail-bags, had proceeded to rob -the passengers, who, all this while, guarded by one of the robbers with -a pistol in either hand, had been forced to look upon the perpetration -of this enormous felony in silence. At this point, however, when each -robber was occupied with his man, one of the passengers, thinking he -could overpower his antagonist, attempted to escape. In the scuffle he -was thrown down; oaths ensued; and the robber exclaiming suddenly, “Is -that you, then by G— take this!” was seen at the word to shoot him -through the brain. All this had passed so rapidly that the other robbers -had not even time to interfere; but no sooner was the deed done, than -apparently alarmed lest the report of the pistol should bring up succor, -they sprang into the hedge and disappeared. The two passengers were so -paralysed by the murder of their comrade, that they stood for some -minutes, without making an effort to follow the robbers—and even when -they recovered their presence of mind, they were afraid to make any -pursuit until they had first obtained aid from the village. One of them -therefore mounted a leader, and aroused the inmates at the turnpike -gate, and in the neighboring houses. Before a sufficient force could be -collected, day had broken; but as the snow had ceased falling -immediately after the flight of the robbers, it was not difficult to -trace their retreat. This was done for nearly half a mile to a bye-road, -back of the village, where the footsteps divided—two of the robbers -appearing to have turned off to a stream down which they continued their -way, while the other one struck across to the village. This latter trail -was followed in mute horror; and though at intervals it was almost -obliterated by the drifts, yet its course could still be distinctly -traced, up to the very door of the building in whose garret James -Stanhope lodged. - -“Now, gentlemen,” said the magistrate, “if any one left that house last -night, or if any one entered it near daybreak, he is the man.” - -This was soon settled. The landlord of poor Stanhope, who occupied the -lower stories, deposed, that being kept awake nearly all night, by a -violent tooth-ache, he had heard some one descend the stairs after -midnight, and, from the heavy step, supposed it to be Mr. Stanhope. Just -before daylight he heard another person come down stairs, when his -curiosity being excited, he arose and peeped through the bowed shutters. -He saw Mrs. Stanhope standing at the front door, as if looking for some -one. In a few minutes her husband returned. He thought even then that -there was something wild in his tenant’s appearance; and his attention -was particularly called to it by seeing Stanhope place, or rather fling, -a small purse into his wife’s hands, exclaiming, “Here is money, we -shall not starve, no matter how it was got,” or words to that effect. -They then went up stairs, and he retired, wondering, to bed. As soon as -he heard of the catastrophe of the night, he determined on acquainting -the magistrate with his suspicions. - -“It does seem, gentlemen,” said the justice, taking his spectacles from -his eyes, and looking around at the astonished listeners, when the -witness had concluded his testimony “as if the finger of God had pointed -us directly to the perpetrator of this enormous felony and murder. James -Stanhope was always a beggar, and no honest man need be so in this -highly-favored country.”—The magistrate forgot that but a week before -he had refused to engage his victim as a common day-laborer, because he -said Stanhope’s late sickness had left him too weak to work with any -profit to his employer.—“Let three or four of you get ready to -accompany me, for the murderer may prove desperate. I’ll take my -father’s pistols he wore at Princeton.” - -Meanwhile, the coroner, having been sent for by express, had arrived and -impanelled a jury, in the language of the law, “_super visum corporis_.” -The murdered man was identified as a passenger, and his name, on -searching his pockets, discovered to be _Mr. Howard_. A verdict, that -the deceased came to his death by the hands of a person or persons -unknown, was given in, and the jury adjourned. Could it be that the -deceased was Ellen’s parent? Alas! subsequent investigations proved it -to be too true, and the village was in a few days thunder-struck with -the intelligence that Stanhope had murdered his own father-in-law. But -we anticipate. - -Meanwhile, the victim of these investigations, exhausted by his last -night’s watching, was lying in his crazy garret, in a calm deep sleep. -His wife sat beside him, leaning her head on her hands, and gazing into -her husband’s face, as his features smiled in slumber; while now and -then, as her little boy would steal up to her for a kiss or a caress, -she would drop a tear of mingled happiness and love upon his face. -Sweet, noble woman! As she looked upon that calm, chiselled face, and -thought of all her husband had suffered for her sake, how her heart -swelled with emotions of tenderness toward him. His pale, high brow was -partly shaded by the dark locks which curled around it. On every line of -its broad surface could be seen the traces of care. Ellen stooped and -kissed it. At that moment the door was suddenly opened, and a crowd of -men broke rudely into the apartment. The noise awakened the sleeper, and -he started half up and gazed around him, while the frightened little -fellow ran and clung to his mother’s side, peeping tremblingly at the -strangers. Ellen sprang to her feet equally alarmed, gazing with an ashy -cheek on the intruders. - -“There he is—seize him, seize him,” said the magistrate. - -Three of the officers rushed forward, but Ellen instinctively interposed -between them and her husband. One of the men attempted to thrust her -aside. Quick as lightning the indignant husband felled the wretch to the -floor. - -“He resists the law,” shouted the magistrate, “down with him—shoot him -if he don’t instantly surrender.” - -“The law!—what authority have you produced for this insulting entrance -on my privacy?” said Stanhope, placing himself before his wife and -child, and frowning sternly on the intruders. - -“_I_ have authority,” said the magistrate, advancing, “you are my -prisoner!” - -“Your prisoner!—for what?” said the astonished husband. - -“For the robbery of the mail, and the murder of a passenger.” - -One long piercing shriek rang through that apartment as the wife of his -bosom fell fainting to the floor. The next moment, despite his -entreaties, despite his struggles when he found his prayers -unsuccessful, despite even the petitions of his little son which might -have moved a heart of stone, he was torn from his senseless wife, and -borne in triumph to the village jail. When, through the humane -attentions of a poor neighbor, Ellen revived, it was only to learn that -her husband had been rent from her to await—perhaps the scaffold. - -A few days brought the intelligence that Mr. Howard had died intestate, -and that consequently his daughter was now his sole heir. His untimely -fate had frustrated his design of disinheriting his only child. But oh! -at what a cost had Ellen purchased his fortune. Could wealth bring any -joy to that almost heart-broken wife? Willingly would she have -surrendered it to have been as they were the day before, poor but -unsuspected. Not that for a moment she doubted her husband’s -innocence—no! she felt that the bosom on which she had so often leaned -could never have been that of a murderer—but she saw that the evidence, -so circumstantially adduced against him, was almost unanswerable. Alas! -the public sentiment sufficiently forewarned her of her husband’s fate. -No one even whispered the possibility of his innocence. One universal -cry of indignation attested the horror with which the crime, and he as -its reputed author, were regarded. - -But how did Stanhope deport himself in these trying circumstances? From -the first he had asserted his innocence, and accounted for the tracks -leading to his house, by stating that he had met three men, whom he -supplicated, in his agony, for aid,—and that one of them had hurriedly -thrown him the purse which he brought home. Every one shook their heads -at this story. Yet the general incredulity did not produce any show of -weakness in Stanhope. His character seemed to rise in majesty as his -fortunes grew darker, and he prepared himself to breast the storm with -fortitude at least, if not with resignation. Yet the sight of his sweet -wife, almost unnerved him at times; and his greatest consolation was in -reflecting that, if he should perish ignominiously, she would not be -left a penniless outcast. And oh! how bitterly, and with what scalding -tears did that wife weep upon his bosom. - -Meantime, however, another examination of Stanhope’s case was to take -place, preparatory to fully committing him for trial at the next oyer -and terminer. It was at this stage of the transaction that I was called -in as counsel for the accused. We had known each other in society, in -our younger days, and nothing ever more startled me than the news of his -arrest. I could not believe him guilty of such an appalling crime. And -yet I had fearful doubts. Could it be, that, stung to madness by -approaching starvation, and recognising the author of his miseries in -Mr. Howard, he had yielded to a momentary hallucination, and become a -murderer? - -Never shall I forget my first interview with him in my new capacity of -his counsel. It was in a damp, narrow cell, little better than a -dungeon. I had not seen Stanhope for years. When we last met it had been -in a gay ball-room, where my poor client was “the admired of all -observers.” Now how changed. His face no longer wore the hue of health; -care had ploughed his brow across with many a furrow; and his wan cheek -told of the long hours of agony through which he had passed. Yet his -mien was collected, even lofty. I felt an innate conviction of his -innocence, and hastened to assure him that I came not only as a -professional adviser, but as a friend. He grasped my hand eagerly, but -could not for a moment speak. At length he said with a faint smile in -reply, - -“We meet under far different circumstances than when we met last.” - -“Yes!—but we shall soon, I hope, acquit you,” said I, expressing what I -scarcely believed. “There is some extraordinary mistake in this matter.” - -“Oh! can you indeed save us?” said his wife, eagerly advancing—I had -only noticed that a female was in the back-ground of the cell, and never -having seen Stanhope’s bride, I did not know her until she spoke—“God -in heaven bless you, if you can!” and after a vain effort at composure, -the sweet being burst into tears, and fell upon her husband’s bosom. -Stanhope did not speak; he bent over her and folded her to his heart; -and I thought I saw a tear-drop fall sparkling upon her dark raven hair. -My own eyes were scarcely dry. - -But why protract these painful scenes? Suffice it to say that I retired -from that solitary cell, more than ever convinced of my client’s -innocence, and full of admiration at the generous devotion of that -sweet, angelic wife. - -The examination of Stanhope took place on the next morning—and it was -only then that I became fully aware of the terrible evidence against -him. Indeed the chain of testimony was so thoroughly welded together in -every link, that, for a moment, I not only despaired, but almost -recanted my belief in the prisoner’s innocence. I am sure that I was the -only one present who did not believe him guilty. - -The evidence against him was much the same as that given on the morning -after the murder. Many additional facts, however, were elicited, which -materially strengthened the case for the prosecution. A purse which was -found on Stanhope’s person at the time of his arrest was identified, by -a passenger, as having been seen in Mr. Howard’s hands on the evening of -the murder, when he paid for a bottle of wine which they drank together. -Mr. Howard’s house-keeper also knew the purse. Neither of the passengers -could recognise the murderer’s countenance; but both concurred in making -oath that the figure of the murderer was similar to that of Stanhope. -Here was a mass of testimony which was sufficient, if unanswered, to -condemn any man; and when the personal interest which Stanhope had in -Mr. Howard’s death was taken into consideration, was not his situation -really alarming? And what had he to oppose to this? Nothing, positively -nothing, except his oft repeated explanation, and his continued -asseverations of innocence. - -Meanwhile I spared no effort to elucidate the mystery which seemed to -hang over this catastrophe. Believing, as I did, in Stanhope’s -innocence, I longed for some clue which might lead to the detection of -the real murderer. But in vain. As a last resort I wrote a letter to the -most eminent counsel at the —— bar, earnestly urging him to join me in -the case. He replied favorably. - -“Speak to me freely, D——,” said Stanhope to me, the day before his -trial, “for my wife is absent now, and I can hear the worst. Am I -without hope? God knows it is hard enough to part with all you love; it -is hard for an innocent man to die a felon’s death; it is hard to leave -behind you a stain on your children’s name,—but yet, if it is to be, -let me not be deceived. As you would, in my situation, wish to be done -by, so do by me. Tell me frankly—tell me all.” - -I hesitated; I evaded his question. - -“It is enough, D——,” said he, with a quivering lip, “God help my wife -and little ones,” and, overcome by his emotion, he buried his face in -his hands. It was the first time I had seen him give way to his -feelings. But it was soon past. He looked up, “This is weakness,—it is -over now. My enemies shall not, at least, triumph in beholding my -agony.” - -This stoicism was even more affecting than his agitation. My eyes -involuntarily filled with tears, and I pressed his hand in silence. - -“God bless you,” said he, with renewed emotion, “except my poor family -you are my only friend.” - -The morning of the trial dawned without a cloud. Never had such an -excitement pervaded the village. The atrocity of the deed; the standing -of the parties; the high talent arrayed on the part of the prosecution; -and a rumor which had got afloat that the prisoner intended to confess -his guilt, had awakened such an intense interest, that, long before the -hour of trial, the court-room was crowded to overflowing. The whole town -seemed alive. From every lane and street, from every house and hovel, -they poured along, rich and poor, old and young, crowding and jostling -each other, until the court-room was densely packed with the spectators, -and farther admittance was impossible. The windows were blocked up with -the multitude; the bar, and even the bench were full of people; and -hundreds of eager faces, peered one above another in the back-ground, -until they terminated in the gallery above. The hall without was noisy -with the populace, and crowds, unable to obtain an entrance, waited -breathlessly in the yard to learn, by the murmurs from within, the -fluctuations of the trial. - -The prisoner entered with a firm, composed bearing, and bowing to the -bench, glanced a moment round the room. There was a lofty pride in his -demeanor which I shall never forget. A death-like silence pervaded the -hundreds there, and scarcely an eye but quailed beneath that fearless -glance. He then took his seat. A murmur ran around the room. The -impression made by the prisoner’s demeanor was evidently favorable. Pity -usurped the place of idle curiosity. His sweet wife’s presence did not -lessen this favorable sentiment. She had insisted on being present -during the whole of the trial, and she now sat beside her husband, -clasping his hand in hers, and looking up into his face with a glance -which told, that whatever others might think, she at least knew him to -be innocent. Thank God! there is such a thing in this world as woman’s -love. - -The jury was impanelled; the indictment read; and the prisoner pleaded -“not guilty,” putting himself, in the words of the law, “upon God and -his country.” The attorney general then arose and opened his case; and -rarely have I listened to a more artful address. The history of the -prisoner’s love, his marriage with the daughter of the deceased, the -separation which had ever since existed betwixt the families, and the -natural irritation which the accused must have felt toward the murdered -man, and which might have led to the sudden sacrifice of his life in a -moment of passion, even without any premeditated design against him, -were all worked up with such consummate skill, that, when the evidence -came to be detailed, the jury looked knowingly at each other, as if -satisfied that the prisoner was the only person who could have been -guilty of the murder. Indeed, the circumstances were unanswerable. Look -at them. Here is a man wronged, deeply wronged by the deceased—that man -is stung to madness by the horrors of approaching starvation—he leaves -his house, at the dead of night and does not return until morning, and -he brings with him on his return a purse which is subsequently -identified as having been in the possession of the murdered man. Nor is -this all. The murderer obviously committed the crime under a sudden -impulse, for on recognising the deceased he made a passionate -exclamation, and discharged his pistol. After the deed, he, as well as -his companions, terrified at what had been done, fled in dismay. They -are tracked until one of their number left them, and the footsteps of -that one led to Stanhope’s door. What could be more conclusive? Such was -the substance of the argument against the prisoner, an argument so -compact, candid, and devoid of declamation as to be irresistibly -convincing; and when it was finished I trembled—and not without -cause—for the life of the accused. - -The evidence was the same as that upon the examination prior to the -commitment of the prisoner. There was no discrepancy in the statements -of the witnesses. All was clear, truth-like, and irresistible. Even the -talents of my colleague failed to elicit any thing material on the -cross-examination, although he subjected the witnesses severally to as -severe a scrutiny as I ever saw exercised. The man especially who -testified to having examined the tracks of the robbers in the snow -underwent the most searching probing. The efforts of the defence were -directed to establish the possibility that there might have been three -fugitives on the first track even after the separation—in short, to -overthrow the view taken by the prosecution that the robbers separated -at this point. - -“Did you,” said my colleague, “inspect the tracks of the larger body of -fugitives after the supposed defection of one of their number?” - -The man answered in the affirmative, and said that he was certain there -could not have been more than two, by the number of foot-marks. - -“How far did you follow the tracks?” - -“To the neighboring creek.” - -“And why did you not pursue them farther?” - -“Because the creek being frozen over, the ice was what is called glip, -and the wind had consequently so drifted the snow off from the surface, -that we lost all sight of the path pursued by the robbers.” - -“Did you examine the opposite bank in order to recover the trail?” - -“Yes!—for a quarter of a mile, but to no purpose.” My colleague was -foiled. - -We opened our case as we best could. The gigantic difficulties against -which we had to contend almost disheartened us; but one look at the -prisoner and his sweet wife inspired us with renewed energy. Poor Ellen! -how eagerly she hung on every word, gazing now on her husband and then -on the speaker, and seeming to say in every look, that though all the -world might desert the accused, she at least would cling to him to the -last. - -Our evidence was confined almost wholly to the character of the accused, -although the account which he gave of himself on the night of the murder -was skilfully introduced by my colleague, as a portion of a conversation -between the prisoner and one of the commonwealth’s witnesses, which had -been given only in part by the prosecution. It was in substance as -follows: - -Stung to madness on the night of the murder, by the horrors of -approaching starvation, Stanhope had left his home, scarcely knowing -whither to bend his steps for aid. For several hours he wandered about -in the wintry night, and at length found himself on the borders of the -creek, back of the village. While standing there moodily, it began to -snow. All was silent around. As the white flakes drove in his face, and -the biting air swept over his cheek, his feelings became gradually less -excited, and he was on the point of returning home, when he perceived -three men rapidly approaching through the snow-storm. For the first time -in his life he stooped to beg. The nearest man turned sharply around on -him as he spoke, seemed to hesitate a moment, and then, as if by a -sudden impulse, flung him the purse, which was subsequently identified -as Mr. Howard’s. The men then dashed down the bank toward the stream, -and vanished as rapidly as they had appeared. - -Such was the substance of our defence. It met with nothing but sneers -from the prosecuting officer, who, in his address to the jury, treated -it as a story fabricated solely for the occasion. Too many of the -spectators appeared to agree with him, and when he sat down, the ominous -faces of the jury chilled my very heart. At this moment, however, my -colleague rose to reply. - -Never shall I forget the impression made by this rejoinder. Few men of -his day possessed so much eloquence, and on the present occasion it was -exerted to the utmost. Skilfully availing himself of the course of -argument adopted by the attorney general, he drew in the darkest colors, -the unnatural conduct of Mr. Howard to his daughter, and her subsequent -destitution owing thereto, and then, by one of those bursts of passion -for which he was remarkable, picturing her as she now sat, almost -heart-broken, by her husband’s side, he succeeded in awakening the -deepest pity in his audience toward the accused. Then, by a sudden -transition, he seized upon the testimony of the last witness of the -prosecution, and in a few rapid, lightning-like sentences, tore it into -shreds. “Yes! gentlemen of the jury,” continued my impassioned -colleague, “there is no evidence whatever to criminate the defendant. -The grand error of all prosecutions is in thinking a certain man guilty, -and then proceeding to account for his conduct. But you must proceed in -a manner directly the reverse of this. You must start with the murder -and trace up, from that point, the perpetrator. Take the present case, -dismiss the idea that Stanhope is the murderer—start afresh on the -search after the guilty man—follow up the fugitives to the moment when -these other footsteps are met with, and then before God and your own -consciences, is there any proof—I repeat it, is there any _proof_, that -James Stanhope left the path, or even whether any man left it? You -start. But here is the gist of the argument. Here is the broken link in -the chain of testimony against us. Unless you are satisfied that some -one of the robbers _did_ leave the gang, you must acquit the prisoner. -Might not the unfortunate man at the bar have been, as he says, on the -spot when these men passed? The finding of the purse on the prisoner -proves nothing, for might he not have obtained it in alms? Would not the -murderer, indeed, gladly rid himself of this tell-tale, in order to -divert suspicion from himself? The character, the relationship, the -honor, the common sense of my client forbid the supposition that he -would commit so frightful a crime, and yet instantly seek his home, -although the ground was covered with snow, and he knew that detection, -under such circumstances would be inevitable. Gentlemen, it could not -be. On your oaths you will say it could not be. And as you value a -fellow creature’s life, as you value your eternal peace, I conjure you -to remember that the least doubt must acquit the prisoner. Convict -him—and you destroy an innocent man. Acquit him—and you give peace to -a broken-hearted wife. If you condemn him, oh! what will be your pangs -of remorse when the real criminal is detected. I leave you to your God -and yourselves. I implore heaven to guide you aright.” - -He took his seat. A dead silence hung over the vast assembly. The effect -was too deep for words. At length a heavy, long-protracted sigh was -heard throughout the crowd, as if men had held their breaths in awe, and -found relief, only that moment, from the spell which bound them. Oh! how -I longed that the verdict might then be taken. The sweet wife of the -prisoner felt a hope which hitherto she had scarcely ventured to -cherish, and clasping her husband’s hand, looked up into his face with a -love no language can express, while the tears rolled fast and thick down -her cheeks. - -At length the attorney general rose to reply. Guarding the jury against -being led away by their feelings, he plunged as soon as possible into -the argument, and keeping constantly before their minds the fact of the -possession of Mr. Howard’s purse by the accused, and the exclamation -used by the murderer at the moment of committing the deed, he soon -succeeded in removing from their minds at least, the impression of the -prisoner’s innocence. How my heart sickened as I saw them turn from one -to the other, with those significant glances. And when the prosecuting -officer sat down, after his adroit and effective harangue, I felt almost -as if my own doom was at hand. - -The judge proceeded to charge the jury. Long afterward that judicial -effort was talked of as a model of clear and comprehensive logic. It was -as I feared. He bore terribly upon the prisoner, treated the story of -the accused as of no credibility, and concluded by a powerful appeal to -the jury not to be misled by the eloquence of counsel. Yet, even when -thus performing what he deemed his duty, his eye happened to fall upon -the prisoner’s wife, and I noticed that his lip quivered. - -The jury arose and retired. The anxiety, not to say excitement of the -spectators, was wound up to an unusual pitch, and increased momentarily. -Whatever might be the sentiment of those who were the arbiters of the -prisoner’s fate, but one feeling seemed to pervade that vast -assembly—and a deep, intense sympathy for the accused, had supplanted -the almost universal opinion of his guilt with which the trial had -opened. Men eagerly leaned forward to catch a sight of the proud bearing -of Stanhope, or the touching demeanor of his wife, and more than one -hand brushed away a tear as its owner beheld that melancholy group, -awaiting the decision of its fate. As time passed on, the audience grew -restless with impatience, glancing now at the clock and now at the door -where the jury were expected to enter,—and when at length the bearers -of the prisoner’s fate entered, one by one, with slow and solemn steps, -like mourners on the shores of Styx, a deep-drawn breath of mingled -dread and curiosity, was heard throughout the room. It was an ominous -sign to me that every man of the jury avoided looking at the prisoner. - -As the accused was ordered, according to the usual form, to stand up and -look upon the jury, I glanced at the face of his wife. It was pale and -red by turns. She seemed fainting. But the bearing of my client was as -calm and collected as a Roman martyr’s. Save a slight flushing of the -face, he betrayed no emotion. The audience, however, was lost in the -most intense curiosity. Judge, officers, attorney general—all gazed -anxiously at the foreman. Bending eagerly forward, they breathlessly -awaited the verdict. The silence of the dead reigned in the room. - -“How say you, gentlemen of the jury,” said the clerk, “is James -Stanhope, the prisoner at the bar, guilty or not guilty, in manner and -form as he stands indicted?” - -There was a thrilling suspense of a moment, which seemed protracted into -an age. Then came, in a low but fearfully distinct voice, the answer of -the foreman, as, laying his hand upon his heart, he said,— - -“Guilty of murder in the first degree!” - -A half-suppressed cry shot wildly throughout the apartment, and then -followed a heavy sob at my side. It was the prisoner’s wife who had -fainted, and would have fallen, had I not caught her. - -“And so say you all?” asked the clerk. - -The jury nodded, and while the foreman handed in the verdict, prepared -to take their seats, when suddenly, in one corner of the apartment, a -commotion arose, as if some person was endeavoring to make way through -the crowd, but was resisted. The opposition, however, was only -momentary, for after a murmured altercation, cries arose of “pass her -on—make way,” ending at length in a prolonged huzza, and before the -astonished officers of the court could move toward the scene of the -uproar, or be heard commanding silence in the din, the form of a woman -was seen hurried through an opening in the crowd, and in an instant she -stood within the bar. She was evidently highly excited. - -“Stop!” she said, turning to the foreman, “in God’s name stop—don’t -hand in your verdict—the prisoner is innocent—I can point out the -murderer.” - -If I could live, throughout an eternity, I should never forget that -moment. Every man started to his feet. Without waiting for an -explanation, the crowd caught at her assertion, with an eagerness which -could not have been surpassed had their own fate depended on its truth. -A universal frenzy seized on the spectators, which showed itself in long -and reiterated shouts, lasting for several minutes. Even the officers -caught the excitement. The judge himself was visibly agitated. The -prisoner, for the first time, turned pale as death, and gasped -convulsively, while his poor wife, recovered from her momentary shock, -grasped my hand as if in a vice, and trembled violently. - -“Mr. Clerk—don’t record the verdict yet!” said the judge, with an -excited voice. “Let us hear the woman first. Swear her!” - -As soon as silence could be procured, the woman was sworn. She proved to -be the mistress of the real murderer, and had intended preserving -silence, but her conscience, not yet altogether seared, would not suffer -her to stand by, and see an innocent man convicted, when a word from her -might save him. She was cognizant of both the robbery and murder, and -now offered to turn state’s evidence. The murderer had confessed to her -his meeting with Stanhope, and exulted in having given him the purse of -the murdered man. - -The exclamation of the criminal on discharging his pistol was accounted -for by his having formerly been a clerk in the employment of Mr. Howard, -who had turned him off on suspicion of a robbery of which he averred he -was innocent. But the imputation could not be shaken off, and he was -eventually driven in reality to crime. On thus suddenly discovering his -old master, he had yielded to a long-cherished thirst for revenge, and -murdered him in the impulse of the moment. - -“All this will be clear,” said the judge, “if you produce the real -criminal. I cannot suffer the jury again to retire until you have thus -corroborated your story.” - -“Let your honor send a couple of officers to my house. Nat Powers, whom -every one knows, is the man.” - -In less than a minute a posse had set forth, every one wondering that -suspicion had passed ever the most notorious character in the -neighborhood, and who had not left the penitentiary a twelvemonth. -Before an hour the guilty man was produced in court. He maintained his -dare-devil expression of countenance until he saw by whom he was -accused, when he turned pale as death, and muttered a curse on her -treachery. - -The real murderer was subsequently tried, found guilty, and hung. The -disclosures he made after sentence led to the arrest of one of the mail -robbers, who suffered also. Yet no one would ever have suspected them, -if the murderer’s leman had kept silence. Thus closely allied in -appearance are often innocence and guilt. - -Need I say that a verdict was returned unanimously acquitting the -prisoner—or that the joy of that sweet wife was past utterance? -Stanhope, who had stood all till now, wept like a child. God knows their -after felicity was dearly purchased by the agony of that day. - - D. - - * * * * * - - - - - I CLING TO THEE. - - - BY T. G. SPEAR. - - - ’Tis sweet, belov’d, to have thee nigh, - In pleasant converse thus with me, - For while these social moments fly, - I feel my heart-strings cling to thee— - Yes, cling to thee with stronger ties - Than e’er I felt or knew before, - As day by day some charm supplies, - That makes me bless thee more and more. - - Though love may be a troubled stream, - And oftimes seek a troubled sea, - I find the passage like a dream, - In sailing down its tide with thee; - And feel resigned amidst the roar - That would against our barque prevail, - Till every idle gust is o’er - That hangs around its bridal sail. - - I cling to thee, by night by day— - With all a wife’s affection tried, - And bless thee fondly when away, - And when reclining at my side. - I think of thee where’er thou art, - Nor can forget thee though unseen— - Thou beacon of my trusting heart! - That cheer’st it through each passing scene. - - In doubt—in transport—or distress, - My soul reclines itself on thee, - Whose words are ever quick to bless— - And being bless’d it clings to thee. - It clings around the cherished name - It first rejoic’d to know was thine— - In bliss or sorrow—wrong or shame, - For ever yours—for ever mine. - - I cling to thee as guide and friend— - The plighted guardian of my heart— - Whose presence doth a brightness lend, - That leaves a sadness when apart. - The love I know, the joy I feel, - As closely with thy Fate entwin’d— - And time cannot thy memory steal, - From out the chambers of my mind. - - I cling to thee in calm or storm— - In terror—torture—bond or free, - My love from out its fountain warm, - Still rolls in tranquil rills to thee. - For thee it pours the fervent prayer— - The morning hymn—the evening lay— - That thou mayst never know despair, - Nor fell Misfortune’s friendless sway. - - I cling to thee as clings the vine - Around some noble forest tree— - And when thou shalt thy strength resign, - I too would fall and sleep with thee - Yes, ’neath yon bright and flaming sun, - And this our own dear native sky, - We long have liv’d and lov’d as one, - And would as one together die. - - Thou’rt dear to me through all of time— - And in that hour when life takes wing, - The thought serene—the hope sublime— - Departing still to thee shall cling. - But shouldst thou, love, first sink to sleep, - And light my worldly path no more, - My soul shall wait, and watch, and weep, - And cling to thee, though gone before. - - * * * * * - - - - - A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTRÖM. - - - BY EDGAR A. POE. - - -We had now reached the summit of the loftiest crag. For some minutes the -old man seemed too much exhausted to speak. - -“Not long ago,” said he, at length, “and I could have guided you on this -route as well as the youngest of my sons; but, about three years past, -there happened to me an event such as never happened before to mortal -man—or at least such as no man ever survived to tell of—and the six -hours of deadly terror which I then endured have broken me up body and -soul. You suppose me a _very_ old man—but I am not. It took less than a -single day to change these hairs from a jetty black to white, to weaken -my limbs, and to unstring my nerves, so that I tremble at the least -exertion, and am frightened at a shadow. Do you know I can scarcely look -over this little cliff without getting giddy?” - -The “little cliff,” upon whose edge he had so carelessly thrown himself -down to rest, that the weightier portion of his body hung over it, while -he was only kept from falling by the tenure of his elbow on its extreme -and slippery edge—this “little cliff” arose, a sheer unobstructed -precipice of black shining rock, some fifteen or sixteen hundred feet -from the world of crags beneath us. No consideration would have tempted -me to within half a dozen yards of its brink. In truth so deeply was I -excited by the perilous position of my companion, that I fell at full -length upon the ground, clung to the shrubs around me, and dared not -even glance upward at the sky—while I struggled in vain to divest -myself of the idea that the very foundations of the mountain were in -danger from the fury of the winds. It was long before I could reason -myself into sufficient courage to sit up and look out into the distance. - -“You must get over these fancies,” said the guide, “for I have brought -you here that you might have the best possible view of the scene of that -event I mentioned—and to tell you the whole story with the spot just -under your eye.” - -“We are now,” he continued, in that particularising manner which -distinguished him—“we are now close upon the Norwegian coast—in the -sixty-eighth degree of latitude—in the great province of Nordland—and -in the dreary district of Lofoden. The mountain upon whose top we sit is -Helseggen, the Cloudy. Now raise yourself up a little higher—hold on to -the grass if you feel giddy—so—and look out beyond the belt of vapor -beneath us into the sea.” - -I looked dizzily, and beheld a wide expanse of ocean, whose waters wore -so inky a hue as to bring at once to my mind the Nubian Geographer’s -account of the _Mare Tenebrarum_. A panorama more deplorably desolate no -human imagination can conceive. To the right and left, as far as the eye -could reach, there lay outstretched, like ramparts of the world, lines -of horridly black and beetling cliff, whose character of irredeemable -gloom was but the more forcibly illustrated by the surf which reared -high up against it its white and ghastly crest, howling and shrieking -forever. Just opposite the promontory upon whose apex we were placed, -and at the distance of some five or six miles out at sea, there was -visible a small, bleak-looking island; or, more properly, its position -was discernible through the wilderness of surge in which it was -enveloped. About two miles nearer the land, arose another of smaller -size, hideously craggy and barren, and encompassed at various intervals -by a cluster of dark rocks. - -The appearance of the ocean, in the space between the more distant -island and the shore, had something very unusual about it. Although, at -the time, so strong a gale was blowing landward that a brig in the -remote offing lay to under a double-reefed trysail, and constantly -plunged her whole hull out of sight, still there was here nothing like a -regular swell, but only a short, quick, angry cross-dashing of water in -every direction—as well in the teeth of the wind as otherwise. Of foam -there was little, except in the immediate vicinity of the rocks. - -“The island in the distance,” resumed the old man, “is called by the -Norwegians Vurrgh. The one midway is Moskoe. That a mile to the -northward is Ambaaren. Yonder are Islesen, Hotholm, Kieldhelm, Suarven, -and Buckholm. Farther off—between Moskoe and Vurrgh—are Otterholm, -Flimen, Sandflesen, and Stockholm. These are the true names of the -places—but why it has been thought necessary to name them at all, is -more than either you or I can understand. Do you hear any thing? Do you -see any change in the water?” - -We had now been about ten minutes upon the top of Helseggen, to which we -had ascended from the interior of Lofoden, so that we had caught no -glimpse of the sea until it had burst upon us from the summit. As the -old man spoke I became aware of a loud and gradually increasing sound, -like the moaning of a vast herd of buffaloes upon an American prairie; -and at the same moment I perceived that what seamen term the _chopping_ -character of the ocean beneath us was rapidly changing into a current -which set to the eastward. Even while I gazed, this current acquired a -monstrous velocity. Each moment added to its speed—to its headlong -impetuosity. In five minutes the whole sea, as far as Vurrgh, was lashed -into ungovernable fury; but it was between Moskoe and the coast that the -main uproar held its sway. Here the vast bed of the waters, seamed and -scarred into a thousand conflicting channels, burst suddenly into -phrensied convulsion—heaving, boiling, hissing—gyrating in gigantic -and innumerable vortices, and all whirling and plunging on to the -eastward with a rapidity which water never elsewhere assumes except in -precipitous descents. - -In a few minutes more, there came over the scene another radical -alteration. The general surface grew somewhat more smooth, and the -whirlpools, one by one, disappeared, while prodigious streaks of foam -became apparent where none had been seen before. These streaks, at -length, spreading out to a great distance, and entering into -combination, took unto themselves the gyratory motion of the subsided -vortices, and seemed to form the germ of another more vast. -Suddenly—very suddenly—this assumed a distinct and definite existence, -in a circle of more than a mile in diameter. The edge of the whirl was -represented by a broad belt of gleaming spray—but no particle of this -slipped into the mouth of the terrific funnel, whose interior, as far as -the eye could fathom it, was a smooth, shining, and jet-black wall of -water, inclined to the horizon at an angle of some forty-five degrees, -speeding dizzily round and round with a swaying and sweltering motion, -and sending forth to the winds an appalling voice, half shriek half -roar, such as not even the mighty cataract of Niagara ever lifts up in -its agony to Heaven. - -The mountain trembled to its very base, and the rock rocked. I threw -myself upon my face, and clung to the scant herbage in an excess of -nervous agitation. - -“This,” said I, at length, to the old man—“this _can_ be nothing else -than the great whirlpool of the Maelström.” - -“So it is sometimes termed,” said he. “We Norwegians call it the -Moskoe-ström, from the island of Moskoe in the midway.” - -The ordinary accounts of this vortex had by no means prepared me for -what I saw. That of Jonas Ramus, which is perhaps the most -circumstantial of any, cannot impart the faintest conception either of -the magnificence, or of the horror of the scene—or of the wild -bewildering sense of _the novel_ which confounds the beholder. I am not -sure from what point of view the writer in question surveyed it, nor at -what time—but it could neither have been from the summit of Helseggen, -nor during a storm. There are some passages of his description, -nevertheless, which may be quoted for their details, although their -effect is exceedingly feeble in conveying an impression of the -spectacle. - -“Between Lofoden and Moskoe,” he says, “the depth of the water is -between thirty-six and forty fathoms; but on the other side, toward Ver -(Vurrgh) this depth decreases so as not to afford a convenient passage -for a vessel, without the risk of splitting on the rocks, which happens -even in the calmest weather. When it is flood, the stream runs up the -country between Lofoden and Moskoe with a boisterous rapidity; but the -roar of its impetuous ebb to the sea is scarce equalled by the loudest -and most dreadful cataracts; the noise being heard several leagues off, -and the vortices or pits are of such an extent and depth, that if a ship -comes within its attraction, it is inevitably absorbed and carried down -to the bottom, and there beat to pieces against the rocks; and when the -water relaxes the fragments thereof are thrown up again. But these -intervals of tranquillity are only at the turn of the ebb and flood, and -in calm weather, and last but a quarter of an hour, its violence -gradually returning. When the stream is most boisterous, and its fury -heightened by a storm, it is dangerous to come within a Norway mile of -it. Boats, yachts, and ships have been carried away by not guarding -against it before they were within its reach. It likewise happens -frequently, that whales come too near the stream, and are overpowered by -its violence; and then it is impossible to describe their howlings and -bellowings in their fruitless struggles to disengage themselves. A bear -once attempting to swim from Lofoden to Moskoe, was caught by the stream -and borne down, while he roared terribly, so as to be heard on shore. -Large stocks of firs and pine trees, after being absorbed by the -current, rise again broken and torn to such a degree as if bristles grew -upon them. This plainly shows the bottom to consist of craggy rocks, -among which they are whirled to and fro. This stream is regulated by the -flux and reflux of the sea—it being constantly high and low water every -six hours. In the year 1645, early in the morning of Sexagesima Sunday, -it raged with such noise and impetuosity that the very stones of the -houses on the coast fell to the ground.” - -In regard to the depth of the water, I could not see how this could have -been ascertained at all in the immediate vicinity of the vortex. The -“forty fathoms” must have reference only to portions of the channel -close upon the shore either of Moskoe or Lofoden. The depth in the -centre of the Moskoe-ström must be immeasurably greater; and no better -proof of this fact is necessary than can be obtained from even the -sidelong glance into the abyss of the whirl which may be had from the -highest crag of Helseggen. Looking down from this pinnacle upon the -howling Phlegethon below, I could not help smiling at the simplicity -with which the honest Jonas Ramus records, as a matter difficult of -belief, the anecdotes of the whales and the bears; for it appeared to -me, in fact, a self-evident thing that the largest ship of the line in -existence, coming within the influence of that deadly attraction, could -resist it as little as a feather the hurricane, and must disappear -bodily and at once. - -The attempts to account for the phenomenon—some of which, I remember, -seemed to me sufficiently plausible in perusal—now wore a very -different and unsatisfactory aspect. The idea generally received is that -this, as well as three smaller vortices among the Ferroe islands, “have -no other cause than the collision of waves rising and falling, at flux -and reflux, against a ridge of rocks and shelves, which confines the -water so that it precipitates itself like a cataract; and thus the -higher the flood rises, the deeper must the fall be, and the natural -result of all is a whirlpool or vortex, the prodigious suction of which -is sufficiently known by lesser experiments.”—These are the words of -the Encyclopædia Britannica. Kircher and others imagine that in the -centre of the channel of the Maelström is an abyss penetrating the -globe, and issuing in some very remote part—the Gulf of Bothnia being -somewhat decidedly named in one instance. This opinion, idle in itself, -was the one to which, as I gazed, my imagination most readily assented; -and, mentioning it to the guide, I was rather surprised to hear him say -that, although it was the view almost universally entertained of the -subject by the Norwegians, it nevertheless was not his own. As to the -former notion he confessed his inability to comprehend it; and here I -agreed with him—for, however conclusive on paper, it becomes altogether -unintelligible, and even absurd, amid the thunder of the abyss. - -“You have had a good look at the whirl now,” said the old man, “and if -you will creep round this crag, so as to get in its lee, and deaden the -roar of the water, I will tell you a story that will convince you I -ought to know something of the Moskoe-ström.” - -I placed myself as desired, and he proceeded. - -“Myself and my two brothers once owned a schooner-rigged smack of about -seventy tons burthen, with which we were in the habit of fishing among -the islands beyond Moskoe, nearly to Vurrgh. In all violent eddies at -sea there is good fishing, at proper opportunities, if one has only the -courage to attempt it; but among the whole of the Lofoden coastmen, we -three were the only ones who made a regular business of going out to the -islands, as I tell you. The usual grounds are a great way lower down to -the southward. There fish can be got at all hours, without much risk, -and therefore these places are preferred. The choice spots over here -among the rocks, however, not only yield the finest variety, but in far -greater abundance; so that we often got in a single day what the more -timid of the craft could not scrape together in a week. In fact, we made -it a matter of desperate speculation—the risk of life standing instead -of labor, and courage answering for capital. - -“We kept the smack in a cove about five miles higher up the coast than -this; and it was our practice, in fine weather, to take advantage of the -fifteen minutes’ slack to push across the main channel of the -Moskoe-ström, far above the pool, and then drop down upon anchorage -somewhere near Otterholm, or Sandflesen, where the eddies are not so -violent as elsewhere. Here we used to remain until nearly time for -slack-water again, when we weighed and made for home. We never set out -upon this expedition without a steady side wind for going and -coming—one that we felt sure would not fail us before our return—and -we seldom made a miscalculation upon this point. Twice, during six -years, we were forced to stay all night at anchor on account of a dead -calm, which is a rare thing indeed just about here; and once we had to -remain on the grounds nearly a week, starving to death, owing to a gale -which blew up shortly after our arrival, and made the channel too -boisterous to be thought of. Upon this occasion we should have been -driven out to sea in spite of every thing, (for the whirlpools threw us -round and round so violently, that at length we fouled our anchor and -dragged it) if it had not been that we drifted into one of the -innumerable cross currents—here to-day and gone to-morrow—which drove -us under the lee of Flimen, where, by good luck, we brought up. - -“I could not tell you the twentieth part of the difficulties we -encountered ‘on the grounds’—it is a bad spot to be in even in good -weather—but we made shift always to run the gauntlet of the -Moskoe-ström itself without accident; although at times my heart has -been in my mouth when we happened to be a minute or so behind or before -the slack. The wind sometimes was not as strong as we thought it at -starting, and then we made rather less way than we could wish, while the -current rendered the smack unmanageable. My eldest brother had a son -eighteen years old, and I had two stout boys of my own. These would have -been of great assistance at such times, in using the sweeps, as well as -afterward in fishing—but, somehow, although we ran the risk ourselves, -we had not the heart to let the young ones get into the danger—for, -after all is said and done, it _was_ a horrible danger, and that is the -truth. - -“It is now within a few days of three years since what I am going to -tell you occurred. It was on the tenth day of July, 18—, a day which -the people of this part of the world will never forget—for it was one -in which blew the most terrible hurricane that ever came out of the -heavens. And yet all the morning, and indeed until late in the -afternoon, there was a gentle and steady breeze from the south-west, -while the sun shone brightly, so that the oldest seaman among us could -not have foreseen what was to follow. - -“The three of us—my two brothers and myself—had crossed over to the -islands about two o’clock, P. M. and had soon nearly loaded the smack -with fine fish, which, we all remarked, were more plenty that day than -we had ever known them. It was just seven, _by my watch_, when we -weighed and started for home, so as to make the worst of the Ström at -slack water, which we knew would be at eight. - -“We set out with a fresh wind on our starboard quarter, and for some -time spanked along at a great rate, never dreaming of danger, for indeed -we saw not the slightest reason to apprehend it. All at once we were -taken aback by a breeze from over Helseggen. This was most -unusual—something that had never happened to us before, and I began to -feel a little uneasy without exactly knowing why. We put the boat on the -wind, but could make no headway at all for the eddies, and I was upon -the point of proposing to return to the anchorage, when, looking astern, -we saw the whole horizon covered with a singular copper-colored cloud -that rose with the most amazing velocity. - -“In the meantime the breeze that had headed us off fell away, and we -were dead becalmed, drifting about in every direction. This state of -things, however, did not last long enough to give us time to think about -it. In less than a minute the storm was upon us—in less than two the -sky was entirely overcast—and what with this and the driving spray, it -became suddenly so dark that we could not see each other in the smack. - -“Such a hurricane as then blew it is folly to attempt describing. The -oldest seamen in Norway never experienced any thing like it. We had let -our sails go by the run before it cleverly took us; but at the first -puff both our masts went by the board as if they had been sawed off—the -mainmast taking with it my youngest brother, who had lashed himself to -it for safety. - -“Our boat was the lightest feather of a thing that ever sat upon water. -It had a complete flush deck with only a small hatch near the bow, and -this hatch it had always been our custom to batten down when about to -cross the Ström, by way of precaution against the chopping seas. But for -this circumstance we should have foundered at once—for we lay entirely -buried for some moments. How my elder brother escaped destruction I -cannot say, for I never had an opportunity of ascertaining. For my part, -as soon as I had let the foresail run, I threw myself flat on deck, with -my feet against the narrow gunwale of the bow, and with my hands -grasping a ring-bolt near the foot of the foremast. It was mere instinct -that prompted me to do this—which was undoubtedly the very best thing I -could have done—for I was too much flurried to think. - -“For some moments we were completely deluged, as I say, and all this -time I held my breath, and clung to the bolt. When I could stand it no -longer I raised myself upon my knees, still keeping hold with my hands, -and thus got my head clear. Presently our little boat gave herself a -shake, just as a dog does in coming out of the water, and thus rid -herself, in some measure, of the seas. I was now trying to get the -better of the stupor that had come over me, and to collect my senses so -as to see what was to be done, when I felt somebody grasp my arm. It was -my elder brother, and my heart leaped for joy, for I had made sure that -he was overboard—but the next moment all this joy was turned into -horror—for he put his mouth close to my ear, and screamed out the word -‘_Moskoe-ström_!’ - -“No one ever will know what my feelings were at that moment. I shook -from head to foot as if I had had the most violent fit of the ague. I -knew what he meant by that one word well enough—I knew what he wished -to make me understand. With the wind that now drove us on, we were bound -for the whirl of the Ström, and nothing could save us! - -“You perceive that in crossing the Ström _channel_, we always went a -long way up above the whirl, even in the calmest weather, and then had -to wait and watch carefully for the slack—but now we were driving right -upon the pool itself, and in such a hurricane as this! ‘To be sure,’ I -thought, ‘we shall get there just about the slack—there is some little -hope in that’—but in the next moment I cursed myself for being so great -a fool as to dream of hope at all. I knew very well that we were doomed, -had we been ten times a ninety-gun ship. - -“By this time the first fury of the tempest had spent itself, or perhaps -we did not feel it so much, as we scudded before it, but at all events -the seas, which at first had been kept down by the wind, and lay flat -and frothing, now got up into absolute mountains. A singular change, -too, had come over the heavens. Around in every direction it was still -as black as pitch, but nearly overhead there burst out, all at once, a -circular rift of clear sky—as clear as I ever saw—and of a deep bright -blue—and through it there blazed forth the full moon with a lustre that -I never before knew her to wear. She lit up every thing about us with -the greatest distinctness—but, oh God, what a scene it was to light up! - -“I now made one or two attempts to speak to my brother—but, in some -manner which I could not understand, the din had so increased that I -could not make him hear a single word, although I screamed at the top of -my voice in his ear. Presently he shook his head, looking as pale as -death, and held up one of his fingers as if to say ‘_listen_!’ - -“At first I could not make out what he meant—but soon a hideous thought -flashed upon me. I dragged my watch from its fob—it was not going. I -glanced at its face by the moonlight, and then burst into tears as I -flung it far away into the ocean. _It had run down at seven o’clock! We -were behind the time of the slack, and the whirl of the Ström was in -full fury!_ - -“When a boat is well built, properly trimmed, and not deep laden, the -waves in a strong gale, when she is going large, seem always to slip -from beneath her—which appears very strange to a landsman—and this is -what is called _riding_, in sea phrase. Well, so far we had ridden the -swells very cleverly; but presently a gigantic sea happened to take us -right under the counter, and bore us with it as it rose—up—up—as if -into the sky. I would not have believed that any wave could rise so -high. And then down we came with a sweep, a slide, and a plunge, that -made me feel sick and dizzy, as if I was falling from some lofty -mountain-top in a dream. But while we were up I had thrown a quick -glance around—and that one glance was all sufficient. I saw our exact -position in an instant. The Moskoe-ström whirlpool was about a quarter -of a mile dead ahead—but no more like the everyday Moskoe-ström, than a -mill-race is like the whirl as you now see it. If I had not known where -we were, and what we had to expect, I should not have recognised the -place at all. As it was, I involuntarily closed my eyes in horror. The -lids clenched themselves together as if in a spasm. - -“It could not have been more than two minutes afterward until we -suddenly felt the waves subside, and were enveloped in a wilderness of -foam. The boat made a sharp half turn to larboard, and then shot off in -its new direction like a thunderbolt. At the same moment the roaring -noise of the water was completely drowned in a kind of shrill -shriek—such a sound as you might imagine given out by the waste-pipes -of many thousand steam-vessels, letting off their steam all together. We -were now in the belt of surf that always surrounds the whirl, and I -thought of course that another moment would plunge us into the -abyss—down which we could only see indistinctly on account of the -amazing velocity with which we were borne along. The boat did not seem -to sink into the water at all, but to skim like an air-bubble upon the -surface of the surge. Her starboard side was next the whirl, and on the -larboard arose the world of ocean we had left. It stood like a huge -writhing wall between us and the horizon. - -“It may appear strange, but now, when we were in the very jaws of the -gulf, I felt more composed than when we were only approaching it. Having -made up my mind to hope no more, I got rid of a great deal of that -terror which unmanned me at first. I suppose it was despair that strung -my nerves. - -“It may look like boasting—but what I tell you is truth—I began to -reflect how magnificent a thing it was to die in such a manner, and how -foolish it was in me to think of so paltry a consideration as my own -individual life, in view of so wonderful a manifestation of God’s power. -I do believe that I blushed with shame when this idea crossed my mind. -After a little while I became possessed with the keenest curiosity about -the whirl itself. I positively felt a _wish_ to explore its depths, even -at the sacrifice I was going to make; and my principal grief was that I -should never be able to tell my old companions on shore about the -mysteries I should see. These, no doubt, were singular fancies to occupy -a man’s mind in such extremity—and I have often thought since, that the -revolutions of the boat around the pool might have rendered me a little -light-headed. - -“There was another circumstance which tended to restore my -self-possession; and this was the cessation of the wind, which could not -reach us in our present situation—for, as you saw yourself, the belt of -surf is considerably lower than the general bed of the ocean, and this -latter now towered above us, a high, black, mountainous ridge. If you -have never been at sea in a heavy gale, you can form no idea of the -confusion of mind occasioned by the wind and spray together. They blind, -deafen, and strangle you, and take away all power of action or -reflection. But we were now, in a great measure, rid of these -annoyances—just as death-condemned felons in prison are allowed petty -indulgences, forbidden them while their doom is yet uncertain. - -“How often we made the circuit of the belt it is impossible to say. We -careered round and round for perhaps an hour, flying rather than -floating, getting gradually more and more into the middle of the surge, -and then nearer and nearer to its horrible inner edge. All this time I -had never let go of the ring-bolt. My brother was at the stern, holding -on to a small empty water-cask which had been securely lashed aft under -the coop of the counter, and was the only thing on deck that had not -been swept overboard when the gale first took us. As we approached the -brink of the pit he let go his hold upon this, and made for the ring, -from which, in the agony of his terror, he endeavored to force my hands, -as it was not large enough to afford us both a secure grasp. I never -felt deeper grief than when I saw him attempt this act—although I knew -he was a madman when he did it—a raving maniac through sheer fright. I -did not care, however, to contest the point with him. I knew it could -make no difference whether either of us held on at all; so I let him -have the bolt, and went, myself, astern to the cask. This there was no -great difficulty in doing; for the smack flew round steadily enough, and -upon an even keel—only swaying to and fro, with the immense sweeps and -swelters of the whirl. Scarcely had I secured myself in my new position, -when we gave a wild lurch to starboard, and rushed headlong into the -abyss. I muttered a hurried prayer to God, and thought all was over. - -“As I felt the sickening sweep of the descent, I had instinctively -tightened my hold upon the barrel, and closed my eyes. For some seconds -I dared not open them—while I expected instant destruction, and -wondered that I was not already in my death-struggles with the water. -But moment after moment elapsed. I still lived. The sense of falling had -ceased; and the motion of the vessel seemed much as it had been before, -while in the belt of foam, with the exception that she now lay more -along. I took courage, and looked once again upon the scene. - -“Never shall I forget the sensations of awe, horror, and admiration with -which I gazed about me. The boat appeared to be hanging, as if by magic, -midway down, upon the interior surface of a funnel prodigious in -circumference, immeasurable in depth, and whose perfectly smooth sides -might have been mistaken for ebony, but for the bewildering rapidity -with which they spun around, and for the gleaming and ghastly radiance -they shot forth, as the rays of the full moon, from that circular rift -amid the clouds which I have already described, streamed in a flood of -golden glory along the black walls, and far away down into the inmost -recesses of the abyss. - -“At first I was too much confused to observe anything accurately. The -general burst of terrific grandeur was all that I beheld. When I -recovered myself a little, however, my gaze fell instinctively downward. -In this direction I was able to obtain an unobstructed view, from the -manner in which the smack hung on the inclined surface of the pool. She -was quite upon an even keel—that is to say, her deck lay in a plane -parallel with that of the water—but this latter sloped at an angle of -more than forty-five degrees, so that we seemed to be lying upon our -beam-ends. I could not help observing, nevertheless, that I had scarcely -more difficulty in maintaining my hold and footing in this situation, -than if we had been upon a dead level; and this, I suppose, was owing to -the speed at which we revolved. - -“The rays of the moon seemed to search the very bottom of the profound -gulf; but still I could make out nothing distinctly, on account of a -thick mist in which everything there was enveloped, and over which there -hung a magnificent rainbow, like that narrow and tottering bridge which -Mussulmen say is the only pathway between Time and Eternity. This mist, -or spray, was no doubt occasioned by the clashing of the great walls of -the funnel, as they all met together at the bottom—but the yell that -went up to the Heavens from out of that mist, I will not attempt to -describe. - -“Our first slide into the abyss itself, from the belt of foam above, had -carried us a great distance down the slope; but our farther descent was -by no means proportionate. Round and round we swept—not with any -uniform movement—but in dizzying swings and jerks, that sent us -sometimes only a few hundred yards—sometimes nearly the complete -circuit of the whirl. Our progress downward, at each revolution, was -very perceptible, but slow. - -“Looking about me upon the wide waste of liquid ebony on which we were -thus borne, I perceived that our boat was not the only object in the -embrace of the whirl. Both above and below us were visible fragments of -vessels, large masses of building timber and trunks of trees, with many -smaller articles, such as pieces of house furniture, broken boxes, -barrels and staves. I have already described the unnatural curiosity -which had taken the place of my original terrors. It appeared to grow -upon me as I drew nearer and nearer to my dreadful doom. I now began to -watch, with a strange interest, the numerous things that floated in our -company. I _must_ have been delirious—for I even sought _amusement_ in -speculating upon the relative velocities of their several descents -toward the foam below. ‘This fir tree,’ I found myself at one time -saying, ‘will certainly be the next thing that takes the awful plunge -and disappears,’—and then I was disappointed to find that the wreck of -a Dutch merchant ship overtook it and went down before. At length, after -making several guesses of this nature, and being deceived in all—this -fact—the fact of my invariable miscalculation—set me upon a train of -reflection that made my limbs again tremble, and my heart beat heavily -once more. - -“It was not a new terror that thus affected me—but the dawn of a more -exciting _hope_. This hope arose partly from memory, and partly from -present observation. I called to mind the great variety of buoyant -matter that strewed the coast of Lofoden, having been absorbed and then -thrown forth by the Moskoe-ström. By far the greater number of the -articles were shattered in the most extraordinary way—so chafed and -roughened as to have the appearance of being stuck full of -splinters—but then I distinctly recollected that there were _some_ of -them which were not disfigured at all. Now I could not account for this -difference except by supposing that the roughened fragments were the -only ones which had been _completely absorbed_—that the others had -entered the whirl at so late a period of the tide, or, for some reason, -had descended so slowly after entering, that they did not reach the -bottom before the turn of the flood came, or of the ebb, as the case -might be. I conceived it possible, in either instance, that they might -thus be whirled up again to the level of the ocean, without undergoing -the fate of those which had been drawn in more early, or absorbed more -rapidly. I made, also, three important observations. The first was, -that, as a general rule, the larger the bodies were, the more rapid -their descent—the second, that, between two masses of equal extent, the -one spherical, and the other _of any other shape_, the superiority in -speed was with the sphere—the third, that, between two masses of equal -size, the one cylindrical, and the other of any other shape, the -cylinder was absorbed the more slowly. Since my escape, I have had -several conversations on this subject with an old school-master of the -district; and it was from him that I learned the use of the words -‘cylinder’ and ‘sphere.’ He explained to me—although I have forgotten -the explanation—how what I observed was, in fact, the natural -consequence of the forms of the floating fragments—and showed me how it -happened that a cylinder, swimming in a vortex, offered more resistance -to its suction, and was drawn in with greater difficulty than an equally -bulky body, of any form whatever. - -“There was one startling circumstance which went a great way in -enforcing these observations, and rendering me anxious to turn them to -account, and this was that, at every revolution, we passed something -like a barrel, or else the yard or the mast of a vessel, while many of -these things, which had been on our level when I first opened my eyes -upon the wonders of the whirlpool, were now high up above us, and seemed -to have moved but little from their original station. I no longer -hesitated what to do. I resolved to lash myself securely to the -water-cask upon which I now held, to cut it loose from the counter, and -to throw myself with it into the water. I attracted my brother’s -attention by signs, pointed to the floating barrels that came near us, -and did everything in my power to make him understand what I was about -to do. I thought at length that he comprehended my design—but, whether -this was the case or not, he shook his head despairingly, and refused to -move from his station by the ring-bolt. It was impossible to reach him; -the emergency admitted of no delay; and so, with a bitter struggle, I -resigned him to his fate, fastened myself to the cask by means of the -lashings which secured it to the counter, and precipitated myself with -it into the sea, without another moment’s hesitation. - -“The result was precisely what I had hoped it might be. As it is myself -who now tell you this tale—as you see that I _did_ escape—and as you -are already in possession of the mode in which this escape was effected, -and must therefore anticipate all that I have farther to say—I will -bring my story quickly to conclusion. It might have been an hour, or -thereabout, after my quitting the smack, when, having descended to a -vast distance beneath me, it made three or four wild gyrations in rapid -succession, and bearing, my loved brother with it, plunged headlong, at -once and forever, into the chaos of foam below. The barrel to which I -was attached sunk very little farther than half the distance between the -bottom of the gulf and the spot at which I leaped overboard, before a -great change took place in the character of the whirlpool. The froth and -the rainbow disappeared. The slope of the sides of the vast funnel -became momently less and less steep. The gyrations of the whirl grew -feeble and fluctuating—then ceased altogether—then finally reversed -themselves with a gradually accelerating motion. And then the bottom of -the gulf uprose—and its turgid aspect had in great measure departed. -The sky was clear, the winds had gone down, and the full moon was -setting radiantly in the west, when I found myself on the surface of the -ocean, in full view of the shores of Lofoden, and above the spot where -the pool of the Moskoe-ström _had been_. It was the hour of the -slack—but the sea still heaved in mountainous waves from the effects of -the hurricane. I was borne violently into the channel of the Ström, and -in a few minutes was hurried down the coast into the ‘grounds’ of the -fishermen. A boat picked me up—exhausted from fatigue—and (now that -the danger was removed) speechless from the memory of its horror. Those -who drew me on board were my old mates and daily companions—but they -knew me no more than they would have known a traveller from the -spirit-land. My hair had been raven-black the day before, and now it is -white as you see. They say too that the whole expression of my -countenance had changed. I told them my story—they did not believe it. -I now tell it to _you_—and you will put no more faith in it than did -the merry fishermen of Lofoden.” - - * * * * * - - - - - SOLILOQUY OF AN OCTOGENARIAN. - - - BY PLINY EARLE, M. D. - - - ’Tis nearly past—this fitful dream, - Whose phantoms dazzle to deceive, - Like glittering bubbles on the stream, - Or meteors in a summer eve; - And now, half-opening to my sight, - I see the realms of lasting Light. - - These feeble pulses speak of death; - This clouded vision bids me look, - With the undaunted eye of faith, - To climes for which Elijah took - From Carmel’s cliffs his joyous way— - Translated to eternal day. - - The blood which, in my childhood, rushed - Like mountain torrents in the isles - Where earth with constant life is flushed, - And everlasting summer smiles, - Now struggles in its sluggish flow, - Like streams through Greenland’s bank of snow; - - Yet not all frozen,—if a beam - Of light return from earlier years, - If, from the spell of childhood’s dream, - Triumphant over grief and tears, - One bright, enchanting moment come, - Like a lost, loved one welcomed home, - - The loosened current, warmed anew, - Hurries along these frigid veins, - As the hot Geyser rushes through - The frozen banks on Iceland’s plains; - And, all forgetful of my years, - I yield again to child-like tears. - - Go, tell me not of loving earth; - Tell me not life is fraught with joy; - Say not this world has given birth - To happiness without alloy; - Too subtle is the spirit’s bliss - To stay in atmosphere like this. - - There’s not a pang that rends the heart, - In the long catalogue of woe, - Of which I have not shared a part, - In this, my pilgrimage below; - I’ve quaffed at sorrow’s bitter cup, - And drank its turbid waters up. - - And now I wish to lay me down, - My mother, Earth, upon thy breast, - When the green turf, with flowers o’ergrown, - Shall flourish o’er my couch of rest; - Gladly would I resign this trust, - And dust consign to native dust. - - Why should I not? my former friends - Have fallen round me, one by one, - As fall the leaves when autumn sends - His breezes through the forests dun. - The grave has garnered all my love, - Why, why remain its walls above?— - - Here do I stand alone—alone— - As stands the stern and sturdy oak, - When all its forest-frères are gone, - Before the woodman’s fatal stroke, - Or wintry tempest sweeping by, - With the leagued legions of the sky. - - Then speed thou home, my wearied soul, - On angel-pinions; bend thine eye, - Unmoved, upon the glorious goal - That waits thy coming in the sky. - Ho, for the waters which arise - At Zion’s foot, in Paradise! - - There shall thou lift thy spirit-tongue, - In praises, that thy bonds are riven, - As, by the fountain, Miriam sung - Hosannahs to the God of Heaven, - When Israel, freed from Pharoah’s hand, - Departed for the promised land. - - * * * * * - - - - - MAY-DAY. - - - A RHAPSODY BY JEREMY SHORT, ESQ. - - -It is April, and the rain is pattering against our window as we write, -with a low monotonous tinkle like the far-off music of an evening bell. -How every thing has changed since yesterday! The sunlight no longer -floods the hill-side—the birds sing not their jocund lays—the brooklet -by our window no more goes frolicking onward in its glittering sheen. -The sky is dun, spongy, and covered with flitting clouds. The fields are -drenched by last night’s rain, and the cattle cower under the sheds in -the barn-yard. Yet the south wind has a warmth and freshness in its -touch delicious to the fevered brow of a student, and as it breathes -through the casement the blood dances more merrily along our veins and -we feel a new life within us. - -It is April, fickle fooling April, but already one begins to dream of -May. And soon it will be here. Oh! how we long for its bright sunshine, -its budding flowers, its delicious perfumes, its breezy mornings and its -starry nights, reminding us of that better country where the streams -sing on forever, where the spring-time never fades, and where all the -sainted ones we have loved on earth, purified and made more glorious -than ever, await us with their seraphic smiles. May!—bright, beautiful -May!—what is like to thy loveliness? The Summer may be full of maturer -beauty, the Autumn more like a matron in her queenliness, but thou art -as a young and innocent bride, all blushing and trembling in thy tearful -gladness. And of all days in May give us the first—the vesperus of her -sky—the proudest gem in her coronal. - -Is there any thing so exquisite in the older poets as their habit of -constantly alluding to the merry sports with which our English ancestors -were accustomed to celebrate the first of May? Is there any thing more -captivating to the lover of green and sunshiny fields and antique -customs, than the dance around the flower-decked pole of the village, -with the rosy-cheeked maidens for partners, and the hobby-horse, the -morrice-crew, and the combatants of the ring around? Alas! the day for -these spectacles has gone forever. Even in merry England the first of -May has lost its popularity, and it is only in some quiet dell, secluded -among the hills, far away from the metropolis, that the Maypole is -wreathed with garlands on the eventful morning, and the blushing beauty -is crowned with flowers as queen of May. How many kindly feelings, how -many happy hours, how many holy associations have been lost to us by the -neglect of this simple rural custom! Far away from home and friends, in -lands remote even from his native continent, the sight of a pole decked -out with flowers for some pagan festival, has recalled to the wanderer’s -mind the happy days of his youth, when he sported with his gay -companions on the village lawn, or slily kissed some blushing little -beauty who had been his partner on the first of May. - -We wish this good old custom could be revived among us, not with its -grotesque maskers, but as a day for greenwood sports. We sing “Io Pæn” -at the few celebrations which are vouchsafed to us in these degenerate -days. Your crabbed utilitarians may talk of its uselessness, and sneer -at it as a childish pastime, but who that has a soul for the beautiful -in nature can fail to love this merry-making on the greensward? Give us -the pure canopy of heaven for our ball-room ceiling—let us dance where -the birds may carol around us and the balmy breath of flowers kiss our -cheeks. Let us welcome in the blushing month with the young, and -beautiful, and gay, feeling as we partake in their sports, as if old -Spenser had dreamed of the fair ones around us, when he drew that -immortal picture of May: - - “Then came faire May, the fayrest mayd on ground, - Deckt all with dainties of her season’s pryde, - And throwing flow’res out of her lap around: - Upon two bretheren’s shoulders she did ride, - The twinnes of Leda; which on either side - Supported her, like to their Soveraine Queene. - Lord! how all creatures laught, when her they spide, - And leapt and daunc’t as they had ravisht beene! - And Cupid selfe about her fluttered all in green.” - -Exquisite! “The fayrest mayd on ground!” Have you ever been on a May -party? Then do you not remember that blue-eyed one, with the golden -tresses, and that small fair hand, whom your eyes followed throughout -the whole bright day, and whom you could have gone on your knees and -sworn to be not only the loveliest flower of the group, but of the -county, aye! for that matter, of the world? You were just nineteen then, -and she was in her sixteenth spring, by our faith! You had never met -before, but long ere nightfall,—what with wandering through the wood -together, or plucking flowers for each other, or lifting her over the -pebbly little brook clear and musical as her own pure heart—you have -come to feel as if you had known each other for years. And that night -you cannot sleep for thinking of her, or if toward morning you drop into -a doze, you dream—oh! how sweetly—of your little partner; so sweetly -that when you awake, you sigh, and close your eyes, and would give the -world if you could only sleep and dream thus of her forever. And you get -up and feel even melancholy, wishing all the while that every day was -the first of May, and that—for why not?—your golden-haired darling was -your constant partner. And that very morning you chance, mind! only -chance—to have some business that takes you down the street where she -resides, and you happen _so_ accidentally to meet her as she comes -forth, looking to your eyes, with her snowy virgin robe, and her -blooming cheek, and her neat chip bonnet wreathed around with flowers, -more beautiful than ever—aye! more beautiful than you had imagined -aught earthly could be, even though “Deckt all with dainties of the -season’s pryde.” And so you can but address her—and she happens to be -going your way too—and nothing can be more natural than that you should -talk about yesterday—and thus you go on smiling and chatting and -feeling so joyous withal, that in the very gladness of your heart you -can almost carol aloud with the happy birds, or “leap and daunce as you -had ravisht beene!” Ah! verily young May-goer thou hast lost thy heart. - -And so it proceeds. And you call upon her—as _of course_ you must—to -ask her whether she over-fatigued herself on May-day, you having -forgotten altogether in your _casual_ meeting to propound to her that -question. And when thus calling you find she has a harp or a piano, and -as you play on the flute, it is the most natural thing in the world to -practise duetts together. Or perhaps you are both learning French, or -reading Goethe in the original, or doing something else—no matter -what!—which can be better done in company. And by and bye you get so -used to these visits, that not an evening passes without beholding you -together; and gradually you forget your studies and care less for them, -though all the while perhaps you are learning a sweeter lesson; and your -golden-haired partner will sigh now—most singular!—so very often; and -you yourself will begin to feel your heart flutter when her soft blue -eye meets your own by chance, for of late you do not look into each -other’s faces as you used to; and so by and bye—heaven only knows -how—you will find yourselves sitting side by side on the sofa; a few -smothered words will be whispered; you will draw her with a holy embrace -toward you; her head will sink upon your bosom; and thus for—it may be -five minutes, it may be longer—you will sit in silence, a deep sacred -silence, with your hearts quick beating against each other in a rapture -no words can tell. And at length you will whisper her name: and with a -happy sigh she will look up “smiling tearfully,” as the blind old Sciote -has it; and again you will press her to your bosom, breathing your deep, -deep love in every word; and she will murmur back your vows, at length, -with maidenly whispers, blushing to her bosom the while, and speaking -lower than an angel might be thought to sigh. And so—and so—years -after, when she sits beside you at your household hearth, with that -fair-haired little one smiling on her knee, you will bless God that ever -you went a-Maying. Ah! give us the love which comes in the freshness and -innocence of youth. - -But May-Day is not all that charms us in the blushing month. All through -its sunny days there is the song of birds, and the odor of flowers, and -the waving of green grass, the more beautiful because we have just -emerged, from the snows of Winter, the blustering winds of March, and -the fickle skies of April. Everything is budding and breaking into life. -If you go out into the fields you can almost hear the grass growing. The -garden has a thousand colors, and they all mingle in harmony. The birds -greet you at morning beneath your window, and your favorite steed -gambols at your approach in wanton joy. The winds murmur low like rushes -by the river side, the hills are covered once more with verdure, and the -delicious greenness of the meadow land is past the poet’s pen. And most -of all, the ONE whom for years you have loved, seems to grow more -beautiful daily, smiling and carolling around you, to your eyes more -lovely than when you first won her for your bride. May! bright beautiful -May, why tarry the wheels of thy chariot? - - J. S. - - April, 1841. - - * * * * * - - - - - LIFE. - - - Oh! life is but a dream, - A sunbeam’s play, - A flower on a stream - Passing away. - - A song upon the air, - A festal gay, - A something wondrous fair - Passing away. - - A prison-house of woe, - A wintry day, - A dark gulf’s ceaseless flow - Passing away. - - A bird upon the wing, - A meteor ray, - A wild mysterious thing - Passing away. - R. E. J. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SWEET BIRDS ARE SINGING: - - - A MUCH ADMIRED DUETT; - - ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FORTE, - - BY - - J. MOSCHELLES. - - Philadelphia, John F. Nunns, 184 Chesnut Street. - -[Illustration: musical score] - - First and Second Voice: - - The sweet birds are winging - From arbour to spray, from arbour to spray, And - -[Illustration: musical score] - - First and Second Voice: - - cheerily singing Of spring time and May, merry May, merry May. Sing, - shepherds - sing with me, Cheerily, cheerily, Sing, shepherds sing with me, Merry, - Merry May - - 2 - - Our dear girls to meet us, - Are now on their way, - With garlands to greet us, - And songs of the May. - Sing shepherds, &c. &c. - - 3 - - The cattle are lowing, - Come! up from your hay, - Lads! let us be going, - The morning is May. - Sing shepherds, &c. &c. - - * * * * * - - - - - SPORTS AND PASTIMES. - - - DOG BREAKING. - -To ensure good sport, the shooter must be provided with good dogs. -However _abundant_ game may be, there can be no real sport _without_ -good; and however _scarce_ game may be, a good day’s sport is attainable -_with_ good dogs, by a person who feels what sport is, and who does not -look upon filling the game-bag and loading the keepers with game, as the -sole end and aim of the sportsman’s occupation. The mere act of killing -game no more constitutes sport, than the jingling of rhyme constitutes -poetry. Since, then, good dogs contribute to good sport, the shooter -should be careful to whom he entrusts the breaking of them. Bad habits, -by dogs, as well as by bipeds, are sooner acquired than got rid of. If -it suit his convenience, the shooter should frequently accompany the -breakers when practising his dogs: he should direct them to make use of -few words, and those words should be the same that _he_ is in the habit -of using. A multiplicity of directions only serves to puzzle a dog, as a -person’s speaking Irish, Scotch, and Welsh alternately would perplex a -Spaniard! - -In common with other sports, shooting has a vocabulary of its own. We -subjoin a list of some of the words made use of by breakers and -sportsmen to dogs, many of them being anything but euphonious to the -unaccustomed ear. _To-ho_ spoken in an under tone, when the dog is -ranging, is a warning to him that he is close upon game, and is a -direction to him to stand. There is no necessity for using it to a dog -that knows his business. Spoken in a peremptory manner, it is used to -make the dog crouch when he has run up game, or been otherwise in fault. -_Down-charge_, or _down-to-charge_, is to make the dog crouch while the -shooter charges. _Take-heed_, and _be-careful_, are used when the dog -ranges over ground where it is customary to find birds. _Take-heed_, is -a word of correction; _be-careful_, of encouragement. The former is used -by way of caution or notice to prevent the dog putting up birds by -running over the ground too fast; the latter is likewise a caution, but -used when the dog beats slowly or carelessly. _Back_, is used to make a -dog follow at heel. _’Ware fence_, is used to prevent dogs passing a -fence before the gun. The dog should never, on any account, leave an -enclosure until its master has left it. _’Ware_ or _beware_, is used to -rate a dog for giving chase to a hare, birds, or cattle, or for pointing -larks, or approaching too near the heels of a horse. _Seek_, is a -direction to the dog to look for a dead or wounded bird, hare, or -rabbit. _Dead_, is to make a dog relinquish his hold of dead or wounded -game. The dog should not touch a dead bird, but should retain possession -of wounded game until it is taken from him; for should he suffer a bird -that is only slightly wounded to disengage himself from his grasp, -another _seek_ becomes necessary, and the bird is either lost, or -despoiled of its plumage by the catching and re-catching. - -A dog-breaker who has not a good temper, or what is tantamount thereto, -a plentiful store of patience, should never be employed, or he will ruin -any really valuable dog entrusted to his care. Dog-breakers are an -impatient race of people, and it is but natural that they should be so, -since nothing tries the patience more than the management of a number of -young dogs of different dispositions, except shooting over bad ones. - -A young dog that carries his head well up when beating, should be chosen -in preference to one that hunts with his nose on the ground. It is not -only the best dog that carries his head up, but game will suffer him to -approach nearer than one that _tracks_ them. The handsomest dog is that -which shows the most breed; the most valuable that which affords the -sportsman the greatest number of shots. - -It is more desirable to break young dogs in company with a pointer than -with a setter. The former makes a more decided point than the latter. - -The dog should be taught to quarter his ground well. He should cross -over before the shooter continually, at not more than twenty paces -distance in advance, ranging about thirty paces on either hand, and -leaving no part of his ground unbeaten. If in company with other dogs, -he should not follow them, but each dog should beat independently. - -The dog may be taught to back or back-set, by the breaker holding up his -hand and crying _to-ho!_ when another dog makes a point. A well-bred dog -will invariably back-set instinctively. To back-set instinctively is the -distinctive characteristic of a promising young dog; indeed, it is the -only safe standard by which the shooter may venture to prognosticate -future excellence. A dog’s pointing game and larks the first time he is -taken out, is no certain criterion of merit: but there is no deception -in a dog’s backing instinctively the first time he sees another dog make -a point. It is a proof that he is a scion from the right stock. - -The shooter should kill nothing but game over a young dog, or the dog -will never learn his business. He should of all things avoid shooting -larks and field-fares. When the shooter is in the habit of killing small -birds, such as larks sometimes, and at other times is in the habit of -correcting him for pointing them, the dog becomes confused, and is -puzzled when he comes upon a snipe, whether to point or not. Where game -is scarce, the best dogs will occasionally point larks: and it requires -much time to teach a young dog that they are not game, and to break him -of pointing them when once he has acquired the habit. - -When punishing a dog, it is better to beat him with a slender switch -than with a dog-whip. But whether a switch or dog-whip be used, the dog -should be struck across, not along, the ribs; or, in other words, the -switch or lash should not be made to lap round his body, but the blow -should fall on the whole length of his side. A dog should never be -kicked, or shaken by the ears. When the shooter is unprovided with a -switch or dog-whip, he should make the dog lie at his foot several -minutes, which the dog, eager for sport, will consider a severe -punishment, and it is a sort of punishment not soon forgotten. - -The following is the routine of dog breaking. We very much approve of -the system. The first lesson, and the one on which the breaker’s success -chiefly depends, is that of teaching the dog to drop at the word -“_down_;” this must be done before he is taken into the field. Tie a -strong cord to his neck, about eighteen yards long, and peg one end into -the ground. Then make the dog crouch down, with his nose between his -front feet, calling out in a loud voice “_down_.” As often as he -attempts to rise, pull him to the ground, and repeat the word “_down_” -each time. When he lies perfectly quiet while you are standing by him, -walk away, and if he attempt to follow you, walk back, and make him -“_down_” again, giving him a cut or two with the whip. This lesson must -be repeated very often, and will take some trouble before it is properly -inculcated. When once learned it is never forgotten, and if properly -taught in the beginning, will save an infinity of trouble in the end. He -ought never to be suffered to rise, until touched by the hand. This -lesson should be practised before his meals, and he will perform it much -better as he expects his food, and never feed him till you are perfectly -satisfied with his performance. After you have been flogging him, always -part friends, and never let him escape while you are chastising him, at -least, if he does, do not pursue him, as if he sees (which he soon will) -that he is the quicker runner of the two, all discipline will be at an -end. - -When he has become tolerably steady, and learned to come in to the call, -and to drop to the hand, he must be taught to range and quarter his -ground; a thing which is seldom seen in perfection. On some good brisk -morning choose a nice piece of ground, where you are likely to find. -Take care to give him the wind, _i. e._ to let him have the wind blowing -in his face, wave your hand with “hey on good dog,” and let him run off -to the right hand to the distance of about eight yards. (We suggest -thirty.) Call him in, and, by another wave of the hand, let him go off -to the same distance to the left. Walk straight-forward with your eye -always on him. Go on and let him keep crossing you from right to left, -and _vice versâ_, calling him in when at the limit of his range. This is -a difficult lesson, and requires great nicety in teaching. Never let him -hunt the same ground twice over. Always have your eye on him, and watch -every motion. - -A fortnight’s attention to diet, bedding, and exercise, will bring a dog -into condition, however lean or cumbrous he may be, if not diseased. -Dogs should be allowed plenty of exercise. They cannot be too often -taken out, either with or without a gun, by a person who understands -their management, and is disposed to attend to them. Their kennels -should be warm and _dry_, and, if not under cover, should be placed in -sheltered situations. The straw should be often changed, as cleanliness -is indispensable to health. They should be kept free from ticks: when a -dog is tormented with these troublesome creatures, he should be well -rubbed with a mixture of train oil and spirit of turpentine, which maybe -washed off the next day with soft soap. - -The dog seems to be endued with some instincts for the exclusive service -of man; whereas the instincts of all other animals are conducive to the -supply of their individual wants, and their usefulness to man is -secondary thereto. It would be difficult to controvert the argument, -that the pointer’s instinct was given for the purpose of aiding men to -capture or kill game, by means of such engines as nets or guns. This, we -are aware, may be a doubtful position to maintain; but who can say for -what other apparent purpose this peculiar faculty was given? It may, -indeed, be urged, that the propensity to point, in the pointer, is a -means ordained by Providence for his subsistence in a wild state, by -enabling him to approach within reach of his prey, and thus to -accomplish, by another species of stealth, what the tiger and other -animals of the cat tribe effect by ambuscade. Such an argument, however, -is presumptively rebutted by the fact, that all existing races of wild -dogs are gregarious, and resort to the chase for food; nor is there any -record of the existence of dogs in a state of nature, except those -calculated for the chase. It is therefore gratuitous to assert, that the -instinct or faculty of pointing was bestowed upon the pointer as a means -of subsistence, since he has ever been dependant on man for food. - -It is strongly argued, that all dogs have descended from one common -stock, and that by difference in food, climate, and training, they have -become what they are at present; nor is it more improbable that such is -the fact, than that the human race are descended from one common parent; -for dogs are not more dissimilar than the various tribes of men, who -differ not only in outward form, but morally and intellectually, as much -as dogs vary in size, shape, temper, and sagacity. Those animals which -can be domesticated improve by acquaintance with man, as the wild fruits -by cultivation. All wild dogs have some qualities in common; but their -instincts are somewhat limited or not called forth. It is only in its -domesticated state that we find the various qualities which render the -dog so useful a servant to man. Wild dogs are, in comparison with -domesticated dogs, what savages are to civilised society; for wherever -savages are found, they bear some resemblance to each other, and are -engaged in similar pursuits. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _“The Old Curiosity Shop, and other Tales.” By Charles Dickens. - With Numerous Illustrations by Cattermole and Browne. - Philadelphia: Lea & Blanchard._ - - _“Master Humphrey’s Clock.” By Charles Dickens. (Boz.) With - Ninety-one Illustrations by George Cattermole and Hablot Browne. - Philadelphia: Lea & Blanchard._ - -What we here give in Italics is the duplicate title, on two separate -title-pages, of an octavo volume of three hundred and sixty two pages. -Why this method of nomenclature should have been adopted is more than we -can understand—although it arises, _perhaps_, from a certain confusion -and hesitation observable in the whole structure of the book itself. -Publishers have an idea, however, (and no doubt they are the best judges -in such matters) that a complete work obtains a readier sale than one -“to be continued” and we see plainly that it is with the design of -intimating the _entireness_ of the volume now before us, that “_The Old -Curiosity Shop and other Tales_,” has been made not only the primary and -main title, but the name of the whole publication as indicated by the -back. This may be quite fair in trade, but is morally wrong not the -less. The volume is only one of a series—only part of a whole; and the -title has no right to _insinuate otherwise_. So obvious is this -intention to misguide, that it has led to the absurdity of putting the -inclusive, or general, title of the series, as a secondary instead of a -primary one. Anybody may see that if the wish had been fairly to -represent the plan and extent of the volume, something like this would -have been given on a single page— - -“_Master Humphrey’s Clock. By Charles Dickens. Part I. Containing The -Old Curiosity Shop, and other Tales, with Numerous Illustrations, &c. -&c._” - -This would have been better for all parties, a good deal more honest, -and a vast deal more easily understood. In fact, there is sufficient -uncertainty of purpose in the book itself, without resort to -mystification in the matter of title. We do not think it altogether -impossible that the rumors in respect to the sanity of Mr. Dickens which -were so prevalent during the publication of the first numbers of the -work, had some slight—some very slight foundation in truth. By this, we -mean merely to say that the mind of the author, at the time, might -possibly have been struggling with some of those manifold and multiform -_aberrations_ by which the nobler order of genius is so frequently -beset—but which are still so very far removed from disease. - -There are some facts in the physical world which have a really wonderful -analogy with others in the world of thought, and seem thus to give some -color of truth to the (false) rhetorical dogma, that metaphor or simile -may be made to strengthen an argument, as well as to embellish a -description. The principle of the _vis inertiæ_, for example, with the -amount of _momentum_ proportionate with it and consequent upon it, seems -to be identical in physics and metaphysics. It is not more true, in the -former, that a large body is with more difficulty set in motion than a -smaller one, and that its subsequent impetus is commensurate with this -difficulty, than it is, in the latter, that intellects of the vaster -capacity, while more forcible, more constant, and more extensive in -their movements than those of inferior grade, are yet the less readily -moved, and are more embarrassed and more full of hesitation in the first -few steps of their progress. While, therefore, it is not impossible, as -we have just said, that some slight mental aberration might have given -rise to the hesitancy and indefinitiveness of purpose which are so very -perceptible in the first pages of the volume before us, we are still the -more willing to believe these defects the result of the moral fact just -stated, since we find the work itself of an unusual order of excellence, -even when regarded as the production of the author of “Nicholas -Nickleby.” That the evils we complain of are not, and were not, fully -perceived by Mr. Dickens himself, cannot be supposed for a moment. Had -his book been published in the old way, we should have seen no traces of -them whatever. - -The design of the general work, “Humphrey’s Clock,” is simply the -common-place one of putting various tales into the mouths of a social -party. The meetings are held at the house of Master Humphrey—an antique -building in London, where an old-fashioned clock-case is the place of -deposit for the M. S. S. Why such designs have become common is obvious. -One half the pleasure experienced at a theatre arises from the -spectator’s sympathy with the rest of the audience, and, especially, -from his belief in their sympathy with him. The eccentric gentleman who -not long ago, at the Park, found himself the solitary occupant of box, -pit, and gallery, would have derived but little enjoyment from his -visit, had he been suffered to remain. It was an act of mercy to turn -him out. The present absurd rage for lecturing is founded in the feeling -in question. Essays which we would not be hired to read—so trite is -their subject—so feeble is their execution—so much easier is it to get -better information on similar themes out of any Encyclopædia in -Christendom—we are brought to tolerate, and alas, even to applaud in -their tenth and twentieth repetition, through the sole force of our -sympathy with the throng. In the same way we listen to a story with -greater zest when there are others present at its narration beside -ourselves. Aware of this, authors without due reflection have repeatedly -attempted, by supposing a circle of listeners, to imbue their narratives -with the interest of sympathy. At a cursory glance the idea seems -plausible enough. But, in the one case, there is an actual, personal, -and palpable sympathy, conveyed in looks, gestures and brief comments—a -sympathy of real individuals, all with the matters discussed to be sure, -but then especially, _each with each_. In the other instance, we, alone -in our closet, are required to sympathise _with_ the sympathy of -fictitious listeners, who, so far from being present in body, are often -studiously kept out of sight and out of mind for two or three hundred -pages at a time. This is sympathy double-diluted—the shadow of a shade. -It is unnecessary to say that the design invariably fails of its effect. - -In his preface to the present volume, Mr. Dickens seems to feel the -necessity for an apology in regard to certain portions of his -commencement, without seeing clearly what apology he should make, or for -what precise thing he should apologise. He makes an effort to get over -the difficulty, by saying something about its never being “his intention -to have the members of ‘Master Humphrey’s Clock’ active agents in the -stories they relate,” and about his “picturing to himself the various -sensations of his hearers—thinking how Jack Redburn might incline to -poor Kit—how the deaf gentleman would have his favorite, and Mr. Miles -his,” &c. &c.