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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..986d447 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67434 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67434) diff --git a/old/67434-0.txt b/old/67434-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ec926c5..0000000 --- a/old/67434-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8125 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 1, -January 1842, 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. XX, No. 1, January 1842 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George Rex Graham - -Release Date: February 18, 2022 [eBook #67434] - -Language: English - -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 - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XX, -NO. 1, JANUARY 1842 *** - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - Vol. XX. January, 1842 No. 1. - - - Contents - - =Fiction, Literature and Articles= - - The Shepherd’s Love - Highland Beauty - Lines - The Snow-Storm - Dreams of the Land and Sea - The False Ladye - Harry Cavendish - Cousin Agatha - An Appendix of Autographs - The Two Dukes - Shakspeare - The Daughters of Dr. Byles - Review of New Books. - - =Poetry, Music and Fashion= - - Sonnet - The Goblet of Life - To a Land Bird at Sea - Apostrophe - Agathè.—A Necromaunt - The Queen of May - Sonnet - Sonnets - A Song - To Helen in Heaven - Dorchester - The Zephyr - The Eyes of Night - Thy Name Was Once a Magic Spell - Fashion Plate - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S - - LADY’S AND GENTLEMAN’S - - MAGAZINE. - - EMBELLISHED WITH - - THE FINEST MEZZOTINTO AND STEEL ENGRAVINGS, - - ELEGANT EMBOSSED WORK, - - FASHIONS AND MUSIC. - - VOLUME XX. - - PHILADELPHIA: - GEORGE R. GRAHAM. - 1842. - - * * * * * - - INDEX - - TO THE - - TWENTIETH VOLUME. - - FROM JANUARY TO JUNE, 1842, INCLUSIVE. - -Autographs, an appendix of, by Edgar A. Poe, 44 -Affair at Tattletown, the, by Epes Sargeant, 221 - -Blue Velvet Mantilla, the, by Mrs. A. M. F. Annan, 102 -Brainard, a few words about, by Edgar A. Poe, 119 -Bachelor’s Experiment, the, by Mrs. Emma C. Embury, 226 -Bride, the, (_illustrated_,) by J. H. Dana, 253 - -Cousin Agatha, by Mrs. Emma C. Embury, 38 -Centre Harbor, (_illustrated_,) 256 -Chevalier Gluck, the, (from the German,) by W. W. Story, 270 - -Dreams of the Land and Sea, by Dr. Reynell Coates, 17, 88, 163, - 210 -Daughters of Dr. Byles, by Miss Leslie, 61, 114 -Dickens, original letter from 83 -Duello, the, by H. W. Herbert, 85 -Doom of the Traitress, the, by H. W. Herbert, 150 -Dash at a Convoy, 178 -Duel, the, by E. S. Gould, 233 - -Exile of Connecticut, by Dr. Reynell Coates, 17 -Escape, the, 74 -Edith Pemberton, by Mrs. Emma C. Embury, 277 -Euroclydon, by Charles Lanman, 287 -Expedition, the, 288 -Ellen Neville, 307 -False Ladye, the, by H. W. Herbert, 27 -First Step, the, by Mrs. Emma C. Embury, 154 - -German Writers, by H. W. Longfellow, 134 - -Highland Beauty, (_illustrated_,) by Oliver Oldfellow, 6 -Harry Cavendish, by the Author of “Cruising in the Last 31, 74, 178, - War,” the “Reefer of ’76,” &c. &c., 237, 288, 307 -Harper’s Ferry, (_illustrated_,) 73 -Heinrich Heine, by H. W. Longfellow, 134 - -Imagination, by Park Benjamin, 174 - -Kissing, the Science of, (_illustrated_,) by Jeremy 302 - Short, Esq., - -Lady’s Choice, the, by Emma C. Embury, 96 -Lady and the Page, the, by Mary Spencer Pease, 167 -Lowell’s Poems, 195 -Life in Death, by Edgar A. Poe, 200 -Love and Pique, by Mrs. Emma C. Embury, 334 - -May Evelyn, by Frances S. Osgood, 145 -Miner’s Fate, the, 202 -Music, Thoughts on, by Henry Cood Watson, 285 - -Norton, Mrs., by Park Benjamin, 91 -Night Scene at Sea, by Dr. Reynell Coates, 210 - -Powhatan, the Crowning of, (_illustrated_,) 133 -Pirate, the, 237 -Procrastination, by Mrs. M. H. Parsons, 260 - -Review of New Books, 69, 124, 186, - 248, 298, 354 -Red Death, the Mask of the, by Edgar A. Poe, 257 -Russian Revenge, by Esther Wetherald, 322 - -Shepherd’s Love, the, (_illustrated_,) by J. H. Dana, 1 -Snow-Storm, the, by Jeremy Short, Esq. 10 -Shakspeare, by Theodore S. Fay, 58 -Sunday at Sea, by Dr. Reynell Coates, 88 -St. Agnes’ Eve, by Jeremy Short, Esq. 218 - -Two Dukes, by Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, 50, 78, 149, - 242, 341 -Take me Home, by Dr. Reynell Coates, 163 -Thompson, Miss, by Mrs. A. F. S. Annan, 313 - -Wreck, the, 31 -Wife, the, (_illustrated_,) by Agnes Piersol, 193 -West Point, Recollections of, by Miss Leslie, 205, 290 -Wilkie, the late Sir David, by L. F. Tasistro, 275 -Wire Suspension Bridge, the, (_illustrated_,) 301 -Ware’s Poems, Mrs., by Park Benjamin, 330 - - =POETRY.= - -Apostrophe, by Albert Pike, 12 -Agathè, by L. F. Tasistro, 13, 111, 160, - 213 -Amie, to, by L. J. Cist, 276 -Antique Vase, to an, by N. C. Brooks, 284 -Alice, by R. W. Griswold, 340 -Absent Wife, the, by Robert Morris, 353 - -Bonnie Steed, my, (_illustrated_,) 82 -Birth of Freedom, by W. Wallace, 204 - -Dorchester, by W. Gilmore Simms, 49 -Dream of the Dead, a, by G. Hill, 121 -Departed, to one, by Edgar A. Poe, 137 - -Eyes of Night, the, by Mary Spencer, 65 -Elegy on the fate of Jane M’Crea, by T. G. Spear, 236 - -Freshet, the, by Alfred B. Street, 138 -Fanny, an Epistle to, by Park Benjamin, 149 -Fancies about a Rosebud, by James Russell Lowell, 173 -Fragment, by Albert Pike, 209 -Florence, to, by Park Benjamin, 241 -Farewell, by James Russell Lowell, 305 - -Goblet of Life, the, by H. W. Longfellow, 5 - -Helen in Heaven, to, by Alex. A. Irvine, 43 -Hawking, Return from, (_illustrated_,) 245 -Heavenly Vision, the, by T. H. Chivers, M. D. 329 - -Isa in Heaven, to, by T. H. Chivers, M. D. 144 - -Lines, by Mrs. Amelia B. Welby, 9 -Land Bird at Sea, to a, by L. H. Sigourney, 9 -L’Envoy to E——, by G. Hill, 295 - -May, the Queen of, by G. P. Morris, 16 -Marches for the Dead, by W. Wallace, 139 -Michael Angelo, by W. W. Story, 241 -My Bark is out upon the Sea, by George P. Morris, 274 -Mystery, 287 - -Old Man returned Home, the, by G. G. Foster, 225 -Old World, the, by George Lunt, 284 -Olden Deities, 321 - -Perditi, by Wm. Wallace, 265, 326 -Pewee, the, by Dill A. Smith, 306 -Rosaline, by James Russell Lowell, 89 -Raffaello, by W. W. Story, 241 -Return Home, the, by Geo. P. Morris, 312 - -Sonnet, by Thomas Noon Talfourd, 5 -Sonnet, by Edmund J. Porter, 26 -Sonnets, by Park Benjamin, 30 -Song, a, by James Russell Lowell, 37 -Song of Nydia, by G. G. Foster, 84 -Sonnet, by James Russell Lowell, 90 -Sonnet, by B. H. Benjamin, 118 -Stranger’s Funeral, the, by N. C. Brooks, 153 -Spirit, to a, by James Aldrich, 217 -Stanzas, by Mrs. R. S. Nichols, 225 -Sweethearts and Wives, by Pliny Earle, M. D. 232 -Sonnets, by W. W. Story, 241 -Spring’s Advent, by Park Benjamin, 259 -Song, by Alex. A. Irvine, 353 - -Veiled Altar, the, by Mrs. R. S. Nichols, 95 -Venus and the Modern Belle, by Frances S. Osgood, 274 - -Western Hospitality, by Geo. P. Morris, 166 - -Young Widow, the, (_illustrated_,) by Alex. A. Irvine, 137 - -Zephyr, the, by Miss Juliet H. Lewis, 56 - - =STEEL ENGRAVINGS.= - - MEZZOTINT AND LINE. - -The Shepherd’s Love. -Highland Beauty. -Lace Work, with colored Birds. -Fashions, three figures, colored. -My Bonnie Steed. -Harper’s Ferry. -Fashions, three figures, colored. -The Young Widow. -The Crowning of Powhatan. -Fashions, four figures, colored. -Return from Hawking. -The Wife. -Lace Pattern, with Embossed View. -The Bride. -Centre Harbor. -Fashions, colored, with a Lace pattern border. -The Proffered Kiss. -The Wire Suspension Bridge. -Fashions, four figures. - - =MUSIC.= - -Thy name was once a magic spell, 66 -The Dream is past, 122 -A lady heard a minstrel sing, 184 -There’s no land like Scotland, 246 -The Orphan Ballad Singers, 296 - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: lace work with colored birds in center] - - - - -[Illustration: _Painted by Alex^{r}. Johnston. Engraved by J. Sartain._ -_The Shepherd’s Love_] - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - Vol. XX. PHILADELPHIA: JANUARY, 1842. No. 1. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SHEPHERD’S LOVE. - - - BY J. H. DANA. - - - CHAPTER I. - -It was a golden morning in early summer, and a thousand birds were -warbling on the landscape, while the balmy wind murmured low and musical -among the leaves, when a young girl, attired in a rustic dress, might -have been seen tripping over the lea. Her golden tresses, as she walked, -floated on the wind, and the exercise had called even a richer carnation -than usual to her cheek. Her form was one of rare beauty, and her gait -was grace itself. As she glided on, more like a sylph than a mortal -being, she carolled one of her country’s simple lays; and what with her -liquid tones, her sweet countenance, and her bewitching motion, she -formed a picture of loveliness such only as a poet could have imagined. - -At length she approached a ruined wall, half hidden by one or two -overshadowing trees. The enclosure partially concealed from view the -figure of a young shepherd, who, leaning on his hand, gazed admiringly -on her approaching figure. Unconscious, however, of the vicinity of an -observer, the maiden tripped on, until she had almost reached the -enclosure, when the shepherd’s dog suddenly sprung from his master’s -side, and barking violently, would have leaped on the intruder, had not -the youth checked him. The maiden started and turned pale; but when she -perceived the shepherd her cheeks flushed with crimson, and she stood -before the youth in a beautiful embarrassment. - -“Down, down, Wallace, mon,” said the young shepherd, “ken ye not Jeanie -yet—the flower o’ Ettrick? Ah! Jeanie, Jeanie,” he added—and his tone -and manner at once betrayed the footing on which he stood with the -maiden—“little did ye ken, when ye were tripping sae gaily o’er the -lea, with a heart as light as a lavrock and a song as sweet as the -waving of the broom at noonday, that one who lo’es ye sae dearly, was -lookin’ at ye frae behind this tree.” - -The maiden blushed again, and stealing a timid glance at her lover, her -eyes sought the ground. The shepherd took her hand, which was not -withdrawn from his grasp, and said, - -“Ye ken weel, Jeanie dear, what ye were singing,” and his voice assumed -a sudden seriousness as he spoke, which caused the maiden again to look -up, although the allusion he made to the subject of her song, had dyed -her cheeks with new blushes, “and I hae come hither this morning, for I -ken ye passed here—to see ye if only for a moment. Ye ken, Jeanie, that -we were to hae been one next Michaelmas, and that I was to get the -Ellsey farm—a canny croft it is, dearie, and happy, happy would we hae -been there”—the maiden looked inquiringly in his face at these words, -and her lover continued mournfully—“ye guess the worst, I see, by that -look. In one word, a richer man has outbid me, and so, for the third -time, hae I been disappointed.” And as he said these words with a husky -voice, betokening the depth of his emotion, the speaker paused, and drew -the back of his hand across his eyes. His affianced bride showed the -true delicacy of her mind in this juncture. Instead of saying aught to -comfort him, she drew closer to his side, and laying her hand on his -arm, gazed up into his face with a look so full of sympathy and love, -that its mute, yet all-powerful eloquence, went to the shepherd’s heart. -He drew her tenderly to his bosom, kissed her unresisting brow, and -gazed for some moments in silent rapture on her face. At length he -spoke. - -“Jeanie,” he said, and his voice grew low and tremulous as he spoke, -“can ye hear bad news? I canna bide here longer,” he added, after a -pause, and with an obvious effort. The maiden started; but having -introduced the subject, her lover proceeded firmly—“I canna bide here, -year after year, as I hae done for the last twelvemonth, and be put off, -month by month, wi’ promises that are never to be fulfilled. I will go -away and seek my fortune in other lands. They say money is to be had -amaist for the asking in the Indies, and ye ken we may never marry while -I remain as now, with na roof to lay my ain head under, to say naething -of yours, Jeanie, which I hold dearer than ten thousand thousand sic as -mine. So I hae engaged to go out to the Indies, and the ship sails -to-morrow. Do not greet, my flower o’ the brae,” said he, as the maiden -burst into tears, “for ye ken it is only sufferin’ a lighter evil to put -off a greater one. If I stay here we maun make up our minds never to be -one, for not a farm is to be had for a puir man like me, from Ettrick to -Inverness. In two years, at maist, I will return,” and his voice -brightened with hope, as he proceeded, “and then, Jeanie dear, naething -shall keep us asunder, and you shall be the richest, and I hope the -happiest bride in all the border.” - -The manly pathos of his words, his visible attempt to stifle his -feelings, and the grief she felt at the contemplated absence of her -lover, all conjoined to heighten the emotion of the maiden, and flinging -herself on her lover’s bosom, she wept long and uncontrollably. Her -companion gazed on in silence, with an almost bursting heart; but he -knew that he could not recede from his promise, and that the hour of -anguish must be endured sooner or later. Then why not now? At length the -sobs of Jeanie grew less violent and frequent—the first burst of her -emotion was passing away. Gently then did her lover soothe her feelings, -pointing out to her the advantages to result from his determination, and -cheering her with the assurance, that in two years, at farthest, he -would return. - -“I hae no fears, Jeanie, that ye will not prove true to me, and for the -rest we are in God’s gude hands. Our lives are as safe in his protection -awa on the seas as by our ain ingle-side. And now farewell, for the -present, dearie—I maun do many things before we sail to-morrow. God -bless you!” and with these words, dashing a tear from his eye, he tore -himself from the maiden, and walked rapidly across the lea, as if to -dissipate his emotion by the swiftness of his pace. When he reached the -brow of the hill, however, he turned to take a last look at the spot -where he had parted with Jeanie. She was still standing where he left -her, looking after his receding form. He waved his hand, gazed a moment -on her, and then whistled to his dog, and dashed over the brow of the -hill. - -Poor Jeanie had watched him with tearful eyes until he paused at the top -of the hill, and her heart beat quick when she saw him turn for a last -look. She made an effort to wave her hand in reply; and when she saw him -disappear beyond the hill, sank against the wall. Directly a flood of -tears came to her relief. It was hours before she was sufficiently -composed to return home. - -All through that day, and until late at night, Jeanie comforted herself -with the hope of again beholding her lover; but he came not. Long after -nightfall, a ragged urchin from the village put into her hands a letter. -She broke it open tremblingly, for she knew the hand-writing at a -glance. It was from her lover. It was kindly written, and the hand had -been tremulous that penned it; but it told her that he had felt himself -unequal to another parting scene. Before she received this—it -continued—he would be far on his way to the place of embarkation. It -contained many a sweet message that filled the heart of Jeanie with -sunshine, even while the tears fell thick and fast on the paper. It bid -her remember him to her only surviving parent, and then it contained a -few more words of hope, and ended with “God bless you!—think often in -your prayers of Willie.” - -That night Jeanie’s pillow was wet with tears, but, even amid her sobs, -her prayers might have been heard ascending for her absent lover. - - - CHAPTER II. - -The family of Jeanie was poor but virtuous, like thousands of others -scattered all over the hills and vales of Scotland. Her father had once -seen better days, having been indeed a farmer in a small way; but his -crops failing, and his stock dying by disease, he had been reduced at -length to extreme poverty. Yet he bore his misfortunes without repining. -He had still his daughter to comfort him, and though he lived in a -mud-built cottage, he was happy—happy at least, so far as one in his -dependent condition could be; for his principal support was derived from -the labor of his daughter, added to what little he managed to earn by -doing small jobs occasionally for his neighbors. Yet he was universally -respected. If you could have seen him on a sunny Sabbath morning, -leaning on his daughter’s arm, walking to the humble village kirk: if -you could have beheld the respect with which his juniors lifted their -bonnets to him, while his own gray locks waved on the wind as he -returned their salutations, you would have felt that even utter poverty, -if respectable, and cheered by a daughter’s love, was not without its -joy. - -The love betwixt Jeanie and the young shepherd was not one of a day. It -had already been of years standing, and dated far back, almost into the -childhood of each. By sunny braes, in green meadows, alongside of -whimplin brooks, they had been used to meet, seemingly by chance, until -such meetings grew necessary to their very existence, and their -love—pure and holy as that between the angelic choristers—became -intermixed with all their thoughts and feelings, and colored all their -views of life. And all this time Jeanie was growing more beautiful -daily, until she became the flower of the valley. Her voice was like -that of the cushat in its sweetest cadence—her eye was as blue and -sunny as the summer ether—and the smiles that wreathed her mouth came -and went like the northern lights on a clear December eve. Thus -beautiful, she had not been without many suitors; but to all she turned -a deaf ear. Many of them were far above her station in life, but this -altered not her determination. Nor did her father, though perhaps, like -many of his neighbors, he attached more importance to such offers than -Jeanie, attempt to influence her. He only stipulated that her lover -should obtain a farm before his marriage. We have seen how his repeated -failures in this, and his hopelessness of attaining his object, unless -at a very distant period, had at length driven him to seek his fortune -elsewhere. - -We are telling no romantic tale, but one of real life; and in real life -years often seem as hours, and hours as years. We shall make no excuse, -therefore, for passing over an interval of more than two years. - -It was the gloamin hour when Jeanie and her father sat at their humble -threshold. The face of the maiden was sad almost to tears; while that of -the father wore a sad and anxious expression. They had been convening, -and now the old man resumed their discourse. - -“Indeed, Jeanie,” he said, “God knows I would na urge ye do that which -is wrong; but we hae suffered and suffered much sin’ Willie left us. Twa -years and a half, amaist a third, hae past sin’ that day. Do not greet, -my dochter, an’ your auld father may na speak that which is heavy on his -mind,” and he ceased, and folded the now weeping girl tenderly to his -bosom. - -“No, no, father, go on,” sobbed Jeanie, endeavoring to compose herself, -an effort in which she finally succeeded. Her father resumed. - -“I am growing auld, Jeanie, aulder and aulder every day; my shadow -already fills up half my grave—and the time canna be far awa, when I -shall be called to leave you alone in the warld.” - -“Oh! say not so,” sobbed Jeanie, “you will yet live many a year.” - -“Na, na,” he answered, shaking his head, “though it pains my heart to -say so, yet it is best you should know the truth. It will na be long -before the snows shall lie aboon me. But I see it makes you greet. I -will pass on, Jeanie, to what lies heavy on my heart, and that is, when -I am awa, there will be no one to protect you. Could I hae seen ye -comfortably settled, wi’ some one to shield ye from the cauld world, I -could hae gone to my grave in peace. But it maun na be, it maun na be.” - -Poor Jeanie had listened to her father’s words with emotions we will not -attempt to pourtray. Long after every one else had given over her lover -for lost—and besides a rumor, now of two years standing, that he had -been drowned at sea, there was the fact of his not returning at the -appointed time, to silence all skepticism—she had clung to the hope of -his being alive, even when her reason forbid the expression of that -hope. She had long read her father’s thoughts, nor could she indeed -blame them. Their poverty was daily growing more extreme, so that while -her parent’s health was declining, he was compelled to deny himself even -the few comforts which he had hitherto possessed. These things cut -Jeanie to the heart, and yet she saw no remedy for them, except in what -seemed to her more terrible than death. Her affection for her lover was -only strengthened and purified by his loss. Try as she would, she could -not tear his image from her heart. Loving him thus, living or dead, how -could she wed another?—how could she take on herself vows her heart -refused to fulfil? Day after day, week after week, and month after -month, had this struggle been going on in her bosom, betwixt duty to her -father and love for him to whom she had plighted her virgin vows. This -evening her parent had spoken to her, mildly but seriously on the death -of her lover, and Jeanie’s heart was more than ever melted by the -self-devotedness with which her gray-haired father had alluded to her -want of protection in case of his death, not even saying a word of the -want of the common comforts of life which his growing infirmities -rendered more necessary than ever, but of which her conduct—oh! how -selfish in that moment it seemed to her—deprived him. It was some -moments before Jeanie could speak, during which time she lay weeping on -her parent’s bosom. At length she murmured, - -“Do wi’ me as ye wish, father, I maun resist no longer, sin’ it were -wicked. But oh! gie me a little while to prepare, for the heart is -rebellious and hard to overcome. I know you do it all for the best—but -I maun hae some delay to tear the last thoughts o’ Willie, thoughts -which soon wi’ be sinfu’, from my heart”—and overcome by the intensity -of her emotions she burst into a new flood of tears. Her father pressed -her to his bosom, and murmured, - -“Oh! Jeanie, Jeanie, could ye know how this pains my auld heart! But the -thought that when I die ye will be left unprotected in the world, is -sair within me. Time ye shall hae, darlint—perhaps,” he added after a -moment’s pause, “it were better to gie up the scheme altogether. Aye! -Jeanie, I will na cross your wishes even in this; but trust in a gude -God to protect you when I am gone. Say no more, say no more about it, -dear one; but do just as ye will.” - -“No, father,” said Jeanie, looking firmly up, while the tears shone -through her long eye-lashes like dew on the morning grass, “no, I will -be selfish no longer. Your wish shall be fulfilled. Do not oppose me, -for indeed, indeed, I act now as I feel right. Gie me only the little -delay for which I ask, and then I will do as you say, and—and”—and her -voice trembled as she spoke—“then you will no longer be without those -little comforts, dear father, which not even all my love has been able -to procure for you. Now kiss me, for I maun go in to be by myself for -awhile.” - -“God bless you, my dochter, and may _he_ ever hae you in his keeping,” -murmured that gray-haired sire, laying his hands on his child’s -head—his dim eyes suffusing with tears as he spoke, “God bless ye -forever and ever!” - -When that father and daughter rejoined each other, an hour later in the -evening, a holy calm pervaded the countenance of each; and the looks -which they gave each other were full of confidence, gratitude and -overflowing affection. And when the daughter drew forth the old worn -Bible, and read a chapter in her silvery voice, while the father -followed in a prayer that was at times choked by his emotion, there was -not, in all broad Scotland, a sweeter or more soul-subduing sight than -that lowly cot presented. - - - CHAPTER III. - -Although Jeanie was a girl of strong mind, the sacrifice which she -contemplated was not to be effected without many inward struggles. But -having made up her mind to what she considered her duty, she allowed no -personal feelings to swerve her from the strict line she had laid down -for herself wherein to walk. Daily did she seek in prayer for aid; and -never did she allow her parent to hear a murmur from her lips. Yet, let -her strive as she would, the memory of her lover would constantly recur -to her mind. At the gloamin hour, in the still watches of the night—by -the ingle-side, abroad in the fields, or in the kirk of God—on Sabbath -or week day—when listening to her aged sire’s voice, or sitting all -alone in her little chamber, the image of him she had loved would rise -up before her, diffusing a gentle melancholy over her heart, and -seeming, for the moment, to raise an impassable barrier betwixt her and -the fulfilment of her new vows—for those vows had already been taken, -and the evening which was to make her another’s, was only postponed -until the intended bridegroom—a staid farmer of the border—could make -the necessary preparations in his homestead, necessary to fit it for a -new mistress, and she the sweetest flower of the district. - -We are telling no romantic tale, drawn from the extravagant fancy of a -novelist, but a sober reality. There are hundreds, all over this broad -realm, who are even now sacrificing themselves like Jeanie. Aye! in many -a lowly cottage, unrecked of and uncared for by the world, wither away -in secret sorrow, beings who, had their lot been cast in happier places, -would have been the brightest and most joyous of creatures. How many has -want driven, unwilling brides, to the nuptial altar! Who can tell the -sacrifice woman will not make to affection, although that sacrifice may -tear her heart’s fibres asunder? And thus Jeanie acted. Although she -received the attentions of her future husband with a smile, there was a -strange unnatural meaning in its cold moonlight expression. Even while -he talked to her, her thoughts would wander away, and she would only be -awakened from her reverie by some sudden ejaculation of his at -perceiving her want of attention. He knew her history, but he had been -one of her earliest lovers, and he flattered himself that she had long -since forgotten the absent; and, although at times her demeanor would, -for a moment, make him suspect the truth, yet a conviction so little in -unison with his wishes, led him instantly to discard it. And Jeanie, -meanwhile, continued struggling with her old attachment, until her -health began to give way beneath the conflict. She scarcely seemed to -decline—at least to eyes that saw her daily—but yet her neighbors -marked the change. In the beautiful words of the ballad, - - “her cheek it grew pale, - And she drooped like a lily broke down by the hail.” - -The morning of her wedding-day saw her as beautiful as ever, but with -how touching, how sweet an expression of countenance! As she proceeded -to the kirk, her exquisite loveliness attracted every eye, and her air -of chastened sadness drew tears from more than one spectator acquainted -with her history. The bridegroom stood smiling to receive his lovely -prize, the minister had already begun the service, and Jeanie’s heart -beat faster and faster as the moment approached which was forever after -to make all thoughts of Willie sinful, when suddenly the rattling of -rapid wheels was heard without, and instantaneously a chaise stopped at -the kirk door, and a tall form leaping from the vehicle strode rapidly -up the aisle at the very moment that the minister asked the solemn -question, if any one knew aught why the ceremony should not be finished. - -“Ay,” answered the voice of the intruder, and, as he spoke, he threw off -the military cloak he wore and disclosed to the astonished eyes of the -spectators the features—scarred and sun burnt, but still the -features—of the absent shepherd, “Ay! I stand here, by God’s good aid, -to claim the maiden by right of a prior betrothal. I am William -Sandford.” - -Had a thunderbolt fallen from heaven, or a spirit risen from the dead, -the audience would not have been more astonished than by this -_dénouement_. All eagerly crowded around the intruder, gazing on his -face, as the Jews of old looked on the risen Lazarus. Doubt, wonder, -conviction, enthusiasm followed each other in quick succession through -the minds of the spectators. But the long absent lover, pushing aside -the friends who thronged around him, strode up to Jeanie’s side, and, -clasping her in his arms, asked, in a voice no longer firm, but husky -with emotion, - -“Oh! Jeanie, Jeanie, hae ye too forgotten me?” - -The bride had fainted on his bosom; but a score of eager tongues -answered for her, and in hurried words told him the truth. - -What have we more to say? Nothing—except that the returned lover took -the place of the bridegroom, who was fain to resign his claim, and that -the minister united the now re-animated Jeanie and her long-remembered -lover, while the congregation looked on with tears of joy. - -The returned Shepherd—for we shall still call him so—at length found -time to tell his tale. He had been shipwrecked as rumoured, but, instead -of being drowned, had escaped and reached India. There he entered the -service and was sent into the interior, where he rose rapidly in rank, -but was unavoidably detained beyond the appointed two years, while the -communications with Calcutta being difficult and uncertain, the letters -written home apprizing Jeanie of these facts had miscarried. At length, -he had succeeded in resigning his commission, full of honors and wealth. -He hastened to Scotland. He reached Jeanie’s home, learned that she was -even then becoming the bride of another, hurried wildly to the church, -and—our readers know the rest. - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNET.[1] - - - BY THOMAS NOON TALFOURD. - - - How often have I fixed a stranger’s gaze - On yonder turrets clad in light as fair - As this soft sunset lends—pleas’d to drink air - Of learning that from calm of ancient days - Breathes ’round them ever:—now to me they wear - The tinge of dearer thought; the radiant haze - That crowns them thickens as, with fonder care, - And by its flickering sparkles, sense conveys - Of youth’s first triumphs:—for amid their seats - One little student’s heart impatient beats - With blood of mine. O God, vouchsafe him power - When I am dust to stand on this sweet place - And, through the vista of long years, embrace - Without a blush this first Etonian hour! - ------ - -[1] It is with high gratification that we present our readers, this -month, with this elegant _original_ poem from the pen of Sergeant Noon -Talfourd, of England, the author of “Ion,” and, perhaps, the first -living poet of his age. In the letter accompanying the verses he speaks -of them as “my last effusion on an occasion very dear to me—composed in -view of Eton college after leaving my eldest son there for the first -time.” - - * * * * * - - - - - THE GOBLET OF LIFE. - - - BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. - - - Filled is Life’s goblet to the brim;— - And though my eyes with tears are dim, - I see its sparkling bubbles swim, - And chaunt this melancholy hymn, - With solemn voice and slow. - No purple flowers—no garlands green - Conceal the goblet’s shade or sheen, - Nor maddening draughts of Hippocrene, - Like gleams of sunshine, flash between - The leaves of mistletoe. - - This goblet, wrought with curious art, - Is filled with waters that upstart, - When the deep fountains of the heart, - By strong convulsion rent apart, - Are running all to waste; - And, as it mantling passes round, - With fennel is it wreathed and crowned, - Whose seed and foliage sun-imbrowned, - Are in its waters steeped and drowned, - And give a bitter taste. - - Above the humbler plants it towers, - The fennel, with its yellow flowers; - And in an earlier age than ours - Was gifted with the wondrous powers - Lost vision to restore: - It gave new strength and fearless mood, - And gladiators fierce and rude - Mingled it in their daily food; - And he who battled and subdued - A wreath of fennel wore. - - Then in Life’s goblet freely press - The leaves that give it bitterness, - Nor prize the colored waters less, - For in thy darkness and distress - New light and strength they give. - For he who has not learned to know - How false its sparkling bubbles show, - How bitter are the drops of woe - With which its brim may overflow, - He has not learned to live! - - The prayer of Ajax was for light! - Through all the dark and desperate fight, - The blackness of that noon-day night, - He asked but the return of sight - To know his foeman’s face. - Let our unceasing, earnest prayer - Be, too, for light:—and strength to bear - Our portion of the weight of care, - That crushes into dumb despair - One half the human race. - - O suffering, sad humanity! - O ye afflicted ones, who lie - Steeped to the lips in misery, - Longing, and yet afraid to die, - Ye have been sorely tried! - I pledge you in your cup of grief - Where floats the fennel’s bitter leaf! - The battle of our life is brief,— - The alarm,—the struggle,—the relief,— - Then sleep we side by side. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: E. T. Parris. Rawdon, Wright, Hatch & Smillie. - -_Highland Beauty._ - -_Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine_] - - - - - HIGHLAND BEAUTY. - - - A STORY IN CAMP. - - - BY OLIVER OLDFELLOW. - - -“The fact is, Jeremy, I never liked the idea of writing love stories in -the presence of a pretty girl, as there is always something contagious -in love,—and do what I might—I have been a hard student that way—some -how or other I was always apt to leave off writing, and go to the -business of love-making in downright earnest,—studying from nature, you -see. It somehow puts a fellow’s hand out for writing, and inclines him -more to the use of his tongue, except when, by way of variation, he -cooly slips his arm around the dear, blushing, unwilling creature, and -drawing her gently to his bosom, as a mother would her child, smothers -the ‘bliss of talking,’ as Miss Landon called it, by a cousinly -introduction of lips. But,—by the prettiest houri that ever made -Mussulman’s heaven!—how do you think the thing is to be managed with -_two_ of the prettiest Scotch lassies that ever inspired the song of a -Burns, or the valor of a Wallace, looking you right in the eye, and one -of them with the most inviting lips, too, that ever set lover’s heart on -fire, and each with a pair of eyes that would send the blood tingling -through the veins of the veriest woman hater that ever breathed.” - -“None of your nonsense, Oliver, but for once give over the lore of -talking of yourself, and let us have the story within three pages, if -you expect to be out before Christmas with the Magazine! There are a -host of better looking fellows than yourself have had their eyes upon -the girls, and—to tell you the honest truth,—the game is above your -reach.” - -“By my faith in woman! Jeremy, you are as sharp this morning as a -nor’-wester—I expect you have had your _comb cut_ with one of them. -Talking of cutting combs, reminds me of a story. When I was in the -army!—” - -“Ha! ha! ha! When you were in the army! By George! I like that part of -the story amazingly—if the rest is only as good I may feel inclined to -allow you half a page more!” - -“Come, Jerry, none of that; I’ve known fellows talk about the army who -never even heard a gun, and chaps spin out most eternal sea-yarns, that -never smelt salt water, as any old tar would tell you before he had -listened five minutes to the story; but I am none of your green-horns—I -know what I am about when I mention war or beauty,—having seen some -service in my day. I therefore commence properly—as every story should -have a beginning, even if it has no end.” - -“When I was in the army, you see, I became acquainted with a very -sentimental fellow, about your size,—though he _had_ rather a better -looking whisker for a soldier,—who was always full of romance, and all -that sort of thing,—and I _do_ believe the chap had an idea or two of -the right kind in his head, but they were so mixed up with the wrong -kind, that, like the funds of a good many bankers now-a-days, they were -not always ‘available.’ He had got it into his cranium, and there it -would stick, that he had a little better blood in him than any body -else, so that he was confoundedly careful not to have any of it spilt, -and nothing but the daughter of a lord came any way near the mark to -which he aspired. He used to tell a good many stories about himself, and -he would tell them pretty well too, but they somehow or other had a -smack of the marvellous. His stories about the doings among the -gentry—the fellow, you see, had been educated by a lord, or something -of that sort, and had seen a little of high life above stairs as well as -below—took amazingly in the camp, especially his sentimental ones, for -he had the knack of making a fool of himself—” - -“But, for goodness sake, Oliver! the story!—the story!” - -“The fact is, Jerry, I am pretty much in the predicament of the -knife-grinder!—Story of my own—I have none to tell. But here is one -of——confound the fellow’s name,—no matter.” - - * * * * * - -“Emily Melville—the only daughter of the proud Lord Melville, who was -well known in the time of the wars—as the representative of the long -line of illustrious Scottish nobles of that name, was the pride of the -Lowland nobility, and the belle of every assembly. She was as fair as a -white fawn, and scarcely less wild. Her mother being dead, few -restraints were placed upon the young beauty by the old house-keeper, -who, in the main, filled the place. Emily, therefore, held in proud -disdain the restraints which would have been imposed by the prudes of -her sex, and thought that the great art of living was to be happy. -Laughter was always on her lips, and sunlight forever on her brow. She -was beautiful, and you knew it, yet you could not tell the secret of it, -nor, for their restlessness and brilliancy, whether her eyes were blue -or gray, yet you knew that they were pretty, and felt that they were -bright. Her voice was like the warble of a bird in spring, its notes -were so full of joyousness; and her motion was like that of a fairy, so -light and graceful, that, had you seen her tripping over the smoothly -shaved lawn in front of the mansion—her auburn hair drooping in long -ringlets over her snowy and finely rounded shoulders—and heard her gay -glad voice, swelling out in song and happiness, you would have fancied -her an angel from the upper sphere.” - -“I doubt that last part, my good fellow”—interrupted a bluff old -soldier—“until I had tried an arm around her, to see if she wasn’t -flesh and blood, I wouldn’t a’ trusted fancy.” - -“An interruption, gentlemen. You see if the story is told right, a man -must _feel_ what he says, and you’ll find out before it’s done, that -I”— - -“What, young man! You didn’t begin to make love to _her_ did you?” - -“Gentlemen, I must persist”— - -“Well, was _she_ in love—tell us that.” - -“Love!—She laughed at it—and said, ‘she loved nothing but her pet -fawn—her canary—the flowers, both wild and tame—the blue sky—the -sunshine—the heather—the forest—the mountains—and it might be—she -did not know—she _might_ love her cousin Harry Hardwick, if he was as -pleasant as he was when her playmate a few years ago—but he was now at -his father’s castle on the mountain, and perhaps had grown coarse, -boorish, or ill-mannered. She did not know therefore whether she should -love him or not—rather thought she should not—but then she had her -father, and enough around her to love and cherish, and why should she -trouble herself about the matter.’ - -“You will not wonder, gentlemen, that such a creature should inspire me -with love—a deep, devoted, heart-absorbing, deathless passion. I loved -her as man never loved woman before. Every pulsation, every energy of my -being seemed for her”— - -“Of course, _you’d_ love her!—never heard you tell of a pretty girl -that you didn’t love—but give us the pith and marrow of the matter; did -she return the compliment?” - -“All in good time!—You see the thing might have been very handsomely -managed, if it had not been for one or two impediments”— - -“What in the plague does the fellow mean by _impediment_?” - -“Hush, can’t you! He means he didn’t get her, of course.” - -“Well, you see, gentlemen, there was a shocking looking young fellow of -a lord, who lived upon the next estate, who got it into his head that he -must take a hand in the game. To give him his due, he was accomplished, -witty, had a title, and a splendid whisker, and from beginning to call -every few days to inquire after Lord Melville’s health—the old chap had -the best health in the world—about three times a-week, he soon managed -to call the other four days on his own account, so that I found the -prize in a fair way to be snatched from my grasp, and I resolved to -bring matters to a close pretty soon. So one morning, when Lord Melville -was out looking into parliamentary matters, inquiring into the affairs -of the nations, or his own, I thought I would open the question -genteely. Emily had sung for me most sweetly, without any apology or -affectation, and we were now sitting chatting very pleasantly together. -How easy, then, to turn the conversation in the proper channel. To -discourse of green fields—of murmuring brooks—of the delights of -solitude with one of congenial tastes—of the birds, the fawn, and the -attachment they showed their mistress. Then, of course, she would wonder -whether they really loved her, whether they knew what love was, or only -felt joy at her presence, because they knew her as their feeder. Then I -would say, of _course_ they loved her, how could they do -otherwise,—were not all things that approached her _fated_ to love her. -Then she blushes, gets up, and goes to the window opening on the -garden—to look at the flowers maybe—I must see them too, of course, -for they are _her_ flowers. I always loved flowers, and particularly -love these. Things, gentlemen, were thus progressing pretty smoothly, -you will see, considering that the lady was the daughter of a lord, and -of course heiress to his whole estate, when lo!—my unlucky genius as -usual—the housekeeper must poke in her head, and ask if ‘anybody -called.’ No! certainly not! What young lady ever called a housekeeper at -such a time! Pshaw! The thing was shocking to think of! How stupid in -her! The old thing had an eye in her head like a hawk, however, and saw -pretty clearly how matters stood, and whether she thought that there was -no chance for me in that quarter, or had some private preference of her -own, she maintained her ground until I deemed it prudent to withdraw. - -“Days passed away, and no opportunity was afforded me of renewing my -suit. Whether the old housekeeper took the matter in hand or not, of -course I cannot say; but when days began to grow into weeks, I began to -feel the wretchedness of first love. Who has not felt its fears, its -doubts, the torture, whether you are beloved by the object of your -affection, and the uncertainty, even in your own mind, whether you are -worthy of that love?—who has not felt the dread of rivalry, the fears -of the effects of a moment’s absence, and the thousand untold pangs, -which none but a lover’s imagination can inflict—and he a lover for the -first time? It is strange, gentlemen, that I should, after this sweet -interview, which seemed destined to be the last that I should have with -the most angelic of beings, place myself upon the rack, and delight in -the torture, with the devotion to wretchedness of a heart inspired with -‘the gentle madness,’ for the first time, of passionate, deathless -love—” - -“Hold up, comrade! and do give us the pith of the matter, without all -this flummery. I’ve known chaps talk all day in that strain, who never -had any story to tell, but would go on yarning it until roll-call, just -to hear themselves talk. Now, if you got the gal, say so—if you didn’t, -tell us why—and none of your rigmarole.” - -“Of course, gentlemen, I did not get her, and that is the reason I am -here to tell the story. Misfortunes, you know, travel close upon each -other’s heels, and sure enough, in the midst of my misery, the carriage -of Lord Hardwick was announced, and who should it contain but Emily’s -cousin ‘Harry,’—her old playmate, and his sister. I heard the -announcement, but I heard no more, until an hour or two afterwards, -when, out of sheer melancholy, I had taken to the garden for -contemplation and meditation, I _accidentally_ overheard Harry -Hardwick’s declaration and his acceptance, and, after half an hour of -silence, a laugh by both parties at my expense. - -“I had enough of the soldier’s blood in me, gentlemen, even then, to -_take no notice_ of this downright incivility and want of breeding, -though I do not of course suppose that the parties dreamed that they had -a listener, so I cast her off as unworthy of my love; and thus ended my -first love.” - -“Very sensibly done, too, my boy! I applaud your spirit. It was worthy -of a soldier.” - -“But, gentlemen, this was but the opening of difficulties, for I was no -sooner out of this scrape than my sensitive heart must betray me into -another. How all the dreams of even Emily’s beauty melted away as the -mist from the hills—perhaps assisted by the knowledge she was the prize -of another—when next morning my eyes beheld Arabella Hardwick. She was -leaning over the back of the sofa, at the very window from which the day -before I had praised the flowers with Emily. Passing beautiful was she -as she stood in her virgin loveliness before me, with her highland-cap -and its white plume over curls of jet, that seemed in mere wantonness to -fall from beneath, over her fine neck and swelling bosom, whose -treasures were scarcely concealed by the highland-mantle which so well -became her. Her brow was slightly shaded with curls, while from beneath, -her eyes, darker than heaven’s own blue, seemed to be melting before -your gaze. Her smile was sweetness itself, and came from lips of which -heaven and earth seemed to dispute ownership. Emily was seated at her -side, in the act of fixing a hawk’s feather in a highland-cap for her -own fair brow, yet in her eye mischief and cunning strove for mastery, -and her whole face was so full of meaning that I knew that I must have -been the subject of previous conversation, and I felt my face crimson -before the highland beauties. I verily believe that I made an -impression, gentlemen, which, had it been properly followed up, might -have been the making of me; I have always fancied somehow or other that -the highland beauty was rather smitten with me, for there was such a -coaxing expression in her whole face, and particularly in her -lips—which seemed to be begging a kiss—that I do believe that if it -had not been for the presence of my old flame, ‘my first love,’ -gentlemen, I should have carried the fortress by storm! but you see, as -it was, I stood blushing and looking simple until, for very amusement -sake, both commenced laughing, and Emily broke the ice by asking me if I -had lost my tongue. - -“‘On this hint I spoke.’—It is not necessary, gentlemen, to repeat all -the fine things I said—for fine things in a sentimental way, are not -relished in camp—but suffice it to say that the ground was so well -marked out in my first interview, that I deemed it expedient to pop the -question, ‘striking while the iron’s hot,’ you know—somewhat musty, but -very expressive—yet you will scarcely believe me, gentlemen—she -rejected me _flat_—‘_because I had no whiskers_.’” - -“You don’t say that was the _main_ objection?” - -“I say that was the only objection, and to prove its validity, she -married five months after, Lord Gordon, Emily’s former suitor—whose -only advantage was a fine pair of whiskers—with the addition of an -estate and a title.” - -“But perhaps the latter had some weight.” - -“None, I assure you, as I pressed the matter, and she averred, that love -in a cottage with a whisker, was in every way more congenial to her -taste, than the finest mansion in the land without that appendage. So -you see I took to cultivating whiskers with great assiduity; but for a -long time, the rascals defied all attempts to train them; the shoots -were tolerably advanced in less than six months; but they were too -late—for the lady was married.” - -“Well, you are a cool sort of a fellow to talk of transferring your love -from one high-born lady to another, with the same ease as a soldier does -a feather from his cap. I suppose you finally courted the old -housekeeper out of sheer revenge.” - -“None of that, I assure you, for she revenged my want of attention that -way, by giving Lord Melville a history of the whole matter—with -trimmings.—So the old codger said I was as crazy as a bed-bug, and -clapped me in the army, as a kind of lunatic asylum to recover my wits. -So that’s the _end of the story_.” - - * * * * * - -“There, Jerry, put that in your pipe, or your Magazine, just as you -like, for no story do I write for a fellow who comes to me with a piece -of tape to measure the length, as if a man spun like a spider, and if it -don’t fill your three pages—add a paragraph about the children.—What -do ye say?” - -“It’s rather so-soish at best, Oliver!—But what regiment did you say -you were in?” - -“Regiment—did I say anything about regiment? You must be mistaken, -Jerry! these confounded soldier terms are all mouldering in my brain, -these peaceable times.” - -“Well, where was the army encamped?” - -“At a—a place with a confounded French name—I never had any command of -the cursed language, and was glad enough when we got out of the place, -never to bother my brain with its name.” - -“Well, the war!—In what war was it?—Let us have something to go upon.” - -“As for dates and names, Jerry, I never for the soul of me, could make -any headway with them. A phrenologist once told me, that for names and -dates I had no development, and whenever I begin to try to think of my -exploits in battle, I think the fellow was right—as I am always out for -the want of names and dates. So I think it best first to tell the -_facts_, and let people fix dates to suit themselves. So, Jerry, hand -over the port—this is confounded dry business.” - -“To tell you the truth, Oliver, the whole story has rather a squint, and -I have half a notion that for the most of it, we are indebted to the -good looks of the two bonnie Scotch lassies, and rather a marvellous -imagination.” - - * * * * * - - - - - LINES. - - - WRITTEN ON A PORTRAIT OF WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON. - - - BY MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY. - - - Hail pictured image! thine immortal art - Hath snatch’d a hero from the arms of death, - In whose broad bosom beat the noblest heart - That ever drew on earth a balmy breath; - For while amid the sons of men he trod, - That true nobility to him was given - Whose seal is stamp’d by an approving God, - Whose ever-blooming title comes from heaven. - - The fire of genius glistened in his glance, - ’Twas written on his calm majestic brow, - That men might look upon its clear expanse - And read that God and Nature made him so; - Yet that pale temple could not always keep - The soul imprisoned in its earthly bars, - Born for the skies, his god-like soul doth sweep - The boundless circle of the radiant stars. - - How soft the placid smiles that seemed to bask - Round those pale features once the spirit’s shrine - And hover round those lips that only ask - A second impress from the hand divine! - And look upon that brow! a living light - Plays like a sun-beam o’er his silver hair, - As if the happy spirit in its flight - Had left a saint-like glory trembling there. - - Yet tho’ some skilful hand may softly paint - The noble form and features we adore, - Such deeds as thine are left, Oh happy Saint! - Are left alone for Memory to restore. - And still thy virtues like a soft perfume - That rises from a bed of fading flowers, - Immortal as thyself, shall bud and bloom - Deep in these hearts, these grateful hearts of ours. - - Sons of Columbia! ye whose spirits soar - Elate with joyous hopes and youthful fires, - Go, imitate the hero you deplore, - For this is all that God or man requires. - Oh! while you bend the pensive brow of grief, - Muse on the bright examples he has given, - And strive to follow your ascended chief - Whose radiant foot-prints lead to fame and heaven. - - Oh guard his grave! it is a solemn trust, - Nor let a single foeman press the sod - Beneath whose verdure sleeps the sacred dust - Once hallowed by the quick’ning breath of God. - Thus in his lonely grandeur let him lie - Wrapt in his grave on fair Ohio’s shore, - His deeds, his virtues, all that could not die, - Remain with us, and shall for evermore. - - * * * * * - - - - - TO A LAND BIRD AT SEA. - - - BY LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. - - - Bird of the land! what dost thou here? - Lone wanderer o’er a trackless bound,— - With nought but frowning skies above, - And cold, unfathom’d seas around; - - Among the shrouds, with heaving breast - And drooping head, I see thee stand, - And pleased the coarsest sailor climbs, - To grasp thee in his roughen’d hand. - - And didst thou follow, league on league, - Our pointed mast, thine only guide, - When but a floating speck it seemed - On the broad bosom of the tide? - - On far Newfoundland’s misty bank, - Hadst thou a nest, and nurslings fair? - Or ’mid New England’s forests hoar? - Speak! speak! what tidings dost thou bear? - - What news from native shore and home, - Swift courier o’er the threatening tide?— - Hast thou no folded scroll of love - Prest closely to thy panting side? - - A bird of genius art thou? say! - With impulse high thy spirit stirred— - Some region unexplored to gain, - And soar above the common herd? - - Burns in thy breast some kindling spark - Like that which fired the glowing mind - Of the adventurous Genoese, - An undiscovered world to find? - - Whate’er thou wert, how sad thy fate - With wasted strength the goal to spy, - Cling feebly to the flapping sail, - And at a stranger’s feet to die. - - Yet, from thy thin and bloodless beak, - Methinks a warning sigh doth creep— - To those who leave their sheltering home, - And lightly dare the dangerous deep. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SNOW-STORM. - - - A MONOLOGUE BY JEREMY SHORT, ESQ. - - -It is almost twilight. How swiftly have the moments glided by since we -sat ourselves by this window—let us see—some two hours since, and -during all that time not a word have we spoken, although our soul has -been gushing over with its exceeding fulness. It is snowing. Look out -and you will see the downy flakes—there, there, and there—one chasing -another, millions on millions falling without intermission, coming down -noiselessly and mysteriously, as a dream of childhood, on the earth, and -covering field, and forest, and house-top, hill and vale, river, glade, -and meadow, with a robe that is whiter than an angel’s mantle. How -ceaseless the descent! What countless myriads—more countless than even -the stars of heaven—have fallen since we have been watching here! God -only could have ordered the falling of that flake which has just now -sunk to the earth like an infant on its young mother’s milk-white bosom. -Did you not see it? There—follow this one which has just emerged from -the skies—but at what spot even we cannot detect—see its slow, easy, -tremulous motion as it floats downwards; now how rapidly it intermingles -with the others, so that you can scarcely keep it in your eye; and -there! there! it shoots to the ground with a joyous leap—and, even as -we speak, another and another, aye! ten thousand thousand of them have -flitted past, like the gleaming of cherubic wings, such as we used to -see in our childhood’s dreams, glancing to and fro before a throne of -surpassing glory, far, far away, high up in the skies. - -It is snowing. Faster, faster, faster come down the feathery flakes. See -how they disport themselves—giddy young creatures as they are—whirling -around; now up, and now down; dancing, leaping, flying; you can almost -hear their sportive laughter as they skim away across the landscape. -Almost, we say, for in truth there is not a sound to be heard in earth, -air, or sky. The ground, all robed in white, is hushed in silence—the -river sweeps its current along no longer with a hoarse chafing sound, -but flows onward with a dull, clogged, almost noiseless motion—not a -bird whistles in the wood, nor a beast lows from the barn-yard—while -the trees, lifting their bleached branches to the skies, shiver in the -keen air, and cower uncomplainingly beneath the falling flakes. But -hark! there is a voice beside us—’tis that of the beloved of our -soul—repeating Thomson’s Winter—Thomson! majestic at all times, but -oh! how much more so when gushing in silver music from the lips of the -white-armed one beside us. Hear her! - - “The keener tempests rise: and fuming dun - From all the livid east, or piercing north, - Thick clouds ascend; in whose capacious womb - A vapory deluge lies, to snow congeal’d. - Heavy they roll their fleecy world along; - And the sky saddens with the gather’d storm. - _Through the hush’d air the whitening shower descends,_ - _At first thin wavering; till at last the flakes_ - _Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day,_ - _With a continual flow._ The cherished fields - Put on their winter-robe of purest white. - ’Tis brightness all; save where the new snow melts - Along the mazy current. Low the woods - Bow their hoar head; and ere the languid sun - Faint from the west emits his evening ray - Earth’s universal face, deep hid, and chill, - Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide - The works of man. Drooping, the laborer ox - Stands covered o’er with snow——” - -But let us away to the mountains! Far up in a gorge of the Alleghanies -we will stand, with the clouds whirling wildly around and beneath, and -the wind whistling shrilly far down in some ravine, which we may not -see; for all around us is, as it were, a shoreless ocean, buried in a -ghastly mist, from which the tall cliffs jut up like islands—and ever, -ever comes to our ears from this boiling vortex a sound as of many waves -chafing against the shore, like that which the priest of Apollo listened -to as he walked all disconsolate, bereft of his fair-haired daughter, -back from the tents of the stern Hellenes to the towers of Ilium. The -air is full of snow-flakes, driving hither and thither—thick, thick, -thicker they descend—you cannot see a fathom before you. Take care how -you tread, for a false step may plunge you into an abyss a thousand feet -plumb down. Not far from here is the very spot where an unwary -traveller, on a night like this, but a bare twelve-month since, slipped -from the edge of the precipice, and was never heard of again, until the -warm sunny breath of April, melting the snows from beneath the shadows -of the hills, disclosed him lying unburied, with his face turned up, as -if in mockery, to the bright heavens on which his eye might never look -again. In vain had loved ones watched for his coming until their eyes -grew weary, and their hearts turned to fountains of tears within -them—in vain had a wife or mother kindled the cheery fire, or smoothed -for him the bed of down, to welcome him after his absence—for - - “——his sheets are more white, - And his canopy grander, - And sounder he sleeps - Where the hill-foxes wander.” - -We are in the mountains, in the midst of a snow-storm, and, as we look -around, we feel that Jehovah, as when Moses heard the noise of a mighty -wind, is passing by. There is a vague emotion of mingled wonder, fear -and awe, overshadowing our soul as we stand here alone in the tempest. -See how the drift is spinning in the whirlwind; and now it streams out -like a pennant on the night. Hark! to the deep organ peal of the -hurricane as it thunders among the peaks high up above us—listen to the -wild shrieks rising, we know not whither, as if the spirits of the -mountain were writhing on beds of torture, as the olden legends say, all -unpardoned by their Creator. And now—louder and wilder than the -rest—sounding upwards from the gulf below, a voice of agony and -might—sublime even in its tribulation, awful in its expression of -gigantic suffering—like that of him whom the seer of the Apocalypse -beheld bound hand and foot and cast into the bottomless pit, despite an -unyielding conflict of twice ten thousand years. Ruin!—ruin!—all is -ruin around us. We see not the burying of hamlets, we hear not the -descent of avalanches, but the sky is lit up with a wan glare, the whole -air is full of mysterious sounds, and we feel, with a strange -all-pervading fear, that destruction will glut herself ere morning. God -help the traveller who is abroad to-night! - -And now, with a sheer descent, full fifty fathoms down, let us plunge -like the eagle when he shoots before the burning thunderbolt. We are on -the wide ocean, and what a sight! Sea and air are commingled into one. -You seem buried alive in a whirling tempest of snow-flakes, and though, -as on the mountain, you hear on every side sounds of utter agony, yet, -as there, the keenest eye cannot penetrate the wan, dim prospect around; -but here, unlike on the hills, there is one voice superior to all the -rest—the deep, awful bass of the rolling surges. And then the -hurricane! How it whistles, roars and bellows through the rigging, now -piping shrill and clear, and now groaning awfully as if in its last -extremity. The snow is blocking up the decks, wet, spongy and bitterly -cold. There! how she thumped against that wave, quivering under it in -every timber, while the spray was dimly seen flying wild and high over -the fore-top. “Shall we—oh! shall we live till morning?” asks a weeping -girl. “We know not, sweet one, but we are in the Almighty’s hand, and -his fatherly care will be over us as well here as on the land.” There; -see—“hold on all,” thunders the Stentor voice of the skipper, sounding -now however fainter than the feeblest infant’s cry; and as he speaks, -the craft shivers with a convulsive throe, and a gigantic billow, -seething, hissing, flashing, whirls in over the bow, deluges the deck, -and roars away into the blackness of darkness astern. Was that a cry of -a man overboard? God in his infinite mercy, pardon the poor wretch’s -sins; for, alas! it were madness to attempt his rescue. Already he is -far astern. Another and another wave! Oh! for the light of morning. Yes! -young Jessie, thou would’st give worlds now for the breezes of the -far-off land—the hum of bees, the songs of birds, the scent of flowers -in the summer sunshine—the sight of thy home smiling amidst its -murmuring trees, with the clear brook hard by laughing over the stones, -and the voices of thy young sisters sounding gaily in thy ears. But ere -morning we may all be with our brother who has but just gone from our -midst. _Ora pro nobis!_ - -We were but dreaming when we thought ourselves among the mountains and -on the sea, and we were awoke by thy soft voice—oh! loved one of our -soul—and looking into thy blue eyes—moist, not with tears, but with -thine all-sensitive soul—we feel a calm come down upon us soothing, how -gently and sweetly, our agitated thoughts. Many and many a tale could we -tell thee of sorrow and peril on the seas, and our heart is even now -full of one which would bring the tears into other eyes than thine—but -no! you tell us we are all too agitated by our dream, and that another -time will do—well, well! Sing us, then, one of thine own sweet -songs—Melanie!—for is not thy voice like the warbler of our woods, he -of the hundred notes, the silvery, the melting, the unrivalled? That was -sweetly done—ever could we sit and listen to thee thus. - - “Thy voice is like a fountain - Leaping up in sunshine bright, - And _we_ never weary counting - Its clear droppings, lone and single, - Or when in one full gush they mingle, - Shooting in melodious light!” - -That is Lowell’s—a noble soul is his, and all on fire with poetry. We -tender to him, though we have never met in the flesh, our good right -hand, joining his herewith in cordial fellowship, the hearts of both -being in our eyes the while:—we tender him our hand—he far away in his -student’s room at Boston and we here in old Philadelphia—and we tell -sneering worldlings and critics who are born only to be damned, that, -for one so young, Lowell has written grandly; that he is full, even to -overflowing, of purity, enthusiasm, imagination, and love for all God’s -creatures; and being this, why should not we—aye! and all honest men -beside—grasp him cheerily by the hand, and if need be, stand to our -arms in his defence? - -But the clock has struck six, and we will walk to the door to see if the -tempest still rages. What a glorious night! The moon is out, sailing -high up in heaven, with a calm mystic majesty that fills the soul with -untold peace. Far away on the horizon floats a misty veil—while here -and there, in the sky, a cloud still lingers, its dark body seeming like -velvet on an azure ground, and its edges turned up with silver. There -are a thousand stars on the frosty snow; for every tiny crystal that -shoots out into the moonshine glistens all diamond-like; and, as you -walk, ten thousand new crystals open to the light, until the whole -landscape seems alive with millions of gems. Hark! how the hard crust -crackles under the tread. If you put your ear to the ground you will -hear a multitude of almost inarticulate sounds as if the sharp -moon-beams were splintering the snow—but it is only the shooting of -myriads of crystals. There have been icicles forming all day from yonder -twig, and now as we shake the tree, you may hear them tinkling, one by -one, to the ground, with a clear silvery tone, like the ringing of a -bell miles off among the hills. Early in the afternoon, the snow melted -on the river, but towards nightfall the stream became clogged, and now -the frost is “breathing a blue film” from shore to shore—and to-morrow -the whole surface will be smooth as glass, and the steel of the skater -will be ringing sharp along the ice. How keen was that gust!—you may -hear its dying cadence moaning away in the distance, like the wail of a -lost child in a forest. Hush! was that a whistle down in the wood? - -And now again all is still. Let us pause a moment and look around. The -well-known landmarks of the scene have disappeared, giving place to an -unbroken prospect of the purest white. We seem to have entered into a -new world, and to have lost by the transition all our old and more -selfish feelings, so that now, every emotion of our heart is softened -down to a gentle calm, in unison with the beauty and repose around us. -There is a dreaminess in the landscape, thus half seen by the light of -the moon, giving full play to the imagination. The spirit spurns this -mortal tenement of clay, and soars upwards to a brighter world, holding -fancied communion with the myriads of beatified spirits, which it would -fain believe, hover in the air and whisper unseen into our souls. -Glorious thought, that God hath appointed such guardian watchers over a -lost and sinful race! We would not surrender this belief—wild and -visionary as it may seem to some—for all that sectarians have asserted -or atheists denied. We love, in the still watches of the night, to think -that the “loved and lost” are communing with our hearts—that though -dead they yet live, and watch, as of old, over our erring path—that -they soothe us in sorrow, hover around our beds of sickness, are the -first to bear the parted soul upwards to the gates of Paradise—and that -the angelic sounds we hear upon the midnight air, coming we know not -whither, but seeming to pervade the whole firmament as with a celestial -harmony, are but their songs of praise. Or may not these heavenly -strains be the cadences which faintly float, far down from the -battlements of heaven? - - “Oft in bands - While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, - With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds - In full harmonic numbers joined, their songs - Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven.” - -The dream grows dim, the illusion is fading, our rhapsody dies upon our -lips. We hear again thy voice—Hebe of our heart!—and we may not longer -tarry in the night air. And so farewell! - - * * * * * - - - - - APOSTROPHE. - - - BY ALBERT PIKE. - - - Oh Liberty! thou child of many hopes, - Nursed in the cradle of the human heart! - While Europe in her glimmering darkness gropes, - Do not from us, thy chosen ones, depart! - Still be to us, as thou hast been, and art, - The Spirit which we breathe! Oh, teach us still - Thy arrowy truths unquailingly to dart, - Until the Tyrant and Oppressor reel, - And Despotism trembles at thy thunder-peal. - - Methinks thy sun-rise now is lighting up - The far horizon of yon hemisphere - With golden lightning. O’er the hoary top - Of the blue mountain see I not appear - Thy lovely dawn; while Pain, and crouching Fear, - And Slavery perish under tottering thrones? - How long, oh Liberty! until we hear - Instead of an insulted people’s moans, - The crushed and writhing tyrants uttering their groans? - - Is not thy Spirit living still in France? - Will it not waken soon in storm and fire? - Will Earthquake not ’mid thrones and cities dance, - And Freedom’s altar be the funeral pyre - Of Tyranny and all his offspring dire? - In England, Germany, Italia, Spain, - And Switzerland thy Spirit doth inspire - The multitude—and though too long, in vain, - They struggle in deep gloom, yet Slavery’s night shall wane! - - And shall _we_ sleep while all the earth awakes? - Shall _we_ turn slaves while on the Alpine cones - And vine-clad hills of Europe brightly breaks - The morning light of liberty?—What thrones - Can equal those which on our fathers’ bones - The demagogue would build? What chains so gall - As those the self-made Helot scarcely owns - Till they eat deeply—till the live pains crawl - Into his soul who caused _himself_ to fall! - - Men’s freedom may be wrested from their hands, - And they may mourn; but not like those who throw - Their heritage away—who clasp the bands - On their own limbs, and crawl and blindly go - Like timorous fawns to their own overthrow. - Shall we thus fall? Is it so difficult - To think that we are free, yet be not so— - To shatter down by one brief hour of guilt - The holy fane of Freedom that our fathers built. - - * * * * * - - - - - AGATHÈ.—A NECROMAUNT. - - - IN THREE CHIMERAS. - - - BY LOUIS FITZGERALD TASISTRO. - - - Chimera I. - - An anthem of a sister choristry! - And like a windward murmur of the sea - O’er silver shells, so solemnly it falls! - A dying music, shrouded in deep walls, - That bury its wild breathings! And the moon, - Of glow-worm hue, like virgin in sad swoon, - Lies coldly on the bosom of a cloud, - Until the elf-winds, that are wailing loud, - Do minister unto her sickly trance, - Fanning the life into her countenance. - And there are pale stars sparkling, far and few, - In the deep chasms of everlasting blue, - Unmarshall’d and ungather’d, one and one, - Like outposts of the lunar garrison. - - A train of holy fathers windeth by - The arches of an aged sanctuary, - With cowl, and scapular, and rosary, - On to the sainted oriel, where stood, - By the rich altar, a fair sisterhood— - A weeping group of virgins!—one or two - Bent forward to a bier of solemn hue, - Whereon a bright and stately coffin lay, - With its black pall flung over:—Agathè - Was on the lid—a name. And who? No more! - ’Twas only Agathè. - - ’Tis o’er, ’tis o’er— - Her burial!—and, under the arcades, - Torch after torch into the moonlight fades, - And there is heard the music, a brief while, - Over the roofings of the imaged aisle, - From the deep organ, panting out its last, - Like the slow dying of an autumn blast. - - A lonely monk is loitering within - The dusky area, at the altar seen, - Like a pale spirit, kneeling in the light - Of the cold moon, that looketh wan and white - Through the deviced oriel; and he lays - His hands upon his bosom, with a gaze - To the chill earth. He had the youthful look - Which heartfelt woe had wasted, and he shook - At every gust of the unholy breeze - That entered through the time-worn crevices. - - A score of summers only o’er his brow - Had passed—and it was summer, even now - The one-and-twentieth—from a birth of tears, - Over a waste of melancholy years! - And _that_ brow was as wan as if it were - Of snowy marble, and the raven hair, - That would have clustered over, was all shorn, - And his fine features stricken pale as morn. - - He kiss’d a golden crucifix, that hung - Around his neck, and, in a transport, flung - Himself upon the earth, and said, and said - Wild, raving words, about the blessed dead; - And then he rose, and in the moon-shade stood, - Gazing upon its light in solitude, - And smote his brow, at some idea wild - That came across; then, weeping like a child, - He faltered out the name of Agathè, - And look’d unto the heaven inquiringly, - And the pure stars. - - “Oh, shame! that ye are met - To mock me, like old memories, that yet - Break in upon the golden dream I knew - While she—_she_ lived; and I have said adieu - To that fair one, and to her sister, Peace, - That lieth in her grave. When wilt thou cease - To feed upon my quiet, thou Despair, - That art the mad usurper, and the heir - Of this heart’s heritage? Go, go—return, - And bring me back oblivion and an urn! - And ye, pale stars, may look, and only find - The wreck of a proud tree, that lets the wind - Count o’er its blighted boughs: for such was he - That loved, and loves, the silent Agathè.” - And he hath left the sanctuary, like one - That knew not his own purpose—the red sun - Rose early over incense of bright mist, - That girded a pure sky of amethyst. - - And who was he? A monk. And those who knew, - Yclept him Julio; but they were few. - And others named him as a nameless one,— - A dark, sad-hearted being, who had none - But bitter feelings, and a cast of sadness, - That fed the wildest of all curses—madness! - - But he was, what none knew, of lordly line, - That fought in the far land of Palestine, - Where, under banners of the Cross, they fell, - Smote by the armies of the infidel. - And Julio was the last; alone, alone, - A sad, unfriended orphan, that had gone - Into the world to murmur and to die, - Like the cold breezes that are passing by! - - And few they were that bade him to their board; - His fortunes now were over, and the sword - Of his proud ancestry dishonor’d—left - To moulder in its sheath—a hated gift! - Ay! it was so; and Julio would fain - Have been a warrior; but his very brain - Grew fever’d at the sickly thought of death. - And to be stricken with a want of breath!