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diff --git a/old/65198-0.txt b/old/65198-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 173be2b..0000000 --- a/old/65198-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6522 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 5, November -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Graham's Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 5, November 1841 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George R. Graham - -Release Date: April 30, 2021 [eBook #65198] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -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) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XIX, NO. -5, NOVEMBER 1841 *** - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - Vol. XIX. November, 1841. No. 5. - - - Contents - - Fiction, Literature and Articles - - The Ghost of Chew’s Wall - The Rowsevillers.—No. II - The Reefer of ’76 - The Interesting Stranger - Shakspeare.—No. III - Wiccónsat - The Moonlight Flitting - A Chapter on Autography - The King’s Bride - Indian Traditions.—No. II - Sports and Pastimes.—The Fowling-Piece - Review of New Books - - Poetry, Music and Fashion - - The Pet Lamb - Flight of the Birds - Il Serenado di Venice - Ephemera - With Thee - Sonnets - I Never Have Been False to Thee - Merry England - Marriage - Never Shall My Heart Forget Thee! - Latest Fashions, November 1841 - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: Eng. by H. S. Sadd, N.Y., _The Pet Lamb_ _Engraved -expressly for Graham’s Magazine_] - - - - -[Illustration] - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - Vol. XIX. PHILADELPHIA: NOVEMBER, 1841. No. 5. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE PET LAMB. - - - BY ALEXANDER A. IRVINE. - - - I saw her in her artlessness - All innocent and free, - And playfully a favored lamb - She fondled on her knee— - She seemed a vision of a dream, - A glory passing bright, - A being clothed in loveliness - As angels are in light! - - Her tresses sported round about - Her snowy brow divine, - As flowers of the daffodil - Embrace a virgin shrine,— - Such purity was nestled there, - A Sybil’s it might be, - Forever beaming placidly - As starlight down at sea! - - Her smile it had a witchery - To mortal ones unknown, - A language in its mirthfulness - Beyond a seraph’s tone: - It was as if the soul had come - From out its deep recess - And chose a dwelling in her eyes, - So pure their loveliness! - - And softly on her pearly cheek - The dewy lashes lay; - Her lips were parted temptingly - To woo the breeze to stay; - Her snowy neck all droopingly - Defied the lily’s grace; - Her dimpled mouth—I dreamt of heav’n - In gazing on that face! - - She fondled artlessly her pet; - She raised his tiny feet; - And toyed the garland on his neck; - And soothed him, when he bleat, - So sweetly that I might not hear - Unmoved that silver tone, - But longed to leave my hiding place - And woo her for my own. - - A shot re-echoed through the wood, - I saw the smoky wreath— - The lamb was bleeding in her lap - The glancing ball beneath— - I sprang and raised the sufferer - And staunched the ebbing tide, - And carefully I bound the wound, - And sat me by her side. - - I quieted her quick alarm, - I gently soothed her fears, - And o’er the dying favorite - We mingled tears with tears: - I shared her grief, and calmed her woe, - And blamed the sportsman rude— - She raised her swimming eyes to mine - And smiled her gratitude. - - She faintly smiled and dropped her gaze, - Her passive hand I took, - No word was spoke, we only heard - The murmur of the brook; - Her gaze was on the murdered lamb, - Her heart was strangely moved— - She sighed, and oh! the loss she felt, - The void where once she loved. - - Again I soothed her maiden grief, - And sighed whene’er she sighed, - And with such winning sympathy - Her starting tears I dried,— - And when she ceased I sighed myself, - And she besought to know - All artlessly and innocent - The secret of my woe. - - I told her it was all herself, - That I had paused to gaze, - And that her witching loveliness - Would sadden all my days; - And then I sighed, and looked away, - And told her how I grieved, - Not for myself, but for the pang - Her gentle heart received. - - I asked her but to pity me, - And told my grief to part— - Her fingers trembled, and I heard - The beating of her heart, - And all dissolved in sympathy - She yielded to my side— - Was ever virgin love as thine? - My Rosalie, my bride! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE GHOST OF CHEW’S WALL; - - - A LEGEND OF GERMANTOWN. - - - BY OLIVER OLDFELLOW. - - -When a man becomes so far lost to a sense of self-importance, as not -only to tell, but actually to _write stories_,—thus recording his -turpitude in black and white—it is not to be presumed that slight -consequences will deter him from his purpose. Indeed, it is rather to be -supposed that he has made up his mind to despise public opinion, and to -brave all indignation. His hand is sure to follow as his pen may lead, -and whatever he may _resolve_, when the story is written, it is, somehow -or other, sure to find its way into print. The best motives of a writer -may therefore be mistaken, or his strongest resolves puffed to the winds -by a single breath, so that it may well be supposed in what a -predicament we were, when we found our best intentions frustrated, and -had to encounter the wrath and tobacco smoke of our German neighbors, -and were obliged to write this apologetic introduction, and all through -a villanous blunder of our greedy devil. - -The facts are these. We sat down, a few evenings since, after enjoying a -comfortable cup of pure Java,—which we still continue to enjoy, -notwithstanding the anathemas of a fellow with a villanous name, of -“bran bread” repute,—to commit to paper a few notes of a conversation -which we had with a relative long since. Having unluckily fallen into a -doze, our devil, who had been going about for more than an hour roaring -for copy, took a peep into the sanctum, and, seeing how matters stood, -slipt off the following article, “in the crack o’ a thumb,” by way of -filling up an odd form, which, in an unlucky fit of liberality, we had -resolved to squeeze into the present number. It may well be supposed -that, before we had fairly rubbed our eyes open, the _matter_ was blown -to the world, and a whole avalanche of country cousins, who hail from -Germantown, were down upon us. Of course we said at once that the -article was not ours, as no man can be expected to acknowledge his guilt -until it is proved upon him. This, however, did not satisfy them, -although they professed to have no difficulty in believing it, for they -continued to smoke their pipes with such fury, and swore so stoutly in -real jaw-breaking Dutch—for every mother’s son is German, even to the -cut of his pantaloons—that we were glad to get off upon the condition -of making a handsome apology, which we think we have now fully done. - -Among the many delightful villages in Pennsylvania, which owe their -origin to German settlers, and maintain, amid surrounding improvements, -the unchanged marks of ancestry, there is none more prominent than -Germantown. It is but half an hour’s drive from Philadelphia, extending -along the main road for more than two miles, with, for the most part, -old-fashioned stone houses, which date prior to the revolution, -sprinkled plenteously on both sides of the road, forming a village of -most unconscionable length, but—like the pockets of most dandies of the -present day—with no depth or body to support its extensive pretensions. -It is famous in history, as being the ground of a battle during the -struggle for independence, in which victory, though for a time doubtful, -declared for the enemy, in consequence of the incompetency of an -American officer. The present inhabitants are mostly the descendants of -German families—true sprigs of the old branches, imitating most of the -virtues of their forefathers, indulging in no luxuries, pursuing a rigid -economy, and clinging with an unyielding regard to the money bequeathed -them. Nor is this regard in any degree weakened by the devices of those -who have recently settled in the village, and who vainly hope by -improving their houses, fitting up their grounds, and clipping and -beautifying their shrubbery, to induce an imitation of their example. -The old-roof tree stands, as it stood half a century ago, and the very -stones of the building, from between which the mortar has in many cases -long since dropped, grin defiance on the passer by, who dares to harbor -a thought of improvement or repair. The owner is content to _live_ as -his ancestors lived, but would like to _die_ a little richer. The -patrimony, amassed by the hand of unceasing toil, is religiously -bequeathed from sire to son, together with the peculiar habits of -thought and the superstitious sentiments of an age gone by. In many -cases no education has been suffered to weaken or invade, and in others -has been so slight as only to harmonize the mind with the general -character of the place, which at best seems to belong more to a past -generation than to the present. From these causes, things which better -tutored minds scout with scorn, in the one case, are held as true as -matters of religious belief, and in the other are only doubted, not -disbelieved. In fact so thoroughly does superstition, and the gross -follies which an intercourse with the world and education always dispel, -prevail, that many of the inhabitants can tell you to a nicety when -there will be a change of weather, by the belligerent attitude in which -the moon turns up her horns when she grows restive, and that there will -be company when the cat licks her paws, when a fork sticks up in the -floor, or when the old cock brushes up his feathers and crows in the -door-way. There are others who go still deeper into mysteries of this -sort, and can predict to you a birth, a marriage, or a death, by the -kinks in a cow’s tail; but as they are entirely beyond our depth, and -seem to have this knowledge all to themselves, it may be well not to -disturb them in their profound wisdom. Nevertheless, let no young man, -who values the affections of any fair Dutch damsel in Germantown, -venture to present her with a pair of scissors, unless he wishes to -_cut_ the sentimental cord that binds her to him. Thus much we feel in -duty bound to record as a warning to young gentlemen, as many a man has -lost the confidence and affections of his lady love in consequence of -less matters than a pair of scissors. - -It might be expected that a village so contiguous to a great city, would -soon lose these distinctive marks of character, and that the -extravagance, follies and vices of the metropolis would be generally -imitated. Not so, however. With very little exception, the place is as -entirely distinct as if it were miles in the interior. The moral mantle -of Germanism seems to hang like a cloud over the place, and, blended -with the superstition of the portion of inhabitants spoken of, there is -a high-toned morality so imbedded in the hearts of the people, that -honesty and a strict regard to truth, next to making money and keeping -it, may be considered the great texts by which they live. - -It will easily be understood that among a people thus constituted, a -_ghost_ has but to be _seen_ by one of their number, and his appearance -announced, to be generally dreaded. If he has been _seen_, there is an -end of all doubting, and the only thing thereafter to be done, is to -keep out of his way. There will be no use, in such a case, to multiply -arguments about him, but every man must take care of himself. And, what -may seem a little singular, a good sound-minded, rational apparition -will, in all cases, most delight to visit a people who pay him so much -deference; taking especial care to show himself off frequently, and in -all manner of ways, that there may be no doubt that he does exist in one -shape or another, and having established the matter to his own -satisfaction, that it is better to range the upper world, where he can -be _seen_, than to dwell below in the dark, damp ground of the tomb, -where he cannot be seen, where his very existence may be doubted, and -where, at the best, the quarters are most uncomfortably chilly,—we say -a sane ghost, under such circumstances, would naturally grow -familiar—or rather _attempt_ to—and having sought out and established -himself in comfortable quarters, and having enjoyed an oblivious nap -during the day, would seek to regale himself in the evening, after his -own will and pleasure, by little trips by moonlight, over the fields, -around the old barns, and especially on the tops of the _stone -fences_—if any there be—of the neighborhood. A ghost certainly has the -right, if any _body_ has, of doing pretty much as he pleases, and of -keeping out of the dust and gravel of a country side-walk, and of -cutting up his antics, by way of recreation, on the top of a stone wall. -At least these were the sentiments entertained by the ghost in question, -and he took the liberty—unlike most politicians—of acting them out -without regard to consequences. - -One morning, early in November, 18—, the inhabitants of the goodly -village of Germantown were thrown into great consternation and dismay, -by the important intelligence that a ghost had been seen the previous -evening, perched upon Chew’s wall, dressed in white, and rattling a -heavy chain, which some maintained he had been hung in, in consequence -of some great crime. Some said that it was only a log-chain, which he -intended to use, after his own fashion, on the first man he got in his -clutches, while others, with a great show of reason, maintained that the -chain was fastened around _his own ankle_, and that he was no less a -_personage_ than the ghost of the dead soldier who had deserted from the -British during the revolution, and was accidentally shot during the -battle of Germantown, while a prisoner in a baggage-wagon, _as had been -said_, but who, it was very likely, had been murdered during the heat of -the fray, by some enemy in his own ranks—a rival in love, perhaps, or -an heir to some estate, who wished him out of the way. Be all this as it -may, the ghost had been _seen_ upon the wall, and he had a chain about -him in some way, and some unheard of atrocity might confidently be -looked for. The greatest mystery of the affair was that as soon as the -rumor got on the wind, the man who had seen him was no where to be -found, nor could any body tell who he was. Somebody _had_ seen him, -however, and that was enough, and any inhabitant of Germantown would as -soon have doubted the existence of sour-krout—a belief of which -substantial proof was given daily—as to have felt the least incredulity -in regard to the ghost. - -Of course all the inhabitants put on the gravest looks possible, and -kept a sharp look-out, but still nearly a week passed and no tidings of -a renewal of the visit of his ghostship occurred. Sunday morning came, -and the matter was duly canvassed before the church door, prior to the -arrival of the minister. A great many solemn shakes of the head and -knowing winks were given on the subject. It was formally resolved that -fires had better be kept burning in all the ovens for a fortnight, -though it was pretty generally agreed that the ghost had been taken -unawares, and that, whatever his business to that place might be, by -keeping off the wall for a week, it was a pretty good sign that he did -not want to show himself, and therefore he would be more cautious in -future. - -The ghost, notwithstanding all these sage conclusions, resolved to have -his own way in the matter, and accordingly made his appearance _that -very evening_—not in white, nor in the form of a man, but in _black_, -and running on all fours, like a hyena, on the top of the wall, and even -proceeded so far as to throttle a very inoffensive person, and one who -never could have had any thing to do with the murder—if indeed the -apparition was the ghost of the murdered soldier. The facts of this -encounter are these. - -Christopher Burger (such was the name of the person throttled) or -“_Stoffel_ Burger,” as his German friends delighted to dub him in -abbreviation, was a stout, square-built young fellow, of about -twenty-two, who could do his day’s work, and dance the whole night -through in the bargain, without thinking of fatigue. He had fallen in -love, at a quilting party, with Miss Susan Hanz, a blooming Dutch damsel -of seventeen summers; and, like a straight-forward business-like German, -as he was, he resolved to make her his wife. She was, in fact, just the -girl to inspire Christopher with the sentimental. Short, thick, and as -elegantly shaped as a churn, with a full, round, saucy face, lighted up -with a pair of brilliant black eyes, and with a foot, which, if it was -_not_ one of the smallest, could go through “a straight four,” or, for -that matter, if occasion required it, a regular “hoe down,” with a grace -that actually made Christopher’s heart leap, as if it was going to jump -out of his mouth. Nor were these her only claims to regard. The fair -Susan was an only child, and her father had the reputation of possessing -more than one stocking full of _the real currency_, carefully stowed -away in the large walnut chest under the bed. Two or three broad farms -also claimed ’Squire Hanz as owner, and spread themselves out very -temptingly before the eager eyes of “Stoffel.” And then, what a hand at -baking hot cakes!—his mouth actually watered at the thought. Added to -all this, he well knew that if he succeeded in winning the heart of the -fair Susan, no obstacle would be placed in the way of his happiness by -the ’Squire. In this matter the ’Squire was exceedingly liberal; he -imposed but one condition upon his daughter in relation to the man of -her choice, and that was, that “he must be of a good German family.” To -“_Stoffel_” there could be no objection on this score. His very name -carried the recommendation with it. Moreover, the ’Squire had never had -brother or sister, and therefore there were no rascally cousins to be -mining the fortress in his absence. Had there been any, with stout -purses in their fists, the matter would not have been quite so positive; -for, as an _arrangement of convenience_, and to _keep the money_ from -the hands of _grasping strangers_, every man in the village of which we -write made it a point to marry his cousin—_if he could get her_—and, -if the truth must be told, the strong voice of parental command was -seldom wanting to strengthen his suit. - -Let it not be supposed, however, that a lady with such substantial -claims had never been besieged with lovers. Such _had been_ the case. -But “Stoffel” having so far outstripped his rivals as to attain the -honor of _smoking a pipe alone_ with the ’Squire a few Sunday evenings -previous to the time of which we write, the business was looked on as -settled, and the whole bevy of Dutch beaux were off in the twinkling of -an eye, like a flock of partridges when they have been shot at. - -Christopher, thus having “a fair field and _all_ the favor,” was not the -man to neglect the advantage; so that, on the Sunday night in question, -if an inquisitive eye had been placed at the key-hole of the ’Squire’s -parlor door, he might have been _seen_, or _heard_, actually (we hope -the ladies will skip this passage)—we say he might have been _seen_ -kissing Susan _in the dark_. Atrocious as this conduct was, however, on -the part of “Stoffel,” we are bound, in recording a true narrative, to -say that the lady was not to be frightened at trifles; so, instead of -screaming out, and thus rousing the ’Squire and his blunderbuss, she -took the matter coolly, and, resolving not to be outdone in civilities, -gave him as good as he sent, and, throwing her arms around his neck, -_kissed him_!! These, of course, are little attentions, on the part of -lovers, which should not be wantonly, and without purpose, revealed to -“the cold and heartless world,” and we only mention them to show that -Christopher was a fellow with a pretty stout heart, and thus prepare our -readers for the horrible outrage upon a brave man we are about to -record. And considering, too, that all our lady readers have skipped the -last passage, and are waiting breathlessly, we proceed. - -It was now past twelve o’clock—we are ashamed to record it—for -Christopher, whatever wrong he committed in _going_ to the ’Squire’s -every Sunday evening, when he _returned_, his conscience, on that score, -was generally clear enough, as it was Sabbath no longer. We say it was -past twelve, and Christopher set out for home. He had feasted on the -best the ’Squire’s cellar afforded, and had made way with more than one -mug of his best cider. The parting scene, on the part of Christopher, -had been unusually tender. He was naturally an ardent lover, and the -cider by no means decreased the strength of his attachment. He had used -every argument to bring Susan to the point of acceptance—still she was -coy. Yet Christopher was a man of discernment, and thought that a lady -who would throw her arms around his neck and kiss him in the dark, -(bless us! what will the ladies say to this?) could have no serious -objection to him at bottom, and so, on the whole, he was in a very -pleasant mood with himself, and with all _mankind_ and _womankind_ in -the bargain, as gentlemen usually are when the lady has been kind, and -the parting kiss has been freely given. He felt unusually _happy_, and -could not restrain the kind feelings which bubbled up to his very lips -and found vent in snatches of songs. He was rapidly approaching the -wall—still he thought nothing of ghosts or hob-goblins, but was -ruminating very intently upon the charms of the _substantial_ little -Dutch beauty, and was going over in his mind, very pleasantly, her -qualifications to make him a happy man. He might be said to be in that -state, when a man is walking yet dreaming. He was picturing a neat stone -house, with every _useful_ article of furniture bought and paid for, and -with a horse and cow that he could call his own. Milk punch, too, -naturally enough popped into his head, and then out again, to make room -for thoughts of hot cakes swimming in butter. His song, however, still -went on, as the music was not so difficult of execution as to require -much thought in its performance—when the conclusion of a stanza seemed -suddenly to have been frozen on his lips, and he started back with the -ejaculation— - -“Mine Got! vat ish dat? der spooke—der divel!” - -The cause of his alarm the reader will understand, and so did “Stoffel.” -He had heard it rumored that a ghost in white had been seen airing -himself upon Chew’s wall, and he was not the man to scoff at rumor, and, -even if he had been, there was the identical thing before him, slightly -changed in appearance, it is true, not in white, nor sitting erect, but -in black, running along the wall towards him, like a hyena or a bear; -and, sure enough, as if to establish his character beyond the -possibility of a doubt, _rattling his chain_ with a clangor truly -appalling. - -In any other situation Christopher, perhaps, would have run, but in the -present instance his limbs refused to do their work, his knees knocked -together, his teeth set to chattering, and he seemed rooted to the spot. -Nor can it be supposed that he was a coward, as we think the contrary -has been clearly demonstrated in his valiant exploits in courting. The -ghost, however, as if to settle the difficulty, to clear all doubt in -the mind of Christopher, and to prevent any more profane exclamations, -coolly descended from the wall, and before he knew where he was, knocked -him down “with one blow of his _tail_,” as was afterwards affirmed. - -“So,” said the ghost, “your time has come to die!” - -“Mine Got, nay—I be’s—so young—and pin—tink—to git—marry,” -chattered the horror-stricken Dutchman. - -“You are going to get married; ha! who do you think will have you?” - -“’Squire—Hanz—Sus, me tinks.” - -“When you marry her you will be a dead man,” said the ghost in a hollow, -sepulchral voice, “and unless you stay away from ’Squire Hanz’s two -months from this time, remember I have warned you! you are a dead man! -Beware!” and having released his throat from a loving squeeze, vanished, -as Christopher asserted, “in de ground.” - -When he arose, his brain whirled, and his memory was confused; the sun -was just peeping over the hills, and a group of astonished neighbours -were around him. Christopher told his story, and related the adventure -exactly as it had occurred, excepting what related to Susan, that he -kept close in his own bosom—why? we cannot say. Some believed him, but -others, of the most knowing, shook their heads—guessed he had drank too -freely of the ’Squire’s cider, and wondered how he knew “the ghost -vanished in the ground when he was lying on his face in the dirt.” - -Christopher asserted, and swore Dutch to substantiate it, that he “had -been _choked on the back of his neck_ until he saw stars,” and that -after _that_ the ghost disappeared, and he knew nothing more of the -matter until he found the mob around him. - -This was conclusive! And as the contagion spread, it was ascertained -that the ghost had been exceedingly obliging, and had appeared in a -variety of forms and costumes “to suit customers.” A stout troop of good -wives roundly asserted that he had crossed the road in the form of a -white calf, as they were proceeding to meeting, and that when they -screamed out he disappeared. One had seen him in the habit of an old -woman, dangling a great bunch of keys at her girdle, but it was plain he -was no old woman at all from the whisker on one side of his face, which -proved him to be the dead soldier. Moreover, he kept rattling the keys -with tremendous fury, and held up his forefinger significantly; as much -as to say “if you disturb me I’ll knock you down.” - -Another averred that as she was walking along, she heard a terrible -flapping of wings, and looking up she saw, what at first appeared to be -a flock of wild-geese, but they quickly changed into boys, and in an -instant all vanished but one, and he was a man with a long white flowing -robe, with which he took good care to cover his head, so that she could -not see whether he had whiskers or no, and therefore could not say -whether it was the dead soldier or not. In short, nearly all the _old_ -women had seen him, or had a ghost story to _tell_, which answered the -same purpose, so that the good Dutchmen shook their heads to no purpose, -for the more they shook them the more confused they became. - -The consequence was, that after the existence of the ghost was thus -substantiated, he resolved to confirm the testimony by taking up his -quarters for the winter at once. This he did by establishing himself in -a neat two story brick house, which was formerly located at the place -now called “The Seven Oaks.” Thus having made himself perfectly at home, -and we presume feeling himself so, for no body pretended to disturb him -in his selected quarters, he took his recreations in various ways. -Sometimes he would appear with a winding sheet around him, and a flame -of fire coming out of his mouth, then he would walk inhabited like a -bear, or he might be seen in the form of a dragon with a huge tail. To -vary the entertainments, he would appear with horrible horns on his -head, and a tail like a fish, and would go sweeping over the ground as -if he were gliding in water. He appeared, too, at various places, though -his favorite resort was the top of the stone wall, which he would often -bestride, as if it were a full-blooded charger, and would go whistling -down the wind,—stone wall and all. What rendered this last feat the -more surprising was, that when morning came the wall looked as unmoved -as if nothing had happened, but the ghost was nowhere to be found. - -It could not be supposed that things should continue in this state -forever. Accordingly a number of the more aged inhabitants having put -their heads together, it was thought advisable to devise some energetic -measures to relieve themselves of his ghostship. Whereupon every man -stuck his pipe in his mouth, and set to smoking and thinking with great -energy and decision. After due reflection, various measures were -proposed, but none so feasible as that proposed by ’Squire Hany, who -having a pipe about a foot longer than any of the others, came to the -sagest conclusion. - -His proposal was in substance, that a meeting be called on the next -evening, and that a committee should be appointed to watch the ghost, -and if possible, to shoot through him with silver bullets; when, it was -affirmed, he would dissolve into thin air at once. And lest the ghost -should be aroused to commit some deed of dire interest, as soon as the -news of these hostile proceedings reached his ears, it was thought -advisable that all the inhabitants should close their doors at sundown, -nail horse shoes over them, and, to save candles if not their necks, -they should go to bed at dark. - -A large meeting of the indignant inhabitants, in accordance with this -decision, assembled at “The Green Tree,” when, after calling “Stoffel -Burger” to the chair, the following resolutions, which had been drawn up -with great care and precision for the occasion, were unanimously -adopted:— - -[1]“_Resolved_, That a committee of eight be appointed _to shoot the -ghost_.” - -“_Resolved_, That Stoffel Burger be chairman of the committee to point -him out, so that the silver bullets be not thrown away, and also, to -save powder, that _nobody shall shoot the ghost till they see him_.” - -To the first branch of this resolution Stoffel felt inclined to demur, -and said that as he had already been choked by the ghost, he would -rather not get in his clutches again. The meeting, however, had made up -their minds—as most town meetings generally do—before hand, and would -hear of no excuse. It was therefore further - -“_Resolved_, That the meeting defray the expenses of the committee, -provided they follow instructions, and that all the inhabitants be -commanded to nail horse shoes over their doors, so that the ghost may be -shot down without mercy.” - -We said the resolutions were unanimously adopted, but there was one -young gentleman who, in the outset, stoutly opposed them, but who, -nevertheless, afterwards gave them his hearty support. He was a good -looking fellow, about five feet ten in height, with a piercing black -eye, a most intelligent face, and a whisker trimmed with such exquisite -taste that every girl of the village would take a peep out of the corner -of her eye and admire them while passing. His tongue, too, was as -slippery as an eel, and he could say the softest and most honied words -in a way that actually put the stout Dutch phrases completely out of -tune. Nevertheless, he spoke German like a book, and no man could exceed -him in driving a bargain, so that, having come from a German settlement -in the east, he went by the name of “The Dutch Yankee.” He never -obtruded his advice in any case, and only suggested in this, “whether -these hostile proceedings might not inflame the anger of the ghost, and -lead to hot work.” - -The valor of the meeting, however, was too highly inflamed to listen for -a moment to prudential hints, when they had the iron argument of horse -shoes ready in case of danger, so that after selecting the committee and -charging them to “be true to their country in this sudden and trying -emergency, and to meet promptly the next evening and perform their -duty,” the meeting adjourned. - -On the following evening the committee accordingly met at “The Green -Tree,” armed to the teeth, each man having, in addition to his musket -charged with the fatal bullet, a long butcher knife to be ready for -extremities. The host of “The Green Tree” was in excellent spirits, and -the committee resolved at once to be so too if it could be done by dint -of good liquor. So in order to be prepared for the fierce encounter, and -to strengthen his nerves, each man knocked off his half-pint at the -outset. And as the generous inhabitants had agreed to pay expenses, -there could be no harm, so thought both the committee and the host, in -drinking another, and as each felt braver the more he drank, the -experiment was repeated in homœopathic doses until the hour of twelve, -when, we will venture to assert, a stouter hearted set of men never set -out on a perilous expedition. - -It is strange, however, how soon the cold wind of a winter night will -unstring the nerves and set the teeth to chattering, for no sooner were -the valiant committee within sight of Chew’s wall, and had been a little -chilled through with the night breeze, than each man was seized with a -tremendous shivering of cold, and each feeling weaker than the other, it -was with great difficulty that they could get on, for want of a leader. -It was stoutly maintained that “Stoffel” should go before, as he was -commissioned by the meeting to point out the ghost. To this Stoffel -agreed, but maintained that he could not show him to the committee, -unless they were with him. It was finally settled that no man should -have the _honor of going alone_, but that they should all march up -abreast, and at the signal given fire a platoon into him. So they set up -at once a terrible yelling, in order that the ghost might see that they -were in earnest and prepare for the consequences. - -Whether it was that the ghost heartily despised their bullying mode of -procedure, and determined to show that there was no flinching on his -part, by meeting them more than half way, or that the heads of the -committee were rather giddy with having been confined in the close air -of a bar-room for so many hours, and had thus caused them to -miscalculate distances; certain it was, that before they were aware of -their position, Stoffel espied the ghost and pointed him out at not more -than thirty yards distance. Every man instantly cocked his musket, and -affirmed that it was _moving_, and that owing to the dreadful proximity -of the ghost, every thing else was dancing around them. Accordingly they -instantly poured a dreadful volley into the offender and took to their -heels. - -Whether the ghost was hit or not, it was clearly ascertained the next -morning that the committee had succeeded in putting two silver balls -into a great, ugly old post, which had long been a serious annoyance, -and had split the rails of a contiguous fence most shockingly. There -were not wanting those who were severe and uncharitable enough to say -that the committee had got a little drunk, and had fired _at_ the post. -This, however, was deemed a gross slander, and it was unanimously agreed -that if the ghost had stood where the post was, he would have had a ball -through him to a certainty. - -As for “Stoffel,” having done this daring deed, nobody caught him -passing the wall for some weeks after, and he gave people pretty clearly -to understand that he did not intend to for some weeks to come. What -tended to confirm the inhabitants in the opinion that the vigilant -committee had extirpated the dreaded visitant, and that there was -nothing like silver bullets and horse shoes to quiet ghosts, whether in -doors or out was, he did not appear on the wall—when, unluckily for our -friend “Stoffel” and his milk punch and hot cakes, “The Dutch Yankee,” -who possessed the true blood, succeeded in winning the heart of the fair -Susan, and actually eloped with the bouncing little Dutch beauty, much -to the amazement of the ’Squire, and the horror of the astounded -“Stoffel,” and actually carried the enormity so far, as to write -“Stoffel” an invitation to the “home-bringing,” a month or so afterward; -coupling the request with a promise that the ghost should not be allowed -to disturb him either in passing or repassing Chew’s wall without due -revenge. “Stoffel” did not like the tone of the invitation, or -considered that his valor in courting and shooting ghosts was -established, so he declined. - -That the ghost still held his quarters privately somewhere in the -neighborhood, and enjoyed many a pleasant little trip by moonlight for -his own private gratification after that, was not doubted by the good -people of the village, although he only condescended to show himself to -particular favorites, by _occasional glimpses_ when passing the wall. -Lately, however, he has been more chary of his visits, and it is -supposed that the rail road rather interfered with his calculations, and -that the eternal whizzing of steam and the ringing of bells, rendered -his quarters uncomfortable—particularly since his house has rudely been -pulled down over his head, and a new one erected on the same site, -without regard to his convenience. - -There were not wanting people who pretended to laugh at the whole affair -after the elopement and marriage of the fair Susan, and it was -maintained that the Yankee was often seen to twist his face and laugh to -himself, when he was ploughing up the old ’Squire’s ground. Yet nobody -in Germantown, _who had heard the clanking of the chain_, ever ventured -to doubt the existence of the ghost, and if any of our readers are -inclined to disbelieve the story, the horse shoes can yet be seen nailed -over some of the doors, and the bullet _holes_ can yet be shown in the -posts by the road side,—some of the inhabitants having dug the bullets -out with the characteristic reflection, “that it was a pity that good -silver should be thrown away, _even after ghosts_.” - - G. - ------ - -[1] Note. This, of course, all occurred before the Germantown Telegraph -was started, or we should refer to the files of that valuable paper for -a full report of the proceedings, and thus save ourselves a vast deal of -trouble in copying a vile, old, dusty, Dutch manuscript. - - * * * * * - - - - - FLIGHT OF THE BIRDS. - - - BY MRS. E. C. STEDMAN. - - - Speed on! speed on, to your Southern home, - Ye who ’mid the fleecy clouds may roam! - The hoarse voice of Winter comes fast on the breeze— - Its roaring is heard in the tops of the trees, - And swift as your flight, is the march of Time— - Away, away, to a milder clime! - - Ye’re wearied with seeking in vain for food, - ’Mid the leafless boughs of your native wood; - And here will ye carol your songs no more, - Till the reign of the winter-king is o’er; - Till Spring, in new beauty, comes dancing on, - And ascends flower-crowned to her vernal throne. - - But your voices shall gladden the fairy bowers - Of the genial South, through these winter hours, - Where your golden wings may unfettered rove - Through the flowery dell, and the orange grove; - Or bathe in the spray of those crystal streams, - Which forever glide free in the sun’s glad beams. - - Then away! ere hastens cold winter’s night; - He who watcheth the sparrow, directs your flight: - We envy your freedom, ye songsters fair! - And fain would fly, too, from this piercing air; - But the Power divine, which doth bid you roam, - Binds us, and our joys, to a Northern home. - - But, thanks to that Power! from the frosts of Grief— - From the Winter that blighteth Affection’s leaf; - From the chilling blast of Misfortune’s breath, - The ransomed _spirit_ may flee at death, - To a clime where perpetual Summer reigns - O’er the fadeless flowers of celestial plains. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE ROWSEVILLERS.