—but we are quite sure that all this is as pure a fiction -as “The Curiosity Shop” itself. Our author is deceived. Occupied with -little Nell and her grandfather, he had forgotten the very existence of -his interlocutors until he found himself, at the end of his book, under -the disagreeable necessity of saying a word or two concerning them, by -way of winding them up. The simple truth is that, either for one of the -two reasons at which we have already hinted, or else because the work -was begun in a hurry, Mr. Dickens did not precisely know his own plans -when he penned the five or six first chapters of the “Clock.” - -The wish to preserve a certain degree of unity between various -narratives naturally unconnected, is a more obvious and a better reason -for employing interlocutors. But such unity as may be thus had is -scarcely worth having. It may, in some feeble measure, satisfy the -judgment by a sense of completeness; but it seldom produces a pleasant -effect; and if the speakers are made to take part in their own stories -(as has been the case here) they become injurious by creating confusion. -Thus, in “The Curiosity Shop,” we feel displeased to find Master -Humphrey commencing the tale in the first person, dropping this for the -third, and concluding by introducing himself as the “single gentleman” -who figures in the story. In spite of all the subsequent explanation we -are forced to look upon him as two. All is confusion, and what makes it -worse, is that Master Humphrey is painted as a lean and sober personage, -while his second self is a fat, bluff and boisterous old bachelor. - -Yet the species of connexion in question, besides preserving the unity -desired, _may_ be made, if well managed, a source of consistent and -agreeable interest. It has been so made by Thomas Moore—the most -skilful literary artist of his day—perhaps of any day—a man who stands -in the singular and really wonderful predicament of being undervalued on -account of the profusion with which he has scattered about him his good -things. The brilliancies on any one page of Lalla Roohk would have -sufficed to establish that very reputation which has been in a great -measure self-dimmed by the galaxied lustre of the entire book. It seems -that the horrid laws of political economy cannot be evaded even by the -inspired, and that a perfect versification, a vigorous style, and a -never-tiring fancy, may, like the water we drink and die without, yet -despise, be so plentifully set forth as to be absolutely of no value at -all. - -By far the greater portion of the volume now published, is occupied with -the tale of “The Curiosity Shop,” narrated by Master Humphrey himself. -The other stories are brief. The “Giant Chronicles” is the title of what -appears to be meant for a series within a series, and we think this -design doubly objectionable. The narrative of “The Bowyer,” as well as -of “John Podgers,” is not altogether worthy of Mr. Dickens. They were -probably sent to press to supply a demand for copy, while he was -occupied with the “Curiosity Shop.” But the “Confession Found in a -Prison in the Time of Charles the Second” is a paper of remarkable -power, truly original in conception, and worked out with great ability. - -The story of “The Curiosity Shop” is very simple. Two brothers of -England, warmly attached to each other, love the same lady, without each -other’s knowledge. The younger at length discovers the elder’s secret, -and, sacrificing himself to fraternal affection, quits the country and -resides for many years in a foreign land, where he amasses great wealth. -Meantime his brother marries the lady, who soon dies, leaving an infant -daughter—her perfect resemblance. In the widower’s heart the mother -lives again through the child. This latter grows up, marries unhappily, -has a son and a daughter, loses her husband, and dies herself shortly -afterward. The grandfather takes the orphans to his home. The boy spurns -his protection, falls into bad courses, and becomes an outcast. The -girl—in whom a third time lives the object of the old man’s early -choice—dwells with him alone, and is loved by him with a most doting -affection. He has now become poor, and at length is reduced to keeping a -shop for antiquities and curiosities. Finally, through his dread of -involving the child in want, his mind becomes weakened. He thinks to -redeem his fortune by gambling, borrows money for this purpose of a -dwarf, who, at length, discovering the true state of the old man’s -affairs, seizes his furniture and turns him out of doors. The girl and -himself set out, without farther object than to relieve themselves of -the sight of the hated city, upon a weary pilgrimage, whose events form -the basis or body of the tale. In fine, just as a peaceful retirement is -secured for them, the child, wasted with fatigue and anxiety, dies. The -grandfather, through grief, immediately follows her to the tomb. The -younger brother, meantime, has received information of the old man’s -poverty, hastens to England, and arrives only in time to be at the -closing scene of the tragedy. - -This plot is the best which could have been constructed for the main -object of the narrative. This object is the depicting of a fervent and -dreamy love for the child on the part of the grandfather—such a love as -would induce devotion to himself on the part of the orphan. We have thus -the conception of a childhood, educated in utter ignorance of the world, -filled with an affection which has been, through its brief existence, -the sole source of its pleasures, and which has no part in the passion -of a more mature youth for an object of its own age—we have the idea of -this childhood, full of ardent hopes, leading by the hand, forth from -the heated and wearying city, into the green fields, to seek for bread, -the decrepid imbecility of a doting and confiding old age, whose stern -knowledge of man, and of the world it leaves behind, is now merged in -the sole consciousness of receiving love and protection from that -weakness it has loved and protected. - -This conception is indeed most beautiful. It is simply and severely -grand. The more fully we survey it, the more thoroughly are we convinced -of the lofty character of that genius which gave it birth. That in its -present simplicity of form, however, it was first entertained by Mr. -Dickens, may well be doubted. That it was _not_, we are assured by the -title which the tale bears. When in its commencement he called it “The -Old Curiosity Shop,” his design was far different from what we see it in -its completion. It is evident that had he now to name the story he would -not so term it; for the shop itself is a thing of an altogether -collateral interest, and is spoken of merely in the beginning. This is -only one among a hundred instances of the disadvantage under which the -periodical novelist labors. When his work is done, he never fails to -observe a thousand defects which he might have remedied, and a thousand -alterations, in regard to the book as a whole, which might be made to -its manifest improvement. - -But if the conception of this story deserves praise, its execution is -beyond all—and here the subject naturally leads us from the -generalisation which is the proper province of the critic, into details -among which it is scarcely fitting that he should venture. - -The Art of Mr. Dickens, although elaborate and great, seems only a happy -modification of Nature. In this respect he differs remarkably from the -author of “Night and Morning.” The latter, by excessive care and by -patient reflection, aided by much rhetorical knowledge, and general -information, has arrived at the capability of producing books which -might be mistaken by ninety-nine readers out of a hundred for the -genuine inspirations of genius. The former, by the promptings of the -truest genius itself, has been brought to compose, and evidently without -effort, works which have effected a long-sought consummation—which have -rendered him the idol of the people, while defying and enchanting the -critics. Mr. Bulwer, through art, has almost created a genius. Mr. -Dickens, through genius, has perfected a standard from which Art itself -will derive its essence, in rules. - -When we speak in this manner of the “Old Curiosity Shop,” we speak with -entire deliberation, and know quite well what it is we assert. We do not -mean to say that it is perfect, as a whole—this could not well have -been the case under the circumstances of its composition. But we know -that, in all the higher elements which go to make up literary greatness, -it is supremely excellent. We think, for instance, that the introduction -of Nelly’s brother (and here we address those who have read the work) is -supererogatory—that the character of Quilp would have been more in -keeping had he been confined to petty and grotesque acts of malice—that -his death should have been made the _immediate_ consequence of his -attempt at revenge upon Kit; and that after matters had been put fairly -in train for this poetical justice, he should not have perished by an -accident inconsequential upon his villany. We think, too, that there is -an air of _ultra_-accident in the finally discovered relationship -between Kit’s master and the bachelor of the old church—that the -sneering politeness put into the mouth of Quilp, with his manner of -commencing a question which he wishes answered in the affirmative, with -an affirmative interrogatory, instead of the ordinary negative one—are -fashions borrowed from the author’s own Fagin—that he has repeated -himself in many other instances—that the practical tricks and love of -mischief of the dwarf’s boy are too nearly consonant with the traits of -the master—that so much of the propensities of Swiveller as relate to -his inapposite appropriation of odds and ends of verse, is stolen from -the generic loafer of our fellow-townsman, Neal—and that the writer has -suffered the overflowing kindness of his own bosom to mislead him in a -very important point of art, when he endows so many of his _dramatis -personæ_ with a warmth of feeling so very rare in reality. Above all, we -acknowledge that the death of Nelly is excessively painful—that it -leaves a most distressing oppression of spirit upon the reader—and -should, therefore, have been avoided. - -But when we come to speak of the excellences of the tale these defects -appear really insignificant. It embodies more _originality_ in every -point, but in character especially, than any single work within our -knowledge. There is the grandfather—a truly profound conception; the -gentle and lovely Nelly—we have discoursed of her before; Quilp, with -mouth like that of the panting dog—(a bold idea which the engraver has -neglected to embody) with his hilarious antics, his cowardice, and his -very petty and spoilt-child-like malevolence; Dick Swiveller, that -prince of good-hearted, good-for-nothing, lazy, luxurious, poetical, -brave, romantically generous, gallant, affectionate, and not -over-and-above honest, “glorious Apollos;” the marchioness, his bride; -Tom Codlin and his partner; Miss Sally Brass, that “fine fellow;” the -pony that had an opinion of its own; the boy that stood upon his head; -the sexton; the man at the forge; not forgetting the dancing dogs and -baby Nubbles. There are other admirably drawn characters—but we note -these for their remarkable originality, as well as for their wonderful -keeping, and the glowing colors in which they are painted. We have heard -some of them called caricatures—but the charge is grossly ill-founded. -No critical principle is more firmly based in reason than that a certain -amount of exaggeration is essential to the proper depicting of truth -itself. We do not paint an object to be true, but to appear true to the -beholder. Were we to copy nature with accuracy the object copied would -seem unnatural. The columns of the Greek temples, which convey the idea -of absolute proportion, are very considerably thicker just beneath the -capital than at the base. We regret that we have not left ourselves -space in which to examine this whole question as it deserves. We must -content ourselves with saying that caricature seldom exists (unless in -so gross a form as to disgust at once) where the component parts are _in -keeping_; and that the laugh excited by it, in any case, is radically -distinct from that induced by a properly artistical _incongruity_—the -source of all mirth. Were these creations of Mr. Dickens really -caricatures they would not live in public estimation beyond the hour of -their first survey. We regard them as _creations_—(that is to say as -original combinations of character) only not all of the highest order, -because the elements employed are not always of the highest. In the -instances of Nelly, the grandfather, the Sexton, and the man of the -furnace, the force of the creative intellect could scarcely have been -engaged with nobler material, and the result is that these personages -belong to the most august regions of the _Ideal_. - -In truth, the great feature of the “Curiosity Shop” is its chaste, -vigorous, and glorious _imagination_. This is the one charm, all potent, -which alone would suffice to compensate for a world more of error than -Mr. Dickens ever committed. It is not only seen in the conception, and -general handling of the story, or in the invention of character; but it -pervades every sentence of the book. We recognise its prodigious -influence in every inspired word. It is this which induces the reader -who is at all ideal, to pause frequently, to re-read the occasionally -quaint phrases, to muse in uncontrollable delight over thoughts which, -while he wonders he has never hit upon them before, he yet admits that -he never has encountered. In fact it is the wand of the enchanter. - -Had we room to particularise, we would mention as points evincing most -distinctly the ideality of the “Curiosity Shop”—the picture of the shop -itself—the newly-born desire of the worldly old man for the peace of -green fields—his whole character and conduct, in short—the -school-master, with his desolate fortunes, seeking affection in little -children—the haunts of Quilp among the wharf-rats—the tinkering of the -Punch-men among the tombs—the glorious scene where the man of the forge -sits poring, at deep midnight, into that dread fire—again the whole -conception of this character; and, last and greatest, the stealthy -approach of Nell to her death—her gradual sinking away on the journey -to the village, so skilfully indicated rather than described—her -pensive and prescient meditation—the fit of strange musing which came -over her when the house _in which she was to die_ first broke upon her -sight—the description of this house, of the old church, and of the -churchyard—every thing in rigid consonance with the one impression to -be conveyed—that deep meaningless well—the comments of the Sexton upon -death, and upon his own secure life—this whole world of mournful yet -peaceful idea merging, at length, into the decease of the child Nelly, -and the uncomprehending despair of the grandfather. These concluding -scenes are so drawn that human language, urged by human thought, could -go no farther in the excitement of human feelings. And the pathos is of -that best order which is relieved, in great measure, by ideality. Here -the book has never been equalled,—never approached except in one -instance, and that is in the case of the “Undine” of De La Motte Fouqué. -The imagination is perhaps as great in this latter work, but the pathos, -although truly beautiful and deep, fails of much of its effect through -the material from which it is wrought. The chief character, being -endowed with purely fanciful attributes, cannot command our full -sympathies, as can a simple denizen of earth. In saying, a page or so -above, that the death of the child left too painful an impression, and -should therefore have been avoided, we must, of course, be understood as -referring to the work as a whole, and in respect to its general -appreciation and popularity. The death, as recorded, is, we repeat, of -the highest order of literary excellence—yet while none can deny this -fact, there are few who will be willing to read the concluding passages -a second time. - -Upon the whole we think the “Curiosity Shop” very much the best of the -works of Mr. Dickens. It is scarcely possible to speak of it too well. -It is in all respects a tale which will secure for its author the -enthusiastic admiration of every man of genius. - -The edition before us is handsomely printed, on excellent paper. The -designs by Cattermole and Browne are many of them excellent—some of -them outrageously bad. Of course it is difficult for us to say how far -the American engraver is in fault. In conclusion, we must enter our -solemn protest against the final page full of little angels in smock -frocks, or dimity chemises. - - * * * * * - - _“Writings of Charles Sprague.” Now first collected. Charles S. - Francis, New York._ - -In the “publisher’s preface” to this volume (which is a handsome octavo) -we are told that it has been printed partly with a view of anticipating -a similar design from another quarter—“one which was not likely to be -accomplished in a manner satisfactory to the friends of the author”—and -also that Mr. S. has done “nothing to promote” the present publication, -which he has “only not forbidden.” About the whole of this prolegomena -there is much of unnecessary rigmarole, not to say of superfluous -humbug. If the facts are as stated, and Mr. Francis has really made -himself so busy as to force the gentleman into press, will I nill I; we -can only say that he has been guilty of a singular piece of -impertinence. But if Mr. Sprague, on the other hand, was privy and a -party to the issuing of the book (as we believe he was, and as the -preface intimates he was not) it may then be remarked that since the -poet of the “Shakspeare Ode” is not ashamed of his efforts, and has no -reason to be ashamed of them, it is but a weak affectation to -counterfeit a modesty which he does not feel, and to sneak forth into -the light of the public eye, wrapped up in that flimsiest of all veils, -the veil of a “publisher’s preface.” - -The volume embraces, we believe, all the best compositions of Mr. -Sprague—certainly all the best of his poems. These latter have had a -wide circulation, and are well known. Some of the pieces have attained a -reputation—in some measure deserved—for example “The Shakspeare Ode,” -“The Winged Worshippers,” the “Lines on the Death of M. S. C.,” and “I -See Thee Still.” Others have acquired a notoriety which is any thing but -desirable fame. We speak of the Prize odes for Festivals and Opening -Nights of new theatres—a species of literature almost beneath contempt, -and whose _sine quâ non_ of success is pedantic common-place. Who -believes that a really good poem would even be glanced at a second time -by any one of a committee appointed to decide upon such things as -“Opening Addresses?” - -The “Shakspeare Ode” of Mr. Sprague is, after all, scarcely an exception -to our general rule in this case. We may, perhaps, modify matters so as -to admit that while all prize articles are bad _ex officio_, the -Shakspeare Ode is the best of them. It carries the essential error to -the height of its perfection—that is precisely what we mean. Farther -than this no man should go. We allow that public opinion is here against -us, and that the poem in question is generally considered as a -“brilliant production.” Public opinion, however, is a certain intangible -something of which we have no opinion at all. By this we mean what is -_called_ public opinion; for the true unbiased judgment of the majority -is a different thing, but can never be accurately ascertained. If it -could, it would nearly always be found in accordance with critical -decision. We must keep in mind the distinction when we read the words of -Chamfort. “_Il y a à parier_,” says he, “_que toute idée publique, toute -convention recue, est une sottise; car elle a convenue au plus grand -nombre_.” - -In fact all that a just criticism can say in favor of this Ode, is that -its versification is of the highest order of excellence (it includes -finer lines and even finer entire paragraphs than are to be found -elsewhere) and that its imagery is scrupulously accurate and -well-sustained:—its imagery such as it is. What indeed can be more -outrageously absurd than an obstinate persistence, at this epoch, in the -mawkish allegory of ancient theology—a thing, which in its origin, and -under the best circumstances, never had—never _could_ have had, from -its very nature, the slightest effect or force, beyond that of an inane -assent to its ingenuity. We say nothing of the imitation of Collins’ -“Ode to the Passions”—this is too obvious to need a word of comment. - -“Curiosity,” the longest poem in the volume is entitled just to that -amount of praise which we have awarded to the “Shakspeare Ode”—while -its defects (of a similar character with those upon which we have -commented) are scarcely so glaring. Its versification is superb—nothing -could be better. Its thoughts are tersely put forth. The style is -pungently epigrammatic. Upon the whole, it is fully as good a poem as -Pope could have written, upon the same subject, in his finest hour of -inspiration. We must bear in mind one important distinction, however. -With Pope the ideas and the management of the piece would have been -original—with Mr. Sprague they are Pope’s. We will end our comments -upon “Curiosity” with the general remark that didactic subjects are -utterly _beyond_, or rather beneath the province of true poesy. - -The “Lines on the Death of M. S. C.” are distinguished by all the minor -beauties for which Mr. S. is so remarkable, while they abound in merit -of a better, although still not of the highest order. They are pathetic -and simple—but evince little ideality. - -“The Winged Worshippers” is, beyond question, a beautiful little poem, -and relieves us from a distressing doubt we had begun to entertain—a -doubt whether we should not, after all, be forced to look upon Mr. -Sprague as merely a well-educated poetaster, of what is (satirically?) -called _classical_ taste, of accurate ear, and of sound _negative_ -judgment. - - * * * * * - - _“The Sovreignty of Mind.” A Poem delivered before the - Philomathæan Society of Pennsylvania College, February 16, 1841. - By John N. McJilton. Joseph N. Lewis, Baltimore._ - -Mr. McJilton is a gentleman for whose talents we have much respect—far -more than for his performances. Indeed, while there is indication of -genius in almost every thing he writes, he has yet written very little -worth reading. We remember a short poem from his pen, first published in -the “Casket,” and entitled “Serenade,” which was truly beautiful—but -beyond this we can call to mind none of his compositions which, as a -whole, are even tolerable. There are always fine imaginative -passages:—but their merit is scarcely discernible through the clouds of -verbiage, false imagery, bad grammar, and worse versification in which -they are enveloped. - -We are grieved to see Mr. McJilton occupied in “delivering” poems to -order before Philomathæan societies. It is a _business_ in which no man -of talent should be employed—in which no man of genius could hope to -succeed. As for The “Sovreignty of Mind” it is a hackneyed subject, and -he has handled it in a hackneyed manner. It has some glowing -paragraphs—but abounds in all the worst faults of the author. We do not -feel justified in speaking of it at greater length. - - * * * * * - -Notices of “Charles O’Malley, vol. 1;” “The Dowager;” “Combe’s tour -through the U. States;” “Ranke’s History of the Popes;” “Earle’s visit -to thirteen Insane Asylums;” “The Quadroone,” and other works, have been -crowded out. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: LADIES OF QUEEN VICTORIA’S COURT, CORRECT LIKENESSES. - -_From the London World of Fashion._] - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Archaic -spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious punctuation and -typesetting errors have been corrected without note. A cover was -created for this ebook and is placed in the public domain. - -[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XVIII, No. 5, May 1841_, George R. -Graham, Editor] - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XVIII, No. 5, -May 1841, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, MAY 1841 *** - -***** This file should be named 63718-0.txt or 63718-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/7/1/63718/ - -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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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. 5, May 1841 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George R. Graham - -Release Date: November 11, 2020 [EBook #63718] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, MAY 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='line0' 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='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XVIII.</span> May, 1841. No. 5.</p> - -<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;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: 1em;'/> -</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='#worth'>Worth and Wealth</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#reef'>The Reefer of ’76</a> <span style='font-size:smaller'>(continued)</span></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#leg'>The Haunted Castle</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#gran'>My Grandfather’s Story</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#par'>The Parsonage Gathering</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#law'>Leaves from a Lawyer’s Port-Folio</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#desc'>A Descent into the Maelström</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#mayd'>May-Day</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#dog'>Sports and Pastimes—Dog Breaking</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#new'>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: 1em;'/> -</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='#pride'>The Mother’s Pride</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#dust'>The Dusty White Rose</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#voice'>The Voice of the Spring-Time</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#alet'>Alethe</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#toan'>To an Old Rock</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#blue'>To The “Blue-Eyed Lassie”</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#thee'>I Cling to Thee</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#soli'>Soliloquy of an Octogenarian</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#life'>Life</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#bird'>The Sweet Birds are Singing</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#fash'>Ladies of Queen Victoria’s Court, Correct Likenesses</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line0' 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:80%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'><span class='it'>Engraved by J. Sartain.</span></span><br/></p> <br/><span class='it'>The Mother’s Pride.</span><br/> <br/><span class='it'>Engraved for Graham’s Magazine from the Original Picture by De Franca.</span> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk101'/> - -<p class='line0' 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='line0' style='text-align:center;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol.</span> XVIII. MAY, 1841. <span class='sc'>No. 5.</span></p> - -<hr class='tbk103'/> - -<div><h1 class='nobreak'><a id='pride'></a>THE MOTHER’S PRIDE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. C. H. W. ESLING.</p> -<p class='line0' 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> beauteous is childhood—how blessed, how calm,</p> -<p class='line0'>An eye full of sunshine—a bosom all balm—</p> -<p class='line0'>A free gushing heart of unfetter’d delight,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a fount of pure water, untroubled, and bright.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Such—such is the morning of innocent youth,</p> -<p class='line0'>When hope’s every promise seems gilded with truth,</p> -<p class='line0'>When flowers lay scatter’d in heaps ’neath our feet,</p> -<p class='line0'>And each passing gale brings its odorous sweet.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>How fair to that baby—in half-dreamy rest</p> -<p class='line0'>Reclining its head on a fond mother’s breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>Looks the whole outward world to those soft smiling eyes!</p> -<p class='line0'>How cloudless its visions—how brilliant its skies!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>How clear the blue heaven, whose bright borrow’d gleams</p> -<p class='line0'>Are reflected far, far o’er the sun-lighted streams!</p> -<p class='line0'>How gentle the music of low melody</p> -<p class='line0'>That is whisper’d from blossom, and flower, and tree!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The earth, like an Eden, is glowing with joy,</p> -<p class='line0'>No serpent hath enter’d its peace to destroy,</p> -<p class='line0'>A heaven-mission’d Angel—still watches the whole,</p> -<p class='line0'>’Tis the spirit of God, in that baby’s pure soul.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Well, well may that mother look anxiously there</p> -<p class='line0'>On that fair, snowy brow, all unshadow’d by care;</p> -<p class='line0'>Then turn to the future with wondering gaze,</p> -<p class='line0'>To trace on its pages its fast coming days.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>How long will her ringlets of raven-like fold,</p> -<p class='line0'>Lie darkly amid its thick tresses of gold?</p> -<p class='line0'>That seem in their beauty of darkness, and light,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like the sunlight of morning in dalliance with night.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>She gazes upon him—her idol, her joy,</p> -<p class='line0'>The hope of her bosom—her sunny-haired boy,</p> -<p class='line0'>And feels the whole world in its domain so wide,</p> -<p class='line0'>Hath nought in its gift, like her darling, her pride.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>She thinks of the days when a glad little child,</p> -<p class='line0'>Her heart, as her baby’s, was playfully wild—</p> -<p class='line0'>Of her own watchful mother—her blessing, her prayer,</p> -<p class='line0'>Who guarded those days from the footsteps of care.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Her far smiling home rises full on her view,</p> -<p class='line0'>When she—like a blossom of summer growth, grew,</p> -<p class='line0'>The fields where she roved in her innocent mirth,</p> -<p class='line0'>And her indoor enjoyments around the old hearth.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Those days have departed—their sunlight has fled,</p> -<p class='line0'>And pale is the ray that gleams over the dead;</p> -<p class='line0'>The stateliest tree may be felled to the ground,</p> -<p class='line0'>And its branches unguarded, be scatter’d around.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Her household is broken—her father no more</p> -<p class='line0'>Recounts to his children the bright days of yore;</p> -<p class='line0'>’Tis broken and dreary—her fond mother lies</p> -<p class='line0'>Encircled by earth, and watch’d o’er by the skies.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>She sees the old grave-yard—each white gleaming tomb,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the forms that are slumbering in darkness and gloom,</p> -<p class='line0'>And a tear of remembrance, and sadden’d regret</p> -<p class='line0'>She sheds for the homestead she ne’er can forget.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>These dreamings are casting their shadows e’en now,</p> -<p class='line0'>And dimming the gladness that erst deck’d her brow—</p> -<p class='line0'>Her heart wanders back—when to all things beside</p> -<p class='line0'>She was like her own baby—a dear mother’s pride.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk104'/> - -<div><h1><a id='worth'></a>WORTH AND WEALTH,</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>OR THE CHOICE OF A WIFE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY ELLEN ASHTON.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>And</span> so you intend to marry Lucy Warden—eh! -Harry. What on earth has put you in such -a notion of that girl?” said Charles Lowry, to his -friend Henry Bowen, as they sat together, cracking -almonds after dinner.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And why not marry Lucy Warden?” quietly -said his friend.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why? oh! because she’s not worth a sous; -and besides I’ve heard she’s the daughter of a -brick-layer. You know, any how, that her mother -kept a little retail dry-goods store until an uncle -left Mrs. Warden that annuity on which they now -just manage to subsist.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A formidable array of evils, indeed; but still -they do not dishearten me. As for money I do -not look for it in a wife, because I should never -feel independent if I was indebted to a bride for my -bread. Besides an heiress is generally educated in -such expensive habits that it requires a fortune to -satisfy her luxurious wishes. As a mere matter of -business this marrying for money is nine times out -of ten a losing speculation. You are forced to live -according to your wife’s former style, and being -thus led into expenses which your income will not -afford, you too often end by becoming bankrupt. -Then, too late, you discover that your wife is fit -only for a parlor; she becomes peevish, or wretched, -or sick, and perhaps all together. Domestic felicity -is at an end when this occurs—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But her birth!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A still more nonsensical objection. It is one -of the prejudices of the old colonial times, and was -imported from England by the servile adorers of -rank, who came over the Atlantic to assume airs -in the provinces which they dared not assume at -home, and to sneer at the honester members of -society, who, instead of being like themselves -drones in the public hive, earned their bread fairly. -It is this latter class to which our country is -indebted for its subsequent prosperity—a prosperity -which all the aristocrats of Europe could not have -bestowed upon it. The revolution, while it made -us politically equal, did not destroy this social -aristocracy. The same exclusiveness prevails now -as then, but with even more injustice, for it is -opposed to the whole spirit of our republican -institutions. Nor is this all: the prejudice itself -is ridiculous. How can people, who scarcely know -their own ancestors beyond one or two generations, -and whose blood has been derived from every nation -and occupation on the globe, talk with any propriety -of birth? Why, there is scarcely a man or woman -of our acquaintance, who is not an example of this -pie-bald ancestry. Take, for instance, Walter Hastings, -who, you know, boasts of his family. I -happen to know all about him, for he is a second -cousin to myself. His father made a fortune, and -married into our family. But who was he? The -son of a German redemptioner. Hastings’ mother, -it is true, is the grand-daughter of an English baron, -and the sister—a far higher glory—of a signer of -our Declaration of Independence. Such is a fair -sample of our best families. Why I would undertake -to furnish from the ancestry of any of them -either a peasant or a peer, either a laborer or a -drone. Birth, forsooth! The only persons who -boast of it in this country are generally those who -have the least claim even to an honest parentage; -and the noisiest pretender to blood I ever met with -was the grandson of a fellow who was hung fifty -years ago for forgery.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, you’re really getting quite <span class='it'>low</span> in your -notions, Harry—where, in the world, did you pick -up such vulgar opinions? <span class='it'>You</span>, a gentleman and -a lawyer, to marry such a girl! She’s pretty -enough I grant—amiable no doubt—can sing and -draw passably—and makes, I hear, a batch of -bread, or does dirty house-work as well as a -common kitchen girl. But perhaps that is what -you want her for?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your sneer aside, yes! It is because Lucy -Warden <span class='it'>is</span> a good house-keeper, that I intend to -marry her. Not that I would have a bride <span class='it'>only</span> -because she could, as you say, make a batch of -bread. Education, amiability, a refined mind, and -lady-like manners are equally necessary. But a -knowledge, and a practical one too, of housekeeping -is no slight requisite in a good wife. I know -such knowledge is scarce among our city ladies, -but that is the very reason why I prize it so highly. -Believe me, refinement is not incompatible with this -knowledge.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pshaw, Harry; but granting your position, what -is the <span class='it'>use</span> of such knowledge?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is of daily use. Servants will always impose -on a mistress who knows nothing of her duties as -the domestic head of the house. You are an -importer; but how long, think you, would you -prosper if you left every thing to the care of clerks, -who would naturally take advantage of your carelessness -to fleece you? A mistress of a house -ought to oversee her establishment in person. This -she cannot do unless—to use a mercantile phrase—<span class='it'>she -understands her business</span>. If she does not -do this, nothing will be well done. The whole evil, -believe me, arises from the desire of our women to -ape the extravagance of the English female nobility, -whose immense wealth allows them to employ substitutes -to oversee their domestic establishments. -But even had we incomes of hundreds of thousands -of dollars we could not carry out the plan, owing -to the total absence of good servants of this character -in our country; and in this opinion I am -borne out by Combe, Hamilton, two of the most -observant and just of English travellers.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, Harry, you were born for a barrister, or -you could not run on so glibly. But it’s a shame -that a gentleman who might command the choice -of the market, and marry the richest heiress in -Walnut street, should throw himself away upon -a girl without a sixpence. Now there’s Charlotte -Thornbury and her sister who are co-heiresses,—why -can’t you take the one and I the other?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Merely because I love another. You smile; -but despite the sneer I am a believer in love. Of -Charlotte I have nothing to say, except that she is -beautiful. You know how often we have discussed -the matter. I only hope she will make you a good -wife.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Allons!</span> the ladies are awaiting us. You and -I will never, on this question, agree.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The foregoing conversation has given our readers -a pretty accurate idea of the two young men to -whose acquaintance we have introduced them. -Henry Bowen was a young lawyer, with a small -annual income, but of—what is called—an unimpeachable -family. This, with his acknowledged -talents, would have procured for him the hand of -many a mere heiress, but he had wisely turned -away from them all, and sought a companion for -life in one, without name or fortune, but who, in -every requisite for a good wife, was immeasurably -their superior.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Charles Lowry, on the contrary, was a dashing -young merchant, who by dint of attention in the -counting-house, could afford to be luxurious in his -style of living. He had imbibed many of the false -notions of fashionable society, and among others -the idea that a rich wife was indispensable. His -sole object was to secure an heiress, as much for -the <span class='it'>éclat</span> of the thing as for her fortune, although -this latter was no slight temptation to the young -merchant. And he had finally succeeded. Amid -a host of rivals he had won the prize. Need we -say that Charlotte Thornbury, the beautiful, the -gay, but the careless heiress, was the guerdon?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The two friends were married in the same week. -The one took his wife to a small, but neat and -convenient house in one of our less fashionable -streets,—while the other entered at once into a -splendid mansion in Walnut street, whose furniture -and decorations were the theme of general envy -and admiration. The one bride kept but a single -servant, the other had several. Yet the mansion -of Mrs. Lowry, though always magnificent, was -never tidy, while the quiet home of Mrs. Bowen -was a pattern of neatness and simple elegance. -The young merchant never went home without -finding that his wife had been out all day either -shopping, or making calls, and was in consequence -tired and silent, or perhaps out of humor; while -the young lawyer always found a neat dinner and -a cheerful wife to welcome him. As for Charles, -he had always sneered at love, and having married -from motives of vanity and interest, a woman whose -mind he despised, he had nothing of sympathy with -her, nor was it long consequently before he found -her society irksome. When the toils of the -counting-house were over he went home, because -it was the custom, but not because he expected to -derive any pleasure from the conversation of his -vain and flippant wife. He was glad when the -season commenced with its round of dissipation, -because then he found some relief in attending the -fashionable entertainments of his own and his wife’s -acquaintance. Since his marriage he had never -enjoyed a single hour of real domestic felicity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>How different was the wedded life of Henry and -his bride. All through the tedious duties of the -day, the recollection of his sweet wife’s greeting at -night, cheered the young lawyer on in his labors. -And when evening came, and he had closed his -office for the day, how smilingly, and in what neat -attire, would Lucy preside at the tea-table, or, after -their meal had been disposed of, bring out her -work-stand, and sew at something, if only at a -trifle for a fair, while Henry read to her in his -rich, mellow voice. And then, sometimes, they -would sit on the sofa, and talk of a thousand -plans for the future, when their income should be -extended, or, if it was in summer, they would stroll -out for a walk, or call upon some one of their few -intimate friends.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dear Henry,” said Lucy, one evening to her -husband, as they sat talking together after tea, -“how wearied Mr. Lowry looks of late. I think -he must be in bad health. How glad I am you are -always well. I know not what I should do if you -were to be taken sick.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May that day be long averted, my own Lucy,” -said the husband, as he kissed her pure brow, -“but I have noticed something of the same look -in Lowry; and have attributed it to the cares of -business. His wife is a woman, you know, who -could do little to alleviate a husband’s weariness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! how can she be a wife, and not wish to -soften her husband’s cares. Indeed, indeed, if you -only look the least worried I share your trouble -until your brow clears up.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And it is that which makes me love you so -dearly,” said the husband, as he pressed her to his -bosom. “Ah!” he continued to himself, “if Charles -saw me to-night I wonder whether he would not -envy me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That evening there was a brilliant party at the -house of Mrs. Lowry, who was smiling upon her -guests in all the elation of gratified pride. Never -had she appeared more happy. But even the envied -mistress of the revel was not without her care. -One or two favorite guests whom she had invited -did not come, and she could not help overhearing -some of the ill-natured remarks of her neighbors. -Her only gratification was in listening to the flatteries -of others of her visitors, who were either -more fawning, or more deceitful. At length, however, -the entertainment was over, and wearied and -dispirited she paused a moment in the deserted -parlors before retiring. Her husband was there.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, Mrs. Lowry,” said he, with a yawn, “so -this grand affair is over at length, and a pretty -penny it has cost I do not doubt”—Charles had -latterly found that his income was frightfully beneath -his expenses, and had begun to wish his bride -less extravagant—“But why did you purchase those -new ottomans—and these candelabra—and that,” -and here he used an oath, “expensive set of mirrors? -I told you the old ones were good enough, and here, -when I come home, I find you have purchased them -in defiance of my orders. Why, madam, an earl’s -fortune would not sustain you in your extravagances.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And whose fortune, I wonder, buys these -things?” said the passionate beauty, “you wouldn’t -let me have the common comforts of life if you had -your way.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pshaw! madam, none of your airs. But I tell -you this extravagance I neither can nor will -submit to.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re a brute,” said the wife, “so you are. -Do you—you think” she continued, bursting into -tears, “I’d ever have married you, when I might -have had so many better husbands, if I’d thought -you’d have used me this way?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, madam, so you’ve got up a scene,” -coolly said the husband, “all I wish is, that you -had married some one of your other suitors.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You do—you insult me—I won’t live with -you a day. Oh! that I should be abused in this -way,” and the now really wretched woman burst -into a fresh flood of tears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As you please madam!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But we omit the rest of this scene, which ended -with a fit of hysterics on the part of the wife, and -a volley of curses on that of the husband. The -difficulty was the next day made up between the -newly married couple; but from that hour their -altercations were frequent and bitter. Charles began -to think as his old friend had told him, that -there was a great difference betwixt marrying for -love or for money.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Three years passed. At the end of that period, -how altered were the circumstances of Charles and -his friend!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The expenses of his establishment had increased -upon the former until his fortune not only staggered -but gave way under the pressure, and, after several -ineffectual attempts to retrieve it by speculations, -which, ending abortively, only increased his embarrassments, -Charles found himself upon the brink of -ruin. In these circumstances he found no consolation -in the sympathy of his wife. She rather -upbraided him with the loss of her fortune, forgetting -how much of it she had squandered in her -fashionable entertainments. Their altercations, -moreover, had increased in frequency and violence -ever since the scene we have recorded above, until -Charles, unable to find even quiet at his own fireside, -sought for relief in the club. Hither he was -led, moreover, by the desire of retrieving his fortune, -for his embarrassments were still unknown to the -world, and he trusted that by a lucky chance he -might place himself once more in security. Vain -hope! How many deluded victims have indulged -in the same delusion before. His course from that -hour was downward. He became a gambler; he -neglected all business; he lost; his engagements -failed to be met; and in a few weeks he was bankrupt.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meantime the husband of Lucy had been steadily -gaining in reputation, and increasing his business, -so that at the end of the third year the young couple -were enabled to move into a larger and more elegant -house, situated in a more desirable quarter. -This change of location materially strengthened the -business of the young attorney; he became known -as one of the <span class='it'>rising young men</span>; and he looked -forward with certainty to the speedy accumulation -of a competency.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you heard any thing further?” said Lucy, -one evening to her husband, as he came in from a -day’s hard work, “concerning poor Mrs. Lowry or -her husband?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes! my love,” said he, “and it is all over.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What! has any thing alarming happened?” -said Lucy, anxiously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sit down, dearest, and don’t tremble so,” said -her husband, tenderly, putting his arm around her -waist, and drawing her to the sofa, “and I will -tell you the whole of the melancholy story.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“After his bankruptcy last week, some days -elapsed before any thing was known of the place -to which my unfortunate friend had gone. It was -supposed at first that he had fled with what funds -he could lay his hands on. This was the more -credible from the ignorance of his wife as to -whither he had gone. She, cold-hearted thing, -seemed to care little for his loss, but appeared to -be chiefly affected by her deprivation of fortune. -She even upbraided her husband publicly, and it is -said, when some forgeries which he had perpetrated -were discovered, and a strict search set on foot -after the criminal, she went so far as to hope he -might be taken and brought to condign punishment. -But you know they never lived happy together.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Well, every attempt to trace the fugitive having -failed, the search was about being given up in despair, -when intelligence was brought to the city this -morning, that a dead body, answering to the description -of that of Mr. Lowry, had been washed -ashore, a few miles down the river. You may well -look alarmed, for the intelligence was too true. It -was the body of my poor friend. It is supposed -that grief, shame at his bankruptcy, and perhaps -remorse for his crime, led him to commit suicide. -Poor fellow! his sad fate may be traced to his ill-assorted -marriage. He chose a woman whose extravagance -always outstripped her fortune, and who, -from having brought him wealth, considered him -beneath her. He did not know the difference in a -wife between <span class='sc'>Worth</span> and <span class='sc'>Wealth</span>.</p> - -<hr class='tbk105'/> - -<div><h1><a id='dust'></a>THE DUSTY WHITE ROSE.</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. VOLNEY E. HOWARD.</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'>This</span> is not thy place—oh! thou dusty white rose,</p> -<p class='line0'>  This is not thy place, by the dusty highway,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou shouldst bud where the murmuring rivulet flows,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And sings itself off through the meadows away.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yes—there is thy place, on the distant green lea,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where the sweet hawthorn blossoms, and wild warblers sing.</p> -<p class='line0'>There, fanned by the zephyr, and woo’d by the bee,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou mightst rival thy fair sister buds of the spring.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thou remindest me much, oh! thou poor blighted flower,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of a fair human blossom, I met on life’s way;</p> -<p class='line0'>She struggled and liv’d through dark Destiny’s hour,</p> -<p class='line0'>  But like thine, has her young bloom all wilted away.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>In life’s rugged pathway, it is not the bright,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Lovely blossoms of beauty that soonest depart,</p> -<p class='line0'>Far more do I grieve how soon sullies the light,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The pure and untainted,—the bloom of the heart.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Jackson, Md. 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk106'/> - -<div><h1><a id='voice'></a>THE VOICE OF THE SPRING-TIME.</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 MARTIN THAYER, JR.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>I come</span>! I come! from the flowery South,</p> -<p class='line0'>With the voice of song and the shout of mirth;</p> -<p class='line0'>I have wandered far, I have wandered long,</p> -<p class='line0'>The valleys and hills of the South among;</p> -<p class='line0'>On woodland and glen, on mountain and moor,</p> -<p class='line0'>I have smiled as I smiled in days of yore;</p> -<p class='line0'>In emerald green I have decked them forth,</p> -<p class='line0'>And I turn again to my home in the North.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I have roved afar through the storied East,</p> -<p class='line0'>And held on her hills my solemn feast;</p> -<p class='line0'>Through her cypress groves my voice was heard,</p> -<p class='line0'>In the music sweet of my fav’rite bird;</p> -<p class='line0'>Each plain I have clothed in sunlight warm,</p> -<p class='line0'>And slumbered in peace ’neath the desert palm;</p> -<p class='line0'>A garment of light to the sea I gave,</p> -<p class='line0'>And melody soft to each rushing wave.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>O’er the isles that gem the Ægean sea,</p> -<p class='line0'>I sported and flew with frolicksome glee;</p> -<p class='line0'>’Round the ruins grey of the olden time,</p> -<p class='line0'>Bright garlands I hung of the creeping vine;</p> -<p class='line0'>Ah little they thought, who slumber beneath,</p> -<p class='line0'>That the warrior’s plume, and the victor’s wreath,</p> -<p class='line0'>Would fade like the blossoms that spring-time flings,</p> -<p class='line0'>’Round the cotter’s grave, and the tombs of kings.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>O’er Marathon grey I walked in my pride,</p> -<p class='line0'>And smiled o’er the plain where the brave had died.</p> -<p class='line0'>On the field of Platæa I laid me down,</p> -<p class='line0'>’Neath the shadows deep of old Cithæron’s frown.</p> -<p class='line0'>Full soundly I ween doth the Persian sleep,</p> -<p class='line0'>When the fir trees mourn, and the wild flowers creep;</p> -<p class='line0'>His requiem soft I sang as I lay,</p> -<p class='line0'>And dreamed of the glory won on that day.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>O’er Italia’s hills soft sunlight I poured,</p> -<p class='line0'>And her olive groves bloomed wherever I trod;</p> -<p class='line0'>A coronet green to the mountains I gave,</p> -<p class='line0'>And a robe of blue to each laughing wave;</p> -<p class='line0'>With verdure I clothed each mouldering pile,</p> -<p class='line0'>And laughed at the glory of man the while,</p> -<p class='line0'>For I thought how old Time had trampled in scorn,</p> -<p class='line0'>O’er the monuments proud of yesterday’s morn.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I come! I come! with the song of the thrush,</p> -<p class='line0'>To wake with its sweetness the morning’s blush;</p> -<p class='line0'>To hang on the hawthorn my blossoms fair,</p> -<p class='line0'>And strew o’er each field my flowrets rare.</p> -<p class='line0'>The lark, he is up, on his heavenward flight,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the leaves are all gemm’d with diamonds bright;</p> -<p class='line0'>The hills are all bathed in purple and gold,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the bleating of flocks is heard from the fold.