— - To be the food of worms—inanimate, - And cold as winter—and as desolate! - And then to waste away, and be no more - Than the dark dust!—the thought was like a sore - That gather’d in his heart; and he would say, - “A curse be on their laurels,” and decay - Came over them; the deeds that they had done - Had fallen with their fortunes; and anon - Was Julio forgotten, and his line— - No wonder for this frenzied tale of mine! - - Oh! he was wearied of this passing scene! - But loved not death; his purpose was between - Life and the grave; and it would vibrate there - Like a wild bird, that floated far and fair - Betwixt the sun and sea. - - He went, and came— - And thought, and slept, and still awoke the same— - A strange, strange youth; and he would look all night - Upon the moon and stars, and count the flight - Of the sea waves, and let the evening wind - Play with his raven tresses, or would bind - Grottos of birch, wherein to sit and sing; - And peasant girls would find him sauntering, - To gaze upon their features, as they met, - In laughter, under some green arboret. - - At last he became a monk, and, on his knees, - Said holy prayers, and with wild penances - Made sad atonement; and the solemn whim - That, like a shadow, loiter’d over him, - Wore off, even like a shadow. He was cursed - With none of the mad thoughts that were at first - The poison of his quiet; but he grew - To love the world and its wild laughter too, - As he had known before: and wish’d again - To join the very mirth he hated then. - - He durst not break the vow—he durst not be - The one he would—and his heart’s harmony - Became a tide of sorrow. Even so, - He felt hope die—in madness and in wo! - - But there came one—and a most lovely one - As ever to the warm light of the sun - Threw back her tresses—a fair sister girl, - With a brow changing between snow and pearl; - And the blue eyes of sadness, filled with dew - Of tears—like Heaven’s own melancholy blue— - So beautiful, so tender; and her form - Was graceful as a rainbow in a storm: - Scattering gladness on the face of sorrow— - Oh! I had fancied of the hues that borrow - Their brightness from the sun; but she was bright - In her own self—a mystery of light! - With feelings tender as a star’s own hue, - Pure as the morning star! as true, as true: - For it will glitter in each early sky, - And her first love be love that lasteth aye! - - And this was Agathè—young Agathè— - A motherless, fair girl: and many a day - She wept for her lost parent. It was sad - To see her infant sorrow; how she bade - The flow of her wild spirits fall away - To grief, like bright clouds in a summer day - Melting into a shower; and it was sad - Almost to think she might again be glad— - Her beauty was so chaste, amid the fall - Of her bright tears. Yet in her father’s hall - She had lived almost sorrowless her days; - But he felt no affection for the gaze - Of his fair girl; and when she fondly smiled, - He bade no father’s welcome to the child, - But even told his wish, and will’d it done, - For her to be sad-hearted—and a nun! - - And so it was. She took the dreary veil, - A hopeless girl! and the bright flush grew pale - Upon her cheek; she felt, as summer feels - The winds of autumn, and the winter chills - That darken his fair suns—it was away, - Feeding on dreams, the heart of Agathè! - - The vesper prayers were said, and the last hymn - Sung to the Holy Virgin. In the dim, - Gray aisle, was heard a solitary tread, - As of one musing sadly on the dead— - ’Twas Julio. It was his wont to be - Often alone within the sanctuary; - But now, not so—another: it was she! - Kneeling in all her beauty, like a saint - Before a crucifix; but sad and faint - The tone of her devotion, as the trill - Of a moss-burden’d melancholy rill. - And Julio stood before her;—’twas as yet - The hour of the pale twilight—and they met - Each other’s gaze, till either seem’d the hue - Of deepest crimson; but the ladye threw - Her veil above her features, and stole by - Like a bright cloud, with sadness and a sigh! - - Yet Julio still stood gazing and alone, - A dreamer!——“is the sister ladye gone?” - He started at the silence of the air - That slumber’d over him—she is not there. - - And either slept not through the live-long night, - Or slept in fitful trances, with a bright, - Fair dream upon their eyelids: but they rose - In sorrow from the pallet of repose: - For the dark thought of their sad destiny - Came o’er them, like a chasm of the deep sea, - That was to rend their fortunes; and at eve - They met again, but, silent, took their leave, - As they did yesterday: another night, - And neither spoke awhile—a pure delight, - Had chasten’d love’s first blushes: silently - Gazed Julio on the gentle Agathè— - At length, “Fair Nun!” she started, and held fast - Her bright hand on her lips—“the past, the past, - And the pale future! there be some that lie - Under those marble urns—I know not why, - But I were better in that holy calm, - Than be as I have been, perhaps, and am. - The past!—ay! it hath perish’d; never, never, - Would I recall it to be blest for ever; - The future it must come—I have a vow”— - And his cold hand rose trembling to his brow, - “True, true, I have a vow; is not the moon - Abroad, fair nun?”—“indeed! so very soon?” - Said Agathè, and “I must then away.” - “Stay, love! ’tis early yet; stay, angel, stay!” - - But she was gone:—yet they met many a time - In the lone chapel, after vesper chime— - They met in love and fear. - - One weary day, - And Julio saw not his loved Agathè; - She was not in the choir of sisterhood - That sang the evening anthem; and he stood - Like one that listen’d breathlessly awhile; - But stranger voices chanted through the aisle. - She was not there; and after all were gone, - He linger’d: the stars came—he linger’d on, - Like a dark fun’ral image on the tomb - Of a lost hope. He felt a world of gloom - Upon his heart—a solitude—a chill. - The pale moon rose, and still he linger’d still. - And the next vesper toll’d; nor yet, nor yet— - “Can Agathè be faithless and forget?” - - It was the third sad eve, he heard it said, - “Poor Julio! thy Agathè is dead;” - And started. He had loiter’d in the train - That bore her to the grave: he saw her lain - In the cold earth, and heard a requiem - Sung over her. To him it was a dream: - A marble stone stood by the sepulchre; - He look’d, and saw, and started—she was there! - And Agathè had died: she that was bright— - She that was in her beauty! a cold blight - Fell over the young blossom of her brow, - And the life’s blood grew chill—she is not now. - - She died like Zephyr falling amid flowers! - Like to a star within the twilight hours - Of morning—and she was not! Some have thought - The Lady Abbess gave her a mad draught - That stole into her heart, and sadly rent - The fine chords of that holy instrument, - Until its music falter’d fast away, - And she—she died—the lovely Agathè! - - Again, and through the arras of the gloom - Are the pale breezes moaning: by her tomb - Bends Julio, like a phantom, and his eye - Is fallen, as the moon-borne tides, that lie - At ebb within the sea. Oh! he is wan, - As winter skies are wan, like ages gone, - And stars unseen for paleness; it is cast, - As foliage in the raving of the blast, - All his fair bloom of thoughts. Is the moon chill, - That in the dark clouds she is mantled still? - And over its proud arch hath Heaven flung - A scarf of darkness. Agathè was young! - And there should be the virgin silver there, - The snow-white fringes delicately fair! - - He wields a heavy mattock in his hands, - And over him a lonely lanthorn stands - On a near niche, shedding a sickly fall - Of light upon a marble pedestal, - Whereon is chisel’d rudely, the essay - Of untaught tool, “_Hic jacet Agathè_,” - And Julio hath bent him down in speed, - like one that doeth an unholy deed. - - There is a flagstone lieth heavily - Over the ladye’s grave; I wist of three - That bore it of a blessed verity! - But he hath lifted it in his pure madness - As it were lightsome as a summer gladness, - And from the carved niche hath ta’en the lamp - And hung it by the marble flagstone damp. - - And he is flinging the dark, chilly mould - Over the gorgeous pavement: ’tis a cold, - Sad grave; and there is many a relic there - Of chalky bones, which, in the wasting air, - Fell mouldering away: and he would dash - His mattock through them with a cursed clash - That made the lone aisle echo. But anon - He fell upon a skull—a haggard one, - With its teeth set, and the great orbless eye - Revolving darkness, like eternity. - And in his hand he held it till it grew - To have the fleshy features and the hue - Of life. He gazed, and gazed, and it became - Like to his Agathè—all, all the same! - He drew it nearer,—the cold, bony thing!— - To kiss the worm-wet lips. “Aye! let me cling— - Cling to thee now forever!”—but a breath - Of rank corruption, from its jaws of death, - Went to his nostrils, and he madly laugh’d, - And dash’d it over on the altar shaft, - Which the new-risen moon, in her gray light, - Had fondly flooded, beautifully bright! - - Again he went - To his world work beside the monument. - “Ha! leave, thou moon! where thy footfall hath been - In sorrow amid heaven! there is sin - Under thy shadow, lying like a dew; - So come thou, from thy awful arch of blue, - Where thou art ever as a silver throne - For some pale spectre-king! come thou alone, - Or bring a solitary orphan star - Under thy wings! afar, afar, afar, - To gaze upon this girl of radiancy, - In her deep slumbers—wake thee, Agathè!” - - And Julio hath stolen the dark chest - Where the fair nun lay coffin’d, in the rest - That wakes not up at morning; she is there - An image of cold calm! One tress of hair - Lingereth lonely on her snowy brow; - But the bright eyes are closed in darkness now; - And their long lashes delicately rest - On the pale cheek, like sun-rays in the west, - That fall upon a colorless sad cloud. - Humility lies rudely on the proud, - But she was never proud; and there she is, - A yet unwither’d flower the autumn breeze - Hath blown from its green stem! ’Tis pale, ’Tis pale, - But still unfaded, like the twilight veil - That falleth after sunset; like a stream - That bears the burden of a silver gleam - Upon its waters; and is even so,— - Chill, melancholy, lustreless, and low! - - Beauty in death! a tenderness upon - The rude and silent relics, where alone - Sat the destroyer! Beauty on the dead! - The look of being where the breath is fled! - The unwarming sun still joyous in its light! - A time—a time without a day or night! - Death cradled upon beauty, like a bee - Upon a flower, that looketh lovingly! - Like a wild serpent, coiling in its madness, - Under a wreath of blossom and of gladness! - - And there she is; and Julio bends o’er - The sleeping girl—a willow on the shore - Of a Dead Sea! that steepeth its fair bough - Into the bitter waters,—even now - Taking a foretaste of the awful trance - That was to pass on his own countenance! - - Yes! yes! and he is holding his pale lips - Over her brow; the shade of an eclipse - Is passing to his heart, and to his eye - That is not tearful; but the light will die - Leaving it like a moon within a mist,— - The vision of a spell-bound visionist! - - He breathed a cold kiss on her ashy cheek, - That left no trace—no flush—no crimson streak - But was as bloodless as a marble stone, - Susceptible of silent waste alone. - And on her brow a crucifix he laid,— - A jewel’d crucifix, the virgin maid - Had given him before she died,—the moon - Shed light upon her visage—clouded soon, - Then briefly breaking from its airy veil, - Like warrior lifting up his aventayle. - - But Julio gazed on, and never lifted - Himself to see the broken clouds, that drifted - One after one, like infant elves at play, - Amid the night winds, in their lonely way— - Some whistling and some moaning, some asleep, - And dreaming dismal dreams, and sighing deep - Over their couches of green moss and flowers, - And solitary fern, and heather bowers. - The heavy bell toll’d two, and, as it toll’d, - Julio started, and the fresh-turn’d mould - He flung into the empty chasm with speed, - And o’er it dropt the flagstone.—One could read - That Agathè lay there; but still the girl - Lay by him, like a precious and pale pearl, - That from the deep sea-waters had been rent— - Like a star fallen from the firmament! - - He hides the grave-tools in an aged porch, - To westward of the solitary church: - And he hath clasp’d around the melting waist, - The beautiful, dead girl: his cheek is pressed - To hers—life warming the cold chill of death! - And over his pale palsy breathing breath - His eye is sunk upon her—“Thou must leave - The worm to waste for love of thee, and grieve - Without thee, as I may not.—Thou must go, - My sweet betrothed, with me—but not below, - Where there is darkness, dream, and solitude, - But where is light, and life, and one to brood - Above thee till thou wakest.—Ha? I fear - Thou wilt not wake for ever, sleeping here, - Where there are none but winds to visit thee, - And convent fathers, and a choristry - Of sisters, saying, ‘Hush!’—But I will sing - Rare songs to thy pure spirit, wandering - Down on the dews to heaven: I will tune - The instrument of the ethereal noon, - And all the choir of stars, to rise and fall - In harmony and beauty musical.” - - He is away—and still the sickly lamp - Is burning next the altar; there’s a damp, - Thin mould upon the pavement, and, at morn, - The monks do cross them in their blessed scorn, - And mutter deep anathemas, because - Of the unholy sacrilege, that was - Within the sainted chapel,—for they guess’d, - By many a vestige sad, how the dark rest - Of Agathè was broken,—and anon - They sought for Julio. The summer sun - Arose and set, with his imperial disc - Toward the ocean-waters, heaving brisk - Before the winds,—but Julio came never: - He that was frantic as a foaming river— - Mad as the fall of leaves upon the tide - Of a great tempest, that hath fought and died - Along the forest ramparts, and doth still - In its death-struggle desperately reel - Round with the fallen foliage—he was gone, - And none knew whither—still were chanted on - Sad masses, by pale sisters, many a day, - And holy requiem sung for Agathè! - - (End of the first Chimera.) - - * * * * * - - - - - THE QUEEN OF MAY. - - - BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. - - - Like flights of singing-birds went by - The rosy hours of girlhood’s day; - When in my native bowers, - Of simple buds and flowers, - They wove a crown and hailed me Queen of May! - - Like airy nymphs the lasses came - Spring’s offerings at my feet to lay; - The crystal from the fountains, - The green boughs from the mountains, - They brought to cheer and shade the Queen of May! - - Around the May-pole on the green, - A fairy ring, they tript away!— - All merriment and pleasure, - To chords of tuneful measure, - They bounded by the happy Queen of May! - - Though years have past, and time has strewn - My raven locks with flakes of gray, - Fond memory brings the hours - Of birds and blossom-showers, - When in girlhood I was crowned the Queen of May! - - * * * * * - - - - - DREAMS OF THE LAND AND SEA. - - - BY DR. REYNELL COATES. - - - INTRODUCTORY. - - “’Tis all but a dream at the best!” - - -Dreams of the Land and Sea! Why should I style them dreams? They are -pictures of actual scenes, though some of them relate to events removed -far back in the dimness of years, and the touches of the brush have felt -the mellowing influence of time. - -While striving to avoid whatever is irrelevant or out of keeping, I have -not endeavored to confine myself, in these sketches, within the limits -of simple narrative, but have ventured occasionally to mingle facts with -speculations on their causes, or to follow their consequences to -probable results: nor have I totally discarded the imagination—although -the scenes are invariably drawn from nature, and the principal -personages are real characters—the accessory actors only are sometimes -creatures of the brain. In many of the descriptions, the reader will -perceive the evidences of a desire to place in prominent relief the -works of nature and her God, while art, and all its vanities, is made to -play a subordinate part; for nothing can be more impertinently obtrusive -than the pigmy efforts of the ambitious, struggling for distinction by -attempting either to mar or to perfect the plans of the Great Architect -of Creation, or carve _a name_ upon the columns of his temple. - -Yet such is the social disposition of man, that no scene, however grand -or beautiful, can awaken pleasurable emotion unless it is linked -directly with humanity. There is deep oppression in the sense of total -loneliness,—and few can bear the burden calmly, even for an hour! A -solitary foot-print in the desert,—a broken oar upon the shelterless -beach,—the tinkling of a cow-bell in the depth of the forest,—the -crowing of the cock heard far off in the valley as we sink exhausted on -the mountain side when the gloom of night settles heavily down upon our -path-way,—who that has been a wanderer has not felt the heart-cheering -effect of accidents like these! They tell us that, though our solitude -be profound, there is sympathy near us, _or there has been recently_. - -In deference, then, to this universal feeling, I have selected for these -articles such sketches only as are interwoven with enough of human life -to awaken social interest, even while grappling with the tempest—riding -the ocean wave, or watching the moon-beams as they struggle through the -foliage of scarce trodden forests, and fall half quenched, upon the -withered leaves below. - -But why should I style them dreams? There are many valid reasons. To the -writer, the past is all a dream! But of this the world knows nothing, -nor would it care to know. The scenes described are distant, and -distance itself is dreamy! What can be more like the color of a dream -than yon long range of mountains fading into the sky behind its veil of -mist! - -Let us ascend this lofty peak! ’Tis sunset! Cast your glance westward, -where - - “——Parting day - Dies like the Dolphin——.” - -The sun slowly retires behind the far off hills. Inch after inch, the -shadows climb the summit where you stand. He is gone!—yet you are not -in darkness! His beams, which reach you not, still gild the motionless -clouds, and these emblems of obscurity reflect on you the memory of his -glory:—and, oh! how exquisitely pencilled in the clear obscure stands -forth yon range, clad with towering trees, where each particular branch, -and almost every leaf, seems separately portrayed against the paling -sky,—_miraculously near_! - -This is a vision of the _past_. Its strength is owing to the depth of -shade,—not to the intensity of light:—for, when the sun at noon-day, -poured its full tide of rays upon the scene, the sky was brighter, and -rock and river glinted back the flashing beams until the eye was -pained:—but where were then those lines of beauty? The details were -distinct. Then you might gaze on the forest in its reality, and could -almost penetrate its secret paths, despite their dark green canopy!—but -where were the broad effect, the bold, sweeping outlines that now give -unity and grandeur to the fading scene? The _soul_ of creation is before -you—more palpable than _its mere_ corporeal elements are hid from -sight. It resembles the master-piece of some great artist whose pencil -portrays, in simple light and shade, a noble picture. All there is -_life_! Those countenances!—those various attitudes are _speaking_! The -shrubbery waves in the wind, and over the tremulous waters of that -lovely lake, the very song of yonder mountain maid seems floating _upon -the canvass_. Do you not hear the music? ’Tis but a dream of boyhood! -Approach the painting! There is no _real_ outline there! The brush has -been rudely dashed athwart the piece surcharged with heavy colors. -Masses of many hues roughen the surface, and all is meaningless -confusion. - -Stand back a-pace! Again the cottage, lake and mountain start from the -surface, _truer than truth itself_. - -Panting with sighs and toil, man reaches by painful steps, the mid-land -height of life, as we have climbed this summit, and when fainting by the -way, it has been _his_ resource, as _ours_, to cast himself upon the -bosom of his “mother,” earth[2]—look back and _dream_! We have no other -mother now! But when you nestled to a parent’s breast, and felt the -present impress of her love, knew you its breadth and depth as this -vision shows it? - -Memory is like the painter or the sun-set—its images appear more real -than the substantial things they picture, and glow the richer as the -gloom of oblivion gathers around them. - -Turn your eyes eastward! Night sits upon the landscape. No ray of the -past illuminates it. The very elevation on which you stand increases the -darkness with its shadow, while it widens your distance from every -object vaguely and fearfully looming through the evening mist. - -This is a vision of the _future_. That height of land which seems to -reach the clouds, upon whose dusky flank the overawed imagination -figures cave and precipice, torrent and cataract, is but a gentle slope, -with just enough of rudeness to render still more beautiful by contrast, -the village spire, the moss-roofed mill, the waving grain that crowns -its very top. Such it is seen by day. - -Thus, when, in middle life, man peers into the future, what frightful -shadows haunt him. Coming events magnified to giants by the obscurity -around, stalk menacingly forward. Danger threatens him at every step, -and there is naught beyond but that black back-ground—_Death_! The -heavens shed no light upon the future. He is descending the hill of -life, and their glories are fading behind him. He strives to borrow from -the past a gleam to guide him onward, but in vain! Too often his own -ambition has prompted him to choose the lofty path that now condemns him -to redoubled darkness. Yet, although these spectres of the gloom are -most frequently mere creatures of the brain, which day-light would -dispel, they govern his career and cover him with dread. The _dream_ is -_truth_ to him—and it is only _truth itself_ that he esteems a _dream_! -Why can he not wait for sun-rise! Then should he see even the grave -overhung with the verdure of spring, and death arrayed in all the glory -of a morn of promise! - -There is reality in dreams!—Come, then, and let us dream together!—our -visions may be dark sometimes, but we will not forget that the sun will -rise on the morrow. - ------ - -[2] When the celebrated Indian Chief, Tecumseh entered a Council Chamber -of the whites, where the officers, already seated, thoughtlessly allowed -him to remain standing, his countenance in gathering gloom, betrayed the -consciousness of the slight, which _savage_ courtesy would not have -suffered to occur. The look aroused attention, and a chair was handed -him—but his proud lip curled. He threw himself upon the ground, -exclaiming—“Tecumseh will repose on the bosom of his mother!” - - - A SERMON BY A MARMOT—OR THE EXILE OF CONNECTICUT. - - “But come thy ways!—we’ll go along together; - And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, - We’ll light upon some settled, low content.” - _As You Like It._ - -Every subject of observation presents itself under a variety of aspects, -regulated, not only by the situation of the observer, but by his moral -peculiarities also. The little animal whose name dignifies the caption -of this article, though it may be better known to many of my readers by -the title of ground-hog, or wood-chuck, is usually regarded as a terror, -or a pest, to the farmer. Contributing in no appreciable degree to the -comfort or advantage of man, and seemingly created solely for the -purpose of digging unsightly holes in the ground, eating corn, and -diffusing an odour by no means agreeable; it is commonly hated or -despised, according to the profession of those who honor it with notice. -But nothing that springs from creative wisdom is a proper subject for -contempt, and good may be derived, in many instances, from the most -unpromising sources, by those who devote themselves to the study of -nature. Among the tribes of animals that seem to have least connection -with man and his interests, there are many whose habits may teach us -more effective lessons than we often derive from the homilies of more -pretending instructors. - -The individual wood-chuck, here introduced to the reader, was more -fortunate than most of his species, for he had succeeded in winning the -affections of a worthy agriculturalist, in whose family he was regularly -domiciliated during the months of his activity, (for the Marmot is a -hybernating animal,) and he reciprocated the attachment of his human -protectors with a gratitude apparently as warm as that of any other -quadruped familiar of the kitchen. - -The late distinguished philanthropist, Mr. Anthony Benezette, extended -his benevolence to every thing possessing life that came within the -sphere of his influence, and he regularly fed the rats in his cellar, -until he attracted a colony of these predatory vermin, by no means -agreeable to the taste or interest of his next-door neighbor. When the -latter at last endeavored to eradicate the nuisance by regularly -shooting every adventurous member of the murine fraternity that ventured -upon his premises, Mr. B., with tears in his eyes, protested against -this murderous proceeding. “Don’t shoot the poor innocent creatures!” he -said. “If thou wilt only feed them regularly every day, as I do, they’ll -never do thee any harm.” Whether a similar policy had been the origin of -the kindness shown our little friend, the Marmot, I know not, but he had -the felicity to be born in a land where corn is cheap, and society -difficult of access, and he probably owed his protection to a masculine -edition of the feeling that so frequently promotes the happiness of a -poodle or a parrot. - -His guardian moved in a humble sphere, and most travellers might have -passed the brute and his human associates alike unnoticed: but I propose -to employ him as a hook, on which to hang the observations and -reflections of a day in the woods, and a night in the log-cabin. It is a -slender theme at best, and if discretion be the test of wisdom, I know -not but our Marmot displays as high a grade of intellectual endowment as -any of the other actors in the tale. - -One of these was an eastern merchant, who had purchased some thousands -of acres of land—wild, lonely, and far removed from practicable roads -or navigable streams.—He had purchased it in utter ignorance of its -resources, and was then upon his way to give it an inspection. - -The next was the narrator—recently appointed to a chair in a Collegiate -Institution, almost embosomed in the wilderness. He had accepted the -station in a moment of depression, all uninformed of the condition of -the country where _it flourished_, and had just arrived to _blush_ -beneath the honors of the professional gown in halls that rejoiced in a -faculty—_lucus a non lucendo_!—of three persons, and wanted but a -library, an apparatus, influence, and a class, to render it an honor to -the state that chartered it! - -The third was a thriving specimen of the sturdy woodsman and -pains-taking farmer of the border—the intermediate step between the -adventurous pioneer and the established settler. He had emigrated from -the beautiful valley of the Connecticut—a valley where nature has done -so much and man so little! to seek a more promising asylum west of the -Alleghany Mountains, and he carried all his fortune with him. A young -and lovely wife followed his footsteps from town to town—from -wilderness to wilderness.—An axe was on his shoulder, two hundred -dollars in his pocket, and he possessed much of that shrewdness which -ordinarily passes current for talent. - -He was moderate in his desires, _and only took up three hundred acres to -begin with_; choosing a location where a rude and cellarless hut of logs -graced one angle of the plot of ground,—its site selected because a -spring and streamlet there supplied the most important necessary of -life—good water. - -Four acres of unfenced clearing marked the progress of his less -prosperous predecessor in taming the primeval forest. Alas! The want of -capital!—Two years of bootless labor on the part of that predecessor, -left the ground encumbered still with girdled timber. The long and naked -limbs of many a stately tree—all sapless now—stood pale and inflexible -in the summer gale—a monument of desolation. Some rough, irregular -furrows,—ploughed with borrowed oxen, and ornamented with the vine of -an occasional refuse potato creeping through the starting briars and -brush-wood,—alone gave evidence of human industry; for the wilderness -was rapidly reclaiming its own. - -There was a half-burnt brand on the deserted hearth within the hovel; -but the blasts that entered freely through the intervals between the -logs,—from which, mass by mass, the clay was falling;—had scattered -the ashes widely over the room. A rusty tin basin on the floor, and a -broken axe-helve lying athwart the doorless lintel, completed the -household inventory. The ground had reverted to the noble and wealthy -company from whom it was originally purchased—their funds enriched by -the payment of the first instalment, and the value of the _improvements_ -added to their property.—But where is the former owner? Probably -renewing the same improvident game in the wilds of Michigan or -Wisconsin. - -Such was the home to which our adventurous representative of the land of -steady habits had introduced his amiable and delicate wife, four years -before the time of our journey. - -The station enjoyed many advantages. Civilization was slowly tending -thitherward, and every year enhanced the nominal, if not the real value -of the land. Moreover, there were many neighbors to break the tedium of -life in the wilds. Nine miles to the westward—that being the direction -of the older settlements,—there lived a veteran of two wars, whose -pension made him rich in a country where a dollar is a rarity, and trade -is carried on exclusively by barter. He was the most important man -within the circuit of twenty miles; for he owned the only forge. Not -even the influence of Squire Tomkins, whose aristocratical residence, -five miles deeper in the forest, was furnished with the luxury of -weather-boarding, and flanked by a regular barn and stables, could -outweigh, _in public opinion_, the claims of one whose labors -contributed so essentially to the every-day comfort of life, if not to -its preservation, in the rude contest between the settler and nature. -Public opinion did I say?—Why! besides these three high personages and -their families, a migratory trapper and bee-hunter on the one hand, and -a half-cast Indian basket-maker on the other, _there was no public_; yet -here was found not only public opinion, but party feeling also—politics -and sectarianism!—And where did ever society exist without them? But it -is time to commence our journey. - -One morning, during the autumn of 1828, I strolled into the principal -store of the beautiful little village of ——, in Western Pennsylvania, -to exchange the latest paper from the American Athens, for another daily -sheet from the Commercial Emporium. An old friend, Mr. W——, of -Philadelphia, entered at about the same time, with a map of the -surrounding counties, to enquire the road to certain tracts of land but -recently conveyed to him. A tall man, who had seen some forty summers, -but whose keen dark eye, such as you can only find in the wilderness, -seemed to have gathered a smouldering fire, beneath the shadow of the -forest leaves, which few would wish to wake, stept forward to give the -required information. Rude shoes, unstockinged feet, coarse woolen -pantaloons, and a hunting shirt, composed his whole attire:—A rifle, -with a richly chased silver breeching, swinging athwart his back, raised -him above the ordinary hunter in the curious scale of conventional rank -that men acknowledge in obedience to their nature, even in the heart of -unfrequented woods; but the cart-whip in his right hand, and a basket of -eggs hanging upon the left arm seemed irrelevant to his other -accoutrements. A finely chiselled nose, verging on the Roman character, -and a strong habitual compression of the jaws, marked great decision, -firmness, and desperate daring—while his manly tread, in which the foot -seemed to cling for a moment to the surface and as instantly rose upon -the toe with a slow, but elastic and graceful motion, seemed better -fitted to follow the mountain-side, or the torrent’s track, than the -dull routine of the furrow. His traits and carriage, thus mingled and -contrasted, would have proved a puzzle to the keenest judges of human -nature,—the bar-keeper of a hotel, or the agent of a rail-road—but his -origin was still distinctly marked, notwithstanding his change of -residence and habits, in the somewhat sharpened expression of the face, -the narrowness of the external angle of the eye, the covert curl of the -lip, and the faintest perceptible elevation of the corresponding corner -of the mouth. He was the Connecticut farmer of our story, on whose -original stock of character four years of close communion with bears and -deer, had engrafted _a twig_ of that which graces the western hunter. - -A few adroitly managed questions placed him immediately in possession of -the residence, the destination, views and purposes of my friend, the -merchant; and, in terms of courtesy, conveyed in phrase more polished -than one would anticipate from his attire, he tendered his services as a -guide, and the best his house afforded by the way, as host,—extending -the invitation most politely to myself. - -Having long been anxious to observe what charm in domestic life upon the -borders, could so fascinate mankind as to impel such crowds of restless -adventurers annually to plunge into the gloomy forest, there to remain -socially buried for years, until the growth of settled population again -environs them; I immediately ordered horse, and mounting with my -Athenian friend, followed, or accompanied the light wagon of the -settler, as the road or path permitted. - -We had made but ten miles of progress, when the farms by the way-side -began to appear few and far between. Around us, gathered, deep and more -deeply still, the shadows of tall trees, which interlocked their arms -above us, until mysterious twilight was substituted for the bright -sunshine that made its existence known at intervals through openings in -the foliage. These were met with only where some giant of the wilderness -had laid him down in his last repose, when the slowly gnawing tooth of -time had sapped his moss-grown trunk. Occasionally, the wagon jolted -heavily over fallen trees, where the lightning had riven or the gale -uprooted them. It seemed a sacrilege to disturb the dread repose of -nature with our idle voices; and for miles we rode in total -silence.—How startling, then, and how incongruous to our ears was the -lively voice of our guide, exclaiming, as we passed _a blaze_, “we shall -soon be _home_ now!” Home! and here!—I gazed around on every hand. Over -the tops of the low shrubbery the eye was carried along interminable -aisles of stately trees! Interminable arches rested on their summits! An -awful unity of gloom engulphed us! - - “High mountains are with me a feeling,” - -And no man has rioted more wildly in scenes of solitude and desolation. -My shoulder is familiar with the rifle, my feet with cliff and -precipice, and my arms with the torrent and breaker.—Nay! more than -this! I have stood alone in cities! The limitless current of life has -whirled and eddied by, and I have felt no fellowship!—have felt the -sternest check of all that linked me with my kind, and buried myself in -egoism! “There runs not a drop of the blood of Logan in the veins of any -living creature.” - -But never yet came over me the thought of _home_ with such a thrilling -shudder as when the word was spoken in those close and soul-oppressing -woods! There was no resonance from the leafy ground—no echo from those -long drawn gothic passages! The sound fell flat upon the ear, and its -very cheerfulness of tone, deadened by the dark and inelastic leaves, -resembled the convulsive laugh of terror or of pain! - -Man is moulded for the contest. There is rapture in the strife, be it -with physical or moral evils—a glory in the conquest, that repays the -suffering! If vanquished,—he may fly and bide his time! If crushed,—he -falls back upon his self-esteem, enfolds his robe around him, and dies, -like Cæsar—bravely! Abroad—in calm or storm, in sun-shine or in -tempest—man feels himself the ruler, and his pride supports him in the -worst of woes; but _at home_—he is dependent! There woman rules the -emotions!—Who ever knew a joy beside a gloomy hearth! Or when the -wearing cares of life, or the oppression of habitual solitude has -furrowed the fore-head, and fixed the features of the wife, what husband -ever smiled again as once he smiled! - -But away! Our path is onward!—soon we passed along the margin of a -precipitate descent, and the day burst in upon us, presenting a -momentary view of a long range of hills, over which the fire had swept -in the preceding year. Brown furze and blackened masses of charcoal -covered the slope for miles, with here and there a waving line of -foliage climbing the ascent, wherever some highland rivulet had checked -the progress of the flames, and preserved the grass. I had thought that -Nature furnished no more spectral object than a girdled tree in a barren -clearing; but the tall gnarled trunks, with charred and stunted limbs, -that sentineled that ruined hill-side were more spectral still! - -Descending the hill, the forest again closed around us: but presently we -entered the track of a tornado—a wind-fall. It had traversed a forest -of pines—and, for about two hundred yards in width, had made a passage -through the woods, as straight and regular as art could have rendered -it. On either hand—far as the eye could reach—arose the unbroken wall -of verdure, a hundred feet in height, while in the midst, the vision -stretched away over an almost level carpet of scrub-oak and -whortleberries, forming a vista of unparalleled beauty; one which would -have graced the palace-grounds of an emperor. Not a stump, a root, or -tree was visible in all the range of sight. “God made this clearing,” I -remarked. The charm of silence was broken by the comment, and the -conversation immediately became general. - -We had ridden about three miles farther, when the road, if road it could -be called, forked suddenly; and, turning to the left, we found ourselves -in front of the cottage of our host. It deserved this title richly; for -never, in my many journeys beyond the margin of a regular American -forest, have I seen more neatness and propriety, than was here displayed -in all the accidents of a residence of logs. True! there were none of -those vines and graceful shrubs that beautify the grounds around a -thrifty cottage in New England; but, even here, a garden was attempted. -The building, two stories in height, stood near the summit of an -acclivity which formed a sort of irregular lawn, and was actually shaded -by two stately trees!—the only instance of such preservation I have -witnessed in the wilds of Pennsylvania. - -On the right, at a decent distance from the house, were a stable with a -loft, and several stacks of hay; and on the left, a natural meadow, of -some ten or fifteen acres, had been cleared of brush and sedge, and -furnished ample pasturage for four handsome cows. This, with twelve -acres of upland, formed the extent of the clearing. Several sugar maples -were scattered about the lawn, and a few young fruit trees ornamented -the arable land behind the house. - -Here, then, was comfort—almost the aristocracy of the woods! We drove -rapidly to the door, but the sound of wheels had already drawn the -family without the house. The wife, a pale and delicate woman, about -twenty-eight or thirty years of age, held in one hand, a bare-foot boy -of three; while a little girl, still younger, folded herself in the -skirt of her mother’s woollen frock—her snow-white head, and light-blue -eye peeping out fearfully from her concealment, as we dismounted. A -stout lad, employed by the farmer, took charge of our horses, and we -were presented to our hostess. - -“We have but poor accommodations to offer the gentlemen, John! but they -are welcome to what we have, such as they are. You are the first -strangers from the old settlements I have seen since we came to this -clearing! Were you ever in Connecticut?” Anxiety and hope were most -plainly depicted in the care-worn face of the speaker. I could not bear -to reply in the negative, and evaded the question by noticing the -children as we entered the house. Here, my companion was surprised at -the progress that had been made in four short years by the labor of a -settler of such slender means. Six decent chairs and a cherry-wood table -ornamented the apartment—a well-made dough-trough, with a wide and -smoothly planed top, served the purpose of a side-board—a large -cup-board, with curious, home-made wooden locks and hinges, occupied one -corner, and a rude settee contained, beneath the seat, a tool-chest and -a receptacle for table-linen. The ample fire-place, with its wooden -chimney, was festooned with strings of venison, hung up to smoke in -pieces, and the roughly plastered wall was ornamented with two rude -engravings, in _domestic_ frames—Adam and Eve driven from Paradise, and -the victory of Lake Erie. To these was added a printed copy of the -Declaration of Independence. A Bible stood open upon the table when we -entered, and a prayer-book, Young’s Night Thoughts, The Lady of the -Lake, and a few torn old numbers of a monthly magazine, adorned a shelf -above the fire. We missed the usual utensils of the cuisine, but these -we afterwards discovered in a more fitting place. The universal ticking -of the wooden clock was heard; but whence it came, we knew not, until -the hour for retiring. It stood upon the stairway. - -Hanging his rifle and powder-flask on the wooden hooks, depending, -according to custom, from a beam, our host remarked that we were dusty -with travel. - -“Tin is scarce with us here, gentlemen! and crockery is brittle,” said -he; “so if you wish to wash your hands and faces, and will pardon our -wild ways, follow me to the cellar, and you shall be accommodated!” - -Taking a coarse but clean towel from the chest in the settee, he opened -a door beneath the stairs, and descended; leading the way on this -singular excursion. A cellar is a luxury in the simple cabin; but here -we were provided with an apartment more complete, in its conveniencies, -than those of older countries, the floor being well levelled, and the -walls faced with stones of ample size. The settler had formed, in one -corner, a large cavity about three feet deep. This was lined with -mortar, and paved with smooth, round pebbles from the brook. A tunnel, -with a wooden trunk and sliding flood-gate, about four inches square, -led from the bottom of this basin, through the foundations of the wall, -to the bed of a rivulet at some distance on the lawn. The greater part -of the waters of a spring, which rose very near the house and fed this -runnel, being diverted from their original course, were conveyed through -hollow logs, cleaned out and smoothed by burning, through the wall of -the cellar, about four feet above the floor, and fell in a beautiful -cascade into the basin below. But our host was far too fertile in -resources to permit the whole of the current to take this direction. A -well made milk-trough, constructed of timbers, some of which betrayed -more intimate acquaintance with the axe than the plane, occupied nearly -the whole remaining portion of that side of the cellar which -corresponded with the earthen basin. It was supplied with water by means -of a small canal composed of pieces of bark suspended from the beams -above, and capable of being projected into the cascade, so as to receive -any desirable portion of the falling fluid. Another tunnel, -communicating with the first, carried off the surplus. As we viewed -these curious results of Yankee ingenuity and perseverance, several fine -speckled trout were seen disporting among pans or crocks of the richest -milk and cream, into which, we were informed, they sometimes leaped, to -the no small discomforture of the tidy house-wife, when in their -hide-and-whoop gambols, their daring over-acted their discretion. Here, -then, we found, combined by the most simple means, the luxury of the -washing-room, the drain, the bath, and the milk-house. Nor was this all! -The waters of a spring, when flowing _pleno rivo_, never freeze. They -carry with them, for a time, the heat which is the expression of the -mean temperature of the earth, and share it with surrounding objects. -The very stream, that thus contributed to his domestic comforts, and, as -we afterwards discovered, rendered, in its excess, services equally -important to his cattle in the farm-yard, preserved his stock of -necessaries from the effects of frost, and contributed to lessen the -exertions required to procure fuel for the long and dreary winter. These -arrangements rendered our host still more an object of curiosity and -interest—for seldom had we seen such striking evidences of -philosophical deduction in house-hold affairs:—and we could not avoid -the hope, that the permanent enjoyment and gradual increase of the -comforts created by his genius, might be his ultimate reward. But, alas! -the prevalent disposition of his tribe, when once removed from home, -is—roving! Never contented with the _status quo_—or satisfied with -possession; they leave the enjoyment of ease for the hope of wealth, and -are ever ready to sacrifice reality _for a dream_. Yet, it was not for -_us_ to censure our host severely, should he ultimately pursue the -course so admirably described in one short technicality of the American -woods-man—“_Flitting!_” Had we not both been _flitting_ ourselves!—the -one for honor, and the other for gold! My gown and my friend’s land were -of _equal value_, and both had been purchased at the expense of solid -sacrifices; but little does it concern us now, that the progress of -population has thrown the former over shoulders well clad in -broad-cloth, bought with the surplus of a decent salary, or that the -other is studded with profitable farms! In many parts of America, twelve -years form an age in human affairs, and, in western Pennsylvania, _we -are of the last_! - -Our ablutions completed, we returned to the sitting-room. The tea-table -was spread with a tidy cloth, and a smoking pot of Liverpool ware made -its appearance, replete with a beverage, _by the name of tea_; though, -by the test of the olfactories, it might have been supposed some -compound discovered among the ruins of the last Piquot village, in the -days when the venerable Mr. Hooker first raised the standard of his -faith among the ancestors of her whose hand distilled it.—Peace be with -the spirit of the good old man! Long since our journey, I have gazed, as -a stranger on his venerable tomb-stone in the central church-yard of -Hartford, and felt at the moment,—it may be with some bitterness—that -the descendants of his flock had lost but little in frankness and -hospitality, by being transplanted to the Wilds of the west! But -_revennons ou nos moutons_.[3] - -The table was soon amply furnished with preserves, in nameless variety, -formed from the wild fruits of the neighbouring woods, by the aid of -maple sugar. The unvarying hard-crusted pie, sweet, well-baked -corn-bread, and the constant attendant of the lighter meals in New -England, the fried potato, completed the repast. We were seated, -and—after a well-spoken grace—a service which the really respectable -exile of Connecticut rarely neglects in any of the changing scenes of -life—we did it ample justice. - -Economy of light is a matter of serious importance in the log-cabin; and -after tea, we gathered round the blazing hearth, (for the autumnal -nights were beginning to be cool,) adding, occasionally, a pine knot -from a group collected in the corner of the fire-place, by way of -illuminating an idea or a face, whenever the subject-matter of the -discourse became peculiarly interesting. - -Quick and puzzling were the questions with which our hostess plied us, -on all things relating to the “old settlements,” as she already styled -the sea-board;—for the language and habits of the “far west,” are still -strangely preserved in these mid-land wildernesses, over which the -genius of civilization has bounded, to wave his omnipotent wand over the -regions of the setting sun, like the last of the mammoths when he -disappeared from the banded hunters of the olden time. - -For a while, something like the liveliness of earlier days, stole over -the features of the querist, which were fast settling into the habitual -gloom, that gives character to the physiognomy of the recluse and the -blind. But whatever direction might be given to the discourse, in a few -moments it was sure to centre in Connecticut; until, evasion proving -impracticable, we were compelled, reluctantly, to confess that our -travels had never extended northward or eastward of the Housatonic—the -American Tweed.—A deep sigh succeeded this announcement, and our -hostess drew back her chair within the shadow of—what shall I call -it?—_jams_, properly so styled, the fire-place had none! Its sides were -formed of short, projecting logs, about three feet in length, piled, one -above another, interlocking, by deep notches, with those which formed -the walls of the building, at one end, and at the other, secured by -short cross-sections of a smaller tree, similarly notched, set -thwartwise between their projecting extremities, and bolted with strong -wooden pips. This structure supported the ample chimney, which was -constructed in like manner, and shared with it the usual protection -against fire, a thick internal coat of clay, admixed with a very little -lime. These chimney sides formed deep recesses on either hand, in one of -which, the cup-board was accommodated, while the other was graced by the -dining-table. - -Near to one of these shaded recesses, our hostess drew her chair, and -left the conversation, for a long time, to her husband. - -He inquired, with an interest, seemingly as intense as a statesman, into -the politics of the East, with the tenor of which he had contrived to -keep pace astonishingly, when his isolated position is considered. I was -curious to know how he managed to obtain such accurate information as to -men and measures at the seat of government, in the midst of so many -obstacles and such untiring agricultural efforts as his rapid -improvements must have demanded. His reply furnished a melancholy proof -of the natural disputatiousness of our species, while it illustrated the -pertinacity with which a mind, once awakened to party feelings, will -cling to its old friendships and antipathies when all interests in the -result have ceased. - -“Why,” said he, “for a while it was easy enough; for the Post rides -through here once a week, and leaves a New York paper to Squire -Tomkins—so the winter I first came to these clearings, I used to walk -over to read the paper every other Saturday afternoon, except when the -snow was too deep, and came back on Sunday after dinner—so I learned -what was going on pretty well. And sometimes one or other of the old -blacksmith’s boys—that’s his grand-children!—for his two sons have -gone off to Illinois—would come over of odd Saturdays, a -horse-back—for the old soldier kept a horse—he’s been many years in -these parts, and has cleared and sold three farms, before he fixed where -he is—and he’d take up Mary behind him, and ride over to the -squire’s—for one of us had to stay and tend the cow and feed the pigs; -so we could not both go together—and bring her back again the next -day.—And a great treat it was to Mary!—for sometimes she would see -something in the paper about Connecticut.—She used to teach school in -Connecticut for a while.—Poor Mary! she had a better education than I -had—though mine wasn’t a bad one, for a common school, the way the -world goes; and I used to be able _to say my say_ with any body; but -somehow these woods are so lonely, that I’m out of practice. - -“Poor Mary! her heart’s in Connecticut still, though she never tells me -so,—_but she looks it sometimes_—except may-be about Thanks-giving -day,—and then she can’t help _saying it_ too! I’m sometimes a’most -sorry she ever married such a wild and wandering fellow as me.” - -“Why, John!”—in a tone of the tenderest expostulation, sounded from the -corner. Almost unconsciously, I threw a pine knot on the fire, and the -sudden flame lighted up a countenance, which would have reassured the -most desponding husband. All traces of the inanity of solitude were -gone; and over the cloud of sorrow, in which early recollections had -veiled the features,—even while the tears of memory were starting from -the eye,—the moon-beam of unalterable love poured its silvery light, -and the pride of the wife spoke plainly in the curve of a lip already -raised and trembling with affectionate reproach. The moisture lingered -threateningly upon the lids, but did not fall!—It paused a moment, as -in doubt, what emotion called it there, and then retreated to its -source. - -The husband’s face was wreathed in smiles; his voice became firmer; his -language lost its parenthetic confusion on the instant, and he resumed -his discourse. - -“Well! well! It’s all my fault, if fault there be. _She_ never had a -fault! and she’s a blessing that would pay for twenty thousand faults of -mine! There, Mary! Put the little ones to bed in the loft, and hear them -say their prayers.” He dismissed them with a parting kiss, and when his -wife retired—continued his narrative. - -“The squire and I were friends, all through the winter and spring. He -and his two sons, with the blacksmith’s boys, and three men from the -furnace ten miles down the stream, assisted me to build my house; and I -borrowed a horse from the smith and a wagon in town, to bring my lime -for the plastering; so, when my new house was finished, we turned the -old one, that I told you of as we came along, into a right good stable. -I had laid up a full supply of provisions in the old house, the fall -before,—bought me a plough and some tools,—felled a good deal of -valuable pine timber, and put the four acres of clearing into winter -grain. With the first spring-floods, I floated the pines, by the help of -the squire’s oxen, and carried enough down to the saw-mill, (it’s only -twelve miles,) to bring me a good round sum; and then I had money enough -to pay my first instalment, buy me another cow and a pair of oxen, and -pay my way till harvest, without draining all the savings I brought out -with me. In the winter, I had also got three acres girdled, and the -meadow half cleared; for it wanted but little attention; so, as my -potatoes turned out uncommon well, and every thing prospered—I bought -me a horse and wagon in the fall, and saved just enough to pay the -second instalment;—trusting to Providence _and the stores_ for the -little we should want to buy next season. - -“But this is not what I was talking of—I had like to have forgot the -squire!—We got along very well till June or July—when we were mowing -the meadow.—Yes! it was in July.—And the squire was a churchman and a -democrat, but I was a federalist and a congregationalist—I did not much -mind his jokes about the pilgrim fathers, though he said the Piquots -were better men than those that planted the state; and laughed at them -for hanging the Quakers in Boston. For the squire was a well read man -before he came to the west—and he hated Connecticut, because he came -from Lancaster county, and his father was killed in a quarrel with the -settlers in Wyoming, long after the troubles were over. But when he said -that Jefferson was a better man than General Washington, I could not -stand it, and we quarrelled. I said what no Christian should say, and -what I wont repeat;—so the squire and I have never spoken since, except -when poor Mary was taken down! and then I had to speak; for there was no -other woman within ten miles, and no doctor but a quack, within -twenty-five. But Mrs. Tomkins is a nurse and a doctor both—God bless -her! - -“I’m getting to be very comfortable now, for I’ve got every thing around -me that a man can desire in the woods, except money; and I’ve little use -for that except to pay the last instalment; but I can’t bear to keep -that woman so lonely and sad for want of company! The old soldier’s -daughter comes over to see us once a month; but that is little for one -who used to have a dozen young friends always around her in Connecticut, -even if she was poor. To tell the truth, though the woods are full of -venison and wild turkies, and quails and squirrels to be had for the -shooting, and though Tom can catch a mess of trout in the milk trough at -any time,—for he lets his line run into the tunnel and there seems to -be no end to them—yet I can’t help thinking that if I had laid out my -three hundred dollars of hers and my savings in old Connecticut—if I -had worked half as hard there as I have done here, and she had gone on -teaching school, we should both have been happier and richer than we are -now. So I think I shall soon pull up stakes, sell out, and go to the -prairies, where God makes the clearings, as you said, on the road—and -it’s real hard work for a man, I can tell you!” - -This last remark threw me into a revery of no pleasing nature; and I, in -turn, retreated into the shade, as the light of the pine-knot subsided -and the wife reëntered. I was dreaming of the future, when, the buoyancy -of early manhood being over, stubborn habit would _compel_ our really -worthy host after all rational motive for change should have -flown!—“Thou art one of a genus,” I mentally ejaculated. “The mark of -the wanderer is on thy brow— - - “For thus I read thy destiny, - And cannot be mistaken.” - -There was much conversation afterwards; and at intervals I gleaned the -strong points of his history, and that of her whose fate he now -controlled. But I was busy with my dream! Peering into the far off -future, I saw him in the last of his _flittings_!—deserted by those who -should be the props of his age, but whose youthful fire would not permit -them to remain inactive in the wilderness, after pictures of eastern -wealth and luxury, clad in all the glorious hues of memory, had been -rendered familiar as nursery tales by their suicidal parents. I saw him -in the evening of his days—and where?—seated by his feeble and -exhausted, though still affectionate partner, at the door of an -ill-provided cabin, far in the north-west—Far beyond the present range -of the pioneer! The gloom of night was slowly dropping its curtain -around them, though the phosphorescent snow gave dim illumination to the -broad and trackless expanse of the prairie—trackless then, even by the -exterminated Buffalo. _There_ were none even of the few conveniences of -his present wood-land home; for the genius and the skill which had once -enabled him to bend the stubborn gifts of nature to his will, were -chilled by the frosts of age. - -I could even hear the voices of future years stealing on the autumnal -night breeze, as it moaned through the rough and ill-joined casement -where we sat. - -“Why, John, this is Thanks-giving night! Where can our oldest boy be -wandering now? He was just thirty yesterday, and we have not heard from -him these six years!—Not since you made your last flitting, John! He -was always a good boy, and I’m sure he has written to us! John! you may -depend upon it, there must be a letter in the office at St. Louis—St. -Louis, was it? or was it Chicago? My memory begins to fail me so! He -sent us fifty dollars the last time, when we lived in Wisconsin, away -down in the States. It must have been in Chicago; for it was there he -wrote before!” - -“Ah! Mary! Mary! boys forget their mothers and their fathers too, when -they are old and feeble! He is getting rich somewhere far over yonder, -and little he thinks of us! But there’s little Mary, where can she be? -Her husband was just gone to New Orleans with a load of furs when the -hunters went down to the bluffs in the fall, and they sent our letter -after them—but may-be she never got it!” - -“Yes, it’s Thanks-giving night, Mary! and if I had loved the graves of -my parents as I ought, we should not be here, where our children that -are away will never find our own. Well, well! I’m too old to hunt, and -if the trapping turns out no better than it did last year, we’ll have -our next Thanks-giving, Mary, where there will be no end to it! and sure -you have earned the _right_ to be at rest, by your faithfulness, however -it may go with me!” - -While this picture was floating through my mind, I had learned from -occasional sentences, that our host was the son of parents of -respectability; but his father had foolishly left the agricultural life, -which he understood and was pursuing prosperously, for cities and -merchandize, for which he had no talent. He died a bankrupt, leaving one -son at the age of eight years and a daughter of eighteen. The latter had -been affianced, during her father’s prosperity, to the son of a man of -wealth; but that wealth had been the result of the closest selfishness -in early life. As usual, the native vulgarity of feeling and -heartlessness of character which had caused his unwonted and undeserved -pecuniary success, remained unchanged in the days of his spurious social -elevation. He forbade the further visits of his son the moment the -disaster of the parent of his intended wife was known. He forbade it -suddenly and without a warning. The consequences were such as are almost -too frequent to attract attention. A lovely woman pined a few years over -the ill-requited needle, and died “in a decline.” - -“A young man about town” looked sad for a few months, and then married -an heiress to extend the curse of hereditary meanness. - -In the little village where our host was reared, by a near relative in -the original occupation of his father, he formed his attachment to his -present companion: She was then a teacher, starving upon the _liberal_ -salary that rewards the principal of a female common school in “the -State where education is universal.” To marry at home would have -required sacrifices of conventional rank on the part of his intended, to -which his pride would not suffer him to reduce her; for how could he ask -her to share the fortunes of a laborer in the field? To wait until their -united efforts would enable them to secure a farm, was more than his -impatience could endure. In evil hour a bright dream of the west had -thrown him into the wilderness, and rendered him dependent upon the -accidents of sun and rain for protection against the tender mercies of a -Land Company—which calculated upon the profits of indiscretion and -extended credit willingly, while accepting actual payment with regret. -His energies might probably bear him through his trials, could he be -contented to avoid expansion until the flood-tide of civilization might -have time to reach his retreat, but already he was restless, and his -eyes were directed to the fatal west—and it appeared painfully probable -that a few short years would find him again dependent on his axe, or a -prey to larger speculations in a deeper wilderness. - -We soon retired to our comfortable cat-tail beds, by the light of a -domestic candle, regretting that our kind entertainers refused us the -extempore lodging on the floor to which, in true woodland courtesy, they -condemned themselves. - -It was long before sleep relieved the unpleasant thoughts awakened by -the conversation of the evening. My mind wandered over many a tale of -the woods, in which blighted hopes and ruined prospects constituted the -prominent features. True, I had seen much of happiness in similar -situations,—for Providence has constructed some one of the human family -peculiarly fitted to occupy each niche in the great temple of -society,—but how frequently the abuse of the inestimable privilege of -_free will_ renders it a curse instead of a blessing. I sometimes think -that the exceptions constitute the rule, and that a small minority only -ever accomplish the destiny for which they were created. Jarring, -confusion, and disorder mark every page of nature,—every paragraph of -history! Here was a man of spirit, enterprise, energy, and talent, who -had fled from the only field where happiness was proffered at a slight -expense of pride, to waste his powers upon a wilderness for the benefit, -in all probability, of certain merchants and capitalists in Holland. He -dragged down with him an amiable being who was fitted by her moral -excellencies, and even by her education, humble as it may have been, for -a far wider sphere of usefulness; and why? Because he could not bear to -ask a fond and loving woman to descend to a station which she would have -gloried to share with him! - -How little men know of the true character of the self-sacrificing sex, -until the frosts of old age begin to crown their venerable fronts, and -they find their knowledge useless! - -It is said that there is but one step from the sublime to the -ridiculous; but, although legend upon legend crowded on my memory, the -pathetic had still the ascendancy, and I entertained my companion with -stories, not all of which were colored in rain-bow hues, until the -moon-light deserted the casement, and the fatigue of nearly forty miles -of travel enabled us to sink into repose. As one of these recollections -is pertinent to the occasion, and illustrative of life in the woods, it -may not be amiss to offer it to the reader. It furnishes an instance of -indiscretion which, could the effect have been foreseen, would be -esteemed an act of cruelty worthy of the worst days of the inquisition. -And yet it was perpetrated by a female—by one who should have known the -peculiarities of her sex! - -“Our highly intelligent friend, Mc——,” said I, “has resided for some -years in the town of ——, and has become familiar with the independent -life of a western village. She owns a considerable tract of wild land on -the New York border, and, as her husband’s eccentricities (for he is an -American Old Mortality) are equal with his fame and classical -acquirements, she thought it best to proceed by herself, on horse-back, -to visit the property and examine its resources. After journeying for -several days by every stages and frequented routes, she took an -appropriate path and plunged into the forest.” - -After much difficulty and fatigue, she arrived at the cabin of a -squatter, which she knew to have been _located_ for many years on or -near her line. The visit of the owner was not unsafe, for the man was a -bee-hunter, trapper, and timber thief of the most gentle manners, and -utterly despised all efforts at clearing beyond the acre. His pigs—his -only stock—ran wild in the woods, and he cared nothing for real estate -so long as there were trees left for a deer-cover, timber to be stolen, -bees to be limed, and a bounty for wolves. He looked upon a new -settlement as only another market and prowling ground, incommoding him -in nothing, and likely to increase the dainties of his larder by an -occasional chicken and eggs. He lived for the _present_—dreamed neither -of the _past_ nor the _future_—and nothing but habitual laziness -prevented him from being perpetually peripatetic. He was absent from -home when Mrs. —— arrived, and she was received with back-woods -hospitality by his wife;—for even this creature, whose only beverage -was “Le vin ordinaire de ce pays ci—un liqueur abominable qu’on appelle -_Ouiskey_!” actually had a wife, and an affectionate one, who had -resided on or near the spot since the days of Jefferson! After a -comfortable night of repose upon a bundle of dried leaves, in her riding -suit, Mrs. —— arose, and made preparations _for viewing the property_. -No lady neglects the toilet, even in the most distressing circumstances. -I have several times heard death preferred to the loss of a fine head of -hair, in the wards of a hospital, and it is not to be supposed that Mrs. -R. was unprovided with a looking-glass. She proceeded to withdraw the -several appurtenances of the dressing-room from her well-stored -portmanteau, narrowly and wonderingly watched by her kind hostess. But -the instant the mirror appeared, the lonely denizen of the wilds -exclaimed, with startling energy— - -“Oh! dear Mrs. R.! That’s a looking-glass! Do let me look in it! I have -not seen my face plainly for thirty years! I go down to the spring -sometimes and try to see myself; but the water is so rough that it don’t -look at all like me! Do let me look at it! Do now!” - -The glass was handed to the delighted woman. She cast but one glance -upon it. The mirror fell in fragments on the floor, the unfortunate -creature fainted and fell back on the rude bench behind her, and Mrs. R. -visited her ample domain, that day, with a head half combed. - -The very early breakfast the next morning was a cheerful one. When it -was completed, we rode over by the squire’s, with our host for a guide, -and after proceeding about three miles into the woods, tied our horses -at the termination of all signs of road, and advanced on foot. We soon -separated, the merchant and the farmer to estimate the chances of -water-power, iron beds, timber, and lime-quarries, and I, with my host’s -rifle, a paper of pins, a botanical box, and a pocket insect net, to my -favorite pursuits. We agreed to rendezvous at the place of parting when -the hour of three arrived; and, being all familiar with the art of -navigating the forest, there was no danger of a failure in meeting the -engagement. When we returned from our excursions, and I observed the -disappointed look of my Athenian friend, I felt myself the richer, -notwithstanding he styled himself possessor of five thousand acres, and -I bore upon my shield the footless birds of a younger son; for my hat -was serried with glittering insects, impaled upon its crown and sides; -my box was stored with rarities, and, on a hickory pole across my -shoulder, hung a great horned owl, a hawk, twelve headless black -squirrels, and a Canada porcupine! - -We stopped at the squire’s for a dinner; and, strange to say, succeeded -in inducing our host to bear us company, despite his political -aversions; so that we have reason to believe that our visit was -successful in settling a feud which had seriously curtailed the comforts -of both parties for nearly three long years. As we were rambling over -the ground, while our meal was in preparation, our attention was called -to a tamed marmot or ground hog, that had been a favorite of the family -during several years. He had just commenced burrowing a residence for -his long months of hybernation—for the coolness of the nights -forewarned him that the period of activity was nearly over. By the -orchard fence, upon a little mound commanding a broad view of the -squire’s improvements, he sat upright on the grass, by the side of the -yellow circle of dust which his labors already rendered sufficiently -conspicuous. The sun obliquely shed a milder and more contemplative -light over a scene softened by the autumnal haze. The foliage wore the -serious depth of green which precedes the change of the leaf, and, on -the higher ground, small patches of yellow, red and brown began to vary -the uniformity of the forest. He sat with his fore-paws gently crossed -upon his bosom, like an old man reposing at evening by the door of his -cottage, calmly and peacefully reflecting that the labors of life were -drawing to a close. The autumn wind soughed by, with a premonitory moan, -and our philosophic friend threw up one ear to drink the ominous sound, -shook his head, as it died away, with an obvious shudder, as though some -chilly dream of winter disturbed his repose, and turning slowly round, -commenced digging deliberately at his burrow. In a few minutes he -reappeared and seemed again buried in contemplating the beauty of the -scenery. Ere long another and a stronger blast swept through the trees, -with a more threatening voice—bearing upon its wings a few withered -leaves. - -One of these fell close to the person of the marmot. The intimation was -not to be mistaken. He gently descended to the horizontal attitude, -crawled towards the unwelcome courier of decay, applied his nose to it -for a moment, then, wheeling rapidly round, plunged suddenly into his -hole and sent the dirt flying into the air by the rapid action of his -fore-paws. I turned to the Exile of Connecticut, who had also watched -this interesting scene, and remarked: “You propose to go to the -prairies! It is summer with you yet, but I see that the leaves are -beginning to turn: there are a few grey hairs gathering about your brow. -Is it not time to choose your last resting place? to dig your last -burrow?” - -He felt the force of the query, and remained in thought for several -minutes. - -“If it were not for the next instalment, I think I should stay where I -am till the neighborhood could grow up around us, and Mary could go to -church and little John to school. But—I don’t know!