—No. II. - - - THE CAPTAIN’S COURTSHIP. - - -The cloth had just been removed, at my second dinner with the club, when -the President called on a Mr. Rowley for a story. He tossed off a -tumbler of Port—to clear the cobwebs, as he said, from his throat—and -began. - -“You all know I am a lawyer, and that men who would be witty have a way -of quizzing our profession by saying that we cannot tell a story without -dragging in our craft. I have no objection to the notion of these smart -gentlemen, and shall not even trouble myself to refute them, but go on -with my story. - -“When I was a student, just after the close of the late war, I used to -pay occasional visits to Mount Holly, which was even then a passable -county town, and remarkable for its pretty girls, its gay winters, and -the quantity of wine drunk by its bar. There wasn’t a lawyer in the -place who couldn’t carry his two bottles, and as for wit, these -barristers were famed for it from Cape May to Hackensack. But it is not -so much with the Mount Holly bar as with Captain Slashbey, one of the -clients of the wittiest member there, that my story has to do. - -“I first met the gallant captain on a hunting excursion into the pines. -He was a portly little gentleman, with a rubicund face, a constant flow -of humor, and an opinion of his own good looks rather singular, I must -say, at forty-five. He had very short legs and a very round person, and -altogether reminded you of a fat pigeon walking upright. He had been in -the service during the war, and at the reduction of the army, finding -himself pretty well in debt, and without a _sous_ in his pockets, had -settled at Squankum, a place in the very heart of the cedar swamps. And -very convenient it was for Slashbey, for, like Galway, in Ireland, a -sheriff’s writ hadn’t been seen there in the memory of man. It was once -attempted to execute a capias there, but the forgemen and squatters rose -in a mass, and though the light horse were ordered out, the arrest had -to be given up. Now the captain was a popular man in Squankum, and -therefore was as safe as in a sanctuary. He thirsted now and then, it is -true, for the good things of civilized life afar off, and would often -make a dash into Mount Holly, like a guerilla, taking care, however, to -retreat before his creditors had wind of his approach. But at length he -grew tired of this life,—I’ll thank you for the bottle—and determined -to extricate himself from it by marrying an heiress; for the captain was -a gallant man, you must know, and, like Will Honeycombe, had a high -notion of his own powers. - -“There was a merry little vixen at the county town—a gay witty -black-eyed rogue as ever lived—who was, in the captain’s opinion, the -very pattern for a wife. She would have made an anchorite forswear his -creed, and was besides an heiress to a very pretty fortune. Undaunted by -the crowds of suitors for her hand, Slashbey determined to enter the -lists, nothing doubting, on the faith of certain smiles with which she -always welcomed him, that he would carry off the prize. He began his -preparations like a Napoleon. He bought a new pair of buff cassimeres, -endued a shining blue coat with metal buttons, and ordered a wig from -the most fashionable _perruquier_ in Philadelphia, for unluckily the -captain was as bald as a cannon ball. Thus accoutred, he laid regular -siege to his charmer, dancing her and sleighing her whenever he could -venture out of his cedar swamps without being chased by a bailiff. The -heiress smiled on the captain, her suitors cursed the lucky rival, and -Slashbey spent his time betwixt studying his glass and singing ‘none but -the brave deserve the fair.’ - -“It was just when he thought he was on the point of success that a grand -ball was given at ——, and the captain, determining to carry his -charmer by assault, forgot his usual prudence and escorted the heiress -in his gig. Never did the little fellow look more gallant. I was at the -ball, and faith! could scarcely keep my eyes off him. His wig was curled -irresistibly, his new coat shone with resplendent lustre, his cassimeres -fit him as a mould does a bullet, and he sported his new buff gloves -with more vanity than a rider does his colors at a race. But, alas! his -glory was destined soon to wane. One of his rivals, whose nose the -captain had valorously pulled, determining on revenge, had informed the -sheriff of Slashbey’s whereabouts, and just as he was leading his -charmer triumphantly to the dance, the myrmidons of justice pounced on -him, and after a desperate struggle he was secured, on the charge of an -assault and battery. But this was not the worst. Before the court opened -the next day, a dozen writs in civil suits had been lodged against his -body. The captain was beside himself. He trembled at the _exposé_ of his -affairs—he trembled for his heiress. - -“‘We could laugh this battery out of court,’ he said; ‘but what the -devil can I do with these creditors? I’m a ruined man. And to come just -now, the infernal rascals! Oh, Anna Matilda!’ he exclaimed with a -love-lorn look of his crow-feet eyes, ‘it’s all up with you and your -fortune now. What would the fellows of the tenth say if they heard of -it?’ - -“‘Cheer up,’ said his attorney laughingly; ‘your case will come up among -the first, and we may yet find a way to get you off. It’s all the result -of envy. These young boys can’t endure that Mars and Apollo should meet -together in your person,’ and the barrister winked wickedly to me, as -Slashbey, marshalled by the sheriff, preceded us into the hall of -justice. - -“It was with a rueful countenance that he took his seat in the court. -The room was densely filled with the usual motley assemblage at a county -sessions. Loafers half in rags, and shopmen in the latest cut, portly -farmers with huge mud-stained boots, and drovers carrying heavy loaded -whips, here a sober Quaker with a broad-rimmed beaver, and there a gay -young lawyer with more wit than briefs, long men and short men, fat ones -and lean ones, some with merry round faces, and others with countenances -as sour as crab-apples, officers and loungers, attorneys and clients, -filled up every vacant space outside the bar, whiling away the time -until the appearance of the judge, by speculating on the prospects of a -crop, or discussing the points of a case set down for trial at the term. -At length his honor made his appearance, and, bustling and bowing -through the crowd, assumed the bench, wiped the perspiration from his -rubicund face, coughed with judicial gravity, and ordered the crier to -open the court. That high functionary accordingly started to his feet, -and in a nasal twang mumbled over a formula which no one could hear -distinctly, but which appeared to be a recapitulation of the iniquities -of those in authority generally, and of his honor in particular, as it -ended with a hope that God would save the commonwealth and the honorable -court. After the crier sat down, a very lean man, with a very sharp -nose, and a very squeaking voice, called out ‘John Smith,’ whereupon a -little fat man jumped up and said ‘here;’ but the clerk, without seeming -to notice him, went on and called Joseph Thomson, Zerubabel Thomson, -Joab Johnson, and the Lord knows how many more Thomsons and Johnsons, -all of whom severally jumped up and said ‘here.’ Then, the jury being -empannelled, the case came on, and the attorneys got into towering -passions, and seemed as if they could have eaten each other up, while -the jury smiled and nodded, and their foreman—the little fat -man—stroked his chin and looked extremely wise. After this was gone -through with, there was a general buzz through the room, when suddenly -the judge cried ‘order,’ and then the sheriff cried ‘order,’ and the -sleepy constables and tipstaves opened their eyes and echoed ‘order’ -more lustily than either; whereupon his honor turned over one or two big -books bound in white calf,—ah! this is prime Port—consulted his notes -for a moment, and then proceeded to sum up the evidence and charge the -jury. - -“The next case was that of Slashbey—and the same formality was gone -through with until about half of the jury had been sworn, when the -attorney-general rose to acquaint the court that the panel was exhausted -and that therefore he prayed a _tales_ from the lookers on. These few -and simple words of the attorney-general acted on the spectators like -the upsetting of a crowded bee-hive. Instantly there was a great rush -towards the door. Drovers and farmers, shopmen and gentlemen, staid -Quakers and burly topers, all started in the race at once, tumbling and -scrambling over each other in their haste to reach the entrance, while -the tipstaves shouted ‘order’ until they were hoarse, and the sheriff -and his deputies sprang to the door in order to close it before the -egress of their prey. It was a moment of general confusion, and Slashbey -was forgotten in the _mêlée_. Even the judge had eyes only for the -scrambling fugitives. - -“‘Now,’ said I, nudging Slashbey, who sat by me not far from the -casement; ‘now’s your time—clear the window at a leap—my horse -Thunderer is fastened not twenty yards off—ride like the devil, and -don’t draw rein till you get to Squankum.’ - -“Slashbey understood my plan as readily and rapidly as I had conceived -it, and, just waiting to see that the coast was clear, he placed his -hands on the sill, and, portly as he was, shot through the open window -like a bomb, unseen by all except his honor, who caught sight of the -fugitive’s coat tails as they disappeared outside. - -“‘An escape!’ shouted the judge, starting to his feet; ‘sheriff, your -prisoner. The captain’s off.’ - -“On the instant the talesmen were forgotten, and sheriff, deputies, -tipstaves and freeholders turned around, with open mouths and curious -eyes. It was a minute or more before the matter could be explained, and -by that time I saw that Slashbey had got mounted. I shouted ‘stop thief’ -at this, and sprang out of the window, as if in pursuit, followed by the -sheriff and his constables, tumbling helter-skelter over each other -after me. The officers no sooner caught sight of the fugitive than they -roared lustily to stop him, while the sheriff bawled for the ‘_posse -comitatus_’ like a bull of Bashan. It was no time to respect property, -so I followed the example of the officers, and sprang on the first steed -I came across, eager to see the fun. - -“The court house stood nearly at the opposite end of the village, from -that out of which led the road to Squankum, and when I mounted my horse, -Slashbey was scouring down the main street some hundred yards ahead. -Before a minute, however, the sheriff and his pack were in full cry at -the fugitive’s heels, while as many of the spectators as could find -horses and vehicles started off, a few to aid the law, but most to enjoy -the sport. And, by my faith! what a sight it was! Foremost in the chase -gallopped the sheriff, his hat off and his queue flying behind, bawling -himself red in the face by cries of ‘stop thief,’ ‘head him off,’ -‘maintain the laws,’ amid the laughter of some and the shouts of others -of the crowd. At every few leaps Slashbey would turn his face ruefully -around to see whether his pursuers gained on him or not—reminding one -of Tam O’Shanter, of blissful memory, when he saw the witches yelling -after him. The captain would never have won the prize at Astley’s for -horsemanship, and now, what betwixt his hurry and affright, he rode like -a frightened monkey at a circus. Gilpin did not create more excitement -in his famous race. The shopmen left their counters, the blacksmith -hurried from his forge, the school children followed the pedagogue to -the window, and the very chanticleers, unwilling to let the hubbub go by -without they partook in it, flapped their wings on the garden fences and -crowed lustily. But with your leave, I’ll pause to fill my glass, for a -man telling a story is like a steam-engine—he can’t get on without he -keeps the fire blazing. - -“The race was now at its height. The uproar was tremendous. Up flew the -windows, and out popped the heads. The women shrieked, the pigs -squealed, the men laughed, the boys cheered, and a dozen curs hurried -yelping and snapping at Thunderer’s heels, who, alarmed at the hue and -cry around him, pricked up his ears, snorted, and fairly taking the bit -in his teeth, went off at a frantic pace. You would have died with -laughter had you seen Slashbey then. Holding on to the rein with one -hand, he grasped the mane desperately with the other, and, sticking his -feet up to the heels in the stirrup, he leaned forward until he lay -almost prostrate on the horse’s neck, while the tails of his coat flying -up behind disclosed the fair rotundity beneath, over which his shining -new buff cassimeres were stretched as tight as a drum-head. At every -leap he bounced three feet from the saddle. The shouts of the _posse_ in -his rear increased, while the captain’s rueful looks behind became more -frequent. Some cried ‘murder,’ others bawled ‘stop thief.’ The -perspiration poured down the captain’s cheeks. He gasped for breath. -And, to crown all, as he got opposite his charmer’s dwelling, a puff of -wind swept off his wig—for his hat had been left in the court house in -his hurry—and the envied locks sailing away to the rear amid convulsive -shouts of laughter on the part of the crowd, betrayed the bald pate of -Slashbey glistening like burnished silver in the sun. - -“‘Go it, fat ’un, and never mind the scratch,’ roared a ragged -spectator, who was fairly dancing with delight. - -“‘Hip—ho—heave ahead there,’ shouted another, shieing a missile at the -fugitive. - -“‘Whow—whow—whoa,’ halloed others, running out in front of Thunderer -and waving their arms and hats before his eyes, but scampering hither -and thither as soon as the frightened steed drew near. - -[Illustration] - -“The captain felt his heart sink within him at this accumulation of -disasters, and he could scarcely summon courage to look up, but he made -a desperate effort, and—oh! shades of the gallant tenth—there was his -mistress at the window pointing to his glossy pate, and laughing until -the tears ran out of her eyes. - -“The captain felt that his last hope was gone, and in a moment of -despair would have reined in his horse, but Thunderer took the matter in -his own hands and kept on at a thrashing pace, amid the shouts and -pelting of the crowd. He dashed down the cross-street, clattered over -the bridge, and in a few minutes crossed the brow of the neighboring -hill in a cloud of dust. The motley group in pursuit kept on, but when -Thunderer’s mettle was up there wasn’t his match in the whole county, so -that before long, one after another of the _posse_ drew in, leaving only -the sheriff and his deputies in pursuit. These, too, gave out before -they reached the vicinity of the enchanted land, in other words, the -cedar swamps this side of Squankum. - -“The joke clove to the captain’s name closer than a brother. The little -vixen of an heiress had all along been coquetting with “the gallant -warrior,” and now she was the loudest among the laughers at her wigless -beau. She filled up Slashbey’s cup of sorrow by marrying, shortly after, -the gallant whose nose the captain had pulled. - -“What branch of the service,” asked a spooney lieutenant from the bottom -of the table, after the laughter had somewhat subsided, “did you say -your friend belonged to?” - -“I didn’t particularize,” coolly said the narrator, “but I believe it -was the _flying_ artillery.” - - * * * * * - - - - - THE REEFER OF ’76. - - - BY THE “AUTHOR OF CRUIZING IN THE LAST WAR.” - - - THE SHIPWRECK. - -The arrival of our battered fleet in the Texal, was the signal for a -diplomatic war betwixt the ministers of England, Holland and France. The -result of this encounter of wits, was the secret transfer of the -captured ships to the latter power, and an order from the Prince of -Orange to quit his dominions. Accordingly, Paul Jones, having superseded -Landais in command of the Alliance, put to sea on the 27th of December, -1779, and, after running the gauntlet of the channel fleet, and -approaching near enough to the Downs to examine its force, reached the -roads of Groix on the 10th of February, 1780, in safety. As these things -are matters of history, I briefly pass them over, the more readily -because I did not myself accompany the commodore; for having found a -letter from my captain, lying for me at Holland, requiring my return to -Paris, I seized the first opportunity and started for France within a -fortnight after the capture of the Serapis. - -Our run through the straits was pleasant, and we had every prospect of a -speedy voyage until our second day out, when the wind freshened into a -gale, and before night it was blowing, as the old tars had it, “great -guns and marlinspikes.” Every thing, however, was made fast and clean, -and toward midnight I sought my hammock, and in a few moments, with a -sailor’s carelessness, had forgotten our danger in sleep. How long I -slept I cannot tell, but I was suddenly aroused from my slumbers by the -heeling of the ship, and as I started up in my berth, I heard the salt -water dashing through the cabin, and roaring in the hold as if the -bulk-heads were giving way. The lights were out, and I could see -nothing, but I knew by the sound that the water was pouring in a -cataract down the companion way, and that all escape therefore by that -path was cut off. Could the ship be sinking?—had she broached -to?—where were the crew? were the questions that rushed through my mind -at that awful moment. I listened a second to hear, if I could, any sign -of my fellow passengers in the cabin; but the place appeared to be -deserted. Knowing that no time was to be lost, I sprang to the window in -the stern, but—Good God! the dead lights were in, and all escape by -that way was closed on me. Louder and louder roared the waters into the -cabin, already they were dashing their cold spray around me, and in a -few seconds they would submerge my berth. Death stared me in the -face—death, too, in its most horrid guise. My brain whirled, my knees -shook, my skin felt cold as the grave, and my usually buoyant heart sank -within me. But these feelings triumphed only for a moment. My native -resolution came speedily to my aid, and I determined to die, since die I -must, like the old philosopher who wrapped his garments around him and -lay down as if to a pleasant sleep. At this instant I suddenly -remembered that the cabin had an outlet overhead, and groping my way -along, half buried in water the while, I caught hold of the frame work -of the binnacle, and dashing the glass out with my hand, raised myself -up, and, the next minute, crawled on deck. For an instant—so terrific -was the violence of the gale which swept past me—I could neither see, -hear, nor stand. The rain and hail beating fiercely against me, pinned -me down to the spot which I had first gained, while the thunder of the -hurricane that went whistling and roaring by, seemed to forebode the -approach of the final day itself. Oceans of water deluged the deck, -hissing past me like the scornful laughter of fiends. At length I -managed to raise my head and cast a glance at the scene around me. The -darkness was almost impenetrable, but sufficient light existed to -convince me that the decks were deserted, and that the ship was lying on -her beam-ends, with cataracts of water rolling momently over her -windward side. Oh! God, what a ruin! Officer and man, passengers and -crew, all, all had been swept away by the devouring surge, and I alone -was left, preserved almost by a miracle. I gazed to leeward, but only a -waste of driving foam met my eye—I looked astern, nothing but the green -monsters of the deep, rolling mountain high, were seen. At this instant -another deluge of foam whistled past, blinding my eyes with spray, and -jerking me with a giant’s power from my hold. Buried in brine, bruised, -despairing, and almost stunned, I thought my hour had come, and -breathing a momentary prayer to heaven for mercy, I resigned myself to -death. Suddenly my hand struck against something, which, with an -instinctive love for life, I grasped. My progress was instantaneously -checked, and, although the resistance almost snapped my arms from their -sockets, I still clung to the object I had caught. When the billow had -whirled past, and the spray had ceased to blind my eyes, I saw that I -had seized one of the posts of the bulwarks. Taking advantage of a -momentary lull, I crept to a place of greater security, and sat down to -ponder over my chances of escape. - -All through that awful night I clung to my frail support, expecting -momently to be swept from it into eternity. Language cannot describe my -feelings. No pen can paint the horrors of those long and dreary hours. -The air grew intensely cold: the rain became hail. The sky, if possible, -lowered more gloomily, and the billows rolled higher and higher around -me, while the deep tones of the tempest mingled with the chafing of the -surges, rose up over all like the wild choral symphony which we dream of -as forever rising from the world of ruin and despair. Borne aloft on the -waves, or hurried down into the abyss, drenched, bruised, and -bewildered, I saw no gleam of hope. Beneath me was the boiling -deep—above me the sky seemed settling bodily down. Now the gale -whistled shrilly past, or now wailed moaningly away to leeward. Darkness -and terror were all around me. - -At length the morning dawned, but slowly and despairingly. The gale -somewhat subsided, too; but its violence was still terrific. In the -eastern firmament there was a dull, misty light, hanging like a belt -along the seaboard, but the sun itself was completely obscured. By the -faint glimmer thus thrown around the scene, I hoped to distinguish some -approaching sail. It was in vain. Nothing met my vision, save the wild -waste tossing to and fro in agony. Again and again I looked,—but again -and again in vain. At length I caught sight of what would have seemed to -a landsman to be the foam on the crest of a far off wave, but which I -knew to be a sail. How my heart throbbed as I watched the course of the -approaching craft! I soon made her out to be a ship driving before the -gale under a close reefed main-course, and as she approached nearer, I -saw that she was an English man-of-war. Captivity was better than death, -and I did not, therefore, hesitate. I shouted aloud. But I might as well -have lifted up my voice against the thunder. I waved my arm aloft. It -was in vain. I clambered up on the weather-quarter, and once more waving -my arm, shouted with superhuman strength. The head of the frigate came -gallantly around, and with a cry of joy, I saw the man-of-war make -towards me. Big tears of gratitude rushed into my eyes, and my throat -parched with emotion. On came the noble stranger, swinging her tall -masts gracefully, and in a few minutes she was close on to me. I could -see the look-outs gazing towards me. In a little space I should be -rescued. At this moment a billow broke over me again, but, undaunted by -the drenching, when I rose to the surface, I turned gaily in the -direction of the frigate. God of my fathers!—she was not to be seen! I -gazed with a throbbing heart to windward, and there was the man-of-war, -edging away from me as if unconscious of my presence. I gazed -speechlessly on her. The truth broke agonizingly on me. The frigate had -approached the wreck, and not seeing me, had thought all on board lost, -and resumed her course. In vain I shouted, and in vain I waved my arm -frantically on high. I felt from the first there was no hope, and at -length, giving over every effort, I crouched down once more in that -state of complete exhaustion, both mentally and physically, which -ensues, when the excitement of hope is followed by the certainty of -despair. - -The day wore on. The tempest slowly abated. Yet no welcome sail met my -vision, unless a few far off crafts which crossed the seaboard, hull -down, and which brought no hope, could be called welcome. As hour after -hour wore away, my hold on life grew weaker and weaker. My physical -powers, I felt, could not much longer endure this exposure to tempest -and cold. Already the blood seemed at a stand in my extremities, and I -fancied I felt the cold chill shuddering up to my heart. A drowsiness -came over me. But rallying myself, I beat my hands and stamped my feet -to invigorate, if possible, the vital current. At length I paused from -pure exhaustion. Still no aid appeared. My spirits at length flagged. I -felt that utter prostration which, by taking away the spring of hope, -deprives us of all motive for exertion, and is the sure forerunner of a -death of despair. I lost all longing for life. The sensation of cold -subsided. I felt no pain. A dreamy bliss crept soothingly over my -soul—the sea, the sky, the air, the wreck swam around before -me—visions such as no mortal eye hath seen or imagined, thronged on my -brain—an exstacy I cannot describe, but which makes my hand even now -tremble with rapture, possessed me,—and then all is blank. - -Again, and I dreamed. I seemed to be in the centre of a vast void, a -universe of darkness and obscurity. Yet all was not gloom. For amid the -shadowy firmament appeared a fair bright face beaming upon me like an -angel’s from the clouds—a face whose features were written on my inmost -heart, so soft and seraphic was their expression! I knew it—it was that -of Beatrice. The mild blue eye, the hair of wavy gold, the brow that -rivalled a Madonna’s, and more than all, the smile which now appeared -all glorified, told me that face was hers. And it gazed on me with pity -and love. And then I heard a voice—like and yet unlike hers, for the -tone was that of Beatrice, but even sweeter, and, oh! how heavenly! The -very air seemed music. Was she, indeed, a beatified spirit sent to waft -me onward to a brighter world? - -But once more all was dark—a voiceless void! I had but one feeling, and -that was of being. I knew not, heard not, saw not. I could not think. -But my soul was, as it were, agony itself. - -At length a light broke in on that void. My brain swam and I faintly -opened my eyes. Was I yet an inhabitant of earth? The bed, the curtains, -the room beyond convinced me at length that I lived. I feebly raised -myself up and gazed around. A footstep approached. Overcome with -faintness I sank down. A hand put aside the curtains, a cry of joy broke -from the intruder, a hot tear-drop fell on my face. I looked up, and -there was Beatrice! - -“My own—” I faintly articulated. - -“Hush!—not a word yet,” she said archly, placing her fingers to her -lips with a smile. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE INTERESTING STRANGER. - - - OR, DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. - - - BY EMMA C. EMBURY. - - -On a hot sultry afternoon, in the August of 18—, a tall, pale, -melancholy-looking gentleman alighted from the stage-coach at the door -of the Eagle Tavern, in Buffalo, and, after a few minutes’ conversation -with the bar-keeper, was ushered into a handsome private parlor, while -his baggage was carried to one of the finest bed-rooms in the house. -Perhaps, had the stranger mingled carelessly with the loungers on the -piazza, after his arrival, he would have attracted little more attention -than the companions of his wearisome journey, for, excepting a slight -moustache on his upper lip, there was nothing to distinguish him in -external appearance. But his quiet, grave deportment, and the desire for -seclusion which he exhibited, excited the curiosity of the news-mongers, -and a thousand conjectures concerning him were immediately set afloat. -The stranger, however, seemed little disposed to satisfy the spirit of -inquiry which prevails so extensively in American hotels; for, after -taking possession of his apartments, he appeared no more that evening, -and the waiter, who carried to him his supper, could only say that “he -was a _real_ gentleman, for he had given him a hard dollar—that he wore -a flowered silk dressing-gown and embroidered slippers, and that he was -going to stay in Buffalo a month.” The next morning the interest which -he had excited extended itself to the no less curious gossips of the -gentler sex; and, when the bell rang for dinner, many an eye was turned -to the closed door of Room No. 2, in the hope of seeing its inmate -emerge from his retirement. They were not doomed to disappointment. -After all were seated at table, the stranger glided quietly into the -dining-hall, and took his seat at the foot of the well-filled board, -apparently unconscious of the piercing glances which were directed -towards him. Notwithstanding the profusion of dainties which were -officiously offered him by the waiter, whose heart had been won by the -“hard dollar” on the previous night, he merely tasted a single dish, and -refusing all the luxuries of the dessert, finished his frugal meal with -a bit of dry bread and a glass of iced water. His abstemiousness and -abstraction of manner excited the attention of every one, and when he -silently rose to leave the table, many a glance followed his -slowly-receding form. The ladies had not failed to observe his stately -figure, his fine aquiline nose, the melancholy softness of his dark -eyes, and the beauty of his hands, which were small, white and tapering, -as, according to Napoleon and Byron, all aristocratic hands should be. -They at once decided that he was a person of some distinction; perhaps -an English nobleman incognito, or at least a rich and well-born -Southerner. But a week had elapsed before he chose to give any other -idea of his rank and station than might be derived from the register of -the hotel, where he had inscribed, in a very elegant hand, the name of -“Charles Stuart Montague, New Orleans.” Polite, courteous and -gentlemanly to every one whom he chanced to encounter, particularly to -females, he soon won the suffrages of all by his civilities, while he -excited general sympathy by his uniform sadness of deportment. - -Among the inmates of the house was the Hon. Mr. Windlespin, an extensive -land-holder and an ex-member of Congress, who, with his two daughters, -had recently returned from a visit to France, and now occupied -elegantly-furnished apartments in the hotel. The saloon appropriated to -this family was directly opposite to that occupied by Mr. Montague, and -the ladies were dying with curiosity to learn something about their -handsome neighbor. The heat of the weather compelled both to leave open -the doors of their respective apartments, and the many furtive looks -which the two Misses Windlespin cast into the tempting room had enabled -them to catch a glimpse of a richly-enchased writing-case upon the -centre table, and a guitar leaning against the chimney-piece, while they -had several times enjoyed the opportunity of watching the solemn step of -the melancholy stranger, as, attired in the said silk dressing-gown, he -paced the limits of his apartment. They reflected much upon the singular -mystery which seemed to involve him. What could make him so unhappy? He -was evidently rich, handsome, and, as they were willing to believe, -accomplished—for the mournful strains of a flute were sometimes heard -at the dim twilight, and occasionally a few chords on the guitar, struck -as if with a trembling hand, resounded through his lonely room. What -could be the cause of such deep despondency? - -But Mr. Montague had not been quite insensible to the vicinity of the -elegant Misses Windlespin. A graceful bow had frequently marked his -consciousness of their presence as he passed the open door of the -parlor; and, more than once, he had paused at the entrance of the -dining-hall, while they swept by to take their places at table, -acknowledging his politeness by a profound courtesy _à la mode de -Paris_. In the course of the changes which daily occur at a public -table, Mr. Montague had gradually moved up, until, as one of the oldest -boarders in the house, he occupied a seat next to the Windlespin family. -A fine opportunity was now offered for those civilities which cost so -little and are often productive of so many pleasant results. By degrees -the abstraction of the melancholy gentleman was beguiled by the charms -of his fair neighbors, and the ladies noticed, with no small degree of -satisfaction, that they could induce him, not only to prolong his stay -at table, but also to exchange his frugal fare for the dainties which -they so much enjoyed. In short, an acquaintance between them had fairly -commenced, and they mutually congratulated each other when the -“_interesting stranger_” actually accepted an invitation to pass an -evening with them. - -Miss Grace Windlespin was a sentimentalist, while her sister Catharine -affected vivacity and brilliancy. The elder was all poetry—the younger -all fun and frolic. Grace spoke in a gentle voice, and raised her blue -eyes sweetly and languidly to the face of those whom she addressed; -while Kate (for so, in imitation of Shakspeare’s heroine, she affected -to be styled) turned the full light of her bold laughing glances on -every one worth looking at. The one delighted in the soft pleasures of -sensibility—the other in the ready repartee and saucy jest. In short, -the sisters were alike in nothing except their excessive affectation. -Neither of them exhibited her natural character; all was assumed for -effect, and each had studied the part best suited to her style of -beauty. The slightly-bending figure, pale complexion and long chestnut -ringlets of Grace were admirably suited to her very _poetic_ manner; -while the blonde hair, rosy cheeks and somewhat dumpy person of her -merry sister were equally well suited to the devil-may-care character -which she chose to assume. - -Their father was one of those kind of persons who are constantly engaged -in visionary schemes of wealth. Nobody better understood how to puff up -a bubble—nobody was better skilled in “mapping out” landed -estates—nobody possessed in such perfection the gift of -“_fortune-telling_” as the Hon. Mr. Windlespin. Originally a country -shop-keeper in Jersey, his first start in life had been rather an odd -one. Taking advantage of the mania for “real estate speculations,” which -pervaded the whole country, he, in company with several others, -projected a new city, to be located upon their extensive and somewhat -barren farms. Accordingly a large hotel was built, a meeting-house -erected, a school-house raised, and some half dozen dwelling-houses were -ranged along what was meant to be the main street. In an incredibly -short time all was completed, and every thing was ready except the -people who were required to occupy the infant city. These were still to -be found, and the company began to discover that it would be exceedingly -inconvenient to pay “_interest monies_” without some assistance. At this -juncture the genius of Mr. Windlespin devised an expedient for bringing -their new settlement into notice. He advertised in all the papers that a -purse of fifty dollars would be “_danced for_” by twelve _Communipaw -negroes_—the dancers to be selected from as many as chose to try their -skill previous to the grand effort. The scene of these new _Athletæ_ was -to be the extensive plain which fronted the hotel at -“_Scipio-Africanus_”—for such was the sounding title which Mr. -Windlespin, after a careful search into an old copy of Lemprière’s -dictionary, had chosen for the incipient city. The idle, the dissolute, -and the shiftless—the people who are most easily led to change their -habitations, like wandering Arabs, are the very men who were most likely -to be attracted by such a queer and novel amusement. Accordingly Mr. -Windlespin’s plan succeeded admirably. On the day appointed for the -selection of the sable candidates for _saltatory honors_, several -hundred people were assembled in and about the hotel, while a still -greater number of the dark race were gathered to exhibit their skill. -Certain rules were laid down for the governance of the assembly—a place -was cleared for the exhibition—the negroes came forward by tens, and he -who could tire down all his companions was set aside as worthy to -compete for the prize. The first day was consumed in this important -investigation; _thirty_ first-rate professors of the double-shuffle and -heel-and-toe exercise had been chosen, and the following day was to be -devoted to the selection of the appointed _twelve_, from this reduced -number of candidates. The hotel was filled to overflowing—the dwelling -houses were no longer empty shells; but, furnished with camp beds, -offered shelter and repose to the wearied spectators, and even the -meeting-house was appropriated to their accommodation. The second day -was similarly spent, except that the concourse of visiters had -increased, and the excitement of the scene had produced sundry brawls -and broken heads. The third and last day was appropriated to the -performance of the selected twelve, and the final adjudication of the -purse. Never had there been such gyrations, such circumflexions, such -saltations as were then witnessed. Never had a victory been purchased at -such a sudoriferous expense. One after another, the dancers withdrew -exhausted, until only three were left, who seemed to bid defiance to -fatigue. Hour after hour they continued their exertions, until they -seemed to be converted into mere machines, and with staring eyes, -stiffened limbs, and shining faces, appeared like monstrous images, -moved by some mechanical force. At last the spectators became completely -tired with this exhibition of perpetual motion. They insisted that the -prize should be equally divided between the three indefatigable dancers, -and thus the singular entertainment closed. - -But Windlespin had not been idle during those three days. His brandy was -very excellent—he made “glorious” rum punch—his cigars were real -“Habanas,” and his customers had fully enjoyed the manifold creature -comforts which he offered them. When they prepared to return home, most -of them carried in their pockets the deed of a building-lot in the town -of Scipio-Africanus, for which they had paid ten per cent. of the -purchase-money, and given a bond and mortgage for the remainder; while a -few, being persuaded that the neighborhood of such a hotel was a most -desirable addition to the comforts of a family, concluded to take -immediate possession of the houses already erected. Thus did the -incipient city receive its earliest inhabitants, and though it has never -yet been obliged to enlarge its borders in consequence of -_over-populousness_, it still drags on a sickly existence, having, -however, exchanged its original euphonious title for the more simple but -no less expressive one of “_Niggertown_.” - -Mr. Windlespin’s grand stroke of policy remained yet to be shown. As -treasurer of the company, as well as officiating master of the hotel, -all monies derived from the custom at the bar, as well as from the sale -of building-lots, had passed through his hands. After the affair was -over, he called a meeting of the company, exhibited a statement of -expenses and receipts, and after deducting the former, paid over the -latter to the various members, reserving to himself a handsome -commission for his trouble. He did not think it necessary to inform his -confederates of the fact that every thing had been purchased on credit, -and that, so far from paying the expenses, he had, by using their names, -rendered them liable for the debt which had been incurred, but quietly -pocketing the lion’s share of the spoils, he bade adieu to the limits of -“Niggertown,” in order to try his luck in a new field. - -Such was Mr. Windlespin’s first essay in fortune-hunting, and several -affairs of a similar nature had so increased his means, that he found -himself quite a respected resident in one of our northern cities, almost -before he was aware of his elevated position in society. He was finally -chosen a member of congress for the district, and though, owing to some -dubious transaction, his seat was disputed, and he magnanimously -resigned what he knew he could not keep, yet he never relinquished the -prefix of Honorable, to which the choice of his constituents entitled -him. Shortly before the appearance of Mr. Charles Stuart Montague upon -the scene, Mr. Windlespin had taken his daughters to Paris, where they -received the benefit of foreign polish for six weeks, and then returned -as highly accomplished as a modern boarding-school, a journey in a -French diligence and a taste of French cookery could make them. They -meant to marry, and to marry rich, and therefore each had chosen a part -which, while it offered a wide field, was likely, as they supposed, to -occasion no rivalry. - -Mr. Windlespin was too wily to be long in doubt as to Mr. Montague’s -circumstances. He managed to discover that he was a widower, sorrowing -over the recent loss of a beloved wife, and that he had come to the -north with the double motive of dissipating his grief, and purchasing a -certain description of merchandise, which he designed to send to the -city of Galveston, where a branch of his widely-extended commercial -house was established. This news was of course communicated to the young -ladies, and while Grace became doubly sentimental, Kate, the amiable -romp, determined to wile him from his vain regrets by the charms of -gayety. Leaving his daughters to pursue their matrimonial plans, Mr. -Windlespin determined to make the most of his present opportunities, -and, if possible, to gain some percentage on account of the interesting -stranger. He accordingly sounded a friend, a careful old Scotchman, who -dealt largely in the kind of goods required by Mr. Montague, and -endeavored to secure a handsome commission from him, in case he brought -him so profitable a customer. But