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Go forth! go forth! for the spring-time is come,</p> -<p class='line0'>And makes in the North his bright sunny home;</p> -<p class='line0'>The sky is his banner—the hills his throne—</p> -<p class='line0'>Where in sunshine robed, he sits all alone;</p> -<p class='line0'>In the depths of the woods his footsteps are seen</p> -<p class='line0'>By each moss-covered rock and tell-tale stream;</p> -<p class='line0'>And his voice is heard through each leaf-clad tree,</p> -<p class='line0'>In the plaint of the dove and the hum of the bee.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk107'/> - -<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 SEA-FIGHT.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>“Sail</span> ho!” sung out the look-out, one sunny -afternoon, as we bowled along before a pleasant -gale. In an instant the drowsiest amongst us was -fully awake. The officers thronged the quarter-decks; -the foretop-men eagerly scanned the horizon; -the skulkers stole out from beneath the -bulwarks where they had been dozing, and the late -quiet decks of the schooner, which but a moment -since lay hushed in the drowsy silence of a sultry -afternoon, now swarmed with noisy and curious -gazers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Whereaway?” asked the officer of the deck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Broad on the weather-beam.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can you make her out?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A heavy square-rigged vessel.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do her royals lift?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye, sir; but only this moment.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How does she bear?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“West and by west sou’ west.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A West Indiaman, perhaps.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, sir, I can see her to’-gallants now: they -belong to a heavy craft.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pipe all hands to make sail, boatswain.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye, aye, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The strange sail is hauling up into the wind,” -sung out the look-out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay—take the glass, Mr. Parker, and spring -into the cross trees to see what you can make of -her. All hands aloft—loose and sheet home fore -and maintopsails. Merrily, there. How does she -look, Mr. Parker?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She seems a heavy merchantman by her rig; -ah! now her topsails lift, large and square, with a -cross in them. It’s not the rig of a man-o’-war.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ease off the sheet—man the lee-braces—hard -down the helm.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, ay, sir,” said the quarter-master, as he -whirled around the wheel, and the gallant craft -danced lightly up into the wind, like a racer beneath -the spur; while the men stood at their -respective stations eagerly waiting the command.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Round there, with the foretop-sail—haul in fore -and aft—belay all!” came in quick succession from -the quarter-deck, as we bowed before the breeze, -and dashing the spray on either side our cutwater, -went off almost dead in the wind’s eye. The sharp -wind, as it sang through our cordage, and the momentary -dashing of the sea across our bows, as we -thumped against the surges, afforded a pleasant relief -to the occasional creaking of the shrouds, or -the dull monotonous sounds of the water washing -lazily alongside, which we had been listening to for -the last hour. The change had an exhilarating -effect upon our spirits, which was perceptible as -well among officers as among men. Besides, we -were all eager for a prize. Every man, therefore, -was at his station, and a hundred eager faces -looked out from the forecastle, the tops, or wherever -their owners chanced to be. The captain, too, -was upon deck, scanning the stranger with a scrutinising -eye.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can you see her hull yet, Mr. Parker?” he -asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir—her courses show to the very foot—but -here it comes—six ports on a side, sir, though -they look like painted ones.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She’s setting her light sails.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Every one of them, sir: and wetting down -their mainsail.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How are her decks?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Crowded, sir. There’s the glancing of a musket -as I live; ah, of a dozen. She carries troops, -sir, I fancy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A transport?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye, sir!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The interest had gone on deepening, during these -rapid questions and answers, until at my last reply -a suppressed buzz ran around the ship. No one -spoke, but each looked into his messmate’s face, -and it was obvious that the question, “could we -capture our opponents, or would we ourselves become -the prey?” was uppermost in every mind. -But the person most interested in the event was -apparently the least concerned of any; and without -moving a muscle of his face, the captain leisurely -closed his glass, and turning, with a smile, to his -lieutenant, said,—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We shall be likely to have a sharp brush, Mr. -Lennox; in fact our men are getting rusty, and we -want something of a close-contested battle to burnish -them up. We shall open the magazine, and -go to quarters directly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Every thing that could be made to draw, was by -this time set, and we were eating into the wind -after the stranger with a rapidity that promised even -to the most sanguine of us a speedy realisation of -our hopes. As we gained upon the merchantman, -the crowded state of his decks became more and -more apparent, and we could plainly detect, by -means of our glasses, that every exertion, even to -wetting down the sails to the royals, was being -made on board of him to escape. But all was in -vain. Few vessels afloat could beat us on the tack -we were now going, nor was it long before we had -the chase within range of our long Tom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She hasn’t shown her bunting as yet,” said -Captain Stuart, “but we’ll throw a shot across her, -run up our flag, and see what answer she makes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The long gun was cast loose, the foot of the -foresail lifted, and the gunner applying the match, -the ball went whizzing on its way; while at the -same moment our flag was run up to the gaff, and -blowing out to leeward, disclosed the arms of our -colony.<a id='r1'/><a href='#f1' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[1]</span></sup></a> For a few minutes the shot might have -been seen ricocheting along the waves, until it -plunged into the sea a few fathoms on the larboard -of the stranger. Still, however, no ensign was -shown by the chase.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pitch a shot into her this time, Mr. Matchlock,” -ejaculated the skipper, addressing the gunner, “and -see if that will bring her out.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, ay, sir,” said the old fellow, squinting -along his piece, and aware that he was one of the -best marksmen afloat in any service, “ay, ay, we’ll -awake them to a sense of their condition presently; -we’ll drive the cold iron through and through the -reprobates: too high, a little more starboard—steadily -all, and mark the mischief,” cried the old -fellow, applying the match. The rest of the sentence -was lost in the deafening report of the cannon; -a sheet of fire was seen streaming out an -instant from the mouth of the piece; and as the -pale white smoke sailed slowly eddying away to -leeward, the old gunner might have been discerned, -bending eagerly forward, and shading his eyes with -his hands, as he gazed after the path of the ball.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By the Lord Harry how it makes the splinters -fly!” said the old fellow, as the shot, striking full -on the quarter of the chase, went through and -through her deck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And there goes her flag at last,” said Westbrook, -as the ensign of England floated from the -quarter of the merchantman, while at the same -moment a cloud of smoke puffed from his stern, -and a shot, skimming along the deep, toward us, -plunged into the waters a cable’s length ahead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We’re beginning to make him talk, eh!” -chuckled the gunner, waxing warm in his work. -“Let him have it again now—ah! that will bring -out his teeth—give it to ’em, you old sea-dog,” he -continued, familiarly patting his piece, “and by the -continental Congress, he’s got it among his sky-scrapers. -There come his to’-gallant sails—hurrah!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The fight now became one of intense interest, -for the merchantman perceiving that escape was -impossible, seemed determined to resist to the last, -and kept up a brisk and well-directed fire upon us -from his stern-guns. Their range not being, however, -so great as that of our piece, we were enabled -after a while to regulate our distance so as to cripple -the chase effectually without sustaining any -damage ourselves. But it was not long that we -were suffered to maintain the combat on our own -terms. Worried beyond endurance by the havoc -made among his spars, the chase soon put his -helm up, wore round, and hauling up his courses -in gallant defiance, came down boldly toward us.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We shall have it now,” whispered Westbrook -as he stood by the division where he commanded, -“they must outnumber us two to one—but we’ll -give them a lesson for all that.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay! hand to hand, and foot to foot, will be the -struggle, and God defend the right.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No sooner had the chase altered his course, and -shown a determination to accept our challenge, than -the firing on both sides ceased, and the two ships -steadily but silently approached each other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The eve of a battle is a solemn time. However -men may talk in their jovial hours, or feel amid the -maddening excitement of the contest itself, there is -something inexpressibly awe-inspiring in the consciousness -that we are soon to be arrayed in deadly -hostility against our fellow-creatures; and now as I -gazed along the silent decks, and beheld our brave -fellows gazing, as if spell-bound, upon the approaching -foe, I perceived that their emotions were akin -to my own. Yet there was nothing of fear in those -hardy bosoms. There was a compression of the -lip, an occasional flashing of the eye, and a half-suppressed -word now and then among the men, -which showed that amid all their other feelings, a -deep, unflinching detestation of their tyrants was -uppermost in their hearts. At times their eyes -would glance proudly along our sanded deck, with -all its apparatus of cutlasses, boarding pikes, and -cannon balls, and then turn indignantly, and almost -triumphantly, toward the enemy, now bearing down -upon us. Meantime a death-like silence hung upon -them; not a sound was heard except the sighing -of the winds through the hamper, and the dash of -the waters under our bows.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The chase had now approached almost within -musket shot, and yet no demonstration of an attack -had been made. We could see that the chase was -alive with men. From every port, and look-out, -and top, a score of faces warned us of a bloody -battle. Each man was at his post, determination -stamped on his countenance. As I gazed upon -this formidable array of numbers, and beheld -the comparatively gigantic hull of our adversary, -steadily advancing on us, like some portentous -monster of the deep, I almost trembled for our -victory; but when my eye fell again on the brawny -chests, and determined visages of our gallant crew, -I felt that nothing but extermination could prevent -them from hoisting our own flag above the proud -ensign of our foe which now flapped lazily in -the breeze. But my reverie—if such it might be -called—was cut short by perceiving a sheet of -flame rolling along the Englishman’s side, and, -while his tall spars reeled backward with the -recoil, a shower of shot came hurtling toward us. -In an instant the gaff of our mainsail fell; our -sails were perforated in various places; and a -cannon ball striking us amid-ships, cut through -both bulwarks, and laid one poor fellow dead upon -the deck. The men started like hounds when they -see their prey.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stand to your guns—my men!” thundered the -captain in this emergency, “let not a shot be fired -until I give the word. Bear steadily on your helm, -and lay us across their bows.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The moments that elapsed before this endeavor -could be consummated seemed to be protracted -into an age. Our gallant fellows could, meanwhile, -scarcely be restrained within the bounds of discipline. -As shot after shot came whizzing over us, -the crew grew more and more restive, casting -uneasier glances at our commander at every successive -fire. Several of the spars had by this time -been wounded, and our hull showed more than one -evidence of the foe’s skill in gunnery. At length a -shot came tearing through the bulwark but a short -distance from where I was stationed, and after -knocking the splinters wildly hither and thither, -struck a poor fellow at his quarters, and laid him -mangled and bleeding across his gun. I ran to -him. One of his shipmates had already lifted the -man’s head up, and laid it carefully in the lap of -a comrade. The face was dreadfully pale—the -features unnaturally distorted. Agony, intense and -irresistible, was written in every line of the face. -The motion, however, revived him, and he opened -his eyes with a groan. Unsettled as was their -gaze, they took in the anxious group around him. -He saw, on every face, the deepest commiseration. -His glazing eye lightened for a moment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How are you, Jack?” said the shipmate, in -whose lap he lay.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dying man shook his head mournfully.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t you know me, Jack?” said his messmate. -There was no answer. The eyes of the sufferer -were closed. “God knows I little thought you -were to die thus!” continued his shipmate, with -emotion. “For twenty years, in gale and calm, in -winter and summer we have sailed together, and -now you’re going to part company, without being -able even to bid an old messmate farewell,” and he -wiped the cold sweat from the dying man’s brow. -“Jack, Jack, don’t you know me? Can I do -nothing for you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sufferer opened his eyes, and made a gesture -as if he wished to be lifted up. His desire was -gratified. He looked around eagerly until his eyes -fell upon the enemy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bury—me,” he faintly articulated, “after you’ve—hauled—down -her flag. And—and Rover,” -and his voice, for an instant, became stronger, “send -the prize-money to the old woman—and—a—a.” -He gasped for breath.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What?—in God’s name what?” But the -senses of the dying man began to wander.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Speak!—Jack—for the love of God!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A—alls—we—e—el!” murmured the man, -brokenly. He ceased. A quivering motion passed -across his face. His shipmate gently laid his head -upon the deck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’s dead—and now boys, for revenge!” said -Rover, as he started to his feet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The crisis had come. So rapidly had the foregoing -scene passed, and so intently had we all been -gazing upon the dying man, that, in the interval, -the schooner had gained a position on the bow of -the enemy, and as the sturdy seaman rose up from -beside his murdered companion, we ran short across -her in a raking position; and before the words had -died upon the air, the long-expected command -came from the quarter-deck, to open our fire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fire!” shouted our leader, “one and all—pour -it into them—remember you fight for your all!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Give it to ’em like h—l, my boys,” thundered -the gunner, “that’s it; there goes her sprit-sail -yard—hurrah!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a terrific scene. No sooner had the -signal been given, than, as with one accord, our -gallant fellows poured in their deadly fire. Every -shot told. Stung almost beyond human endurance -by the restraint in which they had been kept, and -maddened by the spectacle of a messmate slain at -his post before he could fire a shot, our crew fought -like demons rather than men, jerking their guns out -as if they were playthings in their hands. Nothing -could withstand them. Not a shot was wasted on -the rigging of the foe: every one was driven along -her crowded decks. The slaughter was immense. -Man and boy, sailor and marine, officers and crew -went down before that murderous, incessant fire. -The flashes of the cannon, the roars of the batteries, -the crashing of spars, and the shrieks of the -wounded and the dying rose up together in terrific -discord. Meanwhile the thick clouds of smoke -settling down upon us hid the hull of the enemy -completely from sight. Nothing but her masts, -rising tall and gallantly above the dim canopy of -her decks, could be seen. Directly one of these -was seen to stagger; then it swayed to and fro a -moment; and directly giving a lurch, the whole -lofty fabric of spars and hamper went tumbling over -her side.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hurrah, boys! we have her now,” shouted the -captain of a gun near me, “there goes her fore-mast—let -her have it again,” and, jerking out his -piece at the word, another deadly discharge of grape -was sent hurtling along the enemy’s decks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By this time the two vessels had got afoul, the -bowsprit of the foe having become entangled with -the shrouds of our mainmast. Unable longer to -resist the whirlwind of grape poured along their -decks, the crew of the enemy determined on making -a desperate effort to retrieve the tide of battle by -boarding, and gathering suddenly forward, at the -call of their leader, they made an instantaneous -rush upon us. But their attack was as quickly -met. A momentary vacillation of the veil of -smoke hanging over the deck of the foe, by disclosing -the numbers gathering upon her forecastle, -betrayed to our gallant leader the intention of the -enemy. He saw at a glance that the attack must -be repulsed speedily or that we were lost. The -vessels were already rapidly swinging around side -to side, and in a few moments the overwhelming -numbers of the Englishman would be enabled to -leap upon our decks, with almost as much ease as -if we were moored along side of their craft in port. -Not a moment was to be lost. Either the enemy -must be repulsed at once, and so promptly as to -preclude all future attempts of the like character, -or else we must lose every advantage we had -already gained, and be overpowered finally by the -mere force of numbers. What I have taken so long -to describe, flashed through our minds with inconceivable -rapidity. The captain did not hesitate a -moment. Waving his sword aloft he thundered,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Boarders ahoy! muster at the main—to beat -back the enemy,” and then in a lower tone he -added, “charge the long gun to the muzzle with -grape—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Obedient at the word our gallant fellows hurried -to their stations, and stood eagerly awaiting the -onset of the foe; who having, by this time, mustered -on the fore part of their craft, stood ready to spring -upon our decks at the first opportunity. That was -now at hand. The two ships, which had momentarily -receded, now rolled together, and every man of -the enemy’s crew strained his muscles to their utmost -tension, as he prepared to spring on our decks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Never shall I forget that sight. Clustered around -the fore-shrouds and on the cat-head, and covering -the whole space between, were the dense masses of -the enemy, their dark frowning countenances, and -glittering weapons forming prominent objects in the -spectacle. They had sprung up, as if by magic, -from a score of lurking places, and gathering at the -call of their commander, now stood with threatening -numbers about to leap upon us. To resist such a -whirlwind of cutlasses with our little crew was well -nigh madness. But our leader had already determined -to make their very numbers the cause of -their ruin. At this moment, when the two ships -approached each other, he turned rapidly to the -gunner, and shouted,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Give it to them with the long gun—fire!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The effect was electric. With a noise, like the -bursting of a volcano, the instrument of death went -off, belching forth its fiery torrent with resistless -fury. An avalanche could not have swept off its -victims more ruthlessly than did that discharge -disperse the foe. Nothing could withstand that -hurricane of grape. Its effect was awful. Clearing -a lane through and through the crowd upon the -forecastle of the enemy, it tore its passage onward -amid the spars and hamper of the ship with resistless -violence, almost drowning the shrieks of the dying, -and the curses of the wounded in its terrific crash. -The enemy’s boarders staggered and fell back, and -before they could rally the two ships fell asunder. -While they were still wavering, our hamper became -disentangled, and we once more floated free of the -enemy. As we passed along her side our fire was -renewed with redoubled impetuosity, while the Englishman, -crippled as he was by our last frightful -discharge, could only feebly reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pour it in, my lads,” shouted the gunner again, -“and we’ll soon bring her to quarters—give it to -’em now, for the honor of old Plymouth.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“God save the king;” came hoarsely back from -the enemy, “blow the rebels out of water.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The speaker was standing just abaft the mainmast, -and had distinguished himself, during the -attempt to board us, by his vehement gestures, -and apparent influence over the men. I noticed -that the eye of Westbrook watched him keenly -as he spoke. Suddenly an officer approached and -gave him an order. He looked around, started -from his protected situation, and dashed up the -main-shrouds, with the intention, as we now perceived, -of reeving a rope which had been shot -away, and the loss of which prevented the main-topsail -from being hoisted to the cap.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They’re about to make off,” said I to Westbrook, -“he’s a daring fellow to go aloft in this fire, -any how.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’s not so sure of success,” said Westbrook, -“for they’ll have a shot at him from the forecastle.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The man had by this time, with almost inconceivable -rapidity, effected his purpose, although -more than one musket had been fired at him from -our craft. He now turned to descend, but proud -of his achievement, he could not resist the temptation -of a momentary bravado. He took off his -hat and gave a hurrah.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s your last boast,” cooly said Westbrook, -as he snatched a musket, and lifting it to his shoulder, -glanced his eye along the barrel, and fired. I -shuddered involuntarily, even though an enemy was -the victim, for I knew Westbrook’s deadly aim. -My presage was true. The man staggered on his -footing an instant; made an abortive grasp at the -air instead of a rope; and falling backward, struck -the shrouds, and re-bounded into the sea. He -squattered a moment on the water like a wounded -duck, and then sank forever, leaving only a small -dark stain of blood upon the wave to tell where -he disappeared.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By this time the fire of the enemy had almost -ceased, and, even amid the smoke of battle, we -could see that her scuppers were literally running -with blood. An ineffectual attempt was now made -to escape from us, but we ran down upon the enemy -at the first symptom, and re-commenced our -fire with unabated fury. Their rigging was soon -terribly cut up, as we now aimed principally at that. -As a few moments removed all possibility of an -escape on the part of the Englishman, and as we -had suffered ourselves in our hamper somewhat -from his fire, we then ran off a short distance, and -began to repair our damages. An hour and a half -sufficed to place us in nearly as good a condition -as before going into battle, when running down -upon the enemy we once more opened our battery. -The first gun, however, had hardly been fired, before -the British ensign, which had doggedly been -kept flying, was hauled down. I was despatched -to board the capture. As I stepped upon her decks -a scene of desolation met my eye. My path was -literally slippery with blood. Scarcely a man was -on deck. The helmsman, a single officer, two -marines, and a few common seamen, were the only -ones, of all that numerous crew, who were not -wounded or dead. God knows a more terrific -slaughter I had never participated in! I think I -behold it at this day.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_1'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f1'><a href='#r1'>[1]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>The present national flag, consisting of the stars -and stripes, was not adopted until 1777, when Congress -passed a resolution to that effect. Prior to that time -each commander used whatever device suited his -fancy. The first ensign of Paul Jones is said to have -been a pine tree, with a rattle-snake coiled at the foot, -about to strike, and the motto, “don’t tread on me.” -The arms of a colony, as in this instance, were often -used.—<span class='sc'>Eds.</span></p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk108'/> - -<div><h1><a id='leg'></a>THE HAUNTED CASTLE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;font-weight:bold;'>A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>On</span> the brow of a lofty and rugged hill, which -overlooks the Rhine, stand the ruins of the ancient -Castle of Ehlendorf. The ivy has clambered over -its crumbling towers, as if to shield them from the -destructive hand of time, and bind with its creeping -tendrils the wounds which he has made. Once its -halls resounded with the mirth of the young and -gay, of brave knights and ladies fair, while the -songs of minstrels, and tales of heroic enterprize, -whiled away the hours of night, until the purple -light of dawn appeared. Now it has fallen to decay: -the race of its noble possessors has become extinct; -and the ivy grows, and the owl hoots amid its deserted -courts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the time when our tale commences, it was in -the possession of Conrad, Baron of Ehlendorf, the -remaining scion of that noble family. His brother -had died in Palestine, leaving to him the title and -all the vast estates of his ancestors. In early life -he had wedded the beautiful Elfrida, of Aldenburg, -and never was a purer gem more dearly valued than -the young bride of Ehlendorf by her doting lord. -Years of bright, unclouded happiness rolled over -their heads; and if unalloyed pleasure has ever -dwelt on earth, it was the portion of Conrad, of -Ehlendorf, when he looked upon his angel bride -and their little Katrine, scarcely knowing which -was the loveliest, the mother or the child. Often as -he saw their fair offspring, with bounding footsteps, -dimpled cheeks, and laughing eye, throwing back -her golden curls, and rushing with playfulness and -love into her mother’s arms, he felt that without -her his treasures were but glittering dust.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Like the other barons of ancient times, his retinue -was composed of a vast number of armed -retainers, and his power and wealth were unequalled -by any other of equal rank in the country. His -kindness and hospitality were every where proverbial, -and the noblest of the land delighted to gather -round his festive board. Thus, love, wealth and -beauty conspired to fill the heart of Ehlendorf with -joy, and nought could dim his happiness till his loved -Elfrida was called from earth to blossom in a fairer -clime. Sad and afflictive was this bereavement to -the young baron, overthrowing as it did the dreams -that he had been weaving through eight bright years -of wedded happiness. Still, as he turned in anguish -from the lifeless form of the object of his heart’s -best affections, one ray of hope enlivened the surrounding -gloom. His lovely Katrine grew more -and more beautiful day by day, and in her he felt -that he possessed a purer treasure than wealth could -afford. In his constant watchful care over her -helplessness, and the fond confiding affection with -which she repaid his tenderness, he found forgetfulness -of every sorrow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As successive years rolled on she grew more and -more lovely, and new charms in her unfolded daily. -No opportunity had been neglected which would -tend to her intellectual advancement; and at the -age of sixteen she possessed the charms of beauty, -and an intellect of the highest degree. Their castle -was thronged with young cavaliers, eager to win -so lovely a prize,—and though her smiles were bestowed -on all, yet no one of the noble train had -received any evidence of her preference. Happy in -the fondness, nay, almost idolatry of her father, she -remained insensible to any other than paternal -affection. The baron, though still in the pride of -manhood, had never indulged serious thoughts of a -second union, and when bright eyes beamed on him, -and silvery voices fell in tones of melody upon his -ear, he had only to look upon the face of Katrine, -where every feature of her sainted mother was reflected -as in a faithful mirror, and his heart was -steeled against every attraction.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a beautiful morning in the month of June, -when the baron and his daughter went forth for -their accustomed ride. The air was balmy; the -fragrance of the flowers was borne upon the breeze, -and the groves were vocal with the melody of the -feathered songsters. Suddenly dark clouds obscured -the sky, and foretold a coming tempest. They -hurried on, but when they arrived at the castle, the -storm-clouds hung darkly and fearfully over its -rugged towers. Then loud thunders rent the sky; -gleams of lightning darted from pole to pole. The -rain fell in torrents from the darkened sky, hour -after hour, incessantly; the swollen waves of the -Rhine beat in fury upon their rugged banks. Katrine -was seated at her chamber window, watching -the raging billows as they rushed in wild commotion -against the rocks. Suddenly her attention was -attracted by the sight of a cavalier upon the opposite -shore. The vision was transient, for scarcely -had he appeared ere his fiery charger leaped from -the towering height of the rock into the boiling -waves below. The baron’s sturdy vassals had witnessed -his disaster, and rushed forth to rescue him -if possible. Urged on by impassioned signs from -Katrine, they put forth every effort. For awhile he -struggled successfully against the foaming billows, -but was at length thrown with violence against the -rocks, and when the vassals of the castle had succeeded -in bearing him to the shore, he was insensible. -Hour after hour the baron and Katrine hung -anxiously over his couch, watching for signs of returning -consciousness, but he remained pale and -motionless as the work of a statuary; his faint -breathing and a slight pulsation alone giving evidence -that life was not extinct. At length a -delicate flush overspread his marble countenance; -his eyelids gently raised, and he gazed in bewildered -astonishment on all around him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fear not,” said the baron, “you are with -friends, who will watch over you carefully, until -you have recovered from your late disaster.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The following morning he was able to relate the -circumstances which had led him there. He gave -his name as Hildebrand, a young knight of Hanover. -He had been engaged in the chase, the day -before, and had followed the deer so far that he -lost sight of his companions, and wandered through -the intricate mazes of the forest, not knowing whither -his way might lead. Soon the tempest arose, -and as he reached the opening of the forest, he -spurred on his charger, ignorant of his proximity to -the Rhine, until he was precipitated down the -frightful chasm. He expressed his gratitude in the -highest terms to his noble host for his kindness, -and a wish to leave the castle as soon as possible. -The extreme debility resulting from his late accident, -however, precluded the possibility of his immediate -departure. Besides, the ravages of the -storm had rendered the highways impassable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During this time the fair Katrine left no means -untried to cheer the lingering hours. Her harp beguiled -those moments which would otherwise have -been tedious, and her voice, whose melody was -unrivalled, seemed even more sweet than it was -wont to be, as she sung the wild and beautiful -legends of their country. Charmed by her beauty, -her accomplishments, and filial affection, young -Hildebrand became daily more and more attached -to Katrine, while she returned his affection with -fond idolatry. Thus passed day after day in peace -and happiness, and the only sorrow which dimmed -Katrine’s pleasures was the thought of parting, and -his wish that their engagement should be concealed -from her father, until he should return to claim his -affianced bride. Sincere and trusting, she yielded -to the conviction that he was urged to this wish by -powerful motives, then unknown to her, nor allowed -the slightest suspicion of his constancy to enter her -mind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One bright morning three weeks after his arrival -at the castle, a courier alighted with despatches for -Hildebrand. As he perused them, a cloud rested -upon his brow, and he hastened to find Katrine. -He told her that his presence was demanded at -court, but with many promises of a speedy return, -he bade her a fond farewell. Weeks, nay, even -months passed away, and still Katrine received no -tidings from her stranger lover. She had withdrawn -herself from gay society, and her gladsome -laugh no longer resounded through the silent halls. -Her anxious parent saw with anguish the sorrow of -his child, and finally won from her the tale of her -love. In vain he used every endeavor to find the -retreat of their guest. The name of Hildebrand -was unknown to any of the barons of the vicinity, -and he was forced to relinquish his fruitless inquiry. -At length it was announced that a tournament was to -be held at the capital, in honor of the nuptials of -the Elector of Hanover, and the baron hoping that -this scene of gaiety would dissipate her melancholy, -won the consent of Katrine to accompany him. -The morning of the day appointed dawned with -unusual splendor, and the eye of Katrine beamed -with the light of hope, as she took her place in a -gallery commanding a full view of the field of action. -“Surely,” she thought to herself, “when the -bravest of the land are about to signalise themselves, -Hildebrand will not desert the noble band.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The field was elegantly prepared; and the tents, -glittering with all the splendor of martial panoply, -added double richness to the scene. On either side -of the lists were galleries of blue and red and purple -silk, crowded with the beauty of the land. All was -anxious expectation. Soon a shout of joy from the -assembled multitude announced that the elector and -his young bride were approaching. Mounted on a -fiery charger, which he managed with perfect skill, -his noble form appeared to the best advantage. His -bride rode a beautiful white palfrey, and though -there was something noble in her flashing eye and -masculine firmness, still her beauty could not be -compared, without disparagement, to the angelic -loveliness of Katrine. As they advanced near the -place where Katrine was seated, an undefined horror -thrilled through her frame, yet her eyes remained -fixed upon the prince. Surely it was the same -noble form. Could it be Hildebrand? He turned -his dark eye upon her and met her anxious glance; -the color receded from his cheek. She uttered a -faint cry of agony, pronounced the name of Hildebrand, -and fell senseless into the arms of her attendants.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The tale can be told in a few words. Her faithless -lover had been summoned from his delightful -retreat at Ehlendorf by the duties of state; and -ambition had led him to form an alliance from -which his heart revolted. In the cares of state and -the hilarity of his nuptials he had in a measure -drowned the memory of Katrine, but now she -seemed to rise like a gentle spirit to reprove his -falsehood. The arrows of remorse had entered his -soul and poisoned his enjoyment. Though surrounded -by all the honors and dignities of this -world he found no peace. Katrine was borne by -her afflicted parent to their once happy home, but -the light of existence had fled forever, and the house -of Ehlendorf was soon to be remembered as among -the dead. A few sad years rolled on. The baron -was borne to his last resting place. Katrine with -her attendants alone remained within the castle -walls. At length she yielded up her vast domains -in favor of a distant relative, with this restriction, -that the old castle should remain undisturbed, and -as it was reported, retired to a convent in Switzerland. -From this period the old fortress was left -to the ravages of time, uninhabited by any mortal, -though the superstitious inhabitants of the vicinity -declared it to be the abode of supernatural beings. -A tall form according to the neighboring villagers, -robed in white, had been seen upon the battlements -at midnight, while strains of wild unearthly melody -were heard floating on the breeze; and when the -storm was raging, the same spirit form was seen -hovering over the yawning chasm and keeping its -fearful vigils where no mortal foot durst approach. -The benighted traveller turned away, choosing to -wander through the mazes of the forest, rather than -pass the fearful place, and even the adventurous -mountain boy fled in terror from its lonely walls.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Years had rolled on, when the Elector of Hanover -chanced in hunting to pass through the domains -of Ehlendorf. One of his followers related to him -the superstitions concerning the castle, and despite -their entreaties he insisted upon exploring its recesses. -He reached it just as its towers were gleaming -in the pure moonlight; and the waters of the -Rhine flowed gently on, while each tiny ripple wore -its glittering coronet of moonbeams. How vividly -bright the visions of the past rose in his memory, -as he entered once more through the castle’s lonely -gates. Just as he passed the threshold the notes of -an Æolian harp sent a thrill of superstitious terror -through every vein. He opened the door which -led to Katrine’s boudoir, when a sight met his eye -which caused him to recoil with terror. Extended -on a couch, and guarded by an old attendant, was -the form of the once beautiful heiress of Ehlendorf. -The deep flush of agitation overspread her cheek as -she recognised him and said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why intrude upon the sanctity of one devoted -to Heaven, or strive to bind a heart to this earth -which its sorrows have broken?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>These words assured him that the true Katrine -and not the spirit was before him, and he slowly -approached her saying,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I come, to crave the boon of pardon from one -so deeply injured as you have been.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A sweet smile beamed on her placid countenance -as she said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is granted, and may kind Heaven forgive all -your wanderings, as freely as I now forgive your -falsehood. I have found the bitterness of earthly -sorrow, and for awhile brooded sadly over disappointed -love, but the deep dream now is past. For -years my hopes have been fixed upon a brighter -world, and not one lingering trace of earthly idolatry -has mingled in my devotions. I would have -secluded myself in the sacred walls of a monastery, -but my heart clung with fondness to my father’s -halls. I have traced the Creator’s power in the -starry heavens and stolen abroad to view the glories -of nature in the pure moonlight. This has given -rise to the superstitions of the peasantry, and I have -carefully avoided undeceiving them lest they should -intrude upon my retirement. And now, farewell. -My sands of life are well nigh spent, and I shall -soon join my sainted parents in Heaven. Leave -me in solitude, I entreat you, lest the lingering -spell be thrown again upon me. Once more farewell.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus saying she motioned to the door where he -had entered, and he retired in sadness of spirit. A -few weeks after, the form of Katrine was deposited -in the family vault, and the castle remained untenanted. -The peasantry still call it the Haunted -Castle, asserting that the fair lady of Ehlendorf is -seen to wander by moonlight over its crumbling -towers.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-top:1em;'>EMMA.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Female Seminary, Yonkers, N. Y. 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk109'/> - -<div><h1><a id='alet'></a>ALETHE.</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. S. FRELIGH.</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'>I saw</span> Alethe—she was young and fair:</p> -<p class='line0'>  A rose-bud op’ning to the balmy spring;</p> -<p class='line0'>And as she knelt in holy, fervent prayer,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Her youthful heart to God surrendering,</p> -<p class='line0'>The music of her voice in murmurs low,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sounded like tones of sweetest melody,</p> -<p class='line0'>Half-waking heard—or like the silver flow</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of some lone woodland stream—she seem’d to be</p> -<p class='line0'>A type of perfect beauty—Heav’nly symmetry.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Again I saw Alethe.—It was where</p> -<p class='line0'>  Dwelt sickness, poverty, and misery deep—</p> -<p class='line0'>Where prison-walls enclos’d a parent dear;</p> -<p class='line0'>  And like an angel, she had come to keep</p> -<p class='line0'>Watch while he slept—to comfort him—to pray.</p> -<p class='line0'>  In innocence she came, like Mercy’s dove,</p> -<p class='line0'>With healing balm, to sooth his care away!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Oh! such sweet tenderness—such holy love,</p> -<p class='line0'>Must be akin to that in the bright world above!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Once more I saw Alethe—at her breast</p> -<p class='line0'>  Hung a sweet infant, and the radiant smile</p> -<p class='line0'>That revell’d round its lips while calm at rest,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Was like the smile of cherubs,—free from guile.</p> -<p class='line0'>Ethereal—bright—surpassing Fancy’s dreaming,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The mother shone—for Fancy ne’er could paint</p> -<p class='line0'>Aught so much like a guardian Angel beaming</p> -<p class='line0'> In full beneficence upon a saint</p> -<p class='line0'>As sweetly innocent—as free from earthly taint.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>St. Louis, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk110'/> - -<div><h1><a id='gran'></a>MY GRANDFATHER’S STORY.</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> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>Well</span>, well,” said my grandfather, “sit down, -girls, and I will tell you all about it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Cousin Sarah and myself accordingly got our -work, and sitting down at a proper distance, assumed -the attitude of earnest listeners.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you had ever been in France,” he commenced, -“I could make you understand my story -much better, but your little rustic American imaginations -can never conceive any thing like the -refinement, and yet freedom of society in that -polished country; the softness and beauty of the -earth and sky; or the striking magnificence of the -old ruinous chateaux; but as it is I shall be very -brief in my sketches of these things.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, no, no, grandfather,” we both exclaimed -at once, “you must be the more particular in your -description; for being strange to us they are the -more interesting.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” he replied, “I will as much as I can, -without making a long story of it; but do not -interrupt me, for that will utterly break the chain -of my recollections.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“First, you must consider that although I am -an old American citizen, I was once a young -French nobleman; and your grandmother whom -you see busied in household duties is a Stuart, of -the royal blood of Scotland. The estate of my -ancestors lies in view of the ancient and noble city -of Lyons, stretching from the beautiful Rhone west -to the Cervennes mountains. A fine chateau near -the river is the modern residence of our family; but -its ancient strong-hold is a rude and magnificent -old castle, built on the rocky summit of a mountain -which stands alone in its majesty, looking down -with seeming scorn on the proud city, and the -river which can never more than kiss its feet. -My noble grandsire had two sons, of whom my -father was the younger. My uncle, of course, inherited -the title and estate, and was sole lord of -the old castle; although my father occupied magnificent -apartments in the chateau. I remember -when quite a child, accompanying my father in his -visits to my uncle, at such seasons as he chose to -reside on the mountain. My awe and admiration -of the dark, old structure were boundless. There -it sat, firm as the eternal rock to which it was -secured, utterly inaccessible on the side toward the -river; and scarcely approachable in any direction, -save by an expensively constructed road, dug or -built along the margin of a brook which flows at -the bottom of a ravine, down the mountain, toward -the river. This traversed ravine presented to my -eyes a thousand wild, beautiful, and romantic spots. -I had not then seen the forests, and mountains, and -wild glens, of this panorama of nature’s most grand -and beautiful works; this land of the majestic and -the terrible; the lovely and the sweet; from the -savage chieftain beside the soul-stunning Niagara, -to the enameled humming bird kissing the blossoms -that overhang the silver fountain. Oh! this is a -glorious country; but it is not my native France.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In that dear land every perpendicular rock, -every babbling cataract, every gnarled tree, or ragged -shrub was a picturesque and wonderful object -to my young imagination; and to be allowed to -visit my uncle at the castle was the highest reward -at which my efforts were aimed. My uncle was a -widower. At thirty years of age he married a -beautiful child of seventeen, whom he fervently -idolised: but in less than two years the fair creature -began to fade. He carried her to balmy Italy, but -he returned alone. From that time he was sad -and gloomy, almost morose. He never left the -castle, except to ramble over the mountains, among -the wild recesses of which he often spent whole -nights, and I sometimes shuddered as I heard the -domestics hint that he was or would be utterly -crazed. Such was my uncle’s condition, when on -a beautiful summer morning my father set out with -me toward the castle. I was eight years of age, -and had just been made master of a fine sleek mule, -which I was permitted to ride by the side of my -father’s noble Arabian horse. That was a proud -day to me. Never since have I felt myself of as -much consequence as then. My uncle’s steward -who saw in me the future lord of the estate, always -paid me great deference, and I was an idol in his -family. Of course I spent the time of my visits -with them, after paying my respects to my uncle, -who always saluted me with grave courtesy, and -then turned sorrowfully away. I was an especial -pet of the steward’s daughter, a pretty girl of about -seventeen, who always treated me with choice cakes -and delicious fruits. On this day she spread a table -in a garden arbor with her choicest viands, adding -rich creams and sweet-meats, to which we sat down -joyfully. But she soon made me sad by saying that -in all probability I should not soon dine with her -again. She was about to be married, and go far -away. But she wished to tell me something of -great importance, only she feared that I was too -young to have discretion sufficient to manage so -strange an affair. This mysterious prelude wrought -my curiosity to the highest pitch. I protested and -promised every thing she required of me, and so -she began:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You see the square tower all covered with ivy -that stands on the angle of that perpendicular rock. -Did you ever notice how lonely it is; how small -and high the windows are, and that there is no -way of getting to it from without? Well, you see -it is only connected with the rest of the building by -one long, dark gallery; the other sides being closed -up with strong walls. This tower has been called -the Haunted Tower these hundred years. I used -to be afraid to go near it. You were a very little -baby when your beautiful aunt died abroad, and -your uncle came home a mourner to this place. I -was then about as old as you are now. I cried -bitterly for the loss of my young lady, and pitied -my lord exceedingly. I observed that he went -frequently to that tower, and remained for hours -within it. Once I ventured to follow him. I know -not what impelled me; but I was surprised when I -entered the hall. It was tastefully furnished, and -adorned with the most beautiful and fragrant exotic -and native plants and shrubs. I stood a moment -lost in admiration, when I thought I heard low -voices in conversation. I listened; I distinctly -heard my lord speaking, and detected the murmur -of a soft female voice. A door on one side the -hall stood partly open. I approached it stealthily, -and saw my lord kneeling before a most beautiful -woman, who sat upon a low seat, resting her face -upon her hand, seemingly in deep sorrow. She -was dressed in black, and her hair was of the same -dark hue, while her hands, face, and shoulders were -white as alabaster, I did not look long, but I saw -my lord press her hand to his lips, when she suddenly -withdrew it with a shudder, and bending -down placed both her hands over her face and -wept. I stole away; but whether I was observed, -or my intrusion suspected, or from some other -cause, my lord ever after secured the door behind -him, so that I entered there no more. Yet often -in the mellow twilight I have heard strains of -solemn music, so soft and sorrowful that I have -sat down and wept until the melody ceased. But -I never saw the lady since that time. I have -heard others assert that they have seen an apparition, -which they say is like our deceased lady, and -that while they gazed it vanished away. But the -person whom I saw was as unlike my lady as -possible, and as to vanishing, as these sights were -always seen in the evening, I suppose she wore a -white dress and a black mantle, which on being -alarmed she drew around her, and so became invisible. -Now who she is, or how she came here, or -why she keeps herself concealed I cannot guess. I -have kept it secret out of respect to your uncle, but -I thought as you will be lord here after his death, -and as he is slowly wasting away, I would tell -you, and so when you come to the estate you will -examine into it. But do not mention it until then; -for I am sure that any discovery or investigation -would greatly afflict your poor uncle, whose melancholy -I am sure is connected with this mystery.