—I think I shall -have to sell out and _flit_ in the spring, if I could find a purchaser! -I’m young yet; and that little beast did not throw the dirt so high in -the spring.” - -Poor fellow! I hear that the ground reverted to the company two years -afterwards; but whether he sold out and _flitted_ with a full purse, or -started on foot with his Mary and the children, and an axe on his -shoulder, I have never heard. - ------ - -[3] It were ungrateful in the writer, not to acknowledge the marked -courtesy and kindness received from several friends during a short -residence at Hartford, and if tempted to speak a little severely of the -manners of the place, there is much more pleasure in the thought, that a -town, honored by the residence of Mrs. Sigourney, Mr. Wordsworth, the -liberal patron of the _fine arts_, and the model of _fine feeling_, and -Rev. Mr. Gualladet, the devoted philanthropist, can endure some censure -upon its general hospitality. On a more suitable occasion, I should be -most happy to extend this list, partly, because it would be no more than -just to do so, - - “And partly that bright names will hallow song!” - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNET. - - - Still he is absent though the buds of Spring - Bursting, have flung their freshness o’er the earth, - And all its brightest flowers have waked to birth - The perfume in their petals slumbering;— - The bright green leaves of Summer’s garnishing - Have blanched away;—the wild bird’s song of mirth - Is hushed into an echo, and his wing - Chill’d by the breath the north wind scatters forth:— - And yet the loved one is not with us, yet - He lingers in some foreign beauty’s bower, - While we the lonely, we in vain regret - The distant rapture of the greeting hour, - Till hope seems, poised upon its wavering wings, - Departing like the fair earth’s loveliest things. - E. J. P. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE FALSE LADYE. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE BROTHERS,” “CROMWELL,” ETC. - - -There were merriment and music in the Chateau des Tournelles—at that -time the abode of France’s Royalty!—Music and merriment, even from the -break of day! That was a singular age—an age of great transitions. The -splendid spirit-stirring soul of chivalry was alive yet among the -nations—_yet_! although fast declining, and destined soon to meet its -death blow in the spear thrust that hurled the noble Henry, last victim -of its wondrous system, at once from saddle and from throne!—In every -art, in every usage, new science had effected even then mighty changes; -yet it was the old world still! Gunpowder, and the use of musquetry and -ordnance, had introduced new topics; yet still knights spurred their -barbed chargers to the shock, still rode in complete steel—and tilts -and tournaments still mustered all the knightly and the noble; and -banquets at high noon, and balls in the broad day-light, assembled to -the board or to the dance, the young, the beautiful, and happy. - -There were merriment and music in the court—the hall—the -stair-case—the saloons of state! All that France held of beautiful, and -bright, and brave, and wise, and noble, were gathered to the presence of -their King.—And there were many there, well known and honored in those -olden days; well known and honored ever after!—The first, in person as -in place, was the great King!—the proud and chivalrous and -princely!—becoming his high station at all times and in every -place—wearing his state right gracefully and freely—the second -Henry!—and at his side young Francis, the King-Dauphin; with her, the -cynosure of every heart, the star of that fair company—Scotland’s -unrivalled Mary hanging upon his manly arm, and gazing up with those -soft, dove-like eyes, fraught with unutterable soul, into her husband’s -face—into her husband’s spirit.—Brissac was there, and Joyeuse, and -Nevers; and Jarnac, the renowned for skill in fence, and Vielleville; -and the Cardinal Lorraine, and all the glorious Guises,—and -Montmorenci, soon to be famous as the slayer of his King, and every peer -of France, and every peerless lady. - -Loud pealed the exulting symphonies; loud sang the chosen -minstrelsy—and as the gorgeous sun-beams rushed in a flood of tinted -lustre through the rich many-colored panes of the tall windows, glancing -on soft voluptuous forms and eyes that might out-dazzle their own -radiance, arrayed in all the pomp and pride of that magnificent and -stately period—a more resplendent scene could scarcely be imagined. -That was a day of rich and graceful costumes, when men and warriors -thought it no shame to be adorned in silks and velvets, with chains of -goldsmith’s work about their necks, and jewels in their ears, and on -their hatbands, buttons, and buckles, and sword-hilts; and if such were -the sumptuous attire of the sterner and more solid sex, what must have -been the ornature of the court ladies, under the gentle sway of such a -being as Diane de Poitiers, the lovely mistress of the monarch, and -arbitress of the soft follies of the Court? - -The palace halls were decked with every fanciful variety, some in the -pomp of blazoned tapestries with banners rustling from the cornices -above the jocund dancers, some filled with fresh green branches, wrought -into silver arbors, sweet garlands perfuming the air, and the light half -excluded or tempered into a mild and emerald radiance by the dense -foliage of the rare exotics. Pages and ushers tripped it to and fro, -clad in the royal liveries, embroidered with the cognizance of Henry, -the fuigist salamander, bearing the choicest wines, the rarest cates, in -every interval of the resounding dance.—It would be tedious to dwell -longer on the scene; to multiply more instances of the strange mixture, -which might be witnessed everywhere, of artificial luxury with -semibarbarous rudeness—to specify the graces of the company, the beauty -of the demoiselles and dames, the stately bearing of the warrior nobles, -as they swept back and forth in the quaint mazes of some antiquated -measure, were a task to be undertaken only by some old chronicler, with -style as curious and as quaint as the manners he portrays in living -colors.—Enough for us to catch a fleeting glimpse of the grand -pageantry! to sketch with a dashy pencil the groups which he would -designate with absolute and accurate minuteness! - -But there was one among that gay assemblage, who must not be passed over -with so slight a regard, since she attracted on that festive day, as -much of wondering admiration for her unequalled beauties as she excited -grief, and sympathy, and fear, in after days, for her sad fortunes,—but -there was now no cloud upon her radiant beauty, no dimness prophetic of -approaching tears in her large laughing eyes, no touch of melancholy -thought upon one glorious feature—Marguerite de Vaudreuil, the heiress -of a ducal fortune, the heiress of charms so surpassing, that rank and -fortune were forgotten by all who gazed upon her pure high brow, her -dazzling glances, her seductive smile, the perfect symmetry of her whole -shape and person! Her hair, of the darkest auburn shade, fell in a -thousand ringlets, glittering out like threads of virgin gold when a -stray sunbeam touched them, fell down her snowy neck over the shapely -shoulders and so much of a soft heaving bosom—veined by unnumbered -azure channels, wherein the pure blood coursed so joyously—as was -displayed by the falling laces which decked her velvet boddice—her -eyes, so quick and dazzling was their light, almost defied description, -possessing at one time the depth and brilliance of the black, melting -into the softer languor of the blue—yet they were of the latter hue, -and suited truly to the whole style and character of her voluptuous -beauty. Her form, as has been noticed, was symmetry itself; and every -movement, every step, was fraught with natural and unstudied grace.—In -sooth, she seemed almost too beautiful for mere mortality—and so -thought many an one who gazed upon her, half drunk with that divine -delirium which steeps the souls of men who dwell too steadfastly upon -such wondrous charms, as she bounded through the labyrinth of the dance, -lighter and springier than the world-famed gazelle, or rested from the -exciting toil in panting abandonment upon some cushioned settle! and -many inquired of themselves, could it be possible that an exterior so -divine should be the tenement of a harsh worldly spirit—that a demeanor -and an air so frank, so cordial, and so warm, should be but the -deceptive veil that hid a selfish, cold, bad heart. Aye! many asked -themselves that question on that day, but not one answered his own -question candidly or truly—no! not one man!—for in her presence he had -been more or less than mortal, who could pronounce his sentence unmoved -by the attractions of her outward seeming. - -For Marguerite de Vaudreuil had been but three short months before -affianced as the bride of the young Baron de La-Hirè—the bravest and -best of Henry’s youthful nobles. It had been a love treaty—no matter of -shrewd bartering of hearts—no cold and worldly convenance—but the -outpouring, as it seemed, of two young spirits, each warm and worthy of -the other!—and men had envied him, and ladies had held her more -fortunate in her high conquest, than in her rank, her riches, or her -beauties; and the world had forgotten to calumniate, or to sneer, in -admiration of the young glorious pair, that seemed so fitly mated. Three -little months had passed—three more, and they had been made one!—but, -in the interval, Charles de La-Hirè, obedient to his King’s behest, had -buckled on his sword, and led the followers of his house to the Italian -wars. With him, scarcely less brave, and, as some thought, yet handsomer -than he, forth rode upon his first campaign, Armand de Laguy, his own -orphaned cousin, bred like a brother on his father’s hearth; and, as -Charles well believed, a brother in affection. Three little months had -passed, and in a temporary truce, Armand de Laguy had returned alone, -leading the relics of his cousin’s force, and laden with the doleful -tidings of that cousin’s fall upon the field of honor. None else had -seen him die, none else had pierced so deeply into the hostile ranks; -but Armand had rushed madly on to save his noble kinsman, and failing in -the desperate attempt, had borne off his reward in many a perilous -wound. Another month, and it was whispered far and near, that Marguerite -had dried her tears already; and that Armand de Laguy had, by his -cousin’s death, succeeded, not to lands and to lordships only, but to -the winning of that dead cousin’s bride.—It had been whispered far and -near—and now the whisper was proved true. For, on this festive day, -young Armand, still pale from the effects of his exhausting wounds, and -languid from loss of the blood, appeared in public for the first time, -not in the sable weeds of decent and accustomed wo, but in the gayest -garb of a successful bridegroom—his pourpoint of rose-colored velvet -strewn thickly with seed pearl and broideries of silver, his hose of -rich white silk, all slashed and lined with cloth of silver, his injured -arm suspended in a rare scarf of the lady’s colors, and, above all, the -air of quiet confident success with which he offered, and that lovely -girl received, his intimate attentions, showed that for once, at least, -the tongue of rumor had told truth. - -Therefore men gazed in wonder—and marvelled as they gazed, and half -condemned!—yet they who had been loudest in their censure when the -first whisper reached their ears of so disloyal love, of so bold-fronted -an inconstancy, now found themselves devising many an excuse within -their secret hearts for this sad lapse of one so exquisitely fair. Henry -himself had frowned, when Armand de Laguy led forth the fair betrothed, -radiant in festive garb and decked with joyous smiles—but the stern -brow of the offended prince had smoothed itself into a softer aspect, -and the rebuff which he had determined—but a second’s space before—to -give to the untimely lovers, was frittered down into a jest before it -left the lips of the repentant speaker. - -The day was well-nigh spent—the evening banquet had been spread, and -had been honored, duly—and now the lamps were lit in hall, and -corridor, and bower; and merrier waxed the mirth, and faster wheeled the -dance. The company were scattered to and fro, some wandering in the -royal gardens, which overspread at that day, most of the Isle de Paris; -some played with cards or dice; some drank and revelled in the halls; -some danced unwearied in the grand saloons; some whispered love in -ladies’ ears in dark sequestered bowers—and of these last were -Marguerite and Armand—a long alcove of thick green boughs, with orange -trees between, flowering in marble vases, and myrtles, and a thousand -odorous trees mingling their perfumed shadows, led to a lonely -bower—and there alone in the dim star-light—alone indeed! for they -might now be deemed as one, sat the two lovers. One fair hand of the -frail lady was clasped in the bold suitor’s right—while his left arm, -unconscious of its wound, was twined about her slender waist; her head -reclined upon his shoulder, with all its rich redundancy of ringlets -floating about his neck and bosom, and her eyes, languid and suffused, -fondly turned up to meet his passionate glances. “And can it be”—he -said, in the thick broken tones that tell of vehement passion—“And can -it be that you indeed love Armand?—I fear, I fear, sweet beauty, that -I, like Charles, should be forgotten, were I, like Charles, removed—for -him thou didst love dearly—while on me never didst thou waste thought -or word.” - -“Him—never, Armand, never!—by the bright stars above us—by the great -gods that hear us—I never—never _did_ love Charles de La-Hirè—never -did love man, save thee, my noble Armand.—False girlish vanity and -pique led me to toy with him at first; now to my sorrow I confess -it—and when thou didst look coldly upon me, and seem’dst to woo dark -Adeline de Courcy, a woman’s vengeance stirred up my very soul, and -therefore to punish thee, whom only did I love, I well nigh yielded up -myself to torture by wedding one whom I esteemed indeed and honored—but -never thought of for one moment with affection—wilt thou believe me, -Armand?” - -“Sweet Angel, Marguerite!” and he clasped her to his hot heaving breast, -and her white arms were flung about his neck, and their lips met in a -long fiery kiss. - -Just in that point of time—in that soft melting moment—a heavy hand -was laid quietly on Armand’s shoulder—he started, as the fiend sprang -up, revealed before the temper of Ithuriel’s angel weapon—he started -like a guilty thing from that forbidden kiss. - -A tall form stood beside him, shrouded from head to heel in a dark -riding cloak of the Italian fashion; but there was no hat on the stately -head, nor any covering to the cold stern impassive features. The high -broad forehead as pale as sculptured marble, with the dark chestnut -curls falling off parted evenly upon the crown—the full, fixed, steady -eye, which he could no more meet than he could gaze unscathed on the -meridian sun, the noble features, sharpened by want and suffering and -wo—were all! all those of his good cousin. - -For a moment’s space the three stood there in silence!—Charles de -La-Hirè reaping rich vengeance from the unconquerable consternation of -the traitor! Armand de Laguy bent almost to the earth with shame and -conscious terror! and Marguerite half dead with fear, and scarcely -certain if indeed he who stood before her were the man in his living -presence, whom she had vowed to love for ever; or if it were but the -visioned form of an indignant friend returned from the dark grave to -thunderstrike the false disturbers of his eternal rest. - -“I am in time”—he said at length, in accents slow and unfaltering, as -his whole air was cold and tranquil—“in time to break off this -monstrous union!—Thy perjuries have been in vain, weak man; thy lies -are open to the day.—He whom thou didst betray to the Italian’s -dungeon—to the Italian’s dagger—as thou didst then believe and -hope—stands bodily before thee.” - -A long heart-piercing shriek burst from the lips of Marguerite, as the -dread import of his speech fell on her sharpened ears—the man whom she -_had_ loved—_first_ loved!—for all her previous words were false and -fickle—stood at her side in all his power and glory—and she affianced -to a liar, a base traitor—a foul murderer in his heart!—a scorn and -by-word to her own sex—an object of contempt and hatred to every noble -spirit! - -But at that instant Armand de Laguy’s pride awoke—for he _was_ proud, -and brave, and daring!—and he gave back the lie, and hurled defiance in -his accuser’s teeth. - -“Death to thy soul!” he cried—“’tis thou that lieth!—Charles!—did I -not see thee stretched on the bloody plain? did I not sink beside thee, -hewed down and trampled under foot, in striving to preserve thee?—and -when my vassals found me, wert thou not beside me—with thy face -scarred, indeed, and mangled beyond recognition, but with the surcoat -and the arms upon the lifeless corpse, and the sword in the cold -hand?—’Tis thou that liest, man!—’tis thou that, for some base end, -didst conceal thy life; and now wouldst charge thy felonies on me—but -’twill not do—fair cousin.—The King shall judge between us!—Come -lady”—and he would have taken her by the hand, but she sprang back as -though a viper would have stung her. - -“Back traitor!—” she exclaimed, in tones of the deepest loathing.—“I -hate thee, spit on thee! defy thee!—Base have I been myself, and frail, -and fickle—but, as I live, Charles de La-Hirè—but as I live _now_, and -_will_ die right shortly—I knew not of this villany! I did believe thee -dead, as that false murtherer swore—and—God be good to me!—I did -betray thee dead; and now have lost thee living! But for thee, Armand de -Laguy, dog! traitor! villain! knave!—dare not to look upon me any more; -dare not address me with one accent of thy serpent tongue! for -Marguerite de Vaudreuil, fallen although she be, and lost for ever, is -not so all abandoned as, knowing thee for what thou art, to bear with -thee one second longer—no! not though that second could redeem all the -past—and wipe out all the sin!—” - -“Fine words! Fine words, fair mistress!—but on with me thou shalt!” and -he stretched out his arm to seize her, when, with a perfect majesty, -Charles de La-Hirè stepped in and grasped him by the wrist, and held him -for a moment there, gazing into his eye as though he would have read his -soul; then threw him off with force, that made him stagger back ten -paces before he could regain his footing!—then! then! with all the fury -of the fiend depicted on his working lineaments, Armand unsheathed his -rapier and made a full lunge, bounding forwards as he did so, right at -his cousin’s heart! but he was foiled again, for with a single, and, as -it seemed, slight motion of the sheathed broadsword, which he held under -his cloak, Charles de La-Hirè struck up the weapon, and sent it whirling -through the air to twenty paces distance. - -Just then there came a shout “the King! the King!”—and, with the words, -a glare of many torches, and, with his courtiers and his guard about -him, the Monarch stood forth in offended majesty. - -“Ha!—what means this insolent broil?—What men be these who dare draw -swords within the palace precincts?” - -“_My_ sword is sheathed, sire,” answered De La-Hirè, kneeling before the -King and laying the good weapon at his feet—“nor has been ever drawn, -save at your highness’ bidding, against your highness’ foes!—But I -beseech you, sire, as you love honesty and honor, and hate deceit and -treason, grant me your royal license to prove Armand de Laguy, recreant, -base, and traitorous, a liar and a felon, and a murtherer, hand to hand, -in the presence of the ladies of your court, according to the law of -arms and honor!” - -“Something of this we have heard already”—replied the King, “Baron de -La-Hirè!—But say out now, of what accuse you Armand de Laguy?—shew but -good cause, and thy request is granted; for I have not forgot your good -deeds in my cause against our rebel Savoyards and our Italian foemen—of -what accuse you Armand de Laguy?” - -“That he betrayed me wounded into the hands of the Duke of Parma! that -he dealt with Italian bravoes to compass my assassination! that by foul -lies and treacherous devices, he has trained from me my affianced bride: -and last, not least, deprived her of fair name and honor.—This will I -prove upon his body, so help me God and my good sword.” - -“Stand forth and answer to his charge De Laguy—speak out! what sayest -thou?” - -“I say,” answered Armand boldly—“I say that he lies!—that he did feign -his own death for some evil ends!—and did deceive me, who would have -died to succor him!—That I, believing him dead, have won from him the -love of this fair lady, I admit.—But I assert that I did win it fairly, -and of good right!—And for the rest, I say he lies doubly, when he -asserts that she has lost fair name, or honor—this is _my_ answer, -sire; and I beseech you grant _his_ prayer, and let us prove our words, -as gentlemen of France and soldiers, forthwith, by singular battle!” - -“Amen!” replied the King—“the third day hence at noon, in the tilt -yard, before our court, we do adjudge the combat—and this fair lady be -the prize of the victor!—” - -“No! sire,” interposed Charles de La-Hirè, again kneeling—but before he -had the time to add a second word, Marguerite de Vaudreuil, who had -stood all the while with her hands clasped and her eyes rivetted upon -the ground, sprung forth with a great cry— - -“No! no! for God-sake! no! no! sire—great King—good gentleman—brave -knight! doom me not to a fate so dreadful.—Charles de La-Hirè is all -that man can be, of good, or great, or noble! but I betrayed him, whom I -deemed dead; and he can never trust me living!—Moreover, if he would -take me to his arms, base as I am and most false hearted, he should -not—for God forbid that _my_ dishonor should blight _his_ noble -fame.—As for the slave De Laguy—the traitor and low liar, doom me, -great monarch, to the convent or the block—but curse me not with such -contamination!—For, by the heavens I swear! and by the God that rules -them! that I will die by my own hand, before I wed that serpent!” - -“Be it so, fair one,” answered the King very coldly—“be it so! we -permit thy choice—a convent or the victor’s bridal bed shall be thy -doom, at thine own option!—Meanwhile your swords, sirs; until the hour -of battle ye are both under our arrest. Jarnac be thou Godfather to -Charles de La-Hirè!—Nevers, do thou like office for de Laguy.” - -“By God! not I, sire;” answered the proud duke. “I hold this man’s -offence so rank, his guilt so palpable, that, on my conscience! I think -your royal hangman were his best Godfather!” - -“Nevertheless, De Nevers—it shall be, as I say!—this bold protest of -thine is all sufficient for thine honor—and it is but a form!—no -words, duke! it must be as I have said!—Joyeuse, escort this lady to -thy duchess—pray her accept of her as the King’s guest, until this -matter be decided. The third day hence at noon, on foot, with sword and -dagger—with no arms of defence or vantage—the principals to fight -alone, until one die or yield—and so God shield the right!” - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNETS. - - - BY PARK BENJAMIN. - - - EVENING. - - In robes of crimson glory sinks the Day; - The Earth in slumber closes her great eye - Like to a dying god’s; from hills, that lie - Like altars kindled by the sunset ray, - The smoke in graceful volumes soars away; - From every wood a chorus soundeth nigh; - Those veils of day, the shadows, floating high - Around the tree-tops, fall upon the gay - And gem-like flowers that bloom beneath; the West - Its burnished gold throws back in softened lines - Upon the East, and, as it sweetly shines - On lapsing river and reposing dell, - Tinges with rosy light the hovering breast - Of the small, tremulous lark—boon Nature’s evening bell. - - - HEREAFTER. - - Oh, man is higher than his dwelling-place; - Upward he looks, and his soul’s wings unfold, - And, when like minutes sixty years have rolled, - He rises, kindling, into boundless space. - Then backward to the Earth, his native place, - The ashes of his feathers lightly fall, - And his free soul, unveiled, disrobed of all - That cumbered it, begins its heavenly race, - Pure as a tone and brilliant as a star. - Even through the shadows on life’s desert lawn - Hills of the future world he sees afar - In morning rays that beam not here below. - Thus doth the dweller in the realm of snow - Through his long night perceive the distant dawn. - - * * * * * - - - - - HARRY CAVENDISH. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR,” “THE REEFER OF ’76,” ETC. - ETC. - - - “And I have loved thee, ocean! and my joy - Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be - Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy - I wantoned with thy breakers.” - Childe Harold. - - - INTRODUCTORY. - -I was sitting the other afternoon before my library fire, listening to -the fitful breeze without that swayed the trees to and fro before the -house and moaned down in the neighbouring woods, when I suddenly -recollected that the last sheets of “The Reefer” had gone to press a -fortnight before, and that, consequently, my career of authorship was -closed. The idea, I confess, gave me pleasure, for I am by nature an -indolent man, and would at any time rather dream by a cheery fire, with -my slippered feet reposing on my tiger-skin rug, than tie myself down to -a writing-table, even though it be to record my own or my friends’ -adventures, and “go about the world from hand to hand.” I am not -ambitious. I prefer ease to reputation, quiet to turmoil, the epicurean -to all other philosophy. To read my favorite authors; to indulge in -reveries at the twilight hour; to gaze on fine pictures, choice statues, -and tasteful rooms; to listen to the melting airs of Burns, or the -glorious hallelujahs of Handel; to sport on my own grounds on a clear, -bracing morning; to gallop over the wild hills and through the romantic -valleys which surround my residence;—these are the enjoyments in which -I delight, and which I prefer to all the reputation either the pen or -the sword can give. Others may choose a more bustling life; but I have -had my share of that! Give me a quiet, happy home, for there only is -true happiness to be found. - -Musing thus, I was unconscious of the entrance of an intruder, until I -heard a slight cough beside me, and looking up, I saw my faithful -servant John standing over my chair. He laid on my lap, at the instant, -a copy of Graham’s Magazine for December. As John did so, he heaved a -sigh, and then, as if something was on his mind, busied himself in -arranging various articles in the room. I knew by these tokens that he -was desirous of attracting my attention. The woe-begone expression which -he wore during all this time, amused me, for I fancied I could guess -what was passing through his mind. As I quietly cut the pages of the -book, I indulged him by opening the conversation. - -“Well, John,” I said, “it is finished. ‘The Reefer’ has followed my own -adventures, and you will have no more trouble in acting as proof-reader -for me. Our days,” and here, at the use of the plural, the old fellow -grinned from ear to ear, “our days of authorship are over. I think we -had better retire while our laurels are green. Are you not glad?” - -“Glad! What for Massa Danforth think that? No, no,” and he shook his -grey head mournfully, “John _not_ glad.” - -“And why not, John? We shall have more time to ourselves. I’m afraid,” I -said, looking towards the window, and endeavoring to peer through the -twilight without, “I am afraid our planting is sadly behind hand—the -clump of trees out yonder wants thinning—and then the water-fall is -getting out of order—and Mrs. Danforth has been pleading for an -addition to her garden—all this requires overseeing—and besides these, -there are a thousand other things which will require our attention.” - -I could see that the old fellow had, with difficulty, restrained himself -until I had finished; for he kept moving his body unceasingly, and once -or twice had opened his mouth to speak. He now broke out— - -“Nebber do, Massa Danforth, nebber do to give up authorship, take old -John word for dat. You now great man—talk of in all de papers—it Massa -Danforth here and Massa Danforth dare—ebbery few month you get extra -puff in de prospective of de Magazine—and think you discontinue if you -give ober writing? Gor amighty nebber! Ebbery body can do -planting,—dere Massa Jones, Massa Tyson, Massa Smit, and de oder -blockheads in de county—but you be only one hereabout been to sea, or -can drive a pen ober paper like a four-in-hand, polishing skrimanges for -a hundred thousand readers—for dat many Massa Graham say thumb his book -ebbery month. It plain text, plain sermon. Who so big as Massa Danforth -de author?—who so little, beg pardon for say it, as Massa Danforth de -farmer? De public like our sleepy boy Joe in de kitchen, he nebber know -any one alive, unless dey keep bawling, bawling in his ear all de time.” - -“But what am I to do?” said I, smiling at his earnestness, and peculiar -style of illustration. “Even if I wished to continue an author, I could -not. My own adventures are published; so are those of the Reefer,—if I -go on, I must—to say nothing of the trouble—draw on my fancy, and -that, you know, wouldn’t do. I always bear in mind what honest Sancho -Panza says—‘Let every one take heed how they talk or write of people, -and not set down at random the first thing that comes into their -imagination.’” - -“Massa Sanka Pancer had better keep his advice to himself, dat my -mind—I nebber saw him here, or read his name in de papers, and he -derefore no great shakes—but I no see dat dere be an accessory for any -fiction about it. Ah! I hab him—I hab him. I think of a new feature.” - -“A new feature! Well—let’s hear it.” - -“But first, dere be accessory for a story. Once Massa know I be a poor -scoundrel in newspaper office—hard life dat, where kicks plenty and -dinners scarce—and ebbery now and den when editor pushed to de wall for -cash, he say in his paper dat de next day he come out wid a new feature. -Well, ebbery body, besure, be on tip-toe. Office run down next mornin -for paper. Massa editor fill his pockets for once anyhow—no trouble, -little cost, all wit do it. How? He put in new head to his paper, and -call dat ‘new feature.’ Now, suppose Massa Danforth get a new head to -‘Cruising in de Last War,’ and so be author, and dat widout trouble, for -anoder year. Ah! ha! dat grand stroke.” - -I laughed heartily at the proposal, but replied— - -“That would never do, John—but I must tell Graham of your idea.” - -“Eh! what?—put old John in print. Gor amighty dat make him grand as de -minister—not dat he care much for it—he not vain—but, but, what Massa -gwine to say?” - -“You’ll know in good time—but at present see who knocks at the library -door.” - -“Package forgot at post-office,” said John, returning from his errand, -and giving me a huge bundle of manuscript. - -“Ah! what have we here? A letter from Graham, I declare. What says -he?—‘a valuable private history of the revolutionary times,’—‘only -wants a little pruning’—‘thrilling adventures’—‘a run unsurpassed for -years’—‘unequalled’—‘edit it as a great favor’—and so forth. Well, -let us see what it is.” - -“Eh! yes—see what he is. Massa Graham one _obi_ man, he know de -quandary we in, and send dis to settle de argument. No escape now, Massa -Danforth—it little trouble—thank God! you be great man still—and de -people still say as we drive out togedder, ‘dare go de celebrated Massa -Danforth, and his man John!’” - -And now, reader, having acquainted you with the manner in which the -following history came into my hands, and given you a hint as to the -reasons which have induced me to appear again in print, I will take -leave of you without further parley, and let the autobiographer speak -for himself. - - - THE WRECK. - -The parting word had been said, the last look had been taken, and my -traps had all been snugly stowed away in the narrow room which, for some -years, was to be my home. I stood by the starboard railing gazing back -on the dear city I was leaving, and, despite the stoicism I had affected -when bidding farewell to my friends, I could not now prevent a starting -tear. Nor did my mess-mates seem in a more sportive mood; for they could -be seen, some in the rigging and some leaning over the ship’s side, -looking back on the well known landmarks of the town with a seriousness -in the aspect which betokened the thoughts passing through the heart. -Yes! we were about leaving the scenes of our boyhood, to enter on a new -and untried life—and who knew if any of us would ever return again to -our homes? The chances of war are at all times dreadful, but in our case -they were terribly increased by the flag under which we sailed. Who -could tell whether the officers of the revolted colonies might not be -considered as traitors as well as rebels? Who knew but that the very -first enemy we should meet would either sink us or hang us at the yard -arm? And yet, firm in the righteousness of our cause, and confiding in -the God of battles, there was not one of our number who, having put his -hand to the plough, wished to turn back. Sink or swim—live or die—we -were resigned to either destiny. - -Evening was closing fast around the scene, and, even as I gazed, the -town melted into gloom, Copp’s Hill alone standing up in solemn majesty -over the shadowy city. The distant hum of the town died fainter and -fainter on the darkness, the evening breeze came up fresher across the -waters, the song of the fisherman and the dip of passing oars ceased, -and, one by one, the white sails of the ships around us faded away, at -first seeming like faint clouds, but finally losing themselves -altogether in the darkness. All around was still. The low monotonous -ground swell heaving under our counter, and rippling faintly as it went, -alone broke the witching silence. Not a breath of air was stirring. The -boatswain’s whistle was hushed, the whisper had died away, no footfall -rose upon the stillness, but over shore and sea, earth and sky, man and -inanimate creation, the same deep silence hung. - -Gradually, however, the scene changed. Lights began to flash along the -town and from the ships in port, and, in a few moments, the harbor was -alive with a long line of effulgence. A half subdued halo now hung over -the city. The effect produced was like that of magic. Here a ship lay -almost buried in gloom—there one was thrown out in bold relief by the -lights—now a tall warehouse rose shadowy into the sky, and now one -might be seen almost as distinctly as at noon day. The lights streaming -from the cabin windows and dancing along the bay, the swell tinged on -its crest with silver, but dark as night below, and the far off sails -gleaming like shadowy spectres, through the uncertain light, added -double effect to the picture. And when the stars came out, one by one, -blinking high up in the firmament, and the wind began to sigh across the -bay and wail sadly through our rigging, the weird-like character of the -prospect grew beyond description. Hour after hour passed away and we -still continued gazing on the scene as if under the influence of some -magician’s spell; but, at length, exhausted nature gave way, and one -after another went below, leaving only those on deck whose duty required -their presence. For myself, though I sought my hammock, a succession of -wild indistinct dreams haunted me throughout the livelong night. - -A pleasant breeze was singing through the rigging as I mounted the -gangway at dawn, and the tide having already made, I knew no time would -be lost in getting under weigh. Directly the captain made his -appearance, and, after a few whispered words, the pilot issued his -orders. In an instant all was bustle. The boatswain’s whistle, calling -all hands to their duty, was heard shrieking through the ship, and then -came the quick hurried tread of many feet, as the men swarmed to their -stations. The anchor was soon hove short; the sails were loosed; the -topsails, top-gallant sails and royals were sheeted home and -hoisted,—the head yards were braced aback and the after yards filled -away; a sheer was made with the helm; the anchor was tripped; the gib -was hoisted; and as she paid beautifully off, the foretop sail was -filled merrily away, and the spanker hauled out. Then the yards were -trimmed, the anchor catted, and with a light breeze urging us on, we -stood gallantly down the bay. As we increased our distance from the -town, the wind gradually freshened. One after another of the green -islands around us faded astern; the heights of Nahant opened ahead, -glanced by and frowned in our wake; and before the sun had been many -hours on his course, we were rolling our yard arms in a stiff breeze, -leagues to sea. Before sun-down the distant coast had vanished from -sight. - -My mess mates had already gathered around the table in the long narrow -room which was appropriated to the midshipmen, when I dove down the -hatchway after the watch had been set. They were as jovial a set as I -had ever seen, and, although our acquaintance was but of twenty-four -hours standing, we all felt perfectly at home with each other; and as -the salt beef was pushed from hand to hand, and the jug passed merrily -around, the mutual laugh and jest bore token of our “right good -fellowship.” - -“A pretty craft, my lads,” said a tall fine-looking fellow, obviously -the senior of the group, and whom I had been introduced to as a Mr. -O’Hara; “a pretty craft and a bold captain we have, or I’m no judge. -I’ve been at sea before, but never in as gallant a ship as this. Here’s -success to The Arrow—no heel-taps.” - -The toast was drunk with a huzza, and O’Hara continued the conversation, -as if, under the circumstances, he felt that he was the only proper -person to play the host. - -“You’re most of you green-horns, my boys—excuse the word, but ‘tell the -truth,’ you know—and will not be good for much if this swell continues. -One or two of you are getting pale already, and, if I’m not mistaken, -Cavendish and I are the only two of the set that have smelt salt water -before. Now, take a word of advice. Cut into the beef like the deuce, -never mind if it does make you worse, cut away still, and bye and bye, -when you get all your long shore swash out of you, you’ll find that you -feel better than ever. We’re for a long voyage, and many a hard rub -you’ll get before it’s over, but never flinch from duty or danger—even -if Davy Jones himself stares you in the face. Kick care to the wall, and -be merry while you may. But always have an eye to what is due to your -superiors. The captain’s a gentleman. God bless him! The first -lieutenant, I’ve a notion, is a sour sinner—never let him catch you -tripping,—but you needn’t mind him further, for he looks as if he ought -to be tarred and feathered as the Boston boys served the exciseman. And -now, lads, here’s to a prosperous voyage, and let’s turn in, one and -all, for I’ve got the morning watch, and I’ve a notion this breeze will -have settled down into a regular hurricane, and be blowing great guns -and marlin-spikes before then.” - -The air of easy good-humor with which O’Hara spoke, attracted me to him -at once. He was evidently my senior, and had seen some service; but it -was equally as evident that he affected no superiority which was not his -of right. I determined to know him better. - -It was still dark when I was aroused from sleep by the calling of the -watch, and, hastily springing up, I soon stood upon the deck. The first -glance around me proved that O’Hara’s anticipations were fulfilled, for -the tempest was thundering through the rigging with an almost stunning -voice, driving the fine spray wildly along, and blowing with an -intensity that threatened to sweep one overboard. The men, bent before -the blast, and wrapped in their thick overcoats, stood like statues half -seen through the mist. The night was bitterly cold—the fine spray cut -to the marrow. As far as the eye could see, on every hand around us, the -sea, flattened until it was nearly as level as a table, was a mass of -driving foam. The binnacle lamp burned faint and dim, with a sickly -halo, through the fog. Above, however, all was clear, except a few white -fleecy clouds, driven wildly across the frosty stars that twinkled in -the heavens. As I ran my eye along the tall taper masts, now bending -like rushes in the hurricane, I saw that nearly all the canvass had been -taken in, and that we were scudding before the tempest with nothing -spread but a close-reefed maintopsail, a reefed fore-course, and the -foretopmast staysail,—and even these, as they strained in the gale, -threatened momently to blow out into ribbons before the resistless fury -of the wind. Under this comparative press of canvass, The Arrow was -skimming along, seeming to outvie even the spray in velocity. And well -was it that she sped onward with such hot haste!—for, on looking -astern, I saw the billows howling after us, urging on their white crests -in fearful proximity, and threatening at every surge to roll in over our -taffrail. Wilder and wilder, more and even more fiercely they raced each -other in the pursuit, like a pack of famished wolves pitching and -yelling after their prey. - -“Keep her so,” said the first lieutenant, as he left the deck in charge -of his successor, “for you see it is neck and neck with those yelling -monsters astern. If the sails are blown from the bolt ropes they must -go—but as the canvass is new I think they will stand.” - -“Ship ahoy!” shouted a look-out at this moment, startling us as though a -thunderbolt had fallen at our feet, “a sail athwart hawse.” - -“Where, where?” exclaimed both the officers incredulously. - -“Close under our fore-foot—a brig, sir.” - -“My God, we shall run her down,” was the exclamation of the second -lieutenant. - -All eyes were instantly turned in the direction of the approaching -danger, and there, sure enough, directly athwart our hawse, a small -trim-looking brig was seen lying-to—the wild hurricane of flying spray, -which covered the surface of the deck in places with an almost -impervious fog, having hitherto concealed her from our sight. It was -evident that the inmates of the brig had but just discovered us, for her -helm was rapidly shifted and a few hurried orders, whose import we could -not make out, were given on board of her. All, indeed, seemed confusion -on the decks of the unhappy craft. Her crew were hurrying to and fro; -the officer of the vessel was shouting in his hoarsest tone; two or -three forms, as if those of passengers, rushed up the companion way; and -to crown all, the sheets were let fly, and with a wild lurch she rolled -over, and lay the next moment wallowing in the sea broadside on. I could -almost have jumped on her decks. All this had passed with the rapidity -of thought. Never shall I forget the shriek of horror which burst -simultaneously from both vessels at this fearful crisis. Already were we -close on to the brig, driving with the speed of a sea-gull with the -gale, and we knew that before another moment should elapse, aye! almost -before another breath could be drawn, the collision must lake place. But -the lightning is not quicker than was the officer of the deck. - -“Port—a-port—ha-a-rd, _hard_,” he thundered, grinding the words -between his teeth in his excitement, and waving his hands to larboard, -and the helmsman, taking his cue more from the gesture than from the -words—for in the uproar of the tempest he could not hear a dozen yards -to windward—whirled around the wheel, and our gallant craft, obedient -to the impulse like a steed beneath the spur, swept around to starboard. -For a second the ill-fated brig could be seen dancing under our stem, -and then, rolling heavily around, she seemed as if she would escape, -though narrowly, from her frightful position. A cry of joy was already -rising to my lips; but, at that instant, I heard a crash, followed by a -dull grinding noise, and simultaneously I beheld the brig come into -collision with us just abaft the cathead, and, while all our timbers -quivered with the shock, she whirled away astern, rolling and rubbing -frightfully, and half buried in the brine. A shriek rent the air, on the -instant, whose thrilling tones haunted me for days and nights, and seems -even now to ring in my ears. - -“God of my fathers!” I exclaimed, “every soul will be lost!” - -“Heave her to,” thundered the officer of the deck. “For life or death, -my lads! Up with the foresail—down with your helm—brace up the after -yards—set the mizzen stay sail there.” - -It is a libel on sailors to say they never feel. No men are more ready -to aid the unfortunate. On the present occasion the crew seemed inspired -with an energy equal to that of their officer, and springing to their -duty performed the rapid orders of the lieutenant in an almost -incredible space of time. Happily a momentary lull aided the manœuvre, -and our proud craft obeying her helm came gallantly to. - -“Meet her there, quarter-master,” continued the officer of the deck; -“set the main stay-sail—brace up the fore-yards—merrily, -merrily—there she has it—” and, as these concluding words left his -mouth, the manœuvre was finished, and we rode against the wind, rising -and falling on the swell, and flinging the spray to our fore-yard arm as -we thumped against the seas. - -My first thought was of the brig. As soon, therefore, as our craft had -been hove-to, I cast a hurried glance over the starboard bow to search -for the unfortunate vessel. I detected her at once lying a short -distance on our weather bow,—and it was evident that the injury she had -sustained was of the most serious character, for even through the mist -we fancied we could see that she was settling deeper in the water. Her -officers were endeavoring to heave her to again; while rising over their -orders, and swelling above all the uproar of the hurricane, we could -hear the despairing wail of her passengers. At length she lay-to a few -fathoms on our starboard bow, drifting, however, at every surge bodily -to leeward. Confusion still reigned on her decks. We could see that the -crew were at the pumps; but they appeared to work moodily and with -little heart; and we caught now and then the sound of voices as if of -the officers in expostulation with the men. A group of female figures -also was discernible on the quarter-deck, and a manly form was visible -in the midst, as if exhorting them to courage. At the sight a thrill of -anguish ran through our breasts. We would have laid down our lives to -save them from what appeared to be their inevitable doom, and yet what -could we do in the face of such a tempest, and when any attempt to -rescue them would only entail ruin on the adventurers, without aiding -those we would preserve? As I thought of the impossibility of rendering -succor to those shrinking females, as I dwelt on the lingering agonies -they would have to endure, as I pictured to myself the brig sinking -before our eyes, and we all powerless to prevent it, a thrill of horror -shivered through every nerve of my system, my blood ran cold, my brain -reeled around, and I could with difficulty prevent myself from falling, -so great was my emotion. But rallying my spirits, I tried to persuade -myself it was all a dream. I strained my eyes through the mist to see -whether I might not be mistaken—to discover if possible some hope for -the forlorn beings on board the brig. But, alas! it was in vain. There -were the white dresses blowing about in the gale as the two females -knelt on the deck and clung to the knees of their protector—there was -the crew mustered at the pumps, while jets of brine were pouring from -the scuppers—and there were the crushed and splintered bulwarks -betokening that the efforts of the men were dictated by no idle fears. I -groaned again in agony. Had it been my own fate to perish thus, I could -have borne my doom without a murmur; but to see fellow creatures -perishing before my sight, without my having the power to succor them, -was more than I could endure. I closed my eyes on the dreadful scene. -Nor were my emotions confined to myself. Not a heart of our vast crew -that did not beat with sympathy for our unhappy victims. Old and young, -officers and men, hardy veterans and eager volunteers, all alike owned -the impulses of humanity, and stood gazing, silent, spell-bound and -horror-struck, on the ill-fated brig and her despairing passengers. At -this instant a gray-haired man, whom we knew at once to be her skipper, -sprung into the main-rigging of the wreck, and placing his hands to his -mouth, while his long silvery locks blew out dishevelled on the gale, -shouted, - -“We—are—sink-ing!” and, as he ceased, a shiver ran through our crew. - -“God help us,” said the captain, for that officer had now reached the -deck, “we can do nothing for them. And to see them sink before our eyes! -But yet I will not despair,” and raising his voice, he shouted, “can’t -you hold on until morning, or until the gale subsides a little?” - -The skipper of the brig saw by our captain’s gestures, that he had -hailed, but the old man could not hear the words in the uproar of the -gale, and he shook his head despondingly. - -“We are sinking!” he shouted again; “there is a foot of water in the -hold, and the sea is pouring in like a cataract. We have been stove.” - -Never shall I forget that moment, for, to our excited imaginations, it -seemed as if the brig was visibly going down as the skipper ceased -speaking. His words sounded in our ears like the knell of hope. A pause -of several seconds ensued—a deep, solemn, awe-inspiring pause—during -which every eye was fixed on the battered vessel. Each man held his -breath, and looked in the direction of the brig, as she rose and fell on -the surges, fearful lest the next billow would submerge her forever. We -all saw that it was useless to attempt holding any communication with -her, for no human voice, even though speaking in a voice of thunder, -could be heard against the gale. The two vessels were, moreover, rapidly -increasing the space betwixt them,—and, although objects on the deck of -the brig had been at first clearly perceptible in the starlight, they -had gradually grown dimmer as she receded from us until now, they could -scarcely be seen. There was no alternative, therefore, but to abandon -her to her fate. The skipper of the brig seemed to have become sensible -of this, for, after having remained in the main rigging watching us for -several moments longer, he finally descended to the deck, waving his -hand mournfully in adieu. - -Meantime the aspect of the heavens had materially changed. When I first -came on deck, the stars, I have said, were out bright on high, with only -a few scud clouds now and then chasing each other over the firmament. -Even then, however, I had noticed a small black cloud extending across -the western horizon, and giving an ominous aspect to the whole of that -quarter of the sky. But during the last half hour my attention had been -so engrossed by the events I have just related that I lost all -consciousness of this circumstance. Now, however, the increasing -darkness recalled it to my mind. I looked up. Already dark and ragged -clouds, precursors of the vast body of vapors following behind, were -dimming the stars overhead, now wrapping the decks in almost total -darkness, and now flitting by and leaving us once more in a dim and -shadowy light, through which the men loomed out like gigantic spectres. -The wind had perceptibly decreased, while the sea had risen in -proportion. The spray no longer flew by in showers, but the white caps -of the billows, as they rolled up in the uncertain light, had a -ghastliness that thrilled the heart with a strange emotion, almost -amounting to superstitious dread. The ship strained and creaked as she -rose heavily on the billows, or sunk wallowing far down in the abyss; -while ever and anon the sea would strike on her bows like a -forge-hammer, breaking in showers of spray high over the forecastle, and -often sending its foam as far back as the main hatchway. - -The huge mass of vapors meanwhile had attained the zenith, and was -rolling darkly onward towards the opposite horizon. Directly the wind -died nearly altogether away, while a total darkness shrouded us in its -folds. Even then, however, a few stars could be seen low in the eastern -seaboard, twinkling sharp and serene, just under the edge of that -ominous cloud, but casting only a faint and dreamy radiance around them, -and in vain attempting to penetrate the gloom higher up in the sky. The -brig was last seen to the north-west, where the darkness had become most -intense. She was still doubtless in that quarter, but no trace of her -could be discerned. - -“It’s as black up yonder as the eye of death,” said the captain, “and I -can see nothing there but a dense, impenetrable shadow—your sight is -better, Mr. Duval,” he continued, addressing the first lieutenant, “can -you make out any thing?” The officer shook his head. “Well, we will -hail, at any rate. I would not have run afoul of them for my -commission!” - -The hail rung out startlingly on the night, and every ear listened for -the response. No answer came. - -“Again!” said the captain. - -“A-ho-o-y!—Hil-lo-o-o-o!” - -A second of breathless suspense followed, and then another, when we were -about giving up all hope; but at that instant a faint cry,—it might -have been a wail or it might not, God knows!—came floating across the -waste of waters. It fell on our listening ears like a lamentation for -the dead. - -“Heaven preserve us!” solemnly said the captain, “I’m afraid all is over -with them.” - -“Amen!” ejaculated the lieutenant, and for an instant there was a -breathless silence, as if each was too awe-struck to speak. Suddenly the -huge sails flapped against the mast, bellied out again, and then whipped -backward with a noise like thunder. The effect was electric. The captain -started and spoke. - -“The wind is shifting,” he ejaculated, holding up his hand, after having -first wet it slightly; “ha! the breeze is coming from the north. It will -strike by the mainmast. Let her stretch away at first, but we’ll -heave-to as soon as possible. I wouldn’t for the world desert this -neighborhood: God grant we may find some vestige of the brig when -morning dawns!” - -The hurried orders of the officer of the deck to prepare for the coming -hurricane had scarcely been given and executed, before it seemed to us -as if we could see, even amid the blackness of darkness to the north, -the whirling motion of gigantic clouds, and, almost simultaneously, with -a roar as of ten thousand batteries, this new tempest was upon us. Its -first fury was beyond description—surpassing imagination—defying -belief. It howled, shrieked, and bellowed through the rigging in such -awful and varied tones, that the oldest hearts were chilled with fear. -It was as if the last convulsive throe of a world was at hand. It was as -if the whole fury of the elements had been collected for one last -effort—as if tortured nature, made frantic by agony, had broke loose -from her tormentors—as if the mighty deep itself, in horror-struck -penitence, was thundering its awful “_de profundis_” on the eve of final -dissolution. I could scarcely breathe, much less stand. I could only -grasp a rope, fling myself almost prostrate, and await either the -subsidence of the storm, or the foundering of our ship,—for, during -several minutes, it appeared to me as if every second was to be our -last. Torrents of water, meanwhile, swept in sheets from the crests of -the billows, were whirling like smoke-wreathes along the decks,—while -the ravening surges, faintly seen like shadows through the gloom, chased -each other in wild and rapid succession along our sides. All was -darkness, doubt and terror. - -But happily the duration of the squall was proportioned to its -intensity, and, in less than five minutes, the hurricane began to -decrease in violence. After the lapse of a short period more the gale -rapidly subsided, although its power was still considerable. Before half -an hour, however, we were lying-to as near to our old position as we -could attain,—having suffered no loss except that of our maintopsail, -which was blown from the bolt ropes in the first moment of the squall, -but with a noise which was lost in the louder uproar of the wind. - -“They have never survived this,” said the captain in a melancholy tone, -when we were once more snugly hove-to: “how many souls are in eternity -the All-Seeing Eye only knows! Keep her here,” he added after a pause, -turning to descend to his cabin, and addressing the officer of the deck, -“and with the first streak of light, if the gale shall have abated, as I -suspect it will, cruize up to our old position, maintaining a sharp -look-out in every direction. But I shall be on deck myself by that -time,” and with the words, taking a last but fruitless look towards the -west, he went below. In half an hour the crowded decks were deserted by -all except the silent watch; and no sound broke the whistle of the -winds, except the tread of the men, or the cry of “all’s well” passing -from look-out to look-out along the decks. - -With the first appearance of morning I was on deck. The gale had nearly -gone down; the clouds had broken away; and the stars were out again, -clear and bright, in the firmament. Yet the waves still rolled mountain -high around us, now heaving their snowy crests above us in the sky, and -now rolling their dark bosoms far away under our stern. Morning slowly -dawned. Gradually, one by one, the stars paled on high, and a faint -shadowy streak of light began to spread along the eastern seaboard. Over -the boundless expanse of waters around us no living object met the eye, -so that, in that dim mysterious light, the sense of loneliness was -overpowering. But I had no thought then for aught except the ill-fated -brig. I felt an unaccountable interest in her. It seemed as if some -unknown sympathy existed betwixt me and those on board of her, as if my -destiny in some mysterious manner was connected with theirs. I could not -rest on deck, but ascending to the cross-trees I took my station there, -and gazed out anxiously over the waste of waters. Our ship had, by this -time, been put about, and we were now, as near as I could judge, in the -vicinity of the spot where the collision occurred. The moment came which -was either to realize or confirm my fears. A strange emotion took -possession of me. My heart beat nervously, my breath came heavily, I -trembled in every fibre of my system. I strained my eyes in every -direction around, and, once or twice, as a billow rolled its white crest -upwards, I fancied I saw a sail,—but, alas! my agitation had deceived -me, and all was a blank watery waste around. For more than an hour we -cruized to and fro, but in vain. As time passed and hope died away, the -officers and men, one by one, left the rigging, until finally even the -captain gave up the search, and issued a reluctant order to put the ship -away on her course. At that instant I saw, far down on the seaboard, -what seemed to me a tiny sail; but as we sank in the trough of the sea -the object faded from my sight. With eager eyes, I watched for it as we -rose on the swell, and—God of my fathers!—it was the long looked for -boat. - -“A sail!” I shouted almost in a phrenzy—“they are in sight!” - -“Where away?” demanded the officer of the deck, while every eye swept -the horizon in eager curiosity. - -“On the lee-beam!” - -“What do you make it out?” - -“A ship’s launch—crowded with human beings!” - -“God be praised!—it is the brig’s crew,” ejaculated the captain. “Up -with your helm, quarter-master—around with her all—there she dances,” -and as he spoke the gallant ship wheeled around and in a few minutes the -brig’s launch was rocking under our bows. - -The discipline of a man-of-war could scarcely suppress the loudest -demonstrations of emotion on the part of the crew, when the freight of -that tempest-tost launch reached our decks. The sailors of the brig were -instantly seized by our tars, and borne forward in triumph,—while our -superior grasped the hand of the rescued skipper with visible emotion. -But when the two females, with their protector, an elderly, gentlemanly -looking man, were safely landed on the quarter-deck, every eye was at -once attracted to the interesting group. Both the females were young and -beautiful, but one was surpassingly lovely. As I gazed on her, it seemed -as if some long forgotten dream had come back to me; but in vain were my -attempts to give it reality. At this instant their protector spoke in -reply to a question from the captain. - -“It is indeed a miracle that we are saved. The brig went down in that -fearful squall, and though we had taken to the launch, as a last hope, -we did not believe we should live a minute in such a hurricane. But an -Omnipotent Power preserved us for some wise ends. All night long we were -tossed at the mercy of the waves. We saw you long before you saw us, and -thought that you had given up the search, when suddenly your head was -brought around in our direction—and here we stand on your decks. To -whom are we indebted for our discovery? We owe him our eternal -gratitude.” - -All eyes were instantly turned towards me, and the captain taking me by -the hand, said, - -“Mr. Cavendish has that enviable honor,” at the same time presenting me. - -“Cavendish!” exclaimed a silvery female voice in delighted surprise. - -At the mention of that name I looked up with eager curiosity, and saw -the eyes of the lovely speaker fixed upon me, as if in recognition. She -crimsoned to the brow at my eager glance, and as she did so, the crowd -of dim recollections in my mind assumed a definite shape, and I -recognized in that sweet smile, in that delicately tinted cheek, in -those now tearful eyes, in that lustrous brow, the features of my old -playmate Annette! - -“Cavendish—what, little Henry Cavendish?” exclaimed the gentleman, -eagerly seizing my hand, “yes! it is even so, although the years that -have passed since you used to visit Pomfret Hall have almost eradicated -your features from my memory. God bless you, my gallant young friend! We -owe you our lives—our all.” - -The scene that ensued I will not attempt to describe. Suffice it to say -I retired that night with a whirl of strange emotions at my heart. Was -it Love? - - * * * * * - - - - - A SONG. - - - BY J. R. LOWELL. - - - Violet! sweet violet! - Thine eyes are full of tears; - Are they wet - Even yet - With the thought of other years, - Or with gladness are they full, - For the night so beautiful, - And longing for those far-off spheres? - - Loved one of my youth thou wast, - Of my merry youth, - And I see, - Tearfully, - All the fair and sunny past, - All its openness and truth, - Ever fresh and green in thee - As the moss is in the sea. - - Thy little heart, that hath with love - Grown colored like the sky above, - On which thou lookest ever, - Can it know - All the woe - Of hope for what returneth never, - All the sorrow and the longing - To these hearts of ours belonging? - - Out on it! no foolish pining - For the sky - Dims thine eye, - Or for the stars so calmly shining; - Like thee let this soul of mine - Take hue from that wherefor I long, - Self-stayed and high, serene and strong, - Not satisfied with hoping—but divine. - - Violet! dear violet! - Thy blue eyes are only wet - With joy and love of him who sent thee, - And for the fulfilling sense - Of that glad obedience - Which made thee all which Nature meant thee! - - * * * * * - - - - - COUSIN AGATHA. - - - BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY. - - - “O what a goodly outside falsehood hath.”