the crafty old fellow was not to be -caught with fair promises; he required proof of Mr. Montague’s ability -to become a cash customer, and accepted an invitation to meet him at Mr. -Windlespin’s apartments. But the scene which met his eyes when he -entered the parlor at early twilight, was not calculated to give him a -very exalted opinion of his anticipated dealer. The elegant Mr. -Montague, attired in pantaloons of spotless white, with gaiters of the -same snowy hue, extending within an inch of the toe of his shining -boot—a blue silk fancy jacket, fastened to his waist by a sash of -crimson net—an embroidered collar, turned back from his throat, and -embroidered ruffles dangling over his delicate hands, seemed to the -rough old borderer like the very personification of effeminacy and -folly. But when he only half rose from his graceful attitude, and -extended the tip of his finger to the visiter, while he directly turned -from him to continue his flirtation with the sisters, Mr. MacDonald lost -all patience with himself for having been foolish enough to expect any -benefit from such a “popinjay.” But even Mr. MacDonald could not read -the character of the “interesting stranger.” Early on the following -morning, he had scarcely reached the counting-room, when he was -surprised by a visit from Mr. Montague, and the old man could scarcely -identify the hero of the past evening’s manœuvres in the keen and -practised man of business who now addressed him. - -“I never talk on business in the presence of ladies, sir,” said the -elegant gentleman, “and this, I hope, will account for my silence on the -subject last evening; if I am rightly informed, however, you are the -very person to whom I was advised to apply by my friend Mr. Tickler, of -New Orleans.” - -“Ah, Mr. Tickler, cashier of the Sugarcane Bank, you mean; an old friend -of mine,” answered Mr. MacDonald, “did he give you letters to me?” - -“No, sir,” answered Mr. Montague; “when I left New Orleans, I was not -certain whether I should visit Buffalo, or limit my journey to New York, -and therefore I brought no letters to any one in this city. However, you -probably know your friend’s hand-writing, and, if so, these papers will -answer our purpose better than a mere empty introduction.” With these -words he drew from his pocket-book sundry certificates of deposit in the -Sugarcane Bank, which bore the signature of the cashier. - -“That is his hand, sure enough, and a crabbed fist he writes too,” said -Mr. MacDonald, after a close scrutiny of the proffered papers. While -examining the signatures, the careful old man had not forgotten to -glance at the amounts, and he thus learned that the sum of _thirty -thousand dollars_ was at that moment lying in the Sugarcane Bank to the -credit of Mr. Charles Stuart Montague. - -“I am desirous of purchasing some twenty or thirty thousand dollars -worth of goods,” said the gentleman, carelessly, “and if I can get them -sufficiently cheap here to pay the cost of transportation to New York, I -would rather buy in Buffalo than hunt among the Pearl street jobbers in -that Babel of a city. I mean to pay cash, and shall ship the goods -immediately to Galveston.” - -“What an immense business those southern merchants must do,” mentally -exclaimed Mr. MacDonald; “he speaks of dollars as if they were pebbles.” - -Mr. Montague continued: “If you are disposed to let me have the -specified articles at fair prices, with a liberal discount for cash, I -will immediately make arrangements to have them sent on. However,” he -added, noticing the cautious Scotchman’s hesitation, “perhaps you had -better take till to-morrow to think about it, and, in the mean time, I -will look round the market, and may possibly be able to find better -bargains than you can afford me.” - -“Hang the fellow’s boldness,” thought Mr. MacDonald; “if he were a rogue -he would not be so indifferent about the matter.” He determined, -however, to consult Mr. Windlespin before he made his decision, and -therefore fixed upon the following day to settle the affair. Mr. -Windlespin took the opportunity offered by Mr. Montague’s daily visit to -his daughters, and in the course of a private interview with the -merchant, entered into a negotiation with him by which he, Mr. -Windlespin, bound himself to take half the risk, on condition of -receiving half the profits of the sales made to Mr. Montague. Mr. -MacDonald preferred this method to the original proposition of a certain -percentage, as it gave him the opportunity of gaining an advantage over -both the parties. Accordingly Mr. Montague was waited upon by Mr. -MacDonald, and a close and hair-splitting negotiation was carried on for -some time, which resulted in the purchase of goods to the value of -twenty thousand dollars, which were to be delivered to Mr. Montague’s -agent in New York free of all expenses. In return, Mr. Montague handed -to Mr. MacDonald certificates of deposit to the amount of twenty-five -thousand dollars, which were easily negotiable in New York at three per -cent. discount; and as some time would be required to complete the -transaction, the stranger agreed to prolong his stay in Buffalo until -the delivery of the goods in New York. - -In the meanwhile, the elegant widower was managing equally well in his -love affairs. He listened to Kate’s wild sallies with a languid smile, -and patted her round cheek or clasped her luxuriant waist in a most -brother-like or rather _cousin-like_ fashion. To Grace he was all -courtliness and gentleness; if he took her hand it was with an air of -timid respect, which would have done honour to a “_Paladin -chivalresque_,” and if he ventured to hang over her, as she sat in one -of her sentimental attitudes, it was with a look of tender melancholy -which melted her very heart. Each believed herself the favorite. Kate -could draw him from his trance of grief, and Grace was allowed to -sympathise with him. He talked to one of the gayeties of New Orleans—to -the other, of the domestic happiness he had enjoyed there; and when, at -length, he was induced to exercise his musical talents in their behalf, -he played fandangos on the guitar for the lovely Kate, while he poured -forth the mournful voice of the wailing flute for her sentimental -sister. But, notwithstanding all her exquisite sensibility, Grace -Windlespin beheld with secret satisfaction the returning cheerfulness of -the bereaved widower. He talked less of departed joys, and seemed less -despairing of future peace. The miniature of his lost wife was no longer -pressed to his lips with all the fondness of passionate love whenever -his feelings were overpowered by tender recollections, and, though he -still wore it about his neck, it was suspended upon a _hair chain_, the -gift of the gentle Grace, and _presumed_ to be a tress from her own -chestnut locks, though in reality derived from the store of a -fashionable barber in the neighborhood. His watch-guard was braided by -the hands of the lovely hoyden who had laughingly promised him her -garter for the purpose; and, in short, each had reason to suppose -herself the true magnet of attraction. - -But matters were now drawing to a crisis. The goods were now sent on to -New York, and Mr. Montague received tidings that they had been duly -received by his agent. The certificates of deposit were negotiated by -two of the Wall street brokers, and Mr. MacDonald, after paying himself, -handed to the young southerner the balance. It became necessary, -therefore, for Mr. Montague to repair to New York, in order to -superintend the shipment of his merchandise, and he felt himself obliged -to settle his “_affaire du cœur_” before his departure. - - “How happy could I be with either, - Were t’other dear charmer away,” - -sung the “interesting stranger,” as he reflected upon his position -between the rival beauties. But he managed with his usual adroitness. -The gentle Grace contrived to secure an uninterrupted interview with -him, and received a proffer of his heart and hand, both of which gifts -she lovingly accepted, together with a delicate locket, containing some -of her adorer’s raven hair, set in a circlet of aqua-marine -gems—“emblems,” as he said, “of her transparent guilelessness of -character.” A merry game of romps with Kate afforded him a chance of -whispering a declaration in her ear also, and an elegant diamond ring, -“only less brilliant than her own bright eyes”—to use his elegant -phrase—was received by her as a pledge of betrothment to Mr. Charles -Stuart Montague. Having arranged these little matters to his -satisfaction, he departed, leaving his flute, his guitar, and his -writing-case, in charge of the ladies until his return. Meanwhile the -sisters—each imagining she had outwitted the other—kept their own -secret, and patiently awaited the moment when the lover should return to -claim his bride. - -Scarcely a month had elapsed, however, when intelligence of a most -startling nature was received. The certificates of deposit, which had -been forwarded by the New York brokers to their agents in New Orleans, -when presented to the bank for payment, were pronounced to be -_forgeries_! An inquiry was immediately instituted respecting Mr. -Charles Stuart Montague, and the result of the investigation was, that -no such person was known to the cashier of the Sugarcane Bank, and that -the signatures to the certificates, though admirably well executed, were -only _excellent imitations_ of the rugged characters in which Mr. -Tickler usually traced his name. But the length of time which was -required to ascertain that fact, had afforded the gentleman full time to -complete his plans. The goods which he had purchased in Buffalo, had -been sold at auction by his confederate, as soon as they reached New -York. Mr. Montague arrived there in time to divide the spoils; and, -instead of shipping the merchandise, they concluded to ship _themselves_ -for Texas; while Mr. Windlespin and Mr. MacDonald, who had endorsed the -certificates, were left to reimburse the brokers, and to pocket their -own loss. - -The ladies were filled with amazement and grief, and, in the first -overwhelming burst of anguish, revealed to each other the alarming fact -that Mr. Montague was actually _engaged to marry both_! His writing-case -was opened, and found to contain some rose-tinted note paper—a stick of -pink sealing-wax, and an agate seal, with the impressive motto, -“_toujours fidèle_.” But, upon further examination, a private drawer was -discovered, containing the following letters: - - “Dear Jack, - - “Why the deuce don’t you get on faster with your Buffalo scheme? - It will cost as much as it is worth if you stay much longer. I - believe you like the trade of gentleman, for whenever you take - it up you let every thing else hang by the eyelids till you get - into some scrape which drives you ahead. What do you expect to - gain by courting those two girls when you can’t marry either of - them if they were as rich as Jews? For my part I don’t see the - use of playing the devil when there is nothing to be gained by - it. By the way, I promised to send the enclosed letter as the - only means of preventing Mistress Molly from advertising you, as - she does not know where you are. I hope you will be duly - grateful to - - “Your friend, - “T. M.” - -The enclosure was still more curious: - - “U are a big Scamp and a Blackhearted villin. If u hav no - Kumpashum fur me u mite Hav sum for ure own Flesh and - blude—here I am a Washin and goin out to dase work to Feed ure - seven starvin childer wile u are a travellin About jist like a - jintleman—u ought to Bee ashamed so u ought and if u dont cum - home and luke after us I will Advertis u in all The papers. Any - Boddy would no u by ure discrepshun u most insinivatin man—oh - wen I think Of ure butiful Long hare and ure Hansume face I - culde forgiv u every thing only cum back and i will forgiv u and - i will werk fur u agin jist Like i alwase did so as to Save ure - Little wite Hands so no more at present from ure - - “afecshunate Mary Mugson.” - -About two years after the events just recorded, Miss Grace Windlespin -(who had long since discovered that her aqua-marine locket, like her -sister’s diamond, was as false as the lover’s heart) was led to the -hymeneal altar, as the phrase is, by a very respectable _tailor_; while -Miss Kate had tamed down her wild spirit so far as to marry a country -school-master—an elderly widower, with several children. The truth was -that Mr. Windlespin’s land speculations had ended in total ruin, and the -ladies had no time to pick and choose among their admirers, when they -daily feared the exposure of their actual circumstances. They were -married with great parade, however, and immediately after the ceremony -the happy couples set off on a bridal tour—the two husbands having no -doubt that the father’s wedding gift would pay all such little extra -expenses. Among the places of note which they visited was the famous -Auburn prison. The time chosen was the hour when the inmates are usually -led out to dinner, and the ladies stood quietly regarding the gangs of -men, who, with folded arms and locked step, moved forward, as if with a -single impulse, like some complicated machine. Suddenly Grace uttered a -loud shriek, and threw herself tenderly on her husband’s bosom. One of -the prisoners had dared to look at her as he passed, and, unobserved by -his keeper, had even given her a knowing _wink_. Kate kept her own -counsel about it, and did not appear to notice the insolent look of the -handsome felon; but, notwithstanding his shaven head and prison garb, -she, as well as Grace, had recognised the features of “the interesting -stranger”—the elegant Mr. Charles Stuart Montague—alias—Jack Mugson, -the swindler! - - Brooklyn, L. I. - - * * * * * - - - - - IL SERENADO DI VENICE. - - - The sunlight has faded away from the sky, - Bright day has departed, the night draweth nigh; - Then come to the lattice, love, hither and see, - Where waits the gondola, swift-gliding and free. - - The moon is uprising in glorious light, - Her beams on the waters are trembling and bright; - Then haste to thy lattice, love, hither and see, - Where waits the gondola, swift-gliding and free. - - Not a cloud is above, nor a wave here below, - All is quiet and still, save the river’s soft flow; - Oh! come to thy lattice, love, hither and see, - Where waits the gondola, swift-gliding and free. - - Then, away! then, away! let us pass the calm hours, - With the sweet words of love, and with Fancy’s fair flowers - Ere the rose-fingered morn shall appear and renew - The songs of the birds and the pearls of the dew. - Valeria. - - * * * * * - - - - - SHAKSPEARE.—No. III. - - -BY THEODORE S. FAY, AUTHOR OF “NORMAN LESLIE,” “THE COUNTESS IDA,” ETC. - - - LADY MACBETH. - -Shakspeare should be read at least once a year. This is to the mind what -an excursion in the country is to the body—a strengthening, -health-producing process. Each perusal will not be a repetition of the -preceding. On the contrary, no two perusals will ever be alike. Read him -as _a boy_, you will be dazzled and delighted: read him year by year -after, and you will, with each year, behold beauties, sealed to you -before, from your own comparative narrowness of mind and want of -experience. Each event of your life will render you fitter to study him. -Each new acquaintance you form—each history you read—each science you -study—each country you travel into—each step you advance in life—each -friend you lose by treachery or death, will prepare you still further. -Could you go on adding to your experience much more than has ever -(except in Shakspeare’s own case) been added to that of mortal man, each -new progress would still enlarge your capacity for appreciating him. All -men comprehend him differently. The king reads him as he would listen to -the princely counsels of a royal father. The beggar may find in him -something applicable to himself, and something likely to make him -happier and wiser, which he himself had before never thought of—or of -which he had only formed a vague idea. The statesman—the general—the -prince royal—the husband—the father—the wife—the lover—the -unfortunate—the happy—may all come here, and carry away, from the -boundless reservoir, something apparently intended for themselves. He -seems to have described or alluded _to every thing_. He seems to have -taken in the whole range of human nature. - -Poor _old general Montholon_, who was with Napoleon at St. Helena—one -of the most faithful of the friends who have adhered to the fallen -family—is the companion of the Prince Louis Napoleon, in his late -_invasion_ of France. Nearly all were very young men. This white-headed -old soldier appeared among them strangely. Had they succeeded, it was -doubtless their hope to give respectability to their cause by his -presence. - -The same thing is proposed in Julius Cæsar, by the conspirators, -respecting Cicero. - - “_Cassius._ But what of Cicero? shall we send him? - I think he will stand very strong with us. - _Casca._ Let us not have him out. - _Cinna._ No, by no means. - _Metellus._ O, let us have him; for his silver hairs - Will purchase us a good opinion, - And buy men’s voices to commend our deeds: - It shall be said his judgment ruled our hands; - Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear, - But all be buried in his gravity.” - -I am not going to reprint the beauties of Shakspeare. Instances like the -above—_a case_—an event—a feature of human nature—are so common that -they need not be pointed out. Thousands of years hence, as the -numberless crowd of unexpected events come on, it will be found that -this poet has already described them. - -These thoughts occurred to me the other evening after taking up casually -a volume of Macbeth—perhaps one of the most tremendous portraitures of -human nature that ever came from the pen of man. The play opened by -chance to the scene where the remorse-haunted queen walks in her sleep. -Surely no human writer ever set down, in the same number of words, a -more terrific picture. It has upon me almost the effect ascribed to -Medusa’s head. It nearly turns me to stone. We know that but few of the -great Greek tragedies have descended to the modern reader, but neither -in them, nor in any of the ancient or modern writers, is there a scene -more highly conceived, more perfectly executed, or acting with more -power upon the heart and the imagination. I have not read any comments -or commentators, German or English, respecting it, and therefore very -probably may omit some of its peculiarities. I think it _the_ scene of -Macbeth, the climax and moral of the tragedy, and perhaps the finest and -most extraordinary piece of writing in the whole of the author’s works. -No where in the range of literature is there to be seen such a frightful -fragment of human nature. I can never read it without feeling the blood -grow cold in my veins, and receiving a most painful heart-sick -impression of the evils which hang over the mortal state, when not -protected by moral and religious principle; and I can perfectly -understand an anecdote related of Mrs. Siddons, who, on attempting to -study the part alone in her room at night, became so frightened that she -called her maid as a companion. Perhaps the Shaksperian theorist, who -has discovered that the purpose of our poet’s works was to make an -illustration of the truth of Christianity, by putting within every -man’s, every boy’s reach the whole compass of experience to be derived -from a hundred eventful lives, had an eye upon this scene among others. -It certainly has to me a profound metaphysical and religious meaning, -and is best explained by supposing it, like Othello, a gigantic enigma, -of which Christianity is the solution. To represent human nature thus, -without offering any remedial or softening consideration, was not -characteristic of the sweet, gentle and sunshiny imagination of the -poet. His whole works, taken together, do not leave any such shadow on -the imagination. He is no misanthrope—no infidel. He points with his -wand to human nature as she is, unguided, unsustained, unprotected by -the Supreme Power. He draws the blood-stained yet heart-crushed queen, -not to appal us with a danger to which we are subject, but to point out -one which we can avoid. - -The scene is very short, and I will give it, that the reader may the -more readily understand me. - - Act V. Scene I. - _Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a Waiting Gentlewoman._ - - _Doct._ I have two nights watch’d with you, but can perceive no - truth in your report. When was it she last walk’d? - - _Gent._ Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her - rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her - closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, - afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while - in a most fast sleep. - - _Doct._ A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the - benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this - slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actual - performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say? - - _Gent._ That, sir, which I will not report after her. - - _Doct._ You may, to me; and ’tis most meet you should. - - _Gent._ Neither to you, nor any one; having no witness to - confirm my speech. - - _Enter_ Lady Macbeth, _with a Taper_. - - Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my - life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close. - - _Doct._ How came she by that light? - - _Gent._ Why, it stood by her; she has light by her continually; - ’tis her command. - - _Doct._ You see, her eyes are open. - - _Gent._ Ay, but their sense is shut. - - _Doct._ What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands. - - _Gent._ It is an accustom’d action with her, to seem thus - washing her hands; I have known her continue in this a quarter - of an hour. - - _Lady._ Yet here’s a spot. - - _Doct._ Hark, she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, - to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly. - - _Lady._ Out, damned spot! out, I say!—One; two; why, then ’tis - time to do ’t; Hell is murky!—Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and - afraid? what need we fear who knows it, when none can call our - power to account?—Yet who would have thought the old man to - have had so much blood in him? - - _Doct._ Do you mark that? - - _Lady._ The thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? What, - will these hands ne’er be clean?—No more o’ that, my lord, no - more o’ that: you mar all with this starting. - - _Doct._ Go to, go to; you have known what you should not. - - _Gent._ She has spoke, what she should not, I am sure of that: - heaven knows what she has known. - - _Lady._ Here’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of - Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh! - - _Doct._ What a sight is there? The heart is sorely charg’d! - - _Gent._ I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the - dignity of the whole body. - - _Doct._ Well, well, well,— - - _Gent._ Pray God, it be, sir. - - _Doct._ This disease is beyond my practice: Yet I have known - those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in - their beds. - - _Lady._ Wash your hands, put on your night-gown; look not so - pale.—I tell you yet again, Banquo’s buried; he cannot come out - of his grave. - - _Doct._ Even so? - - _Lady._ To bed, to bed; there’s knocking at the gate.—Come, - come, come, come, give me your hand; what’s done cannot be - undone: To bed, to bed, to bed. (_Exit Lady._ - - _Doct._ Will she go now to bed? - - _Gent._ Directly. - - _Doct._ Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural deeds - Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds - To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. - More needs she the divine, than the physician.— - God, God, forgive us all! Look after her; - Remove from her the means of all annoyance, - And still keep eyes upon her:—So, good-night: - My mind she has mated, and amaz’d my sight: - I think, but dare not speak. - - _Gent._ Good-night, good doctor. (_Exeunt._ - -There is not _a single word_ of this scene which can be spared—not one -which is not impregnated with blood and horror. You feel the very -silence of the sick, midnight apartment. Ye see the pale ashy -countenance of the terror-stricken gentlewoman, and sympathize with her -in having her lot cast in such an abode of guilt and danger. You see -that she has called up all her energy and presence of mind, as in a -great crisis, to enable her to conduct herself wisely, and to escape -with safety from this den of royal murderers. You can see her cautious -step—as if she started even at the creaking of her own shoe—the -rustling of her own robe, or the sighing of the wind around the distant -turrets of the castle. You have here a most admirable character, and, -except that she is but so short a time on the stage, almost as worthy -the genius of Mrs. Siddons as that of Lady Macbeth herself. Were I a -young actress, desirous of making my appearance before the public, I -should choose to study thoroughly and represent well this character -first,—a very great effect might be given to it. - -The doctor is also done to the life. He is, in all respects, not only -the medical man, but the medical man of coolness and experience. The few -words he utters are full of curiosity, but not of the unbridled horror -of his companion. He has doubtless, before, witnessed scenes enough of -pain and anguish, and he is at first disposed to consider the -gentlewoman as an exaggerator of the mysteries she professes to have -beheld, and to treat the whole thing physically as a disease, till the -truth becomes too apparent, and even his cool mind is convinced. - -Lady Macbeth herself is the very _ne plus ultra_ of the tragic. She has -more terror in her step and eye, than a mere mortal ever had before. -Waking remorse would not have been, by any means, so appalling. The fact -of her being asleep is a great accessory. That pale face—those fixed, -staring, dead eyes—the countenance emaciated by disease, and the long -consuming fire of conscience—the step, solemn, slow, measured and -unearthly—and the dark, dim and shifting imagery of the past, which -floats to and fro through her imagination, form altogether a spectacle -shocking and almost insupportable. - -Let us take this extraordinary scene to pieces, and examine a little -into its mechanism. One of the wonders of it is that there is no resort -to _style_—no description—no bursts of eloquence—no lava-like -eruption of passions. There are indeed but very few words said at all. -The sick lady has, at first, no terrors for the doctor, and the -gentlewoman has often beheld the same thing before. There is no stage -effect—no management—no melo-dramatic cunning. The doctor even shows -his coolness and incredulity, and makes a careless general remark. The -transcendant genius of the poet felt, intuitively, that the situation of -his characters here was so complete as to absorb the reader, and render -unnecessary any but the simplest language. The whole scene is quiet, -hushed and professional. Even the blank verse of the rest of the tragedy -is laid aside, and the characters speak in common-place perfectly -natural prose. Let us see what this almost supernatural terror consists -in. - -The doctor first says, we may suppose with a certain half unintentional -degree of disappointment, that he has been already watching two nights -to see something which the waiting-woman has reported to him respecting -the queen, and yet he has seen nothing. - - “I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth - in your report.” - -A little impatient, a little incredulous, perhaps, he adds: - - “When was it she last walked?” - -This is a stroke of nature and probability at the very outset. It takes -from the scene the air of a fiction. It sends the mind of the spectator -back to the two past long nights, when the doctor, tolerably tired out, -has been watching in vain. This is just as things happen in life. We -have to watch and watch for every thing—even for the most true—before -it appears. We feel also, even with the first apparently unimportant -word spoken, a certain tremor at the intimation given of the domestic -gloom which must reign in the royal household—an attack immediately -expected from a powerful and inexorable foe—the queen sick—mysterious -things, we know not what, hinted with pale face and trembling lips—and -the guilty being, who had sold her eternal soul for her present -position,—we see her _in_ that position, all the promised triumphs and -pleasures neutralized by disease and remorse, and she herself _watched_ -by her servants, night after night, when she little dreams herself the -subject of such a combined inquisition. - -The gentlewoman relates more particularly what she has seen, though with -a guarded care, which not every gentlewoman in real life, under such -exciting circumstances, would have the prudence to observe; but -Shakspeare’s people are not only living but very sensible persons. To -the question: - - “When was it she last walked?” - -she replies: - - “Since his majesty went into the field.” - -Here at once is another stroke. It tells the _occupation_ of the king; -called to a fearful contest and absorbed in it, the deadly secret is -transpiring unopposed, undreamed of by him, behind his back, in the -centre of his household, and from the lips of the very being who has so -often taunted his weakness, and urged him with haughty scorn onward in -his guilty and blood-tracked career. So little power has man over -destiny! Thus is guilt beset. These are the nameless, unimaginable -dangers it runs, when, bold and self-confident, it thinks itself equal -to a contest with the Deity, who, seated in the clouds, strikes it with -its own arm, and baffles its plans with the toils it has woven for -others. - - “Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise - from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, - take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards - seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most - fast sleep.” - -There is nothing more appalling to me than a person walking in his -sleep. It is such an image of death aroused from the grave—such a type -of the spiritual world—such a contrast to the same being when awake, -that I could never look upon my most intimate friend in such a state -without a thrill of fear, as if I were gazing upon his spectre—without -perfectly comprehending Hamlet’s account of his own feelings in looking -upon a ghost. - - ——“and we fools of nature - So horribly to shake our disposition - With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls.” - -This statement of the waiting-woman, so simple, natural and true, is -enough to arouse in a moment the curiosity of the most indifferent -stranger, and to inspire him with an inexpressible anxiety to know what -it means, and to what it will lead. - -The doctor, however, is a man of the world, and is not so easily worked -on. He replies with a mere generality: - - “A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit - of sleep and do the effects of watching. In this slumbry - agitation, besides her walking, and other actual performances, - what at any time have you heard her say?” - -Here there is a peeping out of curiosity on the part of the honest -physician, who is eager to learn all that may be acquired of what has -the appearance of an interesting secret. But his companion does not mean -to go further than prudence and self-security require. She replies at -once in a way which, while it balks curiosity, sharpens its appetite. - - “That, sir, which I will not report after her.” - -What would any doctor say in such a case? - - “You may to me; and ’tis most meet you should.” - -He is aroused. He wishes—he is determined to know this mystery, and -therefore pleads the privilege and necessity, as well as the prudence of -his profession. “You may tell _any_ thing to _me_. Of course I shall -never reveal. I am the depositary of a thousand family secrets. Besides, -if I am to treat the patient, I _must_ know what is the matter with -her.” - -But the waiting-woman is not going to be driven from her determination. -She has obviously received _a deep-seated fright_. Her whole -self-possession is called up for her defence and guidance. She is a -single woman, in a lonely castle, and in a really awful position, -accidentally the holder of a secret involving the reputation, if not the -life and death of those in power, and the fate perhaps of nations. Were -she to hint her suspicion that her royal mistress was a murderess—that -the fierce king, now desperate with the danger impending over his -kingdom, had gained the throne by a foul assassination—how can she be -sure that the doctor will not go to the king and betray her, to -ingratiate himself into the favor of his royal master? Courts are not -the places for too light confidences—particularly of such secrets. In -such case the truth or falsehood of the statement would be little -inquired into, and she would be probably hurled from the battlements or -immured to starve in some dark dungeon. She is—you feel she is, quite -in earnest, and quite right to reply: - - “Neither to _you_ nor _any one_; having no _witness_ to _confirm - my speech_.” - - * * * * * - - - - - EPHEMERA. - - - BY CHARLES WEST THOMSON. - - - Well might weep the sentimental Persian, - Looking o’er his host of armed men, - When on Greece he made his wild incursion, - Whence so few might e’er return again. - - Well might he weep o’er those countless millions, - Dreaming of the future and the past, - As he gazed, amid the gold pavilions - Round his throne, upon that crowd so vast. - - Musing, with subdued and solemn feelings, - On the awful thoughts that filled his soul— - One of those most terrible revealings - That will sometimes o’er the spirit roll. - - Thoughts, that of that multitude before him - Panting high for fame—athirst to strive— - Ere old Time had sped a century o’er him, - Not, perhaps, would one be left alive. - - That those hearts, now bounding in the glory - Of existence, would be hushed and cold; - Not their very names preserved in story, - Nor upon fame’s chronicle enrolled. - - All to earth, their proper home, departed; - Light heart, strong hand, all gone to kindred clay; - And, in their vacant room, a new race started, - Careless of the millions past away. - - Well might weep he—well might we, in weeping, - Make our offering at sorrow’s call— - When we ponder how our days are creeping, - Like the shadow on the wall. - - When we think how soon the sun-beam, setting, - Will depart, and leave it all in shade— - And our very friends will be forgetting - That the daylight o’er it ever played. - - Life, upon a swallow’s wing is flying, - O’er the earth it sparkles and is gone; - All our days are but a lengthened dying— - One dark hour before the eternal dawn. - - Riches, glory, honor, fame, ambition— - All as swiftly fly, as soon are fled; - Or, if gathered, mend they our condition? - What delight can these afford the dead? - - Chase no more the phantom of the dreaming— - Weary is the hunt, the capture vain; - When thy arms embrace the golden seeming, - It will vanish from thy grasp again. - - Trouble not thy heart with anxious carings— - Thou art but a shadow—so are they; - Let the things of Heaven deserve thy darings, - They alone will never pass away. - - * * * * * - - - - - WITH THEE. - - - BY MRS. C. H. W. ESLING. - - - With thee, at dewy morn where e’er I wander, - Are my fond thoughts—still close to thee they cling; - O’er each departed hour they love to ponder, - That, pass’d with thee, seem’d like the hours of spring. - - Yes—every vanish’d joy is like a treasure - Glean’d from the mighty casket of the past, - Dearer than low-breathed music’s echoed measure, - When its soft spell around our souls is cast. - - With thee at noon, when summer winds are stealing - Thro’ the green leaves in harp-tones rich and sweet, - On the bright sward in lowly homage kneeling, - With thee my prayers—my prayers of fondness meet. - - What tho’ mine eye thro’ dreary distance faileth - In its deep search to hail thy welcome form? - What tho’ my cheek thro’ long, long watching fadeth, - And my sad heart leaps not so freshly warm? - - Still unto thee no eyes beam brighter lustre, - No vermeil cheeks thy early love’s outshine; - Around no heart do richer feelings cluster, - Than swell in that which is so wholly thine. - - Why do I mourn that mountain billows sever? - Vain may they strive our spirits to divide, - For am I not, mine own one, with thee ever? - E’en as thou art forever at my side. - - * * * * * - - - - - WICCÓNSAT. - - - A LEGEND OF ST. MARY’S. - - - BY MRS. MARY M. FORD. - - -On the eastern bank of a small river, which enters the Potomac a few -miles above its confluence with the waters of the Chesapeake Bay, are -still to be seen vestiges of the earliest settlement in Maryland; once -the village of Youcómaco, but quietly yielded by the natives to the -white colonists, who there built a town, calling it St. Mary’s. -Subsequent events led to its desertion for a more advantageous location, -and the ravages of time have left little to tell of its former state. It -has faded away, unnoticed and unsung, yet its name is still seen on the -older maps of our country. The river, which once bore the appellation of -St. George’s, is now called St. Mary’s, but whether in memory of the -deserted town, or not, is uncertain. - -Ruins are happily so scarce in our young and thriving republic, that the -simple legend which gives a name to my story, may awaken some interest -among those, to whose imaginations the solitary remains of the past seem -to speak in the breathings of the winds that sweep over their ruins. The -circumstances which led to its narration, by one who had heard it in the -mother country, and in whose family its memory had been handed down, -were as follows:— - -Many years ago, as the last lingering sunbeams were fading from the sky, -giving place to the mellow twilight; and a ruddy tinge was on the bosom -of the waters, where the little river of St. Mary’s mingled its -tributary stream with the waves of the broad Potomac; a small vessel had -just anchored within the mouth of the former river, on which is -established a port of entry. The craft seemed awaiting the boarding -officer, who, at a point further up the river, was just entering his -boat. He appeared very young, and, from the open gaiety of his fine -countenance, seemed to enjoy corresponding lightness of heart. He raised -a small telescope to his eye, and exclaimed to the two colored men who -were loosening the boat— - -“It must be a Yankee schooner; be quick Basil! Luke!” - -“Aye, aye, Massa Frank,” replied Luke, “all ready—that’s an eastern -craft, sure.” - -The light barge was soon on the waves, and the youth took the helm, -while the strong arm of his companions were engaged with the oars. - -The visitors approached the vessel’s side almost unperceived; and when -the young officer ascended to its deck, he found the captain anxiously -absorbed in examining an old map, which was spread out before him. The -expression of his weather-beaten face, as he raised it to return the -salutation of his visitor, showed evident signs of being puzzled. - -“Where are you from?” inquired the landsman. - -“From Plymouth.” - -“What cargo?” - -“Why, a good many notions, of which you will know presently.” - -“And whither bound?” - -“Why that’s what I’m looking for on this old map, for I see nothing like -it on shore; aye, here it is, St. Mary’s, the town of St. Mary’s, -sir.”