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, girls,” said my grandfather, “if you can -tell me how such a piece of information would -make you feel, I shall have no need of telling you -the wonder, the terror, the curiosity and anxiety -which it awakened in my mind. Sleeping or waking -my thoughts were full of Annette’s story. Once I -ventured to ask my mother why people thought my -uncle’s castle haunted? ‘It is a common thing,’ -she replied, ‘for the vulgar to tell marvellous tales -of old buildings, castles in particular; but I hope -that you will show your superior breeding, by never -giving heed to such tales. Your father has been -there much by day and night, and he never saw -any thing wonderful; and it would grieve him if -he knew that you had been listening to stories of -supernatural agency.’ I assured her that I did not -believe in ghosts; and I never again ventured to -propose the subject. As years passed on, the impression -became less vivid, until Annette’s tale of -wonder seemed to me like some old familiar legend. -I was about eighteen when I was suddenly summoned -from the University to attend my uncle’s -death-bed. When I found myself again in that old -familiar place, although the old steward had died, -and his place was filled by a stranger, the story of -the old tower came first among the recollections -of the past. My uncle was so wan and wasted -that I should not have known him, yet he seemed -exceedingly glad to see me. In the night as I sat -beside his bed, he dismissed the nurse, saying that -she must need rest and sleep. He then said that -as I was his kinsman and successor, he hoped that -he might confide to me something which nearly -concerned his honor. I remarked that as his honor -was mine he need be under no apprehension. So -he commenced.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I was, according to custom, betrothed in my -boyhood to a sweet little babe almost as soon as -she saw the day. Our fathers were sworn friends, -and I saw the little Adela frequently, and loved her -as a dear sister. But when I began to consider -myself a man, I sometimes felt as if I could not -wait for her, for she was much younger than I. -Being fond of reading, and naturally romantic, I -drank in with avidity every wild and passionate -legend, and longed for some thrilling adventure. -My alliance was tasteless, because it lacked the -excitement of adventure or opposition. And yet -when weary of noise and pleasure, I found it sweet -to pass an hour in her society; she was so gentle, -unassuming, and affectionate. At the age of -twenty-five I departed on my travels, with a soul -thirsting for adventure. I pass over all, however, -until I arrived at Constantinople. Here among the -licentious I felt that all the passions of man’s nature -had full licence. I shall not carry you by my details -into scenes by which I pray God you may -never be polluted. Suffice it that a young and -lovely creature, whose innocence and fond confiding -I should have respected, forgot her alliance to -her nominal lord, and became mine with a fervor -of affection which is never equalled, or even understood -in these cold climes. I thought only of -dallying with her awhile when I first sought to -win her; but there was an enchantment about her -which I often fancied to be in reality the magic of -which I had often read. At length the time of my -sojourn in that unequalled city was expiring. I -sought to tear myself away, for I never dreamed of -taking Alma with me. But she would not leave -me. I felt embarrassed as to the manner in which -I should dispose of her if she accompanied me to -France. But my hackneyed heart felt no compunction -for the deceit I had practised upon her; -and I resolved formally to retain her, keeping her, -if possible, in ignorance of our laws and customs, -and of Christianity of course; and to marry Adela -according to contract. So I gave myself up to the -pleasures of her society; and she dreamed not of -the workings of the heart which she fondly considered -all her own.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Arrived at home, I placed her in an elegant -mansion, furnished her with attendants, and every -elegance and luxury of life; and while preparations -were going forward for my union with Adela, found -my highest enjoyment in the society of the ardent -Alma. She was a perfect contrast to Adela in -every particular. I loved them both, just as you -may admire the lily and the rose. The wedding-day -arrived, and I pledged to Adela a perjured vow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I had been married one year when my wife -enquired of me who the beautiful girl was whom I -was in the habit of attending to places of public -amusement. I was prepared for this, and told her -that it was a Turkish lady, the wife of a sea captain, -a particular friend of mine, who was absent at sea. -Adela insisted on being introduced to her, for she -said she felt a great curiosity to look on the -woman whose beauty had become the theme of -every tongue. Here was a dilemma for which I -was utterly unprepared. I could make no reasonable -excuse, and the hesitancy and embarrassment -of my manner excited or confirmed suspicion. -It seemed that Adela was completely a woman, and -determined to gratify her curiosity, although by so -doing she made herself wholly miserable. When I -next visited Alma I found her sorrowful and pale. -She had been visited by a lady, whom, from her -description, I knew to be my wife, who had drawn -from her artless tongue her whole history, and then -set before her the ignominy and sinfulness of her -present situation. These were strange words for -the poor girl’s ear, yet I succeeded in calming her -mind, and left her with emotions of such sorrow -as I never felt before. I fully comprehended the -wrong that I had done her, and the anguish that -must from this time be her portion. I felt angry -at Adela, and yet how could I blame her. She -discovered a coldness and restraint in my manner, -and became herself cold and restrained; in short, -we were all three wretched. Adela in her zeal -employed her confessor to teach Alma the mysteries -of religion. Alma was ever in tears; and -Adela began to pine and waste away. At length -she became so ill that the physician declared that -nothing could help her unless it were a journey -and short residence in Italy. But before I set forward -I conveyed Alma to this castle, and placed -her in the tower which superstition had cast a spell -around; entrusting her to the sole care of an aged -female domestic, lest during my absence she should -be persuaded to enter a convent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I came home widowed, but not in heart. I -flew to Alma, and told her there was no drawback -on our happiness now; that she should now possess -both hand and heart. She wept long and agonisingly -upon my bosom, and then told me that the -magic glass of life was broken. That the clear -cold light of reality now lay upon all the ways of -love. That earth to her was no longer a blissful -paradise. And finally, that she had resolved to -enter a nunnery. Oh! the agony of that hour. I -sought by every argument to divert her from her -purpose, but she was unyielding. For a long time -I refused to let her go, and kept her prisoner in the -tower. But when I could by no means move her, -when she turned ever weeping from me, or kneeling -besought me no longer to keep her from the court -of heaven, I gave her the keys of her prison, and -left the castle. I returned after a few days. She -was gone. I was desolate; and from that hour I -have been dying.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Last week my confessor put a letter into my -hand, observing that it was given him by one who -said that it required no answer as the writer was -dead. It was from Alma. She said she must be -brief, for her minutes on earth were few. She bade -me reproach myself on her account no more, as she -was passing away to heaven, leaving me her prayers -and blessings. She had loved me ever and alone. -She begged that I would freely pardon her if she -had done me wrong. But her chief object in writing -was to entreat my protection for <span class='it'>our child</span>. -Oh! my God, how that word thrilled me. I had -not dreamed of such a thing. Yet she said that -during my absence with my <span class='it'>injured wife</span> she had -borne a female child. That she had concealed the -circumstances from me, lest it should be made an -impediment to her becoming a nun. That the child -was named Adela, was now in the convent, and was -ignorant of her parents. She desired me to suffer -her to continue so, if she should prefer to remain -and take the veil; but if she should leave her sanctuary, -she besought me to be her guardian. I -visited the convent; I knelt on the cold marble -that lies above my Alma’s colder bosom—I saw -my daughter; she told me that she would take the -veil. I passed as her mother’s uncle; told her that -she was an orphan, and offered her protection if she -would leave the convent. She replied that as she -had no earthly parents she would never leave her -present place of refuge. I came home and lay -down to die.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I have now, my dear nephew, told you that -which I had thought would never pass my lips; -but it is for the sake of my poor child. My heart -bleeds for her, orphan, and pennyless as she is. I -could not speak of her to your father; but you are -young, and your heart is as yet uncalloused. You -will eventually succeed to these estates. Albert, I -do not wish my child to become a nun; I will give -you a letter and casket; you will find them in that -bureau; take them to her when I am no more. -Say I bade you deliver them only to her. You -will thus obtain an interview with her. I am sure -you will love her, for she is the image of her -mother. If so, take her from the convent, and -make her your wife. Promise to do this and I will -die content. Your relationship need be no obstacle, -for it is known only to yourself. Will you promise?’ -‘I swear to do all you ask, provided Adela -is willing.’ ‘Thank you, my son. Now I can depart -in peace.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My uncle died, and was laid in the stately -mausoleum of the family. I went to execute his -commission to my cousin. As I looked upon her -face and figure I no longer wondered that my uncle -loved her mother. She was beautiful beyond all -description. No eye could scan her features, for -her face was like a pellucid fountain, in which all -lovely objects of earth and heaven were constantly -and changefully reflected.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As she was not of the sisterhood I was allowed -to see her daily, and converse with her through the -grate, and I need not tell you that I loved her madly. -She confessed that her heart was mine, and promised -to leave the convent and become my wife. I was -now obliged to go on business into Germany. I -told Adela that I would be back in eight weeks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wrote to her frequently, and at length despatched -a letter naming a day for our meeting. -Soon after I had mailed it, I fell on the ice and -broke my leg, beside injuring my head so severely -that I was unconscious of my own existence for -nearly three weeks. As soon as I was sufficiently -recovered I wrote an account of the accident to -Adela, and continued to write at short intervals -until I was able to travel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I arrived at home after an absence of four -months, and flew to the convent to see my soul’s -delight once more. Judge of my agony when I -was told that I could not see her, and that she had -taken the veil. I felt as if the whole beautiful -world had become a miserable chaos, amid the -horrors of which I was eternally lost. At length -I began to hope. I got a letter conveyed to her, -in which I pictured as forcibly as language could, -the distraction of my mind, and besought her to -give me some consolation. She sent me an agonising -reply. She had ever been taught that men -were false, and that love was sin. When I failed -in my return these precepts were enforced, and she -gave them renewed credence. She saw no letter -from me afterward, and being urged to join the -sisterhood, in her despair and agony consented, and -was now lost to me forever. But I could not so -resign her. I plead with her that her promise to -me being prior made her monastic vows null; and -I urged her to elope with me to America.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She at length gave a reluctant consent. I -gathered up a large sum of money, and we soon -found ourselves on ship-board, and plying from our -native land. Think you that I was then happy? -Alas for human hopes and passions! I was in -possession of my adored and beautiful Adela, but I -was a fugitive from my country, I was fleeing like -a felon from my father’s house, and I felt that I -had left mourning and bitterness in the places where -I should have been diffusing peace and joy. Of the -rank and wealth that I had relinquished I thought -little, for poverty and contempt had not then taught -me to value them. But I was sad even in the hour -in which I had attained that for which I would -freely have given life itself. Adela and I were -united by the chaplain of the ship, on board of -which we sailed, but he was a Protestant. Poor -Adela scrupled at the validity of a ceremony thus -performed; and the prejudices of her education, with -the vows she had broken, were persecuting spirits -ever torturing her heart, and mixing gall and venom -forever with the cup of joy. Her eyes lost their -lustre, and her smile was sorrowful; I saw it, and -my heart grew sad. I had one hope left, that she -would regain her spirits when we should arrive -amid the novel and beautiful scenes of the New -World; and then I hoped that she would become a -Protestant, in which case she would cease to agonise -over her monastic vows. The chaplain, at my -request, used every argument with her in vain; her -distress augmented and ere we had been one month -at sea she was attacked by a violent fever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! the bitter, dreadful agony with which I -watched beside her couch. Her pains of body -were intense, but her distress of mind was more -terrible still. At length her reason failed her, and -her death-bed scene was indeed agony. But as -death approached more nearly, her pains remitted, -and her phrenzy passed away. She said that she -was forgiven, and ready to appear before God, -leaning on the mercy of her Redeemer. She -besought me to seek His consolations, and bidding -me a fond farewell, her young spirit passed away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And now what remained to me of all my treasures? -I had bartered every thing for her; and a -cold and rigid form was all that I had left. Terrible -and hideous as death had come to her, I -longed to feel his hand upon me also. But he -turned from me. I was obliged to live and see -my poor Adela cast into the deep sea, almost as -soon as her spirit had departed. My misery was -now overflowing. I was bereft, and alone in the -world. I dared not return to France, for I feared -the power of the religion whose sanctuaries I had -feloniously invaded. I assumed the name which I -and all my descendants bear, and landed in Philadelphia -a heart-broken and sorrowing stranger. I -was greatly disappointed; for I had been taught -to believe America a beautiful paradise, in which -wealth and happiness awaited every adventurer who -was so fortunate as to set his foot upon its shores. -But I learned in time to procure a decent livelihood; -the romance of youth was dissipated; I -became a reasonable creature; I married your -good grandmother with rational expectations, and -now I am an old man, surrounded by a numerous -progeny, and almost ready to depart in peace. -And now girls that I have told you the story of -my life, which you have entreated of me so often, -I hope you will find instruction in it, and learn to -value the frail and evanescent things of time, less -than the peace of others, and the approbation of -your own mind. Now go, and leave me to seek -the repose which agitation of mind occasioned by -retracing the scenes of my youth renders so necessary -for me.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk111'/> - -<div><h1><a id='par'></a>THE PARSONAGE GATHERING.</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. E. C. STEDMAN.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> last Sabbath of the year 18— was far spent, -and the little band of worshippers who had assembled -in the village church of ——, were preparing -to return to their respective homes, and digest the -homily of their worthy pastor; when deacon Gravely -advanced toward the altar, with all the dignity of -official-bearing in his step, where pausing in the -measured tones of one who is in authority, he requested -the congregation to “tarry a moment.” -There was a sudden revolution of faces—a quick -rustling of cloaks, and rattling of foot-stools, and -then all was so still, one might have heard a pin -drop, and every eye bent with eager curiosity on -the speaker; who only wished to remind them that -the annual visit to their “beloved pastor” would -take place as usual on January first, and it was -hoped there would be a general attendance on the -occasion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An instantaneous gleam of pleasure ran over the -faces of the audience, followed by a motion for the -door, which was obstructed here and there by the -meeting of female friends, who kept impatient footsteps -in the rear, whilst in audible whispers, they -exchanged opinions touching the sermon, the proposed -visit, and their various domestic grievances. -But the little church was at length empty, and the -sexton proceeded to extinguish the fire in the stove, -and close its sacred doors against any week-day -intruders. It would be detracting from the solemnising-powers -of the respected dominie, to say that -the few words spoken by the deacon, had been -more effectual than his well-written discourse on -the departure of the year, and uncharitable to suppose -that the church-going villagers thought more -and talked more on their way home, of visiting -their minister, than of attending to the admonitions -he had that day given them; and though I -am telling a true story, it does not follow that the -<span class='it'>whole</span> truth must be told; so let me pass on to the -following Monday, which dawned without a cloud.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was an earlier stirring than usual in the -village, particularly among the farmers’ wives, who -must needs get their week’s-washing out of the way -as soon as possible, that preparations might commence -for the anticipated visit, which was to take -place on Wednesday. The city-reader may not be -aware that it is a custom in country villages -throughout many of the older states, to atone -somewhat for the meagre salaries allotted to the -ministerial department, by donations from those -whose hearts are opened to give of such things as -they have, to him who breaks the “Bread of Life” -to their souls. Furthermore, it is so arranged by -the considerate deacons’ wives, that these donations -shall be sweetened on the part of the donors, by a -social cup of tea at the parsonage; which certainly -cannot be considered as among “The multitude of -Sins” which need the mantle of charity for a -covering.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By the hasty moving to and fro of the villagers -through Monday and Tuesday, it was evident that -until their memories were jogged by deacon Gravely, -they had thought nothing of, nor made any -reservations for the annual gathering: but to their -credit be it said, that they were not slow to act on -this occasion, and designed having everything in -“apple-pie order.” The farmer unlocked the rich -treasures of his granary, corn-crib and fruitery: -wheat in “good measures, pressed down” and overflowing, -was laid aside; the best of the yellow corn -was selected; the golden pippins packed systematically, -and even the more solid wealth of the pork -barrel gave of its abundance to complete the New -Year’s offering. The axe too of the woodman -resounded through the neighboring forests, and many -a sturdy hickory and oak bowed the willing head, -at the bright promise of adding cheerfulness and -comfort to the parsonage hearth. Nor was the -ambitious house-wife to be out-done by her lord: -from the “wool and the flax,” which she had sought -and worked “willingly with her hands,” a worthy -portion was chosen for the pastor’s wife and her -nursery-flock. And the store-room held out its donation -of butter and cheese; not forgetting that -weightier matter of economy, ycleped “<span class='it'>black</span>-butter”—so -indispensable to the farmer’s table! (being a -mixture of quinces and apples, boiled down to -sauce in sweet cider, and eaten on bread by the -children, instead of butter.) Nor was this all: -Doughnuts and twisted cakes were soon dancing -merrily over the fire, plumcakes swelling in the -oven, and many a little delicacy contrived by the -inventive geniuses that were busy on the occasion;—for -it is understood that these gatherings are to -be no source of trouble or expense to the minister’s -wife. One of the neighboring house-wives is -appointed to the high office of mistress of ceremonies, -and some half dozen others move at her beck -and call through the parsonage-house, making all -needful arrangements, while the lady herself is but -an admiring spectator of the scene, and has only to -dress and receive her <span class='it'>profitable</span> visiters.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The farmers were not alone in their “labors of -love,” for the enterprising shop-keepers were as -busy on their part in preparation. “Dry-goods -and Groceries,” read their signs, and “the signs of -the times,” were read in the liberal offerings that -were made ready for the day, each having the -savor of their trade withal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And <span class='it'>the</span> day at length arrived! A New Year’s -sun enlivened the spirits of the villagers, (albeit, -they knew nothing of fashionable “calls” on Time’s -natal day,) and threw open the gates of the parsonage. -At an early hour might be seen gliding over -the polished surface of a late fallen snow, the farmer’s -sled, bearing its ponderous load of wood; here -and there, wheel-barrows and hand-barrows, groaning -with the burden of such variety as would puzzle -any head to remember, all wending their way to -the pastor’s dwelling. Two o’clock, P. M. found -the elder portion of his congregation, having sent -their gifts as a passport, preparing to appear in -person before their minister. For once, the “Sunday -suit” of true blue and shining gilt, was put in -requisition on a <span class='it'>work</span>-day; and the buxom dame -came forth from her toilet in her “best” gown and -cap, and when in addition, the “meeting-bonnet” -and hat were donned, away trudged the farmer and -his “better half,” leaving the care of the homestead -to the young folks, who were to take their turn at -candle-light; when it was understood that the old -folks were to return, and give them a chance by -themselves.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ye who love the cheerful, unostentatious scene, -peep with me in imagination into the minister’s -parlor:—see that weather-beaten group of farmers -in the corner, animated by the light of each other’s -countenances, while the crops of the late season -are compared, and the improvements in modern -husbandry denounced as “innovations,” and hostile -to the wisdom and practice of their respected fore-fathers. -Or if you would hear of broken banks -and money-matters in general, listen to that trio, -which comprises the chief of the village merchants: -and then pass to those social wives and spinsters -who are rocking, knitting and gossiping, all most -industriously at the same moment. The latter accomplishment -they evidently excel in; as can be -proved by their remarks on the domestic qualifications -of Mrs. Tidifield; the lax government of -Mrs. Gadabroad; the inferior household management -of Mrs. Carelittle, and the “high notions” of -Mrs. Citybred, (a late comer among them,) which -they “<span class='it'>guess</span> will have to come down, after she has -lived in the country awhile,” &c. &c. But as these -industrious <span class='it'>ladies</span> had no ill <span class='it'>meaning</span> in this species -of detraction, and would do “a good turn” for any -of their erring neighbors before mentioned, we -must attribute this propensity for scandal, to the -“original sin” which is inherent to their sex. The -tea “goes off” in old presbyterian style, and each -discovers something of her own handiwork amid -the variety spread before them. * * * But alas! -all earthly pleasures must terminate. As the evening -shades gather without, there is a breaking up of -the gathering within, and the afternoon visiters disperse -to the “quickstep” of “Homeward bound.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The first light that gleamed through the parsonage-windows -was a signal, that seemed well understood -by the belles and beaux of the village; -who light of heart and light of step, hurried in -blooming clusters to the evening gathering, evidently -reckoning on a merry-making of no common -order. But after the excitement of arriving was -over, and the last guest had been ushered into the -presence of the company, there arose a question -in the minds of some, as to what they had met -together for; and in sooth no one seemed exactly -to know. On one side of the ample apartment, in -bright array, were seated all the fair of the neighborhood, -in blushing, simpering silence! While opposite, -in formidable rows, sat the young farmers -and shop-keepers of the village, as “slick” as pomatum -and starch could make them, twisting their -thumbs one way for lack of thought, and the other -way, for lack of talk; but not daring to cross the -dividing-line, into “<span class='it'>fairer</span> realms beyond.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The awful pause” was at length broken by a -proposition which came from some unknown -source, to “get up a play,” and many were the -bright smiles that responded to it. Every one -knows, that when the young folks of a village -once throw off the stiffness of distance, and mingle -in the unrestrained mirth of a rustic game, they are -the happiest of the happy! On this New Year’s -evening, they would have had a regular “<span class='it'>jollification</span>,” -but for the timely caution of deacon Gravely, -who remained to sustain the dignity of his office, -by keeping the lambs of the flock within due -bounds; reminding them that they were at the -<span class='it'>minister’s house</span>: a fact which they seemed quite -willing to forget.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The deacon’s notice proved something of a -damper upon their gaiety; but after all was far less -<span class='it'>effectual</span> than that given on the preceding Sunday; -as many a chasing for the kiss which was to redeem -a pawn, and loud bursts of merriment testified; -much to the discomfiture of the deacon. But there -were at the party <span class='it'>two</span> who kept themselves aloof -from the festivities of the evening, and were observed -to sit in a corner together, engaged in conversation -and apparently unconscious of the merry -scenes around them. They were none other than -the daughter of Mrs. Citybred, and the intelligent -young physician of the village. It was evident that -they had been accustomed to the refinements of -education and good society, and were for the first -time in their lives at a parsonage gathering. Many -were the sly jokes and whisperings interchanged by -the company touching these <span class='it'>exclusives</span>; but of none -effect on the doctor and his unsuspecting companion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What they conversed <span class='it'>about</span> is none of our business; -but certain it was that the lady’s countenance -glowed with pleasure; and it was observed by -all that the doctor never looked happier before. On -the breaking up of the party, it did not escape observation -nor remark, that the doctor waited on -Mrs. Citybred’s daughter home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What the effect of such an agreeable meeting -was, none could say decidedly; but as they were -afterward seen riding together several times in a -very <span class='it'>exclusive</span> looking vehicle; and as the doctor -has never before been known to ride out with a -lady alone, since he settled in the village, of course -there were <span class='it'>rumors</span> of a wedding to take place before -the next gathering, and much commiseration -wasted on the doctor in anticipation of his “extravagant -wife.” But as the next New Year’s day -found him still a bachelor, it yet affords matter for -gossip and conjecture among the villagers whether -the Dr. and Mrs. Citybred’s daughter will ever -be married or not.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Liberty, Pa. April, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk112'/> - -<div><h1><a id='toan'></a>TO AN OLD ROCK.</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 G. G. FOSTER.</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'>Well</span>! hands of friends have all been pressed—</p> -<p class='line0'>  My mother’s kiss is on my cheek—</p> -<p class='line0'>My father’s hands and eyes have blessed</p> -<p class='line0'>  His first-born—though he could not speak!</p> -<p class='line0'>And now I break the ties that bind</p> -<p class='line0'>Me to the last of my own kind.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But yet, to thee, my old grey rock,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I hasten as in days of yore;</p> -<p class='line0'>And memories sweet and pleasant flock</p> -<p class='line0'>  In throngs around me, as I pour</p> -<p class='line0'>My last heart-gushes over thee,</p> -<p class='line0'>Friend of my wayward infancy!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>For oft ere yet my tongue expressed</p> -<p class='line0'>  The wild emotions of my soul,</p> -<p class='line0'>And strange, proud feelings heaved my breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like tides beneath the moon’s control,</p> -<p class='line0'>I’ve wandered to this cool retreat,</p> -<p class='line0'>The Spirit of the place to meet.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And often in the solemn night,</p> -<p class='line0'>  While kissing winds slept on the lake</p> -<p class='line0'>Which murmurs at thy base, and light</p> -<p class='line0'>  And starry music kept awake</p> -<p class='line0'>The thronging fires of thought within,</p> -<p class='line0'>I’ve stolen to thee an hour to win</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>From all the carking care which rushed</p> -<p class='line0'>  Over my untamed spirit’s mood,</p> -<p class='line0'>And leaned on thee, like infant hushed,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And felt, as thus secure I stood,</p> -<p class='line0'>The god whose shrine was in my brain,</p> -<p class='line0'>Return to his old haunts again!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And when the friends of youth grew cold,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And loving eyes were turned away,</p> -<p class='line0'>And even Hope was growing old,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And all my heart-flowers withered—aye,</p> -<p class='line0'>I turned to thee, my firm old rock,</p> -<p class='line0'>And learned, like thee, to bear the shock.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But now, I go—Old Rock, farewell!</p> -<p class='line0'>  And thou my tiny lake, adieu!</p> -<p class='line0'>Proud Hope my wandering steps impel</p> -<p class='line0'>  O’er yonder mountain calm and blue.</p> -<p class='line0'>When fame is won and withered too,</p> -<p class='line0'>Old friends! I will return to you.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk113'/> - -<div><h1><a id='blue'></a>TO THE “BLUE-EYED LASSIE.”</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 LATE J. G. BROOKS.<a id='r2'/><a href='#f2' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[2]</span></sup></a></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'>They</span> tell me thine eyes are blue, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  They tell me thy cheek is fair.</p> -<p class='line0'>May grief never spoil its hue, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Nor give its bloom to the air.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The world lies before thee now, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And when time rolls a few more years</p> -<p class='line0'>Its troubles may blight thy brow, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And dim thy blue eyes with tears.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thou art come to a stormy life, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where often the hurricanes lower—</p> -<p class='line0'>Where wild are the waves of strife, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And strong is affliction’s power.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Where flowers soon fade away, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And strew their leaves to the blast—</p> -<p class='line0'>Where one moment the sky is gay, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The next with clouds overcast.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thou art the new-born rose of spring, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  As soft, as fair, and as frail—</p> -<p class='line0'>The hands of the storm oft fling, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The rose of spring to the gale.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>May that hand never fall on thee, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To blight thy rose in its pride,</p> -<p class='line0'>Mayst thou glide o’er a sunny sea, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  On a calm and gentle tide.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>May the cup of thy life never cloy, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  May thy heart e’er be light and gay;</p> -<p class='line0'>Mayst thou meet with the smile of joy, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And a blest, and a cloudless day.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_2'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f2'><a href='#r2'>[2]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>Through the kindness of the mother of the poet, (the well-known and lamented <span class='it'>Florio</span>) we are enabled -to present our readers with the above sweet little poem—one of his earliest compositions, and certainly not -one of his worst. By mere accident it has hitherto remained unpublished.—<span class='sc'>Eds.</span></p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk114'/> - -<div><h1><a id='law'></a>LEAVES FROM A LAWYER’S PORT-FOLIO.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>THE ROBBERY AND MURDER.</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Macd.</span> O, horror! horror! horror! tongue, nor heart,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>      Cannot conceive nor name thee!</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:0.75em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Macbeth.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>James</span>,” said a mild but feeble voice, “cheer -up, God will yet send us relief. Has he not said -that he heareth even the young raven’s cry, and -think you that he will suffer us to starve? Oh! -no,” continued the sick wife, forgetting her own -sufferings in those of her husband, “believe it not. -Succor will yet come: we shall once more see -happy days—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay!” answered the husband, bitterly, “when -we are in our graves. Ay! when want has driven -the nails in our coffins: but not till then. My God!” -he exclaimed suddenly, with the fierceness of despair, -“was it for this I was sent into the world?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! James,” said the meek wife, bursting into -tears, “I can bear all except such terrible repinings. -Father,” she continued, raising her streaming eyes -to heaven, “forgive him, for he knows not what he -says.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The husband was moved. He turned his head -away from his wife, perhaps to hide a tear; but if -so, his weakness vanished as he gazed upon the -ruinous and desolate apartment to which poverty -had driven them, while all the bitterness of his soul -once more lowered on his face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The room was a low garret, black with age, and -tottering to ruin. In its best days it had been at -most but a wretched apartment, for at its highest -part it would scarcely admit of a man standing upright, -while on the opposite side the cracked and -leaky ceiling shelved down until it met the floor. -The walls had once been plastered, but age had -long since peeled them nearly bare; and the time-stained -beams of which the building had been constructed—it -was a wooden one—now gaped through -many a crevice. In several places even the weather-boarding -without had given way or rotted off, -admitting in copious draughts, the biting wintry -blast which roared around the house. A solitary -candle burned in the room, flaring wildly as the -gusts whirled through the apartment. There was -no fire-place in the garret—God knows it was well -enough!—for the poverty-stricken inmates had not -wherewithal to purchase food, much less fuel. No -furniture was in the room, except an old chest, a -broken cup or two, and the ricketty bedstead, on -which, with a mattress of straw beneath her, lay -that suffering wife. She was pale, emaciated, -and evidently ill, but, amid it all, you could see -on her wasted countenance, traces of the rarest -beauty. The marble forehead; the classic eye-brow; -the Grecian contour of face; the finely -chiselled mouth and throat; and above all, the dark -blue eye, its chastened expression lighting up the -whole countenance as with an angel’s purity, told -what must have been the loveliness of the sufferer, -before care, or poverty, or woe had driven their -iron ploughshares through her soul. Oh! well -might it fill her husband’s heart with agony to look -upon her now, and think of the day when in far -different circumstances, he led her a blushing bride, -to his home. But if such were his feelings when -gazing on his angelic wife, how far more poignant -did they become as his eye fell upon the almost -famished babe lying in her arms. Poor little thing! -it had fallen asleep at length, after crying long for -that sustenance which its mother had not to give, -although she would have drained her heart’s blood, -if, by so doing, she could have appeased the hunger -of her babe. By its side lay a boy, apparently -about four years of age, his little delicate face worn -with hunger and privation, and his thin fingers -tightly grasping the bed-clothes, as though he feared -lest some one should snatch the scanty covering -from around his form. Alas! he had been early -introduced to misfortune. Often had he gone supperless -to bed of late, forbearing even to ask for -food, because he knew his mother had it not, and -that it would only pain her to refuse him; and often, -too, when her husband being absent in the vain -search after employment, his mother would indulge -freely in the tears she checked in his presence, her -little boy would climb upon her knee, and throwing -his wan arms around her neck, kiss her and -tell her not to cry. At such times the mother’s -tears would only fall the faster, and clasping her -babes convulsively to her bosom, she would find a -melancholy pleasure in the sympathy of her child. -But all these things were now forgotten by the boy. -He lay in the deep sleep of infancy; and as he -slumbered a smile played across his little face. Perhaps -he was dreaming of the angels in heaven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>James Stanhope was a young man of good family, -a fine personal appearance, and the manners -of a gentleman. Destitute, however, of a fortune, -he obtained a livelihood by acting as a clerk in a -public office. He moved in good society, and enjoyed -a moderate income, which, by proper economy -afforded him, at least once a year, the means of -spending a fortnight at one of those public places -of amusement to which beauty, wealth, and fashion -annually resort. During a visit to one of these -summer pleasure haunts he met, and formed an -acquaintance with Miss Howard, a young lady, -scarcely seventeen, a beauty, and an heiress, who -was spending a month at the watering-place, with a -maiden cousin for a chaperon. An intimacy was -the result of a casual introduction, which soon -ripened into that most dangerous of all things to -two young hearts—an acknowledged friendship. -In one short word, they loved, and loved as few -have done. But Stanhope, while he addressed the -younger, did not neglect the older cousin; and the -consequence was that the simple-hearted spinster -fancied that it was her company to which the handsome -young stranger was attracted. She thus shut -her eyes effectually to the increasing intimacy between -the young people, and their love had become -not only unconquerable, but so evident as to be the -theme of general remark, before the deluded chaperon, -became aware of Miss Howard’s entanglement. -She was then thunder-struck at her own indiscretion. -She was more: she was enraged at the -deception which had been practised upon her, or -rather which she had practised upon herself. -Dreading, moreover, the consequences of Mr. Howard’s -displeasure, she determined at once, by flying -from the place, to escape the attentions of Stanhope. -Her carriage was instantly ordered to the door, -their baggage hastily collected, and with scarcely -an hour’s warning, Miss Howard was torn from her -lover’s presence, without a moment being afforded -her to communicate with him. She was not able -even to wave him a silent adieu, as he was absent -that morning on a ride. Disturbed by a thousand -fears lest her lover should think her faithless, and -compelled to listen to the bitter recriminations of -her cousin, when sympathy was rather needed for -her tortured mind, the poor girl lay back in the -corner of the carriage and wept with a bitterness -of heart such as she had never experienced before. -Oh! who can picture the agony of one thus rudely -torn from the object of her love. Life seemed to -her to have lost its charm. Death, in those first -moments of crushing anguish would almost have -been welcome.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But if such were Miss Howard’s feelings, what -were those of her lover when, on returning from -his ride, he learned her sudden departure! A -thousand doubts tortured him. At length, however, -he gleaned enough of the real cause of Miss -Howard’s disappearance, to convince him that her -flight did not, as he had at first feared, originate in -herself. Oh! the joy, the bliss of that knowledge. -Ellen still loved him, loved him as warmly as ever. -But here another reflection shot across his mind. -With the sanguine temper of youth he had indulged -the hope that his want of fortune would be overlooked -by Mr. Howard, especially as his cousin -had suffered the intimacy between his daughter and -Stanhope to continue so long unopposed; but now—how -could he resist the intimation so plainly -given to him? Few can tell the agony of the -lover’s feelings who have not passed through the -same terrible ordeal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will follow her,” at length he said, “I will -see her once more. To live without beholding -Ellen is more than I can endure,” and having -come to this conclusion the ardent young man set -out within a day to the city which was the residence -alike of himself and his mistress.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We will not detail the progress of these two -young beings’ passion. As in every like case -opposition only fanned their love. Young, ardent, -and uncalculating they had already exchanged those -vows, which are only less lasting and holy than the -marriage ones,—and the pure mind of Miss Howard -looked upon it as sacrilege to break her troth, even -had her heart whispered a willing assent thereto. -But, on the contrary, all that was said against her -lover, only increased her admiration of his character, -and consequently heightened her affection. -There is nothing like injustice to draw a woman’s -heart closer to that of her lover. In vain they -originated slanders to lower him in her eyes; in -vain they even brought pretended letters to convince -her of his infidelity; she remained inflexible, for -every one, who knew Stanhope, joined in asserting -his innocence, and it was impossible to conceal -this from her without secluding her wholly from -society. How often does a woman, in some trying -circumstances, rise above herself, and display a -sudden energy of character which those who had -known her for years had thought foreign to her. -Thus it was with Miss Howard. How long this -reliance in her lover’s unabated integrity might -have continued, if she had remained without meeting -him, we know not; but Stanhope soon found a -means to open a communication with his mistress, -which effectually checked all danger, and deepened -incalculably their mutual love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Foiled in his attempts to obtain an interview -with his mistress, Stanhope had found out the -church which she attended, and thither he resorted -every Sunday, to enjoy the happiness of at least, -beholding, if he could not address her. It was -not long before Ellen detected his presence, and -the stolen glances they exchanged across the -church, were mutual assurances of their unabated -love. How Stanhope’s heart fluttered as he saw -her enter the church, and move up the aisle to her -father’s splendid pew. And if, perchance, when the -family turned to depart, Ellen could, unobserved, -give him a smile and a nod of recognition, how -would he long to clasp the dear girl to his arms, -and thank her for her kindness. Weeks passed -in this manner, however, before the two lovers -found an opportunity for an interview. At length -one Sunday morning Ellen came alone. As Stanhope -beheld her enter the door unattended, he could -hardly contain himself in his seat, so great was his -joy. The moment the service was over he hurried -down stairs, and amid the crowd in the vestibule, -with a beating heart, awaited her. Her agitation -was scarcely less than his own, as he addressed -her. A thousand eyes seemed to her fancy to be -bent upon her, and she turned pale and trembled by -turns. They had proceeded some distance down -the street before either could speak more than the -common words of salutation. At length Stanhope -broke the silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ellen, dear Ellen, do we meet at last?” he -said, in a low tone, “oh! how can I describe the -joy of this moment. Since we last parted what -agony have I not endured: doubt, fear, hope, despair -have all succeeded each other in my mind.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How could you be so unjust?” said the sweet -girl, reproachfully, “oh!” she thought to herself, -“if he only knew what I have suffered for his -sake.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pardon me, dear Ellen, but though I felt convinced -of your truth, yet I knew not what false -accusations might be made against me. It was -that which troubled me. I never doubted you, -believe me. But oh! you cannot know how terrible -it is to be forever excluded from your presence. -How often have I watched your window at night, -hoping to catch even a glimpse of your shadow, -and how long and hitherto how fruitlessly have I -waited for this blessed opportunity, if only to assure -you of my unabated love, and to ask if you are still -my own Ellen. Answer me but once more, dearest: -let me hear it from your own lips again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The arm of Ellen trembled within her lover’s -during this passionate address, and, as he continued, -her agitation increased so visibly that when -he ceased, and looking up into his face, she essayed -to answer him, for a moment, she could not speak. -At length she murmured brokenly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why do—you ask me—such a cruel question?” -and giving her lover a look of mingled reproach -and affection that dissolved him with tenderness, -she continued, “you know I love you!” and overcome, -by her emotions, and even forgetting her -public situation, she burst into tears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If Stanhope could have that moment clasped her -to his arms, and poured forth upon her bosom his -thanks for her renewed avowal, what would he not -have given! But he could only press her arm as -it lay within his own, and murmur his gratitude. -Oh! the ecstacy of that moment: it repayed him -for all he had suffered during the months he had -been separated from Ellen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Their conversation was long and full of moment -to their future lives. Urged passionately by her -lover, and half persuaded by her own heart, Ellen -consented at length to meet Stanhope in her morning -walks; and then, bursting afresh into tears, left -him at the corner of the street, not far from her -father’s princely dwelling, and hurried home. It -was a hard task for her that day at the dinner -table to conceal her emotion; but she did so. -When the meal was over, she hurried to her -room to indulge in her feelings. Had she done -right in thus consenting to meet her lover clandestinely? -Her heart answered yes—her reason no. -A fresh flood of tears came to her relief, and thus -tortured by conflicting emotions, she sank toward -morning into a troubled sleep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Well—they met—once—twice—daily. It was -a dream of bliss, but it could not last. Every time -they saw each other their love grew stronger. Yet -Ellen, although urged by her lover to elope, was -unwilling to consent to it. Indeed on this point -she was inflexible. With tears she said to herself -in the solitude of her chamber, that if she had erred -at first through her inexperience, and allowed her -affections to be placed irrevocably on one whom -her parent even unjustly disapproved of, she would -not go farther on the path of disobedience. She -was young, and she <span class='it'>hoped</span>. She trusted that time -would make all right. But a bolt was about to -fall upon her head, which, for the honor of human -nature, we would gladly escape recording.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We have said little as yet directly of Mr. Howard, -though a glimmering of his character must have -been perceptible in the foregoing pages. Mean, -crafty, purse-proud, haughty, and inflexible to obstinacy, -he had nothing in common with his daughter, -except the tie of relationship. Ellen was like her -mother in every thing, but that mother had been -long since dead,—and could the secrets of her -grave have been unfolded, perhaps it might have -been seen that she died of a broken heart. Yes! -her husband was her destroyer. But he did nothing -which made him amenable to the law. No. -He was always outwardly respectful to his wife. -It was only at home that his brutality broke forth; -and Mrs. Howard was too meek and forgiving to -publish her own sufferings. And thus like too -many gentle beings in our midst she drooped, and -sickened, and died; and when they laid her in her -gorgeous coffin, and bore her to her tomb, amid -all the splendor of wealth, how little did they think -that she had been murdered—aye! murdered by her -husband’s brutality. God help the thousands who -thus die of a broken heart!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With such a father had Ellen now to do. He -had forbidden her all communication with her lover -as soon as he suspected that they met, threatening -to disown her at once if she disobeyed, and Ellen -was returning from a parting interview with Stanhope, -in which she had told him of her father’s -commands, and rejecting every proposal to elope, -had signified, with a burst of tears, her determination -to obey her parent, when on reaching the -door-step she met Mr. Howard. He was in a -towering passion, though he affected at first to -conceal it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very well, Miss, very well. You’ve seen fit -to disobey my orders,” he commenced, “have you? -I’ve watched you, you hussy, myself,” he continued, -following his daughter into the hall, and -closing the door, “what have you to say?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ellen made a vain attempt to speak, but her -emotions overpowered her, and looking up imploringly -into his face, she burst into tears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By G—, Miss, I’m not to be answered this -way,” said Mr. Howard, not longer affecting to -conceal his rage, and brutally seizing his daughter’s -arm he shook it violently, “why don’t you speak? -None of your whining: Answer me!” and again -he shook her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Never before had her parent used her thus. This -personal indignity, added to his brutal language, cut -her to the heart, and brought on a fresh flood of -tears, which only increased her father’s rage. By -this time, too, the servants had gathered in the -hall, and were witnesses of the whole of this deplorable -scene.