—Shakspeare. - -“I have been thinking, Henry, that I should like to invite cousin Agatha -to spend the winter with us: what do you say to my plan?” - -“Really, Alice, I can say nothing about it, since I know nothing of the -lady.” - -“Oh, I had forgotten that you had never seen her; she is only distantly -related to us, but being left an orphan at an early age, she became an -inmate of our family and continued to reside with us until she married. -Agatha is several years my senior, and entered society while I was yet -in the school-room; she married rather in opposition to the wishes of my -parents, as they approved neither of the profession nor the character of -her husband, who was an officer in the army, and known to be a man of -dissolute habits. Poor thing! she has fully paid the penalty of her -folly during seven years of poverty and discomfort. Her husband has been -sent from one frontier station to another, until the health of both was -destroyed, and at the time of his death they were both at Sackett’s -Harbor.” - -“Then she is a widow?” - -“Yes, her vile husband died about a year since, and cousin Agatha is -released from bondage, but reduced to actual penury. I received a letter -from her yesterday, the first she has written since my marriage, and she -alludes most touchingly to her desolate condition as contrasted with my -happiness.” - -“And that letter, I suppose, induced you to think of inviting her to -spend the winter with us?” - -“It did, Harry; for I felt as if it was almost selfish in me to be so -happy when my early friend was pining in loneliness and poverty.” - -“I love the kindliness of feeling which prompts you to such acts, dear -Alice, but, to confess the truth, I would rather relieve your cousin’s -distresses in any other way.” - -“But there is no other way of doing so, Henry—she would not accept -pecuniary aid from us: why do you object to her visit?” - -“Because we are so happy that I dread any interruption to the calm -current of our life.” - -“Thank you, dear Harry, I cannot find it in my heart to scold you for -your selfishness,” said the young wife, as she laid her hand on her -husband’s arm; “but really,” she continued, “Cousin Agatha would be the -last person in the world to disturb our tranquillity. She is full of -gentleness and sentiment; a creature of warm and affectionate impulses, -and she would delight in adding to our enjoyments. You know my health -will confine me to the house this winter, and you may find the long -evenings hang heavy upon your hands.” - -“Not in your society, Alice.” - -“I am glad you think so, Harry; but when I am languid and dispirited -from indisposition, you would find cousin Agatha a charming companion; -besides, she would relieve me from some of the cares of house-keeping.” - -“Well, my dear, you offer so many good reasons in favor of her coming, -that I can find no argument against it, but I have a sort of a -presentiment that she will not be agreeable.” - -“Oh, Harry, how can you think so? if you could see her you would change -your opinions very soon, for her picturesque appearance would charm your -artistical taste.” - -“Is she very beautiful?” - -“No, but she is just the person to please a painter, for there is so -beautiful a combination of light and shade in her face. She has those -grey eyes which, when fringed with long, dark lashes, are so full of -varied expression, and her hair, black as the raven’s wing, falls in -heavy natural ringlets that put to shame the skill of a _coiffeur_.” - -“May she not be altered since you saw her, Alice?” - -“True, I had forgotten that more than five years have passed since we -last met; but, even if her person has changed, her heart, I am sure, has -not, and when you know her you will thank me for my pertinacity in thus -wringing your reluctant consent to her visit.” - -“If you think it will add to your enjoyments, Alice, invite her by all -means.” - -Alice Wentworth had been a wife scarcely two years, and her married life -had been a scene of uninterrupted happiness. Nothing would have induced -her to risk the disturbance of her tranquillity, but remembering the -companion of her early years as one who had been the confidant of all -her childish joys and sorrows, she looked upon her presence as the -completion of her plans of enjoyment. Her husband’s scruples she -naturally attributed to unfounded prejudice which an acquaintance with -her cousin could not fail to overcome, and, therefore, following the -dictates of kindly feeling, she determined to cheer the bereaved widow -by an affectionate letter of invitation. - -Some three weeks after she had despatched her missive, at an early hour, -on a cold autumnal morning, a carriage drove up to the door, and a loud -ring announced the expected guest. Alice had not yet finished her -morning toilet, and Mr. Wentworth hastened down to receive the lady; but -scarcely had he got through the awkwardness of a self-introduction when -his wife entered, full of impatience to embrace her early friend. During -the mutual raptures of their meeting, he had leisure to scrutinize the -new inmate of his family, and certainly his impressions were any thing -but favorable. Cousin Agatha had taken a violent cold, her countenance -was disfigured by a swollen cheek, and her eyes were bleared and -inflamed by a severe attack of influenza, while the effect of steamboat -slumbers and a steamboat toilet did not tend to the improvement of her -appearance. Indeed Harry Wentworth could scarcely refrain from laughter -when he contrasted his wife’s enthusiastic description with the reality -before him. But Alice, with ready hospitality, conducted her cousin to -her apartment, and to that room the wearied traveller, overcome with -illness and fatigue, was confined during the several succeeding days. - -“When will your friend be presentable, Alice?” asked Mr. Wentworth one -evening as he threw himself upon a sofa, after tea, “since she has been -here you have not sat with me a half hour, for your whole time seems -devoted to nursing.” - -“I hope she will be well enough to meet you at dinner to-morrow, Harry; -the swelling has left her face and she begins to look like herself. What -amuses you so much?” she asked, as her husband burst into a loud laugh. - -“I was thinking of the force of contrast, Alice; you are an excellent -painter, dear, but you draw your tints too exclusively from fancy; who -could have recognized your _picturesque beauty_ with soft _grey eyes_ -and _raven curls_ in the dowdyish looking woman with red nose and redder -eyes whom I welcomed as cousin Agatha?” - -“For shame, Harry, you ought not to judge of her by her appearance at -that time.” - -“Perhaps not; but first impressions are the most durable, and I shall -never see any beauty in your cousin, for even if she should hereafter -appear to advantage when dressed for display, I shall never forget how -she looked in her travelling dishabille; one thing you may be sure of, -Alley, you will never have cause to be jealous of your _picturesque_ -cousin.” - -“I don’t mean to be jealous of any one, Harry, but I shall be much -mistaken if you do not learn to admire cousin Agatha.” - -“Then you may prepare yourself for a disappointment, Alice; I do not -think I should feel perfectly satisfied with any one who had thus broken -in upon our tranquil happiness, and even if I were disposed to like your -cousin elsewhere she would not please me in our quiet home. Besides, I -was disappointed in my idea of her personal beauty, and her manners -appeared to me abrupt and inelegant.” - -“Harry, you never were more mistaken in your life.” - -“Well, well—it will be difficult to convince me of my error.” A slight -rustle at the door was heard as Mr. Wentworth finished his ungallant -speech, and the next moment cousin Agatha entered. - -“I thought I would endeavor to make my way to the drawing-room instead -of depriving you any longer of the society of your husband, dear Alice,” -said she as she languidly sank into the softly-cushioned chair which Mr. -Wentworth drew forward for her accommodation. Of course the usual -congratulations followed, and as the invalid dropped the heavy shawl -from her shoulders, Alice glanced towards her husband in the hope that -he would not fail to observe the symmetry of her petite figure. He was -too great an admirer of beauty to fail in such notice, yet still he -could see little to claim admiration in her face. Her complexion was not -clear; her mouth, though well formed and adorned with superb teeth, was -large, and her eyes were dim from recent illness, while her curls were -hidden beneath one of those fairy fabrics of gossamer and ribbon which -often display the taste of the wearer at the expense of a crowning -beauty. But, ere the evening had expired, Mr. Wentworth was forced to -acknowledge that he had formed too hasty an opinion of her manners, for, -whatever _brusquerie_ he might have observed on the morning of her -arrival, he was certainly struck now by the easy elegance and graceful -dignity of her deportment. - -From this time cousin Agatha laid aside the character of an invalid, -and, quietly taking her place at the table and fireside, seemed to have -no other wish than to make herself useful. Devoted in her attentions to -Alice, she took little notice of Mr. Wentworth except to receive his -courteous civility with profound gratitude. He was nothing more to her -than the husband of her friend, and while she exhibited the deepest -interest in the development of Alice’s mind and feelings, she seemed -scarcely to observe the fine taste, the elegant scholarship, and the -nobleness of sentiment which characterized Mr. Wentworth. Alice suffered -no small degree of mortification from this evident coldness between -those whom she was so anxious to behold friends. She could not bear to -find Agatha so totally blind to the perfections of her beloved Henry, -and she was almost as much annoyed at her husband’s indifference to the -graces of her cousin. - -“You are pained because I do not sufficiently admire your husband, -Alice,” said Agatha, one day, when they were alone, “but surely you -would not have me estimate him as highly as you do?” - -“I would not have you love him quite as well, but I would have you -appreciate his exalted qualities.” - -“My dear coz,” said Agatha, with a slightly sarcastic smile, “do not, I -pray you, make it one of the conditions of our friendship that I should -see through your eyes. Mr. Wentworth is a fine scholar, a tolerable -amateur painter, and a most ardent lover of his pretty wife; is that not -sufficient praise?” - -Alice felt uncomfortable, though she could scarcely tell why, at this -and similar remarks from cousin Agatha. She had been accustomed to -consider her husband a being of superior worth and endowments, but there -was something in her cousin’s manner of uttering commendation of him, -which seemed to imply contempt even while it expressed praise. In the -innocence of her heart, Alice several times repeated cousin Agatha’s -sayings to her husband, and they were not without their effect upon him. -The self-love which exists, more or less, in every heart, was by no -means a negative quantity in the character of Mr. Wentworth. He knew his -wife overrated his talents, but he loved her the better for her -affectionate flattery, and cousin Agatha’s apparent ignorance of his -character mortified and vexed him. He began to think that his prejudices -had prevented him from showing himself in a proper light, and his -wounded vanity led him to redouble his attentions to his guest. -Heretofore he had never thought of her except when in her company; but -now, the certainty that she was as yet blind to his merits, made her an -object of interest. He was not a very vain man, but his wife’s idolatry -had gratified even while he was fully aware of its extravagance, and he -was proportionably annoyed by the perfect coldness with which cousin -Agatha regarded him. She seemed to think him a very good sort of a man, -but not at all superior to the common herd, and he was determined to -convince her of her mistake. Agatha had succeeded in her first -design:—she had aroused him from the torpor of indifference. - -Cousin Agatha was a most invaluable assistant to a young housekeeper, -for she had a quick hand, a ready invention, and exquisite taste, so -that whether a pudding was to be concocted, a dress trimmed, or a party -given, she was equally useful. Alice had learned the duties of -housekeeping theoretically and was now only beginning to put them in -practice, as every young wife must do, for whatever she may know in the -home of her childhood, she still finds much to be learned in organizing -and arranging a new household. Cousin Agatha, on the contrary, had been -trained from her childhood to _do_ all these things, for the dependent -orphan had early learned to earn her bread by her own usefulness. In the -course of her married life she had been compelled to practice the -thousand expedients which pride and poverty teach to a quick-witted -woman, and it is not surprising, therefore, that her skill should far -surpass that of the gentle and self-distrusting Alice. Doubting her own -knowledge only because Agatha was near to advise, the young wife applied -to her on all occasions, until at length the regulation of domestic -affairs was entirely in her hands, and Alice was left only to assist in -the execution of Agatha’s plans. Cousin Agatha was always busied in some -pretty feminine employment. She had very beautiful hands, and her long -taper fingers were always engaged in some delicate needle-work or an -elegant piece of tapestry. Did it ever occur to you, my fair reader, -that a pretty hand never appears to such advantage as when busied with -the needle? The piano extends the fingers until the hand sometimes -resembles a bird’s claw;—the pencil or the pen contracts it until half -its beauty is concealed; but needle-work, with the various turnings and -windings necessary to its accomplishment, displays both hands in -perfectly natural positions and in every variety of grace. This fact was -not unknown to cousin Agatha; she had no accomplishments, but she was -rarely seen without the tiniest of gold thimbles upon her slender -finger. - -Slowly and by scarcely perceptible degrees, Agatha seemed to learn the -full value of the prize which her friend had drawn in the lottery of -life. His fine talents seemed to dawn upon her with daily increasing -vividness, his amateur sketches became more and more characterized by -genius, his musical taste developed itself surprisingly, and, ere many -weeks had elapsed, Alice had the satisfaction of repeating to her -husband many a heart-warm compliment breathed into the ear of the happy -wife by cousin Agatha in her hours of confidential communing with her -friend. Nor was Mr. Wentworth slower in discovering the latent charms of -his guest. Restored to her former health, and associating as the guest -of Mrs. Wentworth, in a pleasant circle of society, cousin Agatha threw -aside the weeds of widowhood, and appeared in all the attractive -coquetry of tasteful and becoming dress. Her luxuriant tresses were once -more allowed to shadow her low feminine brow, and fall upon her graceful -neck, or, if bound up in conformity with fashion, the very restraint was -studiously arranged in such a manner as to display their rich -redundancy. Her grey eyes sometimes seemed actually flashing with light, -and again were filled with the soft liquid lustre of intense -sensibility; and then her smile, displaying her brilliant teeth and -lighting up her whole face, had the effect of a sudden sunbeam upon a -darkened landscape. The charm of Agatha’s face was its vivid and varied -expression; the grace of her person was the effect of long and carefully -studied art. Not a look, not a gesture, not even a movement of her -fringed eyelids, but was the result of frequent practice. There was a -perfection of grace in her attitudes that seemed like Nature’s self. Her -head always assumed a pretty position, her curls always seemed to drop -in their proper place, her drapery always fell in becoming folds, and no -one observed that she was particular in avoiding cross lights, -especially careful not to face a broad glare of sunshine, and remarkably -fond of placing herself at the arm of a sofa, so as to obtain a fine -back ground for the exhibition of her attitudes. Harry Wentworth -wondered how he could ever have thought her ugly. And then her -manners:—what could be more gentle, more feminine, more fascinating -than the tenderness of her tones and the sweetness of her deportment? -She seemed to look upon gentlemen as if she felt all a woman’s -helplessness, and was willing to consider man as a “_chevalier sans peur -et sans reproche_,” born to be her natural protector. There was -something so pleading in the soft eyes which she lifted to the face of -the sterner sex, that few could resist their charm, and actually Harry -Wentworth was not one of those few. - -Long before the time fixed for the termination of Agatha’s visit, Alice -had urged her to prolong her stay, and, when Mr. Wentworth added his -earnest entreaties, she was induced to promise that she would set no -other limit to its duration than such as circumstances might create. But -as week after week fleeted by, Alice began to doubt whether she had -acted wisely in making this request. She was ashamed to acknowledge even -to herself the feeling, but, somehow or other, she was not quite as -happy as she had been before cousin Agatha’s coming. She attributed it -to the nervous irritability from which she was now suffering, and -endeavored to think that when she should once more recover her health, -she would find her former enjoyment in Agatha’s society. But Agatha -sometimes made such singular remarks;—they were uttered with the utmost -simplicity and _naïveté_, her smile was full of sweetness, her tones -like the summer breeze when she spoke, and yet the import of her words -was excessively cutting and sarcastic. There was often an implied -censure in her manner of replying to Alice—not in the words themselves, -but rather in their application, which the young wife, sick and -dispirited, felt perhaps too keenly. Alice was uncomfortable and yet she -scarcely could tell why. A shadow was resting upon her path, and she -felt, although she saw it not, that there was a cloud in her sunny sky. -The idea that she was no longer absolutely essential to her husband’s -comfort sometimes crossed her mind. During the many hours which she was -obliged to spend in her own apartment, she found that Henry was fully -occupied with his game of chess, or his favorite book in company with -cousin Agatha, and though it seemed only a realization of her own -wishes, yet she was not prepared to find herself so entirely thrown into -the back-ground of the family picture. - -At length Alice became a mother, and in the new emotions awakened in her -bosom, she forgot her vague feelings of discomfort. Mr. Wentworth was -too proud and happy to think of anything but his boy, and when Alice -beheld him bending over their cradled treasure with a feeling almost of -awe as well as love, she wondered how she could ever have felt unhappy -for a moment. Cousin Agatha seemed to share in all their joy, and in the -presence of the father she fondled and caressed the child as gracefully -as possible. - -“Do you not think, Alice,” said she one day, as she sat with the babe -lying on her lap, while Wentworth bent fondly over it, “do you not think -your sweet little Harry resembles poor Charles Wilson?” - -“No, indeed I do not,” exclaimed Alice, quickly, while the blood mounted -to her pallid cheek and brow. - -“Well, I certainly see a strong likeness; there is the same peculiar -dimple in the chin, which neither you nor Mr. Wentworth have, and even -the color of his eyes reminds me of Charles,” said cousin Agatha. - -“His eyes are like his father’s,” said Alice, “and nothing is more -common than to see in the face of a child a dimple which entirely -disappears in later life.” - -“Well, Alice, dear, I did not mean to awaken any painful reminiscence by -my remark; I did not know you were so sensitive on the subject.” These -words were uttered in the blandest tones, and the sweet smile which -accompanied them was as beautiful as a sunbeam on a troubled sea; but -Alice felt both pained and vexed. Agatha had recurred to the only -unpleasant recollections of her whole life, and she could not determine -whether it had been done by design, or was merely the result of -thoughtlessness. The remark had not been without its effect upon Mr. -Wentworth. He saw with surprise the evident vexation of his wife at the -mention of Charles Wilson’s name, and while he feared to ask an -explanation from her in her present feeble state of health, he -determined to satisfy his curiosity by appealing to cousin Agatha. - -“Did you never hear of Charles Wilson?” exclaimed Agatha, in great -apparent surprise, when, a few hours afterwards, he asked the question. - -“Never until I heard you mention him,” was the reply. - -“Then I ought not to tell you anything about him, because I cannot -betray the confidence of a friend.” - -“But as a friend I entreat you to tell me.” - -“It is impossible, Mr. Wentworth:—what Alice has thought best to -conceal I certainly will not disclose: strange that she should not have -told you; there certainly ought to be the most perfect confidence -between husband and wife.” - -“Agatha, you have excited such a painful interest in the secret, -whatever it is, that I must know it.” - -“You will not betray me to Alice if I tell you?” - -“Certainly not, if secrecy be the only condition on which I can learn -the truth.” - -“And you promise not to think harshly of poor Alice?” - -“It would be strange if I should think other than well of one whose -purity of heart is so well known to me.” - -“Well, then,” replied the insidious woman, with a slight, a very slight -sneer on her lip, “since you have such undoubting faith in your wife -there can be no harm in telling you. But really we are making a great -affair of a very trifling occurrence. Charles Wilson was a clerk to -Alice’s father, and while she was yet at school, he made love to her in -the hope of enticing her into a clandestine marriage. Alice was only -about fifteen, and like all girls of her age was delighted with a first -lover. He lived in the house with, us, and of course enjoyed many -opportunities of meeting her, so that before we knew anything about it, -an elopement was actually planned. I happened to discover it, and as my -duty required, I made it known to her parents. The consequence was that -Wilson was dismissed and Alice sent to boarding-school; I dare say she -has thanked me for it since, though then she could not forgive me. You -look pained, Mr. Wentworth. I hope my foolish frankness has not made you -unhappy. I really thought it such a childish affair that I felt no -hesitation in alluding to it to-day, supposing that Alice had lost all -sensitiveness about it, and I was never more surprised than by her -evident agitation. However, I confess I was wrong; I ought to have known -that an early disappointment is not easily forgotten even in the midst -of happiness.” - -“How long since this happened?” asked Mr. Wentworth. - -“Just before I was married—I suppose about eight years ago; I wonder -Alice did not tell you the whole story, but she is such a timid creature -that I suppose she could not summon courage enough to be perfectly frank -with you.” - -Wentworth made no reply, but the poisoned arrow had reached its mark. -His confidence in his wife was shaken; he had not been the first love of -her young heart,—she had loved and been beloved,—she had plighted her -faith even in her girlhood, and the creature whom he believed to be as -pure in heart as an infant, had narrowly escaped the degradation of a -clandestine marriage with an inferior. He was shocked and almost -disgusted; he felt heartsick, and even the sight of his child, connected -as it now was with the similitude of the early lover, was painful to -him. He recalled a thousand trifling circumstances which would pass by -unheeded but for cousin Agatha’s kind attempts to explain Alice’s -meaning, and all now corroborated his suspicions of his wife’s perfect -sincerity. The more he discussed the matter with Agatha, the more -dissatisfied did he become with Alice; and in proportion as she fell in -his estimation the frank and noble character of Agatha arose. There was -a high-toned sentiment about her, a sense of honor and an intensity of -feeling which added new charms to her expressive countenance and -graceful manners. Wentworth was not _in love_ with Agatha, but he was a -little _out of love_ with his wife, and the constant presence of such a -fascinating woman, at such a moment, was certainly somewhat dangerous. -More than once he caught himself regretting that Alice was not more like -her cousin, and long before Alice was well enough to leave her -apartment, he had become quite reconciled to her absence from the -drawing-room. Alice felt his increasing neglect, but she dared not allow -herself to attribute it to its true cause. Cousin Agatha was so kind, so -attentive to her, and studied so much the comfort of Mr. Wentworth, that -she almost hated herself for the growing dislike which she was conscious -of feeling towards her. - -One day, about two months after the birth of her babe, Alice, who had -been suffering from a slow fever, felt so much better that she -determined to surprise her husband by joining him at dinner. Wrapping a -shawl about her, she slowly proceeded down stairs, and finding the -drawing-room door partly open, entered so silently as not to disturb the -occupants of the apartment. Mr. Wentworth was lying on a sofa, while -cousin Agatha sat on a low ottoman beside him, with one hand threading -the mazes of his bright hair, while the other was clasped in his. The -face of Agatha was hidden from her, but the wretched wife beheld the -eyes of her husband upturned towards it with the most vivid expression -of fondness and passion. Her very soul grew sick as she gazed; she -turned to glide from the room and fell senseless on the threshold. Weeks -had elapsed ere she recovered her consciousness. The sudden shock which -her weakened nerves had sustained, produced inflammation of the brain, -and for many an anxious day her husband watched beside her sick bed, -dreading lest every hour should be her last. She lay in a state of -stupor, and her first signs of returning consciousness was the shiver -that ran through her frame when the voice of cousin Agatha struck upon -her ear. - -Mr. Wentworth was conscience-stricken when, aroused by the sound of her -fall, he had beheld Alice lying lifeless on the floor. He uttered not a -word of enquiry, but he readily divined the cause of her condition, and, -as he bore her to her apartment, he almost hated himself for the brief -delirium in which his senses had been plunged. He could not be said to -love Agatha, but her fascinations had not been without their effect upon -his ardent nature. He did not attempt to analyse his feelings, but -yielding to the spell which enthralled him, abandoned himself to the -enjoyment of her blandishments. Hour after hour had he spent in -listening to the false sentiment which fell from her lips in the most -honied accents,—evening after evening had he consumed in attending her -to parties of pleasure,—day after day had been bestowed on the -completion of her portrait, while Alice was left to the solitude of her -sick room. But now, when he beheld her stricken down at his very feet, -the scales seemed to fall from his eyes, and his infidelity of heart -appeared to him in all its true wickedness. The toils which the -insidious Agatha had woven about him were broken as if by magic, and his -wife, his long-suffering, wronged Alice was dearer to him than all the -world beside. He watched by her with all the kindness of early -affection, and well did he understand her abhorrent shudder at the -presence of Agatha. His devoted attention and the _adieus_ of cousin -Agatha, who now found it necessary to terminate her visit, had no small -share in restoring Alice to convalescence. - -Alice was slowly regaining health and strength; the faint tint of the -wild-rose was once more visible on her thin cheek, and her feeble step -had again borne her to the room so fraught with painful remembrances. -But far different were the feelings with which she now revisited that -neglected apartment. Cousin Agatha was gone,—she was once more alone -with her husband, and with true womanly affection she willingly forgot -his past errors in his present tenderness. But there were some things -yet to be explained before perfect confidence could exist between them. -The serpent had been driven from their Paradise, but its trail had been -left on many a flower;—the shadow of distrust still lay dark upon the -pleasant paths of domestic peace, and yet both shrunk from uttering the -mystic word which might chase its gloom forever. But the moment of -explanation came. A letter from cousin Agatha was placed in the hands of -Alice, and repressing the shudder with which she looked upon it, she -proceeded to peruse it; but scarcely had she read three lines, when, -with an exclamation of surprise, she handed it to her husband, and -telling him it interested him no less than herself, begged him to read -it aloud. It was as follows: - - “My sweet Cousin, - - “I write to repeat my thanks for the exceeding kindness and - hospitality which I received while an inmate of your family. I - feel especially bound to do this, because, as I am on the point - of embarking for France, I may be unable for several years to - offer my acknowledgments in person. You are doubtless surprised, - but you will perhaps be still more so when I tell you that I am - going to join _my husband_. Our marriage took place more than a - year since, but we thought it prudent to conceal it both on - account of my then recent widowhood, and because my husband was - not then of age. His guardian was opposed to his union with your - penniless cousin, and he was sent off on a European tour to - avoid me; but we were secretly married before his departure, and - as he has now attained his majority, he has written to me to - meet him in Paris, where I hope to find that domestic felicity - which I failed to derive from my former unhappy connection. By - the way, my dear Alice, I fancied, when I was at your house, - that there was some little coldness existing between you and - your husband. I sincerely hope that I was mistaken, and that it - was my love for you which rendered me too observant of the - little differences which frequently occur in married life. I - think Mr. Wentworth was piqued about your early engagement with - Charles Wilson; you had better explain the matter to him and he - will probably find as little cause for his jealousy as, I assure - you, there was for yours. Don’t pout, dear Alice, you certainly - _were_ a little jealous of me, but I only flirted harmlessly - with your husband _pour passer le temps_; and perhaps a little - out of revenge. I wanted to try whether a ‘_little dowdyish - red-nosed woman_’ could have any attractions for him.” - -“By Jupiter! she must have been listening at the door when I was -discussing the subject of her ill-looks just after her arrival,” -exclaimed Mr. Wentworth. - -“Yes, and mortified vanity will account for her well-practised -seductions, Harry,” said Alice; “but let us hear the end of this -precious epistle.” Mr. Wentworth resumed: - - “I hope he has fallen into his old habits again and is as fond - and lover-like as I found him on my arrival. One piece of advice - I must give you, my sweet Alice; do not trust him too much with - those who have greater powers of fascination than his little - wife, for believe me, he possesses a very susceptible nature. Do - not be such a good spouse as to show him my letter. Remember I - write to you with my usual impudent frankness. Kiss little Harry - for me and remember me most kindly to your amiable husband. - - “Ever your devoted friend and cousin, - “Agatha.” - - “P.S. Can I send you any _nicknackery_ from Paris? I shall be - delighted to be of service to you.” - -“Well, that is as characteristic a letter as I ever read,” exclaimed -Wentworth as he flung it on the table; “how adroitly she mingles her -poison with her sweetmeats; and how well she has managed to affix a -sting at the last: I wonder whom she has duped into a marriage.” - -“Some foolish boy, doubtless, for she speaks of him as being just of -age, while she will never again see her thirtieth summer,” said Alice; -“but what does she mean Harry about my early engagement with Charles -Wilson? He was a clerk to my father.” - -“She told me a long story Alice about a proposed elopement between you -and this said Charles Wilson which had been prevented by her -interference.” - -“Good Heavens! Harry how she must have misrepresented the affair. Wilson -was in papa’s employ and probably fancied it would be a good speculation -if he could marry his employer’s daughter. He became exceedingly -troublesome to me by his civilities, and finally made love to me in -plain terms, when I communicated the whole affair to cousin Agatha, and -begged her to tell papa of it, because I was such a child that I was -ashamed to tell him myself. She did so, and Wilson was dismissed; but I -was then only a school girl.” - -“You seemed so agitated when she recurred to the subject that I readily -believed her story.” - -“I was vexed, Harry, because she insinuated that there was a likeness -between our dear boy and that vulgar fellow.” - -“How I have been deceived by a fiend in the form of an angel,” exclaimed -Wentworth; “we should have been saved much suffering if she had never -entered our doors.” - -“Indeed we should, Harry, and I shall never cease to reproach myself for -my folly in introducing such a serpent into our Elysium.” - -“Your motives were kind and good, Alice; and though it has been to you a -severe lesson in the deceitfulness of the world, and to me a still more -painful one in the deceitfulness of my own heart, yet, I trust, that to -both of us it may not be without its salutary influences.” - - * * * * * - - - - - TO HELEN IN HEAVEN. - - - I think of thee by night, love, - In visions of the skies, - When glories meet the sight, love, - That dazzle mortal eyes— - I think a waving cloud, love, - A golden cloud I see, - A half transparent shroud, love, - That moveth like to thee! - - I hear a voice of singing, - A sound of rushing wings, - A joyous anthem ringing - As if from silver strings, - A chorus loudly swelling, - A low sweet voice alone— - And I know thou hast thy dwelling - Beneath the eternal throne. - A. A. J. - - * * * * * - - - - - AN APPENDIX OF AUTOGRAPHS. - - - BY EDGAR A. POE. - - -In our November and December numbers we gave _fac-simile_ signatures of -no less than _one hundred and nine_ of the most distinguished American -_literati_. Our design was to furnish the readers of the Magazine with a -_complete_ series of Autographs, embracing a specimen of the MS. of -_each of the most noted among our living male and female writers_. For -obvious reasons, we made no attempt at classification or -arrangement—either in reference to reputation or our own private -opinion of merit. Our second article will be found to contain as many of -the _Dii majorum gentium_ as our first; and this, our third and last, as -many as either—although fewer names, upon the whole, than the preceding -papers. The impossibility of procuring the signatures now given, at a -period sufficiently early for the immense edition of December, has -obliged us to introduce this Appendix. - -It is with great pleasure that we have found our anticipations -fulfilled, in respect to the _popularity_ of these chapters—our -individual claim to merit is so trivial that we may be permitted to say -so much—but we confess it was with no less surprise than pleasure that -we observed so little discrepancy of opinion manifested in relation to -the hasty critical, or rather gossiping observations which accompanied -the signatures. Where the subject was so wide and so necessarily -_personal_—where the claims of more than one hundred _literati_, -summarily disposed of, were turned over for re-adjudication to a press -so intricately bound up in their interest as is ours—it is really -surprising how little of dissent was mingled with so much of general -comment. The fact, however, speaks loudly to one point:—to the _unity -of truth_. It assures us that the differences which exist among us, are -differences not of real, but of affected opinion, and that the voice of -him who maintains fearlessly what he believes honestly, is pretty sure -to find an echo (if the speaker be not mad) in the vast heart of the -world at large. - -[Illustration: signature of Chas. Sprague] - -The “Writings of Charles Sprague” were first collected and published -about nine months ago, by Mr. Charles S. Francis, of New-York. At the -time of the issue of the book, we expressed our opinion frankly, in -respect to the general merits of the author—an opinion with which one -or two members of the Boston press did not see fit to agree—but which, -as yet, we have found no reason for modifying. What we say now is, in -spirit, merely a repetition of what we said then. Mr. Sprague is an -accomplished _belles-lettres_ scholar, so far as the usual ideas of -scholarship extend. He is a very correct rhetorician of the old school. -His versification has not been equalled by that of any American—has -been surpassed by no one, living or dead. In this regard there are to be -found finer passages in his poems than any elsewhere. These are his -chief merits. In the _essentials_ of poetry he is excelled by twenty of -our countrymen whom we could name. Except in a very few instances he -gives no evidence of the loftier ideality. His “Winged Worshippers” and -“Lines on the Death of M. S. C.” are _beautiful_ poems—but he has -written nothing else which should be called so. His “Shakspeare Ode,” -upon which his high reputation mainly depended, is quite a _second-hand_ -affair—with no merit whatever beyond that of a polished and vigorous -versification. Its imitation of “Collins’ Ode to the Passions” is -obvious. Its allegorical conduct is mawkish, _passé_, and absurd. The -poem, upon the whole, is just such a one as would have obtained its -author an Etonian prize some forty or fifty years ago. It is an -exquisite specimen of mannerism without meaning and without merit—of an -artificial, but most inartistical style of composition, of which -conventionality is the soul,—taste, nature and reason the antipodes. A -man may be a clever financier without being a genius. - -It requires but little effort to see in Mr. Sprague’s MS. all the -idiosyncrasy of his intellect. Here are distinctness, precision, and -vigor—but vigor employed upon _grace_ rather than upon its legitimate -functions. The signature fully indicates the general hand—in which the -spirit of elegant imitation and conservatism may be seen reflected as in -a mirror. - -[Illustration: signature of Cornelius Mathews] - -Mr. Cornelius Mathews is one of the editors of “Arcturus,” a monthly -journal which has attained much reputation during the brief period of -its existence. He is the author of “Puffer Hopkins,” a clever satirical -tale somewhat given to excess in caricature, and also of the -well-written retrospective criticisms which appear in his Magazine. He -is better known, however, by “The Motley Book,” published some years -ago—a work which we had no opportunity of reading. He is a gentleman of -taste and judgment, unquestionably. - -His MS. is much to our liking—bold, distinct and picturesque—such a -hand as no one destitute of talent indites. The signature conveys the -hand. - -[Illustration: signature of CharlesHoffman] - -Mr. Charles Fenno Hoffman is the author of “A Winter in the West,” -“Greyslaer,” and other productions of merit. At one time he edited, with -much ability, the “American Monthly Magazine” in conjunction with Mr. -Benjamin, and, subsequently, with Dr. Bird. He is a gentleman of talent. - -His chirography is not unlike that of Mr. Matthews. It has the same -boldness, strength, and picturesqueness, but is more diffuse, more -ornamented and less legible. Our _fac-simile_ is from a somewhat hurried -signature, which fails in giving a correct idea of the general hand. - -[Illustration: signature of Horace Greely] - -Mr. Horace Greely, present editor of “The Tribune,” and formerly of the -“New-Yorker,” has for many years been remarked as one of the most able -and honest of American editors. He has written much and invariably well. -His political knowledge is equal to that of any of his -contemporaries—his general information extensive. As a _belles-lettres_ -critic he is entitled to high respect. - -His MS. is a remarkable one—having about it a peculiarity which we know -not how better to designate than as a _converse_ of the picturesque. His -characters are scratchy and irregular, ending with an _abrupt taper_—if -we may be allowed this contradiction in terms, where we have the -_fac-simile_ to prove that there is no contradiction in fact. All abrupt -MSS., save this, have square or _concise_ terminations of the letters. -The whole chirography puts us in mind of a _jig_. We can fancy the -writer jerking up his hand from the paper at the end of each word, and, -indeed, of each letter. What mental idiosyncrasy lies _perdu_ beneath -all this, is more than we can say, but we will venture to assert that -Mr. Greely (whom we do not know personally) is, _personally_, a very -remarkable man. - -[Illustration: signature of Prosper M. Wetmore] - -The name of Mr. Prosper M. Wetmore is familiar to all readers of -American light literature. He has written a great deal, at various -periods, both in prose and poetry, (but principally in the latter) for -our Papers, Magazines and Annuals. Of late days we have seen but little, -comparatively speaking, from his pen. - -His MS. is not unlike that of Fitz-Greene Halleck, but is by no means so -good. Its clerky flourishes indicate a love of the beautiful with an -undue straining for effect—qualities which are distinctly traceable in -his poetic efforts. As many as five or six words are occasionally run -together; and no man who writes thus will be noted for _finish_ of -style. Mr. Wetmore is sometimes very slovenly in his best compositions. - -[Illustration: signature of Henry W.] - -Professor Ware, of Harvard, has written some very excellent poetry, but -is chiefly known by his “Life of the Saviour,” “Hints on Extemporaneous -Preaching,” and other religious works. - -His MS. is fully shown in the signature. It evinces the direct, -unpretending strength and simplicity which characterize the man, not -less than his general compositions. - -[Illustration: signature of William B O. Peabody] - -The name of William B. O. Peabody, like that of Mr. Wetmore, is known -chiefly to the readers of our light literature, and much more familiarly -to Northern than to Southern readers. He is a resident of Springfield, -Mass. His occasional poems have been much admired. - -His chirography is what would be called beautiful by the ladies -universally, and, perhaps, by a large majority of the bolder sex. -Individually, we think it a miserable one—too careful, undecided, -tapering, and effeminate. It is not unlike Mr. Paulding’s, but is more -regular and more legible, with less force. We hold it as undeniable that -no man of _genius_ ever wrote such a hand. - -[Illustration: signature of Epes Sargent] - -Epes Sargent, Esq., has acquired high reputation as the author of -“Velasco,” a tragedy full of beauty as a poem, but not adapted—perhaps -not intended—for representation. He has written, besides, many very -excellent poems—“The Missing Ship,” for example, published in the -“Knickerbocker”—the “Night Storm at Sea”—and, especially, a fine -production entitled “Shells and Sea-Weeds.” One or two Theatrical -Addresses from his pen are very creditable _in their way_—but the way -itself is, as we have before said, execrable. As an editor, Mr. Sargent -has also distinguished himself. He is a gentleman of taste and high -talent. - -His MS. is too much in the usual clerk style to be either vigorous, -graceful, or easily read. It resembles Mr. Wetmore’s but has somewhat -more force. The signature is better than the general hand, but conveys -its idea very well. - -[Illustration: signature of W. Allston] - -The name of Washington Allston, the poet and painter, is one that has -been long before the public. Of his paintings we have here nothing to -say—except briefly, that the most noted of them are not to our taste. -His poems are not all of a high order of merit; and, in truth, the -faults of his pencil and of his pen are identical. Yet every reader will -remember his “Spanish Maid” with pleasure, and the “Address to Great -Britain,” first published in Coleridge’s “Sybilline Leaves,” and -attributed to an English author, is a production of which Mr. Allston -may be proud. - -His MS. notwithstanding an exceedingly simple and even boyish air, is -one which we particularly admire. It is forcible, picturesque and -legible, without ornament of any description. Each letter is formed with -a thorough distinctness and individuality. Such a MS. indicates caution -and precision, most unquestionably—but we say of it as we say of Mr. -Peabody’s, (a very different MS.) that no man of original genius ever -did or could habitually indite it under any circumstances whatever. The -signature conveys the general hand with accuracy. - -[Illustration: signature of Alfred B Street] - -Mr. Alfred B. Street has been long before the public as a poet. At as -early an age as fifteen, some of his pieces were published by Mr. Bryant -in the “Evening Post”—among these was one of much merit, entitled a -“Winter Scene.” In the “New-York Book” and in the collections of -American poetry by Messieurs Keese and Bryant, will be found many -excellent specimens of his maturer powers. “The Willewemoc,” “The Forest -Tree,” “The Indian’s Vigil,” “The Lost Hunter” and “White Lake” we -prefer to any of his other productions which have met our eye. Mr. -Street has fine taste, and a keen sense of the beautiful. He writes -carefully, elaborately, and correctly. He has made Mr. Bryant his model, -and in all Mr. Bryant’s good points would be nearly his equal, were it -not for the sad and too perceptible stain of the imitation. That he has -imitated at all—or rather that, in mature age, he has persevered in his -imitations—is sufficient warrantry for placing him among the men of -talent rather than among the men of genius. - -His MS. is full corroboration of this warrantry. It is a very pretty -chirography, graceful, legible and neat. By most persons it would be -called beautiful. The fact is, it is without fault—but its merits, like -those of his poems, are chiefly negative. - -[Illustration: signature of R Penn Smith] - -Mr. Richard Penn Smith, although, perhaps, better known in Philadelphia -than elsewhere, has acquired much literary reputation. His chief works -are “The Forsaken,” a novel; a pseudo-auto-biography called “Colonel -Crocket’s Tour in Texas;” the tragedy of “Caius Marius,” and two -domestic dramas entitled “The Disowned,” and “The Deformed.” He has also -published two volumes of miscellanies under the title of “The Actress of -Padua and other Tales,” besides occasional poetry. We are not -sufficiently cognizant of any of these works to speak with decision -respecting their merits. In a biography of Mr. Smith, however, very well -written by his friend Mr. McMichael of this city, we are informed of -“The Forsaken,” that “a large edition of it was speedily exhausted”—of -“The Actress of Padua,” that it “had an extensive sale and was much -commended”—of the “Tour in Texas,” that “few books attained an equal -popularity”—of “Caius Marius,” that “it has great capabilities for an -acting play,”—of “The Disowned” and “The Deformed,” that they “were -performed at the London theatres, where they both made a favorable -impression”—and of his poetry in general, “that it will be found -superior to the average quality of that commodity.” “It is by his -dramatic efforts,” says the biographer, “that his merits as a poet must -be determined, and judged by these he will be assigned a place in the -foremost rank of American writers.” We have only to add that we have the -highest respect for the judgment of Mr. McMichael. - -Mr. Smith’s MS. is clear, graceful and legible, and would generally be -called a fine hand, but is somewhat too clerky for our taste. - -[Illustration: signature of O. W. Holmes] - -Dr. Oliver Wendel Holmes, of Boston, late Professor of Anatomy and -Physiology at Dartmouth College, has written many productions of merit, -and has been pronounced, by a very high authority, the best of the -humorous poets of the day. - -His chirography is remarkably fine, and a quick fancy might easily -detect, in its graceful yet picturesque quaintness, an analogy with the -vivid drollery of his style. The signature is a fair specimen of the -general MS. - -[Illustration: signature of G. W. Doane] - -Bishop Doane, of New Jersey, is somewhat more extensively known in his -clerical than in a literary capacity, but has accomplished much more -than sufficient in the world of books to entitle him to a place among -the most noted of our living men of letters. The compositions by which -he is best known were published, we believe, during his professorship of -Rhetoric and Belles Lettres in Washington College, Hartford. - -His MS. has some resemblance to that of Mr. Greely of “The Tribune.” The -signature is far bolder and altogether better than the general hand. - -[Illustration: signature of Albert Pike] - -We believe that Mr. Albert Pike has never published his poems in book -form; nor has he written anything since 1834. His “Hymns to the Gods,” -and “Ode to the Mocking Bird,” being printed in Blackwood, are the chief -basis of his reputation. His lines “To Spring” are, however, much better -in every respect, and a little poem from his pen, entitled “Ariel,” and -originally published in the “Boston Pearl,” is one of the finest of -American compositions. Mr. Pike has unquestionably merit, and that of a -high order. His ideality is rich and well-disciplined. He is the most -_classic_ of our poets in the best sense of the term, and of course his -classicism is very different from that of Mr. Sprague—to whom, -nevertheless, he bears much resemblance in other respects. Upon the -whole, there are few of our native writers to whom we consider him -inferior. - -His MS. shows clearly the spirit of his intellect. We observe in it a -keen sense not only of the beautiful and graceful but of the -picturesque—neatness, precision and general finish, verging upon -effeminacy. In force it is deficient. The signature fails to convey the -entire MS. which depends upon masses for its peculiar character. - -[Illustration: signature of James McHenry] - -Dr. James McHenry, of Philadelphia, is well known to the literary world -as the writer of numerous articles in our Reviews and lighter journals, -but, more especially, as the author of “The Antediluvians,” an epic poem -which has been the victim of a most shameful cabal in this country, and -the subject of a very disgraceful pasquinade on the part of Professor -Wilson. Whatever may be the demerits, in some regard, of this poem, -there can be no question of the utter want of fairness and even of -common decency which distinguished the Phillipic in question. The writer -of a _just_ review of the “Antediluvians”—the only tolerable American -epic—would render an important service to the literature o his country. - -Dr. McHenry’s MS. is distinct, bold and simple, without ornament or -superfluity. The signature well conveys the idea of the general hand. - -[Illustration: signature of R. S Nichols] - -Mrs. R. S. Nichols has acquired much reputation of late years, by -frequent and excellent contributions to the Magazines and Annuals. Many -of her compositions will be found in our pages. - -Her MS. is fair, neat and legible, but formed somewhat too much upon the -ordinary boarding-school model to afford any indication of character. -The signature is a good specimen of the hand. - -[Illustration: signature of Rich^{d} A Locke] - -Mr. Richard Adams Locke is one among the few men of _unquestionable -genius_ whom the country possesses. Of the “Moon Hoax” it is -supererogatory to say one word—not to know _that_ argues one’s self -unknown. Its rich imagination will long dwell in the memory of every one -who read it, and surely if - - the worth of any thing - Is just so much as it will bring— - -if, in short, we are to judge of the value of a literary composition in -any degree by its _effect_—then was the “Hoax” most precious. - -But Mr. Locke is also a poet of high order. We have seen—nay more—we -have heard him read—verses of his own which would make the fortune of -two-thirds of our poetasters; and he is yet so modest as never to have -published a volume of poems. As an editor—as a political writer—as a -writer in general—we think that he has scarcely a superior in America. -There is no man among us to whose sleeve we would rather pin—not our -_faith_ (of that we say nothing)—but our _judgment_. - -His MS. is clear, bold and forcible—somewhat modified, no doubt, by the -circumstances of his editorial position—but still sufficiently -indicative of his fine intellect. - -[Illustration: signature of RW Emerson.] - -Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson belongs to a class of gentlemen with whom we -have no patience whatever—the mystics for mysticism’s sake. Quintilian -mentions a pedant who taught obscurity, and who once said to a pupil -“this is excellent, for I do not understand it myself.” How the good man -would have chuckled over Mr. E! His present _rôle_ seems to be the -out-Carlyling Carlyle. _Lycophron Tenebrosus_ is a fool to him. The best -answer to his twaddle is _cui bono?_—a very little Latin phrase very -generally mistranslated and misunderstood—_cui bono?_—to whom is it a -benefit? If not to Mr. Emerson individually, then surely to no man -living. - -His love of the obscure does not prevent him, nevertheless, from the -composition of occasional poems in which beauty is apparent _by -flashes_. Several of his effusions appeared in the “Western -Messenger”—more in the “Dial,” of which he is the soul—or the sun—or -the shadow. We remember the “Sphynx,” the “Problem,” the “Snow Storm,” -and some fine old-fashioned verses entitled “Oh fair and stately maid -whose eye.” - -His MS. is bad, sprawling, illegible and irregular—although -sufficiently bold. This latter trait may be, and no doubt is, only a -portion of his general affectation. - -[Illustration: signature of G C Verplanck] - -The name of Gulian C. Verplanck has long been familiar to all American -readers, and it is scarcely necessary to say more than that we coincide -in the general view of his merits. His orations, reviews, and other -compositions all evince the cultivated belles-lettres scholar, and man -of intellect and taste. To high genius he has about the same claim as -Mr. Sprague, whom in many respects he closely resembles. - -His chirography is unusually rambling and school-boyish—but has vigor -and precision. It has no doubt been greatly modified by adventitious -circumstances, so that it would be impossible to predicate anything -respecting it. - - * * * * * - - - - - “DORCHESTER.” - - - BY W. GILMORE SIMMS, AUTHOR OF “ATALANTIS,” “THE YEMASSEE,” ETC. - - - [“Dorchester” was a beautiful little country town on the banks - of the river Keawah, now Ashley, about twenty miles from the - city of Charleston, in South Carolina. It was chiefly settled by - New Englanders. For a time it flourished and became a market - town of some importance. The planters of the neighborhood were - generally persons of substance, who lived in considerable state, - and exercised the virtues of hospitality in an eminent degree; - but with the war of the Revolution, in which it suffered - greatly, it began to decline, and its only remains now are the - ruins of its church and the open walls of the old British fort. - From a memorandum which I made during a visit to the spot in - 1833, I take the following:—“The fort made of tapis—works - still in considerable preservation—the wood-work alone - decayed—the magazine in ruins—and the area overgrown with plum - trees. The church still standing—the steeple shattered by - lightning, and the wooden interior torn out—the roof beginning - to decay at the ends of the rafters. It will probably fall in - before very long.” This prediction was not permitted to be - verified. The fabric, I learn, has since been utterly destroyed - by an incendiary. Dorchester was distinguished by several - actions of partisan warfare during the Revolution It was, by - turns, a military depot of the Carolinians and the British. - These particulars will explain the little poem which follows.] - - Not with irreverential thought and feeling I resign - The tree that was a chronicle in other days than mine; - Its mossy branches crown’d the grove, when, hastily array’d, - Came down the gallant partisan to battle in the shade; - It saw his fearless eye grow dark, it heard his trumpet cry, - When, at its roots, the combat o’er, he laid him down to die; - The warm blood gushing from his heart hath stain’d the sod below— - That tree shall be my chronicle, for it hath seen it flow! - - Sweet glide thy waters, Ashley, and pleasant on thy banks - The mossy oak and mossy pine stand forth in solemn ranks; - They crown thee in a fitting guise, since, with a gentle play, - Through bending groves and circling dells thou tak’st thy lonely way: - Thine is the Summer’s loveliness—thy Winter too hath charms, - Thus sheltered in thy mazy course beneath their Druid arms; - And thine the recollection old, which honors thy decline, - When happy thousands saw thee rove, and Dorchester was thine. - - But Dorchester is thine no more, its gallant pulse is still, - The wild cat prowls among its graves and screams the whippoorwill, - A mournful spell is on its homes, where solitude, supreme, - Still, coaching in her tangled woods, dreams one unbroken dream: - The cotter seeks a foreign home,—the cottage roof is down, - The ivy clambers all uncheck’d above the steeple’s crown; - And doubly gray, with grief and years, the old church tott’ring - stands, - Ah! how unlike that holy home not built with human hands! - - These ruins have their story, and, with a reverent fear, - I glide beneath the broken arch and through the passage drear; - The hillock at my feet grows warm—beneath it beats a heart - Whose pulses wake to utterance, whose accents make me start; - That heart hath beat in battle, when the thunder-cloud was high, - And death, in every form of fate, careering through the sky; - Beside it now, another heart, in peace but lately known, - Beats with a kindred pulse, but hath a story of its own. - - Ah! sad the fate of maiden whose lover falls in fight, - Condemned to bear, in widowhood, the lonely length of light;— - The days that come without a sun, the nights that bring no sleep; - The long, long watch, the weariness, the same, sad toil—to weep! - Methinks, the call is happiness, when sudden sounds the strain - That summons back the exiled heart of love to heaven again;— - No trumpet-tone of battle, but a soft note sweetly clear, - Like that which even now is heard when doves are wooing near. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE TWO DUKES. - - - BY ANN S. STEPHENS. - - -One church and three dwelling houses, occupied by bishops, had already -been torn down to supply material for the magnificent palace which the -Duke of Somerset was erecting for himself in the Strand,—a sacrilege -which the populace were beginning to feel and resent, in a manner which -threatened some disturbance to the public peace. A rumor went abroad -that the Duke’s workmen had received his commands to repair to -Westminster on a certain day, in order to pull down the Church of St. -Margaret’s, and add its materials to those already so boldly wrested -from their sacred purposes. - -The gray of a summer’s morning was yet hanging over the city, when a -large number of workmen, each wearing the Lord Protector’s badge, -gathered in detached parties about the Abbey. These men had been -employed in the destruction of St. Mary’s Church but a few days before, -and their coarse vestments were torn and covered with the lime and dust -which they had brought from the ruin, a mark of their late sacrilegious -employment, which brought upon them many a bitter taunt and frowning -look from the wayfarers, even before they entered the parish of -Westminster. So great was the manifestation of public resentment, that -each band of workmen, as it went along, drew close together, and -exhibited the pickaxes, crowbars, and other heavy tools of iron with -which they were armed, like soldiers compelled on an irksome duty, but -resolute to perform it. These men gathered slowly around the Abbey, and -waited for a larger body of working-men, who were expected to leave -their employment in the Strand and come to their assistance in a force -and number that might awe the people into quiet submission to the -injustice of their lord. - -The morning wore on, but they still lingered about the church, trifling -with their heavy tools and talking together with some degree of anxiety, -for the expected aid had not yet arrived, and each instant the streets -and angles about the Abbey became more and more thronged with sullen and -discontented men, all with lowering brows and flashing eyes, bent -menacingly upon them. - -Still the crowd increased. Men hurried to and fro eagerly and with -cloudy looks. The workmen gradually gathered in a close phalanx about -the little church, whispered anxiously together, and brandished their -tools with a faint show of defiance, yet seemed afraid or reluctant to -level them against the sacred pile which stood among that mass of eager -human beings in the cool morning light, quiet and tranquil as the spirit -of holiness that brooded over its altar. - -Though the persons gathered about St. Margaret’s were considerable in -numbers, they were not yet condensed into a form that could justly be -termed a mob. The streets were alive, but not yet blocked up with -people. Men, and even women, might pass to and fro on ordinary business -without much fear of injury or interruption, but with a certainty of -being jostled and pushed about by the scattered stream of human life -that flowed toward the cathedral. - -While the neighborhood of St. Margaret’s was in this unusual state, two -females, followed by more than an equal number of serving-men, each with -the Lord Protector’s badge upon his sleeve, came suddenly round a -corner, and, before they seemed aware of it, were encompassed by the -crowd, through which it seemed each instant more difficult to make a -free passage. The two females were muffled in their mantles, with the -hoods drawn so closely that it was difficult to distinguish their -features, or gather an idea of their station, save by a certain air of -dignity and refinement which hung about the shorter of the two, and -which no vestments could entirely conceal. Both this lady and her -companion seemed bewildered and terrified by the rush of human beings -with which they had become so strangely mingled. At first they attempted -to retrace their steps, but the street through which they had come was -now blocked up by a company of more than two hundred working-men, who -were coming up from their employment on the Strand, to assist in the -destruction of St. Margaret’s. When thus convinced that all hopes of -retreat were cut off, the female who had seemed most anxious to escape -the crowd, put forth a white and trembling hand from beneath her mantle -and drew the hood still more closely over her face, while the other in -her fright allowed the drapery to fall back from her head and exposed -the features of an elderly woman slightly wrinkled, and at the moment -pale as a corpse with apprehension. Her sharp black eyes were keen with -terror, and her wrinkled hands shook in a way that rendered the effort -to draw her hood forward one of considerable difficulty. The servitors -who followed these bewildered persons were but little annoyed by the -position which seemed so painful to them, but one, a tall insolent man, -held up his arm that all might see the Lord Protector’s badge, and -ordered those immediately around him to make way for a noble lady of the -Duke’s household to pass. He spoke loud and arrogantly, but the muffled -female grasped his arm, and while her words came gaspingly from excess -of fear, muttered— - -“Dost thou not see how these men lower and frown upon us already? -Hearest thou not my noble father’s name bandied from lip to lip, and -each time with a curse coupled with it? Take down thy arm, good -Richard—muffle the sleeve within thy cloak and let us struggle forward -as we are best able.” - -The serving-man hastened to obey this direction, and wrapped his arm in -the short cloak which had been allowed to float back from his shoulder. -This act was performed the more promptly as a score of burning eyes had -flashed back a stern admonition of danger when challenged by the -Somerset badge thus ostentatiously uplifted in their midst. Even as it -was, the man’s temerity might have been followed by violent -consequences, but that a deeper and more general object of resentment -presented itself in the body of workmen that had made its way up from -the Strand through the cross street which our little party had left but -a moment before, and now flung itself impetuously into the excited -crowd. The moment these men were seen pushing their way towards their -brethren gathered about St. Margaret’s, shouting defiance and pushing -the citizens about with their heavy iron-tools, the spirit of discord -broke loose like a wild beast from his cage. A hoarse shout thundered -through the air. The hitherto stern and silent multitude swayed round -and plunged forward, a mass of enraged, reckless, human life, eager to -trample down the body of men who came among them armed to do sacrilege -on the holy temple of their worship. When the first fierce cry of their -onset swept over the females whose movements we have recorded, the one -whose features were yet concealed grasped her companion’s arm, and, -shrieking with affright, sprang wildly on one side, forcing a passage to -the steps of a dwelling-house, where she sunk at the foot of a granite -pillar, panting like a wounded fawn beneath the drapery which still -concealed her person. Her attendants strove to follow her but were swept -away by the rushing multitude, and, spite of their struggles, forced -into the _mêlée_ raging between the citizens and the Somerset workmen. -These men fought their way valiantly. Keeping in a compact body they -resolutely cleared a path through the unarmed mob with their heavy -crowbars and pickaxes, which proved most effective weapons of defence. -The people goaded to fury by opposition rushed madly upon them, strove -to wrest away their weapons by brute force, and when that failed tore up -the pavement and hurled the massive stones furiously into their midst. -Many were wounded, more than one dropped down dead, crushed beneath the -deadly missiles which filled the air. The sweet breath of morning was -made terrible by the groans and cries and harsh sounds of hot-blooded -men, goaded to fury and fierce with a thirst for strife, which -threatened to deluge the torn pavements with blood and carnage. - -The band of workmen which had already reached St. Margaret’s at first -essayed to aid their companions but it was impossible even to penetrate -the mob of citizens which separated the two parties, and they returned -to their station before the church, which the mob, in its blind -eagerness to attack the larger and more obnoxious party, had left almost -entirely at their mercy. Still their numbers were small, and the enraged -people so near at hand that but the lifting of an implement of -destruction would have placed them in imminent peril. So they remained -inactive, contenting themselves with a hope that Somerset, the Lord -Protector, would hear of the riot and come to his people’s rescue. Still -the fight raged on, the workmen were driven back, step by step, to a -cross street whence they had emerged, and which their numbers choked up, -forming a solid front, narrow and compact, which the assailants found -impossible to break and difficult to contend against, as few had the -hardihood to come within the sweep of those heavy iron bars which were -never wielded but they crushed some human being to the earth. While the -workmen maintained this position the assailants were compelled to abate -the fury of their attack. The scene of strife too had been considerably -removed from the first place of encounter. - -The young female, who is the especial object of our interest, crouched -at the base of the granite pillar where she had sought refuge, -shuddering and sick with fear, amid this tumult of strife and terrible -passions raging about her. She heard the shrieks and howling cries of -the multitude as they struggled together, heard them tear up the -pavement with curses, and felt the air tortured into unnatural currents -as the heavy stones whirled fiercely over her head. Still she neither -shrieked nor moved a limb, but clung with a shuddering clasp to the -pillar, helpless and almost stupefied with terror. While the fight raged -fiercest about her she remained unnoticed, for even there, amid that -throng of men tugging at each other’s throats and wrangling like wild -animals together, females were to be seen fighting and eager for -strife—the most relentless among the throng. In this terrible mingling -of sexes and strife of angry passions, a helpless and prostrate female, -shrinking from a scene too horrible even for her imagination, might well -have been overlooked. All were too fiercely occupied to offer her -protection or insult. But as the scene of strife became more distant the -dense crowd around her was scattered, and more than one of the rude -persons who hang about the skirts of a riotous mob from idle curiosity -or in hopes of plunder, observed the deathly stillness of her position. -There was a delicacy in the small white hand and rounded arm which clung -to the pillar, exposed by the falling drapery and flung out in beautiful -relief upon the stone as if a limb of exquisite sculpture had been -chiselled there. But the persons who gazed were too rude for thoughts of -beauty though so strangely betrayed. A cluster of brilliants that blazed -on one of the fingers, and the rich drapery that lay in a picturesque -heap over her whole person, conveyed hopes of rich plunder, and many a -covetous eye twinkled with expectation that when the crowd were drawn to -a distance she might be left helpless and exposed to their rapacity. At -last an artisan or mechanic of the lowest order ascended the steps where -she had sought refuge, and, apparently heedless of her presence, sat -down on the opposite side of the pillar, so near that his dusty leathern -jerkin almost touched the arm still wound immovably around it. He now -uncovered his head and wiped the perspiration from a low and -disagreeable forehead with the sleeve of his jerkin, pushed back a mass -of coarse hair that had fallen over his eyes, and was about replacing -his cap, when a flash of sunshine fell upon the cluster of brilliants -which gemmed one of the fingers just in a range with his eye. A look of -coarse delight came to his repulsive features, a cunning avaricious joy -disagreeable beyond description. He cast an eager look upon the throng, -which was still great, and toyed with his cap, waving it up and down -with both hands carelessly as if to cool his face when any person seemed -especially regarding him. At last, when the general attention was drawn -another way by a party of horsemen coming at a hard gallop down the -street, he, as if by accident, held his cap so as to conceal his face -from the multitude, and drew back slowly till the pillar half concealed -him, then, softly removing the hand from its clasp on the stone, he drew -the ring away quick as lightning, and grasping it in his rough palm -allowed the little hand to fall down cold and lifeless upon the step. - -“Plunder from the dead is free to the first comer,” he muttered, -replacing his cap, “a woman completely killed or in a swoon is the same -thing, and one or the other state belongs to this dainty lady, I take -it.” - -As he muttered these words, the plunderer sauntered with a heavy idle -swagger down the steps, and would have mingled with the crowd, but at -that moment an elderly man, evidently the servitor of some noble family, -paused by the steps, glanced at the recumbent figure, and hastily -inquired who the person was, and why no assistance had been rendered. -The artisan, to whom he addressed himself as the nearest person, was -suddenly taken with a decided and absorbing interest in the struggle -that still raged farther down the street, and, when the question had -been thrice repeated, only withdrew his attention long enough to declare -that he was quite ignorant regarding the lady so strangely situated, -and, in truth, had observed her for the first time when pointed out by -the worshipful questioner. - -The new comer ran hastily up the steps, flung back the mantle which had -fallen over her face, and revealed the features of a young girl, pale as -death, and lying cold and lifeless close to the pillar. A flood of rich -chestnut-brown hair had broken loose, and the string of rough emeralds -that had confined it lay broken and scattered among the folds of her -dress. The man seemed to recognize those sweet features, for he turned -pale, and an exclamation, almost of terror, broke from his lips. “She is -dead!” he cried in a voice of keen emotion—“her hands are cold as ice. -What shall I say to my poor lord—who will dare tell him?” - -“Then she has taken leave within a short space of time,” muttered the -artisan, who stood with his back toward the pillar, gazing intently afar -off, as if he had some heavy stake which the contest would decide. “I -can swear that her hand trembled as I pulled off the ring.” - -“For the love of heaven, is there no one here who will call assistance!” -exclaimed the new comer, kneeling down and raising the senseless lady -with his arm. - -“Can I do anything?” inquired the artisan, gruffly, as if aroused to a -consciousness that the fainting lady required some attention. - -“Thank you, good friend, yes—run, I beseech you for the nearest leech, -or rather look out my Lord Dudley, who has just ridden by; say to him -that a lady whose welfare is dear to him, has swooned in the street, and -is in danger from the mob. Go, good man, go at once, or I fear me our -blithesome lady will never smile again!” - -“Nay,” said the artisan, who had fixed a greedy eye on the emeralds -scattered over the lady’s dress. “As I may not know the Lord Dudley when -he is found, had you not better leave the poor lady to me while you seek -him out yourself; the more especially as you may see that her mouth is -red again, and there is a tear breaking through the thick eye-lashes -that were so black and still when you first uncovered her face. The air -has done her good. Leave her to me, and by the time you come back with -the gentleman you wot of she will be well again. Truly, my jerkin is -none of the cleanest,” he added in reply to a glance which the other had -cast on his mean raiment, “nor my face much to your liking, I see; but I -shall not run off with your dainty trouble there, not being fool enough -to cumber myself with anything of womankind, be she gentle or simple, so -you can trust me.” - -There was something in the artisan’s manner more than in his -appearance—and that was suspicions enough, that rendered the person he -addressed reluctant to trust a being so helpless to his charge. He -hesitated and was deliberating how to act, when the multitude came -rushing back to their old station near the church, shouting fiercely and -uttering terrible imprecations on the Duke of Somerset, who had sent a -large body of armed men up the Thames, who had landed at the foot of -Westminster Bridge, resolute to support his artisans in the destruction -of St. Margaret’s. It was the first charge of this party, as it joined -the body of workmen, which still defended the passage up St. Margaret’s -street, that sent the crowd rushing back upon the church. The small band -of horsemen which had just passed, wheeled suddenly round and came back -almost by compulsion, for their way was entirely blocked up by the -populace, and behind were the Somerset men, urged to fierce resentment, -and goading them on to madness. - -The leader of this equestrian band—for it evidently belonged to neither -of the contending parties—was a young and remarkably handsome man, who -seemed entangled with the crowd by accident, and only desirous of -continuing his morning ride in tranquillity. The magnificent trappings -of his black charger—the jewelled buckle which fastened the plumes on -his cap, leaving a fine open forehead and a mass of light curling hair -exposed to view. The short cloak of dark green velvet bordered with -gold—the slashed and pointed doublet and hose underneath, betrayed him -as one of the brightest and most noble ornaments of the young King -Edward’s court, and were all in striking contrast with the rude mob from -which he was deliberately striving to extricate himself. He was followed -by a number of retainers well mounted, and all wearing his family badge; -yet it was not till they were forced to retrace their way and made some -slight commotion in the crowd in wheeling their horses, that the -tumultuous populace seemed to recognize them. But when the leader was -known, those men not actively engaged in the fight, pressed back to give -him way, and greeted him with uncovered heads—a few flung their caps in -the air, calling out for those in advance to make room for the Lord -Dudley; others took up the cry, and then went up a loud eager shout of - -“A Warwick! a Warwick! room, room for a Warwick!” Thus sounding a -defiance to the Somerset battle-cry, that rang so fiercely up from the -distance. - -This recognition by the mob seemed to annoy the object of their clamor -beyond measure. He lifted his hand with an imperative motion, in a vain -effort to silence their noisy greeting; but when he saw that this was -mistaken for encouragement, and that his family name rang louder and -with more joyous acclamation above all the tumult, he bent his noble -head to the multitude with forced resignation, and strove more -resolutely to retreat from a scene, which from many causes, filled him -with anxiety and regret. More than once his high spirit was so chafed by -the notice which he had unwillingly obtained, that nothing but -compassion for the multitude seemed to prevent him giving a free rein to -the noble beast which shook his head, champed angrily his tightened bit, -and curveted with impatience among the mass of human beings that -scarcely gave his hoofs free play upon the pavement. - -The two men whom we left near the young female, who was just returning -to animation, were interrupted in their discussion by these two sources -of renewed commotion which we have just related, and when the cry of “a -Warwick, a Warwick,” swept by, the last comer, who was still supporting -the lady, started to his feet, placed a hand over his eyes to shade them -from the sun, and looked earnestly over the sea of human heads rising -and falling and flowing by, like the motion of a forest when the wind -sweeps over it. All at once he uttered an exclamation of pleasure, and -rushing down the steps, forced his way to the young horseman who was now -almost opposite the place he had occupied. Pushing eagerly through the -crowd which surrounded the struggling charger, he seized him by the bit, -as the only means of attracting the rider’s attention in a scene where -his voice was exerted in vain; but so great was the tumult that even -this method proved ineffectual, and it was not till he had flung the -beast almost upon his haunches that he was recognized by the anxious -nobleman. The young man bent his head, for the eager face of his -retainer startled him, though the words he would have uttered were swept -away by the thousand fierce sounds that filled the air. At last, by the -aid of gesture and such broken words as reached his master’s ear, the -man made himself understood. The horseman started upright in his -stirrups, cast a keen look toward the spot pointed out by his attendant, -and, heedless of all former caution, plunged his spurs into the restless -charger, which reared and plunged with a violence that sent the people -back upon each other, and cleared a space of some yards about him. -Regardless of consequences, the nobleman scarcely gave his horse time to -recover himself, but urged him through the frightened crowd with an -impetuosity that sent a shower of sparks about his hoofs when they -struck upon the lower-most of the stone flags where the lady had taken -shelter. - -The young man sprang from his saddle, and pushing aside the artisan who -still hung about her, took the now partially recovered lady in his arms, -and in a voice of hurried and anxious affection inquired it she were -hurt, and multiplied questions one upon another, mingling them with -broken expressions of tenderness, which she could only answer by sobs -and the profuse tears that rushed over her burning cheeks. She seemed -entirely overcome with joy at his presence, and the intense shame -arising from her extraordinary situation. All his questions only served -to make her weep the more bitterly; but she clung nervously to his hand, -trembling between the pleasure of his protection and the fear that he -might condemn her, and besought him, in broken tones, to take her home, -to forgive her, but, above all things, to help her away from the mob of -coarse rough faces that were gazing upon her humiliation. - -“Nay, compose yourself,” said Dudley, in those low and persuasive tones -best calculated to allay her nervous excitement, “are you not safe with -me? you are too feeble to move yet. In a little time I trust that we may -pass in safety, but—” - -“Forgive me, my lord,” interrupted the man who had informed his master -of the lady’s plight. “If her ladyship can find strength to walk, had we -not better remove her at once to a place of safety? It is yet possible -to make our way round the corner, and so into the Park.” - -The