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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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