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“D—n it,” he said, his face flushing with passion, -as he again shook her violently, “I’ll bring an answer -out of you—I will. Ain’t you going to speak? -I told you I’d disown you for this,—and,” here he -muttered an oath I dare not repeat, “I will. You -and your beggarly, upstart paramour”—oh! had -that father a heart?—“may go to the alms-house -together. Out of my door this instant. You are -no daughter of mine. Out, I say. Open the door, -John.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The man hesitated an instant. It only increased -the rage of Mr. Howard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Open the door, I say. By G— am I to be -disobeyed by all of you? I’ll remember you for -this, you villain—you—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m sure I don’t care,” said the man, almost -crying; for he had lived in the family since Ellen -was a babe, and loved her as his own, “for if you -are going to turn my poor dear mistress out of -doors the sooner I follow the better. I’d not -live with such a brute,” continued he, boldly, “for -millions.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Out of the house, both of you, out, I say,” -roared Mr. Howard, with a volley of curses, for -he was now stung to an ungovernable rage, and -cared not what he did, “begone!” and taking his -daughter by the shoulders he pushed her violently -toward the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Up to this period of the scene, the events of -which had passed in less time than we take to -describe them, Ellen, stupefied and astonished, had -been unable to utter a word. Her father’s unparalleled -barbarity called forth continued floods of -tears. But she now spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! father,” she said, “do not turn me from -your doors. You are my only parent, and I will, -I would have told you all. I only went to bid -farewell to him—indeed, indeed I did—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You met him, you own to it,” said Mr. Howard, -almost choked with rage, “before my face. -This is too much—out I say.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Father! Father!” said Ellen, falling on her -knees, “do not cast me off. For the love of -heaven do not. I will be all you ask. I will -never see him again; I have parted with him -forever—oh! father! father—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes! you may father, father me now till you -are tired; but it’s too late. Go, and see if your -beggar of a clerk can help you. Go, and God’s -and a father’s curse go with you!” and, with the -fury of a madman the brutal parent seized his -daughter by the arms, lifted her up, and pushing -her so violently from the door that she went reeling -down the steps, slammed it to after her. Ellen -was alone—no! not alone, for the faithful John, -who had sacrificed his place for her was at her -side, and as the innocent outcast looking wildly up -at the portal which was thus forever closed upon -her, gave a faint cry, and fell insensible to the -pavement, he caught her in his arms, and bearing -her to a neighboring shop, gave her in charge to -the females there, to restore her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Shall we pursue the details of this melancholy -story? Oh! let us rather hurry to its close. It -terminated as might have been expected. Thrust -from her father’s doors, dreading his brutality even -if she could return, and knowing not where to seek -protection in this sudden emergency, Ellen yielded -to the solicitations of her lover, and was married. -Poor girl! though she never looked lovelier than -on her wedding-day, in her pale, sweet face might -be seen the traces of that sorrow which had already -begun to darken her life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From the hour when Mr. Howard so inhumanly -turned his daughter from his doors, he never was -heard to make the slightest enquiry respecting her. -He seemed to have discarded her forever from his -mind. He never even mentioned her name; he -appeared to feel no remorse for the deed into which -his passion had hurried him. Not that his conscience -never smote him. God knows that would -have displayed a malignity of heart worthy of a -fiend. But no one ever saw these visitings of -remorse,—for his pride forbade him to betray -them, as much as it hindered him from re-opening -his doors to his daughter. Yet day by day he -grew more irascible. The worm was at his -heart: he felt, though he would not own its sting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And for awhile the young pair was supremely -happy, or if a care did cloud the young wife’s -brow when she thought of her father’s curse, it was -kissed away by her adoring husband. They had -enough to provide them the necessaries, and they -cared little for the superfluities of life. The birth -of a charming boy only served to knit their hearts -closer to each other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The first spring after their marriage Stanhope -embarked in business, for he found his salary insufficient -for the wants of a family. And for three years -he seemed to prosper. But then came reverses. -The times were critical; even heavy capitalists -could scarcely weather the storm; and, in a word, -Stanhope was compelled to fail, after having sunk -all he had embarked by heavy losses. Had he been -a large trader, and becoming bankrupt, dragged -scores into ruin with him, he would have been -universally pitied, and perhaps his creditors would -have yielded up to him from the wreck of millions -a sufficiency for the rest of his life; but as he was -only a poor man his case met no commiseration. -He determined, however, to pay every debt. The -endeavor exhausted almost literally his last dollar. -He had barely a sufficiency left to transport his -family to the village of ——, having been offered -a situation as a clerk in a store in that obscure -hamlet. Before leaving the city, however, his -sweet wife, believing that under such circumstances -her father must relent, had, without informing her -husband of her intention, sought admittance at her -parent’s mansion, determining to fling herself at his -feet, and solicit his forgiveness and aid. But she -was repulsed—my pen shakes as I record it—she -was repulsed like a common beggar from her own -father’s door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Let us hurry on. Have we not often seen how -misfortune when it once begins to lower on a man, -will sometimes continue its pitiless shower without -intermission, until it has laid its victim in his -grave? Well! every day beheld Stanhope, in -despite of his utmost exertions, sinking lower and -lower into distress. His scanty salary barely afforded -his family the coarsest food, and even this -was lost within a year, and directly after the birth -of a daughter, by an illness which incapacitated -him from labor, for so long a period that his employer -was forced to discharge him, and procure a -substitute. At length he recovered; but how fearfully -was he in debt! A year’s labor at his late -scanty pittance would scarcely discharge his liabilities. -Ellen had foreseen this, and ventured to -write to her father, but the letter was returned -unopened. To add to Stanhope’s distress, after -various efforts to procure steady employment, which -only resulted in constant disappointment, his furniture -was sold under a distress, and his now alarmed -creditors falling like vultures on what remained, left -him with nothing but the bedding on which they -slept, and the clothes which they wore, with the -few other articles protected by the law from an -execution. These, however, he was soon, forced -to dispose of to gain sustenance for his family. In -this strait they had found shelter in the crumbling -garret, where they now were,—and though a month -had elapsed, and every thing they had to part with -was sold, Stanhope was still without employment. -His wife, after bearing up till nature could endure -no longer, had for several days been lying on a -bed of sickness; and that night they had—oh! God -can it be true?—gone dinnerless and supperless to -bed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Until within a few days Stanhope had breasted -the storm with unshrinking firmness, although, at -times, when he looked upon his angelic wife and -little ones, suffering the full horrors of poverty, his -resolution had almost given way. But even he -could not withstand the accumulated miseries -which now beat so bitterly upon his unsheltered -head. Let it not be thought that we exaggerate -his misfortunes. God forbid! Even in our boasted -city, and at this day, too, when <span class='it'>charity has become -fashionable</span>, more than a dozen die annually from -sheer starvation. Stanhope saw nothing but this -before them. He could not seek employment in -other places, for how would his family subsist in -his absence?—nor could he take them with him, -for alas! he had not the money to transport them. -Broken in spirits and maddened with despair, the -thoughts which rushed through his mind as he -gazed around the room can be easier imagined -than described. In that moment his whole life -passed before him as in a panorama. He thought -of his happy boyhood; of the bright hopes of his -youth; of his first sanguine love for Ellen; of the -bitter disappointment which followed; of the hopes, -and fears of their separation, and the joy of their -first meeting afterward; of the tumult of feelings, -all, however extatic, with which he welcomed the -houseless wanderer to his own humble home; of -the three bright and happy years which, like a -dream of heaven, followed their union; and finally -of the series of misfortunes, heaped one upon another, -and growing daily more and more intense, -which had closed the whole, and brought him down -to abject poverty. Had he been alone in the world -he could have borne it all without a murmur. But -to see his darling uncomplaining Ellen, his little -Henry, his innocent babe, starving before his eyes! -Oh! it was too much. Frenzied with agony he -started from his seat, placed his hand to his brow, -and gazing a moment wildly around the room, -rushed from the house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Hour after hour passed, and still he returned not. -His wife grew alarmed. She had noticed his wild -air as he left the room; she had seen that his -soul was tortured almost to madness; and she -now trembled lest he might in his despair have made -away with himself. But no!—it could not be. -Her Stanhope would never do that. Yet it was -almost dawn and he was still absent. She rose -painfully from her bed, and staggered to the door -to look out. A light snow covered the ground to -the depth of an inch; and the whole landscape was -as silent as death, except when the wind moaned -out a moment in the neighboring forest. For some -moments she gazed vainly through the twilight, but -could perceive no one. At length her straining -eyes detected the outlines of a form, and—could it -be?—yes! it was her husband. She rushed into -his arms, almost fainting with joy, as soon as he -reached the threshold, murmuring,—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank God, dear James! you are returned—oh! -how glad, how glad I am,” and then burst -into tears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank God! too, Ellen for I have brought -you money—I begged it—we shall not starve, no -matter at what cost it was gained,” said her husband -wildly, as he flung a small purse upon the -floor. Ellen scarcely noticed the manner or the -tone of the speaker in her joy at his return.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The night passed away rapidly: indeed the day -was breaking when Stanhope returned. She still -wept on her husband’s bosom. At length they returned -up stairs, when the contents of the purse -were examined. They were not very valuable; yet -they sufficed to ensure that family from starvation, -mind, only <span class='it'>from starvation</span>, for at least a fortnight. -Such a timely relief seemed indeed providential, and -once more they suffered themselves to hope.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did I not tell you God would not utterly forsake -us?” said the sweet wife. “Oh! let us thank -him, dear James,” and falling upon her knees, while -her agitated husband followed her example, that -angelic being poured out her gratitude before her -maker. Stanhope was deeply affected, and he sobbed -aloud. When, at length they arose, they saw -that their sweet boy, who had awoke in the interval, -had also fallen on his little knees beside them. They -clasped him to their arms, and wept afresh. But -they were tears of joy—the first they had shed for -weeks. Alas! they were destined to be but too -short lived.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That morning the whole village was thrown into -consternation, by the intelligence that the mail had -been robbed, and a passenger murdered, just before -daybreak, and within a mile of the hamlet. After -the first burst of horror had passed, measures were -taken to ferret out the perpetrators of this awful -deed. The nearest magistrate entered promptly -upon this duty; witnesses of all kinds were examined; -and after a laborious, though secret investigation -of several hours, a warrant was issued for -the apprehension of <span class='sc'>James Stanhope</span> charged with -the double crime of mail-robbery and murder. Do -not start reader! When you shall have heard the -evidence which led to this fearful accusation you -will yourself have painful doubts. And yet <span class='it'>could</span> -the generous, the noble, the high-minded Stanhope -be a <span class='it'>murderer</span>? Listen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It appears that the mail-coach, on that calamitous -night, had but three passengers besides the -driver. The snow was falling fast, but evidently -subsiding, when, about a mile from the village, and -in sight of the turnpike-gate light at its hither extremity, -three men, emerging from a hedge by the -road side, had stopped the horses, cut the traces, -knocked down the driver, and after rifling the mail-bags, -had proceeded to rob the passengers, who, all -this while, guarded by one of the robbers with a -pistol in either hand, had been forced to look upon -the perpetration of this enormous felony in silence. -At this point, however, when each robber was occupied -with his man, one of the passengers, thinking -he could overpower his antagonist, attempted to -escape. In the scuffle he was thrown down; oaths -ensued; and the robber exclaiming suddenly, “Is -that you, then by G— take this!” was seen at -the word to shoot him through the brain. All this -had passed so rapidly that the other robbers had not -even time to interfere; but no sooner was the deed -done, than apparently alarmed lest the report of the -pistol should bring up succor, they sprang into the -hedge and disappeared. The two passengers were -so paralysed by the murder of their comrade, that -they stood for some minutes, without making an -effort to follow the robbers—and even when they -recovered their presence of mind, they were afraid -to make any pursuit until they had first obtained aid -from the village. One of them therefore mounted -a leader, and aroused the inmates at the turnpike -gate, and in the neighboring houses. Before a -sufficient force could be collected, day had broken; -but as the snow had ceased falling immediately after -the flight of the robbers, it was not difficult to trace -their retreat. This was done for nearly half a mile -to a bye-road, back of the village, where the footsteps -divided—two of the robbers appearing to -have turned off to a stream down which they continued -their way, while the other one struck across -to the village. This latter trail was followed in -mute horror; and though at intervals it was almost -obliterated by the drifts, yet its course could still be -distinctly traced, up to the very door of the building -in whose garret James Stanhope lodged.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, gentlemen,” said the magistrate, “if any -one left that house last night, or if any one entered -it near daybreak, he is the man.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was soon settled. The landlord of poor -Stanhope, who occupied the lower stories, deposed, -that being kept awake nearly all night, by a violent -tooth-ache, he had heard some one descend the -stairs after midnight, and, from the heavy step, supposed -it to be Mr. Stanhope. Just before daylight -he heard another person come down stairs, when -his curiosity being excited, he arose and peeped -through the bowed shutters. He saw Mrs. Stanhope -standing at the front door, as if looking for -some one. In a few minutes her husband returned. -He thought even then that there was something -wild in his tenant’s appearance; and his attention -was particularly called to it by seeing Stanhope -place, or rather fling, a small purse into his wife’s -hands, exclaiming, “Here is money, we shall not -starve, no matter how it was got,” or words to that -effect. They then went up stairs, and he retired, -wondering, to bed. As soon as he heard of the -catastrophe of the night, he determined on acquainting -the magistrate with his suspicions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It does seem, gentlemen,” said the justice, -taking his spectacles from his eyes, and looking -around at the astonished listeners, when the witness -had concluded his testimony “as if the finger of -God had pointed us directly to the perpetrator of -this enormous felony and murder. James Stanhope -was always a beggar, and no honest man need be -so in this highly-favored country.”—The magistrate -forgot that but a week before he had refused to engage -his victim as a common day-laborer, because -he said Stanhope’s late sickness had left him too -weak to work with any profit to his employer.—“Let -three or four of you get ready to accompany -me, for the murderer may prove desperate. I’ll -take my father’s pistols he wore at Princeton.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, the coroner, having been sent for by -express, had arrived and impanelled a jury, in the -language of the law, “<span class='it'>super visum corporis</span>.” The -murdered man was identified as a passenger, and -his name, on searching his pockets, discovered to -be <span class='it'>Mr. Howard</span>. A verdict, that the deceased came -to his death by the hands of a person or persons -unknown, was given in, and the jury adjourned. -Could it be that the deceased was Ellen’s parent? -Alas! subsequent investigations proved it to be too -true, and the village was in a few days thunder-struck -with the intelligence that Stanhope had murdered -his own father-in-law. But we anticipate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, the victim of these investigations, -exhausted by his last night’s watching, was lying in -his crazy garret, in a calm deep sleep. His wife -sat beside him, leaning her head on her hands, and -gazing into her husband’s face, as his features -smiled in slumber; while now and then, as her little -boy would steal up to her for a kiss or a caress, she -would drop a tear of mingled happiness and love -upon his face. Sweet, noble woman! As she -looked upon that calm, chiselled face, and thought -of all her husband had suffered for her sake, how -her heart swelled with emotions of tenderness toward -him. His pale, high brow was partly shaded -by the dark locks which curled around it. On -every line of its broad surface could be seen the -traces of care. Ellen stooped and kissed it. At that -moment the door was suddenly opened, and a crowd -of men broke rudely into the apartment. The noise -awakened the sleeper, and he started half up and -gazed around him, while the frightened little fellow -ran and clung to his mother’s side, peeping tremblingly -at the strangers. Ellen sprang to her feet -equally alarmed, gazing with an ashy cheek on the -intruders.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There he is—seize him, seize him,” said the -magistrate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Three of the officers rushed forward, but Ellen -instinctively interposed between them and her husband. -One of the men attempted to thrust her aside. -Quick as lightning the indignant husband felled the -wretch to the floor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He resists the law,” shouted the magistrate, -“down with him—shoot him if he don’t instantly -surrender.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The law!—what authority have you produced -for this insulting entrance on my privacy?” said -Stanhope, placing himself before his wife and child, -and frowning sternly on the intruders.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>I</span> have authority,” said the magistrate, advancing, -“you are my prisoner!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your prisoner!—for what?” said the astonished -husband.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For the robbery of the mail, and the murder of -a passenger.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One long piercing shriek rang through that apartment -as the wife of his bosom fell fainting to the -floor. The next moment, despite his entreaties, -despite his struggles when he found his prayers -unsuccessful, despite even the petitions of his little -son which might have moved a heart of stone, he -was torn from his senseless wife, and borne in -triumph to the village jail. When, through the -humane attentions of a poor neighbor, Ellen revived, -it was only to learn that her husband had -been rent from her to await—perhaps the scaffold.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A few days brought the intelligence that Mr. -Howard had died intestate, and that consequently -his daughter was now his sole heir. His untimely -fate had frustrated his design of disinheriting his -only child. But oh! at what a cost had Ellen -purchased his fortune. Could wealth bring any -joy to that almost heart-broken wife? Willingly -would she have surrendered it to have been as they -were the day before, poor but unsuspected. Not -that for a moment she doubted her husband’s innocence—no! -she felt that the bosom on which -she had so often leaned could never have been that -of a murderer—but she saw that the evidence, so -circumstantially adduced against him, was almost -unanswerable. Alas! the public sentiment sufficiently -forewarned her of her husband’s fate. No -one even whispered the possibility of his innocence. -One universal cry of indignation attested the horror -with which the crime, and he as its reputed author, -were regarded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But how did Stanhope deport himself in these -trying circumstances? From the first he had -asserted his innocence, and accounted for the -tracks leading to his house, by stating that he -had met three men, whom he supplicated, in his -agony, for aid,—and that one of them had hurriedly -thrown him the purse which he brought -home. Every one shook their heads at this story. -Yet the general incredulity did not produce any -show of weakness in Stanhope. His character -seemed to rise in majesty as his fortunes grew -darker, and he prepared himself to breast the storm -with fortitude at least, if not with resignation. Yet -the sight of his sweet wife, almost unnerved him at -times; and his greatest consolation was in reflecting -that, if he should perish ignominiously, she -would not be left a penniless outcast. And oh! -how bitterly, and with what scalding tears did that -wife weep upon his bosom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meantime, however, another examination of -Stanhope’s case was to take place, preparatory to -fully committing him for trial at the next oyer and -terminer. It was at this stage of the transaction -that I was called in as counsel for the accused. -We had known each other in society, in our -younger days, and nothing ever more startled me -than the news of his arrest. I could not believe -him guilty of such an appalling crime. And yet -I had fearful doubts. Could it be, that, stung to -madness by approaching starvation, and recognising -the author of his miseries in Mr. Howard, he had -yielded to a momentary hallucination, and become -a murderer?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Never shall I forget my first interview with him -in my new capacity of his counsel. It was in a -damp, narrow cell, little better than a dungeon. I -had not seen Stanhope for years. When we last -met it had been in a gay ball-room, where my poor -client was “the admired of all observers.” Now -how changed. His face no longer wore the hue -of health; care had ploughed his brow across with -many a furrow; and his wan cheek told of the long -hours of agony through which he had passed. Yet -his mien was collected, even lofty. I felt an innate -conviction of his innocence, and hastened to assure -him that I came not only as a professional adviser, -but as a friend. He grasped my hand eagerly, but -could not for a moment speak. At length he said -with a faint smile in reply,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We meet under far different circumstances than -when we met last.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes!—but we shall soon, I hope, acquit you,” -said I, expressing what I scarcely believed. “There -is some extraordinary mistake in this matter.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! can you indeed save us?” said his wife, -eagerly advancing—I had only noticed that a female -was in the back-ground of the cell, and never having -seen Stanhope’s bride, I did not know her until she -spoke—“God in heaven bless you, if you can!” and -after a vain effort at composure, the sweet being -burst into tears, and fell upon her husband’s bosom. -Stanhope did not speak; he bent over her and folded -her to his heart; and I thought I saw a tear-drop -fall sparkling upon her dark raven hair. My own -eyes were scarcely dry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But why protract these painful scenes? Suffice -it to say that I retired from that solitary cell, more -than ever convinced of my client’s innocence, and -full of admiration at the generous devotion of that -sweet, angelic wife.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The examination of Stanhope took place on the -next morning—and it was only then that I became -fully aware of the terrible evidence against him. -Indeed the chain of testimony was so thoroughly -welded together in every link, that, for a moment, -I not only despaired, but almost recanted my belief -in the prisoner’s innocence. I am sure that I was -the only one present who did not believe him guilty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The evidence against him was much the same -as that given on the morning after the murder. -Many additional facts, however, were elicited, -which materially strengthened the case for the -prosecution. A purse which was found on Stanhope’s -person at the time of his arrest was identified, -by a passenger, as having been seen in Mr. -Howard’s hands on the evening of the murder, -when he paid for a bottle of wine which they -drank together. Mr. Howard’s house-keeper also -knew the purse. Neither of the passengers could -recognise the murderer’s countenance; but both concurred -in making oath that the figure of the murderer -was similar to that of Stanhope. Here was a -mass of testimony which was sufficient, if unanswered, -to condemn any man; and when the personal -interest which Stanhope had in Mr. Howard’s death -was taken into consideration, was not his situation -really alarming? And what had he to oppose to -this? Nothing, positively nothing, except his oft -repeated explanation, and his continued asseverations -of innocence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile I spared no effort to elucidate the -mystery which seemed to hang over this catastrophe. -Believing, as I did, in Stanhope’s innocence, -I longed for some clue which might lead to -the detection of the real murderer. But in vain. -As a last resort I wrote a letter to the most eminent -counsel at the —— bar, earnestly urging him -to join me in the case. He replied favorably.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Speak to me freely, D——,” said Stanhope to -me, the day before his trial, “for my wife is absent -now, and I can hear the worst. Am I without -hope? God knows it is hard enough to part with -all you love; it is hard for an innocent man to die -a felon’s death; it is hard to leave behind you a -stain on your children’s name,—but yet, if it is to -be, let me not be deceived. As you would, in my -situation, wish to be done by, so do by me. Tell -me frankly—tell me all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I hesitated; I evaded his question.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is enough, D——,” said he, with a quivering -lip, “God help my wife and little ones,” and, overcome -by his emotion, he buried his face in his -hands. It was the first time I had seen him give -way to his feelings. But it was soon past. He -looked up, “This is weakness,—it is over now. -My enemies shall not, at least, triumph in beholding -my agony.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This stoicism was even more affecting than his -agitation. My eyes involuntarily filled with tears, -and I pressed his hand in silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“God bless you,” said he, with renewed emotion, -“except my poor family you are my only friend.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The morning of the trial dawned without a cloud. -Never had such an excitement pervaded the village. -The atrocity of the deed; the standing of the parties; -the high talent arrayed on the part of the prosecution; -and a rumor which had got afloat that the -prisoner intended to confess his guilt, had awakened -such an intense interest, that, long before the hour -of trial, the court-room was crowded to overflowing. -The whole town seemed alive. From every lane -and street, from every house and hovel, they poured -along, rich and poor, old and young, crowding and -jostling each other, until the court-room was densely -packed with the spectators, and farther admittance -was impossible. The windows were blocked up -with the multitude; the bar, and even the bench -were full of people; and hundreds of eager faces, -peered one above another in the back-ground, until -they terminated in the gallery above. The hall -without was noisy with the populace, and crowds, -unable to obtain an entrance, waited breathlessly in -the yard to learn, by the murmurs from within, the -fluctuations of the trial.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The prisoner entered with a firm, composed bearing, -and bowing to the bench, glanced a moment -round the room. There was a lofty pride in his -demeanor which I shall never forget. A death-like -silence pervaded the hundreds there, and scarcely -an eye but quailed beneath that fearless glance. -He then took his seat. A murmur ran around the -room. The impression made by the prisoner’s -demeanor was evidently favorable. Pity usurped -the place of idle curiosity. His sweet wife’s presence -did not lessen this favorable sentiment. She -had insisted on being present during the whole of -the trial, and she now sat beside her husband, -clasping his hand in hers, and looking up into his -face with a glance which told, that whatever others -might think, she at least knew him to be innocent. -Thank God! there is such a thing in this world as -woman’s love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The jury was impanelled; the indictment read; -and the prisoner pleaded “not guilty,” putting himself, -in the words of the law, “upon God and his -country.” The attorney general then arose and -opened his case; and rarely have I listened to a -more artful address. The history of the prisoner’s -love, his marriage with the daughter of the deceased, -the separation which had ever since existed -betwixt the families, and the natural irritation -which the accused must have felt toward the murdered -man, and which might have led to the sudden -sacrifice of his life in a moment of passion, even -without any premeditated design against him, were -all worked up with such consummate skill, that, -when the evidence came to be detailed, the jury -looked knowingly at each other, as if satisfied that -the prisoner was the only person who could have -been guilty of the murder. Indeed, the circumstances -were unanswerable. Look at them. Here -is a man wronged, deeply wronged by the deceased—that -man is stung to madness by the horrors of -approaching starvation—he leaves his house, at the -dead of night and does not return until morning, -and he brings with him on his return a purse which -is subsequently identified as having been in the possession -of the murdered man. Nor is this all. The -murderer obviously committed the crime under a -sudden impulse, for on recognising the deceased he -made a passionate exclamation, and discharged his -pistol. After the deed, he, as well as his companions, -terrified at what had been done, fled in dismay. -They are tracked until one of their number -left them, and the footsteps of that one led to -Stanhope’s door. What could be more conclusive? -Such was the substance of the argument against -the prisoner, an argument so compact, candid, and -devoid of declamation as to be irresistibly convincing; -and when it was finished I trembled—and -not without cause—for the life of the accused.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The evidence was the same as that upon the -examination prior to the commitment of the prisoner. -There was no discrepancy in the statements -of the witnesses. All was clear, truth-like, and -irresistible. Even the talents of my colleague failed -to elicit any thing material on the cross-examination, -although he subjected the witnesses severally -to as severe a scrutiny as I ever saw exercised. -The man especially who testified to having examined -the tracks of the robbers in the snow underwent -the most searching probing. The efforts of -the defence were directed to establish the possibility -that there might have been three fugitives on the -first track even after the separation—in short, to -overthrow the view taken by the prosecution that -the robbers separated at this point.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did you,” said my colleague, “inspect the -tracks of the larger body of fugitives after the -supposed defection of one of their number?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The man answered in the affirmative, and said -that he was certain there could not have been more -than two, by the number of foot-marks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How far did you follow the tracks?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To the neighboring creek.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And why did you not pursue them farther?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because the creek being frozen over, the ice -was what is called glip, and the wind had consequently -so drifted the snow off from the surface, -that we lost all sight of the path pursued by the -robbers.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did you examine the opposite bank in order to -recover the trail?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes!—for a quarter of a mile, but to no purpose.” -My colleague was foiled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We opened our case as we best could. The -gigantic difficulties against which we had to contend -almost disheartened us; but one look at the -prisoner and his sweet wife inspired us with renewed -energy. Poor Ellen! how eagerly she hung -on every word, gazing now on her husband and -then on the speaker, and seeming to say in every -look, that though all the world might desert the -accused, she at least would cling to him to the last.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Our evidence was confined almost wholly to the -character of the accused, although the account -which he gave of himself on the night of the murder -was skilfully introduced by my colleague, as a -portion of a conversation between the prisoner and -one of the commonwealth’s witnesses, which had -been given only in part by the prosecution. It was -in substance as follows:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Stung to madness on the night of the murder, -by the horrors of approaching starvation, Stanhope -had left his home, scarcely knowing whither to -bend his steps for aid. For several hours he wandered -about in the wintry night, and at length -found himself on the borders of the creek, back of -the village. While standing there moodily, it began -to snow. All was silent around. As the white -flakes drove in his face, and the biting air swept -over his cheek, his feelings became gradually less -excited, and he was on the point of returning home, -when he perceived three men rapidly approaching -through the snow-storm. For the first time in his -life he stooped to beg. The nearest man turned -sharply around on him as he spoke, seemed to hesitate -a moment, and then, as if by a sudden impulse, -flung him the purse, which was subsequently identified -as Mr. Howard’s. The men then dashed -down the bank toward the stream, and vanished as -rapidly as they had appeared.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Such was the substance of our defence. It met -with nothing but sneers from the prosecuting officer, -who, in his address to the jury, treated it as a story -fabricated solely for the occasion. Too many of -the spectators appeared to agree with him, and -when he sat down, the ominous faces of the jury -chilled my very heart. At this moment, however, -my colleague rose to reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Never shall I forget the impression made by this -rejoinder. Few men of his day possessed so much -eloquence, and on the present occasion it was exerted -to the utmost. Skilfully availing himself of -the course of argument adopted by the attorney -general, he drew in the darkest colors, the unnatural -conduct of Mr. Howard to his daughter, and -her subsequent destitution owing thereto, and then, -by one of those bursts of passion for which he was -remarkable, picturing her as she now sat, almost -heart-broken, by her husband’s side, he succeeded -in awakening the deepest pity in his audience toward -the accused. Then, by a sudden transition, -he seized upon the testimony of the last witness of -the prosecution, and in a few rapid, lightning-like -sentences, tore it into shreds. “Yes! gentlemen -of the jury,” continued my impassioned colleague, -“there is no evidence whatever to criminate the -defendant. The grand error of all prosecutions is -in thinking a certain man guilty, and then proceeding -to account for his conduct. But you must -proceed in a manner directly the reverse of this. -You must start with the murder and trace up, from -that point, the perpetrator. Take the present case, -dismiss the idea that Stanhope is the murderer—start -afresh on the search after the guilty man—follow -up the fugitives to the moment when these -other footsteps are met with, and then before God -and your own consciences, is there any proof—I -repeat it, is there any <span class='it'>proof</span>, that James Stanhope -left the path, or even whether any man left it? -You start. But here is the gist of the argument. -Here is the broken link in the chain of testimony -against us. Unless you are satisfied that some one -of the robbers <span class='it'>did</span> leave the gang, you must acquit -the prisoner. Might not the unfortunate man at -the bar have been, as he says, on the spot when -these men passed? The finding of the purse -on the prisoner proves nothing, for might he not -have obtained it in alms? Would not the murderer, -indeed, gladly rid himself of this tell-tale, in order to -divert suspicion from himself? The character, the -relationship, the honor, the common sense of my -client forbid the supposition that he would commit -so frightful a crime, and yet instantly seek his -home, although the ground was covered with snow, -and he knew that detection, under such circumstances -would be inevitable. Gentlemen, it could -not be. On your oaths you will say it could not be. -And as you value a fellow creature’s life, as you -value your eternal peace, I conjure you to remember -that the least doubt must acquit the prisoner. -Convict him—and you destroy an innocent man. -Acquit him—and you give peace to a broken-hearted -wife. If you condemn him, oh! what will -be your pangs of remorse when the real criminal is -detected. I leave you to your God and yourselves. -I implore heaven to guide you aright.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He took his seat. A dead silence hung over the -vast assembly. The effect was too deep for words. -At length a heavy, long-protracted sigh was heard -throughout the crowd, as if men had held their -breaths in awe, and found relief, only that moment, -from the spell which bound them. Oh! how I -longed that the verdict might then be taken. The -sweet wife of the prisoner felt a hope which hitherto -she had scarcely ventured to cherish, and clasping -her husband’s hand, looked up into his face with a -love no language can express, while the tears rolled -fast and thick down her cheeks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length the attorney general rose to reply. -Guarding the jury against being led away by their -feelings, he plunged as soon as possible into the -argument, and keeping constantly before their minds -the fact of the possession of Mr. Howard’s purse -by the accused, and the exclamation used by the -murderer at the moment of committing the deed, he -soon succeeded in removing from their minds at -least, the impression of the prisoner’s innocence. -How my heart sickened as I saw them turn from -one to the other, with those significant glances. -And when the prosecuting officer sat down, after -his adroit and effective harangue, I felt almost as if -my own doom was at hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The judge proceeded to charge the jury. Long -afterward that judicial effort was talked of as a -model of clear and comprehensive logic. It was -as I feared. He bore terribly upon the prisoner, -treated the story of the accused as of no credibility, -and concluded by a powerful appeal to the jury not -to be misled by the eloquence of counsel. Yet, even -when thus performing what he deemed his duty, -his eye happened to fall upon the prisoner’s wife, -and I noticed that his lip quivered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The jury arose and retired. The anxiety, not to -say excitement of the spectators, was wound up -to an unusual pitch, and increased momentarily. -Whatever might be the sentiment of those who -were the arbiters of the prisoner’s fate, but one -feeling seemed to pervade that vast assembly—and -a deep, intense sympathy for the accused, had -supplanted the almost universal opinion of his guilt -with which the trial had opened. Men eagerly -leaned forward to catch a sight of the proud bearing -of Stanhope, or the touching demeanor of his wife, -and more than one hand brushed away a tear as -its owner beheld that melancholy group, awaiting -the decision of its fate. As time passed on, the -audience grew restless with impatience, glancing -now at the clock and now at the door where the -jury were expected to enter,—and when at length -the bearers of the prisoner’s fate entered, one by -one, with slow and solemn steps, like mourners on -the shores of Styx, a deep-drawn breath of mingled -dread and curiosity, was heard throughout the room. -It was an ominous sign to me that every man -of the jury avoided looking at the prisoner.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As the accused was ordered, according to the -usual form, to stand up and look upon the jury, I -glanced at the face of his wife. It was pale and -red by turns. She seemed fainting. But the bearing -of my client was as calm and collected as a -Roman martyr’s. Save a slight flushing of the face, -he betrayed no emotion. The audience, however, -was lost in the most intense curiosity. Judge, -officers, attorney general—all gazed anxiously at -the foreman. Bending eagerly forward, they -breathlessly awaited the verdict. The silence of -the dead reigned in the room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How say you, gentlemen of the jury,” said the -clerk, “is James Stanhope, the prisoner at the bar, -guilty or not guilty, in manner and form as he -stands indicted?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a thrilling suspense of a moment, -which seemed protracted into an age. Then came, -in a low but fearfully distinct voice, the answer of -the foreman, as, laying his hand upon his heart, he -said,—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Guilty of murder in the first degree!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A half-suppressed cry shot wildly throughout the -apartment, and then followed a heavy sob at my -side. It was the prisoner’s wife who had fainted, -and would have fallen, had I not caught her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And so say you all?” asked the clerk.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The jury nodded, and while the foreman handed -in the verdict, prepared to take their seats, when -suddenly, in one corner of the apartment, a commotion -arose, as if some person was endeavoring -to make way through the crowd, but was resisted. -The opposition, however, was only momentary, for -after a murmured altercation, cries arose of “pass -her on—make way,” ending at length in a prolonged -huzza, and before the astonished officers of -the court could move toward the scene of the -uproar, or be heard commanding silence in the din, -the form of a woman was seen hurried through an -opening in the crowd, and in an instant she stood -within the bar. She was evidently highly excited.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stop!” she said, turning to the foreman, “in -God’s name stop—don’t hand in your verdict—the -prisoner is innocent—I can point out the murderer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If I could live, throughout an eternity, I should -never forget that moment. Every man started to -his feet. Without waiting for an explanation, the -crowd caught at her assertion, with an eagerness -which could not have been surpassed had their own -fate depended on its truth. A universal frenzy -seized on the spectators, which showed itself in long -and reiterated shouts, lasting for several minutes. -Even the officers caught the excitement. The -judge himself was visibly agitated. The prisoner, -for the first time, turned pale as death, and gasped -convulsively, while his poor wife, recovered from -her momentary shock, grasped my hand as if in a -vice, and trembled violently.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Clerk—don’t record the verdict yet!” said -the judge, with an excited voice. “Let us hear the -woman first. Swear her!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As soon as silence could be procured, the woman -was sworn. She proved to be the mistress of the -real murderer, and had intended preserving silence, -but her conscience, not yet altogether seared, would -not suffer her to stand by, and see an innocent man -convicted, when a word from her might save him. -She was cognizant of both the robbery and murder, -and now offered to turn state’s evidence. The murderer -had confessed to her his meeting with Stanhope, -and exulted in having given him the purse of -the murdered man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The exclamation of the criminal on discharging -his pistol was accounted for by his having formerly -been a clerk in the employment of Mr. Howard, -who had turned him off on suspicion of a robbery -of which he averred he was innocent. But the -imputation could not be shaken off, and he was -eventually driven in reality to crime. On thus suddenly -discovering his old master, he had yielded to -a long-cherished thirst for revenge, and murdered -him in the impulse of the moment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All this will be clear,” said the judge, “if you -produce the real criminal. I cannot suffer the jury -again to retire until you have thus corroborated -your story.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let your honor send a couple of officers to my -house. Nat Powers, whom every one knows, is -the man.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In less than a minute a posse had set forth, -every one wondering that suspicion had passed -ever the most notorious character in the neighborhood, -and who had not left the penitentiary a -twelvemonth. Before an hour the guilty man was -produced in court. He maintained his dare-devil -expression of countenance until he saw by whom -he was accused, when he turned pale as death, and -muttered a curse on her treachery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The real murderer was subsequently tried, found -guilty, and hung. The disclosures he made after -sentence led to the arrest of one of the mail robbers, -who suffered also. Yet no one would ever have -suspected them, if the murderer’s leman had kept -silence. Thus closely allied in appearance are -often innocence and guilt.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Need I say that a verdict was returned unanimously -acquitting the prisoner—or that the joy of -that sweet wife was past utterance? Stanhope, -who had stood all till now, wept like a child. God -knows their after felicity was dearly purchased by -the agony of that day.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;margin-top:0.5em;'>D.</p> - -<hr class='tbk115'/> - -<div><h1><a id='thee'></a>I CLING TO THEE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY T. G. SPEAR.</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'>Tis</span> sweet, belov’d, to have thee nigh,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In pleasant converse thus with me,</p> -<p class='line0'>For while these social moments fly,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I feel my heart-strings cling to thee—</p> -<p class='line0'>Yes, cling to thee with stronger ties</p> -<p class='line0'>  Than e’er I felt or knew before,</p> -<p class='line0'>As day by day some charm supplies,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That makes me bless thee more and more.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Though love may be a troubled stream,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And oftimes seek a troubled sea,</p> -<p class='line0'>I find the passage like a dream,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In sailing down its tide with thee;</p> -<p class='line0'>And feel resigned amidst the roar</p> -<p class='line0'>  That would against our barque prevail,</p> -<p class='line0'>Till every idle gust is o’er</p> -<p class='line0'>  That hangs around its bridal sail.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I cling to thee, by night by day—</p> -<p class='line0'>  With all a wife’s affection tried,</p> -<p class='line0'>And bless thee fondly when away,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And when reclining at my side.</p> -<p class='line0'>I think of thee where’er thou art,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Nor can forget thee though unseen—</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou beacon of my trusting heart!</p> -<p class='line0'>  That cheer’st it through each passing scene.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>In doubt—in transport—or distress,</p> -<p class='line0'>  My soul reclines itself on thee,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose words are ever quick to bless—</p> -<p class='line0'>  And being bless’d it clings to thee.</p> -<p class='line0'>It clings around the cherished name</p> -<p class='line0'>  It first rejoic’d to know was thine—</p> -<p class='line0'>In bliss or sorrow—wrong or shame,</p> -<p class='line0'>  For ever yours—for ever mine.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I cling to thee as guide and friend—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The plighted guardian of my heart—</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose presence doth a brightness lend,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That leaves a sadness when apart.</p> -<p class='line0'>The love I know, the joy I feel,</p> -<p class='line0'>  As closely with thy Fate entwin’d—</p> -<p class='line0'>And time cannot thy memory steal,</p> -<p class='line0'>  From out the chambers of my mind.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I cling to thee in calm or storm—</p> -<p class='line0'>  In terror—torture—bond or free,</p> -<p class='line0'>My love from out its fountain warm,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Still rolls in tranquil rills to thee.</p> -<p class='line0'>For thee it pours the fervent prayer—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The morning hymn—the evening lay—</p> -<p class='line0'>That thou mayst never know despair,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Nor fell Misfortune’s friendless sway.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I cling to thee as clings the vine</p> -<p class='line0'>  Around some noble forest tree—</p> -<p class='line0'>And when thou shalt thy strength resign,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I too would fall and sleep with thee</p> -<p class='line0'>Yes, ’neath yon bright and flaming sun,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And this our own dear native sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>We long have liv’d and lov’d as one,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And would as one together die.