Lord Dudley looked upon the crowd and shook his head. - -“See, my lord,” said the man still more earnestly, “the people are -becoming more turbulent than ever—in less than five minutes the space -between this and the church will be crowded full again.” - -“I fear she is too weak for the attempt,” replied Dudley, looking down -with tender anxiety into the sweet troubled face lifted with an -expression of timid confidence to his. - -“Oh, no, I am quite strong now; I can walk very well if you are with -me,” said the young girl; but her pale and trembling lips belied the -words as she turned her back to the people and strove with unsteady -hands to gather the scattered masses of her hair beneath the hood, which -scarcely served to conceal its rich beauty, dishevelled and loose as it -was. “See, I am quite ready,” she added, wrapping the mantle about her, -and gathering courage beneath the concealment of its folds, and clinging -to the young nobleman’s arm she stood terrified, it is true, but willing -to submit herself to his guidance. - -“My poor bird, how it pants and trembles beneath my arm,” murmured -Dudley. And amid all the annoyance of his position, his heart thrilled -with a sense of the protection which it gave to the object of his love; -but the feeling gave way to one of keen anxiety; for the populace were -by this time assailed so fiercely by the Somerset men that it was giving -way before them, and rapidly condensing itself around the Abbey, which -threatened soon to become the scene of contention. - -“What can be done? which way shall we go?” said Dudley, appealing to his -attendant. - -The man looked around and gravely shook his head. “I see no plan of -escape unless we struggle through the crowd,” he replied despondingly, -“and yet there is but your lordship and my humble self to protect the -Lady Jane, and the press threatens to be great.” - -The artisan who had made a show of holding Dudley’s horse, while he -concealed the ring and as many of the jewels which had dropped from the -lady’s hair as he could purloin during the short time that she had been -left alone with him, in the sleeve of his jerkin—now slipped the bridle -over his arm, and came up the steps so far as its length would permit. - -“If I might advise, fair sir,” he said, doffing his cap, and concealing -a large emerald that had before escaped him, with his foot, as he spoke. -“If I might make bold to give an opinion, three stout men are enough to -cover the retreat of one woman any day. Your gallant self and my -worshipful friend here, to say nothing of the man before you, who lacks -not both tough bone and sinew in a fair fight, and the noble horse, -which I take it, is worth at least two men, having a fine knack, as I -but now witnessed, of scattering a crowd with his hoofs. Well now, fair -sir, supposing you mount this noble nag and push a way through the -crowd, while my worshipful friend and humble self follow at his heels -with the lady between us. Oh, this does not jump with the lady’s humor, -I see,” continued the man without breaking the thread of his speech, as -the Lady Jane drew closer to her companion and murmured in an affrighted -voice, “no, no Dudley—keep you with me or I shall die with terror -else.” - -Dudley answered by a gentle pressure of the arm clinging to his, and the -man went on, as we have said, regardless of the interruption. - -“Well, if she does not fancy the cut of my face, perhaps the black -charger there will have better taste. Shall I mount and clear a path for -you? It is not often that I sit on a crimson saddle with housings of -velvet and gold—but there is an old saying or a new one, it matters not -which, that if you ‘put a beggar on horseback he will ride’—I must not -say exactly where in the presence of this lady, but to such a journey a -passage through this crowd of hooting scoundrels would be child’s -play—shall I mount, fair sir? you see the fight is getting nearer and -there will be hot work anon.” - -As the man finished speaking, he dropped his sheepskin cap quite by -accident, and displayed considerable awkwardness in picking it up again. -For a person rather shabbily dressed he certainly was somewhat -fastidious in replacing it jauntily on one side of his head; but in the -process a large emerald was sent, with a dexterous movement of the -fingers, flashing down the sleeve of his jerkin, which probably had some -connection with this elaborate display of taste. - -At any other time Dudley would have rebuked the fellow’s boldness, but -he was too anxious for thoughts of station or dignity, and turning from -the rude speaker to his attendant, he demanded earnestly if his plan -were practicable. Before the person addressed could reply, an immense -paving stone was hurled by his temple, and, tearing off the artisan’s -cap in its progress, was dashed to pieces against the granite pillar -which had so long sheltered the Lady Jane Saymore. A shriek burst from -her pale lips, and every face in that little group turned white as -death. After a moment the artisan took up his cap, and thrusting his -hand through a hole cut in it by the stone, tried to convince himself -and those about him, by a broad laugh, that he was a man of decided -courage and not to be daunted by trifles that could drive the blood from -a nobleman’s cheek; but his voice died in the miserable attempt, and he -slunk down to the horse’s head again, for the moment subdued into -silence. - -“For the love of heaven, let us be gone,” said Lord Dudley, terrified by -the danger which threatened the object of his love. “Mount, fellow; and -if you clear a way for this lady, you shall have gold”— - -Before he could finish the sentence, the artisan sprang to a seat on the -gorgeous saddle, and striking his mutilated cap down upon his head with -one hand, drew up the bridle, and shouting, “Make room for the noble -Dudley—a Warwick, a Warwick,” plunged into the crowd. - -Dudley threw his arm firmly round the Lady Jane, and directing his -attendant to keep close on the other side, followed his strange -conductor, who proved an excellent guide; for in his appeal now to the -people in behalf of their favorite noble, now to the Somerset men as one -of their number, he succeeded in forcing a passage for the party till -they had almost reached the front of St. Margaret’s; but here their -position became more dangerous than ever, for a detachment of the -Somerset men, after a desperate struggle to force a passage through the -body of people, had found the way across a corner of the park and along -Prince’s street, almost within a stone’s throw of the church, before -their movement was discovered by those resolute on its defence. It was -in vain the artisan pleaded for a passage now, his voice was overwhelmed -by the roar. He was raised considerably above the crowd, and was among -the first to discover this new difficulty. He arose in the saddle, cast -a crest-fallen look over the sea of human heads that surrounded him, -then bending backwards, he addressed the young lord and his companion in -a voice that was less steady than he would gladly have rendered it— - -“To the church, my lord—to the church at once! The street is choked, as -far as I can see—is choked up with Somerset men; but they are mistaken -if they hope to reach St. Margaret’s; here are stout angry fellows -enough to keep them at bay till Michaelmas. Seek shelter for the lady, -fair Sir, before they all see as much as I do, for there will be bloody -work there, or I am no reader of men’s faces.” - -There was no time for parley or delay, the pale craven face of the -artisan bore witness to the truth of what he said. Lord Dudley clasped -his companion more firmly, and forced his way with almost supernatural -strength toward the church. The artisan would gladly have sought the -shelter which he had so wisely recommended to his noble companion; but -the horse had become restive under a strange guidance, and before his -head could be turned toward St. Margaret’s, the mob had discovered the -Somerset workmen, and closed round him with a violence that rendered a -change of direction impossible. It was in vain that he waved his cap, -shouted Lord Dudley’s name, and craved a free passage. His voice was -overwhelmed in the roar and rush of a conflict more dreadful than had -been witnessed that day. The people saw the spoilers almost upon their -consecrated ground, and they fought like lions to protect the sacred -rest of their dead and the altar of their worship. It was a just cause, -but the strife a terrible one indeed. So great was the press, that our -artisan found the motion of his horse cramped and almost prevented. His -limbs were crushed against the noble animal till the pain became almost -insupportable. He would gladly have dismounted and have taken his chance -with the throng, but so dense was the sea of human beings crowding upon -him, that there was not an inch of space through which he might hope to -reach the ground. So horse and rider were violently borne forward at the -mercy of the crowd, and exposed to the shower of missiles that now -darkened the air. - -Meantime Dudley and his companions had reached the door of St. -Margaret’s; but it was closed, and a company of armed men stood -resolutely before it. The little band of workmen, which had kept its -station there till within the last hour, had at length deserted their -post, terrified by this guard of armed men added to the mob which they -had so long braved. Despairing of escape they had clambered, each as he -best might, up the gothic windows and rough stone work of the little -church, and were now crouching in groups on the roof, and striving to -conceal themselves behind the small turrets or steeples that surmounted -its four corners, afraid of being detected by the populace, who were -each moment becoming more and more exasperated by their brethren. - -“In the name of heaven, good friends, allow me to find shelter for this -lady within the church,” exclaimed Lord Dudley, as pale and fearfully -agitated he turned in despair from the bolted door which he had reached -in spite of the pikes presented by the self-constituted guard, “I am a -friend to the people, and this lady”— - -“Is his sister,” interrupted the attendant hastily, well knowing that -her true title would harden the men’s hearts against her, though she was -almost lifeless, and only kept from sinking at their feet by the strong -arm of her noble protector. - -“But, even our church may soon be no place of safety,” said one of the -men, “a few minutes and this building where our parents -worshipped—where our children were baptised—may be a heap of ruins -like those of St. Mary. Our holy altar stones may be made into door -steps for the Duke of Somerset’s fine palace—yes, our chancels sacked -to yield stones to flag his wine-cellars, while the bones and sacred -dust of our fathers are cast into the street, and scattered to the four -winds of heaven.” - -Dudley felt the gentle being, who clung to him for safety, tremble and -shrink, as if this angry speech had been levelled at her alone. - -“I know that the people have suffered some wrong,” he said, in a mild -but unsteady voice, for he was painfully agitated, both by his late -struggle with the crowd, and the torture which the man’s impetuous -speech was inflicting on his gentle charge. “But let me beseech you, -unclose the door, my—my poor sister is well nigh sinking to the earth -with fatigue and terror.” - -Still the men remained obstinate, not only refusing to open the door, -but guarding it with a close row of levelled pikes. The sound of fierce -strife, which now arose with appalling violence, within a few roods of -the church, seemed to fill them with cold and stubborn bitterness. At -last, when a loud and terrible cry swept over them—a cry of triumph -from the Somerset men, mingled with a yell of defiance from the mob, in -which Somerset, the Lord Protector’s name, was winged by shouts and -curses through the dense air, the man who had spoken before turned -almost menacingly on the young nobleman. - -“Did I not tell you,” he exclaimed, “this is no place for a lady? If we -cannot guard our dead, how can your charge be safe? Hear that shout—the -Duke of Somerset is himself coming up from the river to reinforce his -band of pillagers. A curse light upon his sacrilegious head for this -day’s work—a curse on him and his!” - -“Oh no, no; do not curse him!” exclaimed the Lady Jane, starting from -Dudley’s arm, and flinging the hood back from her pale face with a wild -impulse—“he does not know—he has not thought how dreadful all this is: -you do not dream how kind he is. In pity—for sweet mercy’s sake, do not -curse my father!” - -“Her father,” exclaimed the men almost simultaneously, and with menacing -looks; “her father!” - -Lord Dudley drew the young girl back to his side, pulled the mantle -almost roughly over her face, and turned sternly upon the men. - -“Behold,” he said, with a flashing eye, “behold the effect of your cruel -delay; my poor sister is driven stark mad at last.” - -The speech, and the pale steadfast features of the young man, had the -desired effect. The guard did not open the door, it is true, but their -manner was more subdued, and they consulted in a low voice together. - -“And if we unlock the church, what warrant have we that you are not a -partisan of the Duke’s?” said the leader, glancing suspiciously at the -young nobleman’s rich vestments; “you may be of his household, nay, his -son, for aught we know.” - -“You have the word of a Warwick, and this proof that the pledge is not -given without right,” said the young man, flinging aside his velvet -cloak, and displaying the family crest, set in brilliants, on his -sword-hilt. “Now, sirs, let me pass! I have no share in this broil, and -would gladly have escaped from it unknown.” - -“Pass in, and heaven’s blessing go with you!” said the man, almost -angrily striking up the line of weapons which his band still kept -levelled. - -He unlocked the heavy door, and while the dense mob shouted around him, -eager to know why he acted thus for a stranger, he stood, with uncovered -head, till the young nobleman had entered the church; then, he closed -the door again with a half repeated blessing upon the lips that had been -almost blistered with imprecations a few moments before. The solemn -stillness and cool atmosphere, which pervaded that little church, fell -like a breath from heaven on the three persons who entered it, weary and -faint from the turmoil that raged without. - -The blended hues of purple and gold and crimson, shed from the stained -and diamond-shaped glass that filled the gothic windows, flooded the -building with a dim mellow light, and slept, in a rich haze, among the -funereal urns of snowy marble placed in the various niches, once -occupied by images of Catholic worship. A shadowy light, such as beams -from a mild sunset, lay upon the altar-stone, which gleamed out white -and pure above the purple velvet that carpeted its steps. A baptismal -fount of marble stood on the right hand filled with clear water; but in -that rich light it seemed almost brimming with wine. Two censers of -massive silver stood above the altar, but only as remnants of a -discarded faith, for no incense had been kindled in their hearts since -the divorce of the late Henry and Catherine of Arragon. - -The whole church was pervaded with a beautiful quiet, such as might -reign in the shadowy dwellings of paradise. Dudley yielded to its -influence, and drew a deep breath, half in awe, half in thankfulness, as -he gently placed the Lady Jane upon one of the steps of the altar, and -sprinkled her pale face with the water which he dipped with his hand -from the baptismal fount. He took off the mantle which she still -unconsciously held tightly about her person, and gathering up the rich -tresses of her hair as they fell upon the marble, made an awkward -attempt to bind them round her head. The poor lady was conscious of his -kindness, but so exhausted that she had no power to thank him. The very -effort to unclose her eyes was an exertion too much for her languid -state, and the soft light which fell over her like a rich sunset seemed -lending beauty to a marble statue, so pale and deathlike were her -features. When Dudley inquired with anxious tenderness after her -welfare, from time to time, she answered him with a faint clasp of the -hand which he took in his, and grateful tears gushed in bright drops -through her closed lashes, and fell, one after another, like jewels upon -the purple velvet beneath her cheek. At last she opened her eyes, a -sweet and tender expression of pleasure came to her face, and one of the -familiar smiles which Dudley loved so well sprang like sunlight to her -reddening lips. She was yet bewildered and dreamy, but tranquillized by -the one dear presence, and the holy quiet which brooded over the place -of her rest. For a time she was unconscious of the tumult which still -raged without, for the sounds came but faintly to that holy place, and -seemed more like the heaving beat of a far off ocean than a strife of -angry men, heated and drunken with bad passions. - -All at once a shout so long, loud and fierce, that it filled that -tranquil building like the howl of a demon, fell upon her ear. She -started up with a full consciousness of all that had happened to her -during the morning, and again sinking upon the steps of the altar buried -her face between her hands, and held her breath with a feeling of terror -such as she had never known before. - -At that moment Dudley’s attendant, who had remained near the church -door, came hurriedly toward his master with information that the Duke of -Somerset had joined his men in person, and was now within a few paces of -the church. - - (To be continued.) - - * * * * * - - - - - THE ZEPHYR. - - - BY JULIET H. LEWIS. - - - I sat by the casement; before me there - Lay a treasured thing, a long tress of hair, - And it moved my heart with a touching power— - ’Twas the cherished gift of a parting hour. - The sun-shine lay ’mid its nut-brown fold - With a loving smile, as it did of old. - When the curl waved free in its careless grace, - Like a cloud in the sky, o’er the smiling face - Of the gentle girl that I loved so well— - A dimming tear on the bright lock fell - As thoughts of the loved one far away, - And the teeming past, on my sad heart lay. - - A Zephyr, that all this time had play’d, - Like a laughing child, ’mid the rose tree’s shade, - Flew up, like a bird, to the casement there, - And bore off in triumph the lock of hair. - ’Twas a cruel theft! and harsh words of blame, - Like a mountain stream, from my full heart came, - For the reckless deeds of the careless thing, - Ever hovering near on mischievous wing. - But the day before, he had entered my bower, - And scattered the leaves of its loveliest flower, - And bore off a letter that lay unread, - ’Neath the scented buds, on a mossy bed, - To the brook hard by, who, with dimpled cheek - And a smothered laugh at the Zephyr’s freak, - Received the gift, and bounded on - As wild, and free, as a forest fawn, - To its hiding spots ’neath the greenwood shade, - Glancing back, through the leaves, where the young wind play’d. - “Now! Spirit of Air,” I cried, “gay breeze— - Are all thine acts as unkind as these? - Thy wings are unfettered—thy path is free— - Yet mine is the power to follow thee.” - Then thought sprang up on her weariless wing, - And tracked the wind, in imagining. - He stole the white plume from the thistle’s crest, - Which was light as down on the swan’s pure breast, - And with waving wing bore the prize away - To a happy group ’mid the flowers at play, - And fanning the cheek of each laughing boy, - With his cooling wing, waved the downy toy - Their bright heads above, and the careless band, - With eager eye, and with outstretched hand, - Ran away, in chase of the silvery thing - That the Zephyr bore on exulting wing. - Now slowly it floated their hands beneath— - Now upward it sprang on a stronger breath— - Now wafted afar—’twas a merry race - The Zephyr to lead, and the children in chase! - He left them behind, but bore along - Their glee-toned voices, in joyous song, - And each lone mother looked up and smiled, - As she caught the tones of her darling child, - And paused awhile from her toil, to bless - The heart, o’erflowing with happiness. - - Then he went his way and on manhood’s brow - His cooling fingers are busy now, - He parts the dark hair from its resting place, - And prints a kiss on the anxious face, - And woos him to leave the dust and glare - Of the crowded town, for a spot more fair, - Where trees in blossom, and birds on wing, - Lead the rapt heart from each worldly thing. - But man heeds not, for his rest is sold, - And his heart bows down to the god of gold; - For the tempting Zephyr he “cares not a groat,” - He is eagerly reaching a “ten pound note,” - That ragged, and soiled on the counter doth lay, - But the Zephyr indignantly bears it away. - He toss’d it, he pull’d it, he twirled it around, - Now high in the air, and now low on the ground, - He moaned in derision, he whistled with glee, - Ah! never was Zephyr as merry as he, - Till at length, in his frolic, he entered a shed - Where a widow was praying for daily bread, - In the voice of faith, low, subdued and mild, - She prayed for food for her starving child: - Then the wind bowed down with its burden there, - And Heaven thus answered the widow’s prayer. - Then he entered the halls, where many a scene - Of joyous pleasure, and mirth had been— - He softly sighed o’er the festal board, - Where the jest had passed, and the red wine poured, - He swept the harp with his quivering wing, - And woke the tones of each mournful string, - While his murmuring voice, with its gentle chime, - Seemed singing a song of the olden time, - Or breathing a dirge o’er the gay hearts fled - To their silent homes ’mid the lowly dead. - He sighed through the banners that hung on high— - (Dimmed was their gorgeous blazonry,) - But they waved aloft, as they waved of old, - When the shout and song shook each heavy fold, - While the dust fell down in a darkening cloud— - And the moth was rocked in her silken shroud— - And the bat sprang forth from his loathsome nest, - ’Mid the pennons there, an unseemly guest! - - Then he went to the violet’s lonely bowers, - And gathered their breath, though he left the flowers, - And hastened on with the rich perfume - And a gladsome song, to the invalid’s room. - He hushed his voice as he entered there, - For holy and sad rose the sound of prayer, - With his wealth from the woods he wafted on, - And rushing memories of bright things gone - To the dying bore, while a low-breathed sigh, - Told of the Zephyr’s sympathy. - One tender act that he did that day, - Was a moment to pause where a stranger lay, - In an unknown land, with no loved one near - To breathe a sigh o’er his lowly bier, - Or moisten his grave with the tear-drops shed - From the mourning heart, o’er the loved and the dead. - Then mounting upward, on breezy wing, - To the white haw tree richly blossoming, - And, gathering its sweets with a gentle wave, - He spread them like snow o’er the stranger’s grave. - Green leaf, and bud, and starry flower, - Filled the rich air, like a lovely shower - Of bright things, sent from a fairy land, - And lay on the grave as though some kind hand - Had scattered, that silent heart above, - The sweets that in life it had learned to love. - - But ’twere _vain_ to tell of his wanderings free - O’er leafy land, and o’er foaming sea— - How he swept round the palace, and played through the cot— - Passed “the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot;” - How he wafted the purple of lordly pride, - And fluttered the rags of the beggar aside, - How he made of a spray-capped wave his steed, - And rode o’er the ocean with Jehu speed, - (’Till his charger tossed its snowy mane, - And sank to its native depths again,) - How he hastened the ship on her homeward way, - And scattered her track with the ocean’s spray. - ’Twere vain to number the acts like these, - That were done that day, by the joyous Breeze— - While I could but mark that, what first seemed rude, - Was gentle, and tender, and kind, and good. - I followed him far on his wayward track, - And when, from wandering, I turned me back, - He whispered at parting, these words, methought, - To my hasty heart,—“_Judge not!_ judge not!” - - * * * * * - - - - - SHAKSPEARE. - - -BY THEODORE S. FAY, AUTHOR OF “NORMAN LESLIE,” “THE COUNTESS IDA,” ETC. - - -It is the fashion to consider Macbeth a spotless and noble soul, -ensnared by the toils of the fiends, and pulled down from heaven to hell -by the chance meeting of the weird sisters on the heath. There is a -serious objection to this view. It makes machines of men. It takes from -us the most obvious and sublime attribute of an immortal being, viz: -free agency. If a high-minded and God-revering mortal is unprotected -against the attacks of supernatural beings—if foul witches may watch -for him in unguarded moments, and weave around his enchanted feet the -fatal snares of crime and death, then are we truly a wretched race. But -this is not Shakspeare’s creed. This is not the character of the -tragedy. Macbeth was a villain. He had deliberately adopted vice as his -god long before the fiends were permitted to patter with him. They come -as a _consequence_ not as a _cause_ of wickedness. The withered and wild -sisters on the blasted heath were conjured up by his own cherished -weaknesses and _secret_ deeds.[4] They were the haggard and hellish -impersonations of his own hidden thoughts and passions. He was not the -pure, generous, heaven-adoring person he is represented. The germs of -his guilt he had received into his heart by himself years before, and -they lay shooting there in silence, only waiting the quickening beam of -opportunity—waiting the first, feeblest temptation to start forth in -all their force. He was one of those fair-_seeming_ men who pass for -honest and noble. The world contains now, as then, many such. Many a man -with an uplifted brow and a clear name, waits only _occasion_ to prove -himself a scoundrel. It is such specious hypocrites that gather around -them (as the smell of carrion does the hawk and vulture) the plotting -witches who watch for power over the children of men. They had never -tempted the pure good old King Duncan. He might have passed the blasted -heath every day of his life, and these hags would never have dreamed of -appearing to him. His soul was not prepared for their wiles. But that of -Macbeth—as well as that of his stern wife—was corrupted by the whole -tenor of their previous life. - -Had there been left no evidence of this, I should still have asserted -it. The innocent—the pure in heart—they who daily commune with their -Maker—who acknowledge their weakness and danger when left to -themselves—and implore humbly at his feet his all-sufficient aid—never -fall victims to the accursed fiends, whether they appear in the -deformity of Paddock and Graymalkin, or disguised under the fair -temptations of life. - -But Shakspeare has left proof enough in his tragedy. He meant to show, -not (as is frequently asserted) the downfall of noble grandeur and -unsuspecting innocence, but the destruction of a fair-showing, -unsuspected villain—the wreck of a ship whose outward semblance was -tall and imposing, but which was unseaworthy and destined to go down -before the first gale. - -In the first place, why does not _Banquo_ suffer from the fiends? He is -with Macbeth when they appear. He even boldly addresses them, and at -once—with the frank fearlessness of a noble and virtuous mind, -conscious of its honesty, commands them, if they can read the future, to -speak to _him_ also. - - “Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear your favors, nor - your hate.” - -Here is at once a man not to be tampered with. They promise _him_ also -as well as Macbeth a dazzling future good—a posterity of kings—but it -in no way changes his plans of life, or raises the least idea in his -mind of crime or intrigue. Even when, according to the prediction of the -witches, Macbeth instantly receives intelligence, of his being thane of -Cawdor, Banquo’s _clear-seeing sense of right_, his innocence of nature -takes the true and virtuous view of the affair, looks, at a glance, -through all the complicated web of the sisters’ plots, and keeps himself -unsoiled, unendangered by them. - - _Banquo._ “But ’tis strange; - And often-times, to win us to _our harm_, - The instruments of darkness tell us truths; - Win us with honest trifles, to betray us - In deepest consequence.” - -And while he is making this just reflection, the obvious impulse of a -mind not warped from the erectness of a moral and religious integrity -and reverence, Macbeth soliloquizes with a kind of inexpressible -anticipatory triumph. - - “Two truths are told - As happy prologues to the swelling act - Of the imperial theme.” - -And he then goes on, like a ready made, long-matured rascal as he -is—like one whose mind had no habit of virtuous or religious -contemplation, but which has always had a familiarity with evil and a -tendency downward: - - ——“Why do I _yield_ to that suggestion - Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,” etc. - -The very moment his attention is directed to the subject of his becoming -_king_, he conceives the idea of murdering the actual occupant of the -throne, notwithstanding the fact that there are two sons living. - -An innocent man, were he told he would become king of England, would not -instantly set about murdering the queen. He would (supposing him to have -faith in the prediction) say to himself, as indeed Macbeth does at one -time: - - “If chance will have me king, why chance may crown me, without - my stir.” - -The very first page of the tragedy marks Macbeth for a villain even -before he has made his appearance. - - 1. _Witch._ When shall we three meet again - In thunder, lightning, or in rain? - - 2. _Witch._ When the hurly-burly’s done, - When the battle’s lost and won; - - 3. _Witch._ That will be ere set of sun. - - 1. _Witch._ Where the place? - - 2. _Witch._ Upon the heath. - - 3. _Witch._ _Then to meet with Macbeth._ - -Why have these fiendish women selected the gallant soldier as their -victim? What gathers them about the “battle” that is raging near? _What_ -but the _scent_ of _a sinful heart_? - -But there are other proofs of an extrinsic nature, which settle the -previous character of Lady Macbeth at the same time, and shows how ripe -they both were for the fiends. - -If a man’s true nature may be supposed to be known to any one it _is to -his wife_. He may put on a smooth face before his best friend; he may -write or speak virtuous sentiments to the public; he may give charitable -donations, and follow the career of a flaming patriot or a meek saint, -but the lady upon whom he has conferred with his name, the right of -being with him continually, will be pretty able to tell how matters -really are. I do not say that, because a wife abuses her husband and -calls him names, he must necessarily be a rascal; but, as a general -rule, the partner of his woes and joys has better opportunities of -_knowing the man_ than almost any one else—at least, if she be a person -of Lady Macbeth’s discrimination. Well then, see what his _lady_ says of -him, to herself, on receiving his letter recounting the prediction of -the weird sisters. - - “Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be - What thou art promis’d:—yet I do fear thy nature; - It is too full o’ the milk of human kindness, - To catch the nearest way.” - -That she should suppose him _too full of the milk of human kindness_ to -do cruel actions is a skilful stroke in the delineation both of his -nature and hers. However well she knew him, as he had been till then, an -unprincipled man—even _she_ had never fathomed those depths of -character, (for good or for evil common to all men, and equally -unfathomed probably by himself,) which the subsequent events disclosed. -Shakspeare somewhere else says, “It is not a year or so that shows us a -man”—and it is an important truth, that we are not thoroughly known by -our best friends, and do not know ourselves till late in life. This same -person, so full of the milk of human kindness that she feared his -“softer nature” could never be brought to the necessary resolution, no -sooner finds himself once fairly compromised than his atrocities throw -the cruelties of ordinary oppressors quite into the shade. - - “Thou would’st be great; - Art not without ambition; but without - The illness should attend it. What thou would’st highly - Thou would’st holily; would’st not play false, - And yet _would’st wrongly win_,” etc. etc. - -This passage has been often misunderstood. “Without the _illness_” that -should attend ambition—“what thou would’st highly thou would’st -holily,” does not mean, thou art without the _vices_ which should attend -ambition, and, what thou would’st highly—thou would’st in a _holy -spirit_. It means, he is without the _courage_ to bear the risk and -odium necessary to the successful carrying out of ambitious plans, -although he is willing enough to be _guilty_ if he may not _appear_ to -be so. “What he would highly,” he would also with an _appearance of -holiness_. He loves the _mask_ of virtue, but he loves also the sweets -of sin. He has thus far enjoyed the good opinion of the _world_. He -cannot bear to throw aside the wreath which he has worn and which -flatters his weakness and vanity. It is the _world_ which alone he -thinks of. This is his only god. Of the Supreme Being, there is not a -word; but of his inclination to assume the moral responsibility there is -a distinct acknowledgment: - - “Would’st not play false - And yet _would’st wrongly win_. ‘Thou’d’st have, great Glamis,’ - That which cries, ‘_Thus thou must do if thou have it!_’ - And that which thou dost _rather fear to do_, - Than _wishest should be undone_.” - -Here we have Macbeth’s character. Here we have the secret of his -goodness. It is _fear_ and _love of the world_. - -Shakspeare meant to draw a very—very common character, only he has made -it colossal. How many men in the common life of this day are -irreproachable from the same considerations—fear and love of the world, -joined to a certain dislike of the trouble, exertion and risk of wrong. -(“If we should fail!”) That these are the moving springs of this -seemingly noble and generous but really remorseless and impious -character we see again from a remark of his own. After contemplating the -murder for some time, he concludes to abandon the plan. Why? Because he -will not incur the moral guilt? Because he has thoughts of his God, -whose eye is on him, and who cannot but punish a crime? Because the -commandment has been written, “Thou shalt do no murder?” Because the -Deity himself has decreed “blood for blood?” - -No. For reasons much more suited to his irreligious, infidel, worldly -mind: - - “We will proceed no further in this business! - He hath _honored_ me of late; and I have bought - _Golden opinions_ from all _sorts of people_, - Which should be worn now in their newest gloss, - Not cast aside so soon.” - -These are his reasons for not wishing to proceed. Not a thought of his -Maker—not an allusion to a future world. He expressly says, in another -passage, if he could but be secure against detection _in this world_, he -does not feel any apprehension respecting the other. He’ll “_jump the -world to come_.” - -No man, not corrupt by long previous backslidings either of thought or -deed, would act as Macbeth acts. He grasps at the first idea of murder -with the true zest of an assassin. All his struggles are only those of -fear. The _first_ time he meets the king, his generous, grateful, and -gracious master, he seems already to have arranged the murder in his -mind, and his hypocrisy and cruelty do not waver an instant. He -discovers the self-possession and plausible villany of a practised -criminal, and this too before he sees his wife upon the subject. It -almost seems as if they had spoken on this point before. When Duncan -heaps him with thanks and rewards, he answers: - - _Mac._ “The service and the loyalty I owe, - In doing it, pays itself. Your Highness’ part - Is to receive our duties: and our duties - Are, to your throne and state, children and servants; - Which do but what they should, by doing every thing - Safe toward your love and honor.” - -When the King says, as if in dark conformity to the witches’ prediction: - - “from hence to Inverness, - And bind us further to you,” - -Macbeth, like a hungry leopard trembling with joy at seeing his victim -take refuge in his very den, says, with an affectation of grateful -submission: - - _Mac._ “The rest is labor which is not used for you: - I’ll be myself the harbinger, and _make joyful_ - _The hearing of my_ wife with your approach.” - -And then _already_, to himself: - - _Mac._ “The Prince of Cumberland! That is a step - On which I must fall _down, or else overleap_; - For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires! - Let not light see my black and deep desires, - The eye wink at the hand, _yet let that be_ - Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.” - -His famous soliloquy, “Out, out, brief candle,” is in itself a superb -piece of earthly philosophy, but it becomes resplendently significant -when regarded as the _creed of infidelity_ which has brought him where -he is; for he is an atheist, and _therefore_ he is a _murderer_. - - “Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player, - That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, - And _then is heard no more_: it is a tale - Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, - _Signifying nothing_.” - -These are not the thoughts of the gentle, happy-hearted Shakspeare. -These are the blasphemous outbreakings of a blood-drenched, disbelieving -soul, vainly striving to make head against God’s vengeance by denying -his existence. No. Life’s _not_ a walking shadow. It is more than a poor -player—than a tale signifying nothing. It signifies much not to be -known by the “ignorant present,” as they find, unhappy lost ones, who -mistake such wicked blasphemies for truth. - -The pertinacity with which his selfish soul is wedded to the world is -again betrayed in one of his last soliloquies, where, in running a kind -of balance in his accounts between the gains and losses of his murderous -ambition, he complains: - - “And that which should accompany old age, - As _honor, love, obedience, troops of friends_, - I must not look to have; but, in their stead, - Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath, - Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.” - -Always the world bounds his hopes and his fears. - -The original viciousness of his nature is also betrayed by the readiness -with which, once embarked in the career of crime, he plunges in -headlong. The very morning of the murder of the king, he stabs in their -sleep the two grooms of the chamber, then Banquo and Fleance (which -latter escapes by chance.) He rushes on from murder to murder with the -rabid fury of a hound maddened with the taste of blood. He adopts the -direst principles of action, - - _Mac._ “From this moment - The very firstlings of my heart shall be - The firstlings of my hand.” - -Surprises the castle of Macduff, and massacres his wife, his babes, - - “And all the unfortunate souls - That trace him in his line.” - -That Shakspeare meant to draw, in this remarkable portraiture, a worldly -character unsupported by _religion_, is evident from the _tone of piety_ -which runs through the other characters. The gentlewoman’s “Heaven knows -what she has known,” and her “pray God it be well.” The doctor’s “God, -God forgive us all!” Macduff’s - - “Did Heaven look on - And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, - They were all struck for thee! Naught that I am, - Not for their own demerits, but for mine, - Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now.” - -This is the oft repeated apprehension of a pious heart which fears still -its own weakness, and finds, in the inscrutable and most awful -visitatings of God a merited blow—a chastener of its still corrupt -desires—a lesson to unlink it yet more from its grasp on mortality. - -Immediately again Macduff prays to heaven—and in the same page Malcolm -says: - - “Macbeth - Is ripe for shaking, and the _powers above_ - Put on their instruments.” - -Another instance of the pure christian piety with which the poet invests -his good characters, and of which he deprives his bad ones, telling -strongly for Dr. Ulrici’s theory, occurs in the third scene of the -fourth act, where Malcolm, the heir to the throne, in order to try -Macduff, represents himself as being full of vices. Macduff replies, - - “Thy Royal Father - Was a most _sainted King_; the Queen, that bore thee,— - _Oftener upon her knees than on her feet_.” - -In his answer, Malcolm uses the expression, full of pious reverence: - - “But _God above_ - Deal between thee and me,” &c. - -And still another, the morning after the murder, when Macduff says: - - “In the _great hand of God I stand_,” &c. - ------ - -[4] _Vide a future_ ¶. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE DAUGHTERS OF DR. BYLES. - - - A SKETCH OF REALITY. - - - BY MISS LESLIE. - - -On my first visit to Boston, about nine years since, I was offered, by a -lady of that kind and hospitable city, (the paradise of strangers,) an -introduction to the two daughters of the celebrated Mather Byles: and I -gladly availed myself of this opportunity of becoming acquainted with -these singular women, whom, I had been told, were classed among the -curiosities of the place. - -Their father, a native Bostonian, (born in 1706, during the reign of -Queen Anne,) was connected with the family of Cotton Mather. His -education was completed in England, where he studied theology at -Cambridge, and was afterwards ordained a minister of the gospel -according to the Episcopal faith. On his return to Boston, Mather Byles -was inducted into the first pastor-ship of Hollis street church, then a -newly-erected edifice, constructed entirely of wood, as were most -American churches of that period. He became proprietor of a house and a -small piece of ground near the junction of Tremont and Nassau streets. -In this house all his children were born, and here the two that survived -were still living. His wife was a daughter of Governor Taylor. - -The position of Dr. Byles as a clergyman, his literary acquirements, his -shrewd sense, and his ready wit, caused him to be highly popular at -home, and brought him into personal acquaintance or epistolary -correspondence with many of the principal men of his time, on both sides -of the Atlantic. He frequently exchanged letters with Pope and with Dr. -Watts: and among the visiters at his “modest mansion” might be -enumerated some of the most distinguished persons of his native -province—while strangers of note eagerly sought his acquaintance. - -All went smoothly with Dr. Byles till America became impatient of her -dependence on the crown of Britain; and, unfortunately for him, his -sympathies were on the side of the mother country. He could not be -persuaded that her children of the new world had sufficient cause for -abrogating the authority of the nation from whence they had sprung; and -he considered their alleged grievances as mere pretexts for throwing off -a chain which, in his opinion, had pressed but lightly on them; and -that, in short, as Falstaff said of the Percy and Mortimer -insurrection,—“Rebellion lay in their way, and they found it.” His -congregation had warmly and almost unanimously espoused the popular -cause, and, consequently, were much irritated at the ultra royalist -feelings and opinions of their pastor, whose difficulties with his flock -seeming daily to increase, Dr. Byles eventually thought it best to -resign his situation as minister of Hollis street church. - -The war broke out; the battle of Bunker Hill was fought, and Boston was -subsequently occupied by the British army, and besieged by the -Americans, who established themselves in hostile array upon the heights -that commanded the town,—and, with a view of dislodging the enemy, they -vigilantly exerted themselves in stopping all supplies of fuel and -provisions. After holding out against the patriots during a leaguer of -more than eight months, the British finally withdrew their forces, and -embarked them to carry the war into another section of the country. Now, -that something like order was again restored in the town of Boston and -its vicinity, it was thought time to punish those who had rendered -themselves obnoxious by aiding and abetting the cause of the enemy. Some -of the most noted royalists were expelled from the province and took -refuge in Nova Scotia, others went into voluntary exile and repaired to -England, where they preferred a claim of indemnification for the losses -they had sustained by adhering to the cause of monarchy. Among others, -Dr. Mather Byles was denounced at a town-meeting, for his unconcealed -toryism: for having persisted in praying for the king; and for -interchanging visits with the British officers, most of whom were -received familiarly at his house. Upon these charges he was tried before -a special court, and at first sentenced to have his property -confiscated, and himself and family transported to England. But the -board of war, out of respect to his private character, commuted his -punishment to a short imprisonment in his own house, under the guard of -sentinels, and allowed him to retain his possessions. - -The rebellion eventuated in a successful revolution; and honor, fame, -and the gratitude of their country rewarded those who had assisted in -the glorious contest for independence; while all who had held back, and -all who had sided with the enemy, were contumeliously cast into the -shade, regarded with contempt by their former associates, or compelled -to wear out their lives in exile from the land of their birth. Most of -the connections of the Byles family quitted the States. But the doctor -remained, and finding that he could not regain his former place among -his townsmen, he lived in retirement during the residue of his life, and -died at his own house in Boston, in 1788, in the 82d year of his age. He -was interred beneath the pavement of the chancel in Trinity church, -having worshipped there with his family after quitting that of Hollis -street. - -In the old family house his two surviving daughters had ever since -continued to reside, steadily refusing to sell either the building or -the lot of ground attached to it, though liberal offers for its purchase -had repeatedly been made to them. So deep-rooted was their attachment to -this spot, where they had been born, and where they had always lived, -that they considered it impossible for them to exist in any other place, -continually asserting that a removal from it would certainly kill them. -They had a trifling source of income which brought them two hundred -dollars annually, and they contrived to save nearly the whole of this -little sum. Also, they possessed a tolerable quantity of old-fashioned -plate, which they had put away in a chest up stairs, never to be used or -sold while they lived. In the mean time their wants were chiefly -supplied, (and, indeed, many little luxuries were furnished them,) by -the benevolence of certain ladies of Boston, who, in the goodness of -their hearts, overlooked the anomaly of two women who had the means of a -comfortable independence within their reach, submitting to receive -assistance from eleemosynary bounty rather than relinquish the -indulgence of what, in those matter-of-fact times, would, by most -persons, be regarded as a mere morbid fancy. But on this point of -feeling they believed their happiness to depend; and their tolerant -benefactresses kindly enabled them to be happy in their own way. - -The Miss Byleses kept no domestic; but a man came every morning to -attend to the wood and water part of their _ménage_, and to go their -errands—and a woman was employed every week to do up the Saturday work. -A newspaper was sent to them gratuitously—books were lent to them, for -the youngest was something of a reader, and also wrote verses; and they -frequently received little presents of cakes, sweetmeats, and other -delicacies. They rarely went out, except to Trinity church. Then they -put on their everlasting suits of the same Sunday clothes: their faces -being, on these occasions, shaded with deep black veils suspended from -their bonnets, not so much for concealment as for gentility. - -The lady who volunteered to introduce me to the daughters of Dr. Byles, -was, as I afterwards understood, one of those who assisted in affording -them some of the comforts which they denied to themselves. We set out on -our visit on one of the loveliest mornings of a Boston summer, the -warmth of the season being delightfully tempered by a cool breeze from -the sea. After passing the beautiful Common, (why has it not a better -name?) my companion pointed out to me, at what seemed the termination of -the long vista of Tremont street, an old black-looking frame-house, -which, at the distance from whence I saw it, seemed to block up the way -by standing directly across it. It was the ancient residence of Mather -Byles, and the present dwelling of his aged daughters; one of whom was -in her eighty-first and the other in her seventy-ninth year. This part -of Tremont street, which is on the south-eastern declivity of a hill, -carried us far from all vicinity to the aristocratic section of Boston. - -At length we arrived at the domain of the two antique maidens. It was -surrounded by a board fence, which had once been a very close one, but -time and those universal depredators, “the boys,” had made numerous -cracks and chinks in it. The house (which stood with the gable end to -the street) looked as if it had never been painted in its life. Its -exposure to the sun and rain, to the heats of a hundred summers and the -snows of a hundred winters, had darkened its whole outside nearly to the -blackness of iron. Also, it had, even in its best days, been evidently -one of the plainest and most unbeautified structures in the town of -Boston, where many of the old frame-houses can boast of a redolence of -quaint ornament about the doors, and windows, and porches, and -balconies. Still, there was something not unpleasant in its aspect, or -rather in its situation. It stood at the upper end of a green lot, whose -long thick grass was enamelled with field flowers. It was shaded with -noble horse-chestnut trees relieved against the clear blue sky, and -whose close and graceful clusters of long jagged leaves, fanned by the -light summer breeze, threw their chequered and quivering shadows on the -grass beneath, and on the mossy roof of the venerable mansion. - -We entered the enclosure by a board gate, whose only fastening was a -wooden latch with a leather string; like that which secured the wicket -of Little Red Ridinghood’s grand-mother. There was a glimpse of female -figures hastily flitting away from a front window. We approached the -house by a narrow pathway, worn by frequent feet, in the grass, and a -few paces brought us to the front door with its decayed and tottering -wooden steps. My companion knocked, and the door was immediately opened -by a rather broad-framed and very smiling old lady, habited in a black -worsted petticoat and a white short-gown, into the neck of which was -tucked a book-muslin kerchief. Her silver hair was smoothly arranged -over a wrinkled but well-formed forehead, beneath which twinkled two -small blue eyes. Her head was covered with a close full-bordered white -linen cap, that looked equally convenient for night or for day. She -welcomed us with much apparent pleasure, and my companion introduced her -to me as Miss Mary Byles. She was the eldest of the two sisters. - -Miss Mary ushered us into the parlor, which was without a carpet, and -its scanty furniture seemed at least a century old. Beneath a -surprisingly high mantel-piece was a very low fire-place, from whence -the andirons having been removed for the summer, its only accoutrement -was a marvellous thick cast-iron back-plate, of a pattern antique even -to rudeness. There were a few straight tall-backed chairs, some with -bottoms of flag-rush, and others with bottoms of listing; and there was -one _fauteuil_, to be described hereafter. My attention was attracted by -the oldest-looking table I had ever seen, and of so dark a hue that it -was difficult to tell whether it was mahogany or walnut. When opened out -it must have been circular; but, now that the leaves were let down, it -exhibited a top so strangely narrow (not more than half a foot in width) -that it was impossible to divine the object in making it so; unless, -indeed, it was the fashionable table of the time. And fashion, at all -periods, has been considered reason sufficient for anything, however -inconvenient, ugly or absurd. To support the narrow top and the wide -leaves, this table seemed to be endowed with a hundred legs and a -proportionate number of bars crossing among them, in every direction, -all being of very elaborate turned work. I opine that this must have -been a great table in its day. - -My companion inquired after the health of Miss Catherine Byles, the -youngest of the ladies. Miss Mary replied that sister Catherine was -quite unwell, having passed a bad night with the rheumatism. Regret was -expressed at our losing the pleasure of seeing her. But Miss Mary -politely assured us that her sister would exert herself to appear, -rather than forego an opportunity of paying her respects to the ladies; -and we as politely hoped that, on our account, she would not put herself -to the smallest inconvenience. While compliments were thus flying, the -door of the next room opened, and Miss Catherine Byles made her -entrance, in a manner which showed us that she went much by -gracefulness. - -Miss Catherine was unlike her elder sister, both in figure and face; her -features being much sharper, (in fact, excessively sharp,) and her whole -person extremely thin. She also was arrayed in a black bombasin -petticoat, a short-gown, and a close lined cap, with a deep border that -seemed almost to bury her narrow visage. She greeted us with much -cordiality, and complained of her rheumatism with a smiling countenance. - -My eyes were soon rivetted on a fine portrait of Dr. Mather Byles, from -the wonderful pencil of Copley—wonderful in its excellence at a period -when the divine art was scarcely known in the provinces, and when a good -picture rarely found its way to our side of the ocean. And yet, under -these disadvantages, and before he sought improvement in the schools of -Europe, did Copley achieve those extraordinary fac-similes of the human -face, that might justly entitle him to the appellation of the Reynolds -of America, and are scarcely excelled by those of his cotemporary, the -Reynolds of England. - -The moment I looked at this picture I knew that it _must_ be a likeness; -for I saw in its lineaments the whole character of Dr. Byles, -particularly the covert humor of the eye. The face was pale, the -features well-formed, and the aspect pleasantly acute. He was -represented in his ecclesiastical habiliments, with a curled and -powdered wig. On his finger was a signet-ring containing a very fine red -cornelian. While I was contemplating the admirably-depicted countenance, -his daughters were both very voluble in directing my attention to the -cornelian ring, which they evidently considered the best part of the -picture; declaring it to be an exact likeness of that very ring, and -just as natural as life. - -Before I had looked half enough at Copley’s picture, the two old ladies -directed my attention to another portrait which they seemed to prize -still more highly. This, they informed me, was that of their nephew, -“poor boy,” whom they had not seen for forty years. It was painted by -himself.—His name was Mather Brown, and he was the only son of their -deceased elder sister. He had removed to London, where, as they informed -me, he had _taken_ the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York—“and, -therefore,” said one of the aunts—“he is painter to the royal family.” -They both expressed much regret that they had not been able to prevail -on their father, after the revolution, to give up America entirely, and -remove with his family to England. “In that case,” said Miss Mary, “we -should all have been introduced at court; and the king and queen would -have spoken to us; and I dare say would have thanked us kindly for our -loyalty.” - -The truth was, as I afterwards found, that a much longer period than -forty years had elapsed since their nephew left America; but they always -continued to give that date to his departure. He had painted himself -with his hair reared up perpendicularly from his forehead, powdered -well, and tied behind,—and, in a wide blue coat with yellow buttons, -and a very stiff hard-plaited shirt-frill with hand-ruffles to match. In -his hand he held an open letter, which, both his aunts informed me, -contained the very words of an epistle sent by one of them to him, and, -therefore, was an exact likeness of that very letter. To gratify them, I -read aloud the pictured missive, thereby proving that it really -contained legible words. - -Having looked at the pictures, I was invited by Miss Mary Byles to take -my seat in the large arm-chair, which she assured me was a great -curiosity, being more than a hundred years old, having been sent over -from England by “government,” as a present to their maternal -grandfather, Governor Taylor. The chair was of oak, nearly black with -age, and curiously and elaborately carved. The back was very tall and -straight, and the carving on its top terminated in a crown. This chair -was furnished with an old velvet cushion, which was always (by way of -preservation) kept upside down, the underside being of dark calico. Miss -Mary, however, did me the honor, as a visiter, to turn the right side -up, that I might sit upon velvet; and as soon as I had placed myself on -it, she enquired if I found it an easy seat? On my replying in the -affirmative. “I am surprised at that”—said she, with a smile—“I wonder -how a republican can sit easy under the crown.”—Beginning to understand -my cue, I, of course, was properly diverted with this piece of wit. - -Miss Catherine then directed my attention to the antique round table, -and assured me that at this very table Dr. Franklin had drank tea on his -last visit to Boston. Miss Mary then produced, from a closet by the -chimney-side, an ancient machine of timber and iron in the form of a -bellows, which she informed me was two hundred years old. It looked as -if it might have been two thousand, and must have been constructed in -the very infancy of bellows-making, about the time when people first -began to grow tired of blowing their fires with their mouths. It would -have afforded a strange contrast, and a striking illustration of the -march of intellect, if placed by the side of one of those light and -beautiful, painted, gilt and varnished fire-improvers which abound in -certain shops in Washington street. This bellows of other days was so -heavy that it seemed to require a strong man to work it. The handles and -sides were carved all over with remarkably cumbrous devices; and the -nozzle or spout was about the size and shape of a very large parsnep -with the point cut off. - -Miss Mary now asked her sister if _she_ had no curiosities to show the -ladies? Miss Catherine modestly replied that she feared she had nothing -the ladies would care to look at. Miss Mary assured us that sister -Catherine had a box of extraordinary things, such as were not to be seen -every day, and that they were universally considered as very great -curiosities. Miss Catherine still seemed meekly inclined to undervalue -them. My companion, who _had_ seen the things repeatedly, begged that -their Philadelphia visiter might be indulged with a view of these -rarities—and, finally, after a little more coquetry, a sort of square -band-box was produced, and Miss Catherine did the honors of her little -museum. - -She showed us the envelope of a letter addressed to her father by no -less a person than Alexander Pope, and directed in the poet’s own hand. -The writing was clear and handsome, and had evidently been executed with -a new pen, and with a desire that the superscription should look well. -Next, were exhibited four commissions, each bearing the signature of a -different British sovereign. The names of the royal personages were -placed at the top of the document and not at the bottom. This, the old -ladies told us was to show that royalty ought to go before every thing -else. The first signature was that of Queen Anne, and headed the -appointment of their grandfather to the government of the province of -Massachusetts. I have never in my life seen any autograph so bad as that -of “great Anne whom three realms obeyed”—if this was to be considered a -fair specimen. It looked as if nobody had ever taught her to write, and -had the appearance of being scratched on the paper, not with a _pen_ but -with a _pin_ dipped in ink. I believe it is related of the Emperor -Charlemagne (who pressed the seals of his missives with the hilt of his -dagger) that he effected his signature by plunging his thumb into the -ink, and making with it a large black spot or blot on the parchment. No -doubt, being a man of sense, he took care that his dab or smear should -always be of exactly the same shape and dimension, and so _unique_ in -its look as to preclude the possibility of counterfeits. - -The next document shown us by Miss Catherine, was honored with the name -of the First George—that sapient Elector of Hanover, whose powers of -comprehension were so obtuse that he never could be made exactly to -understand by what means he succeeded to the throne of England, and -often said “he was afraid he was keeping some honest man out of his -place.” His majesty’s pen-maker was palpably unworthy of holding that -office, for, in this autograph, both up strokes and down were so thick -that they looked as if done with the feather of the quill instead of its -point. - -Afterwards was displayed a commission signed by George the Second. Here -the royal caligraphy seemed on the mend. The signature was well written, -and his majesty’s pen-provider was evidently fit for his station. - -Last, was a paper bearing the name of George the Third, written in a -fair and easy hand, but rather inferior to that of his predecessor, -notwithstanding that the second of the Hanoverian monarchs had “never -liked _b_ainting or _b_oetry in all his life, and did not know what good -there was in either.” - -It is a most fallacious and illiberal hypothesis that the hand-writing -is characteristic of the mind. And those who profess that theory -frequently employ it as a vehicle for the conveyance of impertinent and -unjust remarks. - -We were next shown a small portion of moss gathered from the -time-honored roof of Bradgate Hall, the mansion in which the unfortunate -Lady Jane Grey first saw the light. - -These relics of the departed great were followed by the exhibition of -some little articles, only remarkable as specimens of mechanical -ingenuity. Among them was a large deep-red mulberry, looking -surprisingly like a real one. - -“And now,” said Miss Catherine, “I will show you the greatest curiosity -of all.” She then took out an inner pasteboard box that had been placed -within the larger one, and setting it on the floor, produced, from a -round hole in the lid, an artificial snake, that looked something like a -very long, very close string of button-molds. By giving it some -mysterious impulse, she set the reptile in motion, and caused it to run -about in the neighborhood of our feet. We thought it best to be a little -startled and a little frightened, and very greatly surprised at the -ingenuity of the thing. After we had sufficiently enjoyed the sight, -Miss Catherine attempted to replace her snake in the box, telling him it -was time to go home. But he seemed rather refractory, and quite -unwilling to re-enter his prison. “What”—said she—chastising him with -two or three smart taps—“won’t you go in.—Are _you_ a rebel too!”—The -serpent stood rebuked; and then obediently hurried back into his hole. -And we laughed as in duty bound—also with some admiration at the old -lady’s slight of hand in managing the reptile. - -Miss Catherine, having completed the exhibition of her snake, now -addressed Miss Mary, and proposed that her sister should show us an -extraordinary trick, “which always astonished the ladies.” To this Miss -Mary made some objection, lest we should have her taken up and hanged -for a witch. On our promising not to do so, she took a scrap of white -paper which she tore into four little bits, and then laid them in a row -on the table. Having done this, she left the room, shutting the door -closely after her, so as to convince us, that while remaining outside it -was impossible for her to see or hear anything that was done in her -absence. Miss Catherine now desired me to touch, with my finger, one of -the bits of paper—any one I pleased. I touched the second—and Miss -Mary was then called in by her sister, who said to her, as she -entered,—“Be quick.”—Miss Mary immediately advanced to the table, and -unhesitatingly designated the second paper as that which I touched while -she was out of the room. Being unacquainted with the trick, I was really -surprised; and wondered how she could have guessed so correctly. The -trick was several times repeated, and every time with perfect success. - -After I had been thoroughly astonished, and declared my utter inability -to fathom the mystery, the sisters explained to me its very simple -process. The four bits of paper, arranged on the table in a row, denoted -the four first letters of the alphabet.—When I touched the second, -(which signified B,) Miss Catherine directed her sister to it by saying, -as she returned to the room—“Be quick.”—When I touched the -third—D—Miss Mary, on her entrance, was saluted by her sister with the -words—“Do you think you can tell?”—After I had touched the first -paper, A, Miss Mary was asked—“Are you sure you can guess?”—and when I -touched C, Miss Catherine said to Miss Mary, “Come and try once more.” -And thus, by commencing each sentence with the letter that had just been -touched, she unfailingly pointed out to her sister the exact paper. To -succeed in this little trick, there must, of course, be an understanding -between the two persons that exhibit it: and to most of the uninitiated -it appears very surprising. By adopting a similar plan of collusion, -some of the professors of Mesmerism have contrived to obtain from their -magnetized sleepers, replies which, to the audience, seemed truly -astonishing. - -We now arose to take our leave; and our attention was then directed to a -square pine table standing by one of the windows, and covered with -particularly uninviting specimens of pincushions, needle-books, -emery-bags, &c. The old ladies informed us that this was a charity -table, which they kept for the benefit of “the poor.” I had thought that -the Miss Byleses were their own poor. However, we gratified them by -adding a trifling sum to their means of doing good: and I became the -proprietor of the ugliest needle-book I had ever seen. But I -magnanimously left the less ugly things to tempt the choice of those -persons who really make an object of their purchases at charity -tables.—“Dear good little me.” - -The Miss Byleses were very urgent in inviting me to repeat my visit, -saying, that any time of the day after nine o’clock, they were always -ready to see company, and would be happy to receive me and such friends -as I might wish to bring with me. And they enumerated among their -visiters, from other parts of the Union, some highly eminent personages. - -While we were listening to the “more last words” of Miss Catherine, her -sister slipped out into the very short passage that led to the house -door, and then slipped back again. We, at last, paid our parting -compliments, and Miss Mary escorted us to the front door, but seemed to -find it locked, and seemed to find it impossible to unlock. This gave -her occasion to say wittily—“The ladies will have to send home for -their night-caps; as they are likely to be kept here all night.” -Luckily, however, this necessity was obviated, by the key yielding as -soon as it was turned the right way: and finally Miss Mary Byles -curtsied and smiled us out. - - (To be concluded.) - - * * * * * - - - - - THE EYES OF NIGHT. - - - BY MISS MARY SPENCER. - - - Night has eyes—sparkling eyes! - Some soft, some bright; - The flashing fire ne’er dies - From eyes of night. - - Night has many wooers - To watch her eyes, - To love her silent hours - And mellow skies. - - Night has a witching spell - To bind the heart; - Its silent glances quell - And awe impart. - - A perfumed breath has Night: - It wafts the sighs - Of flowers young and bright - Around the skies. - - Night has a breathing tone - Like distant swell - Of softest music, thrown - From fairy’s knell. - - Oh! how I love the Night! - Its sparkling eyes— - Its softened shadowy light— - Its melodies. - - * * * * * - - - - - THY NAME WAS ONCE A MAGIC SPELL. - - - BALLAD. - - SUNG BY MR. DEMPSTER. - - WRITTEN BY - - THE HON. MRS. NORTON. - _Philadelphia_: John F. Nunns, _184 Chesnut Street_. - - -[Illustration: musical score] - - Thy name was once the magic spell - By which my heart was bound, - And burning dreams of light and love, - Were wa-ken’d by that - -[Illustration: musical score] - - sound my heart beat quick, - When stranger tongues with idle praise or blame, - Awoke its deepest thrill of life, - To tremble at thy name. - - Long years, long years have pass’d away, - And alter’d is thy brow, - And we who met so fondly once, - Must meet as strangers now; - The friends of yore come round me still, - But talk no more of thee; - ’Tis idle e’en to wish it now— - For what art thou to me? - - Yet still thy name, thy blessed name, - My lonely bosom fills, - Like an echo that hath lost itself, - Among the distant hills, - Which still with melancholy note, - Keeps faintly lingering on, - When the joyous sound that woke it first, - Is gone, for ever gone. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - -In commencing, with the New Year, a New Volume, we shall be permitted to -say a very few words by way of _exordium_ to our usual chapter of -Reviews, or, as we should prefer calling them, of Critical Notices. Yet -we speak _not_ for the sake of the _exordium_, but because we have -really something to say, and know not when or where better to say it. - -That the public attention, in America, has, of late days, been more than -usually directed to the matter of literary criticism, is plainly -apparent. Our periodicals are beginning to acknowledge the importance of -the science (shall we so term it?) and to disdain the flippant _opinion_ -which so long has been made its substitute. - -Time was when we imported our critical decisions from the mother -country. For many years we enacted a perfect farce of subserviency to -the _dicta_ of Great Britain. At last a revulsion of feeling, with -self-disgust, necessarily ensued. Urged by these, we plunged into the -opposite extreme. In throwing _totally_ off that “authority,” whose -voice had so long been so sacred, we even surpassed, and by much, our -original folly. But the watchword now was, “a national literature!”