[2] - -“There is no such town in the state, sir,” replied the youth, “this -river and the county bear that name; there is some mistake.” - -“Massa captain clear out for de county,” said Basil, grinning. - -“De boss lose his reckoning dis time,” rejoined Luke. - -“Be more respectful, and return to the boat,” said the young officer, -checking their glee; then turning to the captain, he continued, “This -map is an old one; there was formerly a town named St. Mary on this -river—it was the first settlement in the state, and built in the time -of the Calverts, but it has passed away and been forgotten for a -century.” - -The disappointed face of the mariner was not the only one agitated by -the news. The sailors belonging to the vessel had joined the group, and -their rough appearance was strongly contrasted with the tall and elegant -figure of a passenger, who had been drawn by the conversation from the -cabin, and now stood leaning against the companion way. - -The young Marylander, who had not before perceived the stranger, -thought, as he returned his salutation, that he had seldom looked on a -countenance so interesting. It was youthful, but there was a shade of -melancholy on the fine features, which, however, served only to confine, -not hide the flashes of an enthusiastic spirit, which glanced from his -full dark eye. - -“We are out of soundings, Mr. Egerton,” said the captain, “I might as -well have cleared out for a port in the moon.” - -“The fault was mine, sir,” replied the person called Egerton, “and I -regret having thus led you astray;” then, turning to the young American, -he continued, “The disappointment is also great to me, sir, for the -haven we sought was the home of my forefathers. I am a stranger in this -country, having lately arrived from England. On landing at Plymouth I -found this schooner loading for a southern port—and, wishing to visit -Maryland immediately, I induced this worthy but too obliging man to -bring the cargo hither. The silence of history has left the annals of -Maryland so much in the shadow, that a foreigner feels doubtful whether -a literal construction should be put on the desertion of a town, -particularly when your port of entry also bears the name of St. Mary’s.” - -“Well,” interrupted the captain, smiling, “don’t feel uneasy about me, -for the cargo is of that accommodating nature which will suit another -town as well.” - -The customary business was soon despatched, and the officer was leaving -the vessel, but his eye lingered on the interesting stranger. There was -something in his appearance that won his heart, and, after a moment’s -hesitation he thus spoke. - -“This seems to have been your place of destination, Mr. Egerton. Will -you excuse the blunt freedom of an American, if I ask you to accompany -me to the shore? My uncle’s dwelling is in sight. I act as his deputy in -official business, but with much more pleasure I use another privilege, -and tender you the hospitalities of his roof. Although the town, the -principal object of your visit, is no more, yet if you can content -yourself a few days with us, you can explore the ruins. Oakford is the -name of my uncle. I bear the same, with the simple addition of Frank.” - -The stranger caught his offered hand. - -“I feel grateful for your kindness,—the ruins! did you say? It would -indeed be a gratification to view them—I will, with pleasure, avail -myself of your polite invitation; the ruins! are they extensive?” - -“Oh, no,” replied young Oakford, smiling, “there are but few relics left -by time and weather—some remains of walls and foundations—but the most -interesting are the ruins of an ancient church—among whose dilapidated -pews a respectable audience of weeds have accumulated.” - -“Weeds, growing in the holy temple of my fathers! what a sublime yet sad -subject for reflection! I must see them!” - -The young American again smiled at his companion’s enthusiasm; and, as -the shadows of evening were fast closing around them, he hurried his new -friend in his preparations to leave the vessel. The good-natured captain -declined an invitation to accompany them, as he had made arrangements to -continue his voyage farther—and, cordially shaking the hand of his -departing passenger, refused to receive any extra compensation for the -trouble occasioned. The rough, but kind-hearted sailors also refused, -but the generous feelings of the young man were not to be checked thus, -and he forced into their unwilling hands the expression of his thanks, -as he took a kind leave of them. - -Darkness had veiled the landscape when the boat reached the shore, and -the warm-hearted Marylander, drawing the arm of the young stranger -within his, hurried him up the long avenue leading to the mansion, -assuring him that his uncle would be as much gratified as himself by -this acquisition to their society. “So, feel perfectly at ease, for we -southerners use very little ceremony.” - -The event proved it so, for Col. Oakford, a fine looking man, just past -the meridian of life, received him with that easy politeness and frank -cordiality of manner which relieved him from all embarrassment. He soon -discovered that his guest possessed high literary attainments—and, -enjoying those advantages himself, the conversation became interesting, -and they parted at the hour of rest, mutually pleased with each other. - -The next morning arose in clouds and rain. “No _ruins_ to-day,” said the -young Briton, as they met in the breakfast room. But, although the -weather prevented any outward excursion, a well filled library offered a -pleasing substitute. - -Young hearts soon assimilate, and friendships in early life are quickly -formed—hence, when the sun at last broke through the clouds, on the -evening of the third day, the two youths felt on terms of intimacy and -attachment. On the fourth morning, the lively Frank aroused his friend -before sunrise, to view, what he imagined must be to him, a novel and -imposing sight. They descended to the open piazza, and young Egerton -looked around in vain to discover the woods, the hill, the river; all -was enveloped in a thick fog, and had the appearance of a surrounding -lake. At this moment the sun rose, and the vapor broke on the bosom of -the stream. - -“See,” said Frank, “the river is throwing off his night robes—observe -how gracefully he rolls and folds them.” - -Huge white sheets of vapor were indeed majestically receding down the -current; others floated like snow wreaths on the hills of the opposite -shore—the green sides of which, were at intervals visible through the -breaking mist, and seemed struggling beneath its might. In gradual -succession the forests and dwellings of men appeared, and in a few -minutes this atmospheric envelope was lost in the increasing warmth of -the sun’s beams. - -“How singular and beautiful,” said the stranger. “Is it often thus?” - -“Very frequently; at some seasons each morning renews the scene; but you -are not very robust, and must be content to view it seldom, for this -recreation is far from healthy. The poets of your native isle may sing -of ‘walks at early dawn, through dewy meads,’ but such strolls would -make a short life here.” - -On entering the parlor they met the Colonel. - -“What think you of the night bath which these lowlands take?” said he, -smiling. - -“That the morning effect is beautiful,” replied Egerton, “but the whole -must be injurious to health.” - -“You are right, it is ever so to strangers, but we, who are sons of the -mist, fear no harm from our native atmosphere. Yet do not think this -characteristic of our general climate. On the contrary, the northern -states, with their rock-bound sea coasts, have a clear bracing -atmosphere; the middle states, also, with their varied surface of -mountain and valley, and most parts of the southern, are equally -healthy. Our own upper counties, and the neighboring inlands, or forest -places, as we term them, are not sickly. It is only where the land is -low, and as bountifully supplied with bays, inlets and streams as here, -that this effect takes place; but see, ‘aunt Nora’ waits with the -breakfast.” - -The aged colored housekeeper, called by this familiar appellation, had -been the faithful nurse of the Colonel’s infancy, and, in return, was -treated by him with great kindness. She was busied at a little table, in -a corner of the room, from which she despatched, by the younger hands of -her grandson, Luke, to a larger table in the centre of the apartment, -the fine coffee, and more solid comforts of a Maryland breakfast, of -which the young friends hastily partook, and then made arrangements for -their visit to the _ruins_. - -The boat was soon in readiness, and they set out, accompanied by Basil -and Luke. As the light bark glided along the shore, Frank pointed out -several places endeared by the recollections of his childhood. Through -an opening in the trees peeped the unobtrusive walls dedicated to -country learning, with its play ground, so often the scene of his boyish -gambols, and its clear spring under the shade of a sycamore near the -river, where a solitary cow was now stooping to drink. - -“See, Frank,” cried his friend, “she is profaning your Helicon fount!” - -“Nay, let her drink, Egerton,” he replied, “for, as she is not likely to -draw more romantic inspiration than _I_ did from its waters, the spring -will lose none of its power from her draught.” - -“But you have gained what is worth more, sentiments pure and -disinterested, with a mind happy and free. ’Tis true, you seldom make -reminiscences—but, if you were like me, an orphan, and a native of a -clime where, at every step, you meet some relic of the past, you would -feel differently. Your country has but a short path to retrace, and is -too young to boast of olden days.” - -“And yet,” replied Frank, archly smiling, “there were times to which we -might refer, as equal to any that shed glory on ancient chivalry.” - -“Granted, and the treasure they left you may well render you careless of -other relics.” - -“Many thanks for your liberality, my dear friend,” said Frank, “and now -for the _ruins_.” As he spoke, the direction of the boat was changed, -and they swiftly crossed the river. Egerton sprang first on land, and -was soon deeply engaged in examination, but found Frank’s words too -true. Time and weather had indeed been ruthless ravagers; besides, it -appeared that many materials had been removed, perhaps to repair the -cottages of the neighboring poor. But some remains of what seemed to -have been the walls of a large store house, part of an embankment where -once had stood a fort, pits filled with rubbish, which had been cellars, -and crumbled walls, with here and there a fallen chimney, gave -melancholy testimony to the change. Nor had the church met a better -fate. The broken in roof still clung to the shattered wall on one side -only, and hung like a dark banner, half suspended over the desolation -below; the decayed floor had descended into the mournful cemetery -beneath, leaving some of the baseless seats clinging to the side wall. -Weeds, too, were there, whose flowers seemed to bloom in mockery. In the -sad home of the buried dead all was confusion, broken tombs, and heaps -of rubbish. The young Briton sat down on a fragment of the ruined wall, -and Frank shared in the melancholy of his friend, as they viewed the -desolate scene. Egerton at length broke silence. “You have, no doubt, -wondered at the deep interest I feel with regard to these ruins. Many -circumstances have led to it, particularly a little tale related to me -by a maiden aunt, to which I listened with great delight in childhood; -and when, in after years, I was deprived of my beloved parents, I would -sometimes beguile my sorrows by a recurrence to its sad remembrance. -Thus it became more interesting to me, and I soon felt a desire to visit -the location of scenes so connected with my family, and with the fate of -an Indian chief of the Youcómaco tribe, called Wiccónsat, the principal -subject of the legend. If it will give you any pleasure, I will relate -it while we rest on these sad ruins.” - -“Really, my dear friend,” replied Frank, “I feel almost as sentimental -as yourself.” - -“Then I will take advantage of your serious mood and commence my simple -tale.” - -“Among the early settlers at St. Mary’s, were the parents of Rosalie -Egerton. She was an only daughter and beautiful. An accomplished mother -had taught her many things of which few other females of the colony -could boast. She accompanied her harp with the songs of distant lands, -and with her needle embroidered scenes from the old world. Yet she loved -to wander amidst the wild grandeur of her native forests, accompanied -only by her little brother, for the neighboring Indians were harmless -and friendly. - -“Wiccónsat was the son of an aged chief of the Youcómacoes. He was tall -and elegantly formed, and straight as an arrow from his quiver. Mild and -contemplative, he became a favorite among the settlers, from whom he -learned not only to read and write, but many of their useful arts. But -he had listened to the breathings of Rosalie’s harp, as he lingered near -her dwelling, and had gazed after her fair form, as she wandered in the -forest, until the Indian’s life had lost all charms for him. The smile -of happy youth had fled, and when he sought his father’s wigwam, his eye -was sad and restless. The old chief saw with sorrow the change. - -“‘A spell hath come o’er thee, Wiccónsat,’ he kindly said; ‘my son is no -longer the same. When in childhood I first saw thy little hands bend the -bow, I fondly thought thou would’st rival the hunting fame of thy -father, and, when age had weakened my strength, should danger threaten -our tribe, thou would’st head the chiefs in combat. The locks of -Orrouiska are now gray, and his hand feeble. The supplies of his wigwam -are scanty, for his son lingers among the better habitations of -strangers. But I know thy secret. Thy hopeless love is placed on the -fairest of the white fawns, one as far above thy reach as was the -rainbow of yesterday. For though the son of a once powerful chief, the -poorest of the pale faces would reject thy alliance. Then arouse thee, -Wiccónsat, and despise their pride. The Great Spirit made us all equal, -and the brightest of our Indian maidens would be proud of thy love. If -thou dost prefer the plough of the white man to the bow of the hunter, -’tis well, but turn the furrow in thy own fields.’ - -“The youth answered not, but with a deep sigh, taking his quiver full of -arrows, went out to the chase. He wandered on through the forest, -forgetful of his first intention, until he found himself near the -river’s bank, and by the dwelling of Rosalie, and soon beheld the -maiden, with her little brother, in a small boat, which they had -contrived to move out a few yards into the deep water. As she arose to -reach some blossoms from the overhanging trees, her balance was lost, -and she fell into the stream. In a moment the young Indian had plunged -in to her relief, and bore her in safety to the bank. The cries of her -brother had alarmed the family, who hurried to the river, and Wiccónsat, -yielding his lovely burthen to her parents’ arms, hastened to escape -from their grateful acknowledgments, to enjoy in solitude the delightful -feelings that crowded his heart. It seemed a new era in his existence, -and fairy dreams floated in his imagination. With buoyant and unwearied -footsteps he pursued the chase, and returned to his father’s cabin -loaded with the choicest game, the reward of his toil. - -“‘Come, dear Oskwena,’ said he to his young sister, who ran to welcome -him, ‘prepare a feast for our father, while I dress these skins, to make -a softer couch for his aged limbs.’ - -“‘Gladly, brother,’ she replied, ‘but hast thou brought me any beads or -ornaments from the colony?’ - -“‘No, thou art too good and comely to need these trifles. Thy lover will -prize thee more without them.’ - -“‘Thou art mistaken, brother, for Potawissa loves to see my dark hair -braided with beads, and their bright strings encircling my neck. Thy -talk will do for the white fawns, with their cheeks like the wild rose -and foreheads like the mountain snow; but the darker hue of Indian maids -wants other ornaments.’ - -“‘Thou hast well described the white fawns, sister,’ answered the young -chief, ‘and shalt indeed have a gay necklace; but thou hast never heard -the song of her who is brightest among them. Why the blest sounds on the -air, which are said to call our fathers to the spirit-land on high, are -not sweeter.’ - -“‘Hush, hush,’ cried Oskwena, ‘how canst thou talk thus? I would not -hear her strain, for it hath sadly altered thee.’ - -“The bright visions of Wiccónsat were soon dispelled, for, with the next -vessel from England, arrived a young relative of Rosalie’s family, who -brought news of their having succeeded to an estate in their native -country, to take possession of which they now made preparations to leave -America. The charms of the maiden made an immediate impression on the -heart of the young and accomplished Briton. His amiable qualities soon -won her love, and, with the approval of her parents, it was arranged -that their marriage should take place on their arrival in England. - -“The sad intelligence soon reached Wiccónsat, to whom the grateful -family had shown many marks of attachment, little suspecting the sorrows -they were preparing for the youthful chief. They knew not the secret -homage of his heart, for its trembling hopes had never been breathed to -the beautiful object of his love. In the innocence of grateful -friendship, she presented him with an embroidered belt worked by her own -hands, and assured him that she would never forget her generous -preserver.—But when the day of their departure had arrived, and -sorrowful friends crowded the vessel’s deck to take their last farewell, -Wiccónsat was not there. Rosalie and her parents shed tears of regret, -as the sails were spreading to waft them from their happy American home, -and as their eyes sought its peaceful roof, they discovered near it, on -a point of the river’s shore, the solitary figure of the young chief. It -was at this spot he had rescued the maiden from a watery grave. She -eagerly waved her white handkerchief in token of farewell, and the next -moment saw the belt she had given him, floating on the air in a -returning adieu. In a few minutes the vessel parted from the shore. - -“Many years after this, an interesting youth, accompanied by his tutor, -arrived at St. Mary’s, from England. I know not in what state they found -the town, but the youth’s first inquiries were for an Indian chief, -called Wiccónsat, who had in early years saved the life of his mother. -He was shown a lonely wigwam, on a point near the river. James Egerton, -for it was my great grandfather, took an early opportunity of visiting -it, but first inquired into the present character of its inmate. ‘He is -mild and peaceful,’ said his informant, ‘and is sometimes called the -Indian Hermit, for he seldom appears abroad except when hunting or -fishing. He has lived thus for many years, is always melancholy, and -dislikes the visits of the curious: ’Tis thought some misfortune in his -youth has led him to prefer solitude.’—Thus informed, the young James -proceeded to the river’s side. From description, he knew where had stood -the home of his mother’s children, but sighed to perceive it in ruins, -and leaning on a fragment of the broken wall, plucked a leaf from the -vine that still clung to it, then, with lingering footsteps, sought the -point. Seated on a rustic bench at the door of the cabin was a figure -which he knew must be the chief, for he raised his tall, majestic form, -and advanced to meet him, but paused suddenly, and gazed earnestly and -inquiringly on his face. - -“The youth felt abashed, but with some effort addressed him: ‘Excuse -this intrusion, good chief; I am the son of her, whose life you once -saved.’ - -“The recluse caught his offered hand. - -“‘And art thou indeed her child? oh! yes, that eye, that smile had awoke -my memory before you spoke. Welcome art thou to the desolate Wiccónsat.’ -After some conversation, the youth drew from his bosom two small books, -richly bound, and presented them as tokens of remembrance from his -mother. The chief pressed them to his lips. ‘These will beguile many -lonely hours, but, oh! hadst thou but brought me one lock of her hair. -It was the colour of thine,’ he added, as he passed his hand over the -rich brown curls of the son of Rosalie. ‘Alas! good chief,’ he replied, -‘sorrow, rather than time, has robbed those locks of their beauty. Death -has bereaved my beloved mother of her parents and of several children. I -alone survive.’ ‘And can sorrow reach one so good? Then why should I -repine?—From this point, dear boy, I saw thy mother and her parents -depart, and here I raised my lonely habitation. For years, I indulged -the vain hope of their return, and whenever I saw a large vessel enter -the river, I silently mingled with the crowd on the shore. But wearied -hope has long since fled, memory alone remains.’ - -“‘And yet you may again behold my parents, for it is their intention to -visit Maryland in a short time.’ Surprise and joy beamed in the -countenance of the Indian, and from that hour he continued cheerful, but -his greatest present enjoyment arose from the frequent visits of his -young friend, to whom he daily became more attached. ’Tis true, the -tutor of James disapproved of his spending so much time with one whom he -considered an untutored savage, but the warm-hearted boy knew his Indian -favorite to be possessed of pure and lofty principles, with noble and -generous feelings. - -“Wiccónsat now mingled once more with the white inhabitants, and pointed -out to the inquiring youth whatever was interesting. The remains of the -Indian village were still visible, and the few chiefs that visited the -town still fondly called it Youcómico. But their tribe had removed to a -greater distance, and there was now little communication between them -and the colonists. - -“Several months elapsed and the time drew near when the young Briton -expected once more to embrace his parents. They had informed him, by -letter, of their intention to embark on board the Huntress, which would -sail in two weeks, and nearly a month had passed since the reception of -this letter. It was probable then, that they were near the American -coast.” - -Here the narrator paused. - -“Why do you not proceed?” asked Frank. - -“Because I think it will be better to finish the story as we return. It -grows late, and I wish to gather some little remembrance.” - -From various parts of the ruins he now selected something to carry with -him, and was loading Basil and Luke with similar trophies, who appeared -to place little value on them, as they dropped some at every step. At -length they returned to the boat, in which they deposited the cumbrous -relics, and left the shore. But a new object excited the curiosity of -Egerton, and, with a look of entreaty, he turned to his friend. - -“You have been very patient and kind, dear Frank, and now we are in the -boat, let us go a little further up the river! That point above must be -the spot on which stood the wigwam of Wiccónsat.” - -“You will find it a difficult matter to prove that,” returned Frank, -“however, we will go.” - -“It’s a good place for fishing,” said Basil, “and we have a line.” - -The first object that struck their view on landing at the point, was a -collection of half decayed boards. - -“See here! conviction strong!” cried the delighted Egerton. - -“Nonsense,” said Frank, “they are the remains of some old fishing hut or -flat boat. Indian wigwams are not made of boards.” - -“How incredulous you are,” returned his friend. “Surely the melancholy -chief had been long enough among white men to adopt their materials.” - -“Very well, shall we load the boat with them as relics?” - -“You are jesting; but I should really like to rebuild it, if we had -time. Where are Basil and Luke?” - -“More profitably employed—fishing; but we will return in a day or two, -and try whether a wigwam can be made of it.” The young Briton had seated -himself on one of the boards, and seemed lost in contemplation, while -Frank quietly withdrew to see the luck of the fishers—who, in the -meantime, had not forgotten the two youths, but, in their simple phrase, -were discussing the point at issue: - -“Why, Old Nora could tell him plenty about the Ingens,” said Basil, “for -her grandmother told her, and she saw a power of ’em in her time—but he -only seems to care about one—and I can’t say I ever heard Nora go over -such a strange name as that.” - -“They were smart, them chiefs, in their time,” observed Luke, “for they -say our folks learned to make the canoes from ’em, and I’d put ’em -against any boat that swims.” - -“But they won’t hold much of a crew, Luke, let alone passengers, and as -there’s four of us, and a heavy load of Massa Egerton’s nelics, as he -calls them; besides, it’s lucky we’ve got something bigger to float home -in.” - -Their angling had not been very successful in the short time they had -engaged in it, and at Frank’s request, the boat was again put in -readiness for their departure. - -Once more on the water, Frank reminded his friend of the promised -conclusion of his story. - -“I thought you had forgotten it,” replied Egerton, smiling, “but I will -with pleasure gratify you. I believe we left my ancestor expecting the -early arrival of his parents at St. Mary’s, and I will now proceed to -give you the other portion of the legend. - -“One evening, after his usual visit to the wigwam, James was slowly -returning to his lodgings. Lost in thought, he did not at first perceive -that heavy clouds were gathering in the sky, but the sudden darkness -made him quicken his pace. - -“‘You are late this evening, Master James,’ said his tutor, as he met -him at the door, ‘you waste a great deal of time with that wild Indian, -and I am glad your parents are coming to take charge of you.’ ‘I am glad -too,’ thought his pupil, but he did not say so, and soon after retired -to rest. - -“The sleep of innocent youth is ever sound, and a severe storm which -arose had been raging some time before it broke his deep slumber. - -“He started from his pillow, and his first thoughts were fears for his -parents’ safety. The wind roared fearfully, and the rain beat in -torrents against his chamber window. He looked out on the thick darkness -that obscured every object, and his heart sunk within him at the dreary -view. Overcome with the distress of his feelings, he leaned against the -casement, and gave vent to the friendly tears that often relieve the -sadness of boyhood. Suddenly a faint and distant flash of light broke -through the gloom. It was gone, but a sound followed which, even amid -the howling of the storm, could not be mistaken. It struck on the ear of -the weeping boy, with startling certainty. - -“‘It is, oh! yes, it is a signal gun of distress, oh! my mother! my -father!’ and sinking on his knees, he breathed an agonized prayer for -their safety, then starting to his feet, he hastily threw on his -clothes, and hurried down stairs without knowing his object. The house -stood near the river, and on opening the door he saw some person moving -along the bank. He approached; it was the chief. ‘Is it you, Wiccónsat? -oh! what a night!’ The Indian pressed his hand in gloomy silence, and -stood in a listening attitude, with his face turned towards that part of -the horizon from whence the flash had appeared. Another gleamed across -the dismal night, and the sullen peal that followed, fell, like the bolt -of death, on their hearts. - -“‘It is a call for aid,’ exclaimed the chief, ‘and perhaps thy mother’s -life is in danger.’ ‘And my father’s too,’ added the shuddering boy. -‘Alas! Wiccónsat, what can we do?’ ‘I follow that light,’ he answered, -as the flash of another minute gun shone. - -“‘Oh! take me then with you, good chief, leave me not here in suspense!’ - -“‘Alas! my boy, this stormy night ill suits thy tender frame. Wait thou -till morning breaks, then thou canst follow with some of the townsmen. -The light seems near the mouth of the Potomac.’ - -“‘Who speaks below,’ said the tutor’s voice from the window; ‘surely, -Master James, you are not out on such a night?’ ‘Indeed I am,’ replied -the youth, ‘there is a vessel in distress, it may be the Huntress, in -which my parents are expected; surely I cannot sleep now.’ - -“‘Well, well, if that’s the case, it’s bad enough, but I think it’s not -probable; however, I’ll be down directly.’ By this time several of the -neighbours had joined them, and they determined to proceed in the -supposed direction of the vessel. By the first dawn of light they found -themselves on the shore of the Potomac river, near its entrance into the -Chesapeake Bay. The rain had ceased, and daylight, as it broke from the -clouded east, shewed to their anxious gaze, a dismasted vessel, which -appeared in a wrecked and sinking state. Two boats, crowded with the -crew and passengers, were seen contending with the raging waves, -endeavouring to reach the land. Some water casks which had been washed -on shore, were eagerly examined by the distressed James, to discover the -name of the vessel. It met his eye, and with a cry of terror he threw -himself into the arms of the Indian. - -“‘It is the Huntress! oh! Wiccónsat! my parents will be lost!’ - -“‘Hast thou no confidence in the Great Being thy mother worships?’ he -softly said, as he pressed him to his breast, but his eye was fairly -fixed on one of the boats, in which he thought he could distinguish the -garments of a female. The foaming waters seemed to threaten instant -destruction to the frail barques, as they tost from wave to wave, -sometimes half hid in the surf that broke over them. At this moment a -mingled cry reached the shore, and but one boat was seen, the other was -’whelmed beneath the waters. Wiccónsat broke from the clinging arms of -the youth, and plunged into the waves. For some time he was lost to -their view, but his strong and sinewy arms forced a passage to the scene -of distress, and in a short time he was seen returning, supporting, with -one arm, the form of a female. The young James, who had been forcibly -withheld from following, now rushed to meet him, and Rosalie (for it was -she) opened her eyes to be clasped to the bosom of her son. She lived, -she breathed, and the first word that trembled on her lips was the name -of her husband. Scarcely had she spoken, ere the generous chief had -again thrown himself into the waves. But his strength was exhausted by -previous exertion, and when, with difficulty, he had nearly reached the -overturned boat to which the husband of Rosalie, with others, now clung, -a floating piece of the ship’s mast struck him on the temple. In the -mean time, the other boat had safely landed its crew, and was despatched -to the aid of the sufferers, who were all, with the exception of two, -saved. - -“Rosalie had been conveyed to the nearest house, and restoratives were -applied, which soon brought her to a state of recollection. She -recognized with joy, the form of her husband, as he knelt by the side of -her couch, and pressed, with a mother’s fondness, the hand of her -affectionate son. But her eyes wandered around the room as if in search -of another object. ‘It was a dream then,’ she murmured, ‘it was not his, -but thy dear arm that drew thy mother from the waves.’ - -“‘Alas! no, it was he, the generous and the good,’ replied her son. - -“‘Wiccónsat! brave chief! but why those looks of anguish; is this, my -son, a time for sorrow, when Heaven has been so kind? And my preserver, -where lingers he?’ - -“‘Where his bright virtues will be best rewarded,’ replied her husband, -solemnly. - -“‘What mean you? Surely he is safe.’ - -“‘He perished in an attempt to save my life.’ She heard no more, for she -had fainted in the arms of her son, and it was long ere she revived, to -mingle with theirs her tears of unavailing regret. - -“In the afternoon the body of the generous Indian was washed on shore. -With every mark of respect it was conveyed to the town, and preparations -made for its interment on the following day at the point, in a spot once -pointed out, by the chief, to young Egerton. The grief of this -affectionate boy burst without restraint, as he leaned over the body of -his departed friend, and his tears flowed afresh, when he was shown a -folded paper, which had been found in his bosom. It was wet through, and -contained the faded belt, the treasured gift of Rosalie. - -“Intelligence of the sad event was conveyed to the sister of the chief, -and the next day, accompanied by her husband and sons, and several -warriors of the Youcómaco tribe, Oskwena arrived, just as the funeral -procession was moving to the grave. Time had altered this once beautiful -daughter of the forest; there was a mildness in her look of grief, as -she left the canoe, and led by her two sons, approached the open grave, -where, seating herself by its side, she silently awaited the mournful -train that bore her brother to his last home. She uttered a faint cry as -her eye rested on the coffin, and her whole frame shook with agitation, -when it was lowered from her sight. - -“The chiefs arranged themselves in gloomy silence around the grave of -him, who, in early youth, had been the boast of their tribe, and heard, -rather than listened, to the funeral service. It was scarcely ended, -when the hitherto restrained grief of Oskwena burst forth. She tore from -her dishevelled locks the rude ornaments of her tribe, scattering them -on the ground, but a necklace of beads she retained in her hand, and -wept bitterly as she looked on it. - -“‘It was thy gift, Wiccónsat,’ said the mourner, ‘thy face glowed with -youth and hope on the happy day thou gavest it. Our aged father blessed -his children, for he had not then passed to the spirit-land above. The -beads are bright yet, but thou art faded and gone. I can gaze on them no -more, they shall be hid with thee,’ and she dropped them into the grave. -The spectators looked on her with pity and disturbed her not, as in a -low voice she chaunted a wild funeral melody. When she ceased, several -young maidens of St. Mary’s, arrayed in white, approached, and scattered -flowers around the grave. The oldest son of Oskwena stood, with his -father, among the chiefs. To him the beauty of the white maidens was -new, for he had never before been allowed to visit the town. - -“‘Who are they?’ he asked, eagerly leaning forward, but then the stern -Potawissa drew him back, as he replied in a low voice, ‘It matters not, -it is enough that they cannot be aught to thee. Look not on their fatal -beauty, but let that lonely grave warn thee of danger. It was hopeless -love for a pale face like theirs, that induced thy mother’s brother to -forsake the tribe that idolized him; to lead a life of solitude, and at -last to perish for her sake. And now he sleeps not with the bones of his -fathers, and the talk of the white man is heard by his grave, instead of -the bold death song of our chiefs. Nay, thou art gazing still; turn from -them boy,’ and suddenly drawing him round, he held him firmly until the -fair group had retired. A faint shriek from Oskwena drew his attention. -He saw the attendants were filling up the grave, and hastened to remove -her sinking form. In a few minutes the crowd had dispersed, the chiefs -again entered their boats, and young Egerton, with his father, alone -remained on the silent shore. - -“The family remained but a short time in Maryland, for the health of -Rosalie had sustained a shock from which it never recovered. She faded -before the agonized view of her husband and son, and died shortly after -their return to England. As one of their descendants, I have long wished -to visit the scene of their sorrows, and in doing so, I have formed a -friendship which, believe me, dear Frank, will always be cherished in my -heart. The kind hospitality of your good uncle made me forget I was a -stranger, and though we must part in a few days, time or distance will -never erase the remembrance of my American friends.” - ------ - -[2] A fact. - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNETS. - - - BY HENRY B. HIRST. - - - GERTRUDE. - - There is a sweet expression in thy face, - My gentle one! leading the thoughts away - From earthliness, and this vile orb of clay,— - Bidding my spirit in its yearnings trace - Something immortal in the beauties there! - I do not worship loveliness—but look - On woman’s face, as on a speaking book, - Where God hath stamped his image clear and fair! - And thine is one so radiant of him, - So calm and pure, one cannot fail to see - Such purity of soul portrayed in thee, - That other faces by thy side grow dim, - And, bowing down unto thy brighter worth, - I deem thee one too fair and chaste for earth! - - IANTHE. - - High thoughts are chiseled on that lofty brow! - Proud consciousness of virtue in thy smile! - Thy cheeks, the blush of, speaks thee free from guile; - Thine eyes have in their spiritual flow, - A dignity and grandeur, and a glow - Which lift the gazer’s spirit up on high, - As soars the eagle to the sun-lit sky! - Thou art a thing to worship! and I throw - My soaring spirit conquered at thy feet,— - But not to beauty, tho’ ’tis unsurpassed, - But to the wealth of intellect ’tis cast; - Deeming the earth beneath the proudest seat, - Where I would sit, and on perfection gaze, - Sunning my soul beneath thine eyes’ soft rays! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE MOONLIGHT FLITTING; - - - OR, THE MISTAKE. - - - BY ELIZA VAN HORN ELLIS. - - - CHAPTER I. - -The moon shone serenely clear over hill and dale, her silver rays -playing on the dull gray earth with sportive fancy, while not a zephyr -seemed upon the wing, and all nature slumbered in the stillness of a -warm summer evening, when, from one of the neat white cottages of the -village of ——, issued two figures, completely enveloped in cloaks, -notwithstanding the thermometer stood at nearly ninety. Not a word was -spoken, but with stealthy steps they chased their shadows along the -silent streets for a good half mile; although twice or thrice one of the -figures paused and heaved convulsively, whether from lack of breath or -agitation seemed doubtful. At length they stopped before a cottage, -whose proximity to the church bespoke the _parsonage_; a light twinkled -through the casement; the muffled fugitives rapt gently at the door; it -was opened, and they entered. - -The old moss-grown church clock had just proclaimed, in solemn tones, -the hour of nine, on the next morning, when two ladies, whose looks -bespoke them far upon the road of _time_—clad in black silk bonnets and -mitts—came slowly down the streets, shaded by the spreading elms. These -good gossips appeared deeply engaged in conversation, looking so -intently into each other’s face, that sundry fowls, young pigs, and -small dogs miraculously escaped a sudden and violent death. - -“Can you believe it yet, Mrs. Potts?” cried the lesser of the two -ladies; “such a reflection upon our quiet village—good gracious and -powers! preserve us from such assurance.” Thus saying, she rolled up the -balls of her eyes, and clasped her hands together with pious fervor. - -“Not only that, my dear Miss Clapper, but such an example to the -daughters of the place!” and Mrs. Potts sighed, as she thought of her -six damsels, who still remained in single blessedness, notwithstanding -the many little innocent manœuvres to which mammas will sometimes have -recourse. - -“Yes, indeed, it behoves you, Mrs. Potts, to keep a sharp look-out. Will -you visit her—the good-for-naught?” - -“W-e-ll, what do you think about it? If _we_ cut her all the village -will. What say you?” - -“To be sure, to be sure, that’s true; her place in society depends upon -_us_, my dear. She gives such pleasant parties, such excellent soft -waffles, and then one meets sometimes such agreeable people from the -city there, which gives the girls a chance, you know, (winking -knowingly,) that it would be a pity to throw her off.” - -“I agree with you, my dear Miss Clapper—and—after all, she’s honestly -married, although she stole away, like a thief in the night.” - -“Suppose we just stop and ask Katy a few questions. May be they wish to -keep it a secret. Here we are by the house—shall we stop?” - -“I have no objections, my dear; but you’ll get nothing out of that piece -of sour-crout.” - -“I’ll pump her; leave me alone for _that_.” - -Accordingly the two loving, neighborly gossips rapt at the door of the -white cottage from whence had stolen forth the fugitives the night -previous. - -The loud knock announced the aristocracy of the village; the door -opened, and the sharp bluish features of Katy filled up the aperture. -Her small _gravy_ eyes blinked for a moment when she beheld the -visitors; the next Katy stood the personification of gravity. - -“Well, Katy,” cried Miss Clapper, in her most dulcet tones, “how _do_ -you do this fine morn? all well, I hope,” making an effort to open wider -the door. - -“Why, yes, Miss; a very fine morning, and we are all well, thanks be to -goodness,” answered Katy, holding the door still closer, and protruding -her nose still farther, so that the sudden slam of the door would have -deprived that venerable spinster of that most conspicuous of all -features, a _red nose_. “Sorry I can’t ask you both in—but nobody’s -home.” - -“Ah! so, then, it’s true, what we heard this morning,” said Mrs. Potts. - -“Can’t say, indeed, Marm, as I don’t know what you might have heard.” - -“Oh! only that your mistress ran off last night and was married, and -went away this morning in the village hack,” almost screamed Miss -Clapper. - -“And so my mistress _is_ married, and I know some that would like to be -in her shoes, if they could but get the chance.” - -“Well, well, Katy, no offence is meant,” cried Mrs. Potts; “when will -the bride be home?” - -“She bade me tell you, Marm, and Miss Clapper, (and she wants you to -tell the village) that on Thursday evening the doors will be thrown open -and the candles lighted, and you will see _her_ and _plenty_ of wedding -cake and good wine.” Thus saying, she gently closed the door. - -“So! it’s no secret after all,” cried Mrs. Potts; “Katy made no bones at -confession.” - -“No! the old she devil! how I hate that creature—she always _Miss-es_ -one so—never calls me any thing but _Miss_!