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thou’rt dear to me through all of time—</p> -<p class='line0'>  And in that hour when life takes wing,</p> -<p class='line0'>The thought serene—the hope sublime—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Departing still to thee shall cling.</p> -<p class='line0'>But shouldst thou, love, first sink to sleep,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And light my worldly path no more,</p> -<p class='line0'>My soul shall wait, and watch, and weep,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And cling to thee, though gone before.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk116'/> - -<div><h1><a id='desc'></a>A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTRÖM.</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'>We</span> had now reached the summit of the loftiest -crag. For some minutes the old man seemed too -much exhausted to speak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not long ago,” said he, at length, “and I -could have guided you on this route as well as the -youngest of my sons; but, about three years past, -there happened to me an event such as never -happened before to mortal man—or at least such -as no man ever survived to tell of—and the six -hours of deadly terror which I then endured have -broken me up body and soul. You suppose me a -<span class='it'>very</span> old man—but I am not. It took less than a -single day to change these hairs from a jetty black -to white, to weaken my limbs, and to unstring my -nerves, so that I tremble at the least exertion, and -am frightened at a shadow. Do you know I can -scarcely look over this little cliff without getting -giddy?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The “little cliff,” upon whose edge he had so -carelessly thrown himself down to rest, that the -weightier portion of his body hung over it, while -he was only kept from falling by the tenure of his -elbow on its extreme and slippery edge—this “little -cliff” arose, a sheer unobstructed precipice of black -shining rock, some fifteen or sixteen hundred feet -from the world of crags beneath us. No consideration -would have tempted me to within half a dozen -yards of its brink. In truth so deeply was I excited -by the perilous position of my companion, that I -fell at full length upon the ground, clung to the -shrubs around me, and dared not even glance -upward at the sky—while I struggled in vain to -divest myself of the idea that the very foundations -of the mountain were in danger from the fury of the -winds. It was long before I could reason myself -into sufficient courage to sit up and look out into -the distance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You must get over these fancies,” said the -guide, “for I have brought you here that you -might have the best possible view of the scene of -that event I mentioned—and to tell you the whole -story with the spot just under your eye.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We are now,” he continued, in that particularising -manner which distinguished him—“we are -now close upon the Norwegian coast—in the -sixty-eighth degree of latitude—in the great province -of Nordland—and in the dreary district of -Lofoden. The mountain upon whose top we sit is -Helseggen, the Cloudy. Now raise yourself up -a little higher—hold on to the grass if you feel -giddy—so—and look out beyond the belt of vapor -beneath us into the sea.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I looked dizzily, and beheld a wide expanse of -ocean, whose waters wore so inky a hue as to -bring at once to my mind the Nubian Geographer’s -account of the <span class='it'>Mare Tenebrarum</span>. A panorama -more deplorably desolate no human imagination -can conceive. To the right and left, as far as the -eye could reach, there lay outstretched, like ramparts -of the world, lines of horridly black and -beetling cliff, whose character of irredeemable -gloom was but the more forcibly illustrated by the -surf which reared high up against it its white and -ghastly crest, howling and shrieking forever. Just -opposite the promontory upon whose apex we were -placed, and at the distance of some five or six miles -out at sea, there was visible a small, bleak-looking -island; or, more properly, its position was discernible -through the wilderness of surge in which it was -enveloped. About two miles nearer the land, arose -another of smaller size, hideously craggy and barren, -and encompassed at various intervals by a cluster of -dark rocks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The appearance of the ocean, in the space between -the more distant island and the shore, had -something very unusual about it. Although, at the -time, so strong a gale was blowing landward that a -brig in the remote offing lay to under a double-reefed -trysail, and constantly plunged her whole hull out -of sight, still there was here nothing like a regular -swell, but only a short, quick, angry cross-dashing -of water in every direction—as well in the teeth -of the wind as otherwise. Of foam there was little, -except in the immediate vicinity of the rocks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The island in the distance,” resumed the old -man, “is called by the Norwegians Vurrgh. The -one midway is Moskoe. That a mile to the northward -is Ambaaren. Yonder are Islesen, Hotholm, -Kieldhelm, Suarven, and Buckholm. Farther off—between -Moskoe and Vurrgh—are Otterholm, -Flimen, Sandflesen, and Stockholm. These are -the true names of the places—but why it has been -thought necessary to name them at all, is more -than either you or I can understand. Do you hear -any thing? Do you see any change in the water?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We had now been about ten minutes upon the -top of Helseggen, to which we had ascended from -the interior of Lofoden, so that we had caught no -glimpse of the sea until it had burst upon us from -the summit. As the old man spoke I became -aware of a loud and gradually increasing sound, -like the moaning of a vast herd of buffaloes upon -an American prairie; and at the same moment I -perceived that what seamen term the <span class='it'>chopping</span> character -of the ocean beneath us was rapidly changing -into a current which set to the eastward. Even -while I gazed, this current acquired a monstrous -velocity. Each moment added to its speed—to its -headlong impetuosity. In five minutes the whole -sea, as far as Vurrgh, was lashed into ungovernable -fury; but it was between Moskoe and the coast that -the main uproar held its sway. Here the vast bed -of the waters, seamed and scarred into a thousand -conflicting channels, burst suddenly into phrensied -convulsion—heaving, boiling, hissing—gyrating in -gigantic and innumerable vortices, and all whirling -and plunging on to the eastward with a rapidity -which water never elsewhere assumes except in -precipitous descents.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In a few minutes more, there came over the -scene another radical alteration. The general surface -grew somewhat more smooth, and the whirlpools, -one by one, disappeared, while prodigious -streaks of foam became apparent where none had -been seen before. These streaks, at length, spreading -out to a great distance, and entering into combination, -took unto themselves the gyratory motion -of the subsided vortices, and seemed to form the -germ of another more vast. Suddenly—very suddenly—this -assumed a distinct and definite existence, -in a circle of more than a mile in diameter. -The edge of the whirl was represented by a broad -belt of gleaming spray—but no particle of this -slipped into the mouth of the terrific funnel, whose -interior, as far as the eye could fathom it, was a -smooth, shining, and jet-black wall of water, inclined -to the horizon at an angle of some forty-five degrees, -speeding dizzily round and round with a swaying -and sweltering motion, and sending forth to the -winds an appalling voice, half shriek half roar, such -as not even the mighty cataract of Niagara ever -lifts up in its agony to Heaven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The mountain trembled to its very base, and the -rock rocked. I threw myself upon my face, and -clung to the scant herbage in an excess of nervous -agitation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This,” said I, at length, to the old man—“this -<span class='it'>can</span> be nothing else than the great whirlpool of the -Maelström.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So it is sometimes termed,” said he. “We -Norwegians call it the Moskoe-ström, from the -island of Moskoe in the midway.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The ordinary accounts of this vortex had by no -means prepared me for what I saw. That of -Jonas Ramus, which is perhaps the most circumstantial -of any, cannot impart the faintest conception -either of the magnificence, or of the horror of -the scene—or of the wild bewildering sense of <span class='it'>the -novel</span> which confounds the beholder. I am not -sure from what point of view the writer in question -surveyed it, nor at what time—but it could neither -have been from the summit of Helseggen, nor during -a storm. There are some passages of his description, -nevertheless, which may be quoted for their -details, although their effect is exceedingly feeble in -conveying an impression of the spectacle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Between Lofoden and Moskoe,” he says, “the -depth of the water is between thirty-six and forty -fathoms; but on the other side, toward Ver (Vurrgh) -this depth decreases so as not to afford a convenient -passage for a vessel, without the risk of splitting -on the rocks, which happens even in the calmest -weather. When it is flood, the stream runs up the -country between Lofoden and Moskoe with a boisterous -rapidity; but the roar of its impetuous ebb -to the sea is scarce equalled by the loudest and -most dreadful cataracts; the noise being heard -several leagues off, and the vortices or pits are of -such an extent and depth, that if a ship comes -within its attraction, it is inevitably absorbed and -carried down to the bottom, and there beat to -pieces against the rocks; and when the water relaxes -the fragments thereof are thrown up again. -But these intervals of tranquillity are only at the -turn of the ebb and flood, and in calm weather, -and last but a quarter of an hour, its violence gradually -returning. When the stream is most boisterous, -and its fury heightened by a storm, it is -dangerous to come within a Norway mile of it. -Boats, yachts, and ships have been carried away -by not guarding against it before they were within -its reach. It likewise happens frequently, that -whales come too near the stream, and are overpowered -by its violence; and then it is impossible -to describe their howlings and bellowings in their -fruitless struggles to disengage themselves. A bear -once attempting to swim from Lofoden to Moskoe, -was caught by the stream and borne down, while -he roared terribly, so as to be heard on shore. -Large stocks of firs and pine trees, after being absorbed -by the current, rise again broken and torn -to such a degree as if bristles grew upon them. -This plainly shows the bottom to consist of craggy -rocks, among which they are whirled to and fro. -This stream is regulated by the flux and reflux of -the sea—it being constantly high and low water -every six hours. In the year 1645, early in the -morning of Sexagesima Sunday, it raged with such -noise and impetuosity that the very stones of the -houses on the coast fell to the ground.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In regard to the depth of the water, I could not -see how this could have been ascertained at all in -the immediate vicinity of the vortex. The “forty -fathoms” must have reference only to portions of -the channel close upon the shore either of Moskoe -or Lofoden. The depth in the centre of the Moskoe-ström -must be immeasurably greater; and no -better proof of this fact is necessary than can be -obtained from even the sidelong glance into the -abyss of the whirl which may be had from the -highest crag of Helseggen. Looking down from -this pinnacle upon the howling Phlegethon below, I -could not help smiling at the simplicity with which -the honest Jonas Ramus records, as a matter difficult -of belief, the anecdotes of the whales and the -bears; for it appeared to me, in fact, a self-evident -thing that the largest ship of the line in existence, -coming within the influence of that deadly attraction, -could resist it as little as a feather the hurricane, -and must disappear bodily and at once.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The attempts to account for the phenomenon—some -of which, I remember, seemed to me sufficiently -plausible in perusal—now wore a very -different and unsatisfactory aspect. The idea generally -received is that this, as well as three smaller -vortices among the Ferroe islands, “have no other -cause than the collision of waves rising and falling, -at flux and reflux, against a ridge of rocks and -shelves, which confines the water so that it precipitates -itself like a cataract; and thus the higher -the flood rises, the deeper must the fall be, and the -natural result of all is a whirlpool or vortex, the -prodigious suction of which is sufficiently known -by lesser experiments.”—These are the words of -the Encyclopædia Britannica. Kircher and others -imagine that in the centre of the channel of the -Maelström is an abyss penetrating the globe, and -issuing in some very remote part—the Gulf of -Bothnia being somewhat decidedly named in one -instance. This opinion, idle in itself, was the one -to which, as I gazed, my imagination most readily -assented; and, mentioning it to the guide, I was -rather surprised to hear him say that, although it -was the view almost universally entertained of the -subject by the Norwegians, it nevertheless was not -his own. As to the former notion he confessed -his inability to comprehend it; and here I agreed -with him—for, however conclusive on paper, it -becomes altogether unintelligible, and even absurd, -amid the thunder of the abyss.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You have had a good look at the whirl now,” -said the old man, “and if you will creep round this -crag, so as to get in its lee, and deaden the roar of -the water, I will tell you a story that will convince -you I ought to know something of the Moskoe-ström.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I placed myself as desired, and he proceeded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Myself and my two brothers once owned a -schooner-rigged smack of about seventy tons burthen, -with which we were in the habit of fishing -among the islands beyond Moskoe, nearly to -Vurrgh. In all violent eddies at sea there is good -fishing, at proper opportunities, if one has only the -courage to attempt it; but among the whole of the -Lofoden coastmen, we three were the only ones -who made a regular business of going out to the -islands, as I tell you. The usual grounds are a -great way lower down to the southward. There -fish can be got at all hours, without much risk, -and therefore these places are preferred. The -choice spots over here among the rocks, however, -not only yield the finest variety, but in far greater -abundance; so that we often got in a single day -what the more timid of the craft could not scrape -together in a week. In fact, we made it a matter -of desperate speculation—the risk of life standing -instead of labor, and courage answering for capital.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We kept the smack in a cove about five miles -higher up the coast than this; and it was our practice, -in fine weather, to take advantage of the -fifteen minutes’ slack to push across the main -channel of the Moskoe-ström, far above the pool, -and then drop down upon anchorage somewhere -near Otterholm, or Sandflesen, where the eddies are -not so violent as elsewhere. Here we used to remain -until nearly time for slack-water again, when -we weighed and made for home. We never set -out upon this expedition without a steady side wind -for going and coming—one that we felt sure would -not fail us before our return—and we seldom made -a miscalculation upon this point. Twice, during -six years, we were forced to stay all night at -anchor on account of a dead calm, which is a rare -thing indeed just about here; and once we had to -remain on the grounds nearly a week, starving to -death, owing to a gale which blew up shortly after -our arrival, and made the channel too boisterous to -be thought of. Upon this occasion we should have -been driven out to sea in spite of every thing, (for -the whirlpools threw us round and round so violently, -that at length we fouled our anchor and -dragged it) if it had not been that we drifted into -one of the innumerable cross currents—here to-day -and gone to-morrow—which drove us under the -lee of Flimen, where, by good luck, we brought up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I could not tell you the twentieth part of the -difficulties we encountered ‘on the grounds’—it is -a bad spot to be in even in good weather—but we -made shift always to run the gauntlet of the Moskoe-ström -itself without accident; although at times -my heart has been in my mouth when we happened -to be a minute or so behind or before the slack. -The wind sometimes was not as strong as we -thought it at starting, and then we made rather -less way than we could wish, while the current -rendered the smack unmanageable. My eldest -brother had a son eighteen years old, and I had -two stout boys of my own. These would have -been of great assistance at such times, in using the -sweeps, as well as afterward in fishing—but, somehow, -although we ran the risk ourselves, we had -not the heart to let the young ones get into the -danger—for, after all is said and done, it <span class='it'>was</span> a -horrible danger, and that is the truth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is now within a few days of three years -since what I am going to tell you occurred. It -was on the tenth day of July, 18—, a day which -the people of this part of the world will never -forget—for it was one in which blew the most -terrible hurricane that ever came out of the heavens. -And yet all the morning, and indeed until late in -the afternoon, there was a gentle and steady breeze -from the south-west, while the sun shone brightly, -so that the oldest seaman among us could not have -foreseen what was to follow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The three of us—my two brothers and myself—had -crossed over to the islands about two o’clock, -P. M. and had soon nearly loaded the smack with -fine fish, which, we all remarked, were more plenty -that day than we had ever known them. It was -just seven, <span class='it'>by my watch</span>, when we weighed and -started for home, so as to make the worst of the -Ström at slack water, which we knew would be at -eight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We set out with a fresh wind on our starboard -quarter, and for some time spanked along at a great -rate, never dreaming of danger, for indeed we saw -not the slightest reason to apprehend it. All at -once we were taken aback by a breeze from over -Helseggen. This was most unusual—something -that had never happened to us before, and I began -to feel a little uneasy without exactly knowing why. -We put the boat on the wind, but could make no -headway at all for the eddies, and I was upon the -point of proposing to return to the anchorage, when, -looking astern, we saw the whole horizon covered -with a singular copper-colored cloud that rose with -the most amazing velocity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In the meantime the breeze that had headed -us off fell away, and we were dead becalmed, drifting -about in every direction. This state of things, -however, did not last long enough to give us time -to think about it. In less than a minute the storm -was upon us—in less than two the sky was entirely -overcast—and what with this and the driving spray, -it became suddenly so dark that we could not see -each other in the smack.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Such a hurricane as then blew it is folly to -attempt describing. The oldest seamen in Norway -never experienced any thing like it. We had let -our sails go by the run before it cleverly took us; -but at the first puff both our masts went by the -board as if they had been sawed off—the mainmast -taking with it my youngest brother, who had lashed -himself to it for safety.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Our boat was the lightest feather of a thing -that ever sat upon water. It had a complete flush -deck with only a small hatch near the bow, and -this hatch it had always been our custom to batten -down when about to cross the Ström, by way of -precaution against the chopping seas. But for this -circumstance we should have foundered at once—for -we lay entirely buried for some moments. How -my elder brother escaped destruction I cannot say, -for I never had an opportunity of ascertaining. For -my part, as soon as I had let the foresail run, I -threw myself flat on deck, with my feet against the -narrow gunwale of the bow, and with my hands -grasping a ring-bolt near the foot of the foremast. -It was mere instinct that prompted me to do this—which -was undoubtedly the very best thing I could -have done—for I was too much flurried to think.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For some moments we were completely deluged, -as I say, and all this time I held my breath, -and clung to the bolt. When I could stand it no -longer I raised myself upon my knees, still keeping -hold with my hands, and thus got my head clear. -Presently our little boat gave herself a shake, just -as a dog does in coming out of the water, and thus -rid herself, in some measure, of the seas. I was -now trying to get the better of the stupor that had -come over me, and to collect my senses so as to -see what was to be done, when I felt somebody -grasp my arm. It was my elder brother, and my -heart leaped for joy, for I had made sure that he -was overboard—but the next moment all this joy -was turned into horror—for he put his mouth close -to my ear, and screamed out the word ‘<span class='it'>Moskoe-ström</span>!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No one ever will know what my feelings were -at that moment. I shook from head to foot as if -I had had the most violent fit of the ague. I knew -what he meant by that one word well enough—I -knew what he wished to make me understand. -With the wind that now drove us on, we were -bound for the whirl of the Ström, and nothing -could save us!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You perceive that in crossing the Ström <span class='it'>channel</span>, -we always went a long way up above the whirl, -even in the calmest weather, and then had to wait -and watch carefully for the slack—but now we -were driving right upon the pool itself, and in such -a hurricane as this! ‘To be sure,’ I thought, ‘we -shall get there just about the slack—there is some -little hope in that’—but in the next moment I cursed -myself for being so great a fool as to dream of hope -at all. I knew very well that we were doomed, -had we been ten times a ninety-gun ship.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By this time the first fury of the tempest had -spent itself, or perhaps we did not feel it so much, -as we scudded before it, but at all events the seas, -which at first had been kept down by the wind, -and lay flat and frothing, now got up into absolute -mountains. A singular change, too, had come -over the heavens. Around in every direction it -was still as black as pitch, but nearly overhead -there burst out, all at once, a circular rift of clear -sky—as clear as I ever saw—and of a deep bright -blue—and through it there blazed forth the full -moon with a lustre that I never before knew her -to wear. She lit up every thing about us with the -greatest distinctness—but, oh God, what a scene it -was to light up!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I now made one or two attempts to speak to -my brother—but, in some manner which I could -not understand, the din had so increased that I -could not make him hear a single word, although -I screamed at the top of my voice in his ear. -Presently he shook his head, looking as pale as -death, and held up one of his fingers as if to say -‘<span class='it'>listen</span>!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At first I could not make out what he meant—but -soon a hideous thought flashed upon me. I -dragged my watch from its fob—it was not going. -I glanced at its face by the moonlight, and then -burst into tears as I flung it far away into the -ocean. <span class='it'>It had run down at seven o’clock! We -were behind the time of the slack, and the whirl of -the Ström was in full fury!</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When a boat is well built, properly trimmed, -and not deep laden, the waves in a strong gale, -when she is going large, seem always to slip from -beneath her—which appears very strange to a -landsman—and this is what is called <span class='it'>riding</span>, in sea -phrase. Well, so far we had ridden the swells -very cleverly; but presently a gigantic sea happened -to take us right under the counter, and bore us with -it as it rose—up—up—as if into the sky. I would -not have believed that any wave could rise so high. -And then down we came with a sweep, a slide, and -a plunge, that made me feel sick and dizzy, as if -I was falling from some lofty mountain-top in a -dream. But while we were up I had thrown a -quick glance around—and that one glance was all -sufficient. I saw our exact position in an instant. -The Moskoe-ström whirlpool was about a quarter -of a mile dead ahead—but no more like the everyday -Moskoe-ström, than a mill-race is like the -whirl as you now see it. If I had not known -where we were, and what we had to expect, I -should not have recognised the place at all. As it -was, I involuntarily closed my eyes in horror. The -lids clenched themselves together as if in a spasm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It could not have been more than two minutes -afterward until we suddenly felt the waves subside, -and were enveloped in a wilderness of foam. The -boat made a sharp half turn to larboard, and then -shot off in its new direction like a thunderbolt. -At the same moment the roaring noise of the water -was completely drowned in a kind of shrill shriek—such -a sound as you might imagine given out by -the waste-pipes of many thousand steam-vessels, -letting off their steam all together. We were now -in the belt of surf that always surrounds the whirl, -and I thought of course that another moment would -plunge us into the abyss—down which we could -only see indistinctly on account of the amazing -velocity with which we were borne along. The -boat did not seem to sink into the water at all, but -to skim like an air-bubble upon the surface of the -surge. Her starboard side was next the whirl, and -on the larboard arose the world of ocean we had -left. It stood like a huge writhing wall between -us and the horizon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It may appear strange, but now, when we were -in the very jaws of the gulf, I felt more composed -than when we were only approaching it. Having -made up my mind to hope no more, I got rid of -a great deal of that terror which unmanned me -at first. I suppose it was despair that strung my -nerves.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It may look like boasting—but what I tell you -is truth—I began to reflect how magnificent a thing -it was to die in such a manner, and how foolish it -was in me to think of so paltry a consideration as -my own individual life, in view of so wonderful a -manifestation of God’s power. I do believe that I -blushed with shame when this idea crossed my -mind. After a little while I became possessed with -the keenest curiosity about the whirl itself. I positively -felt a <span class='it'>wish</span> to explore its depths, even at the -sacrifice I was going to make; and my principal -grief was that I should never be able to tell my old -companions on shore about the mysteries I should -see. These, no doubt, were singular fancies to -occupy a man’s mind in such extremity—and I -have often thought since, that the revolutions of the -boat around the pool might have rendered me a -little light-headed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There was another circumstance which tended -to restore my self-possession; and this was the cessation -of the wind, which could not reach us in our -present situation—for, as you saw yourself, the belt -of surf is considerably lower than the general bed -of the ocean, and this latter now towered above us, -a high, black, mountainous ridge. If you have -never been at sea in a heavy gale, you can form -no idea of the confusion of mind occasioned by the -wind and spray together. They blind, deafen, and -strangle you, and take away all power of action or -reflection. But we were now, in a great measure, -rid of these annoyances—just as death-condemned -felons in prison are allowed petty indulgences, forbidden -them while their doom is yet uncertain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How often we made the circuit of the belt it is -impossible to say. We careered round and round -for perhaps an hour, flying rather than floating, -getting gradually more and more into the middle of -the surge, and then nearer and nearer to its horrible -inner edge. All this time I had never let go of the -ring-bolt. My brother was at the stern, holding on -to a small empty water-cask which had been securely -lashed aft under the coop of the counter, and was -the only thing on deck that had not been swept -overboard when the gale first took us. As we approached -the brink of the pit he let go his hold -upon this, and made for the ring, from which, in -the agony of his terror, he endeavored to force my -hands, as it was not large enough to afford us both -a secure grasp. I never felt deeper grief than when -I saw him attempt this act—although I knew he -was a madman when he did it—a raving maniac -through sheer fright. I did not care, however, to -contest the point with him. I knew it could make -no difference whether either of us held on at all; -so I let him have the bolt, and went, myself, astern -to the cask. This there was no great difficulty in -doing; for the smack flew round steadily enough, -and upon an even keel—only swaying to and fro, -with the immense sweeps and swelters of the whirl. -Scarcely had I secured myself in my new position, -when we gave a wild lurch to starboard, and rushed -headlong into the abyss. I muttered a hurried -prayer to God, and thought all was over.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As I felt the sickening sweep of the descent, I -had instinctively tightened my hold upon the barrel, -and closed my eyes. For some seconds I dared -not open them—while I expected instant destruction, -and wondered that I was not already in my -death-struggles with the water. But moment after -moment elapsed. I still lived. The sense of falling -had ceased; and the motion of the vessel seemed -much as it had been before, while in the belt of -foam, with the exception that she now lay more -along. I took courage, and looked once again -upon the scene.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never shall I forget the sensations of awe, -horror, and admiration with which I gazed about -me. The boat appeared to be hanging, as if by -magic, midway down, upon the interior surface of -a funnel prodigious in circumference, immeasurable -in depth, and whose perfectly smooth sides might -have been mistaken for ebony, but for the bewildering -rapidity with which they spun around, and for -the gleaming and ghastly radiance they shot forth, -as the rays of the full moon, from that circular rift -amid the clouds which I have already described, -streamed in a flood of golden glory along the black -walls, and far away down into the inmost recesses -of the abyss.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At first I was too much confused to observe -anything accurately. The general burst of terrific -grandeur was all that I beheld. When I recovered -myself a little, however, my gaze fell instinctively -downward. In this direction I was able to obtain -an unobstructed view, from the manner in which -the smack hung on the inclined surface of the pool. -She was quite upon an even keel—that is to say, -her deck lay in a plane parallel with that of the -water—but this latter sloped at an angle of more -than forty-five degrees, so that we seemed to be -lying upon our beam-ends. I could not help -observing, nevertheless, that I had scarcely more -difficulty in maintaining my hold and footing in this -situation, than if we had been upon a dead level; -and this, I suppose, was owing to the speed at -which we revolved.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The rays of the moon seemed to search the -very bottom of the profound gulf; but still I could -make out nothing distinctly, on account of a thick -mist in which everything there was enveloped, and -over which there hung a magnificent rainbow, like -that narrow and tottering bridge which Mussulmen -say is the only pathway between Time and Eternity. -This mist, or spray, was no doubt occasioned by -the clashing of the great walls of the funnel, as they -all met together at the bottom—but the yell that -went up to the Heavens from out of that mist, I -will not attempt to describe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Our first slide into the abyss itself, from the -belt of foam above, had carried us a great distance -down the slope; but our farther descent was by no -means proportionate. Round and round we swept—not -with any uniform movement—but in dizzying -swings and jerks, that sent us sometimes only a -few hundred yards—sometimes nearly the complete -circuit of the whirl. Our progress downward, at -each revolution, was very perceptible, but slow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Looking about me upon the wide waste of -liquid ebony on which we were thus borne, I -perceived that our boat was not the only object in -the embrace of the whirl. Both above and below -us were visible fragments of vessels, large masses -of building timber and trunks of trees, with many -smaller articles, such as pieces of house furniture, -broken boxes, barrels and staves. I have already -described the unnatural curiosity which had taken -the place of my original terrors. It appeared to -grow upon me as I drew nearer and nearer to my -dreadful doom. I now began to watch, with a -strange interest, the numerous things that floated -in our company. I <span class='it'>must</span> have been delirious—for -I even sought <span class='it'>amusement</span> in speculating upon the -relative velocities of their several descents toward -the foam below. ‘This fir tree,’ I found myself at -one time saying, ‘will certainly be the next thing -that takes the awful plunge and disappears,’—and -then I was disappointed to find that the wreck of a -Dutch merchant ship overtook it and went down -before. At length, after making several guesses of -this nature, and being deceived in all—this fact—the -fact of my invariable miscalculation—set me -upon a train of reflection that made my limbs again -tremble, and my heart beat heavily once more.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was not a new terror that thus affected me—but -the dawn of a more exciting <span class='it'>hope</span>. This hope -arose partly from memory, and partly from present -observation. I called to mind the great variety of -buoyant matter that strewed the coast of Lofoden, -having been absorbed and then thrown forth by the -Moskoe-ström. By far the greater number of the -articles were shattered in the most extraordinary -way—so chafed and roughened as to have the appearance -of being stuck full of splinters—but then I -distinctly recollected that there were <span class='it'>some</span> of them -which were not disfigured at all. Now I could not -account for this difference except by supposing that -the roughened fragments were the only ones which -had been <span class='it'>completely absorbed</span>—that the others had -entered the whirl at so late a period of the tide, or, -for some reason, had descended so slowly after entering, -that they did not reach the bottom before -the turn of the flood came, or of the ebb, as the -case might be. I conceived it possible, in either -instance, that they might thus be whirled up again -to the level of the ocean, without undergoing the -fate of those which had been drawn in more early, -or absorbed more rapidly. I made, also, three important -observations. The first was, that, as a -general rule, the larger the bodies were, the more -rapid their descent—the second, that, between two -masses of equal extent, the one spherical, and the -other <span class='it'>of any other shape</span>, the superiority in speed -was with the sphere—the third, that, between two -masses of equal size, the one cylindrical, and the -other of any other shape, the cylinder was absorbed -the more slowly. Since my escape, I have had -several conversations on this subject with an old -school-master of the district; and it was from him -that I learned the use of the words ‘cylinder’ and -‘sphere.’ He explained to me—although I have -forgotten the explanation—how what I observed -was, in fact, the natural consequence of the forms -of the floating fragments—and showed me how it -happened that a cylinder, swimming in a vortex, -offered more resistance to its suction, and was -drawn in with greater difficulty than an equally -bulky body, of any form whatever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There was one startling circumstance which -went a great way in enforcing these observations, -and rendering me anxious to turn them to account, -and this was that, at every revolution, we passed -something like a barrel, or else the yard or the mast -of a vessel, while many of these things, which had -been on our level when I first opened my eyes upon -the wonders of the whirlpool, were now high up -above us, and seemed to have moved but little from -their original station. I no longer hesitated what -to do. I resolved to lash myself securely to the -water-cask upon which I now held, to cut it loose -from the counter, and to throw myself with it into -the water. I attracted my brother’s attention by -signs, pointed to the floating barrels that came near -us, and did everything in my power to make him -understand what I was about to do. I thought at -length that he comprehended my design—but, whether -this was the case or not, he shook his head -despairingly, and refused to move from his station -by the ring-bolt. It was impossible to reach him; -the emergency admitted of no delay; and so, with -a bitter struggle, I resigned him to his fate, fastened -myself to the cask by means of the lashings which -secured it to the counter, and precipitated myself -with it into the sea, without another moment’s hesitation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The result was precisely what I had hoped it -might be. As it is myself who now tell you this -tale—as you see that I <span class='it'>did</span> escape—and as you are -already in possession of the mode in which this -escape was effected, and must therefore anticipate -all that I have farther to say—I will bring my story -quickly to conclusion. It might have been an hour, -or thereabout, after my quitting the smack, when, -having descended to a vast distance beneath me, it -made three or four wild gyrations in rapid succession, -and bearing, my loved brother with it, plunged -headlong, at once and forever, into the chaos of -foam below. The barrel to which I was attached -sunk very little farther than half the distance between -the bottom of the gulf and the spot at which -I leaped overboard, before a great change took -place in the character of the whirlpool. The froth -and the rainbow disappeared. The slope of the -sides of the vast funnel became momently less and -less steep. The gyrations of the whirl grew feeble -and fluctuating—then ceased altogether—then finally -reversed themselves with a gradually accelerating -motion. And then the bottom of the gulf uprose—and -its turgid aspect had in great measure departed. -The sky was clear, the winds had gone down, and -the full moon was setting radiantly in the west, -when I found myself on the surface of the ocean, -in full view of the shores of Lofoden, and above -the spot where the pool of the Moskoe-ström <span class='it'>had -been</span>. It was the hour of the slack—but the sea -still heaved in mountainous waves from the effects -of the hurricane. I was borne violently into -the channel of the Ström, and in a few minutes was -hurried down the coast into the ‘grounds’ of the -fishermen. A boat picked me up—exhausted from -fatigue—and (now that the danger was removed) -speechless from the memory of its horror. Those -who drew me on board were my old mates and -daily companions—but they knew me no more than -they would have known a traveller from the spirit-land. -My hair had been raven-black the day before, -and now it is white as you see. They say too that -the whole expression of my countenance had -changed. I told them my story—they did not believe -it. I now tell it to <span class='it'>you</span>—and you will put no -more faith in it than did the merry fishermen of -Lofoden.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk117'/> - -<div><h1><a id='soli'></a>SOLILOQUY OF AN OCTOGENARIAN.</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 PLINY EARLE, M. D.</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'>’Tis</span> nearly past—this fitful dream,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Whose phantoms dazzle to deceive,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like glittering bubbles on the stream,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or meteors in a summer eve;</p> -<p class='line0'>And now, half-opening to my sight,</p> -<p class='line0'>I see the realms of lasting Light.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>These feeble pulses speak of death;</p> -<p class='line0'>  This clouded vision bids me look,</p> -<p class='line0'>With the undaunted eye of faith,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To climes for which Elijah took</p> -<p class='line0'>From Carmel’s cliffs his joyous way—</p> -<p class='line0'>Translated to eternal day.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The blood which, in my childhood, rushed</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like mountain torrents in the isles</p> -<p class='line0'>Where earth with constant life is flushed,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And everlasting summer smiles,</p> -<p class='line0'>Now struggles in its sluggish flow,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like streams through Greenland’s bank of snow;</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yet not all frozen,—if a beam</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of light return from earlier years,</p> -<p class='line0'>If, from the spell of childhood’s dream,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Triumphant over grief and tears,</p> -<p class='line0'>One bright, enchanting moment come,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a lost, loved one welcomed home,</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The loosened current, warmed anew,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Hurries along these frigid veins,</p> -<p class='line0'>As the hot Geyser rushes through</p> -<p class='line0'>  The frozen banks on Iceland’s plains;</p> -<p class='line0'>And, all forgetful of my years,</p> -<p class='line0'>I yield again to child-like tears.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Go, tell me not of loving earth;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Tell me not life is fraught with joy;</p> -<p class='line0'>Say not this world has given birth</p> -<p class='line0'>  To happiness without alloy;</p> -<p class='line0'>Too subtle is the spirit’s bliss</p> -<p class='line0'>To stay in atmosphere like this.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>There’s not a pang that rends the heart,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the long catalogue of woe,</p> -<p class='line0'>Of which I have not shared a part,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In this, my pilgrimage below;</p> -<p class='line0'>I’ve quaffed at sorrow’s bitter cup,</p> -<p class='line0'>And drank its turbid waters up.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And now I wish to lay me down,</p> -<p class='line0'>  My mother, Earth, upon thy breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>When the green turf, with flowers o’ergrown,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Shall flourish o’er my couch of rest;</p> -<p class='line0'>Gladly would I resign this trust,</p> -<p class='line0'>And dust consign to native dust.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Why should I not? my former friends</p> -<p class='line0'>  Have fallen round me, one by one,</p> -<p class='line0'>As fall the leaves when autumn sends</p> -<p class='line0'>  His breezes through the forests dun.</p> -<p class='line0'>The grave has garnered all my love,</p> -<p class='line0'>Why, why remain its walls above?—</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Here do I stand alone—alone—</p> -<p class='line0'>  As stands the stern and sturdy oak,</p> -<p class='line0'>When all its forest-frères are gone,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Before the woodman’s fatal stroke,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or wintry tempest sweeping by,</p> -<p class='line0'>With the leagued legions of the sky.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Then speed thou home, my wearied soul,</p> -<p class='line0'>  On angel-pinions; bend thine eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>Unmoved, upon the glorious goal</p> -<p class='line0'>  That waits thy coming in the sky.</p> -<p class='line0'>Ho, for the waters which arise</p> -<p class='line0'>At Zion’s foot, in Paradise!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>There shall thou lift thy spirit-tongue,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In praises, that thy bonds are riven,</p> -<p class='line0'>As, by the fountain, Miriam sung</p> -<p class='line0'>  Hosannahs to the God of Heaven,</p> -<p class='line0'>When Israel, freed from Pharoah’s hand,</p> -<p class='line0'>Departed for the promised land.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk118'/> - -<div><h1><a id='mayd'></a>MAY-DAY.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>A RHAPSODY BY JEREMY SHORT, ESQ.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> is April, and the rain is pattering against our -window as we write, with a low monotonous tinkle -like the far-off music of an evening bell. How -every thing has changed since yesterday! The -sunlight no longer floods the hill-side—the birds -sing not their jocund lays—the brooklet by our -window no more goes frolicking onward in its glittering -sheen. The sky is dun, spongy, and covered -with flitting clouds. The fields are drenched by -last night’s rain, and the cattle cower under the -sheds in the barn-yard. Yet the south wind has -a warmth and freshness in its touch delicious to -the fevered brow of a student, and as it breathes -through the casement the blood dances more merrily -along our veins and we feel a new life within -us.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is April, fickle fooling April, but already one -begins to dream of May. And soon it will be here. -Oh! how we long for its bright sunshine, its budding -flowers, its delicious perfumes, its breezy -mornings and its starry nights, reminding us of -that better country where the streams sing on -forever, where the spring-time never fades, and -where all the sainted ones we have loved on earth, -purified and made more glorious than ever, await -us with their seraphic smiles. May!—bright, beautiful -May!—what is like to thy loveliness? The -Summer may be full of maturer beauty, the Autumn -more like a matron in her queenliness, but thou art -as a young and innocent bride, all blushing and -trembling in thy tearful gladness. And of all days -in May give us the first—the vesperus of her sky—the -proudest gem in her coronal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Is there any thing so exquisite in the older poets -as their habit of constantly alluding to the merry -sports with which our English ancestors were accustomed -to celebrate the first of May? Is there -any thing more captivating to the lover of green -and sunshiny fields and antique customs, than the -dance around the flower-decked pole of the village, -with the rosy-cheeked maidens for partners, and -the hobby-horse, the morrice-crew, and the combatants -of the ring around? Alas! the day for these -spectacles has gone forever. Even in merry England -the first of May has lost its popularity, and it -is only in some quiet dell, secluded among the -hills, far away from the metropolis, that the Maypole -is wreathed with garlands on the eventful -morning, and the blushing beauty is crowned with -flowers as queen of May. How many kindly -feelings, how many happy hours, how many holy -associations have been lost to us by the neglect of -this simple rural custom! Far away from home -and friends, in lands remote even from his native -continent, the sight of a pole decked out with -flowers for some pagan festival, has recalled to -the wanderer’s mind the happy days of his youth, -when he sported with his gay companions on the -village lawn, or slily kissed some blushing little -beauty who had been his partner on the first of -May.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We wish this good old custom could be revived -among us, not with its grotesque maskers, but as -a day for greenwood sports. We sing “Io Pæn” -at the few celebrations which are vouchsafed to us -in these degenerate days. Your crabbed utilitarians -may talk of its uselessness, and sneer at it as -a childish pastime, but who that has a soul for the -beautiful in nature can fail to love this merry-making -on the greensward? Give us the pure canopy of -heaven for our ball-room ceiling—let us dance -where the birds may carol around us and the -balmy breath of flowers kiss our cheeks. Let us -welcome in the blushing month with the young, -and beautiful, and gay, feeling as we partake in -their sports, as if old Spenser had dreamed of the -fair ones around us, when he drew that immortal -picture of May:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Then came faire May, the fayrest mayd on ground,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Deckt all with dainties of her season’s pryde,</p> -<p class='line0'>And throwing flow’res out of her lap around:</p> -<p class='line0'>  Upon two bretheren’s shoulders she did ride,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The twinnes of Leda; which on either side</p> -<p class='line0'>Supported her, like to their Soveraine Queene.</p> -<p class='line0'>  Lord! how all creatures laught, when her they spide,</p> -<p class='line0'>And leapt and daunc’t as they had ravisht beene!</p> -<p class='line0'>  And Cupid selfe about her fluttered all in green.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Exquisite! “The fayrest mayd on ground!” -Have you ever been on a May party? Then do -you not remember that blue-eyed one, with the -golden tresses, and that small fair hand, whom -your eyes followed throughout the whole bright day, -and whom you could have gone on your knees and -sworn to be not only the loveliest flower of the -group, but of the county, aye! for that matter, -of the world? You were just nineteen then, and -she was in her sixteenth spring, by our faith! You -had never met before, but long ere nightfall,—what -with wandering through the wood together, or -plucking flowers for each other, or lifting her over -the pebbly little brook clear and musical as her own -pure heart—you have come to feel as if you had -known each other for years. And that night you -cannot sleep for thinking of her, or if toward morning -you drop into a doze, you dream—oh! how -sweetly—of your little partner; so sweetly that -when you awake, you sigh, and close your eyes, -and would give the world if you could only sleep -and dream thus of her forever. And you get up -and feel even melancholy, wishing all the while that -every day was the first of May, and that—for why -not?—your golden-haired darling was your constant -partner. And that very morning you chance, -mind! only chance—to have some business that -takes you down the street where she resides, and -you happen <span class='it'>so</span> accidentally to meet her as she -comes forth, looking to your eyes, with her snowy -virgin robe, and her blooming cheek, and her neat -chip bonnet wreathed around with flowers, more -beautiful than ever—aye! more beautiful than you -had imagined aught earthly could be, even though -“Deckt all with dainties of the season’s pryde.” And -so you can but address her—and she happens to be -going your way too—and nothing can be more -natural than that you should talk about yesterday—and -thus you go on smiling and chatting and -feeling so joyous withal, that in the very gladness -of your heart you can almost carol aloud with the -happy birds, or “leap and daunce as you had -ravisht beene!” Ah! verily young May-goer thou -hast lost thy heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And so it proceeds. And you call upon her—as -<span class='it'>of course</span> you must—to ask her whether she over-fatigued -herself on May-day, you having forgotten -altogether in your <span class='it'>casual</span> meeting to propound to -her that question. And when thus calling you find -she has a harp or a piano, and as you play on the -flute, it is the most natural thing in the world to -practise duetts together. Or perhaps you are both -learning French, or reading Goethe in the original, -or doing something else—no matter what!