—as -if any true literature _could be_ “national”—as if the world at large -were not the only proper stage for the literary _histrio_. We became, -suddenly, the merest and maddest _partizans_ in letters. Our papers -spoke of “tariffs” and “protection.” Our Magazines had habitual passages -about that “truly native novelist, Mr. Cooper,” or that “staunch -American genius, Mr. Paulding.” Unmindful of the spirit of the axioms -that “a prophet has _no_ honor in his own land” and that “a hero is -never a hero to his _valet-de-chambre_”—axioms founded in reason and in -truth—our reviews urged the propriety—our booksellers the necessity, -of strictly “American” themes. A foreign subject, at this epoch, was a -weight more than enough to drag down into the very depths of critical -damnation the finest writer owning nativity in the States; while, on the -reverse, we found ourselves daily in the paradoxical dilemma of liking, -or pretending to like, a stupid book the better because (sure enough) -its stupidity was of our own growth, and discussed our own affairs. - -It is, in fact, but very lately that this anomalous state of feeling has -shown any signs of subsidence. Still it _is_ subsiding. Our views of -literature in general having expanded, we begin to demand the use—to -inquire into the offices and provinces of criticism—to regard it more -as an art based immoveably in nature, less as a mere system of -fluctuating and conventional dogmas. And, with the prevalence of these -ideas, has arrived a distaste even to the home-dictation of the -bookseller-_coteries_. If our editors are not as yet _all_ independent -of the will of a publisher, a majority of them scruple, at least, _to -confess_ a subservience, and enter into no positive combinations against -the minority who despise and discard it. And this is a _very_ great -improvement of exceedingly late date. - -Escaping these quicksands, our criticism is nevertheless in some -danger—some very little danger—of falling into the pit of a most -detestable species of cant—the cant of _generality_. This tendency has -been given it, in the first instance, by the onward and tumultuous -spirit of the age. With the increase of the thinking-material comes the -desire, if not the necessity, of abandoning particulars for masses. Yet -in our individual case, as a nation, we seem merely to have adopted this -bias from the British Quarterly Reviews, upon which our own Quarterlies -have been slavishly and pertinaciously modelled. In the foreign journal, -the review or criticism properly so termed, has gradually yet steadily -degenerated into what we see it at present—that is to say into anything -but criticism. Originally a “review,” was not so called as _lucus a non -lucendo_. Its name conveyed a just idea of its design. It reviewed, or -surveyed the book whose title formed its text, and, giving an analysis -of its contents, passed judgment upon its merits or defects. But, -through the system of anonymous contribution, this natural process lost -ground from day to day. The name of a writer being known only to a few, -it became to him an object not so much to write well, as to write -fluently, at so many guineas per sheet. The analysis of a book is a -matter of time and of mental exertion. For many classes of composition -there is required a deliberate perusal, with notes, and subsequent -generalization. An easy substitute for this labor was found in a digest -or compendium of the work noticed, with copious extracts—or a still -easier, in random comments upon such passages as accidentally met the -eye of the critic, with the passages themselves copied at full length. -The mode of reviewing most in favor, however, because carrying with it -the greatest _semblance_ of care, was that of diffuse essay upon the -subject matter of the publication, the reviewer (?) using the facts -alone which the publication supplied, and using them as material for -some theory, the sole concern, bearing, and intention of which, was mere -difference of opinion with the author. These came at length to be -understood and habitually practised as the customary or conventional -_fashions_ of review; and although the nobler order of intellects did -not fall into the full heresy of these fashions—we may still assert -that even Macaulay’s nearest approach to criticism in its legitimate -sense, is to be found in his article upon Ranke’s “History of the -Popes”—an article in which the whole strength of the reviewer is put -forth _to account_ for a single fact—the progress of Romanism—which -the book under discussion has established. - -Now, while we do not mean to deny that a good essay is a good thing, we -yet assert that these papers on general topics have nothing whatever to -do with that _criticism_ which their evil example has nevertheless -infected _in se_. Because these dogmatising pamphlets, which _were once_ -“Reviews,” have lapsed from their original faith, it does not follow -that the faith itself is extinct—that “there shall be no more cakes and -ale”—that criticism, in its old acceptation, does not exist. But we -complain of a growing inclination on the part of our lighter journals to -believe, on such grounds, that such is the fact—that because the -British Quarterlies, through supineness, and our own, through a -degrading imitation, have come to merge all varieties of vague -generalization in the one title of “Review,” it therefore results that -criticism, being everything in the universe, is, consequently, nothing -whatever in fact. For to this end, and to none other conceivable, is the -tendency of such propositions, for example, as we find in a late number -of that very clever monthly magazine, Arcturus. - - “But _now_” (the emphasis on the _now_ is our own)—“But _now_,” - says Mr. Mathews, in the preface to the first volume of his - journal, “criticism has a wider scope and a universal interest. - It dismisses errors of grammar, and hands over an imperfect - rhyme or a false quantity to the proof-reader; it looks _now_ to - the heart of the subject and the author’s design. It is a test - of opinion. Its acuteness is not pedantic, but philosophical; it - unravels the web of the author’s mystery to interpret his - meaning to others; it detects his sophistry, because sophistry - is injurious to the heart and life; it promulgates his beauties - with liberal, generous praise, because this is its true duty as - the servant of truth. Good criticism may be well asked for, - since it is the type of the literature of the day. It gives - method to the universal inquisitiveness on every topic relating - to life or action. A criticism, _now_, includes every form of - literature, except perhaps the imaginative and the strictly - dramatic. It is an essay, a sermon, an oration, a chapter in - history, a philosophical speculation, a prose-poem, an - art-novel, a dialogue; it admits of humor, pathos, the personal - feelings of auto-biography, the broadest views of statesmanship. - As the ballad and the epic were the productions of the days of - Homer, the review is the native characteristic growth of the - nineteenth century.” - -We respect the talents of Mr. Mathews, but must dissent from nearly all -that he here says. The species of “review” which he designates as the -“characteristic growth of the nineteenth century” is only the growth of -the last twenty or thirty years _in Great Britain_. The French Reviews, -for example, which are _not_ anonymous, are very different things, and -preserve the _unique_ spirit of true criticism. And what need we say of -the Germans?—what of Winkelmann, of Novalis, of Schelling, of Göethe, -of Augustus William, and of Frederick Schlegel?—that their magnificent -_critiques raisonnées_ differ from those of Kaimes, of Johnson, and of -Blair, in principle not at all, (for the principles of these artists -will not fail until Nature herself expires,) but solely in their more -careful elaboration, their greater thoroughness, their more profound -analysis and application of the principles themselves. That a criticism -“_now_” should be different in spirit, as Mr. Mathews supposes, from a -criticism at any previous period, is to insinuate a charge of -variability in laws that cannot vary—the laws of man’s heart and -intellect—for these are the sole basis upon which the true critical art -is established. And this art “_now_” no more than in the days of the -“Dunciad,” can, without neglect of its duty, “dismiss errors of -grammar,” or “hand over an imperfect rhyme or a false quantity to the -proof-reader.” What is meant by a “test of opinion” in the connexion -here given the words by Mr. M., we do not comprehend as clearly as we -could desire. By this phrase we are as completely enveloped in doubt as -was Mirabeau in the castle of _If_. To our imperfect appreciation it -seems to form a portion of that general vagueness which is the _tone_ of -the whole philosophy at this point:—but all that which our journalist -describes a criticism to be, is all that which we sturdily maintain it -_is not_. Criticism is _not_, we think, an essay, nor a sermon, nor an -oration, nor a chapter in history, nor a philosophical speculation, nor -a prose-poem, nor an art novel, nor a dialogue. In fact, it _can be_ -nothing in the world but—a criticism. But if it were all that Arcturus -imagines, it is not very clear why it might not be equally “imaginative” -or “dramatic”—a romance or a melo-drama, or both. That it would be a -farce cannot be doubted. - -It is against this frantic spirit of _generalization_ that we protest. -We have a word, “criticism,” whose import is sufficiently distinct, -through long usage, at least; and we have an art of high importance and -clearly-ascertained limit, which this word is quite well enough -understood to represent. Of that conglomerate science to which Mr. -Mathews so eloquently alludes, and of which we are instructed that it is -anything and everything at once—of this science we know nothing, and -really wish to know less; but we object to our contemporary’s -appropriation in its behalf, of a term to which we, in common with a -large majority of mankind, have been accustomed to attach a certain and -very definitive idea. Is there no word but “criticism” which may be made -to serve the purposes of “Arcturus?” Has it any objection to Orphicism, -or Dialism, or Emersonism, or any other pregnant compound indicative of -confusion worse confounded? - -Still, we must not pretend a total misapprehension of the idea of Mr. -Mathews, and we should be sorry that he misunderstood _us_. It may be -granted that we differ only in terms—although the difference will yet -be found not unimportant in effect. Following the highest authority, we -would wish, in a word, to limit literary criticism to comment upon -_Art_. A book is written—and it is only _as the book_ that we subject -it to review. With the opinions of the work, considered otherwise than -in their relation to the work itself, the critic has really nothing to -do. It is his part simply to decide upon _the mode_ in which these -opinions are brought to bear. Criticism is thus no “test of opinion.” -For this test, the work, divested of its pretensions as an -_art-product_, is turned over for discussion to the world at large—and -first, to that class which it especially addresses—if a history, to the -historian—if a metaphysical treatise, to the moralist. In this, the -only true and intelligible sense, it will be seen that criticism, the -test or analysis of _Art_, (_not_ of opinion,) is only properly employed -upon productions which have their basis in art itself, and although the -journalist (whose duties and objects are multiform) may turn aside, at -pleasure, from the _mode_ or vehicle of opinion to discussion of the -opinion conveyed—it is still clear that he is “_critical_” only in so -much as he deviates from his true province not at all. - -And of the critic himself what shall we say?—for as yet we have spoken -only the _proem_ to the true _epopea_. What _can_ we better say of him -than, with Bulwer, that “he must have courage to blame boldly, -magnanimity to eschew envy, genius to appreciate, learning to compare, -an eye for beauty, an ear for music, and a heart for feeling.” Let us -add, a talent for analysis and a solemn indifference to abuse. - - * * * * * - - _Stanley Thorn. By Henry Cockton, Esq., Author of “Valentine - Vox, the Ventriloquist,” etc., with Numerous Illustrations, - designed by Cruikshank, Leech, etc., and engraved by Yeager. Lea - and Blanchard: Philadelphia._ - -“Charles O’Malley,” “Harry Lorrequer,” “Valentine Vox,” “Stanley Thorn,” -and some other effusions now “in course of publication,” are novels -depending for effect upon what gave popularity to “Peregrine Pickle”—we -mean _practiced joke_. To men whose animal spirits are high, whatever -may be their mental ability, such works are always acceptable. To the -uneducated, to those who read little, to the obtuse in intellect (and -these three classes constitute the mass) these books are not only -acceptable, but are the only ones which can be called so. We here make -two divisions—that of the men who _can_ think but who dislike thinking; -and that of the men who either have not been presented with the -materials for thought, or who have no brains with which to “work up” the -material. With these classes of people “Stanley Thorn” is a favorite. It -not only demands no reflection, but repels it, or dissipates it—much as -a silver rattle the wrath of a child. It is not in the least degree -_suggestive_. Its readers arise from its perusal with the identical -ideas in possession at sitting down. Yet, _during_ perusal, there has -been a tingling physico-mental exhilaration, somewhat like that induced -by a cold bath, or a flesh-brush, or a gallop on horseback—a very -delightful and very healthful matter in its way. But these things are -not _letters_. “Valentine Vox” and “Charles O’Malley” are no more -“_literature_” than cat-gut is music. The visible and tangible tricks of -a baboon belong not less to the _belles-lettres_ than does “Harry -Lorrequer.” When this gentleman adorns his countenance with lamp-black, -knocks over an apple-woman, or brings about a rent in his pantaloons, we -laugh at him when bound up in a volume, just as we would laugh at his -adventures if happening before our eyes in the street. But mere -incidents, whether serious or comic, whether occurring or -described—_mere incidents_ are not books. Neither are they the basis of -books—of which the idiosyncrasy is _thought_ in contradistinction from -_deed_. A book without action cannot be; but a book is only such, to the -extent of its thought, independently of its deed. Thus of Algebra; which -is, or should be, defined as “a mode of computing with symbols by means -of signs.” With numbers, as Algebra, it has nothing to do; and although -no algebraic computation can proceed without numbers, yet Algebra is -only such to the extent of its analysis, independently of its -Arithmetic. - -We do not mean _to find fault_ with the class of performances of which -“Stanley Thorn” is one. Whatever tends to the amusement of man tends to -his benefit. Aristotle, with singular assurance, has declared poetry the -most philosophical of all writing, (_spoudiotaton kai philosophikotaton -genos_) defending it principally upon that score. He seems to -think,—and many following him, have thought—that the end of all -literature should be instruction—a favorite dogma of the school of -Wordsworth. But it is a truism that the end of our existence is -happiness. If so, the end of every separate aim of our existence—of -every thing connected with our existence, should be still—happiness. -Therefore, the end of instruction should be happiness—and happiness, -what is it but the extent or duration of pleasure?—therefore, the end -of instruction should be pleasure. But the cant of the Lakists would -establish the exact converse, and make the end of all pleasure -instruction. In fact, _ceteris paribus_, he who pleases is of more -importance to his fellow man than he who instructs, since the _dulce_ is -alone the _utile_, and pleasure is the end already attained, which -instruction is merely the means of attaining. It will be said that -Wordsworth, with Aristotle, has reference to instruction with eternity -in view; but either such cannot be the tendency of his argument, or he -is laboring at a sad disadvantage; for his works—or at least those of -his school—are professedly to be understood by the few, and it is the -many who stand in need of salvation. Thus the moralist’s parade of -measures would be as completely thrown away as are those of the devil in -“Melmoth,” who plots and counterplots through three octavo volumes for -the entrapment of one or two souls, while any common devil would have -demolished one or two thousand. - -When, therefore, we assert that these practical-joke publications are -not “literature,” because not “thoughtful” in any degree, we must not be -understood as objecting to the thing in itself, but to its claim upon -our attention as critic. Dr.—what is his name?—strings together a -number of facts or fancies which, when printed, answer the laudable -purpose of amusing a very large, if not a very respectable number of -people. To this proceeding upon the part of the Doctor—or on the part -of his imitator, Mr. Jeremy Stockton, the author of “Valentine Vox,” we -_can_ have no objection whatever. His _books_ do not please _us_. We -will not read them. Still less shall we speak of them seriously as -_books_. Being in no respect works of art, they neither deserve, nor are -amenable to criticism. - -“Stanley Thorn” may be described, in brief, as a collection, rather than -as a series, of practical haps and mishaps, befalling a young man very -badly brought up by his mother. He flogs his father with a codfish, and -does other similar things. We have no fault to find with him whatever -except that, in the end, he _does not_ come to the gallows. - -We have no great fault to find with _him_, but with Mr. Bockton, his -father, much. He is a consummate plagiarist; and, in our opinion, -nothing more despicable exists. There is not a _good_ incident in his -book (?) of which we cannot point out the paternity with at least a -sufficient precision. The opening adventures are all _in the style_ of -“Cyril Thornton.” Bob, following Amelia in disguise, is borrowed from -one of the Smollet or Fielding novels—there are many of our readers who -will be able to say _which_. The cab driven over the Crescent -_trottoir_, is from Pierce Egan. The swindling tricks of Colonel -Somebody, at the commencement of the novel, and of Captain Filcher -afterwards, are from “Pickwick Abroad.” The doings at Madame Pompour’s -(or some such name) with the description of Isabelle, are from “Ecarté, -or the Salons of Paris”—a _rich_ book. The Sons-of-Glory scene (or its -_wraith_) we have seen—_somewhere_; while (not to be tedious) the whole -account of Stanley’s election, from his first conception of the design, -through the entire canvass, the purchasing of the “Independents,” the -row at the hustings, the chairing, the feast, and the petition, is so -obviously _stolen_ from “Ten Thousand a-Year” as to be disgusting. Bob -and the “old venerable”—what are they but feeble reflections of young -and old Weller? The _tone_ of the narration throughout is an absurd -_echo_ of Boz. For example—“‘We’ve come agin about them there little -accounts of ourn—question is do you mean to settle ’em or don’t you?’ -His colleagues, by whom he was backed, highly approved of this question, -and winked and nodded with the view of intimating to each other that in -their judgment that was the point.” Who so dull as to give Mr. Bogton -any more credit for these things than we give the buffoon for the _rôle_ -which he has committed to memory? - -That the work will prove amusing to _many_ readers, we do not pretend to -deny. The claims of Mr. Frogton, and not of his narrative, are what we -especially discuss. - -The edition before us is clearly printed on good paper. The designs are -by Cruikshank and Leech; and it is observable that those of the latter -are more effective in every respect than those of the former and far -more celebrated artist. - - * * * * * - - _The Vicar of Wakefield, A Tale. By Oliver Goldsmith, M. B. - Illustrated with Numerous Engravings. With an Account of the - Author’s Life and Writings. By J. Aikin, M. D., Author of Select - Works of the British Poets. D. Appleton and Co: New York._ - -This publication is one of a class which it behoves every editor in the -country to encourage, at all times, by every good word in his power—the -class, we mean of well printed and, especially, of well illustrated -works from among the standard fictions of England. We place particular -emphasis upon the mechanical style of these reprints. The criticism -which affects to despise these adventitious aids to the enjoyment of a -work of art is at best but _étourderie_. The illustration, to be sure, -is not always in accordance with our own understanding of the text; and -this fact, although we never hear it urged, is, perhaps, the most -reasonable objection which _can_ be urged against pictorial -embellishment—for the unity of conception _is_ disturbed; but this -disturbance takes place only in very slight measure (provided the work -be worth illustration at all) and its disadvantages are far more than -counterbalanced by the pleasure (to most minds a very acute one) of -comparing our comprehension of the author’s ideas with that of the -artist. If our imagination is feeble, the design will probably be in -advance of our conception, and thus each picture will stimulate, -support, and guide the fancy. If, on the contrary, the thought of the -artist is inferior, there is the stimulus of contrast with the -excitement of triumph. Thus, in the contemplation of a statue, or of an -individual painting of merit, the pleasure derivable from the comments -of a bystander is easily and keenly appreciable, while these comments -interfere, in no perceptible degree, with the force or the unity of our -own comprehension. We never knew a man of genius who did not confess an -interest in even the worst illustrations of a good book—although we -have known many men of genius (who should have known better) make the -confession with reluctance, as if one which implied something of -imbecility or disgrace. - -The present edition of one of the most admirable fictions in the -language, is, in every respect, very beautiful. The type and paper are -magnificent. The designs are very nearly what they should be. They are -sketchy, spirited cuts, depending for effect upon the higher merits -rather than upon the minor morals of art—upon skilful grouping of -figures, vivacity, _naïveté_ and originality of fancy, and good drawing -in the mass—rather than upon finish in details, or too cautious -adherence to the text. Some of the scraps at the commencement are too -diminutive to be distinct in the style of workmanship employed, and thus -have a _blurred_ appearance; but this is nearly all the fault we can -find. In general, these apparent trifles are superb; and a great number -of them are of a nature to elicit enthusiastic praise from every true -artist. - -The Memoir by Dr. Aikin is highly interesting, and embodies in a -pleasing narrative, (with little intermixture of criticism upon what no -longer requires it,) all that is, or need be known of Oliver Goldsmith. -In the opening page of this Memoir is an error (perhaps typographical) -which, as it _is_ upon the opening page, has an awkward appearance, and -should be corrected. We allude to the word “_protégée_,” which, in the -sense, or rather with the reference intended, should be printed -_protégé_. This is a very usual mistake. - - * * * * * - - _Tales and Souvenirs of a Residence in Europe. By a Lady of - Virginia. Lea and Blanchard: Philadelphia._ - -Barring some trifling affectation, (apparent, for example, in heading a -plain English chapter with the French _Pensées_,) this volume is very -creditable to Mrs. Rives—for it seems to be well understood that the -fair author, in this case, is the wife of the well-known Senator from -Virginia. - -The work is modestly prefaced, and disclaims all pretension. It is a -mere re-gathering of sketches, written originally for the amusement of -friends. A lady-like taste and delicacy (without high merit of any kind) -pervade the whole. The style is somewhat disfigured by pleonasms—or -rather, overburdened with epithets: a common fault with enthusiastic -writers who want experience in the world of letters. For example: - - “There is an _inexpressible_ pleasure in gliding rapidly in a - _little_ car, over the _neat_ but _narrow turnpike_ roads, - bordered by _hawthorn_ hedges, looking out upon _bright_ fields, - clothed with the _richest_ and most _exquisite_ verdure, - occasionally catching a glimpse of some _sequestered_ cottage, - with its _miniature gravel_ walks, and _innumerable_ flowers, - which, at this season, in the _distant_ land of the traveller, - may have bloomed and passed away, but which here offer their - _brilliant_ tints, and _rich_ perfume; while on the other hand - some _proud_ castle rises in _bold_ relief against the _dappled_ - sky.” - -Of mere errors of grammar there are more than sufficient; and we are -constrained to say that the very first sentence of the book conveys a -gross instance of faulty construction. - - “The gratification of friends must once more serve as an apology - for permitting the following souvenirs to see the light.” - -Has the gratification of friends ever _before_ served as an apology for -permitting _the following_ souvenirs to see the light? - - * * * * * - - _The Poetical Works of Reginald Heber, Late Bishop of Calcutta. - Lea and Blanchard: Philadelphia._ - -It was only a year ago that the poems of Heber were first given to the -public in a collection, from which the present edition is a re-print; -but, individually, the pieces here presented have been long and -favorably known—with the exception of two or three lighter effusions, -now first published. - -The qualities of Heber are well understood. His poetry is of a high -order. He is imaginative, glowing, and vigorous, with a skill in the -management of his means unsurpassed by that of any writer of his time, -but without any high degree of originality. Can there be anything in the -nature of a “classical” life at war with novelty _per se_? At all -events, few fine scholars, such as Heber truly was, _are_ original. - -The volume before us is _a study_ for the poet in the depth and breadth -of its execution. Few nobler poems were, upon the whole, ever penned -than are “Europe,” “The Passage of the Dead Sea,” and the “Morte -D’Arthur.” The minor pieces generally are _very naïve_ and beautiful. -The Latin “Carmen Seculare” would not have disgraced Horace himself. Its -versification is perfect. A sketch of the author’s life would have well -prefaced the edition, and we are sorry to miss it. - - * * * * * - - _The Poetical Works of Lord Byron. Complete in one volume. J. B. - Lippincott and Co: Philadelphia._ - -This is a duodecimo of six hundred and eight pages, including _all_ the -poetic works of Lord Byron. The type is, of course, small—a fine -nonpareil—but very clear and beautiful; while the paper is of excellent -quality, and the press-work carefully done. There is a good plate -engraved by Pease from Saunders’ painting of the poet at nineteen, and -another (by the same engraver) of a design of Hucknall Church by -Westall. The binding is neat and substantial; and the edition, on the -whole, is one we can recommend. The type is somewhat too diminutive for -weak eyes—but for readers who have no deficiency in this regard—or as -a work of reference—nothing could be better. - -As a literary performance it is scarcely necessary to speak of this -compilation. We make objection, however, and pointedly, to the omission -of the biographer’s name. A sketch of the nature here inserted is worth -nothing when anonymous. Nine-tenths of the value attached to a certain -very rambling collection of Lives, depends upon our cognizance of their -having been indited by Plutarch. - - * * * * * - - _Critical and Miscellaneous Essays. By Christopher North, - (Professor Wilson.) In Three Volumes. Carey and Hart: - Philadelphia._ - -This publication is well-timed—if, at least, there be any truth in the -report, that Professor Wilson is about to visit this country. The -reception of the man will thus be made a part of the perusal of his -works. And very glorious works they are. No man of his age has shown -greater versatility of talent, and few, of any age, richer powers of -imagination. His literary influence has far exceeded that of any -Englishman who ever existed. His scholarship, _if not profound_, is -excursive; his criticism, _if not always honest_, is analytical, -enthusiastic, and original in manner. His wit is vigorous, his humor -great, his sarcasm bitter. His high animal spirits give a dashing, free, -hearty and devil-may-care tone to all his compositions—a tone which has -done more towards establishing his literary popularity and _dominion_ -than any single quality for which he is remarkable. The faults of -Professor Wilson, as might be supposed from the traits of his merits, -are many and great. He is frequently led into gross injustice through -personal feeling—this is his chief sin. His tone is often _flippant_. -His scholarship is questionable as regards extent and accuracy. His -style is apt to degenerate, or rather _rush_, into a species of -bombastic _periphrasis_ and _apostrophe_, of which our own Mr. John Neal -has given the best American specimens. His analysis, although true in -principle (as is always the case with the idealist) and often profound, -is nevertheless deficient in that calm breadth and massive -deliberateness which are the features of such intellects as that of -Verülam. In short, the _opinions_ of Professor Wilson can never be -safely adopted without examination. - -The three beautiful volumes now published, will be followed by another, -embracing the more elaborate criticisms of the author,—the celebrated -critiques upon Homer, &c., which it has not been thought expedient to -include in this collection. - - * * * * * - - _Pocahontas, and Other Poems. By Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. Harper - and Brothers: New York._ - -Some years ago we had occasion to speak of “Zinzendorf, and Other -Poems,” by Mrs. Sigourney, and at that period we found, or fancied that -we found many points, in her general manner, which called for critical -animadversion. At _no_ period, however, have we been so rash as to -dispute her claim to high rank among the poets of the land. In the -volume now published by the Messieurs Harper, we are proud to discover -_not one_ of those more important blemishes which were a stain upon her -earlier style. We had accused her of imitation of Mrs. Hemans—but this -imitation is no longer apparent. - -The author of “Pocahontas” (an unusually fine poem of which we may take -occasion to speak fully hereafter) has also abandoned a very foolish -mannerism with which she was erewhile infected—the mannerism of heading -her pieces with paragraphs, or quotations, by way of text, from which -the poem itself ensued as a sermon. This was an exceedingly inartistical -practice, and one now well discarded. - -The lesser pieces in the volume before us have, for the most part, -already met our eye as fugitive effusions. In general, they deserve all -commendation. - -“Pocahontas” is a far finer poem than a late one on the same subject by -Mr. Seba Smith. Mrs. Sigourney, however, has the wrong accentuation of -Powhatan. In the second stanza of the poem, too, “harassed” is in false -quantity. We speak of these trifles merely _en passant_. - -Hereafter we may speak in full. - - * * * * * - - _The Letters of Horace Walpole, Earl of Orford: Including - Numerous Letters now first published from the Original - Manuscripts. In Four Volumes. Lea and Blanchard: Philadelphia._ - -Horace Walpole has been well termed “the prince of epistolary writers,” -and his Letters, which in this edition are given chronologically, form a -very complete and certainly a very _piquant_ commentary on the events of -his age, as well as a record, in great part, of the most important -historical transactions from 1735 to 1797. - -Prefixed to the collection are the author’s “Reminiscences of the Courts -of George the First and Second”—Reminiscences which have been styled -“the very perfection of anecdote writing.” There is, also, the “Life,” -by Lord Dover. The volumes are magnificent octavos of nearly 600 pages -each, beautifully printed on excellent paper, and handsomely bound. It -is really superfluous to recommend these books. Every man who pretends -to a library will purchase them _of course_. - - * * * * * - - _The Early English Church. By_ Edward Churton, M. D., _Rector of - Crayke, Durham. With a Preface by the_ Rt. Rev. L. Silliman - Ives, M. D., _Bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the - Diocese of N. Carolina. From the second London edition. D. - Appleton and Co.: New York._ - -The title of this volume does not fully explain its character. The aim -of the writer, to use his own words, has been “by searching the earliest -records of English history, to lay before the English reader a faithful -picture of the life and manners of his Christian forefathers.” This -design, as far as we have been able to judge in a very cursory -examination, is well executed. - - * * * * * - - _The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. By_ Daniel De Foe, - _with a Memoir of the Author, and an Essay on his Writings. With - Illustrations by_ Grandville. _D. Appleton and Co.: New York._ - -A magnificent edition—to our taste the _most_ magnificent edition—of -Robinson Crusoe. The designs by Grandville are in a very superb style of -art—bold, striking, and original—the _drawing_ capital. - - * * * * * - - _Somerville Hall, or Hints to those who would make Home Happy. - By_ Mrs. Ellis, _author of “Women of England,” “Poetry of Life,” - etc. etc. D. Appleton and Co.: New York._ - -This interesting volume is one of a series to be entitled “Tales for the -People and their Children.” To this series Miss Martineau and Mary -Howitt will contribute. - - * * * * * - - _Wild Western Scenes. Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 4. By_ J. Beauchamp - Jones. _Philadelphia: Drew and Scammell._ - -Mr. Jones is a man of talent, and these descriptions of Wild Western -Life evince it. We read each successive number with additional zest. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: a gentleman and 2 ladies in high fashion dress] - - * * * * * - -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. Other errors have -been corrected as noted below. For the text only version of this eBook, -in the article “An Appendix of Autographs”, the various signatures which -were given in other eBook formats as an illustration, are represented in -the text version as text with variable spacing and punctuation -representing the way in which the particular signature is handwritten. - -A cover has been created for this ebook and is placed in the public -domain. - -An interesting note on the poem “Agathè.—A Necromaunt, In Three -Chimeras” found in this issue of Graham’s is that it was plagiarized by -Mr. Tasistro. It was previously published as a stand alone publication -in 1831, titled “Death-Wake, or Lunacy, A Necromaunt. In Three -Chimeras.” by Thomas T. Stoddart. Copies of Mr. Stoddart’s poem can be -found online for those interested in comparing the two. - -page 64, Miss Mary, having completed ==> Miss Catherine, having completed -page 64, Miss Catherine made some objection ==> Miss Mary made some - objection - -[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 1, January 1842_, George R. -Graham, Editor] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XX, NO. -1, JANUARY 1842 *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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font-weight:bold;} - .pindent {margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0em;} - .poetry-container { margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em } - body { margin-left:8%; margin-right:10%; max-width:40em;} - </style> - </head> - <body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 1, January 1842, by Various</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Graham's Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 1, January 1842</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: George Rex Graham</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 18, 2022 [eBook #67434]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>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</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XX, NO. 1, JANUARY 1842 ***</div> -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0000' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XX.</span> January, 1842 No. 1.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>Contents</p> - -<table id='tab1' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0' colspan='2'><span class='bold'><span style='font-size:larger'>Fiction, Literature and Articles</span></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#shep'>The Shepherd’s Love</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#high'>Highland Beauty</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#will'>Lines</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#snow'>The Snow-Storm</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#drea'>Dreams of the Land and Sea</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#falsel'>The False Ladye</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#harr'>Harry Cavendish</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#coz'>Cousin Agatha</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#app'>An Appendix of Autographs</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#two'>The Two Dukes</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#shak'>Shakspeare</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#dau'>The Daughters of Dr. Byles</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#rev'>Review of New Books.</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -</table> - -<table id='tab2' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle0' colspan='2'><span class='bold'><span style='font-size:larger'>Poetry, Music and Fashion</span></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#sonnet'>Sonnet</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#gob'>The Goblet of Life</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#land'>To a Land Bird at Sea</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#apos'>Apostrophe</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#agat'>Agathè.—A Necromaunt</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#may'>The Queen of May</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#sonn'>Sonnet</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#sonns'>Sonnets</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#song'>A Song</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#hele'>To Helen in Heaven</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#dor'>Dorchester</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#zep'>The Zephyr</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#eye'>The Eyes of Night</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#thy'>Thy Name Was Once a Magic Spell</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#fash'>Fashion Plate</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'><a href='#notes'>Transcriber’s Notes</a> can be found at the end of this eBook.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:0.7em;font-size:1.5em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:0.5em;font-size:1.3em;font-weight:bold;'>LADY’S AND GENTLEMAN’S</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:0.5em;font-size:2em;font-weight:bold;'>MAGAZINE.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>EMBELLISHED WITH</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>THE FINEST MEZZOTINTO AND STEEL ENGRAVINGS,</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>ELEGANT EMBOSSED WORK,</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-bottom:1.5em;font-size:0.9em;'>FASHIONS AND MUSIC.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<hr class='tbk100'/> -<p class='line' style='font-size:1.3em;'>VOLUME XX.</p> -<hr class='tbk101'/> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:1em;'>PHILADELPHIA:</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:1.2em;'>GEORGE R. GRAHAM.</p> -<p class='line'>1842.</p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line' style='margin-top:2em;font-size:1.5em;font-weight:bold;'>INDEX</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;font-weight:bold;'>TO THE</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>TWENTIETH VOLUME.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>FROM JANUARY TO JUNE, 1842, INCLUSIVE.</p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<table id='tab3' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 28em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 7.5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 0.5em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Autographs, an appendix of, by <span class='sc'>Edgar A. Poe</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>44</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Affair at Tattletown, the, by <span class='sc'>Epes Sargeant</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>221</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Blue Velvet Mantilla, the, by Mrs. <span class='sc'>A. M. F. Annan</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>102</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Brainard, a few words about, by <span class='sc'>Edgar A. Poe</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>119</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Bachelor’s Experiment, the, by Mrs. <span class='sc'>Emma C. Embury</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>226</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Bride, the, (<span class='it'>illustrated</span>,) by <span class='sc'>J. H. Dana</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>253</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Cousin Agatha, by Mrs. <span class='sc'>Emma C. Embury</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>38</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Centre Harbor, (<span class='it'>illustrated</span>,)</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>256</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Chevalier Gluck, the, (from the German,) by <span class='sc'>W. W. Story</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>270</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Dreams of the Land and Sea, by Dr. <span class='sc'>Reynell Coates</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>17, 88, 163, 210</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Daughters of Dr. Byles, by Miss <span class='sc'>Leslie</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>61, 114</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Dickens, original letter from</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>83</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Duello, the, by <span class='sc'>H. W. Herbert</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>85</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Doom of the Traitress, the, by <span class='sc'>H. W. Herbert</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>150</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Dash at a Convoy,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>178</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Duel, the, by <span class='sc'>E. S. Gould</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>233</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Exile of Connecticut, by Dr. <span class='sc'>Reynell Coates</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>17</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Escape, the,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>74</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Edith Pemberton, by Mrs. <span class='sc'>Emma C. Embury</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>277</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Euroclydon, by <span class='sc'>Charles Lanman</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>287</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Expedition, the,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>288</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Ellen Neville,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>307</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>False Ladye, the, by <span class='sc'>H. W. Herbert</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>27</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>First Step, the, by Mrs. <span class='sc'>Emma C. Embury</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>154</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>German Writers, by <span class='sc'>H. W. Longfellow</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>134</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Highland Beauty, (<span class='it'>illustrated</span>,) by <span class='sc'>Oliver Oldfellow</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>6</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Harry Cavendish, by the Author of “<span class='sc'>Cruising in the Last War</span>,” the “<span class='sc'>Reefer of ’76</span>,” &c. &c.,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>31, 74, 178, 237, 288, 307</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Harper’s Ferry, (<span class='it'>illustrated</span>,)</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>73</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Heinrich Heine, by <span class='sc'>H. W. Longfellow</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>134</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Imagination, by <span class='sc'>Park Benjamin</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>174</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Kissing, the Science of, (<span class='it'>illustrated</span>,) by <span class='sc'>Jeremy Short</span>, Esq.,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>302</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Lady’s Choice, the, by <span class='sc'>Emma C. Embury</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>96</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Lady and the Page, the, by <span class='sc'>Mary Spencer Pease</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>167</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Lowell’s Poems,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>195</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Life in Death, by <span class='sc'>Edgar A. Poe</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>200</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Love and Pique, by Mrs. <span class='sc'>Emma C. Embury</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>334</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>May Evelyn, by <span class='sc'>Frances S. Osgood</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>145</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Miner’s Fate, the,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>202</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Music, Thoughts on, by <span class='sc'>Henry Cood Watson</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>285</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Norton, Mrs., by <span class='sc'>Park Benjamin</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>91</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Night Scene at Sea, by Dr. <span class='sc'>Reynell Coates</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>210</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Powhatan, the Crowning of, (<span class='it'>illustrated</span>,)</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>133</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Pirate, the, 237</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Procrastination, by Mrs. <span class='sc'>M. H. Parsons</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>260</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Review of New Books,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>69, 124, 186, 248, 298, 354</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Red Death, the Mask of the, by <span class='sc'>Edgar A. Poe</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>257</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Russian Revenge, by <span class='sc'>Esther Wetherald</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>322</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Shepherd’s Love, the, (<span class='it'>illustrated</span>,) by <span class='sc'>J. H. Dana</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>1</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Snow-Storm, the, by <span class='sc'>Jeremy Short</span>, Esq.</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>10</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Shakspeare, by <span class='sc'>Theodore S. Fay</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>58</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Sunday at Sea, by Dr. <span class='sc'>Reynell Coates</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>88</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>St. Agnes’ Eve, by <span class='sc'>Jeremy Short</span>, Esq.</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>218</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Two Dukes, by Mrs. <span class='sc'>Ann S. Stephens</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>50, 78, 149, 242, 341</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Take me Home, by Dr. <span class='sc'>Reynell Coates</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>163</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Thompson, Miss, by Mrs. <span class='sc'>A. F. S. Annan</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>313</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Wreck, the,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>31</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Wife, the, (<span class='it'>illustrated</span>,) by <span class='sc'>Agnes Piersol</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>193</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>West Point, Recollections of, by Miss <span class='sc'>Leslie</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>205, 290</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Wilkie, the late Sir David, by <span class='sc'>L. F. Tasistro</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>275</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Wire Suspension Bridge, the, (<span class='it'>illustrated</span>,)</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>301</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>Ware’s Poems, Mrs., by <span class='sc'>Park Benjamin</span>,</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>330</td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab3c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -</table> - -<table id='tab4' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 28em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 7.5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 0.5em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tab4c1-col3 tdStyle6' colspan='3'><span class='bold'><span style='font-size:larger'>POETRY.</span></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Apostrophe, by <span class='sc'>Albert Pike</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>12</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Agathè, by <span class='sc'>L. F. Tasistro</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>13, 111, 160, 213</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Amie, to, by <span class='sc'>L. J. Cist</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>276</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Antique Vase, to an, by <span class='sc'>N. C. Brooks</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>284</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Alice, by <span class='sc'>R. W. Griswold</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>340</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Absent Wife, the, by <span class='sc'>Robert Morris</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>353</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Bonnie Steed, my, (<span class='it'>illustrated</span>,)</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>82</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Birth of Freedom, by <span class='sc'>W. Wallace</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>204</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Dorchester, by <span class='sc'>W. Gilmore Simms</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>49</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Dream of the Dead, a, by <span class='sc'>G. Hill</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>121</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Departed, to one, by <span class='sc'>Edgar A. Poe</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>137</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Eyes of Night, the, by <span class='sc'>Mary Spencer</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>65</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Elegy on the fate of Jane M’Crea, by <span class='sc'>T. G. Spear</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>236</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Freshet, the, by <span class='sc'>Alfred B. Street</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>138</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Fanny, an Epistle to, by <span class='sc'>Park Benjamin</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>149</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Fancies about a Rosebud, by <span class='sc'>James Russell Lowell</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>173</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Fragment, by <span class='sc'>Albert Pike</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>209</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Florence, to, by <span class='sc'>Park Benjamin</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>241</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Farewell, by <span class='sc'>James Russell Lowell</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>305</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Goblet of Life, the, by <span class='sc'>H. W. Longfellow</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>5</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Helen in Heaven, to, by <span class='sc'>Alex. A. Irvine</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>43</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Hawking, Return from, (<span class='it'>illustrated</span>,)</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>245</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Heavenly Vision, the, by <span class='sc'>T. H. Chivers</span>, M. D.</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>329</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Isa in Heaven, to, by <span class='sc'>T. H. Chivers</span>, M. D.</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>144</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Lines, by Mrs. <span class='sc'>Amelia B. Welby</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>9</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Land Bird at Sea, to a, by <span class='sc'>L. H. Sigourney</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>9</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>L’Envoy to E——, by <span class='sc'>G. Hill</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>295</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>May, the Queen of, by <span class='sc'>G. P. Morris</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>16</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Marches for the Dead, by <span class='sc'>W. Wallace</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>139</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Michael Angelo, by <span class='sc'>W. W. Story</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>241</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>My Bark is out upon the Sea, by <span class='sc'>George P. Morris</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>274</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Mystery,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>287</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Old Man returned Home, the, by <span class='sc'>G. G. Foster</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>225</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Old World, the, by <span class='sc'>George Lunt</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>284</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Olden Deities,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>321</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Perditi, by <span class='sc'>Wm. Wallace</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>265, 326</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Pewee, the, by <span class='sc'>Dill A. Smith</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>306</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Rosaline, by <span class='sc'>James Russell Lowell</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>89</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Raffaello, by <span class='sc'>W. W. Story</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>241</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Return Home, the, by <span class='sc'>Geo. P. Morris</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>312</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Sonnet, by <span class='sc'>Thomas Noon Talfourd</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>5</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Sonnet, by <span class='sc'>Edmund J. Porter</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>26</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Sonnets, by <span class='sc'>Park Benjamin</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>30</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Song, a, by <span class='sc'>James Russell Lowell</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>37</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Song of Nydia, by <span class='sc'>G. G. Foster</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>84</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Sonnet, by <span class='sc'>James Russell Lowell</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>90</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Sonnet, by <span class='sc'>B. H. Benjamin</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>118</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Stranger’s Funeral, the, by <span class='sc'>N. C. Brooks</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>153</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Spirit, to a, by <span class='sc'>James Aldrich</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>217</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Stanzas, by Mrs. <span class='sc'>R. S. Nichols</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>225</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Sweethearts and Wives, by <span class='sc'>Pliny Earle</span>, M. D.</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>232</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Sonnets, by <span class='sc'>W. W. Story</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>241</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Spring’s Advent, by <span class='sc'>Park Benjamin</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>259</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Song, by <span class='sc'>Alex. A. Irvine</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>353</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Veiled Altar, the, by Mrs. <span class='sc'>R. S. Nichols</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>95</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Venus and the Modern Belle, by <span class='sc'>Frances S. Osgood</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>274</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Western Hospitality, by <span class='sc'>Geo. P. Morris</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>166</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Young Widow, the, (<span class='it'>illustrated</span>,) by <span class='sc'>Alex. A. Irvine</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>137</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'>Zephyr, the, by Miss <span class='sc'>Juliet H. Lewis</span>,</td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'>56</td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab4c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -</table> - -<table id='tab5' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 28em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 7.5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 0.5em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tab5c1-col3 tdStyle6' colspan='3'><span class='bold'><span style='font-size:larger'>STEEL ENGRAVINGS.</span></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tab5c1-col3 tdStyle6' colspan='3'><span style='font-size:smaller'>MEZZOTINT AND LINE.</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>The Shepherd’s Love.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>Highland Beauty.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>Lace Work, with colored Birds.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>Fashions, three figures, colored.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>My Bonnie Steed.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>Harper’s Ferry.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>Fashions, three figures, colored.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>The Young Widow.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>The Crowning of Powhatan.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>Fashions, four figures, colored.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>Return from Hawking.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>The Wife.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>Lace Pattern, with Embossed View.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>The Bride.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>Centre Harbor.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>Fashions, colored, with a Lace pattern border.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>The Proffered Kiss.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>The Wire Suspension Bridge.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'>Fashions, four figures.</td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'></td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab5c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -</table> - -<table id='tab6' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 28em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 7.5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 0.5em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tab6c1-col3 tdStyle6' colspan='3'><span class='bold'><span style='font-size:larger'>MUSIC.</span></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle3'>Thy name was once a magic spell,</td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle4'>66</td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle3'>The Dream is past,</td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle4'>122</td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle3'>A lady heard a minstrel sing,</td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle4'>184</td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle3'>There’s no land like Scotland,</td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle4'>246</td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle3'>The Orphan Ballad Singers,</td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle4'>296</td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle5'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle4'> </td><td class='tab6c3 tdStyle5'> </td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk102'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i006.jpg' alt='lace work with colored birds in center' id='iid-0001' style='width:70%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i007.jpg' alt='A man and dog watch a lady approaching' id='iid-0002' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'><span class='it'>Painted by Alex.<sup>r</sup> Johnston.</span> <span class='it'>Engraved by J. Sartain.</span></span><br/></p> <br/><span class='it'>The Shepherd’s Love</span> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk103'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<hr class='tbk104'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XX.</span> PHILADELPHIA: JANUARY, 1842. <span class='sc'>No. 1.</span></p> - -<hr class='tbk105'/> - -<div><h1 class='nobreak'><a id='shep'></a>THE SHEPHERD’S LOVE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY J. H. DANA.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> was a golden morning in early summer, and a -thousand birds were warbling on the landscape, -while the balmy wind murmured low and musical -among the leaves, when a young girl, attired in a -rustic dress, might have been seen tripping over the -lea. Her golden tresses, as she walked, floated on -the wind, and the exercise had called even a richer -carnation than usual to her cheek. Her form was -one of rare beauty, and her gait was grace itself. -As she glided on, more like a sylph than a mortal -being, she carolled one of her country’s simple lays; -and what with her liquid tones, her sweet countenance, -and her bewitching motion, she formed a -picture of loveliness such only as a poet could have -imagined.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length she approached a ruined wall, half hidden -by one or two overshadowing trees. The enclosure -partially concealed from view the figure of a young -shepherd, who, leaning on his hand, gazed admiringly -on her approaching figure. Unconscious, -however, of the vicinity of an observer, the maiden -tripped on, until she had almost reached the enclosure, -when the shepherd’s dog suddenly sprung -from his master’s side, and barking violently, would -have leaped on the intruder, had not the youth -checked him. The maiden started and turned pale; -but when she perceived the shepherd her cheeks -flushed with crimson, and she stood before the -youth in a beautiful embarrassment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Down, down, Wallace, mon,” said the young -shepherd, “ken ye not Jeanie yet—the flower o’ -Ettrick? Ah! Jeanie, Jeanie,” he added—and his -tone and manner at once betrayed the footing on -which he stood with the maiden—“little did ye ken, -when ye were tripping sae gaily o’er the lea, with a -heart as light as a lavrock and a song as sweet as -the waving of the broom at noonday, that one who -lo’es ye sae dearly, was lookin’ at ye frae behind -this tree.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The maiden blushed again, and stealing a timid -glance at her lover, her eyes sought the ground. The -shepherd took her hand, which was not withdrawn -from his grasp, and said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ye ken weel, Jeanie dear, what ye were singing,” -and his voice assumed a sudden seriousness as -he spoke, which caused the maiden again to look up, -although the allusion he made to the subject of her -song, had dyed her cheeks with new blushes, “and -I hae come hither this morning, for I ken ye -passed here—to see ye if only for a moment. Ye ken, -Jeanie, that we were to hae been one next Michaelmas, -and that I was to get the Ellsey farm—a canny -croft it is, dearie, and happy, happy would we hae -been there”—the maiden looked inquiringly in his -face at these words, and her lover continued mournfully—“ye -guess the worst, I see, by that look. In -one word, a richer man has outbid me, and so, for -the third time, hae I been disappointed.” And as he -said these words with a husky voice, betokening the -depth of his emotion, the speaker paused, and drew -the back of his hand across his eyes. His affianced -bride showed the true delicacy of her mind in this -juncture. Instead of saying aught to comfort him, -she drew closer to his side, and laying her hand on -his arm, gazed up into his face with a look so full of -sympathy and love, that its mute, yet all-powerful -eloquence, went to the shepherd’s heart. He drew -her tenderly to his bosom, kissed her unresisting -brow, and gazed for some moments in silent rapture -on her face. At length he spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jeanie,” he said, and his voice grew low and -tremulous as he spoke, “can ye hear bad news? I -canna bide here longer,” he added, after a pause, -and with an obvious effort. The maiden started; but -having introduced the subject, her lover proceeded -firmly—“I canna bide here, year after year, as I -hae done for the last twelvemonth, and be put off, -month by month, wi’ promises that are never to be -fulfilled. I will go away and seek my fortune in -other lands. They say money is to be had amaist for -the asking in the Indies, and ye ken we may never -marry while I remain as now, with na roof to lay -my ain head under, to say naething of yours, Jeanie, -which I hold dearer than ten thousand thousand -sic as mine. So I hae engaged to go out to the -Indies, and the ship sails to-morrow. Do not greet, -my flower o’ the brae,” said he, as the maiden burst -into tears, “for ye ken it is only sufferin’ a lighter -evil to put off a greater one. If I stay here we -maun make up our minds never to be one, for not a -farm is to be had for a puir man like me, from -Ettrick to Inverness. In two years, at maist, I will -return,” and his voice brightened with hope, as he -proceeded, “and then, Jeanie dear, naething shall -keep us asunder, and you shall be the richest, and I -hope the happiest bride in all the border.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The manly pathos of his words, his visible attempt -to stifle his feelings, and the grief she felt at the -contemplated absence of her lover, all conjoined to -heighten the emotion of the maiden, and flinging herself -on her lover’s bosom, she wept long and uncontrollably. -Her companion gazed on in silence, with -an almost bursting heart; but he knew that he could -not recede from his promise, and that the hour of -anguish must be endured sooner or later. Then -why not now? At length the sobs of Jeanie grew -less violent and frequent—the first burst of her -emotion was passing away. Gently then did her -lover soothe her feelings, pointing out to her the -advantages to result from his determination, and -cheering her with the assurance, that in two years, -at farthest, he would return.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I hae no fears, Jeanie, that ye will not prove -true to me, and for the rest we are in God’s gude -hands. Our lives are as safe in his protection awa -on the seas as by our ain ingle-side. And now farewell, -for the present, dearie—I maun do many -things before we sail to-morrow. God bless you!” -and with these words, dashing a tear from his eye, -he tore himself from the maiden, and walked rapidly -across the lea, as if to dissipate his emotion by the -swiftness of his pace. When he reached the brow -of the hill, however, he turned to take a last look at -the spot where he had parted with Jeanie. She was -still standing where he left her, looking after his -receding form. He waved his hand, gazed a moment -on her, and then whistled to his dog, and dashed -over the brow of the hill.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Poor Jeanie had watched him with tearful eyes -until he paused at the top of the hill, and her heart -beat quick when she saw him turn for a last look. -She made an effort to wave her hand in reply; and -when she saw him disappear beyond the hill, sank -against the wall. Directly a flood of tears came -to her relief. It was hours before she was sufficiently -composed to return home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All through that day, and until late at night, -Jeanie comforted herself with the hope of again -beholding her lover; but he came not. Long after -nightfall, a ragged urchin from the village put into -her hands a letter. She broke it open tremblingly, -for she knew the hand-writing at a glance. It was -from her lover. It was kindly written, and the hand -had been tremulous that penned it; but it told her -that he had felt himself unequal to another parting -scene. Before she received this—it continued—he -would be far on his way to the place of embarkation. -It contained many a sweet message that filled -the heart of Jeanie with sunshine, even while the -tears fell thick and fast on the paper. It bid her -remember him to her only surviving parent, and then -it contained a few more words of hope, and ended -with “God bless you!—think often in your prayers -of Willie.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That night Jeanie’s pillow was wet with tears, -but, even amid her sobs, her prayers might have -been heard ascending for her absent lover.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>The family of Jeanie was poor but virtuous, like -thousands of others scattered all over the hills and -vales of Scotland. Her father had once seen better -days, having been indeed a farmer in a small way; -but his crops failing, and his stock dying by disease, -he had been reduced at length to extreme poverty. -Yet he bore his misfortunes without repining. He -had still his daughter to comfort him, and though he -lived in a mud-built cottage, he was happy—happy -at least, so far as one in his dependent condition -could be; for his principal support was derived from -the labor of his daughter, added to what little he -managed to earn by doing small jobs occasionally -for his neighbors. Yet he was universally respected. -If you could have seen him on a sunny Sabbath -morning, leaning on his daughter’s arm, walking to -the humble village kirk: if you could have beheld the -respect with which his juniors lifted their bonnets to -him, while his own gray locks waved on the wind as -he returned their salutations, you would have felt -that even utter poverty, if respectable, and cheered -by a daughter’s love, was not without its joy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The love betwixt Jeanie and the young shepherd -was not one of a day. It had already been of years -standing, and dated far back, almost into the childhood -of each. By sunny braes, in green meadows, -alongside of whimplin brooks, they had been -used to meet, seemingly by chance, until such meetings -grew necessary to their very existence, and -their love—pure and holy as that between the -angelic choristers—became intermixed with all their -thoughts and feelings, and colored all their views of -life. And all this time Jeanie was growing more -beautiful daily, until she became the flower of the -valley. Her voice was like that of the cushat in its -sweetest cadence—her eye was as blue and sunny -as the summer ether—and the smiles that wreathed -her mouth came and went like the northern lights on -a clear December eve. Thus beautiful, she had not -been without many suitors; but to all she turned a -deaf ear. Many of them were far above her station -in life, but this altered not her determination. Nor -did her father, though perhaps, like many of his -neighbors, he attached more importance to such -offers than Jeanie, attempt to influence her. He only -stipulated that her lover should obtain a farm before -his marriage. We have seen how his repeated -failures in this, and his hopelessness of attaining his -object, unless at a very distant period, had at length -driven him to seek his fortune elsewhere.