—_Miss!_—She shan’t read -it on my tomb-stone, if I can help it,” muttered _Miss_ Clapper. - -Faithfully did these village circulars perform their agreeable task. -Before the sun sank to rest, every individual, from the lady of the -member of the legislature to the shoe-black in the inn, had heard the -news, and had formed dreams of the coming event. The bride and -bride-cake—beaux and belles, had been reviewed in the mind’s eye o’er -and o’er again. - - - CHAPTER II. - -When a young man, Mr. Hopkins arrived upon the spot where now stands the -village of ——, with his bundle upon his stick, his sole fortune. He -became what may be termed a squatter. It was then a dreary waste of -girdled trees, and patches covered with black stumps. But his untiring -perseverance and systematic industry were rewarded in time by beholding, -from his cottage door, the fields of waving corn and the golden wheat, -where once lurked the savage and prowled the ravenous beast. - -In course of time, the place became settled; the present village sprang -into existence; Mr. Hopkins “grew with its growth, and strengthened with -its strength;” in short, Mr. Hopkins became a rich man, and consequently -a man of consequence. - -Mrs. Hopkins (poor good soul) died ere she could enjoy the wealth that -her patient labors had assisted her husband in accumulating. She left -one daughter, christened Dinah, and two sons. Upon the death of the “old -man,” the sons moved to a strange land, (that is, about a hundred miles -from their native vale.) Miss Dinah, or rather Diana, as she chose to be -called, after the immortal Die Vernon, remained upon the “old place,” to -uphold, as she properly said, the dignity of the Hopkinses. - -Thus years wore away. Miss Die became the tyrant of fashion in her own -village. She read Shakspeare, doated on Byron, and was subdued by Sir -Walter Scott’s works. She languished and quoted poetry for nearly forty -years. In youth, she scorned the rustic beaux that kneeled at her -shrine; and, as years sped onward, none “bowed nor told their tale of -love,” until, at length, Miss Die began seriously to think of a visit to -her brothers, when the kind _fates_ brought Mr. Micalf to the village, -and there left him to the mercy of Cupid. - -The _major_ (as he was familiarly called) was rather short of stature, -with an alderman’s corpulency,—famous for his good-nature, intolerable -indolence, and devotion to whiskey-punch and the noxious weed. Being -asthmatic, he seldom had recourse to any exertion—a long walk would -cause him to puff and blow at least for a minute, ere he could catch -breath to utter a word. Still Mr. Micalf found breath enough to become a -successful wooer—and Miss Die persuaded her swain to elope with her by -moonlight, as she could never survive the stare of the plebeians by the -light of “gaudy day.” - -It ever remained a doubt in the village, what was the exact age of the -major. Many were of an opinion that sixty winters had frosted his brow. -Others again asserted that he did not number, by a score, as many years -as his bride. These latter, however, were the ladies. - -Thursday arrived—and, after a weary watching from many a beaming eye, -the sun at length disappeared behind the distant mountains, and twilight -gently threw over the glowing sky its mantle of sombre gray. Lights -flitted to and fro through the houses; an unusual bustle hummed through -the quiet streets; the horses, disturbed after a day of labor, to be -brought forth and harnessed to whatever vehicle their masters could -boast of possessing, hung down their weary heads, with slow and measured -steps patiently submitting to the yoke of bondage. - -The sudden glare of lights, that streamed through the casements of the -white cottage over the gravel walks, announced that preparations had -ceased, and that visitors were momentarily expected. - -There was the bride, her tall gaunt figure arrayed in white, flitting -from room to room, not knowing where to station herself to make the best -impression, and inwardly chafing at the perfume of tobacco that met her -olfactory nerves, and the loss of her reticule, wherein were the keys of -sundry closets and so forth, when the door opened and Mr., Mrs., and the -four Misses Potts, with Miss Clapper, beheld the bride upon knees and -hands, looking under an immense old-fashioned settee for her lost -treasure. - -Mrs. Micalf looked up, sprang to her feet, uttered a faint scream, and -for a moment hid her face—then yielded her cheek to the salutations of -the six ladies, and with much coyness permitted Mr. Potts to touch the -tip of her ear. - -“Well, I declare, I think you served us a pretty trick, Mrs. Micalf—a -lady of your years to make a moonlight flitting—oh, fie!” cried Miss -Clapper, in a querulous voice. - -“Oh, spare me, dear friends; I feel the full force of the imprudence of -the step. But be this my excuse, ‘I’ve scanned the actions of his daily -life,’ and flatter myself I have secured happiness.” - -“And Mr. Micalf to steal away so—he who hates walking so. Why, I -thought it would almost have killed him to walk so far.” - -“You are right, old lady,” cried the groom, who had entered unperceived, -and slapping Miss Clapper upon the shoulder; “I can’t believe it yet; I -haven’t drawn a long breath since—wheugh!—But Die would not be married -any other way, though I told her we were making a couple of old fools of -ourselves—wheugh—u—u—Never mind, Die, don’t be cast down at being -called old—we all know you were young once! ha, ha! wheugh—u! Come, -Potts, let’s go and drink good luck to midnight walks.” - -“Mr. Micalf is so boisterous when he is in good spirits, and he does so -love to plague me!” cried the bride, the quivering of her nostrils and -upper lip expressing the workings of the inward passions. - -Knock succeeded knock, and the influx of visitors, with the oft-repeated -“wish you joy, wish you joy,” soon restored harmony to the spirits of -the bride, who was in extacies at the crowd that had gathered around -her. She quoted poetry, right and left; forgot, for the moment, that -tobacco and punch existed; and some assert that even the major was -forgotten! That was but scandal, however. Nevertheless, the major -enjoyed seven pipes and five tumblers of punch, without once hearing the -sound of Die’s voice; a luxury which, in the warmth of his feelings he -solemnly whispered to Potts, had not been permitted him since his -moonlight trip. - -The hours sped onward—the merry laugh that rang so loud and clear from -the midst of a group of young folks who were playing “hunt the slipper,” -“my lady’s toilette,” &c. caused the heads of the matrons to turn from -each other in high displeasure at the interruption of some tale of -scandal! - -The happiest moments, still the fleetest!—the hour arrived—the guests -departed, and the mistress of the _fairy_ scene began to wonder what had -become of her lord. Looking through the empty rooms, peering in every -corner by the aid of a feeble night-lamp, and almost suffocated with the -vapor of candle-snuff, she was startled by the sonorous notes from her -husband’s nasal organ. “I do believe the ass has gone to bed,” she -mentally ejaculated. Rushing into her room, she beheld the head of the -major, with his blue and white night-cap snugly resting upon her fine -linen _day_ pillow-cases. Jerking the pillows from under the offending -head, she screamed: - -“Major! why, Micalf, you are sleeping upon my beautiful cases with real -thread-lace borders!” - -“Bless me, what is the matter? Is the house on fire? O Lord, I smell -smoke—fire!—fire!” - -“Do be quiet now, and don’t make a fool of yourself; it’s only the -pillow I wanted.” - -“Oh, Die! is that you? You have frightened the very life out of me. Give -me something to put under my head; my neck is almost broke.” - -“There, my dear, is the night pillow. Now, never presume to go to bed -again, until the cover is turned down and the day cases removed, -and—bless me, how you have tossed the bed! Why, major, major, are you -asleep already?” - -“What is it, for heaven’s sake? Am I never to know what rest is again?” - -“But, my dear—major, I say, shall I tuck you up snugly?” - -“No! the devil! I don’t want to be reminded of my coffin every night by -being tucked up,” and away went the clothes from the foot and side. “Oh, -how I wish——” groaned the major, as Mrs. Micalf again patiently -smoothed them down. The wish died upon his tongue, but it was embodied -in his dreams:—Once more he was the quiet possessor of the snug little -room, and no less snug little bed, at the “Full Moon,” the atmosphere -dense with tobacco-smoke and the vapor of whiskey-punch regaling his -nose—when the shrill, sharp voice of his help-meet, at dawn of day, -dispelled the illusion, and, with the sun, he arose with the comfortable -thought that he was not the only being that had sold peace and happiness -for _gold_. And, ere the honey-moon had expired, Mr. and Mrs. Micalf -began to perceive that they had made a great mistake in their moonlight -flitting. - - * * * * * - - - - - I NEVER HAVE BEEN FALSE TO THEE. - - - A NEW SONG. - - - BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. - - - I never have been false to thee! - The heart I gave thee still is thine; - Though thou hast been untrue to me, - And I no more may call thee mine! - I’ve loved, as woman ever loves, - With constant soul in good or ill:— - Thou’st proved, as man too often proves, - A rover—but I love thee still! - - Yet think not that my spirit stoops - To bind thee captive in my train!— - Love’s not a flower, at sunset droops, - But smiles when comes her god again! - Thy words, which fall unheeded now, - Could once my heart-strings madly thrill! - Love’s golden chain and burning vow - Are broken—but I love thee still! - - Once what a heaven of bliss was ours, - When love dispelled the clouds of care, - And time went by with birds and flowers, - While song and incense filled the air!— - The past is mine—the present thine— - Should thoughts of me thy future fill, - Think what a destiny is mine, - To lose—but love thee, false one, still! - - * * * * * - - - - - A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY. - - - BY - - -[Illustration: signature of Edgar A. Poe] - -Under this head, some years ago, there appeared, in the Southern -Literary Messenger, an article which attracted very general attention, -not less from the nature of its subject than from the peculiar manner in -which it was handled. The editor introduces his readers to a certain Mr. -Joseph Miller, who, it is hinted, is not merely a descendant of the -illustrious Joe, of Jest-Book notoriety, but that identical individual -in proper person. Upon this point, however, an air of uncertainty is -thrown by means of an equivoque, maintained throughout the paper, in -respect to Mr. Miller’s middle name. This equivoque is put into the -mouth of Mr. M. himself. He gives his name, in the first instance, as -Joseph A. Miller; but, in the course of conversation, shifts it to -Joseph B., then to Joseph C., and so on through the whole alphabet, -until he concludes by desiring a copy of the Magazine to be sent to his -address as Joseph Z. Miller, Esquire. - -The object of his visit to the editor is to place in his hands the -autographs of certain distinguished American _literati_. To these -persons he had written rigmarole letters on various topics, and in all -cases had been successful in eliciting a reply. The replies only (which -it is scarcely necessary to say are all fictitious) are given in the -Magazine, with a genuine autograph fac-simile appended, and are either -burlesques of the supposed writer’s usual style, or rendered otherwise -absurd by reference to the nonsensical questions imagined to have been -propounded by Mr. Miller. The autographs thus given are twenty-six in -all—corresponding to the twenty-six variations in the initial letter of -the hoaxer’s middle name. - -With the public this article took amazingly well, and many of our -principal papers were at the expense of re-printing it with the wood-cut -autographs. Even those whose names had been introduced, and whose style -had been burlesqued, took the joke, generally speaking, in good part. -Some of them were at a loss what to make of the matter. Dr. W. E. -Channing, of Boston, was at some trouble, it is said, in calling to mind -whether he had or had not actually written to some Mr. Joseph Miller the -letter attributed to him in the article. This letter was nothing more -than what follows:— - - Boston, ——. - - Dear Sir, - - No such person as Philip Philpot has ever been in my employ as a - coachman, or otherwise. The name is an odd one, and not likely - to be forgotten. The man must have reference to some other - Doctor Channing. It would be as well to question him closely. - - Respectfully yours, - W. E. CHANNING. - To Joseph X. Miller, Esq. - -The precise and brief sententiousness of the divine is here, it will be -seen, very truly adopted, or “hit off.” - -In one instance only was the _jeu-d’esprit_ taken in serious dudgeon. -Colonel Stone and the Messenger had not been upon the best of terms. -Some one of the Colonel’s little brochures had been severely treated by -that journal, which declared that the work would have been far more -properly published among the quack advertisements in a spare corner of -the Commercial. The colonel had retaliated by wholesale vituperation of -the Messenger. This being the state of affairs, it was not to be -wondered at that the following epistle was not quietly received on the -part of him to whom it was attributed:— - - New York, ——. - - Dear Sir, - - I am exceedingly and excessively sorry that it is out of my - power to comply with your rational and reasonable request. The - subject you mention is one with which I am utterly unacquainted. - Moreover it is one about which I know very little. - - Respectfully, - W. L. STONE. - Joseph V. Miller, Esq. - -These tautologies and anti-climaces were too much for the colonel, and -we are ashamed to say that he committed himself by publishing in the -Commercial an indignant denial of ever having indited such an epistle. - -The principal feature of this autograph article, although perhaps the -least interesting, was that of the editorial comment upon the supposed -MSS., regarding them as indicative of character. In these comments the -design was never more than semi-serious. At times, too, the writer was -evidently led into error or injustice through the desire of being -pungent—not unfrequently sacrificing truth for the sake of a _bon-mot_. -In this manner qualities were often attributed to individuals, which -were not so much indicated by their hand-writing, as suggested by the -spleen of the commentator. But that a strong analogy _does_ generally -and naturally exist between every man’s chirography and character, will -be denied by none but the unreflecting. It is not our purpose, however, -to enter into the _philosophy_ of this subject, either in this portion -of the present paper, or in the abstract. What we may have to say will -be introduced elsewhere, and in connection with particular MSS. The -practical application of the theory will thus go hand in hand with the -theory itself. - -Our design is three-fold:—In the first place, seriously to illustrate -our position that the mental features are indicated (with certain -exceptions) by the hand-writing; secondly, to indulge in a little -literary gossip; and, thirdly, to furnish our readers with a more -accurate and at the same time a more general collection of the -autographs of our _literati_ than is to be found elsewhere. Of the first -portion of this design we have already spoken. The second speaks for -itself. Of the third it is only necessary to say that we are confident -of its interest for all lovers of literature. Next to the person of a -distinguished man-of-letters, we desire to see his portrait—next to his -portrait, his autograph. In the latter, especially, there is something -which seems to bring him before us in his true idiosyncrasy—in his -character of _scribe_. The feeling which prompts to the collection of -autographs is a natural and rational one. But complete, or even -extensive collections, are beyond the reach of those who themselves do -not dabble in the waters of literature. The writer of this article has -had opportunities, in this way, enjoyed by few. The MSS. now lying -before him are a motley mass indeed. Here are letters, or other -compositions, from every individual in America who has the slightest -pretension to literary celebrity. From these we propose to select the -most eminent names—as to give _all_ would be a work of supererogation. -Unquestionably, among those whose claims we are forced to postpone, are -several whose high _merit_ might justly demand a different treatment; -but the rule applicable in a case like this seems to be that of -celebrity, rather than that of true worth. It will be understood that, -in the necessity of selection which circumstances impose upon us, we -confine ourselves _to the most noted among the living literati of the -country_. The article above alluded to, embraced, as we have already -stated, only twenty-six names, and was not occupied _exclusively_ either -with living persons, or, properly speaking, with literary ones. In fact -the whole paper seemed to acknowledge no law beyond that of whim. Our -present essay will be found to include _one hundred autographs_. We have -thought it unnecessary to preserve any particular order in their -arrangement. - -[Illustration: signature of Chas (Charles) Anthon] - -Professor Charles Anthon, of Columbia College, New York, is well known -as the most erudite of our classical scholars; and, although still a -young man, there are few, if any, even in Europe, who surpass him in his -peculiar path of knowledge. In England his supremacy has been tacitly -acknowledged by the immediate re-publication of his editions of Cæsar, -Sallust, and Cicero, with other works, and their adoption as text-books -at Oxford and Cambridge. His amplification of Lemprière did him high -honor, but, of late, has been entirely superseded by a Classical -Dictionary of his own—a work most remarkable for the extent and -comprehensiveness of its details, as well as for its historical, -chronological, mythological, and philological _accuracy_. It has at once -completely overshadowed every thing of its kind. It follows, as a matter -of course, that Mr. Anthon has many little enemies, among the inditers -of merely big books. He has not been unassailed, yet has assuredly -remained uninjured in the estimation of all those whose opinion he would -be likely to value. We do not mean to say that he is altogether without -faults, but a certain antique Johnsonism of style is perhaps one of his -worst. He was mainly instrumental (with Professor Henry and Dr. Hawks) -in setting on foot the New York Review, a journal of which he is the -most efficient literary support, and whose most erudite papers have -always been furnished by his pen. - -The chirography of Professor Anthon is the most regularly beautiful of -any in our collection. We see the most scrupulous precision, finish, and -neatness about every portion of it—in the formation of individual -letters, as well as in the _tout-ensemble_. The perfect symmetry of the -MS. gives it, to a casual glance, the appearance of Italic print. The -lines are quite straight, and at exactly equal distances, yet are -written without black rules, or other artificial aid. There is not the -slightest superfluity, in the way of flourish or otherwise, with the -exception of the twirl in the C of the signature. Yet the whole is -rather neat and graceful than forcible. Of four letters now lying before -us, one is written on pink, one on a faint blue, one on green, and one -on yellow paper—all of the finest quality. The seal is of green wax, -with an impression of the head of Cæsar. - -It is in the chirography of such men as Professor Anthon that we look -with certainty for indication of character. The life of a scholar is -mostly undisturbed by those adventitious events which distort the -natural disposition of the man of the world, preventing his real nature -from manifesting itself in his MS. The lawyer, who, pressed for time, is -often forced to embody a world of heterogeneous memoranda, on scraps of -paper, with the stumps of all varieties of pen, will soon find the fair -characters of his boyhood degenerate into hieroglyphics which would -puzzle Doctor Wallis or Champollion; and from chirography so disturbed -it is nearly impossible to decide any thing. In a similar manner, men -who pass through many striking vicissitudes of life, acquire in each -change of circumstance a temporary inflection of the hand-writing; the -whole resulting, after many years, in an unformed or variable MS., -scarcely to be recognised by themselves from one day to the other. In -the case of literary men generally, we may expect some decisive token of -the mental influence upon the MS., and in the instance of the classical -devotee we may look with _especial_ certainty for such token. We see, -accordingly, in Professor Anthon’s autography, each and all of the known -idiosyncrasies of his taste and intellect. We recognise at once the -scrupulous precision and finish of his scholarship and of his style—the -love of elegance which prompts him to surround himself, in his private -study, with gems of sculptural art, and beautifully bound volumes, all -arranged with elaborate attention to form, and in the very pedantry of -neatness. We perceive, too, the disdain of superfluous embellishment -which distinguishes his compilations, and which gives to their exterior -appearance so marked an air of Quakerism. We must not forget to observe -that the “want of force” is a want as perceptible in the whole character -of the man, as in that of the MS. - -[Illustration: signature of Washington Irving] - -The MS. of Mr. Irving has little about it indicative of his genius. -Certainly, no one could suspect from it any nice _finish_ in the -writer’s compositions; nor is this nice finish to be found. The letters -now before us vary remarkably in appearance; and those of late date are -not nearly so well written as the more antique. Mr. Irving has travelled -much, has seen many vicissitudes, and has been so thoroughly satiated -with fame as to grow slovenly in the performance of his literary tasks. -This slovenliness has affected his hand-writing. But even from his -earlier MSS. there is little to be gleaned, except the ideas of -simplicity and precision. It must be admitted, however, that this fact, -in itself, is characteristic of the literary manner, which, however -excellent, has no prominent or very remarkable features. - -[Illustration: signature of Park Benjamin] - -For the last six or seven years, few men have occupied a more desirable -position among us than Mr. Benjamin. As the editor of the American -Monthly Magazine, of the New Yorker, and more lately of the Signal, and -New World, he has exerted an influence scarcely second to that of any -editor in the country. This influence Mr. B. owes to no single cause, -but to his combined ability, activity, causticity, fearlessness, and -independence. We use the latter term, however, with some mental -reservation. The editor of the World is independent so far as the word -implies unshaken resolution to follow the bent of one’s own will, let -the consequences be what they may. He is no respecter of persons, and -his vituperation as often assails the powerful as the powerless—indeed -the latter fall rarely under his censure. But we cannot call his -independence, at all times, that of principle. We can never be sure that -he will defend a cause merely because it is the cause of truth—or even -because he regards it as such. He is too frequently biassed by personal -feelings—feelings now of friendship, and again of vindictiveness. He is -a warm friend, and a bitter, but not implacable enemy. His judgment in -literary matters should not be questioned, but there is some difficulty -in getting at his real opinion. As a prose writer, his style is lucid, -terse, and pungent. He is often witty, often cuttingly sarcastic, but -seldom humorous. He frequently injures the force of his fiercest attacks -by an indulgence in merely vituperative epithets. As a poet, he is -entitled to far higher consideration than that in which he is ordinarily -held. He is skilful and passionate, as well as imaginative. His sonnets -have not been surpassed. In short, it is as a poet that his better -genius is evinced—it is in poetry that his noble spirit breaks forth, -showing what the man is, and what, but for unhappy circumstances, he -would invariably appear. - -Mr. Benjamin’s MS. is not very dissimilar to Mr. Irving’s, and, like -his, it has no doubt been greatly modified by the excitements of life, -and by the necessity of writing much and hastily; so that we can -predicate but little respecting it. It speaks of his exquisite -sensibility and passion. These betray themselves in the nervous -variation of the MS. as the subject is diversified. When the theme is an -ordinary one, the writing is legible and has force; but when it verges -upon any thing which may be supposed to excite, we see the characters -falter as they proceed. In the MSS. of some of his best poems this -peculiarity is very remarkable. The signature conveys the idea of his -_usual_ chirography. - -[Illustration: signature of John P. Kennedy] - -Mr. Kennedy is well known as the author of “Swallow Barn,” “Horse-Shoe -Robinson,” and “Rob of the Bowl,” three works whose features are -strongly and decidedly marked. These features are boldness and force of -thought, (disdaining ordinary embellishment, and depending for its -effect upon masses rather than upon details) with a predominant _sense -of the picturesque_ pervading and giving color to the whole. His -“Swallow Barn,” in especial (and it is by the first effort of an author -that we form the truest idea of his mental bias), is but a rich -succession of picturesque still-life pieces. Mr. Kennedy is well to do -in the world, and has always taken the world easily. We may therefore -expect to find in his chirography, if ever in any, a full indication of -the chief feature of his literary style—especially as this chief -feature is so remarkably prominent. A glance at his signature will -convince any one that the indication is to be found. A painter called -upon to designate the main peculiarity of this MS. would speak at once -of the _picturesque_. This character is given it by the absence of -hair-strokes, and by the abrupt termination of every letter without -tapering; also in great measure by varying the size and slope of the -letters. Great uniformity is preserved in the whole air of the MS., with -great variety in the constituent parts. Every character has the -clearness, boldness and precision of a wood-cut. The long letters do not -rise or fall in an undue degree above the others. Upon the whole, this -is a hand which pleases us much, although its _bizarrerie_ is rather too -piquant for the general taste. Should its writer devote himself more -exclusively to light letters, we predict his future eminence. The paper -on which our epistles are written is very fine, clear, and _white_, with -gilt edges. The seal is neat, and just sufficient wax has been used for -the impression. All this betokens a love of the elegant without -effeminacy. - -[Illustration: signature of G: Mellen] - -The hand-writing of Grenville Mellen is somewhat peculiar, and partakes -largely of the character of his signature as seen above. The whole is -highly indicative of the poet’s flighty, hyper-fanciful character, with -his unsettled and often erroneous ideas of the beautiful. His straining -after effect is well paralleled in the formation of the preposterous G -in the signature, with the two dots by its side. Mr. Mellen has genius -unquestionably, but there is something in his temperament which obscures -it.[3] - ------ - -[3] Since this article was prepared for the press, we have been grieved -to hear of the death of Mr. Mellen. - -[Illustration: signature of J K Paulding] - -No correct notion of Mr. Paulding’s literary peculiarities can be -obtained from an inspection of his MS., which, no doubt, has been -strongly modified by adventitious circumstances. His small _a_s, _t_s, -and _c_s are all alike, and the style of the characters generally is -French, although the entire MS. has much the appearance of Greek text. -The paper which he ordinarily uses is of a very fine glossy texture, and -of a blue tint, with gilt edges. His signature is a good specimen of his -general hand. - -[Illustration: signature of L. H. Sigourney] - -Mrs. Sigourney seems to take much pains with her MSS. Apparently she -employs _black lines_. Every _t_ is crossed, and every _i_ dotted, with -precision, while the punctuation is faultless. Yet the whole has nothing -of effeminacy or formality. The individual characters are large, well -and freely formed, and preserve a perfect uniformity throughout. -Something in her hand-writing puts us in mind of Mr. Paulding’s. In both -MSS. perfect regularity exists, and in both the style is _formed_ or -_decided_. Both are beautiful; yet Mrs. Sigourney’s is the most legible, -and Mr. Paulding’s nearly the most illegible in the world. From that of -Mrs. S. we might easily form a true estimate of her compositions. -Freedom, dignity, precision, and grace, without originality, may be -properly attributed to her. She has fine taste, without genius. Her -paper is usually good—the seal small, of green and gold wax, and -without impression. - -[Illustration: signature of Robert Walsh] - -Mr. Walsh’s MS. is peculiar, from its large, sprawling and irregular -appearance—rather rotund than angular. It always seems to have been -hurriedly written. The _t_s are crossed with a sweeping scratch of the -pen, which gives to his epistles a somewhat droll appearance. A -_dictatorial_ air pervades the whole. His paper is of ordinary quality. -His seal is commonly of brown wax mingled with gold, and bears a Latin -motto, of which only the words _trans_ and _mortuus_ are legible. - -Mr. Walsh cannot be denied talent; but his reputation, which has been -bolstered into being by a _clique_, is not a thing to live. A blustering -self-conceit betrays itself in his chirography, which upon the whole, is -not very dissimilar to that of Mr. E. Everett, of whom we shall speak -hereafter. - -[Illustration: signature of J H Ingraham] - -Mr. Ingraham, or Ingrahame, (for he writes his name sometimes with, and -sometimes without the _e_,) is one of our most _popular_ novelists, if -not one of our best. He appeals always to the taste of the -ultra-romanticists, (as a matter, we believe, rather of pecuniary policy -than of choice) and thus is obnoxious to the charge of a certain -cut-and-thrust, blue-fire, melodramaticism. Still, he is capable of -better things. His chirography is very unequal; at times, sufficiently -clear and flowing, at others, shockingly scratchy and uncouth. From it -nothing whatever can be predicated, except an uneasy vacillation of -temper and of purpose. - -[Illustration: signature of W C Bryant] - -Mr. Bryant’s MS. puts us entirely at fault. It is one of the most -common-place clerk’s hands which we ever encountered, and has no -character about it beyond that of the day-book and ledger. He writes, in -short, what mercantile men and professional pen-men call a fair hand, -but what artists would term an abominable one. Among its regular up and -down strokes, waving lines and hair-lines, systematic taperings and -flourishes, we look in vain for the force, polish, and decision of the -poet. The _picturesque_, to be sure, is equally deficient in his -chirography and in his poetical productions. - -[Illustration: signature of Fitz-Greene Halleck] - -Mr. Halleck’s hand is strikingly indicative of his genius. We see in it -some force, more grace, and little of the picturesque. There is a great -deal of freedom about it, and his MSS. seem to be written _currente -calamo_, but without hurry. His flourishes, which are not many, look as -if thoughtfully planned, and deliberately, yet firmly executed. His -paper is very good, and of a blueish tint—his seal of red wax. - -[Illustration: signature of N. P. Willis.] - -Mr. Willis, when writing carefully, would write a hand nearly resembling -that of Mr. Halleck; although no similarity is perceptible in the -signatures. His usual chirography is dashing, free, and not ungraceful, -but is sadly deficient in force and picturesqueness. - -It has been the fate of this gentleman to be alternately condemned _ad -infinitum_, and lauded _ad nauseam_—a fact which speaks much in his -praise. We know of no American writer who has evinced greater -versatility of talent; that is to say, of high talent, often amounting -to genius; and we know of none who has more narrowly missed placing -himself at the head of our letters. - -The paper of Mr. Willis’ epistles is always fine, and glossy. At -present, he employs a somewhat large seal, with a dove, or -carrier-pigeon, at the top, the word “Glenmary” at bottom, and the -initials “N. P. W.” in the middle. - -[Illustration: signature of Rufus Dawes] - -Mr. Dawes has been long known as a poet; but his claims are scarcely yet -settled—his friends giving him rank with Bryant and Halleck, while his -opponents treat his pretensions with contempt. The truth is, that the -author of “Geraldine” and “Athenia of Damascus” has written occasional -verses very well—so well, that some of his minor pieces may be -considered equal to any of the minor pieces of either of the two -gentlemen above-mentioned. His longer poems, however, will not bear -examination. “Athenia of Damascus” is pompous nonsense, and “Geraldine” -a most ridiculous imitation of Don Juan, in which the beauties of the -original have been as sedulously avoided, as the blemishes have been -blunderingly culled. In style, he is, perhaps, the most inflated, -involved, and falsely-figurative, of any of our more noted poets. This -defect, of course, is only fully appreciable in what are termed his -“sustained efforts,” and thus his shorter pieces are often exceedingly -good. His apparent erudition is mere verbiage, and, were it real, would -be lamentably out of place where we see it. He seems to have been -infected with a blind admiration of Coleridge—especially of his -mysticism and cant. - -[Illustration: signature of Henry W. Longfellow] - -H. W. Longfellow, (Professor of Moral Philosophy at Harvard,) is -entitled to the first place among the poets of America—certainly to the -first place among those who have put themselves prominently forth as -poets. His good qualities are all of the highest order, while his sins -are chiefly those of affectation and imitation—an imitation sometimes -verging upon downright theft. - -His MS. is remarkably good, and is fairly exemplified in the signature. -We see here plain indications of the force, vigor, and glowing richness -of his literary style; the deliberate and steady _finish_ of his -compositions. The man who writes thus may not accomplish much, but what -he does, will always be thoroughly done. The main beauty, or at least -one great beauty of his poetry, is that of _proportion_; another, is a -freedom from extraneous embellishment. He oftener runs into affectation -through his endeavors at simplicity, than through any other cause. Now -this rigid simplicity and proportion are easily perceptible in the MS., -which, altogether, is a very excellent one. - -[Illustration: signature of J. Pierpont] - -The Rev. J. Pierpont, who, of late, has attracted so much of the public -attention, is one of the most accomplished poets in America. His “Airs -of Palestine” is distinguished by the sweetness and vigor of its -versification, and by the grace of its sentiments. Some of his shorter -pieces are exceedingly terse and forcible, and none of our readers can -have forgotten his Lines on Napoleon. His rhythm is at least equal in -strength and modulation to that of any poet in America. Here he -resembles Milman and Croly. - -His chirography, nevertheless, indicates nothing beyond the -common-place. It is an ordinary clerk’s hand—one which is met with more -frequently than any other. It is decidedly _formed_; and we have no -doubt that he _never_ writes otherwise than thus. The MS. of his -school-days has probably been persisted in to the last. If so, the fact -is in full consonance with the steady precision of his style. The -flourish at the end of the signature is but a part of the writer’s -general enthusiasm. - -[Illustration: signature of W. Gilmore Simms] - -Mr. Simms is the author of “Martin Faber,” “Atalantis,” “Guy Rivers,” -“The Partisan,” “Mellichampe,” “The Yemassee,” “The Damsel of Darien,” -“The Black Riders of the Congaree,” and one or two other productions, -among which we must not forget to mention several fine poems. As a poet, -indeed, we like him far better than as a novelist. His qualities in this -latter respect _resemble_ those of Mr. Kennedy, although he equals him -in no particular, except in his appreciation of the graceful. In his -sense of beauty he is Mr. K.’s superior, but falls behind him in force, -and the other attributes of the author of Swallow Barn. These -differences and resemblances are well shown in the MSS. That of Mr. S. -has more slope, and more uniformity in detail, with less in the -mass—while it has also less of the picturesque, although still much. -The middle name is Gilm_o_re; in the cut it looks like Gilm_e_re. - -[Illustration: signature of O. A. Brownson] - -The Rev. Orestes A. Brownson is chiefly known to the literary world as -the editor of the “Boston Quarterly Review,” a work to which he -contributes, each quarter, at least two-thirds of the matter. He has -published little in book form—his principal works being “Charles -Elwood,” and “New Views.” Of these, the former production is, in many -respects, one of the highest merit. In logical accuracy, in -comprehensiveness of thought, and in the evident frankness and desire -for truth in which it is composed, we know of few theological treatises -which can be compared with it. Its conclusion, however, bears about it a -species of hesitation and inconsequence, which betray the fact that the -writer has not altogether succeeded in convincing himself of those -important truths which he is so anxious to impress upon his readers. We -must bear in mind, however, that this is the fault of Mr. Brownson’s -subject, and not of Mr. Brownson. However well a man may reason on the -great topics of God and immortality, he will be forced to admit tacitly -in the end, that God and immortality are things to be felt, rather than -demonstrated. - -On subjects less indefinite, Mr. B. reasons with the calm and convincing -force of a Combe. He is, in every respect, an extraordinary man, and -with the more extensive resources which would have been afforded him by -early education, could not have failed to bring about important results. - -His MS. indicates, in the most striking manner, the unpretending -simplicity, directness, and especially, the _indefatigability_ of his -mental character. His signature is more _petite_ than his general -chirography. - -[Illustration: signature of B. Tucker] - -Judge Beverly Tucker, of the College of William and Mary, Virginia, is -the author of one of the best novels ever published in America—“George -Balcombe”—although, for some reason, the book was never a popular -favorite. It was, perhaps, somewhat too didactic for the general taste. - -He has written a great deal, also, for the “Southern Literary Messenger” -at different times; and, at one period, acted in part, if not -altogether, as editor of that Magazine, which is indebted to him for -some very racy articles, in the way of criticism especially. He is apt, -however, to be led away by personal feelings, and is more given to -vituperation for the mere sake of _point_ or pungency, than is -altogether consonant with his character as judge. Some five years ago -there appeared in the “Messenger,” under the editorial head, an article -on the subject of the “Pickwick Papers” and some other productions of -Mr. Dickens. This article, which abounded in well-written but -extravagant denunciation of everything composed by the author of “The -Curiosity Shop,” and which prophesied his immediate downfall, we have -reason to believe was from the pen of Judge Beverly Tucker. We take this -opportunity of mentioning the subject, because the odium of the paper in -question fell altogether upon our shoulders, and it is a burthen we are -not disposed and never intended to bear. The review appeared in March, -we think, and we had retired from the Messenger in the January -preceding. About eighteen months previously, and when Mr. Dickens was -scarcely known to the public at all, except as the author of some brief -tales and essays, the writer of this article took occasion to predict, -in the Messenger, and in the most emphatic manner, that high and just -distinction which the author in question has attained. Judge Tucker’s -MS. is diminutive, but neat and legible, and has much force and -precision, with little of the picturesque. The care which he bestows -upon his literary compositions makes itself manifest also in his -chirography. The signature is more florid than general hand. - -[Illustration: signature of John Sanderson] - -Mr. Sanderson, Professor of the Greek and Latin languages in the High -School of Philadelphia, is well known as the author of a series of -letters, entitled “The American in Paris.” These are distinguished by -ease and vivacity of style, with occasional profundity of observation, -and, above all, by the frequency of their illustrative anecdotes, and -figures. In all these particulars, Professor Sanderson is the precise -counterpart of Judge Beverly Tucker, author of “George Balcombe.” The -MSS. of the two gentlemen are nearly identical. Both are neat, clear and -legible. Mr. Sanderson’s is somewhat the more crowded. - -[Illustration: signature of H. F. Gould.] - -About Miss Gould’s MS. there is great neatness, picturesqueness, and -finish, without over-effeminacy. The literary style of one who writes -thus will always be remarkable for sententiousness and epigrammatism; -and these are the leading features of Miss Gould’s poetry. - -[Illustration: signature of C. S. Henry] - -Prof. Henry, of Bristol College, is chiefly known by his contributions -to our Quarterlies, and as one of the originators of the New-York -Review, in conjunction with Dr. Hawks and Professor Anthon. His -chirography is now neat and picturesque, (much resembling that of Judge -Tucker,) and now excessively scratchy, _clerky_, and slovenly—so that -it is nearly impossible to say anything respecting it, except that it -indicates a vacillating disposition, with unsettled ideas of the -beautiful. None of his epistles, in regard to their chirography, end as -well as they begin. This trait denotes _fatigability_. His signature, -which is bold and decided, conveys not the faintest idea of the general -MS. - -[Illustration: signature of Emma C. Embury] - -Mrs. Embury is chiefly known by her contributions to the Periodicals of -the country. She is one of the most nervous of our female writers, and -is not destitute of originality—that rarest of all qualities in a -woman, and especially in an American woman. - -Her MS. evinces a strong disposition to fly off at a tangent from the -old formulæ of the Boarding Academies. Both in it, and in her literary -style, it would be well that she should no longer hesitate to discard -the absurdities of mere fashion. - -[Illustration: signature of Wm. Landor.] - -Mr. Landor acquired much reputation as the author of “Stanley,” a work -which was warmly commended by the press throughout the country. He has -also written many excellent papers for the Magazines. His chirography is -usually _petite_, without hair-lines, close, and somewhat stiff. Many -words are carefully erased. His epistles have always a rigorous -formality about them. The whole is strongly indicative of his literary -qualities. He is an elaborately careful, stiff, and pedantic writer, -with much affectation and great talent. Should he devote himself -ultimately to letters, he cannot fail of high success. - -[Illustration: signature of Eliza Leslie] - -Miss Leslie is celebrated for the homely naturalness of her stories and -for the broad satire of her comic style. She has written much for the -Magazines. Her chirography is distinguished for neatness and finish, -without over-effeminacy. It is rotund, and somewhat diminutive; the -letters being separate, and the words always finished with an inward -twirl. She is never particular about the quality of her paper or the -other externals of epistolary correspondence. From her MSS. in general, -we might suppose her solicitous rather about the effect of her -compositions as a whole, than about the polishing of the constituent -parts. There is much of the picturesque both in her chirography and in -her literary style. - -[Illustration: signature of Joseph C. Neal] - -Mr. Neal has acquired a very extensive reputation through his “Charcoal -Sketches,” a series of papers originally written for the “Saturday -News,” of this city, and afterwards published in book form, with -illustrations by Johnston. The whole design of the “Charcoal Sketches” -may be stated as the depicting of the wharf and street _loafer_; but -this design has been executed altogether in caricature. The extreme of -burlesque runs throughout the work, which is, also, chargeable with a -tedious repetition of slang and incident. The loafer always declaims the -same nonsense, in the same style, gets drunk in the same way, and is -taken to the watch-house after the same fashion. Reading one chapter of -the book, we read all. Any single description would have been an -original idea well executed, but the dose is repeated _ad nauseam_, and -betrays a woful poverty of invention. The manner in which Mr. Neal’s -book was belauded by his personal friends of the Philadelphia press, -speaks little for their independence, or less for their taste. To dub -the author of these “Charcoal Sketches” (which are really very excellent -police-reports) with the title of “the American Boz,” is either -outrageous nonsense, or malevolent irony. - -In other respects, Mr. N. has evinced talents which cannot be -questioned. He has conducted the “Pennsylvanian” with credit, and, as a -political writer, he stands deservedly high. His MS. is simple and -legible, with much space between the words. It has force, but little -grace. Altogether, his chirography is good; but as he belongs to the -editorial corps, it would not be just to suppose that any deductions, in -respect to character, could be gleaned from it. His signature conveys -the general MS. with accuracy. - -[Illustration: signature of Seba Smith] - -Mr. Seba Smith has become somewhat widely celebrated as the author, in -part, of the “Letters of Major Jack Downing.” These were very clever -productions; coarse, but full of fun, wit, sarcasm and sense. Their -manner rendered them exceedingly popular, until their success tempted -into the field a host of brainless imitators. Mr. S. is also the author -of several poems; among others, of “Powhatan, a Metrical Romance,” which -we do not very particularly admire. His MS. is legible, and has much -simplicity about it. At times it vacillates, and appears unformed. Upon -the whole, it is much such a MS. as David Crockett wrote, and precisely -such a one as we might imagine would be written by a _veritable_ Jack -Downing; by Jack Downing himself, had this creature of Mr. Smith’s fancy -been endowed with a real entity. The fact is, that “The Major” is not -_all_ a creation; at least one half of his character actually exists in -the bosom of his originator. It was the Jack Downing half that composed -“Powhatan.” - -[Illustration: signature of Jos. Hopkinson] - -Judge Hopkinson’s hand is forcible, neat, legible, and devoid of -superfluity. The characters have much slope, and whole words are -frequently run together. The lines are at equal distances, and a broad -margin is at the left of the page, as is the case with the MSS. of Judge -Marshall, and other jurists. The whole is too uniform to be picturesque. -The writing is always as good at the conclusion, as at the commencement -of the epistles—a rare quality in MSS., evincing _indefatigability_ in -the writer. - -[Illustration: signature of Alexander Slidell] - -Lieutenant Slidell, some years ago, took the additional name of -Mackenzie. His reputation, at one period, was extravagantly high—a -circumstance owing, in some measure, to the _esprit de corps_ of the -navy, of which he is a member, and to his private influence, through his -family, with the Review-cliques. Yet his fame was not altogether -undeserved; although it cannot be denied that his first book, “A Year in -Spain,” was in some danger of being overlooked by his countrymen, until -a benignant star directed the attention of the London bookseller, -Murray, to its merits. Cockney octavos prevailed; and the clever young -writer who was cut dead in his Yankee habiliments, met with bows -innumerable in the gala dress of an English _imprimatur_. The work now -ran through several editions, and prepared the public for the kind -reception of “The American in England,” which exalted his reputation to -its highest pinnacle. Both these books abound in racy description; but -are chiefly remarkable for their gross deficiencies in grammatical -construction. - -Lieut. Slidell’s MS. is peculiarly neat and even—quite legible, but -altogether too petite and effeminate. Few tokens of his literary -character are to be found, beyond the _petiteness_, which is exactly -analogous with the minute detail of his descriptions. - -[Illustration: signature of Francis Lieber] - -Francis Lieber is Professor of History and Political Economy in the -College of South Carolina, and has published many works distinguished by -acumen and erudition. Among these we may notice a “Journal of a -Residence in Greece,” written at the instigation of the historian -Niebuhr; “The Stranger in America,” a piquant book abounding in various -information relative to the United States; a treatise on “Education;” -“Reminiscences of an intercourse with Niebuhr;” and an “Essay on -International Copy-Right”—this last a valuable work. - -Professor Lieber’s personal character is that of the frankest and most -unpretending _bonhommie_, while his erudition is rather massive than -minute. We may therefore expect his MS. to differ widely from that of -his brother scholar, Professor Anthon; and so in truth it does. His -chirography is careless, heavy, black, and forcible, without the -slightest attempt at ornament—very similar, upon the whole to the -well-known chirography of Chief Justice Marshall. His letters have the -peculiarity of a wide margin left at the top of each page. - -[Illustration: signature of Sarah J. Hale] - -Mrs. Hale is well known for her masculine style of thought. This is -clearly expressed in her chirography, which is far larger, heavier, and -altogether bolder than that of her sex generally. It resembles in a -great degree that of Professor Lieber, and is not easily deciphered. - -[Illustration: signature of Edward Everett] - -Mr. Everett’s MS. is a noble one. It has about it an air of deliberate -precision emblematic of the statesman, and a mingled grace and solidity -betokening the scholar. Nothing can be more legible, and nothing need be -more uniform. The man who writes thus will never grossly err in -judgment, or otherwise; but we may also venture to say that he will -never attain the loftiest pinnacle of renown. The letters before us have -a seal of red wax, with an oval device bearing the initials E. E. and -surrounded with a scroll, inscribed with some Latin words which are -illegible. - -[Illustration: signature of Robert M. Bird] - -Dr. Bird is well known as the author of “The Gladiator,” “Calavar,” “The -Infidel,” “Nick of the Woods,” and some other works—Calavar being, we -think, by far the best of them, and beyond doubt one of the best of -American novels. - -His chirography resembles that of Mr. Benjamin very closely; the chief -difference being in a curl of the final letters in Dr. B.’s. The -characters, too, have the air of not being able to keep pace with the -thought, and an uneasy want of finish seems to have been the -consequence. A vivid imagination might easily be deduced from such a MS. - -[Illustration: signature of John Neal] - -Mr. John Neal’s MS. is exceedingly illegible and careless. Many of his -epistles are perfect enigmas, and we doubt whether he could read them -himself in half an hour after they are penned. Sometimes four or five -words are run together. Any one, from Mr. Neal’s penmanship, might -suppose his mind to be what it really is—excessively flighty and -irregular, but active and energetic. - -[Illustration: signature of C M Sedgwick] - -The penmanship of Miss Sedgwick is excellent. The characters are well -sized, distinct, elegantly but not ostentatiously formed, and with -perfect freedom of manner, are still sufficiently feminine. The -hair-strokes differ little from the downward ones, and the MSS. have -thus a uniformity they might not otherwise have. The paper she generally -uses is good, blue, and machine-ruled. Miss Sedgwick’s hand-writing -points unequivocally to the traits of her literary style—which are -strong common sense, and a masculine disdain of mere ornament. The -signature conveys the general chirography. - -[Illustration: signature of J. Fenimore Cooper] - -Mr. Cooper’s MS. is very bad—_unformed_, with little of distinctive -character about it, and varying greatly in different epistles. In most -of those before us a steel pen has been employed, the lines are crooked, -and the whole chirography has a constrained and school-boyish air. The -paper is fine, and of a bluish tint. A wafer is always used. Without -appearing ill-natured, we could scarcely draw any inferences from such a -MS. Mr. Cooper has seen many vicissitudes, and it is probable that he -has not always written thus. Whatever are his faults, his genius cannot -be doubted. - -[Illustration: signature of J. L. Hawks] - -Dr. Hawks is one of the originators of the “New York Review,” to which -journal he has furnished many articles. He is also known as the author -of the “History of the Episcopal Church of Virginia,” and one or two -minor works. He now edits the “Church Record.” His style, both as a -writer and as a preacher, is characterized rather by a perfect _fluency_ -than by any more lofty quality, and this trait is strikingly indicated -in his chirography, of which the signature is a fair specimen. - -[Illustration: signature of Henry W^{m} Herbert] - -This gentleman is the author of “Cromwell,” “The Brothers,” “Ringwood -the Rover,” and some other minor productions. He at one time edited the -“American Monthly Magazine,” in connection with Mr. Hoffman. In his -compositions for the Magazines, Mr. Herbert is in the habit of doing -both them and himself gross injustice, by neglect and hurry. His longer -works evince much ability, although he is rarely entitled to be called -original. His MS. is exceedingly neat, clear, and forcible; the -signature affording a just idea of it. It resembles that of Mr. Kennedy -very nearly; but has more slope and uniformity, with, of course, less -spirit, and less of the picturesque. He who writes as Mr. Herbert, will -be found always to depend chiefly upon his merits of _style_ for a -literary reputation, and will not be unapt to fall into a pompous -grandiloquence. The author of “Cromwell” is sometimes wofully turgid. - -[Illustration: signature of C. H. Waterman] - -Mrs. Esling, formerly Miss Waterman, has attracted much attention, of -late years, by the tenderness and melody of her short poems. She -deserves _nearly_ all the commendation which she has received. Her MS. -would generally be considered beautiful; but formed, like that of most -of her sex, upon a regular school-model, it is, of course, not in the -slightest degree indicative of character. - -[Illustration: signature of E. F. Ellet] - -Mrs. E. F. Ellet has published one or two books, exclusively of a volume -of poems, but is chiefly known to the literary world by her numerous -contributions to the Magazines. As a translator from the Italian, she -has acquired an enviable reputation. Her hand, of which the signature -above scarcely conveys a full idea, is clear, neat, forcible and -legible; just such a hand as one would desire for copying MSS. of -importance. We have observed that the writers of such epistles as those -before us, are often known as translators, but seldom evince high -originality or very eminent talent of any kind. - -[Illustration: signature of M M Noah] - -Judge Noah has written several plays which took very well in their time, -and also several essays and other works, giving evidence of no ordinary -learning and penetration on certain topics—chiefly connected with -Israelitish history. He is better known, however, from the wit and -universal _bonhommie_ of his editorial paragraphs. His peculiar traits -of character may be traced in his writing, which has about it a free, -rolling, and open air. His lines are never straight, and the letters -taper too much to please the eye of an artist, and have now and then a -twirl, like the tail of a pig, which gives to the whole MS. an -indescribably quizzical appearance, and one altogether in consonance -with the general notion respecting the quondam Major, and present Judge, -than whom no man has more friends or fewer enemies. - -[Illustration: signature of J. G. Palfrey] - -Professor Palfrey is known to the public principally through his -editorship of the “North American Review.” He has a reputation for -scholarship; and many of the articles which are attributed to his pen -evince that this reputation is well based, so far as the common notion -of scholarship extends. For the rest, he seems to dwell altogether -within the narrow world of his _own_ conceptions; imprisoning them by -the very barrier which he has erected against the conceptions of others. - -His MS. shows a total deficiency in the sense of the beautiful. It has -great pretension—great straining after effect; but is altogether one of -the most miserable MSS. in the world—forceless, graceless, tawdry, -vacillating and unpicturesque. The signature conveys but a faint idea of -its extravagance. However much we may admire the mere _knowledge_ of the -man who writes thus, it will not do to place any dependence upon his -wisdom or upon his taste. - -This article will be concluded in our next number, and will embrace the -autograph of every writer of note in America. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE KING’S BRIDE. - - - BY J. H. DANA. - - -There is no scenery in England more beautiful than that to be found in -portions of the New Forest. Huge gray old oaks, gnarled, and twisted, -and aspiring to heaven; deep glens, overshadowed by canopies of leaves, -through which the light but faintly struggles; vast arcades, stretching -far away in the distance, and buried in religious gloom; wild wood -roads, that wind hither and thither among the giant trees in fanciful -contortions; and open, sunny glades, intersected by sparkling -streamlets, waving with verdant grass, and now and then disclosing a -fairy cottage nestled in the edge of the forest, are to this day, the -characteristics of this favorite hunting ground of the conqueror and his -immediate successors. There is a solitude about this old labyrinthine -chace, which is perfectly bewitching. You may travel for miles, in the -more secluded parts of the forest, without meeting a human being, or -seeing the smoke of a single cottage curling among the foliage; but on -every hand you will behold trees growing in the wildest luxuriance, and -tread on a sward as soft and thick as the richest velvet. You will, for -a space, hear nothing but the sound of a nut rattling to the ground, or -the song of some wood bird down in a brake; and then you will rouse the -deer from their retreat, a rustle will be heard down in the -under-growth, and you will catch a sight of the noble herd, perchance, -as they go trotting away into the darker recesses of the forest. - -Such is the New Forest now, and such it was eight centuries ago, on a -bright sunny morning, towards the end of summer. The hour was still -early, for the dew yet sparkled in the grass, or pattered down from the -foliage as the wind stirred among the forest branches. The scene was one -of the loveliest the chace afforded—a bright glade embosomed in the -most silent depths of the forest. The whole of this open space was -carpeted with the thickest and greenest grass, varying in hue, at every -breath of the balmy wind over the undulated surface. On one side, the -glade was bounded by a gentle elevation, covered with stately oaks, -whose giant branches, spreading out far and wide, buried their trunks in -the obscurity of a constant twilight—and on the other three sides the -ground either extended itself in a plain, or sloped so gently off, that -the descent was nearly imperceptible. Thousands of wild flowers spangled -the surface of the glade, some flaunting proudly on the air, and some -modestly hiding under the long grass, yet all sending forth the most -delicious perfume—while innumerable birds, of every variety of plumage, -hopped from twig to twig, or skimmed across the glade, filling the air -with untold harmonies,—and high in the heaven, a solitary lark, -lingering there long after his fellows had departed, poured forth his -lay with such sweet, such liquid harmony, that a stranger, unaccustomed -to his song, and unable to distinguish his tiny form far up in the sunny -ether, might well have fancied those unrivalled notes the breathings of -an unseen cherubim. - -Such was the scene on which there now gazed two beings, both beautiful, -but one surpassingly so. The elder of the two might have been one and -thirty, and both his face and figure were moulded in the noblest style -of manly beauty. His broad brow, chiselled features, and commanding -port, bespoke him one born to rule, although the simple and somewhat -mean garb he wore argued that he was not rich in this world’s goods. The -attire of his companion was richer, but less gay, and she wore the veil -of a novice. Her face, however, made up in loveliness for whatever -absence of ornament there was in her dress, and indeed she might well -have challenged the world to produce her rival. The fair delicate skin -through which the blue veins could be seen meandering, the snowy brow -that seemed made for the temple of the loveliest and purest thoughts, -the golden hair that lay in wreathes upon the forehead, and the blue eye -whose azure depths seemed to conceal mysteries as pure and rapturing as -those of heaven, made up a countenance of overpowering beauty, even -without that expression, so high and seraphic, which beamed with her -every word, and threw over each lineament of her face a loveliness -almost divine. Her figure was like that of a sylph, yet full and rounded -in every limb; and beneath her dress peeped forth one of the most -delicate feet that ever trod green sward. She was perhaps eighteen, -though she might have been younger. She sat now on a low bank, at the -very edge of the forest, while her companion reclined at her feet, -holding one of her tiny hands in his broad palm, and gazing up into her -eyes with a look of the deepest, yet most respectful passion. Nor were -the maiden’s orbs averted from his gaze, for ever and anon she would -twine her fingers playfully yet half sadly in his locks, and return his -look with all a woman’s tenderness. - -“Yes, sweet one,” said the hunter, as if continuing a conversation, “I -have sometimes, during our separation for the last six long months, -almost desponded, especially when I heard how urgent my brother was that -you should wed his favorite Warren, and when I reflected that your aunt, -the good abbess Christiana, was so hostile to my suit. But I did you -injustice, dear one, and thus,” and he kissed the hands of his companion -again and again, “I sue for pardon. God only knows,” he added in a -sadder tone, “whether I shall ever have my rights. They sneer at me now -as a landless prince, and that purse-proud Surrey hath no better name -for me than Deer’s-foot, because I am not always able to follow the hunt -with a steed. But so long as thou art true to me, sweet Maud, all these -will be as nothing; and the time may come when we shall yet be happy.” - -“Fear not, Beauclerk,” said the princess—for it was Matilda of Scotland -who spoke, and he whom she addressed was the younger son of the -conqueror, the penniless dependent of him whom men called the Red King, -“fear not—all, as you say, will be well. I feel it, I know it. Do you -believe in presentiments, dear Henry?” and pushing aside her lover’s -thick locks, she held her hand on his forehead, and looked with her -sunny orbs full into his eyes, as if she would playfully read his very -soul. - -“Presentiments trouble me not much, despite what the books say thereof,” -answered the frank hunter, “I trust rather to my sword and my good right -arm, though forsooth, they availed me little when I was cooped up in St. -Michael’s Mount by my two kingly and loving brothers. Aye! presentiments -and prophesies, and such things, trouble me but little, or I would e’en -have consolation now, in all my troubles, in calling to mind the words -of my father—the saints assoilzie his memory!—since dying, he said, -‘that I should be inheritor of all his honors, and should excel both -Robert and William in riches and power.’ By St. George, the riches had -best come soon, for I gave my last mark away this morning. No, kind -Maud, I place little faith in presentiments. But you sigh. If it pains -you that I credit them not, why, then I am the most devout believer in -all England,” and again he pressed that fair hand to his lips, “why do -you ask the question?” - -“Because,” said the princess, blushing at his eagerness, “I have had a -presentiment that we should yet be happy, and that full soon. I know not -how it is to happen; but of this I am assured, we shall live for -brighter days. The abbess threatens me with the veil if I do not wed -Surrey, and even now forces me, in her presence, to wear a tissue of -horse-hair; but though I can as yet see no escape from the alternative, -I am not the less certain that it will never be mine to choose. So now, -despond no more, dear Beauclerk.” - -“Thanks, thanks, for your cheering homily,” said the young prince -laughing, for her sanguine words had affected him with an unusual -gaiety. “I can hunt now with some spirit. Little does Surrey think, -while he is getting ready for the chase and perhaps sneering at me as a -laggard for not being up to set out with the rest, that I have stolen -out into the forest to meet her for whom he would give the whole of his -broad lands.” - -What answer the princess might have made to this somewhat vain-glorious -speech, we know not, but at this instant a party appeared on the scene -in the guise of a knight, somewhat advanced in years, and as he -approached hastily, he said: - -“You must forgive me, my dear lady, if I urge you to take horse. The -abbess knows your journey will have consumed but a day, and that you -should have reached Wilton last night, and I shall have a hard task to -excuse your protracted stay without betraying you. The men-at-arms are -drawn up but a little space off, and, though they are all my servitors, -it is best that they should know nothing to reveal. The prince here will -understand me.” - -“Assuredly, Sir John; and if he they call Beauclerk ever attains power, -he will not forget those who befriended the landless prince. I will -bring up Maud in an instant.” - -The knight bowed, and retreated into the wood. A few parting words were -exchanged betwixt the lovers, a few tears were shed by Maud, which were -kissed off by the prince, and then, with one long, last embrace, they -tore themselves asunder, and in a few minutes the princess had rejoined -her train. Prince Henry stood looking vacantly in the direction where -she had disappeared, until the sound of her beast’s tramp had died in -the distance, when, slowly mounting his steed, who had awaited its -master in a neighboring copse, he entered one of the forest roads, and -proceeded leisurely onwards. He had journeyed thus about half an hour -when he heard a hunting horn sound close by him, and directly he beheld -approaching the gallant array of his brother. - -“Ha! my good cousin Deer’s-foot, well met,” said the Earl of Surrey; “we -have been looking for you. I told your friend here, who swore you were -yet abed, that we should meet you afoot in the forest before the day was -over—and thereon we have laid a wager. I trow we have neither won. It -would be but fair to give you the bet, would it not?” said the gay Earl -with a half concealed sneer, as he glanced from his own rich suit to the -prince’s garb. - -“You may both want yet, fair sirs, all you can spare,” answered the -prince; “but let us see who will be first in at the death. You were -always apt at that, my lord,” and he turned to the royal treasurer. - -“Ay, and shall maintain my reputation, your highness,” said Breteuil, -recollecting he addressed almost a beggar; “and, if I may judge by your -steed, even against yourself.” - -“We shall see—we shall see,” said the prince. “I lay you a new steed, -my lord, I distance you to-day.” - -“Done,” said the treasurer, laughing; “you have thrown away your horse. -But here is the king, and lo!” and as he spoke the horn announced that a -stag had been roused, “the game is afoot.” - -At the word the eager sportsmen gave spur to their steeds, and the -cavalcade swept gaily off in the chase. - -Never had a more gallant array than that which now followed the royal -stag, woke up the echoes of the forest. Knights and squires, priests and -pages, warriors and ecclesiastics, princes of the blood royal and high -officers of state, pressed forward in the chase, now scouring along the -level plain, now dashing away through the arcades of the forest, and now -plunging recklessly through brake and dell, as the hounds dogged the -flight of the noble animal into his once secure retreat. Yet it was well -worthy of note how compactly the hunters kept around the king, none -venturing to outstrip him, and only a few of the oldest maintaining an -even rein with him. - -Often during the chase the prince and Breteuil passed and repassed each -other, and at every recognition Henry would gaily remind the treasurer -of his wager. At length, however, the pursuit became more hot, the king -gave rein to his steed and pressed on, and in passing some broken ground -the royal party became separated, and those who were younger or better -mounted than the rest swept on ahead. Among these was Prince Henry, who, -though his steed was none of the best, kept up a not ignoble pace, until -at length his arbalast caught against a tree, and he was nearly thrown -from his horse. He checked his steed at once, and recovered his -cross-bow, but the string was broken, rendering the weapon useless. - -“Ha! My gallant prince,” said the treasurer, as he swept by; “you can -scarcely hit your game now, even if you keep on. I trow your steed is -mine.” - -“A malison on the string,” said the prince bitterly; “there is nothing -left for me except to sneak back to Winchester. But, no! I bethink me -now there is a forester’s hut somewhere nigh here. Ah! yonder is its -smoke curling over the tree-tops. I will hie me there, and get a new -string. If the stag turns at the dell below, he will head up this way, -and I may yet win my wager, for, the saints know, I can ill afford to -lose my only steed.” - -With these words the prince again gave spurs to his horse, and was soon -before the forester’s hut. - -“Ho! there, within,” he exclaimed; “a string for the prince. Marry, old -mistress, have they never a keeper here better than you?” - -These words were addressed to an old woman who met him at the threshold -of the hut as he dismounted, and who appeared to be the only human being -inhabiting the cabin. And she was one who might well occasion the -prince’s exclamation of surprise. Her skin was like that of a corpse; -her eyes were sunk deep into her head; her hair was grizzled and gray; -her long bony fingers might have been those of a skeleton, and when she -spoke, her hollow sepulchral tones made even the courageous prince -shudder. She seemed to pay no regard to her visitor’s inquiry for a -string, but fastening her basilisk-like eyes upon him, she said or -rather chaunted, in Norman French, a rude lay, of which the following -verses are a translation: - - “Hasty news to thee I bring, - Henry, thou art now a king; - Mark the words, and heed them well, - Which to thee in sooth I tell, - And recall them in the hour - Of thy royal state and power.” - -For the space of almost a minute after she had ceased, the prince gazed -speechlessly on this novel being, awed alike by her strange demeanor, -and her sepulchral eye. Nor were the words she chaunted without effect -on her hearer. It was a superstitious age, and though few men of his day -were less influenced by the supernatural than Henry, there was something -in the sybil’s look which chilled his heart with a strange feeling, half -fear, half awe. He had not recovered from his surprise, when a horseman -rushed wildly up to the hut, and the prince had scarcely recognized one -of his warmest friends, Beaumont, when that gentleman breathlessly -exclaimed: - -“The king is slain!—Tyrell’s arrow glanced from a bow and struck your -royal brother to his heart!” - -The words of Beaumont acted on the prince like the charm which -dissipates a spell. He started, as if aroused from some strange dream, -looked a moment in wild surprise at his companion, and gradually -comprehending the strange and sudden transition in his fortunes, he -sprung with a bound into his saddle, and plunging his rowels up to the -heel in his horse’s side, exclaimed: - -“Then this is no place for me—follow to Winchester, Beaumont,—and now -for a crown and Maud!” - -The next instant his horse’s hoofs were thundering across the stones, as -he galloped furiously to the capital. - -History relates how he reached Winchester, with his steed bathed in -foam, and, without slackening his pace, dashed up to the door of the -royal treasury, a few minutes in advance of Breteuil. History also tells -how the energy of the young prince broke through the meshes of the wily -traitor, and secured for Beauclerk the crown; but it does not add that, -after the unwilling treasurer had surrendered the keys of the regalia, -his new master said, half laughingly and half ironically, to the haughty -peer who had so often neglected him when only a prince— - -“Ah, my lord! did I not say I would win the race? I trow your steed is -mine!” - -The discomfited Breteuil bit his lip and was silent, but that night his -best charger was sent to the royal stables; while the rest of the -hunters, who were now fast pouring in from the chase, with the populace -which at the first news of the Red King’s death had begun to shout “King -Henry,” gathered around their young monarch and filled the air with -their acclamations. - -“Maud is right,” said the king to himself, as he beheld the enthusiasm -displayed by his people, “to say nothing of the old sybil. Ah! what will -my sweet one think when she hears this?” - -Three months later and all the chivalry of the realm was gathered in the -church at Westminster, while the populace without thronged every avenue -to that princely cathedral. Never indeed had a prouder assemblage met at -any royal ceremonial. The church blazed with jewels. Nobles in their -robes of state; bishops and archbishops with mitre and crozier; -countesses whose beauty out-dazzled their diamonds; knights and squires -and pages of every rank; burghers with their chains of gold; men-at-arms -encased in steel; halberdiers and archers; yeomen with quarter staffs, -and foresters with arbalasts; men of every situation of life, and bright -ladies, whose loveliness was beyond compare, were gathered in the -gorgeously ornamented church, amid the waving of banners, the sound of -music, the rustling of costly robes, and the smoke of ascending incense, -to gaze on the marriage of their monarch to his fair and blushing bride. -And there she stood before the altar in all her virgin beauty, her fair -blue eyes suffused with tears of joy; while her manly lover stood at her -side, the proudest cavalier in all that bright array. And when the -archbishop ascended the pulpit, and demanded if any one there objected -to the union, the whole audience shouted aloud “that the matter was -rightly settled;” then again pealed forth the anthem, and again the -incense rose in clouds to the fretted roof. The music ceased, the words -were said, the crown was placed on the brow of the princess, and the -hunter of the forest, amid the acclamations of his people, pressed to -his heart the King’s Bride. - -“Do you believe in presentiments now?” said the young queen, half -laughing, to her royal husband when they reached the palace. - -“I am a convert to your faith whatever it may be, sweet one. Nay! you -shall preach no sermon over my retraction, for thus I forbid the -homily,” and the king drew the blushing Maud towards him and fondly -kissed her. - -Many an iron monarch has, since then, sat on the English throne, and -many a fair princess has been led by her lover to the altar, but never -has a happier or more beautiful pair wore the regal crown in the realm -of our ancestors. - - * * * * * - - - - - MERRY ENGLAND. - - - BY J. R. LOWELL. - - - Hurrah for merry England, - Queen of the land and sea, - The champion of truth and right, - The bulwark of the free! - Hurrah for merry England! - Upon thy seagirt isle - Thou sittest, clothed in righteousness, - Secure of Heaven’s smile! - - When ruled the fairhaired Saxon, - Yes, thou wert merry then; - And, as they girt their bucklers on, - Thy meanest serfs were men; - And merry was the castle-hall - With jest and song and tale, - When bearded lips with mead were white - And rang the loud Washael! - - And, when grim Denmark’s black-browed prows - Tore through thine Emerald sea, - And many a wild blue eye was turned - In savage lust on thee,— - When, in the greenest of thy vales, - The gusts of summer air - Blew out in long and shaggy locks - The sea-king’s yellow hair,— - - Yet Alfred was in England, - And merry yet again - Thy white-armèd Saxon maidens were - When, on the drunken Dane, - The sudden thunders of thy war - With arrowy hail did pour, - And grim jaws dropt that quivered yet - With savage hymns to Thor. - - Thy merry brow was fair and free, - Thine eye gleamed like a lance, - When thy good ash and yew did crush - The gilded knights of France; - When Paris shook within her walls - And trembled as she saw - Her snow-white lilies trampled down - Beneath thy lion’s paw. - - Queen Bess’s days were merry days, - Renowned in song and tale, - Stout days that saw the last brown bead - Of many a tun of ale; - Queen Bess’s days were golden days - And thou full proudly then - Did’st suckle at thy healthy breasts - The best of Englishmen. - - Thou hast been merry, England, - But art thou merry now, - With sweat of agonizing years - Upon thy harlot brow, - Grimed with the smoke of furnaces - That forge with damned art - The bars of darkness that shut in - The poor man’s starving heart? - - Oh free and Christian England! - The Hindu wife no more - Shall burn herself in that broad realm - Saint George’s cross waves o’er; - Thou art the champion of the right, - The friend of the opprest, - And none but freemen now shall tread - Thine Indies of the West. - - But thou canst ship thy poison, - Wrung from lean Hindu slaves, - To fill all China with dead souls - That rot in living graves; - And, that thy faith may not be seen - Barren of goodly works, - At Saint Jean D’Acre thou sent’st up - To Heaven three thousand Turks. - - Fling high your greasy caps in air, - Slaves of the forge and loom, - If on the soil ye’re pent and starved - Yet underneath there’s room; - Fling high your caps, for, God be praised, - Your epitaph shall be, - “Who sets his foot on English soil - Thenceforward he is free!” - - Shout too for merry England - Ye factory-children thin, - Upon whose little hearts the sun - Hath never once looked in; - For, when your hollow eyes shall close - The poor-house hell to balk, - (Thank God for liberty of speech) - The parliament will talk. - - Thank God, lean sons of Erin, - Who reverence the Pope - In England consciences are free - And ye are free—to hope; - And if the Church of England priest - Distrain—why, what of that? - Their consciences are freer still - Who wear the shovel-hat. - - The poet loves the silent past, - And, in his fruitful rhyme, - He sets the fairest flowers o’er - The grave of buried time; - But, from the graves of thy dark years, - The night-shade’s ugly blue - And spotted henbane shall grow up - To poison Heaven’s dew. - - Woe to thee, fallen England, - Who hast betrayed the word, - And knelt before a Church when thou - Shouldst kneel before the Lord! - And, for that scarlet woman - Who sits in places high, - There cometh vengeance swift to quench - The lewdness in her eye. - - Woe to thee, fallen England, - Who, in thy night-mare sleep, - O’er a volcano’s heart dost toss - Whence sudden wrath shall leap - Of that forgotten Titan - Who now is trodden down - That one weak Guelphic girl may wear - Her plaything of a crown! - - That Titan’s heart is heaving now, - And, with its huge uprise, - On their sand basements lean and crack - The old moss-covered lies; - For freedom through long centuries - Lives in eternal youth, - And nothing can for ever part - The human soul and truth. - - * * * * * - - - - - MARRIAGE. - - - BY RUFUS DAWES. - - - The inmost region of the mind, where dwells - The essences of unborn thought,—those _ends_ - In which Effects, through Causes, dwell in power, - Opened. ’Twas in vision, and I saw - A palace of vast size—such as the eye, - The natural eye of man, never beheld. - Its massy walls of unhewn agate towered, - Girt by a colonnade of crysolite; - And there were ninety columns of huge bulk, - Sustaining an entablature of gold, - Diamond and ruby, glittering like the sun. - - The windows were each one a double plate - Of spacious crystal, sliding from the touch - Each side in golden frames. The portico - Hung o’er a flight of alabaster steps, - Extending to a lawn of delicate moss, - Where browsed a flock of innocent, white lambs, - That little children garlanded with flowers. - Around the palace, orchard-trees were seen, - Laden with fruit celestial, that hung down - Like gems among the gold and silver leaves. - Majestic vines, heavy with clustering grapes, - In large festoons swung gorgeously between - The opulent boughs that dropped with nectarines. - - ’Twas on a mountain’s summit, high and broad, - Commanding a magnificent expanse, - Where Art, in its essential excellence, - Glowed in potential forms, where Nature, too, - Un-ultimated in terrestrial things, - Bloomed in angelic beauty. To the east - A river, brinked luxuriantly with flowers, - Lapsed silently. The deep-enameled dome, - Whose measureless horizon knew no bounds, - Was draped with clouds that broke celestial rays, - Shining down shadowless. Turning, I saw - A pair of Consorts, whose exalted home - Was in this paradise. No forms of earth, - No mortal lineaments—no reach of thought - Poetic, when imagination wings - Homeward to Heaven, could in the least compare - With their angelic radiance;—they were - Beauty itself in form,—two, and yet one,— - One angel male and female—a true Man. - He was her Understanding, she his Will; - Thence, but one mind in heavenly marriage formed. - Her love was cradled in his thought, that loved - Her love and nursed it—as the tender drops - Clasp the warm sunbeams, while the smile of Heaven - Breaks in the rainbow. Such is genuine love. - He in his form more radiantly shone - Than that sublime achievement of fine art, - That shows the power of luminous Truth to kill - Sinuous Error;—she, than Guido’s gem - More beautiful, more human, and more true. - - I saw, and lo! two dromedaries, each - Bearing a golden basket, one of bread, - The other of ripe fruit; they came and knelt. - Each took and gave the other,—he the bread, - She the ripe fruit. The dromedaries then - Rose and departed. I beheld them kneeling - Beside the river, and when they had drunk - I saw them rise again and kiss each other, - And then depart. I looked again, and lo! - The consorts had withdrawn. They were the first - Of the new birth of Marriage here on earth— - A promise for the future, when a Time, - And Times, and half a Time shall be fulfilled. - - * * * * * - - - - - INDIAN TRADITIONS.