—which -can be better done in company. And by and bye -you get so used to these visits, that not an evening -passes without beholding you together; and gradually -you forget your studies and care less for them, -though all the while perhaps you are learning a -sweeter lesson; and your golden-haired partner will -sigh now—most singular!—so very often; and you -yourself will begin to feel your heart flutter when -her soft blue eye meets your own by chance, for of -late you do not look into each other’s faces as you -used to; and so by and bye—heaven only knows -how—you will find yourselves sitting side by side -on the sofa; a few smothered words will be whispered; -you will draw her with a holy embrace -toward you; her head will sink upon your bosom; -and thus for—it may be five minutes, it may be -longer—you will sit in silence, a deep sacred silence, -with your hearts quick beating against each other in -a rapture no words can tell. And at length you -will whisper her name: and with a happy sigh she -will look up “smiling tearfully,” as the blind old -Sciote has it; and again you will press her to your -bosom, breathing your deep, deep love in every -word; and she will murmur back your vows, at -length, with maidenly whispers, blushing to her -bosom the while, and speaking lower than an angel -might be thought to sigh. And so—and so—years -after, when she sits beside you at your household -hearth, with that fair-haired little one smiling on -her knee, you will bless God that ever you went -a-Maying. Ah! give us the love which comes in -the freshness and innocence of youth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But May-Day is not all that charms us in the -blushing month. All through its sunny days there -is the song of birds, and the odor of flowers, and -the waving of green grass, the more beautiful because -we have just emerged, from the snows of -Winter, the blustering winds of March, and the -fickle skies of April. Everything is budding and -breaking into life. If you go out into the fields -you can almost hear the grass growing. The garden -has a thousand colors, and they all mingle in -harmony. The birds greet you at morning beneath -your window, and your favorite steed gambols at -your approach in wanton joy. The winds murmur -low like rushes by the river side, the hills are covered -once more with verdure, and the delicious -greenness of the meadow land is past the poet’s -pen. And most of all, the <span style='font-size:smaller'>ONE</span> whom for years you -have loved, seems to grow more beautiful daily, -smiling and carolling around you, to your eyes -more lovely than when you first won her for your -bride. May! bright beautiful May, why tarry the -wheels of thy chariot?</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-top:0.5em;'>J. S.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>April, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk119'/> - -<div><h1><a id='life'></a>LIFE.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Oh</span>! life is but a dream,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A sunbeam’s play,</p> -<p class='line0'>A flower on a stream</p> -<p class='line0'>  Passing away.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A song upon the air,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A festal gay,</p> -<p class='line0'>A something wondrous fair</p> -<p class='line0'>  Passing away.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A prison-house of woe,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A wintry day,</p> -<p class='line0'>A dark gulf’s ceaseless flow</p> -<p class='line0'>  Passing away.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A bird upon the wing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A meteor ray,</p> -<p class='line0'>A wild mysterious thing</p> -<p class='line0'>  Passing away.</p> -<p class='line0'>               R. E. J.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk120'/> - -<div><h1><a id='bird'></a>THE SWEET BIRDS ARE SINGING:</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A MUCH ADMIRED DUETT;</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FORTE,</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'>BY</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>J. MOSCHELLES.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'>Philadelphia, <span class='sc'>John F. Nunns</span>, 184 Chesnut Street.</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i091.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'>First and Second Voice:</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The sweet birds are winging</p> -<p class='line0'>From arbour to spray, from arbour to spray, And</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i092.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'>First and Second Voice:</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>cheerily singing Of spring time and May, merry May, merry May. Sing, shepherds</p> -<p class='line0'>sing with me, Cheerily, cheerily, Sing, shepherds sing with me, Merry, Merry May</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'>          2</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Our dear girls to meet us,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Are now on their way,</p> -<p class='line0'>With garlands to greet us,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And songs of the May.</p> -<p class='line0'>        Sing shepherds, &c. &c.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>          3</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The cattle are lowing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Come! up from your hay,</p> -<p class='line0'>Lads! let us be going,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The morning is May.</p> -<p class='line0'>        Sing shepherds, &c. &c.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk121'/> - -<div><h1><a id='dog'></a>SPORTS AND PASTIMES.</h1></div> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>DOG BREAKING.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>To</span> ensure good sport, the shooter must be provided -with good dogs. However <span class='it'>abundant</span> game may be, -there can be no real sport <span class='it'>without</span> good; and however -<span class='it'>scarce</span> game may be, a good day’s sport is attainable -<span class='it'>with</span> good dogs, by a person who feels what -sport is, and who does not look upon filling the game-bag -and loading the keepers with game, as the sole -end and aim of the sportsman’s occupation. The -mere act of killing game no more constitutes sport, -than the jingling of rhyme constitutes poetry. Since, -then, good dogs contribute to good sport, the shooter -should be careful to whom he entrusts the breaking -of them. Bad habits, by dogs, as well as by bipeds, -are sooner acquired than got rid of. If it suit his -convenience, the shooter should frequently accompany -the breakers when practising his dogs: he -should direct them to make use of few words, and -those words should be the same that <span class='it'>he</span> is in the habit -of using. A multiplicity of directions only serves to -puzzle a dog, as a person’s speaking Irish, Scotch, -and Welsh alternately would perplex a Spaniard!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In common with other sports, shooting has a -vocabulary of its own. We subjoin a list of some -of the words made use of by breakers and sportsmen -to dogs, many of them being anything but euphonious -to the unaccustomed ear. <span class='it'>To-ho</span> spoken in an under -tone, when the dog is ranging, is a warning to him -that he is close upon game, and is a direction to him -to stand. There is no necessity for using it to a dog -that knows his business. Spoken in a peremptory -manner, it is used to make the dog crouch when he -has run up game, or been otherwise in fault. <span class='it'>Down-charge</span>, -or <span class='it'>down-to-charge</span>, is to make the dog crouch -while the shooter charges. <span class='it'>Take-heed</span>, and <span class='it'>be-careful</span>, -are used when the dog ranges over ground where it -is customary to find birds. <span class='it'>Take-heed</span>, is a word of -correction; <span class='it'>be-careful</span>, of encouragement. The former -is used by way of caution or notice to prevent the dog -putting up birds by running over the ground too fast; -the latter is likewise a caution, but used when the -dog beats slowly or carelessly. <span class='it'>Back</span>, is used to -make a dog follow at heel. <span class='it'>’Ware fence</span>, is used to -prevent dogs passing a fence before the gun. The -dog should never, on any account, leave an enclosure -until its master has left it. <span class='it'>’Ware</span> or <span class='it'>beware</span>, is used -to rate a dog for giving chase to a hare, birds, or -cattle, or for pointing larks, or approaching too near -the heels of a horse. <span class='it'>Seek</span>, is a direction to the dog -to look for a dead or wounded bird, hare, or rabbit. -<span class='it'>Dead</span>, is to make a dog relinquish his hold of dead or -wounded game. The dog should not touch a dead -bird, but should retain possession of wounded game -until it is taken from him; for should he suffer a bird -that is only slightly wounded to disengage himself -from his grasp, another <span class='it'>seek</span> becomes necessary, and -the bird is either lost, or despoiled of its plumage by -the catching and re-catching.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A dog-breaker who has not a good temper, or what -is tantamount thereto, a plentiful store of patience, -should never be employed, or he will ruin any really -valuable dog entrusted to his care. Dog-breakers -are an impatient race of people, and it is but natural -that they should be so, since nothing tries the patience -more than the management of a number of -young dogs of different dispositions, except shooting -over bad ones.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A young dog that carries his head well up when -beating, should be chosen in preference to one that -hunts with his nose on the ground. It is not only -the best dog that carries his head up, but game will -suffer him to approach nearer than one that <span class='it'>tracks</span> -them. The handsomest dog is that which shows the -most breed; the most valuable that which affords the -sportsman the greatest number of shots.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is more desirable to break young dogs in company -with a pointer than with a setter. The former -makes a more decided point than the latter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dog should be taught to quarter his ground -well. He should cross over before the shooter continually, -at not more than twenty paces distance in -advance, ranging about thirty paces on either hand, -and leaving no part of his ground unbeaten. If in -company with other dogs, he should not follow them, -but each dog should beat independently.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dog may be taught to back or back-set, by the -breaker holding up his hand and crying <span class='it'>to-ho!</span> when -another dog makes a point. A well-bred dog will -invariably back-set instinctively. To back-set instinctively -is the distinctive characteristic of a promising -young dog; indeed, it is the only safe standard -by which the shooter may venture to prognosticate -future excellence. A dog’s pointing game and larks -the first time he is taken out, is no certain criterion -of merit: but there is no deception in a dog’s backing -instinctively the first time he sees another dog -make a point. It is a proof that he is a scion from -the right stock.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The shooter should kill nothing but game over a -young dog, or the dog will never learn his business. -He should of all things avoid shooting larks and -field-fares. When the shooter is in the habit of -killing small birds, such as larks sometimes, and at -other times is in the habit of correcting him for -pointing them, the dog becomes confused, and is -puzzled when he comes upon a snipe, whether to -point or not. Where game is scarce, the best dogs -will occasionally point larks: and it requires much -time to teach a young dog that they are not game, -and to break him of pointing them when once he has -acquired the habit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When punishing a dog, it is better to beat him -with a slender switch than with a dog-whip. But -whether a switch or dog-whip be used, the dog -should be struck across, not along, the ribs; or, in -other words, the switch or lash should not be made -to lap round his body, but the blow should fall on -the whole length of his side. A dog should never -be kicked, or shaken by the ears. When the shooter -is unprovided with a switch or dog-whip, he should -make the dog lie at his foot several minutes, which -the dog, eager for sport, will consider a severe punishment, -and it is a sort of punishment not soon forgotten.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The following is the routine of dog breaking. We -very much approve of the system. The first lesson, -and the one on which the breaker’s success chiefly -depends, is that of teaching the dog to drop at the -word “<span class='it'>down</span>;” this must be done before he is taken -into the field. Tie a strong cord to his neck, about -eighteen yards long, and peg one end into the ground. -Then make the dog crouch down, with his nose between -his front feet, calling out in a loud voice -“<span class='it'>down</span>.” As often as he attempts to rise, pull him -to the ground, and repeat the word “<span class='it'>down</span>” each -time. When he lies perfectly quiet while you are -standing by him, walk away, and if he attempt to -follow you, walk back, and make him “<span class='it'>down</span>” again, -giving him a cut or two with the whip. This lesson -must be repeated very often, and will take some -trouble before it is properly inculcated. When once -learned it is never forgotten, and if properly taught -in the beginning, will save an infinity of trouble in -the end. He ought never to be suffered to rise, until -touched by the hand. This lesson should be practised -before his meals, and he will perform it much -better as he expects his food, and never feed him -till you are perfectly satisfied with his performance. -After you have been flogging him, always part friends, -and never let him escape while you are chastising -him, at least, if he does, do not pursue him, as if he -sees (which he soon will) that he is the quicker runner -of the two, all discipline will be at an end.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When he has become tolerably steady, and learned -to come in to the call, and to drop to the hand, he -must be taught to range and quarter his ground; a -thing which is seldom seen in perfection. On some -good brisk morning choose a nice piece of ground, -where you are likely to find. Take care to give him -the wind, <span class='it'>i. e.</span> to let him have the wind blowing in -his face, wave your hand with “hey on good dog,” -and let him run off to the right hand to the distance -of about eight yards. (We suggest thirty.) Call -him in, and, by another wave of the hand, let him -go off to the same distance to the left. Walk straight-forward -with your eye always on him. Go on and -let him keep crossing you from right to left, and <span class='it'>vice -versâ</span>, calling him in when at the limit of his range. -This is a difficult lesson, and requires great nicety in -teaching. Never let him hunt the same ground twice -over. Always have your eye on him, and watch every -motion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A fortnight’s attention to diet, bedding, and exercise, -will bring a dog into condition, however lean or cumbrous -he may be, if not diseased. Dogs should be allowed -plenty of exercise. They cannot be too often -taken out, either with or without a gun, by a person -who understands their management, and is disposed to -attend to them. Their kennels should be warm and -<span class='it'>dry</span>, and, if not under cover, should be placed in sheltered -situations. The straw should be often changed, -as cleanliness is indispensable to health. They should -be kept free from ticks: when a dog is tormented with -these troublesome creatures, he should be well rubbed -with a mixture of train oil and spirit of turpentine, -which maybe washed off the next day with soft soap.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dog seems to be endued with some instincts -for the exclusive service of man; whereas the instincts -of all other animals are conducive to the -supply of their individual wants, and their usefulness -to man is secondary thereto. It would be difficult -to controvert the argument, that the pointer’s -instinct was given for the purpose of aiding men -to capture or kill game, by means of such engines -as nets or guns. This, we are aware, may be a -doubtful position to maintain; but who can say for -what other apparent purpose this peculiar faculty -was given? It may, indeed, be urged, that the -propensity to point, in the pointer, is a means -ordained by Providence for his subsistence in a -wild state, by enabling him to approach within -reach of his prey, and thus to accomplish, by -another species of stealth, what the tiger and other -animals of the cat tribe effect by ambuscade. Such -an argument, however, is presumptively rebutted -by the fact, that all existing races of wild dogs are -gregarious, and resort to the chase for food; nor is -there any record of the existence of dogs in a state -of nature, except those calculated for the chase. It -is therefore gratuitous to assert, that the instinct or -faculty of pointing was bestowed upon the pointer as -a means of subsistence, since he has ever been dependant -on man for food.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is strongly argued, that all dogs have descended -from one common stock, and that by difference in -food, climate, and training, they have become what -they are at present; nor is it more improbable that -such is the fact, than that the human race are descended -from one common parent; for dogs are -not more dissimilar than the various tribes of men, -who differ not only in outward form, but morally -and intellectually, as much as dogs vary in size, -shape, temper, and sagacity. Those animals which -can be domesticated improve by acquaintance with -man, as the wild fruits by cultivation. All wild dogs -have some qualities in common; but their instincts -are somewhat limited or not called forth. It is only -in its domesticated state that we find the various -qualities which render the dog so useful a servant to -man. Wild dogs are, in comparison with domesticated -dogs, what savages are to civilised society; for wherever -savages are found, they bear some resemblance -to each other, and are engaged in similar pursuits.</p> - -<hr class='tbk122'/> - -<div><h1><a id='new'></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h1></div> - -<hr class='tbk123'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>“The Old Curiosity Shop, and other Tales.” By -Charles Dickens. With Numerous Illustrations by -Cattermole and Browne. Philadelphia: Lea & -Blanchard.</span></p> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>“Master Humphrey’s Clock.” By Charles Dickens. -(Boz.) With Ninety-one Illustrations by George -Cattermole and Hablot Browne. Philadelphia: -Lea & Blanchard.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>What we here give in Italics is the duplicate title, -on two separate title-pages, of an octavo volume of -three hundred and sixty two pages. Why this method -of nomenclature should have been adopted is more -than we can understand—although it arises, <span class='it'>perhaps</span>, -from a certain confusion and hesitation observable in -the whole structure of the book itself. Publishers -have an idea, however, (and no doubt they are the -best judges in such matters) that a complete work -obtains a readier sale than one “to be continued” -and we see plainly that it is with the design of intimating -the <span class='it'>entireness</span> of the volume now before us, -that “<span class='it'>The Old Curiosity Shop and other Tales</span>,” has -been made not only the primary and main title, but -the name of the whole publication as indicated by the -back. This may be quite fair in trade, but is morally -wrong not the less. The volume is only one of a -series—only part of a whole; and the title has no -right to <span class='it'>insinuate otherwise</span>. So obvious is this intention -to misguide, that it has led to the absurdity of -putting the inclusive, or general, title of the series, -as a secondary instead of a primary one. Anybody -may see that if the wish had been fairly to represent -the plan and extent of the volume, something like -this would have been given on a single page—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Master Humphrey’s Clock. By Charles Dickens. -Part I. Containing The Old Curiosity Shop, and -other Tales, with Numerous Illustrations, &c. &c.</span>”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This would have been better for all parties, a good -deal more honest, and a vast deal more easily understood. -In fact, there is sufficient uncertainty of purpose -in the book itself, without resort to mystification -in the matter of title. We do not think it altogether -impossible that the rumors in respect to the sanity of -Mr. Dickens which were so prevalent during the -publication of the first numbers of the work, had -some slight—some very slight foundation in truth. -By this, we mean merely to say that the mind of the -author, at the time, might possibly have been struggling -with some of those manifold and multiform -<span class='it'>aberrations</span> by which the nobler order of genius is so -frequently beset—but which are still so very far removed -from disease.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There are some facts in the physical world which -have a really wonderful analogy with others in the -world of thought, and seem thus to give some color -of truth to the (false) rhetorical dogma, that metaphor -or simile may be made to strengthen an argument, as -well as to embellish a description. The principle of -the <span class='it'>vis inertiæ</span>, for example, with the amount of <span class='it'>momentum</span> -proportionate with it and consequent upon it, -seems to be identical in physics and metaphysics. It -is not more true, in the former, that a large body is -with more difficulty set in motion than a smaller one, -and that its subsequent impetus is commensurate with -this difficulty, than it is, in the latter, that intellects -of the vaster capacity, while more forcible, more constant, -and more extensive in their movements than -those of inferior grade, are yet the less readily -moved, and are more embarrassed and more full of -hesitation in the first few steps of their progress. -While, therefore, it is not impossible, as we have -just said, that some slight mental aberration might -have given rise to the hesitancy and indefinitiveness -of purpose which are so very perceptible in the first -pages of the volume before us, we are still the more -willing to believe these defects the result of the moral -fact just stated, since we find the work itself of an -unusual order of excellence, even when regarded as -the production of the author of “Nicholas Nickleby.” -That the evils we complain of are not, and were not, -fully perceived by Mr. Dickens himself, cannot be -supposed for a moment. Had his book been published -in the old way, we should have seen no traces of -them whatever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The design of the general work, “Humphrey’s -Clock,” is simply the common-place one of putting -various tales into the mouths of a social party. The -meetings are held at the house of Master Humphrey—an -antique building in London, where an old-fashioned -clock-case is the place of deposit for the M. S. -S. Why such designs have become common is -obvious. One half the pleasure experienced at a -theatre arises from the spectator’s sympathy with -the rest of the audience, and, especially, from his -belief in their sympathy with him. The eccentric -gentleman who not long ago, at the Park, found himself -the solitary occupant of box, pit, and gallery, -would have derived but little enjoyment from his visit, -had he been suffered to remain. It was an act of -mercy to turn him out. The present absurd rage for -lecturing is founded in the feeling in question. Essays -which we would not be hired to read—so trite is their -subject—so feeble is their execution—so much easier -is it to get better information on similar themes out -of any Encyclopædia in Christendom—we are brought -to tolerate, and alas, even to applaud in their tenth -and twentieth repetition, through the sole force of -our sympathy with the throng. In the same way we -listen to a story with greater zest when there are -others present at its narration beside ourselves. -Aware of this, authors without due reflection have -repeatedly attempted, by supposing a circle of listeners, -to imbue their narratives with the interest of -sympathy. At a cursory glance the idea seems -plausible enough. But, in the one case, there is an -actual, personal, and palpable sympathy, conveyed -in looks, gestures and brief comments—a sympathy -of real individuals, all with the matters discussed -to be sure, but then especially, <span class='it'>each with each</span>. In the -other instance, we, alone in our closet, are required -to sympathise <span class='it'>with</span> the sympathy of fictitious listeners, -who, so far from being present in body, are often -studiously kept out of sight and out of mind for two -or three hundred pages at a time. This is sympathy -double-diluted—the shadow of a shade. It is unnecessary -to say that the design invariably fails of its -effect.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In his preface to the present volume, Mr. Dickens -seems to feel the necessity for an apology in regard -to certain portions of his commencement, without -seeing clearly what apology he should make, or for -what precise thing he should apologise. He makes -an effort to get over the difficulty, by saying something -about its never being “his intention to have the -members of ‘Master Humphrey’s Clock’ active -agents in the stories they relate,” and about his “picturing -to himself the various sensations of his hearers—thinking -how Jack Redburn might incline to poor -Kit—how the deaf gentleman would have his favorite, -and Mr. Miles his,” &c. &c.—but we are quite sure -that all this is as pure a fiction as “The Curiosity -Shop” itself. Our author is deceived. Occupied -with little Nell and her grandfather, he had forgotten -the very existence of his interlocutors until he found -himself, at the end of his book, under the disagreeable -necessity of saying a word or two concerning -them, by way of winding them up. The simple -truth is that, either for one of the two reasons at -which we have already hinted, or else because the -work was begun in a hurry, Mr. Dickens did not -precisely know his own plans when he penned the -five or six first chapters of the “Clock.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The wish to preserve a certain degree of unity -between various narratives naturally unconnected, is -a more obvious and a better reason for employing -interlocutors. But such unity as may be thus had is -scarcely worth having. It may, in some feeble measure, -satisfy the judgment by a sense of completeness; -but it seldom produces a pleasant effect; and if the -speakers are made to take part in their own stories -(as has been the case here) they become injurious by -creating confusion. Thus, in “The Curiosity Shop,” -we feel displeased to find Master Humphrey commencing -the tale in the first person, dropping this for -the third, and concluding by introducing himself as -the “single gentleman” who figures in the story. In -spite of all the subsequent explanation we are forced -to look upon him as two. All is confusion, and what -makes it worse, is that Master Humphrey is painted -as a lean and sober personage, while his second self -is a fat, bluff and boisterous old bachelor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet the species of connexion in question, besides -preserving the unity desired, <span class='it'>may</span> be made, if well -managed, a source of consistent and agreeable interest. -It has been so made by Thomas Moore—the -most skilful literary artist of his day—perhaps of any -day—a man who stands in the singular and really -wonderful predicament of being undervalued on -account of the profusion with which he has scattered -about him his good things. The brilliancies on any -one page of Lalla Roohk would have sufficed to establish -that very reputation which has been in a -great measure self-dimmed by the galaxied lustre of -the entire book. It seems that the horrid laws of -political economy cannot be evaded even by the inspired, -and that a perfect versification, a vigorous -style, and a never-tiring fancy, may, like the water -we drink and die without, yet despise, be so plentifully -set forth as to be absolutely of no value at all.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By far the greater portion of the volume now published, -is occupied with the tale of “The Curiosity -Shop,” narrated by Master Humphrey himself. The -other stories are brief. The “Giant Chronicles” is -the title of what appears to be meant for a series -within a series, and we think this design doubly objectionable. -The narrative of “The Bowyer,” as -well as of “John Podgers,” is not altogether worthy -of Mr. Dickens. They were probably sent to press -to supply a demand for copy, while he was occupied -with the “Curiosity Shop.” But the “Confession -Found in a Prison in the Time of Charles the Second” -is a paper of remarkable power, truly original in conception, -and worked out with great ability.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The story of “The Curiosity Shop” is very simple. -Two brothers of England, warmly attached to each -other, love the same lady, without each other’s knowledge. -The younger at length discovers the elder’s -secret, and, sacrificing himself to fraternal affection, -quits the country and resides for many years in a -foreign land, where he amasses great wealth. Meantime -his brother marries the lady, who soon dies, -leaving an infant daughter—her perfect resemblance. -In the widower’s heart the mother lives again through -the child. This latter grows up, marries unhappily, -has a son and a daughter, loses her husband, and -dies herself shortly afterward. The grandfather -takes the orphans to his home. The boy spurns -his protection, falls into bad courses, and becomes -an outcast. The girl—in whom a third time lives -the object of the old man’s early choice—dwells with -him alone, and is loved by him with a most doting -affection. He has now become poor, and at length -is reduced to keeping a shop for antiquities and curiosities. -Finally, through his dread of involving the -child in want, his mind becomes weakened. He -thinks to redeem his fortune by gambling, borrows -money for this purpose of a dwarf, who, at length, -discovering the true state of the old man’s affairs, -seizes his furniture and turns him out of doors. The -girl and himself set out, without farther object than -to relieve themselves of the sight of the hated city, -upon a weary pilgrimage, whose events form the -basis or body of the tale. In fine, just as a peaceful -retirement is secured for them, the child, wasted -with fatigue and anxiety, dies. The grandfather, -through grief, immediately follows her to the tomb. -The younger brother, meantime, has received information -of the old man’s poverty, hastens to England, -and arrives only in time to be at the closing scene of -the tragedy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This plot is the best which could have been constructed -for the main object of the narrative. This -object is the depicting of a fervent and dreamy love -for the child on the part of the grandfather—such a -love as would induce devotion to himself on the part -of the orphan. We have thus the conception of a -childhood, educated in utter ignorance of the world, -filled with an affection which has been, through its -brief existence, the sole source of its pleasures, and -which has no part in the passion of a more mature -youth for an object of its own age—we have the idea -of this childhood, full of ardent hopes, leading by the -hand, forth from the heated and wearying city, into -the green fields, to seek for bread, the decrepid imbecility -of a doting and confiding old age, whose -stern knowledge of man, and of the world it leaves -behind, is now merged in the sole consciousness of -receiving love and protection from that weakness it -has loved and protected.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This conception is indeed most beautiful. It is -simply and severely grand. The more fully we survey -it, the more thoroughly are we convinced of the -lofty character of that genius which gave it birth. -That in its present simplicity of form, however, it -was first entertained by Mr. Dickens, may well be -doubted. That it was <span class='it'>not</span>, we are assured by the -title which the tale bears. When in its commencement -he called it “The Old Curiosity Shop,” his -design was far different from what we see it in its -completion. It is evident that had he now to name -the story he would not so term it; for the shop itself -is a thing of an altogether collateral interest, and is -spoken of merely in the beginning. This is only one -among a hundred instances of the disadvantage under -which the periodical novelist labors. When his work -is done, he never fails to observe a thousand defects -which he might have remedied, and a thousand -alterations, in regard to the book as a whole, which -might be made to its manifest improvement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But if the conception of this story deserves praise, -its execution is beyond all—and here the subject naturally -leads us from the generalisation which is the -proper province of the critic, into details among -which it is scarcely fitting that he should venture.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Art of Mr. Dickens, although elaborate and -great, seems only a happy modification of Nature. -In this respect he differs remarkably from the author -of “Night and Morning.” The latter, by excessive -care and by patient reflection, aided by much rhetorical -knowledge, and general information, has arrived -at the capability of producing books which might be -mistaken by ninety-nine readers out of a hundred for -the genuine inspirations of genius. The former, -by the promptings of the truest genius itself, has been -brought to compose, and evidently without effort, -works which have effected a long-sought consummation—which -have rendered him the idol of the -people, while defying and enchanting the critics. -Mr. Bulwer, through art, has almost created a genius. -Mr. Dickens, through genius, has perfected a standard -from which Art itself will derive its essence, in rules.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When we speak in this manner of the “Old Curiosity -Shop,” we speak with entire deliberation, and -know quite well what it is we assert. We do not -mean to say that it is perfect, as a whole—this could -not well have been the case under the circumstances -of its composition. But we know that, in all the -higher elements which go to make up literary greatness, -it is supremely excellent. We think, for instance, -that the introduction of Nelly’s brother (and -here we address those who have read the work) is -supererogatory—that the character of Quilp would -have been more in keeping had he been confined to -petty and grotesque acts of malice—that his death -should have been made the <span class='it'>immediate</span> consequence -of his attempt at revenge upon Kit; and that after -matters had been put fairly in train for this poetical -justice, he should not have perished by an accident -inconsequential upon his villany. We think, too, -that there is an air of <span class='it'>ultra</span>-accident in the finally -discovered relationship between Kit’s master and the -bachelor of the old church—that the sneering politeness -put into the mouth of Quilp, with his manner of -commencing a question which he wishes answered -in the affirmative, with an affirmative interrogatory, -instead of the ordinary negative one—are fashions -borrowed from the author’s own Fagin—that he has -repeated himself in many other instances—that the -practical tricks and love of mischief of the dwarf’s -boy are too nearly consonant with the traits of the -master—that so much of the propensities of Swiveller -as relate to his inapposite appropriation of odds and -ends of verse, is stolen from the generic loafer of -our fellow-townsman, Neal—and that the writer has -suffered the overflowing kindness of his own bosom -to mislead him in a very important point of art, when -he endows so many of his <span class='it'>dramatis personæ</span> with a -warmth of feeling so very rare in reality. Above -all, we acknowledge that the death of Nelly is excessively -painful—that it leaves a most distressing oppression -of spirit upon the reader—and should, therefore, -have been avoided.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But when we come to speak of the excellences of -the tale these defects appear really insignificant. It -embodies more <span class='it'>originality</span> in every point, but in -character especially, than any single work within our -knowledge. There is the grandfather—a truly profound -conception; the gentle and lovely Nelly—we -have discoursed of her before; Quilp, with mouth -like that of the panting dog—(a bold idea which the -engraver has neglected to embody) with his hilarious -antics, his cowardice, and his very petty and spoilt-child-like -malevolence; Dick Swiveller, that prince -of good-hearted, good-for-nothing, lazy, luxurious, -poetical, brave, romantically generous, gallant, affectionate, -and not over-and-above honest, “glorious -Apollos;” the marchioness, his bride; Tom Codlin -and his partner; Miss Sally Brass, that “fine fellow;” -the pony that had an opinion of its own; the boy that -stood upon his head; the sexton; the man at the -forge; not forgetting the dancing dogs and baby -Nubbles. There are other admirably drawn characters—but -we note these for their remarkable -originality, as well as for their wonderful keeping, -and the glowing colors in which they are painted. -We have heard some of them called caricatures—but -the charge is grossly ill-founded. No critical principle -is more firmly based in reason than that a -certain amount of exaggeration is essential to the -proper depicting of truth itself. We do not paint -an object to be true, but to appear true to the beholder. -Were we to copy nature with accuracy the -object copied would seem unnatural. The columns -of the Greek temples, which convey the idea of -absolute proportion, are very considerably thicker -just beneath the capital than at the base. We regret -that we have not left ourselves space in which to -examine this whole question as it deserves. We -must content ourselves with saying that caricature -seldom exists (unless in so gross a form as to disgust -at once) where the component parts are <span class='it'>in keeping</span>; -and that the laugh excited by it, in any case, is radically -distinct from that induced by a properly artistical -<span class='it'>incongruity</span>—the source of all mirth. Were -these creations of Mr. Dickens really caricatures -they would not live in public estimation beyond the -hour of their first survey. We regard them as <span class='it'>creations</span>—(that -is to say as original combinations of -character) only not all of the highest order, because -the elements employed are not always of the highest. -In the instances of Nelly, the grandfather, the Sexton, -and the man of the furnace, the force of the -creative intellect could scarcely have been engaged -with nobler material, and the result is that these -personages belong to the most august regions of the -<span class='it'>Ideal</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In truth, the great feature of the “Curiosity Shop” -is its chaste, vigorous, and glorious <span class='it'>imagination</span>. This -is the one charm, all potent, which alone would suffice -to compensate for a world more of error than Mr. -Dickens ever committed. It is not only seen in the -conception, and general handling of the story, or in -the invention of character; but it pervades every -sentence of the book. We recognise its prodigious -influence in every inspired word. It is this which -induces the reader who is at all ideal, to pause frequently, -to re-read the occasionally quaint phrases, -to muse in uncontrollable delight over thoughts -which, while he wonders he has never hit upon -them before, he yet admits that he never has encountered. -In fact it is the wand of the enchanter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Had we room to particularise, we would mention -as points evincing most distinctly the ideality of the -“Curiosity Shop”—the picture of the shop itself—the -newly-born desire of the worldly old man for the -peace of green fields—his whole character and conduct, -in short—the school-master, with his desolate -fortunes, seeking affection in little children—the -haunts of Quilp among the wharf-rats—the tinkering -of the Punch-men among the tombs—the glorious -scene where the man of the forge sits poring, at -deep midnight, into that dread fire—again the whole -conception of this character; and, last and greatest, -the stealthy approach of Nell to her death—her gradual -sinking away on the journey to the village, so -skilfully indicated rather than described—her pensive -and prescient meditation—the fit of strange musing -which came over her when the house <span class='it'>in which she -was to die</span> first broke upon her sight—the description -of this house, of the old church, and of the churchyard—every -thing in rigid consonance with the one -impression to be conveyed—that deep meaningless -well—the comments of the Sexton upon death, and -upon his own secure life—this whole world of -mournful yet peaceful idea merging, at length, into -the decease of the child Nelly, and the uncomprehending -despair of the grandfather. These concluding -scenes are so drawn that human language, urged -by human thought, could go no farther in the excitement -of human feelings. And the pathos is of that -best order which is relieved, in great measure, by -ideality. Here the book has never been equalled,—never -approached except in one instance, and that is -in the case of the “Undine” of De La Motte Fouqué. -The imagination is perhaps as great in this latter -work, but the pathos, although truly beautiful and -deep, fails of much of its effect through the material -from which it is wrought. The chief character, being -endowed with purely fanciful attributes, cannot command -our full sympathies, as can a simple denizen of -earth. In saying, a page or so above, that the death -of the child left too painful an impression, and should -therefore have been avoided, we must, of course, be -understood as referring to the work as a whole, and -in respect to its general appreciation and popularity. -The death, as recorded, is, we repeat, of the highest -order of literary excellence—yet while none can -deny this fact, there are few who will be willing to -read the concluding passages a second time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Upon the whole we think the “Curiosity Shop” -very much the best of the works of Mr. Dickens. It -is scarcely possible to speak of it too well. It is in -all respects a tale which will secure for its author -the enthusiastic admiration of every man of genius.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The edition before us is handsomely printed, on -excellent paper. The designs by Cattermole and -Browne are many of them excellent—some of them -outrageously bad. Of course it is difficult for us to -say how far the American engraver is in fault. In -conclusion, we must enter our solemn protest against -the final page full of little angels in smock frocks, or -dimity chemises.</p> - -<hr class='tbk124'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>“Writings of Charles Sprague.” Now first collected. -Charles S. Francis, New York.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>In the “publisher’s preface” to this volume (which -is a handsome octavo) we are told that it has been -printed partly with a view of anticipating a similar -design from another quarter—“one which was not -likely to be accomplished in a manner satisfactory to -the friends of the author”—and also that Mr. S. has -done “nothing to promote” the present publication, -which he has “only not forbidden.” About the -whole of this prolegomena there is much of unnecessary -rigmarole, not to say of superfluous humbug. If -the facts are as stated, and Mr. Francis has really -made himself so busy as to force the gentleman into -press, will I nill I; we can only say that he has been -guilty of a singular piece of impertinence. But if -Mr. Sprague, on the other hand, was privy and a party -to the issuing of the book (as we believe he was, and -as the preface intimates he was not) it may then be -remarked that since the poet of the “Shakspeare -Ode” is not ashamed of his efforts, and has no reason -to be ashamed of them, it is but a weak affectation to -counterfeit a modesty which he does not feel, and to -sneak forth into the light of the public eye, wrapped -up in that flimsiest of all veils, the veil of a “publisher’s -preface.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The volume embraces, we believe, all the best -compositions of Mr. Sprague—certainly all the best -of his poems. These latter have had a wide circulation, -and are well known. Some of the pieces have -attained a reputation—in some measure deserved—for -example “The Shakspeare Ode,” “The Winged -Worshippers,” the “Lines on the Death of M. S. C.,” -and “I See Thee Still.” Others have acquired a -notoriety which is any thing but desirable fame. We -speak of the Prize odes for Festivals and Opening -Nights of new theatres—a species of literature almost -beneath contempt, and whose <span class='it'>sine quâ non</span> of success -is pedantic common-place. Who believes that a really -good poem would even be glanced at a second time -by any one of a committee appointed to decide upon -such things as “Opening Addresses?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The “Shakspeare Ode” of Mr. Sprague is, after -all, scarcely an exception to our general rule in this -case. We may, perhaps, modify matters so as to -admit that while all prize articles are bad <span class='it'>ex officio</span>, -the Shakspeare Ode is the best of them. It carries -the essential error to the height of its perfection—that -is precisely what we mean. Farther than this -no man should go. We allow that public opinion is -here against us, and that the poem in question is -generally considered as a “brilliant production.” -Public opinion, however, is a certain intangible -something of which we have no opinion at all. By -this we mean what is <span class='it'>called</span> public opinion; for the -true unbiased judgment of the majority is a different -thing, but can never be accurately ascertained. If it -could, it would nearly always be found in accordance -with critical decision. We must keep in mind the -distinction when we read the words of Chamfort. -“<span class='it'>Il y a à parier</span>,” says he, “<span class='it'>que toute idée publique, -toute convention recue, est une sottise; car elle a -convenue au plus grand nombre</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In fact all that a just criticism can say in favor of -this Ode, is that its versification is of the highest order -of excellence (it includes finer lines and even finer -entire paragraphs than are to be found elsewhere) -and that its imagery is scrupulously accurate and -well-sustained:—its imagery such as it is. What -indeed can be more outrageously absurd than an -obstinate persistence, at this epoch, in the mawkish -allegory of ancient theology—a thing, which in its -origin, and under the best circumstances, never -had—never <span class='it'>could</span> have had, from its very nature, the -slightest effect or force, beyond that of an inane -assent to its ingenuity. We say nothing of the imitation -of Collins’ “Ode to the Passions”—this is -too obvious to need a word of comment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Curiosity,” the longest poem in the volume is -entitled just to that amount of praise which we have -awarded to the “Shakspeare Ode”—while its defects -(of a similar character with those upon which we -have commented) are scarcely so glaring. Its versification -is superb—nothing could be better. Its -thoughts are tersely put forth. The style is pungently -epigrammatic. Upon the whole, it is fully -as good a poem as Pope could have written, upon -the same subject, in his finest hour of inspiration. -We must bear in mind one important distinction, -however. With Pope the ideas and the management -of the piece would have been original—with Mr. -Sprague they are Pope’s. We will end our comments -upon “Curiosity” with the general remark -that didactic subjects are utterly <span class='it'>beyond</span>, or rather -beneath the province of true poesy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The “Lines on the Death of M. S. C.” are distinguished -by all the minor beauties for which Mr. S. is -so remarkable, while they abound in merit of a better, -although still not of the highest order. They are -pathetic and simple—but evince little ideality.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Winged Worshippers” is, beyond question, -a beautiful little poem, and relieves us from a distressing -doubt we had begun to entertain—a doubt -whether we should not, after all, be forced to look -upon Mr. Sprague as merely a well-educated poetaster, -of what is (satirically?) called <span class='it'>classical</span> taste, of -accurate ear, and of sound <span class='it'>negative</span> judgment.</p> - -<hr class='tbk125'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>“The Sovreignty of Mind.” A Poem delivered -before the Philomathæan Society of Pennsylvania -College, February 16, 1841. By John N. McJilton. -Joseph N. Lewis, Baltimore.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. McJilton is a gentleman for whose talents we -have much respect—far more than for his performances. -Indeed, while there is indication of genius -in almost every thing he writes, he has yet written -very little worth reading. We remember a short -poem from his pen, first published in the “Casket,” -and entitled “Serenade,” which was truly beautiful—but -beyond this we can call to mind none of his compositions -which, as a whole, are even tolerable. -There are always fine imaginative passages:—but -their merit is scarcely discernible through the clouds -of verbiage, false imagery, bad grammar, and worse -versification in which they are enveloped.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We are grieved to see Mr. McJilton occupied in -“delivering” poems to order before Philomathæan -societies. It is a <span class='it'>business</span> in which no man of talent -should be employed—in which no man of genius -could hope to succeed. As for The “Sovreignty of -Mind” it is a hackneyed subject, and he has handled -it in a hackneyed manner. It has some glowing paragraphs—but -abounds in all the worst faults of the -author. We do not feel justified in speaking of it at -greater length.</p> - -<hr class='tbk126'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Notices of “Charles O’Malley, vol. 1;” “The -Dowager;” “Combe’s tour through the U. States;” -“Ranke’s History of the Popes;” “Earle’s visit to -thirteen Insane Asylums;” “The Quadroone,” and -other works, have been crowded out.</p> - -<hr class='tbk127'/> - -<p class='pindent'><a id='fash'></a></p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i107.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0004' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'>LADIES OF QUEEN VICTORIA’S COURT, CORRECT LIKENESSES.<br/></p> <br/><span class='it'>From the London World of Fashion.</span> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk128'/> - -<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'>[End of <span class='it'>Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XVIII, No. 5, May 1841</span>, George R. Graham, Editor]</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XVIII, No. 5, -May 1841, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, MAY 1841 *** - -***** This file should be named 63718-h.htm or 63718-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/7/1/63718/ - -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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