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We are telling no romantic tale, but one of real -life; and in real life years often seem as hours, and -hours as years. We shall make no excuse, therefore, -for passing over an interval of more than two years.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the gloamin hour when Jeanie and her -father sat at their humble threshold. The face of the -maiden was sad almost to tears; while that of the -father wore a sad and anxious expression. They had -been convening, and now the old man resumed their -discourse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Indeed, Jeanie,” he said, “God knows I would -na urge ye do that which is wrong; but we hae suffered -and suffered much sin’ Willie left us. Twa -years and a half, amaist a third, hae past sin’ that -day. Do not greet, my dochter, an’ your auld father -may na speak that which is heavy on his mind,” and -he ceased, and folded the now weeping girl tenderly -to his bosom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, no, father, go on,” sobbed Jeanie, endeavoring -to compose herself, an effort in which she finally -succeeded. Her father resumed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am growing auld, Jeanie, aulder and aulder -every day; my shadow already fills up half my grave—and -the time canna be far awa, when I shall be -called to leave you alone in the warld.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! say not so,” sobbed Jeanie, “you will yet -live many a year.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Na, na,” he answered, shaking his head, “though -it pains my heart to say so, yet it is best you -should know the truth. It will na be long before -the snows shall lie aboon me. But I see it makes -you greet. I will pass on, Jeanie, to what lies heavy -on my heart, and that is, when I am awa, there will -be no one to protect you. Could I hae seen ye comfortably -settled, wi’ some one to shield ye from the -cauld world, I could hae gone to my grave in peace. -But it maun na be, it maun na be.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Poor Jeanie had listened to her father’s words -with emotions we will not attempt to pourtray. -Long after every one else had given over her lover -for lost—and besides a rumor, now of two years -standing, that he had been drowned at sea, there -was the fact of his not returning at the appointed -time, to silence all skepticism—she had clung to the -hope of his being alive, even when her reason forbid -the expression of that hope. She had long read her -father’s thoughts, nor could she indeed blame them. -Their poverty was daily growing more extreme, so -that while her parent’s health was declining, he was -compelled to deny himself even the few comforts -which he had hitherto possessed. These things -cut Jeanie to the heart, and yet she saw no remedy -for them, except in what seemed to her more terrible -than death. Her affection for her lover was only -strengthened and purified by his loss. Try as she -would, she could not tear his image from her heart. -Loving him thus, living or dead, how could she wed -another?—how could she take on herself vows her -heart refused to fulfil? Day after day, week after -week, and month after month, had this struggle been -going on in her bosom, betwixt duty to her father -and love for him to whom she had plighted her virgin -vows. This evening her parent had spoken to her, -mildly but seriously on the death of her lover, and -Jeanie’s heart was more than ever melted by the -self-devotedness with which her gray-haired father -had alluded to her want of protection in case of his -death, not even saying a word of the want of the -common comforts of life which his growing infirmities -rendered more necessary than ever, but of which -her conduct—oh! how selfish in that moment it -seemed to her—deprived him. It was some moments -before Jeanie could speak, during which time -she lay weeping on her parent’s bosom. At length -she murmured,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do wi’ me as ye wish, father, I maun resist no -longer, sin’ it were wicked. But oh! gie me a little -while to prepare, for the heart is rebellious and hard -to overcome. I know you do it all for the best—but -I maun hae some delay to tear the last thoughts o’ -Willie, thoughts which soon wi’ be sinfu’, from my -heart”—and overcome by the intensity of her emotions -she burst into a new flood of tears. Her -father pressed her to his bosom, and murmured,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! Jeanie, Jeanie, could ye know how this -pains my auld heart! But the thought that when I -die ye will be left unprotected in the world, is sair -within me. Time ye shall hae, darlint—perhaps,” -he added after a moment’s pause, “it were better to -gie up the scheme altogether. Aye! Jeanie, I will -na cross your wishes even in this; but trust in a gude -God to protect you when I am gone. Say no more, -say no more about it, dear one; but do just as ye -will.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, father,” said Jeanie, looking firmly up, -while the tears shone through her long eye-lashes -like dew on the morning grass, “no, I will be selfish -no longer. Your wish shall be fulfilled. Do not -oppose me, for indeed, indeed, I act now as I feel -right. Gie me only the little delay for which I ask, -and then I will do as you say, and—and”—and her -voice trembled as she spoke—“then you will no -longer be without those little comforts, dear father, -which not even all my love has been able to procure -for you. Now kiss me, for I maun go in to be by -myself for awhile.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“God bless you, my dochter, and may <span class='it'>he</span> ever -hae you in his keeping,” murmured that gray-haired -sire, laying his hands on his child’s head—his dim -eyes suffusing with tears as he spoke, “God bless -ye forever and ever!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When that father and daughter rejoined each -other, an hour later in the evening, a holy calm pervaded -the countenance of each; and the looks which -they gave each other were full of confidence, gratitude -and overflowing affection. And when the -daughter drew forth the old worn Bible, and read a -chapter in her silvery voice, while the father followed -in a prayer that was at times choked by his -emotion, there was not, in all broad Scotland, a -sweeter or more soul-subduing sight than that lowly -cot presented.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>Although Jeanie was a girl of strong mind, the -sacrifice which she contemplated was not to be -effected without many inward struggles. But having -made up her mind to what she considered her duty, -she allowed no personal feelings to swerve her from -the strict line she had laid down for herself wherein -to walk. Daily did she seek in prayer for aid; and -never did she allow her parent to hear a murmur -from her lips. Yet, let her strive as she would, the -memory of her lover would constantly recur to her -mind. At the gloamin hour, in the still watches of -the night—by the ingle-side, abroad in the fields, -or in the kirk of God—on Sabbath or week day—when -listening to her aged sire’s voice, or sitting all -alone in her little chamber, the image of him she had -loved would rise up before her, diffusing a gentle -melancholy over her heart, and seeming, for the moment, -to raise an impassable barrier betwixt her and -the fulfilment of her new vows—for those vows had -already been taken, and the evening which was to -make her another’s, was only postponed until the -intended bridegroom—a staid farmer of the border—could -make the necessary preparations in his -homestead, necessary to fit it for a new mistress, and -she the sweetest flower of the district.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We are telling no romantic tale, drawn from the -extravagant fancy of a novelist, but a sober reality. -There are hundreds, all over this broad realm, who -are even now sacrificing themselves like Jeanie. -Aye! in many a lowly cottage, unrecked of and -uncared for by the world, wither away in secret -sorrow, beings who, had their lot been cast in happier -places, would have been the brightest and most joyous -of creatures. How many has want driven, unwilling -brides, to the nuptial altar! Who can tell the -sacrifice woman will not make to affection, although -that sacrifice may tear her heart’s fibres asunder? -And thus Jeanie acted. Although she received -the attentions of her future husband with a smile, -there was a strange unnatural meaning in its cold -moonlight expression. Even while he talked to her, -her thoughts would wander away, and she would -only be awakened from her reverie by some sudden -ejaculation of his at perceiving her want of attention. -He knew her history, but he had been one of her -earliest lovers, and he flattered himself that she had -long since forgotten the absent; and, although at -times her demeanor would, for a moment, make him -suspect the truth, yet a conviction so little in unison -with his wishes, led him instantly to discard it. And -Jeanie, meanwhile, continued struggling with her -old attachment, until her health began to give way -beneath the conflict. She scarcely seemed to decline—at -least to eyes that saw her daily—but yet -her neighbors marked the change. In the beautiful -words of the ballad,</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                  “her cheek it grew pale,</p> -<p class='line0'>And she drooped like a lily broke down by the hail.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The morning of her wedding-day saw her as beautiful -as ever, but with how touching, how sweet -an expression of countenance! As she proceeded to -the kirk, her exquisite loveliness attracted every eye, -and her air of chastened sadness drew tears from -more than one spectator acquainted with her history. -The bridegroom stood smiling to receive his lovely -prize, the minister had already begun the service, -and Jeanie’s heart beat faster and faster as the moment -approached which was forever after to make -all thoughts of Willie sinful, when suddenly the rattling -of rapid wheels was heard without, and instantaneously -a chaise stopped at the kirk door, and a -tall form leaping from the vehicle strode rapidly up -the aisle at the very moment that the minister asked -the solemn question, if any one knew aught why the -ceremony should not be finished.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay,” answered the voice of the intruder, and, as -he spoke, he threw off the military cloak he wore -and disclosed to the astonished eyes of the spectators -the features—scarred and sun burnt, but still the -features—of the absent shepherd, “Ay! I stand -here, by God’s good aid, to claim the maiden by right -of a prior betrothal. I am William Sandford.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Had a thunderbolt fallen from heaven, or a spirit -risen from the dead, the audience would not have -been more astonished than by this <span class='it'>dénouement</span>. All -eagerly crowded around the intruder, gazing on his -face, as the Jews of old looked on the risen Lazarus. -Doubt, wonder, conviction, enthusiasm followed each -other in quick succession through the minds of the -spectators. But the long absent lover, pushing aside -the friends who thronged around him, strode up to -Jeanie’s side, and, clasping her in his arms, asked, -in a voice no longer firm, but husky with emotion,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! Jeanie, Jeanie, hae ye too forgotten me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The bride had fainted on his bosom; but a score -of eager tongues answered for her, and in hurried -words told him the truth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What have we more to say? Nothing—except -that the returned lover took the place of the bridegroom, -who was fain to resign his claim, and that -the minister united the now re-animated Jeanie and -her long-remembered lover, while the congregation -looked on with tears of joy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The returned Shepherd—for we shall still call -him so—at length found time to tell his tale. He -had been shipwrecked as rumoured, but, instead of -being drowned, had escaped and reached India. -There he entered the service and was sent into the -interior, where he rose rapidly in rank, but was -unavoidably detained beyond the appointed two years, -while the communications with Calcutta being difficult -and uncertain, the letters written home apprizing -Jeanie of these facts had miscarried. At length, he -had succeeded in resigning his commission, full of -honors and wealth. He hastened to Scotland. He -reached Jeanie’s home, learned that she was even -then becoming the bride of another, hurried wildly -to the church, and—our readers know the rest.</p> - -<hr class='tbk106'/> - -<div><h1><a id='sonnet'></a>SONNET.<a id='r1'/><a href='#f1' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[1]</span></sup></a></h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THOMAS NOON TALFOURD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>How</span> often have I fixed a stranger’s gaze</p> -<p class='line0'>On yonder turrets clad in light as fair</p> -<p class='line0'>As this soft sunset lends—pleas’d to drink air</p> -<p class='line0'>Of learning that from calm of ancient days</p> -<p class='line0'>Breathes ’round them ever:—now to me they wear</p> -<p class='line0'>The tinge of dearer thought; the radiant haze</p> -<p class='line0'>That crowns them thickens as, with fonder care,</p> -<p class='line0'>And by its flickering sparkles, sense conveys</p> -<p class='line0'>Of youth’s first triumphs:—for amid their seats</p> -<p class='line0'>One little student’s heart impatient beats</p> -<p class='line0'>With blood of mine. O God, vouchsafe him power</p> -<p class='line0'>When I am dust to stand on this sweet place</p> -<p class='line0'>And, through the vista of long years, embrace</p> -<p class='line0'>Without a blush this first Etonian hour!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_1'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f1'><a href='#r1'>[1]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>It is with high gratification that we present our readers, this month, with this elegant <span class='it'>original</span> poem from the pen of -Sergeant <span class='sc'>Noon Talfourd</span>, of England, the author of “<span class='sc'>Ion</span>,” and, perhaps, the first living poet of his age. In the letter -accompanying the verses he speaks of them as “my last effusion on an occasion very dear to me—composed in view of -Eton college after leaving my eldest son there for the first time.”</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk107'/> - -<div><h1><a id='gob'></a>THE GOBLET OF LIFE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Filled</span> is Life’s goblet to the brim;—</p> -<p class='line0'>And though my eyes with tears are dim,</p> -<p class='line0'>I see its sparkling bubbles swim,</p> -<p class='line0'>And chaunt this melancholy hymn,</p> -<p class='line0'>    With solemn voice and slow.</p> -<p class='line0'>No purple flowers—no garlands green</p> -<p class='line0'>Conceal the goblet’s shade or sheen,</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor maddening draughts of Hippocrene,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like gleams of sunshine, flash between</p> -<p class='line0'>    The leaves of mistletoe.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>This goblet, wrought with curious art,</p> -<p class='line0'>Is filled with waters that upstart,</p> -<p class='line0'>When the deep fountains of the heart,</p> -<p class='line0'>By strong convulsion rent apart,</p> -<p class='line0'>    Are running all to waste;</p> -<p class='line0'>And, as it mantling passes round,</p> -<p class='line0'>With fennel is it wreathed and crowned,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose seed and foliage sun-imbrowned,</p> -<p class='line0'>Are in its waters steeped and drowned,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And give a bitter taste.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Above the humbler plants it towers,</p> -<p class='line0'>The fennel, with its yellow flowers;</p> -<p class='line0'>And in an earlier age than ours</p> -<p class='line0'>Was gifted with the wondrous powers</p> -<p class='line0'>    Lost vision to restore:</p> -<p class='line0'>It gave new strength and fearless mood,</p> -<p class='line0'>And gladiators fierce and rude</p> -<p class='line0'>Mingled it in their daily food;</p> -<p class='line0'>And he who battled and subdued</p> -<p class='line0'>    A wreath of fennel wore.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Then in Life’s goblet freely press</p> -<p class='line0'>The leaves that give it bitterness,</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor prize the colored waters less,</p> -<p class='line0'>For in thy darkness and distress</p> -<p class='line0'>    New light and strength they give.</p> -<p class='line0'>For he who has not learned to know</p> -<p class='line0'>How false its sparkling bubbles show,</p> -<p class='line0'>How bitter are the drops of woe</p> -<p class='line0'>With which its brim may overflow,</p> -<p class='line0'>    He has not learned to live!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The prayer of Ajax was for light!</p> -<p class='line0'>Through all the dark and desperate fight,</p> -<p class='line0'>The blackness of that noon-day night,</p> -<p class='line0'>He asked but the return of sight</p> -<p class='line0'>    To know his foeman’s face.</p> -<p class='line0'>Let our unceasing, earnest prayer</p> -<p class='line0'>Be, too, for light:—and strength to bear</p> -<p class='line0'>Our portion of the weight of care,</p> -<p class='line0'>That crushes into dumb despair</p> -<p class='line0'>    One half the human race.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>O suffering, sad humanity!</p> -<p class='line0'>O ye afflicted ones, who lie</p> -<p class='line0'>Steeped to the lips in misery,</p> -<p class='line0'>Longing, and yet afraid to die,</p> -<p class='line0'>    Ye have been sorely tried!</p> -<p class='line0'>I pledge you in your cup of grief</p> -<p class='line0'>Where floats the fennel’s bitter leaf!</p> -<p class='line0'>The battle of our life is brief,—</p> -<p class='line0'>The alarm,—the struggle,—the relief,—</p> -<p class='line0'>    Then sleep we side by side.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk108'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i019.jpg' alt='two young ladies indoors and by a large window' id='iid-0003' style='width:75%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>E. T. Parris. Rawdon, Wright, Hatch & Smillie.</span><br/></p> <br/><span class='it'>Highland Beauty.</span><br/> <br/><span class='it'>Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine</span> -</div> - -<div><h1><a id='high'></a>HIGHLAND BEAUTY.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A STORY IN CAMP.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY OLIVER OLDFELLOW.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>The</span> fact is, Jeremy, I never liked the idea of -writing love stories in the presence of a pretty girl, -as there is always something contagious in love,—and -do what I might—I have been a hard student -that way—some how or other I was always apt to -leave off writing, and go to the business of love-making -in downright earnest,—studying from nature, you -see. It somehow puts a fellow’s hand out for writing, -and inclines him more to the use of his tongue, -except when, by way of variation, he cooly slips his -arm around the dear, blushing, unwilling creature, -and drawing her gently to his bosom, as a mother -would her child, smothers the ‘bliss of talking,’ as -Miss Landon called it, by a cousinly introduction of -lips. But,—by the prettiest houri that ever made -Mussulman’s heaven!—how do you think the thing -is to be managed with <span class='it'>two</span> of the prettiest Scotch -lassies that ever inspired the song of a Burns, or the -valor of a Wallace, looking you right in the eye, and -one of them with the most inviting lips, too, that ever -set lover’s heart on fire, and each with a pair of eyes -that would send the blood tingling through the veins -of the veriest woman hater that ever breathed.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“None of your nonsense, Oliver, but for once give -over the lore of talking of yourself, and let us have -the story within three pages, if you expect to be out -before Christmas with the Magazine! There are a -host of better looking fellows than yourself have had -their eyes upon the girls, and—to tell you the honest -truth,—the game is above your reach.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By my faith in woman! Jeremy, you are as sharp -this morning as a nor’-wester—I expect you have -had your <span class='it'>comb cut</span> with one of them. Talking of cutting -combs, reminds me of a story. When I was in -the army!—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha! ha! ha! When you were in the army! By -George! I like that part of the story amazingly—if -the rest is only as good I may feel inclined to allow -you half a page more!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come, Jerry, none of that; I’ve known fellows -talk about the army who never even heard a gun, -and chaps spin out most eternal sea-yarns, that never -smelt salt water, as any old tar would tell you before -he had listened five minutes to the story; but I am none -of your green-horns—I know what I am about when -I mention war or beauty,—having seen some service -in my day. I therefore commence properly—as -every story should have a beginning, even if it has -no end.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When I was in the army, you see, I became acquainted -with a very sentimental fellow, about your -size,—though he <span class='it'>had</span> rather a better looking whisker -for a soldier,—who was always full of romance, and -all that sort of thing,—and I <span class='it'>do</span> believe the chap had -an idea or two of the right kind in his head, but they -were so mixed up with the wrong kind, that, like the -funds of a good many bankers now-a-days, they were -not always ‘available.’ He had got it into his cranium, -and there it would stick, that he had a little -better blood in him than any body else, so that he -was confoundedly careful not to have any of it spilt, -and nothing but the daughter of a lord came any -way near the mark to which he aspired. He used -to tell a good many stories about himself, and he -would tell them pretty well too, but they somehow -or other had a smack of the marvellous. His stories -about the doings among the gentry—the fellow, you -see, had been educated by a lord, or something of -that sort, and had seen a little of high life above stairs -as well as below—took amazingly in the camp, -especially his sentimental ones, for he had the knack -of making a fool of himself—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, for goodness sake, Oliver! the story!—the -story!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The fact is, Jerry, I am pretty much in the predicament -of the knife-grinder!—Story of my own—I -have none to tell. But here is one of——confound -the fellow’s name,—no matter.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk109'/> - -<p class='pindent'>“Emily Melville—the only daughter of the proud -Lord Melville, who was well known in the time of -the wars—as the representative of the long line of -illustrious Scottish nobles of that name, was the pride -of the Lowland nobility, and the belle of every assembly. -She was as fair as a white fawn, and scarcely -less wild. Her mother being dead, few restraints -were placed upon the young beauty by the old -house-keeper, who, in the main, filled the place. -Emily, therefore, held in proud disdain the restraints -which would have been imposed by the prudes of -her sex, and thought that the great art of living -was to be happy. Laughter was always on her lips, -and sunlight forever on her brow. She was beautiful, -and you knew it, yet you could not tell the -secret of it, nor, for their restlessness and brilliancy, -whether her eyes were blue or gray, yet you knew -that they were pretty, and felt that they were bright. -Her voice was like the warble of a bird in spring, -its notes were so full of joyousness; and her motion -was like that of a fairy, so light and graceful, that, -had you seen her tripping over the smoothly shaved -lawn in front of the mansion—her auburn hair -drooping in long ringlets over her snowy and finely -rounded shoulders—and heard her gay glad voice, -swelling out in song and happiness, you would have -fancied her an angel from the upper sphere.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I doubt that last part, my good fellow”—interrupted -a bluff old soldier—“until I had tried an arm -around her, to see if she wasn’t flesh and blood, I -wouldn’t a’ trusted fancy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“An interruption, gentlemen. You see if the story -is told right, a man must <span class='it'>feel</span> what he says, and you’ll -find out before it’s done, that I”—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What, young man! You didn’t begin to make -love to <span class='it'>her</span> did you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Gentlemen, I must persist”—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, was <span class='it'>she</span> in love—tell us that.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Love!—She laughed at it—and said, ‘she loved -nothing but her pet fawn—her canary—the flowers, -both wild and tame—the blue sky—the sunshine—the -heather—the forest—the mountains—and it -might be—she did not know—she <span class='it'>might</span> love her -cousin Harry Hardwick, if he was as pleasant as he -was when her playmate a few years ago—but he -was now at his father’s castle on the mountain, and -perhaps had grown coarse, boorish, or ill-mannered. -She did not know therefore whether she should love -him or not—rather thought she should not—but -then she had her father, and enough around her to -love and cherish, and why should she trouble herself -about the matter.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will not wonder, gentlemen, that such a creature -should inspire me with love—a deep, devoted, -heart-absorbing, deathless passion. I loved her as -man never loved woman before. Every pulsation, -every energy of my being seemed for her”—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course, <span class='it'>you’d</span> love her!—never heard you -tell of a pretty girl that you didn’t love—but give us -the pith and marrow of the matter; did she return -the compliment?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All in good time!—You see the thing might have -been very handsomely managed, if it had not been -for one or two impediments”—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What in the plague does the fellow mean by -<span class='it'>impediment</span>?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hush, can’t you! He means he didn’t get her, -of course.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, you see, gentlemen, there was a shocking -looking young fellow of a lord, who lived upon the -next estate, who got it into his head that he must -take a hand in the game. To give him his due, he -was accomplished, witty, had a title, and a splendid -whisker, and from beginning to call every few days -to inquire after Lord Melville’s health—the old chap -had the best health in the world—about three times -a-week, he soon managed to call the other four days -on his own account, so that I found the prize in a fair -way to be snatched from my grasp, and I resolved to -bring matters to a close pretty soon. So one morning, -when Lord Melville was out looking into parliamentary -matters, inquiring into the affairs of the -nations, or his own, I thought I would open the -question genteely. Emily had sung for me most -sweetly, without any apology or affectation, and we -were now sitting chatting very pleasantly together. -How easy, then, to turn the conversation in the proper -channel. To discourse of green fields—of murmuring -brooks—of the delights of solitude with one -of congenial tastes—of the birds, the fawn, and the -attachment they showed their mistress. Then, of -course, she would wonder whether they really loved -her, whether they knew what love was, or only felt -joy at her presence, because they knew her as their -feeder. Then I would say, of <span class='it'>course</span> they loved her, -how could they do otherwise,—were not all things -that approached her <span class='it'>fated</span> to love her. Then she -blushes, gets up, and goes to the window opening on -the garden—to look at the flowers maybe—I must -see them too, of course, for they are <span class='it'>her</span> flowers. -I always loved flowers, and particularly love these. -Things, gentlemen, were thus progressing pretty -smoothly, you will see, considering that the lady was -the daughter of a lord, and of course heiress to his -whole estate, when lo!—my unlucky genius as -usual—the housekeeper must poke in her head, and -ask if ‘anybody called.’ No! certainly not! What -young lady ever called a housekeeper at such a time! -Pshaw! The thing was shocking to think of! How -stupid in her! The old thing had an eye in her head -like a hawk, however, and saw pretty clearly how -matters stood, and whether she thought that there -was no chance for me in that quarter, or had some -private preference of her own, she maintained her -ground until I deemed it prudent to withdraw.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Days passed away, and no opportunity was -afforded me of renewing my suit. Whether the old -housekeeper took the matter in hand or not, of course -I cannot say; but when days began to grow into -weeks, I began to feel the wretchedness of first love. -Who has not felt its fears, its doubts, the torture, -whether you are beloved by the object of your affection, -and the uncertainty, even in your own mind, -whether you are worthy of that love?—who has not -felt the dread of rivalry, the fears of the effects of a -moment’s absence, and the thousand untold pangs, -which none but a lover’s imagination can inflict—and -he a lover for the first time? It is strange, gentlemen, -that I should, after this sweet interview, which -seemed destined to be the last that I should have with -the most angelic of beings, place myself upon the rack, -and delight in the torture, with the devotion to wretchedness -of a heart inspired with ‘the gentle madness,’ -for the first time, of passionate, deathless love—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hold up, comrade! and do give us the pith of the -matter, without all this flummery. I’ve known chaps -talk all day in that strain, who never had any story to -tell, but would go on yarning it until roll-call, just to -hear themselves talk. Now, if you got the gal, say -so—if you didn’t, tell us why—and none of your rigmarole.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course, gentlemen, I did not get her, and that -is the reason I am here to tell the story. Misfortunes, -you know, travel close upon each other’s heels, and -sure enough, in the midst of my misery, the carriage -of Lord Hardwick was announced, and who should -it contain but Emily’s cousin ‘Harry,’—her old playmate, -and his sister. I heard the announcement, but -I heard no more, until an hour or two afterwards, -when, out of sheer melancholy, I had taken to the -garden for contemplation and meditation, I <span class='it'>accidentally</span> -overheard Harry Hardwick’s declaration and -his acceptance, and, after half an hour of silence, a -laugh by both parties at my expense.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I had enough of the soldier’s blood in me, gentlemen, -even then, to <span class='it'>take no notice</span> of this downright incivility -and want of breeding, though I do not of -course suppose that the parties dreamed that they had -a listener, so I cast her off as unworthy of my love; -and thus ended my first love.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very sensibly done, too, my boy! I applaud your -spirit. It was worthy of a soldier.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, gentlemen, this was but the opening of difficulties, -for I was no sooner out of this scrape than -my sensitive heart must betray me into another. -How all the dreams of even Emily’s beauty melted -away as the mist from the hills—perhaps assisted -by the knowledge she was the prize of another—when -next morning my eyes beheld Arabella Hardwick. -She was leaning over the back of the sofa, at the -very window from which the day before I had praised -the flowers with Emily. Passing beautiful was she -as she stood in her virgin loveliness before me, with -her highland-cap and its white plume over curls of -jet, that seemed in mere wantonness to fall from -beneath, over her fine neck and swelling bosom, -whose treasures were scarcely concealed by the -highland-mantle which so well became her. Her -brow was slightly shaded with curls, while from beneath, -her eyes, darker than heaven’s own blue, -seemed to be melting before your gaze. Her smile -was sweetness itself, and came from lips of which -heaven and earth seemed to dispute ownership. -Emily was seated at her side, in the act of fixing a -hawk’s feather in a highland-cap for her own fair -brow, yet in her eye mischief and cunning strove for -mastery, and her whole face was so full of meaning -that I knew that I must have been the subject of previous -conversation, and I felt my face crimson before -the highland beauties. I verily believe that I made -an impression, gentlemen, which, had it been properly -followed up, might have been the making of -me; I have always fancied somehow or other that -the highland beauty was rather smitten with me, for -there was such a coaxing expression in her whole -face, and particularly in her lips—which seemed to -be begging a kiss—that I do believe that if it had not -been for the presence of my old flame, ‘my first love,’ -gentlemen, I should have carried the fortress by -storm! but you see, as it was, I stood blushing and -looking simple until, for very amusement sake, both -commenced laughing, and Emily broke the ice by -asking me if I had lost my tongue.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘On this hint I spoke.’—It is not necessary, gentlemen, -to repeat all the fine things I said—for fine -things in a sentimental way, are not relished in -camp—but suffice it to say that the ground was -so well marked out in my first interview, that I -deemed it expedient to pop the question, ‘striking -while the iron’s hot,’ you know—somewhat musty, -but very expressive—yet you will scarcely believe -me, gentlemen—she rejected me <span class='it'>flat</span>—‘<span class='it'>because I -had no whiskers</span>.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You don’t say that was the <span class='it'>main</span> objection?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I say that was the only objection, and to prove -its validity, she married five months after, Lord -Gordon, Emily’s former suitor—whose only advantage -was a fine pair of whiskers—with the addition -of an estate and a title.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But perhaps the latter had some weight.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“None, I assure you, as I pressed the matter, -and she averred, that love in a cottage with a whisker, -was in every way more congenial to her taste, -than the finest mansion in the land without that -appendage. So you see I took to cultivating whiskers -with great assiduity; but for a long time, the -rascals defied all attempts to train them; the shoots -were tolerably advanced in less than six months; -but they were too late—for the lady was married.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, you are a cool sort of a fellow to talk of -transferring your love from one high-born lady to -another, with the same ease as a soldier does a -feather from his cap. I suppose you finally courted -the old housekeeper out of sheer revenge.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“None of that, I assure you, for she revenged my -want of attention that way, by giving Lord Melville -a history of the whole matter—with trimmings.—So -the old codger said I was as crazy as a bed-bug, -and clapped me in the army, as a kind of lunatic -asylum to recover my wits. So that’s the <span class='it'>end of -the story</span>.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk110'/> - -<p class='pindent'>“There, Jerry, put that in your pipe, or your Magazine, -just as you like, for no story do I write for a -fellow who comes to me with a piece of tape to -measure the length, as if a man spun like a spider, -and if it don’t fill your three pages—add a paragraph -about the children.—What do ye say?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s rather so-soish at best, Oliver!—But what -regiment did you say you were in?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Regiment—did I say anything about regiment? -You must be mistaken, Jerry! these confounded -soldier terms are all mouldering in my brain, these -peaceable times.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, where was the army encamped?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At a—a place with a confounded French -name—I never had any command of the cursed -language, and was glad enough when we got out of -the place, never to bother my brain with its name.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, the war!—In what war was it?—Let us -have something to go upon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As for dates and names, Jerry, I never for the -soul of me, could make any headway with them. A -phrenologist once told me, that for names and dates -I had no development, and whenever I begin to try -to think of my exploits in battle, I think the fellow -was right—as I am always out for the want of -names and dates. So I think it best first to tell the -<span class='it'>facts</span>, and let people fix dates to suit themselves. So, -Jerry, hand over the port—this is confounded dry -business.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To tell you the truth, Oliver, the whole story has -rather a squint, and I have half a notion that for -the most of it, we are indebted to the good looks of -the two bonnie Scotch lassies, and rather a marvellous -imagination.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk111'/> - -<div><h1><a id='will'></a>LINES.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>WRITTEN ON A PORTRAIT OF WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Hail</span> pictured image! thine immortal art</p> -<p class='line0'>Hath snatch’d a hero from the arms of death,</p> -<p class='line0'>In whose broad bosom beat the noblest heart</p> -<p class='line0'>That ever drew on earth a balmy breath;</p> -<p class='line0'>For while amid the sons of men he trod,</p> -<p class='line0'>That true nobility to him was given</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose seal is stamp’d by an approving God,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose ever-blooming title comes from heaven.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The fire of genius glistened in his glance,</p> -<p class='line0'>’Twas written on his calm majestic brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>That men might look upon its clear expanse</p> -<p class='line0'>And read that God and Nature made him so;</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet that pale temple could not always keep</p> -<p class='line0'>The soul imprisoned in its earthly bars,</p> -<p class='line0'>Born for the skies, his god-like soul doth sweep</p> -<p class='line0'>The boundless circle of the radiant stars.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>How soft the placid smiles that seemed to bask</p> -<p class='line0'>Round those pale features once the spirit’s shrine</p> -<p class='line0'>And hover round those lips that only ask</p> -<p class='line0'>A second impress from the hand divine!</p> -<p class='line0'>And look upon that brow! a living light</p> -<p class='line0'>Plays like a sun-beam o’er his silver hair,</p> -<p class='line0'>As if the happy spirit in its flight</p> -<p class='line0'>Had left a saint-like glory trembling there.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yet tho’ some skilful hand may softly paint</p> -<p class='line0'>The noble form and features we adore,</p> -<p class='line0'>Such deeds as thine are left, Oh happy Saint!</p> -<p class='line0'>Are left alone for Memory to restore.</p> -<p class='line0'>And still thy virtues like a soft perfume</p> -<p class='line0'>That rises from a bed of fading flowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>Immortal as thyself, shall bud and bloom</p> -<p class='line0'>Deep in these hearts, these grateful hearts of ours.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Sons of Columbia! ye whose spirits soar</p> -<p class='line0'>Elate with joyous hopes and youthful fires,</p> -<p class='line0'>Go, imitate the hero you deplore,</p> -<p class='line0'>For this is all that God or man requires.</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! while you bend the pensive brow of grief,</p> -<p class='line0'>Muse on the bright examples he has given,</p> -<p class='line0'>And strive to follow your ascended chief</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose radiant foot-prints lead to fame and heaven.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh guard his grave! it is a solemn trust,</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor let a single foeman press the sod</p> -<p class='line0'>Beneath whose verdure sleeps the sacred dust</p> -<p class='line0'>Once hallowed by the quick’ning breath of God.</p> -<p class='line0'>Thus in his lonely grandeur let him lie</p> -<p class='line0'>Wrapt in his grave on fair Ohio’s shore,</p> -<p class='line0'>His deeds, his virtues, all that could not die,</p> -<p class='line0'>Remain with us, and shall for evermore.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk112'/> - -<div><h1><a id='land'></a>TO A LAND BIRD AT SEA.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Bird</span> of the land! what dost thou here?</p> -<p class='line0'>  Lone wanderer o’er a trackless bound,—</p> -<p class='line0'>With nought but frowning skies above,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And cold, unfathom’d seas around;</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Among the shrouds, with heaving breast</p> -<p class='line0'>  And drooping head, I see thee stand,</p> -<p class='line0'>And pleased the coarsest sailor climbs,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To grasp thee in his roughen’d hand.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And didst thou follow, league on league,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Our pointed mast, thine only guide,</p> -<p class='line0'>When but a floating speck it seemed</p> -<p class='line0'>  On the broad bosom of the tide?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>On far Newfoundland’s misty bank,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Hadst thou a nest, and nurslings fair?</p> -<p class='line0'>Or ’mid New England’s forests hoar?</p> -<p class='line0'>  Speak! speak! what tidings dost thou bear?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>What news from native shore and home,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Swift courier o’er the threatening tide?—</p> -<p class='line0'>Hast thou no folded scroll of love</p> -<p class='line0'>  Prest closely to thy panting side?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A bird of genius art thou? say!</p> -<p class='line0'>  With impulse high thy spirit stirred—</p> -<p class='line0'>Some region unexplored to gain,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And soar above the common herd?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Burns in thy breast some kindling spark</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like that which fired the glowing mind</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the adventurous Genoese,</p> -<p class='line0'>  An undiscovered world to find?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Whate’er thou wert, how sad thy fate</p> -<p class='line0'>  With wasted strength the goal to spy,</p> -<p class='line0'>Cling feebly to the flapping sail,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And at a stranger’s feet to die.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yet, from thy thin and bloodless beak,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Methinks a warning sigh doth creep—</p> -<p class='line0'>To those who leave their sheltering home,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And lightly dare the dangerous deep.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk113'/> - -<div><h1><a id='snow'></a>THE SNOW-STORM.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>A MONOLOGUE BY JEREMY SHORT, ESQ.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> is almost twilight. How swiftly have the moments -glided by since we sat ourselves by this window—let -us see—some two hours since, and during -all that time not a word have we spoken, although -our soul has been gushing over with its exceeding -fulness. It is snowing. Look out and you will see -the downy flakes—there, there, and there—one -chasing another, millions on millions falling without -intermission, coming down noiselessly and mysteriously, -as a dream of childhood, on the earth, and -covering field, and forest, and house-top, hill and -vale, river, glade, and meadow, with a robe that is -whiter than an angel’s mantle. How ceaseless the -descent! What countless myriads—more countless -than even the stars of heaven—have fallen since we -have been watching here! God only could have -ordered the falling of that flake which has just now -sunk to the earth like an infant on its young mother’s -milk-white bosom. Did you not see it? There—follow -this one which has just emerged from the -skies—but at what spot even we cannot detect—see -its slow, easy, tremulous motion as it floats downwards; -now how rapidly it intermingles with the -others, so that you can scarcely keep it in your eye; -and there! there! it shoots to the ground with a -joyous leap—and, even as we speak, another and -another, aye! ten thousand thousand of them have -flitted past, like the gleaming of cherubic wings, such -as we used to see in our childhood’s dreams, glancing -to and fro before a throne of surpassing glory, far, -far away, high up in the skies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is snowing. Faster, faster, faster come down -the feathery flakes. See how they disport themselves—giddy -young creatures as they are—whirling -around; now up, and now down; dancing, leaping, -flying; you can almost hear their sportive laughter -as they skim away across the landscape. Almost, -we say, for in truth there is not a sound to be heard -in earth, air, or sky. The ground, all robed in white, -is hushed in silence—the river sweeps its current -along no longer with a hoarse chafing sound, but -flows onward with a dull, clogged, almost noiseless -motion—not a bird whistles in the wood, nor a beast -lows from the barn-yard—while the trees, lifting -their bleached branches to the skies, shiver in the -keen air, and cower uncomplainingly beneath the -falling flakes. But hark! there is a voice beside us—’tis -that of the beloved of our soul—repeating -Thomson’s Winter—Thomson! majestic at all times, -but oh! how much more so when gushing in silver -music from the lips of the white-armed one beside -us. Hear her!</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“The keener tempests rise: and fuming dun</p> -<p class='line0'>From all the livid east, or piercing north,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thick clouds ascend; in whose capacious womb</p> -<p class='line0'>A vapory deluge lies, to snow congeal’d.</p> -<p class='line0'>Heavy they roll their fleecy world along;</p> -<p class='line0'>And the sky saddens with the gather’d storm.</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Through the hush’d air the whitening shower descends,</span></p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>At first thin wavering; till at last the flakes</span></p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day,</span></p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>With a continual flow.</span> The cherished fields</p> -<p class='line0'>Put on their winter-robe of purest white.</p> -<p class='line0'>’Tis brightness all; save where the new snow melts</p> -<p class='line0'>Along the mazy current. Low the woods</p> -<p class='line0'>Bow their hoar head; and ere the languid sun</p> -<p class='line0'>Faint from the west emits his evening ray</p> -<p class='line0'>Earth’s universal face, deep hid, and chill,</p> -<p class='line0'>Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide</p> -<p class='line0'>The works of man. Drooping, the laborer ox</p> -<p class='line0'>Stands covered o’er with snow——”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>But let us away to the mountains! Far up in a -gorge of the Alleghanies we will stand, with the -clouds whirling wildly around and beneath, and the -wind whistling shrilly far down in some ravine, -which we may not see; for all around us is, as it -were, a shoreless ocean, buried in a ghastly mist, -from which the tall cliffs jut up like islands—and -ever, ever comes to our ears from this boiling vortex -a sound as of many waves chafing against the shore, -like that which the priest of Apollo listened to as he -walked all disconsolate, bereft of his fair-haired -daughter, back from the tents of the stern Hellenes to -the towers of Ilium. The air is full of snow-flakes, -driving hither and thither—thick, thick, thicker -they descend—you cannot see a fathom before you. -Take care how you tread, for a false step may plunge -you into an abyss a thousand feet plumb down. Not -far from here is the very spot where an unwary traveller, -on a night like this, but a bare twelve-month -since, slipped from the edge of the precipice, and was -never heard of again, until the warm sunny breath -of April, melting the snows from beneath the shadows -of the hills, disclosed him lying unburied, with -his face turned up, as if in mockery, to the bright -heavens on which his eye might never look again. -In vain had loved ones watched for his coming until -their eyes grew weary, and their hearts turned to -fountains of tears within them—in vain had a wife -or mother kindled the cheery fire, or smoothed for -him the bed of down, to welcome him after his absence—for</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“——his sheets are more white,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And his canopy grander,</p> -<p class='line0'>And sounder he sleeps</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where the hill-foxes wander.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>We are in the mountains, in the midst of a snow-storm, -and, as we look around, we feel that Jehovah, -as when Moses heard the noise of a mighty wind, is -passing by. There is a vague emotion of mingled wonder, -fear and awe, overshadowing our soul as we -stand here alone in the tempest. See how the drift -is spinning in the whirlwind; and now it streams out -like a pennant on the night. Hark! to the deep organ -peal of the hurricane as it thunders among the -peaks high up above us—listen to the wild shrieks -rising, we know not whither, as if the spirits of the -mountain were writhing on beds of torture, as the -olden legends say, all unpardoned by their Creator. -And now—louder and wilder than the rest—sounding -upwards from the gulf below, a voice of agony -and might—sublime even in its tribulation, awful in -its expression of gigantic suffering—like that of him -whom the seer of the Apocalypse beheld bound hand -and foot and cast into the bottomless pit, despite an -unyielding conflict of twice ten thousand years. -Ruin!—ruin!—all is ruin around us. We see not -the burying of hamlets, we hear not the descent of -avalanches, but the sky is lit up with a wan glare, -the whole air is full of mysterious sounds, and we -feel, with a strange all-pervading fear, that destruction -will glut herself ere morning. God help the -traveller who is abroad to-night!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now, with a sheer descent, full fifty fathoms -down, let us plunge like the eagle when he shoots -before the burning thunderbolt. We are on the wide -ocean, and what a sight! Sea and air are commingled -into one. You seem buried alive in a whirling tempest -of snow-flakes, and though, as on the mountain, -you hear on every side sounds of utter agony, yet, as -there, the keenest eye cannot penetrate the wan, dim -prospect around; but here, unlike on the hills, there -is one voice superior to all the rest—the deep, awful -bass of the rolling surges. And then the hurricane! -How it whistles, roars and bellows through the rigging, -now piping shrill and clear, and now groaning -awfully as if in its last extremity. The snow is -blocking up the decks, wet, spongy and bitterly cold. -There! how she thumped against that wave, quivering -under it in every timber, while the spray was -dimly seen flying wild and high over the fore-top. -“Shall we—oh! shall we live till morning?” asks a -weeping girl. “We know not, sweet one, but we -are in the Almighty’s hand, and his fatherly care will -be over us as well here as on the land.” There; see—“<span class='sc'>hold -on all</span>,” thunders the Stentor voice of the -skipper, sounding now however fainter than the -feeblest infant’s cry; and as he speaks, the craft -shivers with a convulsive throe, and a gigantic billow, -seething, hissing, flashing, whirls in over the -bow, deluges the deck, and roars away into the blackness -of darkness astern. Was that a cry of <span class='sc'>a man -overboard</span>? God in his infinite mercy, pardon the -poor wretch’s sins; for, alas! it were madness to -attempt his rescue. Already he is far astern. Another -and another wave! Oh! for the light of morning. -Yes! young Jessie, thou would’st give worlds -now for the breezes of the far-off land—the hum -of bees, the songs of birds, the scent of flowers in -the summer sunshine—the sight of thy home -smiling amidst its murmuring trees, with the clear -brook hard by laughing over the stones, and the -voices of thy young sisters sounding gaily in thy ears. -But ere morning we may all be with our brother who -has but just gone from our midst. <span class='it'>Ora pro nobis!</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'>We were but dreaming when we thought ourselves -among the mountains and on the sea, and we were -awoke by thy soft voice—oh! loved one of our soul—and -looking into thy blue eyes—moist, not with -tears, but with thine all-sensitive soul—we feel a -calm come down upon us soothing, how gently and -sweetly, our agitated thoughts. Many and many a -tale could we tell thee of sorrow and peril on the -seas, and our heart is even now full of one which -would bring the tears into other eyes than thine—but -no! you tell us we are all too agitated by our -dream, and that another time will do—well, well! -Sing us, then, one of thine own sweet songs—Melanie!—for -is not thy voice like the warbler of our -woods, he of the hundred notes, the silvery, the -melting, the unrivalled? That was sweetly done—ever -could we sit and listen to thee thus.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  “Thy voice is like a fountain</p> -<p class='line0'>Leaping up in sunshine bright,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And <span class='it'>we</span> never weary counting</p> -<p class='line0'>Its clear droppings, lone and single,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or when in one full gush they mingle,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Shooting in melodious light!”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>That is Lowell’s—a noble soul is his, and all on -fire with poetry. We tender to him, though we have -never met in the flesh, our good right hand, joining -his herewith in cordial fellowship, the hearts of both -being in our eyes the while:—we tender him our -hand—he far away in his student’s room at Boston -and we here in old Philadelphia—and we tell sneering -worldlings and critics who are born only to be -damned, that, for one so young, Lowell has written -grandly; that he is full, even to overflowing, of purity, -enthusiasm, imagination, and love for all God’s creatures; -and being this, why should not we—aye! and -all honest men beside—grasp him cheerily by the -hand, and if need be, stand to our arms in his defence?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the clock has struck six, and we will walk to -the door to see if the tempest still rages. What a -glorious night! The moon is out, sailing high up in -heaven, with a calm mystic majesty that fills the soul -with untold peace. Far away on the horizon floats a -misty veil—while here and there, in the sky, a cloud -still lingers, its dark body seeming like velvet on an -azure ground, and its edges turned up with silver. -There are a thousand stars on the frosty snow; for -every tiny crystal that shoots out into the moonshine -glistens all diamond-like; and, as you walk, ten thousand -new crystals open to the light, until the whole -landscape seems alive with millions of gems. Hark! -how the hard crust crackles under the tread. If you -put your ear to the ground you will hear a multitude -of almost inarticulate sounds as if the sharp moon-beams -were splintering the snow—but it is only the -shooting of myriads of crystals. There have been -icicles forming all day from yonder twig, and now as -we shake the tree, you may hear them tinkling, one by -one, to the ground, with a clear silvery tone, like the -ringing of a bell miles off among the hills. Early in -the afternoon, the snow melted on the river, but -towards nightfall the stream became clogged, and -now the frost is “breathing a blue film” from shore -to shore—and to-morrow the whole surface will be -smooth as glass, and the steel of the skater will be -ringing sharp along the ice. How keen was that -gust!—you may hear its dying cadence moaning -away in the distance, like the wail of a lost child in -a forest. Hush! was that a whistle down in the -wood?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now again all is still. Let us pause a moment -and look around. The well-known landmarks of the -scene have disappeared, giving place to an unbroken -prospect of the purest white. We seem to have -entered into a new world, and to have lost by the -transition all our old and more selfish feelings, so -that now, every emotion of our heart is softened -down to a gentle calm, in unison with the beauty and -repose around us. There is a dreaminess in the landscape, -thus half seen by the light of the moon, giving -full play to the imagination. The spirit spurns -this mortal tenement of clay, and soars upwards to a -brighter world, holding fancied communion with the -myriads of beatified spirits, which it would fain -believe, hover in the air and whisper unseen into our -souls. Glorious thought, that God hath appointed -such guardian watchers over a lost and sinful race! -We would not surrender this belief—wild and visionary -as it may seem to some—for all that sectarians -have asserted or atheists denied. We love, in the -still watches of the night, to think that the “loved -and lost” are communing with our hearts—that -though dead they yet live, and watch, as of old, over -our erring path—that they soothe us in sorrow, -hover around our beds of sickness, are the first to -bear the parted soul upwards to the gates of Paradise—and -that the angelic sounds we hear upon the midnight -air, coming we know not whither, but seeming -to pervade the whole firmament as with a celestial -harmony, are but their songs of praise. Or may not -these heavenly strains be the cadences which faintly -float, far down from the battlements of heaven?</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                        “Oft in bands</p> -<p class='line0'>While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk,</p> -<p class='line0'>With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds</p> -<p class='line0'>In full harmonic numbers joined, their songs</p> -<p class='line0'>Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The dream grows dim, the illusion is fading, our -rhapsody dies upon our lips. We hear again thy -voice—Hebe of our heart!—and we may not longer -tarry in the night air. And so farewell!</p> - -<hr class='tbk114'/> - -<div><h1><a id='apos'></a>APOSTROPHE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY ALBERT PIKE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  <span class='sc'>Oh</span> Liberty! thou child of many hopes,</p> -<p class='line0'>    Nursed in the cradle of the human heart!</p> -<p class='line0'>  While Europe in her glimmering darkness gropes,</p> -<p class='line0'>    Do not from us, thy chosen ones, depart!</p> -<p class='line0'>    Still be to us, as thou hast been, and art,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The Spirit which we breathe! Oh, teach us still</p> -<p class='line0'>    Thy arrowy truths unquailingly to dart,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Until the Tyrant and Oppressor reel,</p> -<p class='line0'>And Despotism trembles at thy thunder-peal.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Methinks thy sun-rise now is lighting up</p> -<p class='line0'>    The far horizon of yon hemisphere</p> -<p class='line0'>  With golden lightning. O’er the hoary top</p> -<p class='line0'>    Of the blue mountain see I not appear</p> -<p class='line0'>    Thy lovely dawn; while Pain, and crouching Fear,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And Slavery perish under tottering thrones?</p> -<p class='line0'>    How long, oh Liberty! until we hear</p> -<p class='line0'>  Instead of an insulted people’s moans,</p> -<p class='line0'>The crushed and writhing tyrants uttering their groans?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Is not thy Spirit living still in France?</p> -<p class='line0'>    Will it not waken soon in storm and fire?</p> -<p class='line0'>  Will Earthquake not ’mid thrones and cities dance,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And Freedom’s altar be the funeral pyre</p> -<p class='line0'>    Of Tyranny and all his offspring dire?</p> -<p class='line0'>  In England, Germany, Italia, Spain,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And Switzerland thy Spirit doth inspire</p> -<p class='line0'>  The multitude—and though too long, in vain,</p> -<p class='line0'>They struggle in deep gloom, yet Slavery’s night shall wane!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  And shall <span class='it'>we</span> sleep while all the earth awakes?</p> -<p class='line0'>    Shall <span class='it'>we</span> turn slaves while on the Alpine cones</p> -<p class='line0'>  And vine-clad hills of Europe brightly breaks</p> -<p class='line0'>    The morning light of liberty?—What thrones</p> -<p class='line0'>    Can equal those which on our fathers’ bones</p> -<p class='line0'>  The demagogue would build? What chains so gall</p> -<p class='line0'>    As those the self-made Helot scarcely owns</p> -<p class='line0'>  Till they eat deeply—till the live pains crawl</p> -<p class='line0'>Into his soul who caused <span class='it'>himself</span> to fall!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Men’s freedom may be wrested from their hands,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And they may mourn; but not like those who throw</p> -<p class='line0'>  Their heritage away—who clasp the bands</p> -<p class='line0'>    On their own limbs, and crawl and blindly go</p> -<p class='line0'>    Like timorous fawns to their own overthrow.</p> -<p class='line0'>  Shall we thus fall? Is it so difficult</p> -<p class='line0'>    To think that we are free, yet be not so—</p> -<p class='line0'>  To shatter down by one brief hour of guilt</p> -<p class='line0'>The holy fane of Freedom that our fathers built.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk115'/> - -<div><h1><a id='agat'></a>AGATHÈ.—A NECROMAUNT.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>IN THREE CHIMERAS.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY LOUIS FITZGERALD TASISTRO.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>         <span class='sc'>Chimera I.</span></p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>An</span> anthem of a sister choristry!</p> -<p class='line0'>And like a windward murmur of the sea</p> -<p class='line0'>O’er silver shells, so solemnly it falls!</p> -<p class='line0'>A dying music, shrouded in deep walls,</p> -<p class='line0'>That bury its wild breathings! And the moon,</p> -<p class='line0'>Of glow-worm hue, like virgin in sad swoon,</p> -<p class='line0'>Lies coldly on the bosom of a cloud,</p> -<p class='line0'>Until the elf-winds, that are wailing loud,</p> -<p class='line0'>Do minister unto her sickly trance,</p> -<p class='line0'>Fanning the life into her countenance.</p> -<p class='line0'>And there are pale stars sparkling, far and few,</p> -<p class='line0'>In the deep chasms of everlasting blue,</p> -<p class='line0'>Unmarshall’d and ungather’d, one and one,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like outposts of the lunar garrison.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A train of holy fathers windeth by</p> -<p class='line0'>The arches of an aged sanctuary,</p> -<p class='line0'>With cowl, and scapular, and rosary,</p> -<p class='line0'>On to the sainted oriel, where stood,</p> -<p class='line0'>By the rich altar, a fair sisterhood—</p> -<p class='line0'>A weeping group of virgins!—one or two</p> -<p class='line0'>Bent forward to a bier of solemn hue,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whereon a bright and stately coffin lay,</p> -<p class='line0'>With its black pall flung over:—Agathè</p> -<p class='line0'>Was on the lid—a name. And who? No more!</p> -<p class='line0'>’Twas only Agathè.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                  ’Tis o’er, ’tis o’er—</p> -<p class='line0'>Her burial!—and, under the arcades,</p> -<p class='line0'>Torch after torch into the moonlight fades,</p> -<p class='line0'>And there is heard the music, a brief while,</p> -<p class='line0'>Over the roofings of the imaged aisle,</p> -<p class='line0'>From the deep organ, panting out its last,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like the slow dying of an autumn blast.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A lonely monk is loitering within</p> -<p class='line0'>The dusky area, at the altar seen,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a pale spirit, kneeling in the light</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the cold moon, that looketh wan and white</p> -<p class='line0'>Through the deviced oriel; and he lays</p> -<p class='line0'>His hands upon his bosom, with a gaze</p> -<p class='line0'>To the chill earth. He had the youthful look</p> -<p class='line0'>Which heartfelt woe had wasted, and he shook</p> -<p class='line0'>At every gust of the unholy breeze</p> -<p class='line0'>That entered through the time-worn crevices.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A score of summers only o’er his brow</p> -<p class='line0'>Had passed—and it was summer, even now</p> -<p class='line0'>The one-and-twentieth—from a birth of tears,</p> -<p class='line0'>Over a waste of melancholy years!</p> -<p class='line0'>And <span class='it'>that</span> brow was as wan as if it were</p> -<p class='line0'>Of snowy marble, and the raven hair,</p> -<p class='line0'>That would have clustered over, was all shorn,</p> -<p class='line0'>And his fine features stricken pale as morn.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>He kiss’d a golden crucifix, that hung</p> -<p class='line0'>Around his neck, and, in a transport, flung</p> -<p class='line0'>Himself upon the earth, and said, and said</p> -<p class='line0'>Wild, raving words, about the blessed dead;</p> -<p class='line0'>And then he rose, and in the moon-shade stood,</p> -<p class='line0'>Gazing upon its light in solitude,</p> -<p class='line0'>And smote his brow, at some idea wild</p> -<p class='line0'>That came across; then, weeping like a child,</p> -<p class='line0'>He faltered out the name of Agathè,</p> -<p class='line0'>And look’d unto the heaven inquiringly,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the pure stars.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>               “Oh, shame! that ye are met</p> -<p class='line0'>To mock me, like old memories, that yet</p> -<p class='line0'>Break in upon the golden dream I knew</p> -<p class='line0'>While she—<span class='it'>she</span> lived; and I have said adieu</p> -<p class='line0'>To that fair one, and to her sister, Peace,</p> -<p class='line0'>That lieth in her grave. When wilt thou cease</p> -<p class='line0'>To feed upon my quiet, thou Despair,</p> -<p class='line0'>That art the mad usurper, and the heir</p> -<p class='line0'>Of this heart’s heritage? Go, go—return,</p> -<p class='line0'>And bring me back oblivion and an urn!</p> -<p class='line0'>And ye, pale stars, may look, and only find</p> -<p class='line0'>The wreck of a proud tree, that lets the wind</p> -<p class='line0'>Count o’er its blighted boughs: for such was he</p> -<p class='line0'>That loved, and loves, the silent Agathè.”</p> -<p class='line0'>And he hath left the sanctuary, like one</p> -<p class='line0'>That knew not his own purpose—the red sun</p> -<p class='line0'>Rose early over incense of bright mist,</p> -<p class='line0'>That girded a pure sky of amethyst.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And who was he? A monk. And those who knew,</p> -<p class='line0'>Yclept him Julio; but they were few.</p> -<p class='line0'>And others named him as a nameless one,—</p> -<p class='line0'>A dark, sad-hearted being, who had none</p> -<p class='line0'>But bitter feelings, and a cast of sadness,</p> -<p class='line0'>That fed the wildest of all curses—madness!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But he was, what none knew, of lordly line,</p> -<p class='line0'>That fought in the far land of Palestine,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where, under banners of the Cross, they fell,</p> -<p class='line0'>Smote by the armies of the infidel.</p> -<p class='line0'>And Julio was the last; alone, alone,</p> -<p class='line0'>A sad, unfriended orphan, that had gone</p> -<p class='line0'>Into the world to murmur and to die,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like the cold breezes that are passing by!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And few they were that bade him to their board;</p> -<p class='line0'>His fortunes now were over, and the sword</p> -<p class='line0'>Of his proud ancestry dishonor’d—left</p> -<p class='line0'>To moulder in its sheath—a hated gift!</p> -<p class='line0'>Ay! it was so; and Julio would fain</p> -<p class='line0'>Have been a warrior; but his very brain</p> -<p class='line0'>Grew fever’d at the sickly thought of death.</p> -<p class='line0'>And to be stricken with a want of breath!—</p> -<p class='line0'>To be the food of worms—inanimate,</p> -<p class='line0'>And cold as winter—and as desolate!</p> -<p class='line0'>And then to waste away, and be no more</p> -<p class='line0'>Than the dark dust!—the thought was like a sore</p> -<p class='line0'>That gather’d in his heart; and he would say,</p> -<p class='line0'>“A curse be on their laurels,” and decay</p> -<p class='line0'>Came over them; the deeds that they had done</p> -<p class='line0'>Had fallen with their fortunes; and anon</p> -<p class='line0'>Was Julio forgotten, and his line—</p> -<p class='line0'>No wonder for this frenzied tale of mine!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh! he was wearied of this passing scene!</p> -<p class='line0'>But loved not death; his purpose was between</p> -<p class='line0'>Life and the grave; and it would vibrate there</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a wild bird, that floated far and fair</p> -<p class='line0'>Betwixt the sun and sea.