—No. II. - - - FORT POINT. - - - BY D. M. ELWOOD. - - - “His spirit wraps the misty mountain, - His memory sparkles o’er the fountain; - The meanest rill—the mightiest river— - Rolls mingling with his name forever.” - - -The beautiful towns and villages of Connecticut, bordering on Long -Island sound, are not surpassed in quiet loveliness by any others in New -England. The loveliest, perhaps, of them all, is Norwalk, situated in -the western part of the State, on a river of the same name, which flows -sweetly along through the centre of the town. The title, we confess, is -neither euphonious nor romantic: but we would not have it changed even -for the sweetest word that ever passed human lips. It was given it by -the Aborigines on the day when the territory was first purchased from -them, and refers, if we mistake not, to its extent northward from the -sound, called by the Indians the _North walk_. It is, indeed, one of the -most lovely spots in Nature. Its quiet harbor is studded with verdant -islands of every size and form, while across the green waters Long -Island is seen, its dim outline scarcely distinguishable from the blue -expanse beyond. The sound through its whole length is spotted with -sheets of snowy canvass spread to catch the breeze, and anon the -majestic steamer, like some huge leviathan, comes laboring on her way, -proudly dashing aside the foaming waters from her prow, and leaving far -behind a whitened, widening track. But when the Storm King is abroad, -the crested waves pursue each other in continual chase, and the long, -swelling billows break upon the shore, sending forth their rich music in -the deep organ tones of nature. - -On the eastern side of the river, and directly opposite the present -steamboat landing, is a large circular mound, some twenty feet high, and -covering a surface of about an acre. It is perfectly level on the top, -and bordered with large, tall cedars. It is now commonly known by the -inhabitants in the vicinity as Old Fort Point. - -There is a tradition respecting the object and the erection of this -mound, which I have with difficulty procured, and which maybe -interesting to many who have visited the place, if not to strangers. For -its truth, in all particulars, I will not vouch, but give it -substantially as it has come down to us. - -About two centuries ago, there lived, on the level country about what is -now Fort Point, but what was then called Naumkeag, one of those large -tribes of native Indians, which, at the time when this land was first -visited by Europeans, were scattered over the country from the shores of -the Atlantic to the great valley of the west. The Indians had not then -been degraded by their intercourse with the whites. The peculiarities of -their nature had not been modified by the influence of civilization. -Their tastes had not been pampered, nor their appetites excited by the -fatal “fire water” introduced by their destroyers, nor their bodily -strength wasted by diseases, loathsome and deadly, and till then unknown -among them. - -From the feathered flocks of the forest and the finny tribes of the sea, -they derived an ample subsistence; the shores, too, abounded in shell -fish, and the forests with game, so that want and famine were never -dreamt of by the happy and proud inhabitants of Naumkeag. - -Many years before the time of this sketch a large colony separated from -the principal tribe and moved northward, settling themselves in the -mountainous regions of Massachusetts. This colony embraced about a -quarter of the whole tribe at Naumkeag—and being composed mostly of -young men and their wives, they soon became nearly as powerful as the -people whom they had left. - -Although many miles lay between them, these two tribes long kept up a -friendly intercourse with each other, and forgot not that they had -sprung from the same common stock. Miles were passed over almost as -easily by those hardy foresters as they are by us at the present day, -even with the help of iron roads and steam carriages. Great power of -endurance was natural to their constitution, and especially was the -fatigue of a long and rapid journey borne without inconvenience. - -There was one of the Wannamoisetts, as those who had removed from -Naumeag now called themselves, who was more frequent by far in his -visits to the sea shore than any other of his tribe. Every second moon -found him treading the forest with his face toward the south. His -journey usually occupied from two to three days. Occasionally he -remained at Naumkeag for a week at a time, though for the most part, his -visits were less protracted. - -Mononchee had of course some object or incentive for being thus frequent -and regular in his attendance at the home of his ancestors. His very -distant relationship to the tribe would hardly demand such an excess of -filial affection. The truth was, there was a magnet of attraction in the -person of a young maiden of Naumkeag, the sister-in-law of the chief, -Wappaconet; and a powerful magnet it was too,—for there was not another -in the whole village that possessed a brighter eye or a more perfect -form. Her step almost realized the description of the poet, - - “————and fell, - Trembling and soft, like moon-light on the earth.” - -Noalwa was not insensible to the attentions of her constant swain; on -the contrary, his wooings were quite successful. His bravery and his -manly strength—his tall and well formed person, and flashing eye, were -well calculated to win the admiration, and, in due course, the -affections of the gentle being upon whom his own desires centered; and -the many soft things that he whispered in her ear, (for even an Indian -_in love_ can utter the sweetest phrases with a honied mouth,) found a -deep lodgment in her heart. And it was noticed that when the period of -his visits was near at hand, her step was still lighter than usual, and -her eye danced with a new, but soft fire, though at such times she spoke -less, and seemed thoughtful but not sad. - -One evening—it was in the beginning of June, that season so favorable -to young lovers—Mononchee surprised Noalwa sitting under a large tree -close upon the shore. The hour and the place seemed as if under the -influence of enchantment. The scene was like a fairy land. The broad -sound was spread out before her, upon whose surface the clear moon shed -her softened rays, which, as from a mirror, were reflected back on every -side, giving to all things around an unnatural and unearthly brightness. -There seemed a spell upon the air. It stirred not—but hung over the -earth and the sea as if to heal every imperfection on the face of nature -by its bland and genial influence. - -Noalwa had not been long there. An unwelcome intruder had invaded the -hour which she had set apart for solitude and for communion in spirit -and in fancy with her absent but adored lover. The intruder had hardly -left her sight ere he was banished from her thoughts, and as it was -about a week earlier than the customary time of Mononchee’s coming, she -was thinking how long the days would be till she saw him, when she felt -a warm kiss upon her cheek. She screamed not—spoke not—for a -deep-seated feeling at her heart told her that those were no forbidden -lips that could kindle such raptures in her soul. - -She gazed up at the face and form that was bending over her with all the -fondness of a first love, and the young Indian placed himself by her -side and gently drew her to his bosom. Then followed a conversation in -low, deep, earnest tones, that both came from, and reached the heart. - -“The Wannamoisett is good—very good, to come so soon and gladden the -heart of Noalwa,” murmured the girl as he pressed her to his breast. - -“Who would not come early and often if Noalwa loved him?” replied he. -“Her beauty is brighter than the sun! Her eye is clearer and softer than -the moon which leaves a broad trail of light upon the water. She sings -more sweetly than the Tichanet,[4] and when she laughs the whole air is -full of pleasant sounds.” - -“Did the Wannamoisett see any of my people as he came hither?” asked -she. - -“None—for I came down by the shore. Ah! yes, I did see one—Annawon, -the Namasket.” - -Noalwa hung her head. - -“Where did Mononchee meet him?” said she. - -“I saw him here!” vehemently replied the warrior, “here—standing on -this very spot. I saw his hand grasp yours; nay, kneeling at your feet. -I saw his eager look whilst you poured into his ear words which should -have been kept for Mononchee!” - -“Be it so then,” cried the maiden, her lips quivering with insulted -pride, and her heart torn with the agony which the unjust but perhaps -reasonable suspicion of her lover caused, “be it so! for I told him to -go—ere he told me a tale of love—to his tent and behold the wasted -form and the sunken eye of Tituba, his wife, once loved and -cherished—now neglected. I told him that I could never be his, and that -any one who suspected Noalwa would so dishonor herself as to break her -faith with another, could not be worthy of her love. Mononchee suspects -her, and to him let her words be applied.” - -“But why suffer the Namasket to hold your hand? Why play with the -serpent just ready to strike deep his fangs?” - -“Mononchee is a keen-eyed warrior,” said the maid in irony, “he saw the -hawk, but not the wren that drove _him from her nest_. He saw Annawon at -the feet and holding the hand of Noalwa, but did not observe with what -scorn she looked upon him—did not mark how she spurned and drove him -from her.” - -“I was deceived,” answered the repentant lover; “Noalwa has a pure -heart, and never again will I distrust her. Seest thou that moon hanging -yonder over the clear water? When it is again round and full, as it is -to-night, Mononchee will come to take Noalwa for his wife. Will she be -ready to go with him then to dwell where the hills are high and the deer -are plenty?” - -“I am yours—yours only,” and her blushing face was hid in his bosom. - -After sitting for about an hour, the young man arose. “I must return,” -said he, “to my people. Remember the full moon, Noalwa,” and he strode -rapidly away. - -A few days after the above occurrence the Namaskets were invited by the -Wannamoisetts to partake of a grand feast of deer and bears’ flesh at -their village in the mountains. Accordingly a large party of the active -men of the tribe started one morning, and the evening of the next day -found them with their friends at Cohammock. The Wannamoisetts had made -their preparations on a grand, and, for them, magnificent scale. Piles -of plump deer and still richer bears’ meat lay around, while kettles of -dried sweet corn and beans, of the last year’s growth, were already -simmering over the small fires, that the hard kernels might become well -softened and ready for use on the morrow. - -With the gray dawn of morning, all was bustle and activity in the -village of Cohammock. The Indian matrons were early bestirring -themselves that nothing might be left undone to mar the festivities of -the occasion. Innumerable fires were kindled—the wooden spit and the -seething pot, the two indispensable and almost the only culinary -implements in use among them, were put in requisition. Whilst the -preparations were going slowly on, the men of the tribe as well as their -guests were idling listlessly about, their appetites every moment -rendered sharper by the odor of the smoking viands that were soon to -form their savory meal. - -And truly the banquet was not unworthy the occasion. Just as the sun had -reached the “middle point in the heavens,” piles upon piles of boiled -and roasted flesh were spread under the shade of the tall sycamores that -grew undisturbed in all parts of the village. A large bowl of the finest -_succotash_ was placed before each guest, and if the quantity eaten be -the standard of quality, never was there served up a better dinner than -was that day disposed of in the rude village of Cohammock. - -At length the repast was finished. Both guests and entertainers, with a -prudence truly commendable, ate as if expecting a famine for a month, at -least, to come, and nothing remained but to indulge in that supreme of -Indian luxuries, tobacco. Pipes were brought, but alas! there was not a -particle of the weed to be found. Some miscreant, a fair representative -of that variety of our race at the present day—ever ready to engender -strife, had stolen and destroyed all that was to be found in the -village. - -This was a deficiency that could be supplied by no other article. -Venison or succotash or any other part of the edible entertainment could -have been dispensed with, but the burning propensities of an Indian must -be indulged. The Wannamoisetts were as much mortified as their guests -were offended at this unfortunate occurrence, but it was with difficulty -the Namaskets could be persuaded that it was not an intentional insult; -so jealous were the natives of their own honor! Contrary to their -previous intention, they left their kinsmen in the early part of the -same afternoon, not caring to remain till morning with those who had, in -their view, been so parsimonious in their hospitality. - -Let us return again to the sea shore at Naumkeag. A month after the -feast of Cohammock, a party of the Wannamoisett warriors were present at -a grand collation, prepared by Wappacowat, the Namasket chief. Much were -they gratified by this expression of his friendship, for they had always -regretted the affair at their own village, and feared that an open -rupture would be the consequence. They dreaded this, still cherishing -some little spark of fraternal affection for those whom they had -unmeaningly offended. - -During the banquet, so busily were the Wannamoisetts engaged in -despatching the shell and other fish which their friends had made ready, -that they did not observe that Wappacowat and his followers partook but -sparingly, so that by the time they had eaten almost to suffocation, and -were illy prepared for the least exertion, the Namaskets had taken only -what was just sufficient to stimulate them for any enterprise. - -At length Wappacowat gave the signal to his followers to bring the -calumet, and as he did so, a close observer might have discovered a -gleam of gratified animosity shoot across his iron features and glisten -in his snaky eye. Quickly moved his warriors, and the devoted guests -half stupified by the vast quantities of food they had taken, saw the -pipes well filled with the luxurious plant, but did not discover the -tomahawk and the knife which they had concealed under their deer skin -robes. They sat not smoking long, for suddenly the Namaskets rose and -each one buried his tomahawk into the brain of the Wannamoisett next -him. All—all were slain. So well had the treacherous, fratricidal plan -been matured, that not a single one was left to carry to the desolate -village of Cohammock the tale of blood and guilt. Ah! yes, there was -one—Mononchee—the betrothed of Noalwa, who having neglected the feast -that he might spend the time apart with the fair one, came into the -village just as the last reeking scalp had been torn from the cloven -skull. Looking an instant on the appalling spectacle, he uttered a -furious yell and sprang like a deer towards the river. A dozen tomahawks -flew after him, and as many dark warriors started in pursuit, but in -vain, for with a few powerful strokes the brave youth gained the -opposite bank, and bounding into the woods, effected his escape. - -They were buried on the spot where they fell. Perhaps no shade of -remorse passed over the minds of the murderers, but they could not leave -the victims there for their flesh to rot and their bones to whiten in -the sun. They were buried several feet below the surface, and the gloomy -shades of night fell thick around before the last mangled body was -hidden from the sight. And as the rising wind swept through the -thick-topped pines and tall buttonwoods around, it wailed and sighed -mournfully, as if singing a melancholy dirge over the graves of the -gallant dead. And by the midnight hour it blew in hoarse and awful -tones, and the death shouts and groans of the dead were heard -commingling with the blast; and when the night was darkest, and all save -the growling of the wind and these unnatural noises, was still, a lurid -flame sprang up from the centre of the spot where the feast had been, -and cast a sickening light on all things, and the earth opened around, -and the bodies of the Wannamoisett warriors, bloody and mangled as they -were, arose and danced around it, singing their war songs in unearthly -tones, together with their wild requiem for the dead. Ghastly and -horrible they looked, and as they danced, the blood flowed from their -opening wounds, till it reached the strange fire, which instantly shot -up in one lurid column of flame till it attained the blackened clouds, -when it disappeared as suddenly as it had burst forth; the spectral -revellers sank back again into their fresh graves, and all was dark and -silent as before. - -But when the morning broke the Namaskets beheld a spectacle scarcely -less hideous than that of the preceding night. Their victims had been -buried, as their custom was, in a sitting posture, and during the night -they had all risen, so that their heads were fully visible above the -surface of the ground. The bloody mark of the tomahawk was still there, -and every scalp was torn off—and the eyeballs, projecting far from the -sockets, were fixed and glassy, but of a burning red,—glowing like -living fire. And from them rays of dingy red streamed all over the -village,—and wherever one of the murderers went, those rays followed -him, and pierced him, and seemed as if they were burning out his heart. - -Reckless with fear and rage the murderers tore the bodies up from the -ground and dug the graves still deeper and again they placed them in. -But at midnight the red flame burst forth and the tempest howled -fearfully. The phantom forms sprung up as before, and this time their -flesh, from their shoulders downward, dropped off and was consumed by -the fire, and a dense smoke arose, and a red cloud slowly gathered in -the air, and hovered round and hung over the spot like a minister of -vengeance. And in the morning their gory heads and glaring eyes had -again struggled up above the surface. And when the fratricides saw them, -a deadly terror crept over them and the demon of remorse began to prey -upon their souls. - -On the third night the scene was changed. The moon did not set at her -accustomed hour, but hung just above the horizon, red as a sea of blood. -And in the midst of the fire that shot forth from the earth at midnight, -a form was seen like that of Wappacowat, the chief. But the ghostly -images were there again, and they gathered round the form in the centre, -and with their skeleton fingers tore off its flesh as fast as it was -seared in the fire, and ground it in their teeth with ravenous appetite. -When in the morning the dismayed villagers sought their chief they found -him not, but tied to a stake where the midnight revel had been held was -a skeleton, the bones all picked clean except the head, which had been -cloven with a tomahawk, and from it the scalp was also torn, and in its -features, distorted as if they had stiffened under the keenest tortures, -they recognized the countenance of their king. - -Dismay sat upon every guilty face, and a sullen gloom enshrouded every -heart. The tribe finding it useless to bury deeper the bodies of their -slain kinsmen now began to build over them—but every night one of their -number disappeared, and in the morning his fleshless bones were found -tied to the fatal stake; and still the heads rose, but every day there -was one less than before. Then the dreadful truth flashed upon them that -one of their own number must die in that fearful manner, for every one -of the Wannamoisetts they had slain. As the number of their dead -increased, which it did by one for every midnight hour, so did the -number of spectre heads diminish. One murdered spirit was every night -appeased, and appeared no more. - -Still they kept on building that huge pile, and the dreadful occupation -to which they clung as affording the only ray of hope that they might be -delivered before their turn should come round, so wrought upon the -guilty ones that they soon became almost as ghostly as the phantoms of -the night which tortured them. But they faltered not in their task. -Every day the heads were covered and every morning they were found in -sight. And on the seventieth morning that mound was far higher than it -now stands. There was then but one head remaining, for just seventy of -the Wannamoisetts had been slain and just seventy were the murderers. At -midnight of that day the strange revel was, for the last time, visible, -for when the skeleton of Mononton, the last and most bloody of the -fratricides was found, the last head had disappeared forever. - -The remainder of the tribe left soon after in search of a more -auspicious residence. Since the treacherous act of their brethren, -famine had weakened them and the terrible plague laid many of their -forest children low. But wherever they wandered, the curse of the Great -Spirit followed them, and they dwindled away until finally there was no -place left for them on the earth. - -One fair evening in the next summer, two forms sat upon the very mound -which forms the principal subject of this tale. One was a female of -fairy proportions, and she looked abroad over the landscape with the eye -of one to whom its beauties were familiar. Her companion’s face was -buried in his hands, and his whole frame shook as if the recollection of -some terrible scene were passing over his memory. And as the eye of -Noalwa rested on him she, too, divining his thoughts, shuddered, saying, - -“Mononchee! let us go hence, never again to return! I cannot bear to -look upon these scenes where my people lived and where yours so sadly -perished. These trees that we have planted around the mound which covers -them will bear witness that their memory is still dear to us. Let us go, -Mononchee!” - -They went to dwell with those that were left of his people. Many and -bright were their days. Plenty surrounded them. The tribe grew again and -Mononchee became their chief. The trees which he planted around “Fort -Point” sprang forth and flourished luxuriantly, and the large junipers -that still remain are doubtless descended from that parent stock. But -scarcely any other green thing will grow there; it seems a devoted -place. Devoted let it be; sacred forever to the shades of those who are -sleeping in its bosom. - ------ - -[4] A wild forest bird. - - Unionville, Mass. - - * * * * * - - - - - NEVER SHALL MY HEART FORGET THEE! - - - BALLAD—SUNG BY - MR. SINCLAIR, - COMPOSED BY - GEORGE O. FARMER. - - _Philadelphia_: John F. Nunns, _184 Chesnut Street_. - - -[Illustration: musical score] - - Never shall my heart forget thee, - Come what may of joy or ill; - Love, the hour when first I met thee, - Lives in mem’ry still. - Beauty’s hallowed light was o’er thee! - -[Illustration: musical score] - - Music’s spell was on thy tongue, - Oh, to see was to adore thee, - Maid of Avinlonge, - Oh! to see was to adore thee, - Maid of Avinlonge. - - Maid, the shades of night are falling, - The blest hour of love draws nigh; - Like the voice of beauty calling, - Floats the bird-song by. - Tho’ our fond hearts fate should sever, - Darkly doomed to pine alone; - Still as first they loved, forever - Should our souls love on. - - Though from dreams of hope awaking. - I can scorn Fate’s ire to me, - Smile, tho’ my own heart be breaking, - If Fate wounds not thee! - Never shall my lips deceive thee, - My devotion ne’er decline, - Dearest, until life shall leave me, - My whole heart is thine. - - * * * * * - - - - - Sports and Pastimes.—THE FOWLING-PIECE. - - - THE LOCK—THE PERCUSSION SYSTEM—TRIGGERS—WADDING—AMMUNITION, ETC. - -The flint and steel lock, like the matchlock, has had its day; and the -one is as likely as the other to supersede the detonator. There were -some sportsmen who long retained the flint in preference to the -copper-cap. Their partiality for the old system arose from their -inability to depart from the manner of taking aim to which they had been -accustomed—they fired too forward! It was said, too, that a barrel -fired by a detonating lock, did not throw shot so efficiently as the -other. That objection is now obviated by making barrels perfectly -cylindrical throughout the whole length of the tube. We prefer the -copper-cap lock for its simplicity, to any other system of firing by -percussion. - -A bad lock, in these _march-of-improvement_ days, is rarely fixed to a -gun. Since the use of detonators has become general, the quality of the -lock is not of so much consequence to the sportsman as it was -previously. The quickness of firing with the old flint and steel locks -depended so much on the workmanship of the lock, that a -properly-tempered and well-filed one was invaluable. The introduction of -detonators has by no means improved the quality of the workmanship of -the lock—it has rather deteriorated it. The fact is, the master -gunmakers, finding the lock not so much looked at as formerly, are -become indifferent to obtaining the assistance, or unwilling to incur -the expense of first-rate workmen. The hardening and filing of a lock in -an artist-like manner, requires no common skill. The best locks ever -turned out were those made on the flint and steel principle, at the time -when detonators first came into vogue; the smartness with which the -percussion locks fired, obliged the makers of the flint and steel locks -to bestow double diligence and labor on their work, conscious that a -rival was in the field with whom it required no ordinary pains to -compete. Flint locks, whether as applied to the fowling-piece or the -musket, will soon be forgotten, or remembered only to give a romantic -interest to some tale of other times, as the arbalast and long-bow serve -only to remind us of our Norman and Saxon ancestors! It requires some -mechanical knowledge and some experience, to decide on the merit of a -lock. The vulgar method of trying one is this:—The operator draws back -the hammer with his thumb, not touching the trigger with his finger, and -if the works in the interior catch and snap smartly at the half-way, and -when the hammer is drawn back, he may rely on the main-spring being -sufficiently strong and free to fire the caps: then, with his thumb -still on the hammer, he draws the trigger and lets the hammer glide -slowly down upon the pivot. With a little practice he will be able, in -some degree, to discriminate between a good lock and a bad one. To prove -the difference in quality, he should take up a well-finished lock; that -is, one of hard material, well filed, and having springs of a suitable -and corresponding strength, and compare it with an inferior lock; by a -nice touch he will perceive the difference: the hammer of the former -slides backwards and forwards with a smooth, even force; whilst that of -the latter runs rough and gritty, as if clogged with sand. If this -somewhat uncertain mode of trial serve no other purpose, it will enable -the shooter, when he takes up a gun that has been used since being -cleaned, to discover whether the lock is sufficiently free from rust and -dirt as to be fit for the day’s service; for most assuredly, if the lock -be clogged, when thus worked backwards and forwards, it will not snap, -or in sporting phrase _talk_; and in that case it would be unsafe to use -it. A detonating lock that will bear this trial, and will invariably -fire the cap, may be pronounced quite good enough for any sporting -purpose. - -The triggers should be what are technically termed _box-triggers_, and -should be taken from the stock and cleaned at least once during the -season, and oftener if very much exposed to dust, rain, or a damp -atmosphere. They should be adjusted with scrupulous nicety, so as to -require only a slight touch to draw them: they should not, indeed, fire -as easily as the hair-triggers of duelling pistols, but should be fixed -so firmly as that the sportsman should not be liable to discharge his -piece, while bringing it up to his shoulder cocked, with his finger upon -one of the triggers. The triggers may sometimes be regulated by filing, -hardening, or softening the scear spring, or filing the wedge-like part -of the scear which falls into the notches of the tumbler: and sometimes -it is necessary to file that part of the trigger which comes in contact -with the scear, but this operation requires to be carefully performed. A -valuable lock should not be placed in the hands of an unskilful workman -for the apparently trifling purpose of regulating the triggers, nor yet -for any other purpose. - -The wadding we should recommend is that made of felt, and anointed with -some chemical preparation. We are not sure that this is the very best -description of wadding, but we know of none better. New waddings are -constantly invented. The metallic wadding, concave wadding, punched -cards, or punched hat wadding, are any of them good, as regards -shooting. The chief reason why we bestow a preference on the anointed -wadding is, because the barrel is kept less foul, and may be fired so -many times oftener without requiring cleaning, than when any other -description of wadding with which we are acquainted is used. We are not -partial to a tight wadding, but it should fit so that when the barrel is -clean and smooth within, the charge will not stir. There is little fear -of the charge stirring after a barrel has been fired a few times, as the -place where the leading or foulness accumulates in greatest quantity is -just above where the charge of shot lies. - -Considerable improvement has been made in copper-caps since they were -first introduced. The composition in all of them is now good; that which -possesses the anti-corrosive principle is perhaps best. There is much -difference in the copper of which they are made, but that is of little -consequence when good locks with concave or well shielded hammers are -used, otherwise those made of bad copper are said to be dangerous. We -never heard of an accident from them. The shooter should be particular -in procuring copper-caps of a proper size; for if they do not fit the -pivots, considerable inconvenience will be experienced. When too small, -they will not explode; and when too large, the cap on the second pivot -is apt to fly off when the first barrel is fired. The shooter will find -it convenient to carry a quantity of caps loose in his waistcoat pocket, -with a reserve in a box (a metal box water-tight is best) to have -recourse to should those in his pocket become wet. He should take care -that there be nothing in his pocket to choke the caps; and by way of -precaution, he should, before putting a cap on the pivot, see that there -be no dirt in the cap, and that it be perfect. - -The best powder does not soil the gun so much as inferior powder. After -using good powder, a redness will be observed round the orifice of the -pivot. After using coarse powder, a white or black appearance will -present itself. The purer the powder is, the oftener may a barrel be -fired without requiring to be cleaned. - -When the measure on the flask is regulated as it ought to be, it will -hold the requisite charge for a clean barrel on a warm dry day. It -behoves the shooter, then, when the atmosphere is moist and the wind -boisterous, to increase the charge of powder in each barrel in a -trifling degree. However stormy the day may be, the shooter may prevent -the particles of powder from being blown away while he is charging; but -he cannot prevent them adhering to the damp leaded interior of the -barrels. Indeed, if the barrels be damp, as they cannot fail to be if -the air be so, and there be no wind at all, they cannot be held quite -perpendicular, so that the whole charge of powder shall find its way to -the breech. One-fifth of the charge will sometimes adhere. Doubtless, -when tight wadding is used, the whole, or nearly the whole, of the -charge finds its way to the bottom: but in what state? A portion of it -is wet!—and the result is, that, when the piece is discharged, only -four-fifths ignite! - -The fowling-piece should be put by clean, oiled, and the barrels corked -or stopped, and with the hammers upon the pivots. It should be kept in a -cloth or woolen case, in a dry room, and, when not in constant use, -occasionally rubbed with linen dipped in olive oil. The inside of the -barrel should be frequently oiled, the oil being immediately wiped out -with a dry cloth wrapped round the cleaning rod. Neat’s-foot oil is best -for the lock, and linseed oil is recommended for the stocks, but it is -so offensive that we prefer olive oil. - -Large-grained powder is generally stronger than small-grained. It is -well to be cautious that the grain is not so large as not to fill the -nipple freely, or misfires will be the consequence. Powder which suits -one gun may not suit another; the larger the bore of the gun, the larger -should be the grain of the powder. An instrument for trying the strength -of powder should not be trusted to: the best trial is with the gun in -which the powder is intended to be used, and there can be no better -target for trying the comparative strength of different powders, than an -unbound book fixed firmly against something solid. - -The heavier and harder the metal of which shot is made the better.[5] - ------ - -[5] As shot is numbered differently by different manufacturers, we give -the number to the ounce of the sizes to which we have referred: - - A. A. about 40 - A. — 50 - B. B. — 60 - B. — 75 - 1. — 80 - 2. — 110 - 3. — 130 - 4. — 180 - 5. — 220 - 6. — 270 - 7. — 350 - 8. — 600 - 9. — 1000 - 10. — 1700 - - - CHARGING THE FOWLING-PIECE. - -It is not usual to charge the gun until arriving at the shooting ground. -When there, however advisable on the score of caution it may be, -flashing off a quantity of powder to clear out, dry, and warm the gun -before loading, has certainly a cockney appearance; the more -sportsman-like practice is,—the party having reliance on the person who -cleans his gun,—merely to permit the ramrod to fall lightly to the -bottom of each barrel. The barrels are then held as perpendicularly as -possible while the powder is poured in, so that nearly the whole charge -may reach home, and not adhere in its descent. The barrel is then tapped -with the ramrod, or the gun slightly shook against the foot, that powder -may find its way into the pivots,—that is the more necessary when -coarse-grained powder is used. A wadding is then gently pressed down. -The shot is next poured in, and a slight shake of the gun in an upward -direction causes it to lie evenly;—a wadding is pressed upon it. The -shooter next removes the remains of the caps, and looks whether the -powder has found its way to the orifice of the pivots, and if it has, he -places fresh caps on; if powder is not visible at the orifice of the -pivots, he removes any obstacle with a pricker, and contrives to push -down a few grains of powder. It is very material to attend to this -point, to prevent miss-fires. - - - THE WIRE-CARTRIDGE. - -The wire-cartridge was invented, in 1828, by Mr. Jenour. It consists of -a cylindrical case or network of wire, the meshes of which are somewhat -more than an eighth of an inch square; at the lower end the wire -partially closes; the wire case is then enveloped in fine paper, and at -the upper end a cork wadding, cut so as to fit the gauge of the gun, is -affixed, the case is then filled with shot and bone dust. The first -cartridges made, though ingenious in construction, were defective in -operation. It was a matter of no ordinary difficulty to fabricate them -in such a manner that the shot should leave the case at the precise -distance required. This at first could not be done so that they might be -trusted in every instance; every alternate cartridge might fire well, -but the rest would fire irregularly, being liable to ball,—that is, the -shot would not leave the case until fifty or sixty yards from the gun, -and such cartridges were, of course, not only useless but dangerous. -They have been from time to time improved, and almost every difficulty -has been overcome. The sporting cartridges now made never ball, they act -with a considerable degree of precision and certainty, and that they may -be safely trusted may be inferred from the fact that they are often -preferred by persons engaged in pigeon matches. Various materials were -used experimentally to fill up the interstices between the pellets, but -nothing seems to answer so well as the material now used. Another -difficulty in their construction presented itself. It was requisite to -accommodate them to the various methods of boring used by different -gunmakers, and the unequal length of barrels, the object in view being -to produce a cartridge that would suit all barrels of the same gauge, -and this has been in a great measure, if not wholly, accomplished. The -liability to ball, notwithstanding various improvements made in them, -was not effectually obviated for many years, during which they were -tried, and in many instances prematurely condemned, either from real -defects, or from the parties not knowing how to use them. They were not -brought to perfection until the year 1837. - -The wire-cartridges possess two principal advantages over loose shot; -they are propelled with greater velocity, and thrown more evenly. A -loose charge is always thrown in patches; the shots of a cartridge, as -seen on a target, are comparatively equi-distant from each other. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _Guy Fawkes; or The Gunpowder Treason. An Historical Romance. - By_ William Harrison Ainsworth, _Author of “The Tower of - London,” “Jack Sheppard,” &c. Philadelphia. Lea and Blanchard._ - -What Mr. William Harrison Ainsworth had been doing before he wrote -“Rookwood” is uncertain; but it seems to us that he made his literary -_début_ with that work. It was generally commended; but we found no -opportunity of perusing it. “Crichton” followed, and this we read; for -our curiosity was much excited in regard to it by certain discrepancies -of critical opinion. In one or two instances it was unequivocally -condemned as “flat, stale and unprofitable,” although, to be sure, the -critics, in these one or two instances, were men of little note. The -more prevalent idea appeared to be that the book was a miracle of wit -and wisdom, and that Ainsworth who wrote “Crichton,” was in fact -Crichton _redivivus_. We have now before us a number of a Philadelphia -Magazine for the month of April, 1840, in which the learned editor thus -speaks of the work in question—“Mr. Ainsworth is a powerful writer; his -‘Crichton’ _stands at the head of the long list of English -novels—unapproachable and alone_. . . . This great glory is fairly Mr. -Ainsworth’s due, and in our humble opinion, _the fact is -incontrovertible_.” Upon a perusal of the novel so belauded, we found it -a somewhat ingenious admixture of pedantry, bombast, and rigmarole. No -man ever read “Crichton” through twice. From beginning to end it is one -continued abortive effort at effect. The writer keeps us in a perpetual -state of preparation for something magnificent; but the something -magnificent never arrives. He is always saying to the reader, directly -or indirectly, “_now_, in a _very_ brief time, you shall see what you -shall see!” The reader turns over the page in expectation, and meets -with nothing beyond the same everlasting assurance:—another page and -the same result—another and still the same—and so on to the end of the -performance. One cannot help fancying the novelist in some perplexing -dream—one of those frequently recurring visions, half night-mare half -asphyxia, in which the sufferer, although making the most strenuous -efforts to _run_, finds a walk or a crawl the _ne plus ultra_ of his -success in locomotion. - -The plot is monstrously improbable, and yet not so much improbable as -inconsequential. A German critic would say that the whole is excessively -_ill-motivert_. No one action follows necessarily upon any one other. -There is, at all times, the greatest parade of _measures_, but measures -that have no comprehensible result. The author works busily for a -chapter or two with a view of bringing matters in train for a certain -end; and then suffers this end to be either omitted—unaccomplished—or -brought to pass by accidental and irrelevant circumstances. The reader -of taste very soon perceives this defect in the conduct of the story, -and, ceasing to feel any interest in marches and countermarches that -promise no furtherance of any object, abandons himself to the -investigation of the page only which is immediately before him. -Despairing of all amusement from the _construction_ of the book, he -falls back upon its immediate descriptions. But, alas, what is there -here to excite any emotion in the bosom of a well-read man, beyond that -of contempt? If an occasional interest is aroused, he feels it due, not -to the novelist, but to the historical reminiscences which even that -novelist’s inanity cannot render altogether insipid. The turgid -pretension of the style annoys, and the elaborately-interwoven pedantry -irritates, insults, and disgusts. He must be blind, indeed, who cannot -understand the great pains taken by Mr. Ainsworth to interlard the book -in question with second-hand hits of classical and miscellaneous -erudition; and he must be equally blind who cannot perceive that _this_ -is the chicanery which has so impressed the judgment, and dazzled the -imagination of such critics as he of the aforesaid Magazine. We know -nothing at all of Mr. Ainsworth’s scholarship. There are some very -equivocal blunders in “Crichton,” to be sure; but _Ainsworth_ is a -classical name, and we must make _very_ great allowances for the usual -errors of press. We say, however, that, from all that appears in the -novel in question, he may be as really ignorant as a bear. True -erudition—by which term we here mean only to imply much diversified -reading—is certainly discoverable—is positively indicated only in its -ultimate and total _results_. We have observed elsewhere, that the mere -grouping together of fine things from the greatest multiplicity of the -rarest works, or even the apparently natural inweaving into any -composition of the sentiments and manner of these works, is an -attainment within the reach of every moderately-informed, ingenious, and -not indolent man, having access to any ordinary collection of good -books. Of all vanities the vanity of the unlettered pedant is the most -sickening, and the most transparent. - -Mr. Ainsworth having thus earned for himself the kind of renown which -“Crichton” could establish with the rabble, made his next appearance -before that rabble with “Jack Sheppard.” Seeing what we have just seen, -we should by no means think it wonderful that this romance threw into -the greatest astonishment the little critics who so belauded the one -preceding. They could not understand it at all. They would not believe -that the same author had written both. Thus they condemned it in loud -terms. The Magazine before alluded to, styles it, in round terms, “the -most corrupt, flat, and vulgar fabrication in the English language . . . -a disgrace to the literature of the day.” Corrupt and vulgar it -undoubtedly is, but it is by no means so _flat_ (if we understand the -critic’s idea of the term) as the “Crichton” to which it is considered -so terribly inferior. By “_flat_” we presume “uninteresting” is -intended. To us, at least, no novel was less _interesting_ than -“Crichton,” and the only interest which it _could_ have had for any -reader must have arisen from admiration excited by the apparently -miraculous _learning_ of the plagiarist, and from the air of owlish -profundity which he contrives to throw over the work. The interest, if -any, must have had regard to the author and not to his book. Viewed as a -work of art, and without reference to any supposed moral or immoral -tendencies, (things with which the critic has nothing to do) “Jack -Sheppard” is by no means the _very_ wretched composition which some -gentlemen would have us believe. Its condemnation has been brought about -by the revulsion consequent upon the exaggerated estimate of “Crichton.” -It is altogether a much better book than “Crichton.” Although its -incidents are improbable—(the frequent miraculous escapes of the hero, -for instance, without competent means) still they are not, as in -“Crichton,” at the same time inconsequential. Admitting the facts, these -facts hang together sufficiently well. Nor is there any bombast of -style; this negative merit, to be sure, being no merit of the author’s, -but an enforced one resulting from the subject. The chief defect of the -work is a radical one, the nature and effect of which we were at some -pains to point out in a late notice of Captain Marryatt’s “Poacher.” The -story being, no doubt, written to order, for Magazine purposes, and in a -violent hurry, has been scrambled through by means of _incident_ solely. -It is totally wanting in the _autorial comment_. The writer never pauses -to speak, in his own person, of what is going on. It is possible to have -too much of this comment; but it is far easier to have too little. The -most tedious books, _ceteris paribus_, are those which have none at all. -“Sir Charles Grandison,” “Clarissa Harlowe,” and the “Ernest Maltravers” -of Bulwer embody instances of its superabundance. The genius of the -author of “Pelham” is in nothing more evident than in the interest which -he has infused into some of his late works _in spite_ of their -ultra-didacticism. The “Poacher” just mentioned, and “The Arabian -Nights” are examples of deficiency in the commenting principle, and are -both intolerably tedious _in spite_ of their rich variety of incident. -The _juste milieu_ was never more admirably attained than in De Foe’s -“Robinson Crusoe” and in the “Caleb Williams” of Godwin. This latter -work, from the character of its incidents, affords a fine opportunity of -contrast with “Jack Sheppard.” In both novels the hero escapes -repeatedly from prison. In the work of Ainsworth the escapes are merely -narrated. In that of Godwin they are _discussed_. With the latter we -become at once absorbed in those details which so manifestly absorb his -own soul. We read with the most breathless attention. We close the book -with a real regret. The former puts us out of all patience. His marvels -have a nakedness which repels. Nothing he relates seems either probable -or possible, or of the slightest interest, whether the one or the other. -His hero impresses us as a mere chimæra with whom we have no earthly -concern, and when he makes his final escape and comes to the gallows, we -would feel a very sensible relief, but for the impracticability of -hanging up Mr. Ainsworth in his stead. But if “Jack Sheppard” is a -miserably inartistical book, still it is by no means so utterly -contemptible and silly as the tawdry stuff which has been pronounced -“_the best of English novels, standing at the head of the long list -unapproachable and alone!_” - -Of “The Tower of London” we have read only some detached -passages—enough to assure us, however, that the “_work_,” like Yankee -razors, has been manufactured merely “to sell.” “Guy Fawkes,” the book -now lying before us, and the last completed production of its author, is -positively beneath criticism and beneath contempt. The design of Mr. -Ainsworth has been to fill, for a certain sum of money, a stipulated -number of pages. There existed a necessity of _engaging_ the readers -whom especially he now addresses—that is to say the lowest order of the -lettered mob—a necessity of enticing them into the commencement of a -perusal. For this end the title “Guy Fawkes or The Gunpowder Plot” was -all sufficient, at least within the regions of Cockaigne. As for -fulfilling any reasonable expectations, derived either from the _ad -captandum_ title, or from his own notoriety (we dare not say reputation) -as a novelist—as for exerting himself for the permanent or continuous -amusement of the poor flies whom he had inveigled into his trap—all -this, with him, has been a consideration of no moment. He had a _task_ -to perform, and not a duty. What were his readers to Mr. -Ainsworth?—“What Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba?” The result of such a -state of affairs is self-evident. With his _best_ exertions, in his -earliest efforts, with all the goadings of a sickening vanity which -stood him well instead of nobler ambition—with all this, he _could_ -do—he _has done_—but little; and without them he has now accomplished -exactly nothing at all. If ever, indeed, a novel were _less_ than -nothing, then that novel is “Guy Fawkes.” To say a word about it in the -way of serious criticism, would be to prove ourselves as great a -blockhead as its author. _Macte virtute_, my dear sir—proceed and -flourish. In the meantime we bid you a final farewell. Your next volume, -which will have some such appellation as “The Ghost of Cock-Lane,” we -shall take the liberty of throwing unopened out of the window. Our pigs -are not all of the description called learned, but they will have more -leisure for its examination than we. - - * * * * * - - _The Gift: A Christmas and New-Year’s Present for 1842. Carey - and Hart: Philadelphia._ - -This volume of “The Gift” is superior to any yet published. Mrs. Embury -has an entertaining story, and Miss Leslie’s account of a “Family that -Didn’t take Boarders” is also quite amusing. Mr. Simms has a well -narrated tale—Mr. Seba Smith has another—Professor Frost another—Mrs. -Ellet, also, and the author of “A New Home.” We ourselves have one which -is not ended so well as it might be—a good subject spoiled by hurry in -the handling. The poetry, in general, is insipid. Mrs. Sigourney has not -done herself justice. Lieut. G. W. Patten, U. S. A. has three effusions, -neither of which do credit to the Annual. This gentleman, who writes -frequently, and should therefore write well, is singularly remiss in his -metaphors, and often grievously deficient in his grammar. What does he -mean, at page 309, by - - As sleep the brave so thou _should_ sleep (?) - -or, at page 165, by - - The storm is on the sea—I hear its _wings_ - In _thunder fretting_ o’er the lifted wave (?) - -This is surely a most singular instance of metaphor run mad! Here are -three conflicting images at one time in the brain of the poet. By the -word “wings” the reader is made to understand the prosopopeia of the -storm as a _bird_; by “thunder” (a _natural_ accompaniment of tempests) -he is brought back to the impersonified storm; by “fretting” he is left -in no doubt that the writer’s ideas are running upon a _horse_—and all -this in the compass of one line and a half! - -The “Stanzas” by Park Benjamin have a rich simplicity which of all -literary qualities is the most difficult of attainment, and of all -merits the most uncertain of appreciation; but we are sorry to say that -they are the _only_ good verses in the volume. - -The engravings are very fine. We will speak of them briefly one by one. - -The “Country Girl,” by Cheney from Sully, is a _truthful_ picture. The -design is perfect. The only fault of the execution lies in the undue -breadth of the face; this defect would be remedied by deepening the -shade beneath the left ear. The work of the engraver is well done. - -“Vignette Head,” by Cheney from Sully—one of the latter’s favorite -heads—the face that of a pouting hoyden. The hair is beautifully -_massed_. The _vignetting_ is carried too low as regards the bosom, from -which half an inch should be taken off at bottom, or otherwise some -lines of shading introduced to relieve it of its blank appearance. The -arm is execrable—the hand worse—both are too massive and sinewy. - -“Dulcinea,” by Cheney from Leslie. No fault can be found with this -picture, which is admirable in every respect. The right arm, in -especial, is exquisitely rounded and foreshortened. - -“The Tough Story” by J. J. Pease, from W. S. Mount. Mr. Mount’s merits -are those of acute observation and fidelity. These merits, although not -of the highest order, have the advantage of being universally -appreciable. This is an advantage which he secures—_clinches_—by -dealing only in homely subjects. If he has ideality (a question which as -yet we have had no means of deciding) and would employ his peculiar -talents upon loftier themes, he might attain a very desirable eminence -indeed. - -Nothing could be more true to nature than the picture before us; but the -painter has sacrificed to this truth (at some points) artistical effects -of superior value. What can be more displeasing, for example, than the -unrelieved nakedness of the wall in the back ground, or the situation of -the group precisely in the centre of the design, or, especially, than -the tall regular stove pipe, running up parallel with the back of the -standing figure, and dividing the apartment exactly in two? - -“The Gipsy,” by Cheney from Sully, is altogether out of drawing as -regards the face, which is, again, too broad to the left. This is a very -usual error in side faces. The fingers are badly engraved, particularly -those of the right hand, which look as if covered with a net or pic-nic -glove. The foliage in this picture is not very well executed. - -“The Sled” by W. E. Tucker, from Chapman, is a most effective design, -evincing the well-educated artist. The idea of rapid motion is skilfully -embodied in the countenance of the boy, in the peculiar falling curve of -the hill, and exquisitely _corroborated_ in the whirl of the clouds. -This is the true artistical keeping. The limbs of the boy are too small -for his head and body, and the left hand appears to have been cut from a -turnip. This latter defect is chargeable to the engraver. - -“The Raffle” by A. Lawson from Mount. This is another of Mr. Mount’s -idiosyncrasies, and is absolute perfection _in its way_. The defects of -the work (considered as a mere picture) which we pointed out in the -“Tough Story,” are not observable here. The grouping of the figures and -the arrangement of the design generally, are as admirable as the varied -expression of the Yankee faces. The light, however, is too equally -disposed about the room, and, in especial, upon the three middle -personages. It is difficult, moreover, to imagine these three persons so -illumined, and the back of the foreground figure at the same time so -fully in shade. These are petty objections—but it is right they should -be made. - -“Portia,” by Forrest from Sully, is an engraving in which the mere -mechanism is excellent; and, in fact, the work is, upon the whole, -highly creditable to Mr. Forrest. The hands, however, are badly done; -the left especially. Some knowledge of drawing is absolutely essential -in one who copies. This knowledge cannot be supplied by even Chinese -fidelity in depicting dot for dot and line for line. The picture, -altogether, we prefer to any in the book. Were we in the habit of -purchasing paintings this “Portia” by Sully is the only one here which -we would purchase. - -The paper of “The Gift” for 1842 does not seem to us sufficiently good. -The binding is certainly magnificent, but would have been vastly -improved by the use of a thicker board. - - * * * * * - - _Amenities of Literature, consisting of Sketches and Characters - of English Literature. By_ J. D’Israeli, _D.C.L. F. S. A. 2 - vols. I. & H. G. Langley: New York._ - -The reputation of the elder D’Israeli as scholar and philosopher is at -least as well founded as that of any man of his age. He has given to the -world a series of _peculiar_ books—books in which the richest variety -of _recherché_ detail and anecdote about literary affairs, is made -subservient to the most comprehensive survey and analysis of letters -themselves, considered in respect to their important spiritual uses. He -is the only _savant_ upon record who has busied himself, without -pedantry, among the _minutiæ_ of classical lore. His works will last as -long as the language in which they are written. The “Curiosities of -Literature,” the “Literary Character,” the “Miscellanies of Literature,” -the “Calamities of Authors,” and all but the present “Amenities of -Literature” are, however, but incidental labors arising from a more -extensive design—a “History of English Literature”—of which he thus -speaks. “It was my intention not to furnish an arid narrative of books -and of authors, but, following the steps of the human mind through the -wide track of time, to trace from their beginnings the progress and the -decline of public opinions, and to illustrate, as the objects presented -themselves, the great incidents in our national annals.” In this -magnificent project the philosopher was arrested by blindness. The -“Amenities of Literature” is a portion and in fact the beginning of the -great scheme which can now never be completed. We need say no more to -recommend it to the reader. The two volumes before us are issued in the -customary careful and tasteful style of the Langleys. - - * * * * * - - _The Critical and Miscellaneous Writings of Sir Edward Lytton - Bulwer, author of “Pelham,” &c. 2 vols. Lea and Blanchard: - Philadelphia._ - -We have read these volumes with the highest pleasure. They embrace all -of the known minor writings of Bulwer, with the exception of his shorter -fictions; and we recognize in the collection several very excellent -articles which had arrested our attention and excited our curiosity -while their authorship was undivulged. - -Mr. Bulwer is _never_ lucid, and seldom profound. His intellect seems to -be rather well balanced than lofty—rather comprehensive than -penetrative. His taste is exquisite. His style, in its involution and -obscurity, partakes of the involution of his thoughts. Apart from his -mere intellect, however,—or rather as a portion of that intellect—we -recognize in his every written word the keenest appreciation of the -right, the beautiful, and the true. Thus he is a man worthy of all -reverence, and we do not hesitate to say that we look upon the charges -of immoral tendency which have been so pertinaciously adduced against -his fictions, as absurdly _little_ and untenable, in the mass. - -The volumes now before us are plain evidence of the noble spirit which -has constantly actuated him. The papers here published were written at -various epochs of his life. We look through them in vain for anything -false, as a whole, or unchivalrous, or impure, or weak, or tasteless, or -ignoble. Were we addicted _jurare in verba magistri_, there lives no man -upon whose faith we would more confidently rely than upon that of -Bulwer—no man whose opinion upon any point involving a question of -truth, or justice, or taste, we would be more willing to adopt -unexamined. - -We have been especially pleased with an article (in the volumes now -before us) entitled “Literature Considered as a Profession,” and with -another “Upon the Spirit of True Criticism.” Some remarks in the latter -paper are quite as applicable to our own country as to Great Britain. - - “‘To say this is good and that is bad,’ says La Bruyère, ‘is not - morality.’ Very true, neither is it criticism. There is no - criticism in this country—considering that word as the name of - a science. A book comes out—it is capital, says one—it is - detestable, says another. Its characters are unnatural—its - characters are nature itself. On both sides there is - affirmation, on neither proof. In fact no science requires such - elaborate study as criticism. It is the most analytical of our - mental operations—to pause—to examine—to say _why_ that - passage is a sin against nature, or that plot a violation of - art—to bring deep knowledge of life in all its guises—of the - heart in all its mysteries to bear upon a sentence of approval - or disapprobation—to have cultivated the feeling of beauty - until its sense of harmony has grown as fine as the ear of a - musician—equally sensitive to discord—or alive to new - combinations:—these are no light qualities, and these are not - qualities, it may be answered, to be lightly lavished away. - Every new book, it may be said, does not deserve that we should - so honor it. We need not invoke the Past, and summon all Nature - to hear us praise a butterfly, or crush a bug. We may on slight - works arrogate the censor—yes, but we must first have been - chosen the censor, by the acumen we have testified on great - ones. Now, when an author who has risen into eminence, who - begins to produce an effect upon his age, whose faults it - becomes necessary to indicate as a warning, whose beauties we - should illustrate as an example—when such a man produces a new - work, what is the cant cry of the critics? ‘The peculiar merits - and failings of Mr. So and So are too well known for us at this - time of day to repeat them. The present work has all the - characteristics of the last—if it does not increase, it will - not diminish the well-earned reputation of the author.’ Then - come the extracts, and a word or two at the end as precise and - lucid as those at the beginning, and——there’s THE CRITICISM! - - “For my part, I please myself sometimes with drawing the ideal - picture of a good critic, as Bolingbroke drew that of a patriot - king. What a crowd of accomplishments, not easily seen by the - superficial, belong to that character! Literature and morality - are so entwined that you rarely find the real critic unless he - is also the moralist. The union is almost necessary. In - Quinctilian how beautifully the deduction closes the dogma! and - even in Johnson the habit of moralizing gives dignity to his - criticisms. In both sciences the study of mankind, of the - metaphysical nature within us, alone insures a sound judgment: - in both, without a delicate yet profound perception of the - harmonious, the beautiful, the august, no commanding excellency - is obtained. The goodness of a man and the goodness of a book - are not such different qualities as people suppose. A person, - however, _may_ be, though he is not often, a good moralist - without being a good man: to preach and practice are faculties - not inseparable. But I doubt if a man can be a great critic who - has not, at least, the elementary qualities of a good man. I - consider that he must keep the intellectual sight clear from - envy, and malice, and personal dislikes. He must examine the - work above and remote from all the petty considerations that - attach to the man. He must be on the alert for genius, ready to - encourage even a rival to himself. Where this largeness of mind - is not visible, there is always something petty and crippled in - the mind of the professional critic. He may make one great - criticism, but he cannot criticise with greatness habitually. - Perhaps he reviews some dead author—for the dead interfere not - with the living; or he wastes a world of generosity, like - Southey, in praising some rhymester of the pantry, who is little - enough while he attracts honor to the praiser to plunge into - forgetfulness the praise. The good critic—that rare ideal, must - have in him courage to blame boldly, magnanimity to eschew envy, - benevolence to search for obscure merit. He must have genius to - appreciate, and learning to compare: he must have an eye for - beauty, an ear for music, a heart for feeling, a mind for - reason. ‘We are conscious of excellency,’ says some author, ‘in - proportion to the excellence within ourselves.’” - -We wish also to call attention to a very excellent article on the -subject of “International Copyright.” The only paper in the collection -which we could have wished omitted is one entitled “A Letter to the -Quarterly Review,”—an attempt at vindictive retaliation upon Lockhart. -We admire this gentleman quite as little as Mr. Bulwer can possibly do, -but we grieve to see an attack which has neither vigor nor wit, and -which proves nothing beyond the writer’s wrath and utter incapacity for -satire. - - * * * * * - - _The Pic Nic Papers. By various Hands. Edited by_ Charles - Dickens, Esq. _author of “The Pickwick Papers,” &c. 2 vols. Lea - and Blanchard: Philadelphia._ - -The “Introduction” to this work gives us its history. “The premature -death of a young publisher (Mr. Macrone) inspired some of those who had -known him personally, or had been connected with him in business, with -an earnest desire to render some assistance to his widow and orphans. -They produced among themselves this work.” In the English edition there -were three volumes; the third consisting of the “Charcoal Sketches” of -Mr. Joseph C. Neal, of Philadelphia. This edition we have not seen; but -have been astonished to hear that the London publisher has been so -discourteous as to print Mr. Neal’s compositions, and the engravings -which accompanied them, without the _name_ of the writer, or any farther -acknowledgment than a few words speaking of the whole as “from an -American source.” Comment upon such meanness seems altogether a work of -supererogation; but, in truth, we are in the habit of setting our -brethren across the water very bad examples in matters of a somewhat -similar kind. That Mr. Dickens had any thing to do with the wrong now -perpetrated, we will not, however, believe for a moment. - -The contributors to the two volumes reprinted in Philadelphia are among -the most celebrated _literati_ of England. We have, for example, -articles from Dickens, from Leigh Ritchie, Allan Cunningham, Thomas -Moore, W. H. Ainsworth, G. P. R. James, Agnes Strickland and several -others. It might be supposed, of course, that the collection would be -one of high interest: but we are forced to say that it _is not_. In a -case like this, authors (who for the most part are unburthened with -pecuniary means) are called upon to furnish _gratuitous_ papers. It is -not surprising that, under such circumstances, they content themselves -with bestowing whatever MS. they may have at hand, of least value. -Scraps from memorandum-books; effusions of early years kept only as -mementos and never destined for publication; fragments of tales or -essays definitely abandoned by the author, who has become dissatisfied -with his subject or the mode in which it was progressing—matters such -as these form invariably the staple of compilations such as this. There -is, moreover, another important consideration—one involving a very -remarkable truth. The _refuse_ labor of a man of genius is usually -inferior, and greatly so, to that of the man of common-place -talent:—very much as the dregs of the _Côtes du Rhone_ are more viscid -than those of Sherry or _De Grâve_. It is only necessary to suggest this -idea to have it at once fully appreciated and understood. The man of -talent pursues “the even tenor of his way.” He is at all times -_himself_. With the all-prevalent law of action and reaction he has -nothing to do. Never excited into wild enthusiasm, he never experiences -its consequent and inevitable depression. Never boldly soaring, he never -sadly sinks. To write well, the man of genius must write in obedience to -his impulses. When forced to disobey them—when constrained, by the -fetters of a methodical duty, to compose at _all_ hours—it is but a -portion of his nature—it is but a condition of his intellect—that he -should occasionally grovel in platitudes of the most pitiable -description. And this fact will go farther than any one hitherto -adduced, to explain the character of a fatality which has so constantly -attended genius as to have become a sure index of its existence:—we -mean the fatality of alternate high eulogium and virulent invective. Few -men are conversant with the _whole_ works of an author. Now, in the case -of two critics of equal ability, it may happen (and we know it _does_ -frequently so happen) that the opinion of one may be based solely upon -the author’s best efforts, while that of the other is deduced from some -mere task-work labored out in hours of the most utter inappetency and -exhaustion. The dissent of the latter (a dissent just if we regard only -the means of judgment) will, of course, be extravagant in denunciation, -precisely in the ratio of his astonishment and indignation at what he -supposes the corrupt panegyric of the former. - -Therefore, it should not be a matter for surprise that these “Pic Nic -Papers” are very great trash, although written by very clever men. Their -general merit, in our opinion, is below that of the mere _make-weight_ -of our commonest newspapers and magazines. One or two of the articles -are not _very_ bad:—Leigh Ritchie’s “Marcus Bell,” for example; a tale -entitled “Aunt Honor;” and “The Lamplighter’s Story,” by Mr. Dickens. -This last, however, is only tolerable through the manner in which it is -told. There is not a single paper of _real_ value; and more consummate -nonsense than the greater portion of the collection we never encountered -in any respectable-looking book. - -We cannot conclude our notice without a protest against the title-page. -To call this paltry publication the “Pic Nic Papers,” and affirm it to -be _edited_ by Mr. Dickens—thus inducing ideas of the popular Pickwick, -is a piece of chicanery which not even the end in view can sanction. No -body of men are justified in making capital of the public’s gullibility -for purposes of charity, public or private—for any purposes under the -sun. We do not hesitate to state the present case _plainly_. The title -affixed to this work has been designedly so affixed, that purchasers, -hastily glancing at it, may suppose it a book upon the same plan as the -“Pickwick Papers,” and _written_, as they were, by Mr. Dickens. No one -who reflects an instant can suppose the intention to have been anything -else. Now what is this but the worst species of _forgery_? - - * * * * * - - _History of the War in the Peninsula, and in the South of - France, from the year 1807 to the year 1814. By_ W. F. Napier, - C. B., Colonel, _&c. From the Fourth Edition. Complete in Four - Volumes. With Numerous Engravings. Carey and Hart: - Philadelphia._ - -Colonel Napier’s “History of the Peninsula War” is a work whose general -features are sufficiently well understood. In the thoroughness of its -survey and in the minute and exact particularity of its details, if not -in more important and comprehensive regards, it is equalled certainly by -no other book on the subject discussed, and perhaps by few histories of -any kind. The author’s extensive political acquaintance with the events -agitating all Europe at the period investigated, and especially the part -he bore in some of these events, with his obvious enthusiasm for -military affairs, rendered him as fitting for the task which he has -undertaken as any individual of his age. It may be said, indeed, and not -altogether paradoxically, that he was somewhat _too_ well qualified for -this task. The agitating incidents _quorum pars magna fuit_ have so -forcibly impressed his imagination as to mislead his understanding in -respect to the _relative_ importance of these incidents. He discourses -of the “Peninsular Campaign” (pretty much, by the way, as all Englishmen -discourse of it) as if _it alone_ were the proper subject of all human -deliberation. No one will be willing to deny the interest which -appertains to it, nor the magnitude of the results to which it led. We -mean to say, however, that, except to Colonel Napier and the Duke of -Wellington, it is not the only important topic in the universe. - -Hitherto the American reader of history has been able to procure this -work only from our public libraries, and the enterprize of Messieurs -Carey and Hart in placing it within reach, is worthy of all -commendation. They must have been at unusual expense in this -undertaking. The volumes are thick octavos, and are illustrated by no -less than fifty-five lithographed plans, (which, by the way, are not -very well executed.) At the same time these publishers can scarcely -expect remuneration from a very extensive sale. By public institutions -and military men the work will be valued and purchased. But beyond -these, with few exceptions, the public will content itself with the -means already in its power of referring to the history in our libraries. -The gentlemen in question are, of course, the best judges of their own -affairs; but it does seem to us that they have erred in permitting the -_foreign_ value and reputation of the work to influence them in making -an American reprint. - - * * * * * - - _Ten Thousand a Year. By the Author of The Diary of a London - Physician. Carey and Hart: Philadelphia._ - -There are several circumstances connected with this book which render it -an important topic for the critic. We mean its unusual length—the -previous reputation of its author—the peculiarity of its subject—the -apparent under-current of _design_ which has been attributed to it—the -wide difference of opinion existing in regard to its merit—and, -especially, the fact of its being, if not precisely the first, yet -certainly the chief of the class of _periodical_ novels—the peculiar -advantages and disadvantages of which it will afford a good opportunity -for discussing. We much regret, therefore, that we have left ourselves -no room, in the present number of the Magazine, for an extended analysis -of the work. This we may possibly undertake in December; contenting -ourselves, in the meantime, with a few observations at random. - -It appears to us that a main source of the interest which this book -possesses for the mass, is to be referred to the _pecuniary_ nature of -its theme. From beginning to end it is an affair of pounds, shillings, -and pence—a topic which comes home at least _as_ immediately to the -bosoms and business of mankind, as any which could be selected. The same -_character_ in the choice of subject was displayed by Doctor Warren in -his “Passages from the Diary of a London Physician.” The _bodily health_ -is a point of absolutely universal interest, and was made the basis of -all the excitement in that very popular but shamefully ill-written -publication. - -“Ten Thousand a Year” is also “shamefully ill-written.” Its mere English -is disgraceful to an L.L.D.—would be disgraceful to the simplest tyro -in rhetoric. At every page we meet with sentences thus involved—“In -order, however, to do this effectually I must go back to an earlier -period in history than has yet been called to his attention. If it -[_what?—attention?—history?_] shall have been unfortunate enough to -attract the hasty eye of the superficial and impatient novel-reader, I -make no doubt that by such a one certain portions of what has gone -before, and which [_which what?_] could not fail of attracting the -attention of long-headed people as being not thrown in for nothing (and -therefore to be borne in mind with a view to subsequent explanation) -have been entirely overlooked or forgotten.” The book is full too of the -grossest misusages of language—the most offensive vulgarities of speech -and violations of grammar. The whole _tone_ is in the last degree -mawkish and inflated. What can be more ridiculous that the frequent -apostrophising after this fashion—“My glorious Kate, how my heart goes -forth towards you! And thou, her brother! who art of kindred spirit, who -art supported by philosophy and exalted by religion, so that thy -constancy cannot be shaken or overthrown by the black and ominous swell -of trouble which is increasing around thee—I know that thou wilt -outlive the storm—and yet it rocks thee! What indeed is to become of -you all? Whither will you go? And your suffering mother, should she -survive so long, is her precious form to be borne away from Yatton?” &c. -&c. - -There is no attempt at plot—but some of the incidents are wofully ill -adapted and improbable. The moralising, throughout, is tedious in the -extreme. Two-thirds of the whole novel might have been omitted with -advantage. The character of Aubrey is a ridiculous piece of overdone -sentimentality—and in character generally the writer fails. One of the -worst features of the whole is the transparent puerile attempt to throw -ridicule upon the ministerial party by dubbing them with silly names, -supposed to be indicative of peculiarities of person or character. While -the oppositionists, for example, rejoice in the euphonious appellations -of Aubrey, Delamere, and the like, their foes are called Quirk, Gammon, -Snap, Bloodsuck, Rotgut, Silly-Punctilio, and other more stupid and -beastly indecencies. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: _Latest Fashions, November 1841. For Graham’s Magazine._] - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Archaic -spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious punctuation and -typesetting errors have been corrected without note. - -[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 5, November 1841_, George R. -Graham, Editor] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. 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