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                        He went, and came—</p> -<p class='line0'>And thought, and slept, and still awoke the same—</p> -<p class='line0'>A strange, strange youth; and he would look all night</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon the moon and stars, and count the flight</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the sea waves, and let the evening wind</p> -<p class='line0'>Play with his raven tresses, or would bind</p> -<p class='line0'>Grottos of birch, wherein to sit and sing;</p> -<p class='line0'>And peasant girls would find him sauntering,</p> -<p class='line0'>To gaze upon their features, as they met,</p> -<p class='line0'>In laughter, under some green arboret.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>At last he became a monk, and, on his knees,</p> -<p class='line0'>Said holy prayers, and with wild penances</p> -<p class='line0'>Made sad atonement; and the solemn whim</p> -<p class='line0'>That, like a shadow, loiter’d over him,</p> -<p class='line0'>Wore off, even like a shadow. He was cursed</p> -<p class='line0'>With none of the mad thoughts that were at first</p> -<p class='line0'>The poison of his quiet; but he grew</p> -<p class='line0'>To love the world and its wild laughter too,</p> -<p class='line0'>As he had known before: and wish’d again</p> -<p class='line0'>To join the very mirth he hated then.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>He durst not break the vow—he durst not be</p> -<p class='line0'>The one he would—and his heart’s harmony</p> -<p class='line0'>Became a tide of sorrow. Even so,</p> -<p class='line0'>He felt hope die—in madness and in wo!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But there came one—and a most lovely one</p> -<p class='line0'>As ever to the warm light of the sun</p> -<p class='line0'>Threw back her tresses—a fair sister girl,</p> -<p class='line0'>With a brow changing between snow and pearl;</p> -<p class='line0'>And the blue eyes of sadness, filled with dew</p> -<p class='line0'>Of tears—like Heaven’s own melancholy blue—</p> -<p class='line0'>So beautiful, so tender; and her form</p> -<p class='line0'>Was graceful as a rainbow in a storm:</p> -<p class='line0'>Scattering gladness on the face of sorrow—</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! I had fancied of the hues that borrow</p> -<p class='line0'>Their brightness from the sun; but she was bright</p> -<p class='line0'>In her own self—a mystery of light!</p> -<p class='line0'>With feelings tender as a star’s own hue,</p> -<p class='line0'>Pure as the morning star! as true, as true:</p> -<p class='line0'>For it will glitter in each early sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>And her first love be love that lasteth aye!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And this was Agathè—young Agathè—</p> -<p class='line0'>A motherless, fair girl: and many a day</p> -<p class='line0'>She wept for her lost parent. It was sad</p> -<p class='line0'>To see her infant sorrow; how she bade</p> -<p class='line0'>The flow of her wild spirits fall away</p> -<p class='line0'>To grief, like bright clouds in a summer day</p> -<p class='line0'>Melting into a shower; and it was sad</p> -<p class='line0'>Almost to think she might again be glad—</p> -<p class='line0'>Her beauty was so chaste, amid the fall</p> -<p class='line0'>Of her bright tears. Yet in her father’s hall</p> -<p class='line0'>She had lived almost sorrowless her days;</p> -<p class='line0'>But he felt no affection for the gaze</p> -<p class='line0'>Of his fair girl; and when she fondly smiled,</p> -<p class='line0'>He bade no father’s welcome to the child,</p> -<p class='line0'>But even told his wish, and will’d it done,</p> -<p class='line0'>For her to be sad-hearted—and a nun!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And so it was. She took the dreary veil,</p> -<p class='line0'>A hopeless girl! and the bright flush grew pale</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon her cheek; she felt, as summer feels</p> -<p class='line0'>The winds of autumn, and the winter chills</p> -<p class='line0'>That darken his fair suns—it was away,</p> -<p class='line0'>Feeding on dreams, the heart of Agathè!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The vesper prayers were said, and the last hymn</p> -<p class='line0'>Sung to the Holy Virgin. In the dim,</p> -<p class='line0'>Gray aisle, was heard a solitary tread,</p> -<p class='line0'>As of one musing sadly on the dead—</p> -<p class='line0'>’Twas Julio. It was his wont to be</p> -<p class='line0'>Often alone within the sanctuary;</p> -<p class='line0'>But now, not so—another: it was she!</p> -<p class='line0'>Kneeling in all her beauty, like a saint</p> -<p class='line0'>Before a crucifix; but sad and faint</p> -<p class='line0'>The tone of her devotion, as the trill</p> -<p class='line0'>Of a moss-burden’d melancholy rill.</p> -<p class='line0'>And Julio stood before her;—’twas as yet</p> -<p class='line0'>The hour of the pale twilight—and they met</p> -<p class='line0'>Each other’s gaze, till either seem’d the hue</p> -<p class='line0'>Of deepest crimson; but the ladye threw</p> -<p class='line0'>Her veil above her features, and stole by</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a bright cloud, with sadness and a sigh!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yet Julio still stood gazing and alone,</p> -<p class='line0'>A dreamer!——“is the sister ladye gone?”</p> -<p class='line0'>He started at the silence of the air</p> -<p class='line0'>That slumber’d over him—she is not there.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And either slept not through the live-long night,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or slept in fitful trances, with a bright,</p> -<p class='line0'>Fair dream upon their eyelids: but they rose</p> -<p class='line0'>In sorrow from the pallet of repose:</p> -<p class='line0'>For the dark thought of their sad destiny</p> -<p class='line0'>Came o’er them, like a chasm of the deep sea,</p> -<p class='line0'>That was to rend their fortunes; and at eve</p> -<p class='line0'>They met again, but, silent, took their leave,</p> -<p class='line0'>As they did yesterday: another night,</p> -<p class='line0'>And neither spoke awhile—a pure delight,</p> -<p class='line0'>Had chasten’d love’s first blushes: silently</p> -<p class='line0'>Gazed Julio on the gentle Agathè—</p> -<p class='line0'>At length, “Fair Nun!” she started, and held fast</p> -<p class='line0'>Her bright hand on her lips—“the past, the past,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the pale future! there be some that lie</p> -<p class='line0'>Under those marble urns—I know not why,</p> -<p class='line0'>But I were better in that holy calm,</p> -<p class='line0'>Than be as I have been, perhaps, and am.</p> -<p class='line0'>The past!—ay! it hath perish’d; never, never,</p> -<p class='line0'>Would I recall it to be blest for ever;</p> -<p class='line0'>The future it must come—I have a vow”—</p> -<p class='line0'>And his cold hand rose trembling to his brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>“True, true, I have a vow; is not the moon</p> -<p class='line0'>Abroad, fair nun?”—“indeed! so very soon?”</p> -<p class='line0'>Said Agathè, and “I must then away.”</p> -<p class='line0'>“Stay, love! ’tis early yet; stay, angel, stay!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But she was gone:—yet they met many a time</p> -<p class='line0'>In the lone chapel, after vesper chime—</p> -<p class='line0'>They met in love and fear.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                            One weary day,</p> -<p class='line0'>And Julio saw not his loved Agathè;</p> -<p class='line0'>She was not in the choir of sisterhood</p> -<p class='line0'>That sang the evening anthem; and he stood</p> -<p class='line0'>Like one that listen’d breathlessly awhile;</p> -<p class='line0'>But stranger voices chanted through the aisle.</p> -<p class='line0'>She was not there; and after all were gone,</p> -<p class='line0'>He linger’d: the stars came—he linger’d on,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a dark fun’ral image on the tomb</p> -<p class='line0'>Of a lost hope. He felt a world of gloom</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon his heart—a solitude—a chill.</p> -<p class='line0'>The pale moon rose, and still he linger’d still.</p> -<p class='line0'>And the next vesper toll’d; nor yet, nor yet—</p> -<p class='line0'>“Can Agathè be faithless and forget?”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>It was the third sad eve, he heard it said,</p> -<p class='line0'>“Poor Julio! thy Agathè is dead;”</p> -<p class='line0'>And started. He had loiter’d in the train</p> -<p class='line0'>That bore her to the grave: he saw her lain</p> -<p class='line0'>In the cold earth, and heard a requiem</p> -<p class='line0'>Sung over her. To him it was a dream:</p> -<p class='line0'>A marble stone stood by the sepulchre;</p> -<p class='line0'>He look’d, and saw, and started—she was there!</p> -<p class='line0'>And Agathè had died: she that was bright—</p> -<p class='line0'>She that was in her beauty! a cold blight</p> -<p class='line0'>Fell over the young blossom of her brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the life’s blood grew chill—she is not now.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>She died like Zephyr falling amid flowers!</p> -<p class='line0'>Like to a star within the twilight hours</p> -<p class='line0'>Of morning—and she was not! Some have thought</p> -<p class='line0'>The Lady Abbess gave her a mad draught</p> -<p class='line0'>That stole into her heart, and sadly rent</p> -<p class='line0'>The fine chords of that holy instrument,</p> -<p class='line0'>Until its music falter’d fast away,</p> -<p class='line0'>And she—she died—the lovely Agathè!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Again, and through the arras of the gloom</p> -<p class='line0'>Are the pale breezes moaning: by her tomb</p> -<p class='line0'>Bends Julio, like a phantom, and his eye</p> -<p class='line0'>Is fallen, as the moon-borne tides, that lie</p> -<p class='line0'>At ebb within the sea. Oh! he is wan,</p> -<p class='line0'>As winter skies are wan, like ages gone,</p> -<p class='line0'>And stars unseen for paleness; it is cast,</p> -<p class='line0'>As foliage in the raving of the blast,</p> -<p class='line0'>All his fair bloom of thoughts. Is the moon chill,</p> -<p class='line0'>That in the dark clouds she is mantled still?</p> -<p class='line0'>And over its proud arch hath Heaven flung</p> -<p class='line0'>A scarf of darkness. Agathè was young!</p> -<p class='line0'>And there should be the virgin silver there,</p> -<p class='line0'>The snow-white fringes delicately fair!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>He wields a heavy mattock in his hands,</p> -<p class='line0'>And over him a lonely lanthorn stands</p> -<p class='line0'>On a near niche, shedding a sickly fall</p> -<p class='line0'>Of light upon a marble pedestal,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whereon is chisel’d rudely, the essay</p> -<p class='line0'>Of untaught tool, “<span class='it'>Hic jacet Agathè</span>,”</p> -<p class='line0'>And Julio hath bent him down in speed,</p> -<p class='line0'>like one that doeth an unholy deed.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>There is a flagstone lieth heavily</p> -<p class='line0'>Over the ladye’s grave; I wist of three</p> -<p class='line0'>That bore it of a blessed verity!</p> -<p class='line0'>But he hath lifted it in his pure madness</p> -<p class='line0'>As it were lightsome as a summer gladness,</p> -<p class='line0'>And from the carved niche hath ta’en the lamp</p> -<p class='line0'>And hung it by the marble flagstone damp.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And he is flinging the dark, chilly mould</p> -<p class='line0'>Over the gorgeous pavement: ’tis a cold,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sad grave; and there is many a relic there</p> -<p class='line0'>Of chalky bones, which, in the wasting air,</p> -<p class='line0'>Fell mouldering away: and he would dash</p> -<p class='line0'>His mattock through them with a cursed clash</p> -<p class='line0'>That made the lone aisle echo. But anon</p> -<p class='line0'>He fell upon a skull—a haggard one,</p> -<p class='line0'>With its teeth set, and the great orbless eye</p> -<p class='line0'>Revolving darkness, like eternity.</p> -<p class='line0'>And in his hand he held it till it grew</p> -<p class='line0'>To have the fleshy features and the hue</p> -<p class='line0'>Of life. He gazed, and gazed, and it became</p> -<p class='line0'>Like to his Agathè—all, all the same!</p> -<p class='line0'>He drew it nearer,—the cold, bony thing!—</p> -<p class='line0'>To kiss the worm-wet lips. “Aye! let me cling—</p> -<p class='line0'>Cling to thee now forever!”—but a breath</p> -<p class='line0'>Of rank corruption, from its jaws of death,</p> -<p class='line0'>Went to his nostrils, and he madly laugh’d,</p> -<p class='line0'>And dash’d it over on the altar shaft,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which the new-risen moon, in her gray light,</p> -<p class='line0'>Had fondly flooded, beautifully bright!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                        Again he went</p> -<p class='line0'>To his world work beside the monument.</p> -<p class='line0'>“Ha! leave, thou moon! where thy footfall hath been</p> -<p class='line0'>In sorrow amid heaven! there is sin</p> -<p class='line0'>Under thy shadow, lying like a dew;</p> -<p class='line0'>So come thou, from thy awful arch of blue,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where thou art ever as a silver throne</p> -<p class='line0'>For some pale spectre-king! come thou alone,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or bring a solitary orphan star</p> -<p class='line0'>Under thy wings! afar, afar, afar,</p> -<p class='line0'>To gaze upon this girl of radiancy,</p> -<p class='line0'>In her deep slumbers—wake thee, Agathè!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And Julio hath stolen the dark chest</p> -<p class='line0'>Where the fair nun lay coffin’d, in the rest</p> -<p class='line0'>That wakes not up at morning; she is there</p> -<p class='line0'>An image of cold calm! One tress of hair</p> -<p class='line0'>Lingereth lonely on her snowy brow;</p> -<p class='line0'>But the bright eyes are closed in darkness now;</p> -<p class='line0'>And their long lashes delicately rest</p> -<p class='line0'>On the pale cheek, like sun-rays in the west,</p> -<p class='line0'>That fall upon a colorless sad cloud.</p> -<p class='line0'>Humility lies rudely on the proud,</p> -<p class='line0'>But she was never proud; and there she is,</p> -<p class='line0'>A yet unwither’d flower the autumn breeze</p> -<p class='line0'>Hath blown from its green stem! ’Tis pale, ’Tis pale,</p> -<p class='line0'>But still unfaded, like the twilight veil</p> -<p class='line0'>That falleth after sunset; like a stream</p> -<p class='line0'>That bears the burden of a silver gleam</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon its waters; and is even so,—</p> -<p class='line0'>Chill, melancholy, lustreless, and low!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Beauty in death! a tenderness upon</p> -<p class='line0'>The rude and silent relics, where alone</p> -<p class='line0'>Sat the destroyer! Beauty on the dead!</p> -<p class='line0'>The look of being where the breath is fled!</p> -<p class='line0'>The unwarming sun still joyous in its light!</p> -<p class='line0'>A time—a time without a day or night!</p> -<p class='line0'>Death cradled upon beauty, like a bee</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon a flower, that looketh lovingly!</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a wild serpent, coiling in its madness,</p> -<p class='line0'>Under a wreath of blossom and of gladness!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And there she is; and Julio bends o’er</p> -<p class='line0'>The sleeping girl—a willow on the shore</p> -<p class='line0'>Of a Dead Sea! that steepeth its fair bough</p> -<p class='line0'>Into the bitter waters,—even now</p> -<p class='line0'>Taking a foretaste of the awful trance</p> -<p class='line0'>That was to pass on his own countenance!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yes! yes! and he is holding his pale lips</p> -<p class='line0'>Over her brow; the shade of an eclipse</p> -<p class='line0'>Is passing to his heart, and to his eye</p> -<p class='line0'>That is not tearful; but the light will die</p> -<p class='line0'>Leaving it like a moon within a mist,—</p> -<p class='line0'>The vision of a spell-bound visionist!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  He breathed a cold kiss on her ashy cheek,</p> -<p class='line0'>That left no trace—no flush—no crimson streak</p> -<p class='line0'>But was as bloodless as a marble stone,</p> -<p class='line0'>Susceptible of silent waste alone.</p> -<p class='line0'>And on her brow a crucifix he laid,—</p> -<p class='line0'>A jewel’d crucifix, the virgin maid</p> -<p class='line0'>Had given him before she died,—the moon</p> -<p class='line0'>Shed light upon her visage—clouded soon,</p> -<p class='line0'>Then briefly breaking from its airy veil,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like warrior lifting up his aventayle.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But Julio gazed on, and never lifted</p> -<p class='line0'>Himself to see the broken clouds, that drifted</p> -<p class='line0'>One after one, like infant elves at play,</p> -<p class='line0'>Amid the night winds, in their lonely way—</p> -<p class='line0'>Some whistling and some moaning, some asleep,</p> -<p class='line0'>And dreaming dismal dreams, and sighing deep</p> -<p class='line0'>Over their couches of green moss and flowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>And solitary fern, and heather bowers.</p> -<p class='line0'>The heavy bell toll’d two, and, as it toll’d,</p> -<p class='line0'>Julio started, and the fresh-turn’d mould</p> -<p class='line0'>He flung into the empty chasm with speed,</p> -<p class='line0'>And o’er it dropt the flagstone.—One could read</p> -<p class='line0'>That Agathè lay there; but still the girl</p> -<p class='line0'>Lay by him, like a precious and pale pearl,</p> -<p class='line0'>That from the deep sea-waters had been rent—</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a star fallen from the firmament!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>He hides the grave-tools in an aged porch,</p> -<p class='line0'>To westward of the solitary church:</p> -<p class='line0'>And he hath clasp’d around the melting waist,</p> -<p class='line0'>The beautiful, dead girl: his cheek is pressed</p> -<p class='line0'>To hers—life warming the cold chill of death!</p> -<p class='line0'>And over his pale palsy breathing breath</p> -<p class='line0'>His eye is sunk upon her—“Thou must leave</p> -<p class='line0'>The worm to waste for love of thee, and grieve</p> -<p class='line0'>Without thee, as I may not.—Thou must go,</p> -<p class='line0'>My sweet betrothed, with me—but not below,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where there is darkness, dream, and solitude,</p> -<p class='line0'>But where is light, and life, and one to brood</p> -<p class='line0'>Above thee till thou wakest.—Ha? I fear</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou wilt not wake for ever, sleeping here,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where there are none but winds to visit thee,</p> -<p class='line0'>And convent fathers, and a choristry</p> -<p class='line0'>Of sisters, saying, ‘Hush!’—But I will sing</p> -<p class='line0'>Rare songs to thy pure spirit, wandering</p> -<p class='line0'>Down on the dews to heaven: I will tune</p> -<p class='line0'>The instrument of the ethereal noon,</p> -<p class='line0'>And all the choir of stars, to rise and fall</p> -<p class='line0'>In harmony and beauty musical.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>He is away—and still the sickly lamp</p> -<p class='line0'>Is burning next the altar; there’s a damp,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thin mould upon the pavement, and, at morn,</p> -<p class='line0'>The monks do cross them in their blessed scorn,</p> -<p class='line0'>And mutter deep anathemas, because</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the unholy sacrilege, that was</p> -<p class='line0'>Within the sainted chapel,—for they guess’d,</p> -<p class='line0'>By many a vestige sad, how the dark rest</p> -<p class='line0'>Of Agathè was broken,—and anon</p> -<p class='line0'>They sought for Julio. The summer sun</p> -<p class='line0'>Arose and set, with his imperial disc</p> -<p class='line0'>Toward the ocean-waters, heaving brisk</p> -<p class='line0'>Before the winds,—but Julio came never:</p> -<p class='line0'>He that was frantic as a foaming river—</p> -<p class='line0'>Mad as the fall of leaves upon the tide</p> -<p class='line0'>Of a great tempest, that hath fought and died</p> -<p class='line0'>Along the forest ramparts, and doth still</p> -<p class='line0'>In its death-struggle desperately reel</p> -<p class='line0'>Round with the fallen foliage—he was gone,</p> -<p class='line0'>And none knew whither—still were chanted on</p> -<p class='line0'>Sad masses, by pale sisters, many a day,</p> -<p class='line0'>And holy requiem sung for Agathè!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:6em;margin-top:1em;'>(End of the first Chimera.)</p> - -<hr class='tbk116'/> - -<div><h1><a id='may'></a>THE QUEEN OF MAY.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY GEORGE P. MORRIS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Like</span> flights of singing-birds went by</p> -<p class='line0'>  The rosy hours of girlhood’s day;</p> -<p class='line0'>        When in my native bowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>        Of simple buds and flowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>  They wove a crown and hailed me Queen of May!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Like airy nymphs the lasses came</p> -<p class='line0'>  Spring’s offerings at my feet to lay;</p> -<p class='line0'>        The crystal from the fountains,</p> -<p class='line0'>        The green boughs from the mountains,</p> -<p class='line0'>  They brought to cheer and shade the Queen of May!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Around the May-pole on the green,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A fairy ring, they tript away!—</p> -<p class='line0'>        All merriment and pleasure,</p> -<p class='line0'>        To chords of tuneful measure,</p> -<p class='line0'>  They bounded by the happy Queen of May!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Though years have past, and time has strewn</p> -<p class='line0'>  My raven locks with flakes of gray,</p> -<p class='line0'>        Fond memory brings the hours</p> -<p class='line0'>        Of birds and blossom-showers,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When in girlhood I was crowned the Queen of May!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk117'/> - -<div><h1><a id='drea'></a>DREAMS OF THE LAND AND SEA.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY DR. REYNELL COATES.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>INTRODUCTORY.</h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“ ’Tis all but a dream at the best!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Dreams</span> of the Land and Sea! Why should I -style them dreams? They are pictures of actual -scenes, though some of them relate to events removed -far back in the dimness of years, and the -touches of the brush have felt the mellowing influence -of time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While striving to avoid whatever is irrelevant or -out of keeping, I have not endeavored to confine myself, -in these sketches, within the limits of simple narrative, -but have ventured occasionally to mingle facts -with speculations on their causes, or to follow their -consequences to probable results: nor have I totally -discarded the imagination—although the scenes are -invariably drawn from nature, and the principal personages -are real characters—the accessory actors -only are sometimes creatures of the brain. In many of -the descriptions, the reader will perceive the evidences -of a desire to place in prominent relief the -works of nature and her God, while art, and all its vanities, -is made to play a subordinate part; for nothing -can be more impertinently obtrusive than the pigmy -efforts of the ambitious, struggling for distinction by -attempting either to mar or to perfect the plans of the -Great Architect of Creation, or carve <span class='it'>a name</span> upon -the columns of his temple.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet such is the social disposition of man, that no -scene, however grand or beautiful, can awaken pleasurable -emotion unless it is linked directly with humanity. -There is deep oppression in the sense of -total loneliness,—and few can bear the burden -calmly, even for an hour! A solitary foot-print in -the desert,—a broken oar upon the shelterless beach,—the -tinkling of a cow-bell in the depth of the forest,—the -crowing of the cock heard far off in the -valley as we sink exhausted on the mountain side -when the gloom of night settles heavily down upon -our path-way,—who that has been a wanderer has -not felt the heart-cheering effect of accidents like -these! They tell us that, though our solitude be profound, -there is sympathy near us, <span class='it'>or there has been -recently</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In deference, then, to this universal feeling, I have -selected for these articles such sketches only as are -interwoven with enough of human life to awaken -social interest, even while grappling with the tempest—riding -the ocean wave, or watching the moon-beams -as they struggle through the foliage of scarce -trodden forests, and fall half quenched, upon the -withered leaves below.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But why should I style them dreams? There are -many valid reasons. To the writer, the past is all a -dream! But of this the world knows nothing, nor -would it care to know. The scenes described are -distant, and distance itself is dreamy! What can be -more like the color of a dream than yon long range -of mountains fading into the sky behind its veil of -mist!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Let us ascend this lofty peak! ’Tis sunset! Cast -your glance westward, where</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“——Parting day</p> -<p class='line0'>Dies like the Dolphin——.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The sun slowly retires behind the far off hills. -Inch after inch, the shadows climb the summit where -you stand. He is gone!—yet you are not in darkness! -His beams, which reach you not, still gild -the motionless clouds, and these emblems of obscurity -reflect on you the memory of his glory:—and, -oh! how exquisitely pencilled in the clear obscure -stands forth yon range, clad with towering trees, -where each particular branch, and almost every leaf, -seems separately portrayed against the paling sky,—<span class='it'>miraculously -near</span>!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This is a vision of the <span class='it'>past</span>. Its strength is owing -to the depth of shade,—not to the intensity of light:—for, -when the sun at noon-day, poured its full tide -of rays upon the scene, the sky was brighter, and -rock and river glinted back the flashing beams until -the eye was pained:—but where were then those -lines of beauty? The details were distinct. Then -you might gaze on the forest in its reality, and could -almost penetrate its secret paths, despite their dark -green canopy!—but where were the broad effect, -the bold, sweeping outlines that now give unity and -grandeur to the fading scene? The <span class='it'>soul</span> of creation -is before you—more palpable than <span class='it'>its mere</span> corporeal -elements are hid from sight. It resembles the master-piece -of some great artist whose pencil portrays, -in simple light and shade, a noble picture. All there -is <span class='it'>life</span>! Those countenances!—those various attitudes -are <span class='it'>speaking</span>! The shrubbery waves in the -wind, and over the tremulous waters of that lovely -lake, the very song of yonder mountain maid seems -floating <span class='it'>upon the canvass</span>. Do you not hear the -music? ’Tis but a dream of boyhood! Approach -the painting! There is no <span class='it'>real</span> outline there! The -brush has been rudely dashed athwart the piece surcharged -with heavy colors. Masses of many hues -roughen the surface, and all is meaningless confusion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Stand back a-pace! Again the cottage, lake and -mountain start from the surface, <span class='it'>truer than truth -itself</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Panting with sighs and toil, man reaches by painful -steps, the mid-land height of life, as we have -climbed this summit, and when fainting by the way, -it has been <span class='it'>his</span> resource, as <span class='it'>ours</span>, to cast himself upon -the bosom of his “mother,” earth<a id='r2'/><a href='#f2' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[2]</span></sup></a>—look back and -<span class='it'>dream</span>! We have no other mother now! But when -you nestled to a parent’s breast, and felt the present -impress of her love, knew you its breadth and depth -as this vision shows it?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Memory is like the painter or the sun-set—its -images appear more real than the substantial things -they picture, and glow the richer as the gloom of -oblivion gathers around them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Turn your eyes eastward! Night sits upon the -landscape. No ray of the past illuminates it. The -very elevation on which you stand increases the -darkness with its shadow, while it widens your distance -from every object vaguely and fearfully looming -through the evening mist.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This is a vision of the <span class='it'>future</span>. That height of land -which seems to reach the clouds, upon whose dusky -flank the overawed imagination figures cave and -precipice, torrent and cataract, is but a gentle slope, -with just enough of rudeness to render still more -beautiful by contrast, the village spire, the moss-roofed -mill, the waving grain that crowns its very -top. Such it is seen by day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus, when, in middle life, man peers into the -future, what frightful shadows haunt him. Coming -events magnified to giants by the obscurity around, -stalk menacingly forward. Danger threatens him at -every step, and there is naught beyond but that black -back-ground—<span class='it'>Death</span>! The heavens shed no light -upon the future. He is descending the hill of life, -and their glories are fading behind him. He strives -to borrow from the past a gleam to guide him onward, -but in vain! Too often his own ambition has prompted -him to choose the lofty path that now condemns him -to redoubled darkness. Yet, although these spectres -of the gloom are most frequently mere creatures of -the brain, which day-light would dispel, they govern -his career and cover him with dread. The <span class='it'>dream</span> is -<span class='it'>truth</span> to him—and it is only <span class='it'>truth itself</span> that he -esteems a <span class='it'>dream</span>! Why can he not wait for sun-rise! -Then should he see even the grave overhung with -the verdure of spring, and death arrayed in all the -glory of a morn of promise!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There is reality in dreams!—Come, then, and let -us dream together!—our visions may be dark sometimes, -but we will not forget that the sun will rise -on the morrow.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_2'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f2'><a href='#r2'>[2]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>When the celebrated Indian Chief, Tecumseh entered -a Council Chamber of the whites, where the officers, already -seated, thoughtlessly allowed him to remain standing, his -countenance in gathering gloom, betrayed the consciousness -of the slight, which <span class='it'>savage</span> courtesy would not have suffered -to occur. The look aroused attention, and a chair was -handed him—but his proud lip curled. He threw himself -upon the ground, exclaiming—“Tecumseh will repose -on the bosom of his mother!”</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>A SERMON BY A MARMOT—OR THE EXILE OF CONNECTICUT.</h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“But come thy ways!—we’ll go along together;</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>We’ll light upon some settled, low content.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:0.75em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>As You Like It.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Every</span> subject of observation presents itself under -a variety of aspects, regulated, not only by the situation -of the observer, but by his moral peculiarities -also. The little animal whose name dignifies the -caption of this article, though it may be better -known to many of my readers by the title of ground-hog, -or wood-chuck, is usually regarded as a terror, -or a pest, to the farmer. Contributing in no appreciable -degree to the comfort or advantage of man, -and seemingly created solely for the purpose of digging -unsightly holes in the ground, eating corn, and -diffusing an odour by no means agreeable; it is commonly -hated or despised, according to the profession -of those who honor it with notice. But nothing that -springs from creative wisdom is a proper subject for -contempt, and good may be derived, in many instances, -from the most unpromising sources, by those -who devote themselves to the study of nature. -Among the tribes of animals that seem to have least -connection with man and his interests, there are -many whose habits may teach us more effective -lessons than we often derive from the homilies of -more pretending instructors.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The individual wood-chuck, here introduced to the -reader, was more fortunate than most of his species, -for he had succeeded in winning the affections of a -worthy agriculturalist, in whose family he was regularly -domiciliated during the months of his activity, -(for the Marmot is a hybernating animal,) and he reciprocated -the attachment of his human protectors -with a gratitude apparently as warm as that of any -other quadruped familiar of the kitchen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The late distinguished philanthropist, Mr. Anthony -Benezette, extended his benevolence to every thing -possessing life that came within the sphere of his -influence, and he regularly fed the rats in his cellar, -until he attracted a colony of these predatory vermin, -by no means agreeable to the taste or interest -of his next-door neighbor. When the latter at last -endeavored to eradicate the nuisance by regularly -shooting every adventurous member of the murine -fraternity that ventured upon his premises, Mr. -B., with tears in his eyes, protested against this -murderous proceeding. “Don’t shoot the poor innocent -creatures!” he said. “If thou wilt only feed -them regularly every day, as I do, they’ll never do -thee any harm.” Whether a similar policy had been -the origin of the kindness shown our little friend, -the Marmot, I know not, but he had the felicity to -be born in a land where corn is cheap, and society -difficult of access, and he probably owed his protection -to a masculine edition of the feeling that so frequently -promotes the happiness of a poodle or a -parrot.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His guardian moved in a humble sphere, and -most travellers might have passed the brute and his -human associates alike unnoticed: but I propose to -employ him as a hook, on which to hang the observations -and reflections of a day in the woods, and a -night in the log-cabin. It is a slender theme at best, -and if discretion be the test of wisdom, I know not -but our Marmot displays as high a grade of intellectual -endowment as any of the other actors in the -tale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One of these was an eastern merchant, who had -purchased some thousands of acres of land—wild, -lonely, and far removed from practicable roads or -navigable streams.—He had purchased it in utter ignorance -of its resources, and was then upon his way -to give it an inspection.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next was the narrator—recently appointed to -a chair in a Collegiate Institution, almost embosomed -in the wilderness. He had accepted the station in a -moment of depression, all uninformed of the condition -of the country where <span class='it'>it flourished</span>, and had just -arrived to <span class='it'>blush</span> beneath the honors of the professional -gown in halls that rejoiced in a faculty—<span class='it'>lucus a -non lucendo</span>!—of three persons, and wanted but a -library, an apparatus, influence, and a class, to render -it an honor to the state that chartered it!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The third was a thriving specimen of the sturdy -woodsman and pains-taking farmer of the border—the -intermediate step between the adventurous pioneer -and the established settler. He had emigrated -from the beautiful valley of the Connecticut—a valley -where nature has done so much and man so -little! to seek a more promising asylum west of the -Alleghany Mountains, and he carried all his fortune -with him. A young and lovely wife followed his -footsteps from town to town—from wilderness to wilderness.—An -axe was on his shoulder, two hundred -dollars in his pocket, and he possessed much of that -shrewdness which ordinarily passes current for talent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was moderate in his desires, <span class='it'>and only took up -three hundred acres to begin with</span>; choosing a location -where a rude and cellarless hut of logs graced -one angle of the plot of ground,—its site selected because -a spring and streamlet there supplied the most -important necessary of life—good water.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Four acres of unfenced clearing marked the progress -of his less prosperous predecessor in taming -the primeval forest. Alas! The want of capital!—Two -years of bootless labor on the part of that predecessor, -left the ground encumbered still with -girdled timber. The long and naked limbs of many -a stately tree—all sapless now—stood pale and inflexible -in the summer gale—a monument of desolation. -Some rough, irregular furrows,—ploughed -with borrowed oxen, and ornamented with the vine -of an occasional refuse potato creeping through the -starting briars and brush-wood,—alone gave evidence -of human industry; for the wilderness was -rapidly reclaiming its own.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a half-burnt brand on the deserted -hearth within the hovel; but the blasts that entered -freely through the intervals between the logs,—from -which, mass by mass, the clay was falling;—had -scattered the ashes widely over the room. A rusty -tin basin on the floor, and a broken axe-helve lying -athwart the doorless lintel, completed the household -inventory. The ground had reverted to the noble -and wealthy company from whom it was originally -purchased—their funds enriched by the payment of -the first instalment, and the value of the <span class='it'>improvements</span> -added to their property.—But where is the former -owner? Probably renewing the same improvident -game in the wilds of Michigan or Wisconsin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Such was the home to which our adventurous representative -of the land of steady habits had introduced -his amiable and delicate wife, four years -before the time of our journey.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The station enjoyed many advantages. Civilization -was slowly tending thitherward, and every year -enhanced the nominal, if not the real value of the -land. Moreover, there were many neighbors to -break the tedium of life in the wilds. Nine miles to -the westward—that being the direction of the older -settlements,—there lived a veteran of two wars, -whose pension made him rich in a country where a -dollar is a rarity, and trade is carried on exclusively -by barter. He was the most important man within -the circuit of twenty miles; for he owned the only -forge. Not even the influence of Squire Tomkins, -whose aristocratical residence, five miles deeper in -the forest, was furnished with the luxury of weather-boarding, -and flanked by a regular barn and stables, -could outweigh, <span class='it'>in public opinion</span>, the claims of -one whose labors contributed so essentially to the -every-day comfort of life, if not to its preservation, in -the rude contest between the settler and nature. -Public opinion did I say?—Why! besides these -three high personages and their families, a migratory -trapper and bee-hunter on the one hand, and a -half-cast Indian basket-maker on the other, <span class='it'>there -was no public</span>; yet here was found not only public -opinion, but party feeling also—politics and sectarianism!—And -where did ever society exist without -them? But it is time to commence our journey.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One morning, during the autumn of 1828, I strolled -into the principal store of the beautiful little village -of ——, in Western Pennsylvania, to exchange the -latest paper from the American Athens, for another -daily sheet from the Commercial Emporium. An -old friend, Mr. W——, of Philadelphia, entered -at about the same time, with a map of the surrounding -counties, to enquire the road to certain tracts of -land but recently conveyed to him. A tall man, who -had seen some forty summers, but whose keen dark -eye, such as you can only find in the wilderness, -seemed to have gathered a smouldering fire, beneath -the shadow of the forest leaves, which few would -wish to wake, stept forward to give the required information. -Rude shoes, unstockinged feet, coarse -woolen pantaloons, and a hunting shirt, composed -his whole attire:—A rifle, with a richly chased silver -breeching, swinging athwart his back, raised him -above the ordinary hunter in the curious scale of -conventional rank that men acknowledge in obedience -to their nature, even in the heart of unfrequented -woods; but the cart-whip in his right hand, and a -basket of eggs hanging upon the left arm seemed -irrelevant to his other accoutrements. A finely chiselled -nose, verging on the Roman character, and a -strong habitual compression of the jaws, marked -great decision, firmness, and desperate daring—while -his manly tread, in which the foot seemed to -cling for a moment to the surface and as instantly -rose upon the toe with a slow, but elastic and graceful -motion, seemed better fitted to follow the mountain-side, -or the torrent’s track, than the dull routine -of the furrow. His traits and carriage, thus mingled -and contrasted, would have proved a puzzle to the -keenest judges of human nature,—the bar-keeper of -a hotel, or the agent of a rail-road—but his origin -was still distinctly marked, notwithstanding his -change of residence and habits, in the somewhat sharpened -expression of the face, the narrowness of the -external angle of the eye, the covert curl of the lip, -and the faintest perceptible elevation of the corresponding -corner of the mouth. He was the Connecticut -farmer of our story, on whose original stock of -character four years of close communion with bears -and deer, had engrafted <span class='it'>a twig</span> of that which graces -the western hunter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A few adroitly managed questions placed him immediately -in possession of the residence, the destination, -views and purposes of my friend, the merchant; -and, in terms of courtesy, conveyed in phrase -more polished than one would anticipate from his -attire, he tendered his services as a guide, and the -best his house afforded by the way, as host,—extending -the invitation most politely to myself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Having long been anxious to observe what charm -in domestic life upon the borders, could so fascinate -mankind as to impel such crowds of restless adventurers -annually to plunge into the gloomy forest, -there to remain socially buried for years, until the -growth of settled population again environs them; I -immediately ordered horse, and mounting with my -Athenian friend, followed, or accompanied the light -wagon of the settler, as the road or path permitted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We had made but ten miles of progress, when the -farms by the way-side began to appear few and far -between. Around us, gathered, deep and more -deeply still, the shadows of tall trees, which interlocked -their arms above us, until mysterious twilight -was substituted for the bright sunshine that made its -existence known at intervals through openings in the -foliage. These were met with only where some -giant of the wilderness had laid him down in his last -repose, when the slowly gnawing tooth of time had -sapped his moss-grown trunk. Occasionally, the -wagon jolted heavily over fallen trees, where the -lightning had riven or the gale uprooted them. It -seemed a sacrilege to disturb the dread repose of nature -with our idle voices; and for miles we rode in -total silence.—How startling, then, and how incongruous -to our ears was the lively voice of our guide, -exclaiming, as we passed <span class='it'>a blaze</span>, “we shall soon -be <span class='it'>home</span> now!” Home! and here!—I gazed around -on every hand. Over the tops of the low shrubbery -the eye was carried along interminable aisles of -stately trees! Interminable arches rested on their -summits! An awful unity of gloom engulphed us!</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“High mountains are with me a feeling,”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>And no man has rioted more wildly in scenes of solitude -and desolation. My shoulder is familiar with -the rifle, my feet with cliff and precipice, and my -arms with the torrent and breaker.—Nay! more -than this! I have stood alone in cities! The limitless -current of life has whirled and eddied by, and I -have felt no fellowship!—have felt the sternest -check of all that linked me with my kind, and buried -myself in egoism! “There runs not a drop of the -blood of Logan in the veins of any living creature.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But never yet came over me the thought of <span class='it'>home</span> -with such a thrilling shudder as when the word was -spoken in those close and soul-oppressing woods! -There was no resonance from the leafy ground—no -echo from those long drawn gothic passages! -The sound fell flat upon the ear, and its very cheerfulness -of tone, deadened by the dark and inelastic -leaves, resembled the convulsive laugh of terror or -of pain!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Man is moulded for the contest. There is rapture -in the strife, be it with physical or moral evils—a -glory in the conquest, that repays the suffering! If -vanquished,—he may fly and bide his time! If -crushed,—he falls back upon his self-esteem, enfolds -his robe around him, and dies, like Cæsar—bravely! -Abroad—in calm or storm, in sun-shine or in tempest—man -feels himself the ruler, and his pride supports -him in the worst of woes; but <span class='it'>at home</span>—he -is dependent! There woman rules the emotions!—Who -ever knew a joy beside a gloomy hearth! Or -when the wearing cares of life, or the oppression of -habitual solitude has furrowed the fore-head, and -fixed the features of the wife, what husband ever -smiled again as once he smiled!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But away! Our path is onward!—soon we passed -along the margin of a precipitate descent, and the -day burst in upon us, presenting a momentary view -of a long range of hills, over which the fire had -swept in the preceding year. Brown furze and blackened -masses of charcoal covered the slope for miles, -with here and there a waving line of foliage climbing -the ascent, wherever some highland rivulet had -checked the progress of the flames, and preserved -the grass. I had thought that Nature furnished no -more spectral object than a girdled tree in a barren -clearing; but the tall gnarled trunks, with charred -and stunted limbs, that sentineled that ruined hill-side -were more spectral still!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Descending the hill, the forest again closed around -us: but presently we entered the track of a tornado—a -wind-fall. It had traversed a forest of pines—and, -for about two hundred yards in width, had made -a passage through the woods, as straight and regular -as art could have rendered it. On either hand—far -as the eye could reach—arose the unbroken wall -of verdure, a hundred feet in height, while in the -midst, the vision stretched away over an almost -level carpet of scrub-oak and whortleberries, forming -a vista of unparalleled beauty; one which would have -graced the palace-grounds of an emperor. Not a -stump, a root, or tree was visible in all the range of -sight. “God made this clearing,” I remarked. The -charm of silence was broken by the comment, and -the conversation immediately became general.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We had ridden about three miles farther, when the -road, if road it could be called, forked suddenly; and, -turning to the left, we found ourselves in front of the -cottage of our host. It deserved this title richly; for -never, in my many journeys beyond the margin of a -regular American forest, have I seen more neatness -and propriety, than was here displayed in all the accidents -of a residence of logs. True! there were -none of those vines and graceful shrubs that beautify -the grounds around a thrifty cottage in New England; -but, even here, a garden was attempted. The building, -two stories in height, stood near the summit of -an acclivity which formed a sort of irregular lawn, -and was actually shaded by two stately trees!—the -only instance of such preservation I have witnessed -in the wilds of Pennsylvania.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the right, at a decent distance from the house, -were a stable with a loft, and several stacks of hay; -and on the left, a natural meadow, of some ten or -fifteen acres, had been cleared of brush and sedge, -and furnished ample pasturage for four handsome -cows. This, with twelve acres of upland, formed -the extent of the clearing. Several sugar maples -were scattered about the lawn, and a few young -fruit trees ornamented the arable land behind the -house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here, then, was comfort—almost the aristocracy -of the woods! We drove rapidly to the door, but -the sound of wheels had already drawn the family -without the house. The wife, a pale and delicate -woman, about twenty-eight or thirty years of age, -held in one hand, a bare-foot boy of three; while a -little girl, still younger, folded herself in the skirt of -her mother’s woollen frock—her snow-white head, -and light-blue eye peeping out fearfully from her -concealment, as we dismounted. A stout lad, employed -by the farmer, took charge of our horses, and -we were presented to our hostess.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We have but poor accommodations to offer the -gentlemen, John! but they are welcome to what we -have, such as they are. You are the first strangers -from the old settlements I have seen since we came -to this clearing! Were you ever in Connecticut?” -Anxiety and hope were most plainly depicted in the -care-worn face of the speaker. I could not bear to -reply in the negative, and evaded the question by -noticing the children as we entered the house. Here, -my companion was surprised at the progress that -had been made in four short years by the labor of a -settler of such slender means. Six decent chairs and -a cherry-wood table ornamented the apartment—a -well-made dough-trough, with a wide and smoothly -planed top, served the purpose of a side-board—a -large cup-board, with curious, home-made wooden -locks and hinges, occupied one corner, and a rude -settee contained, beneath the seat, a tool-chest and a -receptacle for table-linen. The ample fire-place, with -its wooden chimney, was festooned with strings of -venison, hung up to smoke in pieces, and the roughly -plastered wall was ornamented with two rude engravings, -in <span class='it'>domestic</span> frames—Adam and Eve driven -from Paradise, and the victory of Lake Erie. To -these was added a printed copy of the Declaration of -Independence. A Bible stood open upon the table -when we entered, and a prayer-book, Young’s Night -Thoughts, The Lady of the Lake, and a few torn old -numbers of a monthly magazine, adorned a shelf -above the fire. We missed the usual utensils of the -cuisine, but these we afterwards discovered in a more -fitting place. The universal ticking of the wooden -clock was heard; but whence it came, we knew not, -until the hour for retiring. It stood upon the stairway.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Hanging his rifle and powder-flask on the wooden -hooks, depending, according to custom, from a beam, -our host remarked that we were dusty with travel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tin is scarce with us here, gentlemen! and -crockery is brittle,” said he; “so if you wish to wash -your hands and faces, and will pardon our wild ways, -follow me to the cellar, and you shall be accommodated!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Taking a coarse but clean towel from the chest in -the settee, he opened a door beneath the stairs, and -descended; leading the way on this singular excursion. -A cellar is a luxury in the simple cabin; but -here we were provided with an apartment more complete, -in its conveniencies, than those of older countries, -the floor being well levelled, and the walls -faced with stones of ample size. The settler had -formed, in one corner, a large cavity about three feet -deep. This was lined with mortar, and paved with -smooth, round pebbles from the brook. A tunnel, -with a wooden trunk and sliding flood-gate, about -four inches square, led from the bottom of this basin, -through the foundations of the wall, to the bed of a -rivulet at some distance on the lawn. The greater -part of the waters of a spring, which rose very near -the house and fed this runnel, being diverted from -their original course, were conveyed through hollow -logs, cleaned out and smoothed by burning, through -the wall of the cellar, about four feet above the floor, -and fell in a beautiful cascade into the basin below. -But our host was far too fertile in resources to permit -the whole of the current to take this direction. -A well made milk-trough, constructed of timbers, -some of which betrayed more intimate acquaintance -with the axe than the plane, occupied nearly the -whole remaining portion of that side of the cellar -which corresponded with the earthen basin. It was -supplied with water by means of a small canal composed -of pieces of bark suspended from the beams -above, and capable of being projected into the cascade, -so as to receive any desirable portion of the -falling fluid. Another tunnel, communicating with -the first, carried off the surplus. As we viewed -these curious results of Yankee ingenuity and perseverance, -several fine speckled trout were seen disporting -among pans or crocks of the richest milk and -cream, into which, we were informed, they sometimes -leaped, to the no small discomforture of the -tidy house-wife, when in their hide-and-whoop gambols, -their daring over-acted their discretion. Here, -then, we found, combined by the most simple means, -the luxury of the washing-room, the drain, the bath, -and the milk-house. Nor was this all! The waters -of a spring, when flowing <span class='it'>pleno rivo</span>, never freeze. -They carry with them, for a time, the heat which is -the expression of the mean temperature of the earth, -and share it with surrounding objects. The very -stream, that thus contributed to his domestic comforts, -and, as we afterwards discovered, rendered, in its -excess, services equally important to his cattle in -the farm-yard, preserved his stock of necessaries -from the effects of frost, and contributed to lessen -the exertions required to procure fuel for the long -and dreary winter. These arrangements rendered -our host still more an object of curiosity and interest—for -seldom had we seen such striking evidences -of philosophical deduction in house-hold affairs:—and -we could not avoid the hope, that the -permanent enjoyment and gradual increase of the -comforts created by his genius, might be his ultimate -reward. But, alas! the prevalent disposition of his -tribe, when once removed from home, is—roving! -Never contented with the <span class='it'>status quo</span>—or satisfied -with possession; they leave the enjoyment of ease -for the hope of wealth, and are ever ready to sacrifice -reality <span class='it'>for a dream</span>. Yet, it was not for <span class='it'>us</span> to -censure our host severely, should he ultimately pursue -the course so admirably described in one short -technicality of the American woods-man—“<span class='it'>Flitting!</span>” -Had we not both been <span class='it'>flitting</span> ourselves!—the -one for honor, and the other for gold! My gown -and my friend’s land were of <span class='it'>equal value</span>, and both -had been purchased at the expense of solid sacrifices; -but little does it concern us now, that the progress of -population has thrown the former over shoulders -well clad in broad-cloth, bought with the surplus of -a decent salary, or that the other is studded with profitable -farms! In many parts of America, twelve -years form an age in human affairs, and, in western -Pennsylvania, <span class='it'>we are of the last</span>!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Our ablutions completed, we returned to the sitting-room. -The tea-table was spread with a tidy -cloth, and a smoking pot of Liverpool ware made its -appearance, replete with a beverage, <span class='it'>by the name of -tea</span>; though, by the test of the olfactories, it might -have been supposed some compound discovered -among the ruins of the last Piquot village, in the -days when the venerable Mr. Hooker first raised -the standard of his faith among the ancestors of -her whose hand distilled it.—Peace be with the spirit -of the good old man! Long since our journey, I -have gazed, as a stranger on his venerable tomb-stone -in the central church-yard of Hartford, and felt at -the moment,—it may be with some bitterness—that -the descendants of his flock had lost but little in -frankness and hospitality, by being transplanted to -the Wilds of the west! But <span class='it'>revennons ou nos moutons</span>.<a id='r3'/><a href='#f3' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[3]</span></sup></a></p> - -<p class='pindent'>The table was soon amply furnished with preserves, -in nameless variety, formed from the wild -fruits of the neighbouring woods, by the aid of maple -sugar. The unvarying hard-crusted pie, sweet, well-baked -corn-bread, and the constant attendant of the -lighter meals in New England, the fried potato, -completed the repast. We were seated, and—after -a well-spoken grace—a service which the really respectable -exile of Connecticut rarely neglects in -any of the changing scenes of life—we did it ample -justice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Economy of light is a matter of serious importance -in the log-cabin; and after tea, we gathered round -the blazing hearth, (for the autumnal nights were beginning -to be cool,) adding, occasionally, a pine knot -from a group collected in the corner of the fire-place, -by way of illuminating an idea or a face, whenever -the subject-matter of the discourse became peculiarly -interesting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Quick and puzzling were the questions with which -our hostess plied us, on all things relating to the “old -settlements,” as she already styled the sea-board;—for -the language and habits of the “far west,” are -still strangely preserved in these mid-land wildernesses, -over which the genius of civilization has -bounded, to wave his omnipotent wand over the -regions of the setting sun, like the last of the mammoths -when he disappeared from the banded hunters -of the olden time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a while, something like the liveliness of earlier -days, stole over the features of the querist, which -were fast settling into the habitual gloom, that gives -character to the physiognomy of the recluse and the -blind. But whatever direction might be given to the -discourse, in a few moments it was sure to centre in -Connecticut; until, evasion proving impracticable, -we were compelled, reluctantly, to confess that our -travels had never extended northward or eastward -of the Housatonic—the American Tweed.—A deep -sigh succeeded this announcement, and our hostess -drew back her chair within the shadow of—what -shall I call it?—<span class='it'>jams</span>, properly so styled, the fire-place -had none! Its sides were formed of short, projecting -logs, about three feet in length, piled, one -above another, interlocking, by deep notches, with -those which formed the walls of the building, at one -end, and at the other, secured by short cross-sections -of a smaller tree, similarly notched, set thwartwise -between their projecting extremities, and bolted with -strong wooden pips. This structure supported the -ample chimney, which was constructed in like manner, -and shared with it the usual protection against -fire, a thick internal coat of clay, admixed with a -very little lime. These chimney sides formed deep -recesses on either hand, in one of which, the cup-board -was accommodated, while the other was -graced by the dining-table.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Near to one of these shaded recesses, our hostess -drew her chair, and left the conversation, for a long -time, to her husband.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He inquired, with an interest, seemingly as intense -as a statesman, into the politics of the East, with the -tenor of which he had contrived to keep pace astonishingly, -when his isolated position is considered. I -was curious to know how he managed to obtain such -accurate information as to men and measures at the -seat of government, in the midst of so many obstacles -and such untiring agricultural efforts as his -rapid improvements must have demanded. His reply -furnished a melancholy proof of the natural disputatiousness -of our species, while it illustrated the pertinacity -with which a mind, once awakened to party -feelings, will cling to its old friendships and antipathies -when all interests in the result have ceased.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why,” said he, “for a while it was easy enough; -for the Post rides through here once a week, and -leaves a New York paper to Squire Tomkins—so -the winter I first came to these clearings, I used to -walk over to read the paper every other Saturday afternoon, -except when the snow was too deep, and -came back on Sunday after dinner—so I learned -what was going on pretty well. And sometimes one -or other of the old blacksmith’s boys—that’s his -grand-children!—for his two sons have gone off to -Illinois—would come over of odd Saturdays, a -horse-back—for the old soldier kept a horse—he’s -been many years in these parts, and has cleared and -sold three farms, before he fixed where he is—and -he’d take up Mary behind him, and ride over to the -squire’s—for one of us had to stay and tend the -cow and feed the pigs; so we could not both go together—and -bring her back again the next day.—And -a great treat it was to Mary!—for sometimes -she would see something in the paper about Connecticut.—She -used to teach school in Connecticut for -a while.—Poor Mary! she had a better education -than I had—though mine wasn’t a bad one, for a -common school, the way the world goes; and I used -to be able <span class='it'>to say my say</span> with any body; but somehow -these woods are so lonely, that I’m out of practice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Poor Mary! her heart’s in Connecticut still, -though she never tells me so,—<span class='it'>but she looks it sometimes</span>—except -may-be about Thanks-giving day,—and -then she can’t help <span class='it'>saying it</span> too! I’m sometimes -a’most sorry she ever married such a wild and wandering -fellow as me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, John!”—in a tone of the tenderest expostulation, -sounded from the corner. Almost unconsciously, -I threw a pine knot on the fire, and the -sudden flame lighted up a countenance, which would -have reassured the most desponding husband. All -traces of the inanity of solitude were gone; and over -the cloud of sorrow, in which early recollections had -veiled the features,—even while the tears of memory -were starting from the eye,—the moon-beam of -unalterable love poured its silvery light, and the pride -of the wife spoke plainly in the curve of a lip already -raised and trembling with affectionate reproach. -The moisture lingered threateningly upon the lids, -but did not fall!—It paused a moment, as in doubt, -what emotion called it there, and then retreated to -its source.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The husband’s face was wreathed in smiles; his -voice became firmer; his language lost its parenthetic -confusion on the instant, and he resumed his discourse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well! well! It’s all my fault, if fault there be. -<span class='it'>She</span> never had a fault! and she’s a blessing that would -pay for twenty thousand faults of mine! There, Mary! -Put the little ones to bed in the loft, and hear them -say their prayers.” He dismissed them with a parting -kiss, and when his wife retired—continued his -narrative.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The squire and I were friends, all through the -winter and spring. He and his two sons, with the -blacksmith’s boys, and three men from the furnace -ten miles down the stream, assisted me to build my -house; and I borrowed a horse from the smith and a -wagon in town, to bring my lime for the plastering; -so, when my new house was finished, we turned the -old one, that I told you of as we came along, into a -right good stable. I had laid up a full supply of provisions -in the old house, the fall before,—bought me -a plough and some tools,—felled a good deal of valuable -pine timber, and put the four acres of clearing -into winter grain. With the first spring-floods, I -floated the pines, by the help of the squire’s oxen, -and carried enough down to the saw-mill, (it’s only -twelve miles,) to bring me a good round sum; and -then I had money enough to pay my first instalment, -buy me another cow and a pair of oxen, and pay my -way till harvest, without draining all the savings I -brought out with me. In the winter, I had also got -three acres girdled, and the meadow half cleared; for -it wanted but little attention; so, as my potatoes -turned out uncommon well, and every thing prospered—I -bought me a horse and wagon in the fall, and -saved just enough to pay the second instalment;—trusting -to Providence <span class='it'>and the stores</span> for the little -we should want to buy next season.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But this is not what I was talking of—I had like -to have forgot the squire!—We got along very well -till June or July—when we were mowing the meadow.—Yes! -it was in July.—And the squire was -a churchman and a democrat, but I was a federalist -and a congregationalist—I did not much mind his -jokes about the pilgrim fathers, though he said the -Piquots were better men than those that planted -the state; and laughed at them for hanging the Quakers -in Boston. For the squire was a well read man -before he came to the west—and he hated Connecticut, -because he came from Lancaster county, and -his father was killed in a quarrel with the settlers in -Wyoming, long after the troubles were over. But -when he said that Jefferson was a better man than -General Washington, I could not stand it, and we -quarrelled. I said what no Christian should say, and -what I wont repeat;—so the squire and I have never -spoken since, except when poor Mary was taken -down! and then I had to speak; for there was no -other woman within ten miles, and no doctor but a -quack, within twenty-five. But Mrs. Tomkins is a -nurse and a doctor both—God bless her!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m getting to be very comfortable now, for I’ve -got every thing around me that a man can desire in -the woods, except money; and I’ve little use for that -except to pay the last instalment; but I can’t bear to -keep that woman so lonely and sad for want of company! -The old soldier’s daughter comes over to see -us once a month; but that is little for one who used -to have a dozen young friends always around her in -Connecticut, even if she was poor. To tell the truth, -though the woods are full of venison and wild turkies, -and quails and squirrels to be had for the shooting, -and though Tom can catch a mess of trout in the -milk trough at any time,—for he lets his line run into -the tunnel and there seems to be no end to them—yet -I can’t help thinking that if I had laid out my -three hundred dollars of hers and my savings in old -Connecticut—if I had worked half as hard there as -I have done here, and she had gone on teaching -school, we should both have been happier and richer -than we are now. So I think I shall soon pull up -stakes, sell out, and go to the prairies, where God -makes the clearings, as you said, on the road—and -it’s real hard work for a man, I can tell you!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This last remark threw me into a revery of no -pleasing nature; and I, in turn, retreated into the -shade, as the light of the pine-knot subsided and the -wife reëntered. I was dreaming of the future, when, -the buoyancy of early manhood being over, stubborn -habit would <span class='it'>compel</span> our really worthy host after all -rational motive for change should have flown!—“Thou -art one of a genus,” I mentally ejaculated. -“The mark of the wanderer is on thy brow—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“For thus I read thy destiny,</p> -<p class='line0'>And cannot be mistaken.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>There was much conversation afterwards; and at -intervals I gleaned the strong points of his history, -and that of her whose fate he now controlled. But -I was busy with my dream! Peering into the far off -future, I saw him in the last of his <span class='it'>flittings</span>!—deserted -by those who should be the props of his age, -but whose youthful fire would not permit them to -remain inactive in the wilderness, after pictures -of eastern wealth and luxury, clad in all the glorious -hues of memory, had been rendered familiar as nursery -tales by their suicidal parents. I saw him in -the evening of his days—and where?—seated by his -feeble and exhausted, though still affectionate partner, -at the door of an ill-provided cabin, far in the -north-west—Far beyond the present range of the -pioneer! The gloom of night was slowly dropping -its curtain around them, though the phosphorescent -snow gave dim illumination to the broad and trackless -expanse of the prairie—trackless then, even by -the exterminated Buffalo. <span class='it'>There</span> were none even -of the few conveniences of his present wood-land -home; for the genius and the skill which had once -enabled him to bend the stubborn gifts of nature to -his will, were chilled by the frosts of age.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I could even hear the voices of future years stealing -on the autumnal night breeze, as it moaned -through the rough and ill-joined casement where we -sat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, John, this is Thanks-giving night! Where -can our oldest boy be wandering now? He was just -thirty yesterday, and we have not heard from him -these six years!—Not since you made your last flitting, -John! He was always a good boy, and I’m -sure he has written to us! John! you may depend -upon it, there must be a letter in the office at St. -Louis—St. Louis, was it? or was it Chicago? My -memory begins to fail me so! He sent us fifty dollars -the last time, when we lived in Wisconsin, away -down in the States. It must have been in Chicago; -for it was there he wrote before!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah! Mary! Mary! boys forget their mothers and -their fathers too, when they are old and feeble! He -is getting rich somewhere far over yonder, and little -he thinks of us! But there’s little Mary, where can -she be? Her husband was just gone to New Orleans -with a load of furs when the hunters went down to -the bluffs in the fall, and they sent our letter after -them—but may-be she never got it!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, it’s Thanks-giving night, Mary! and if I had -loved the graves of my parents as I ought, we should -not be here, where our children that are away will -never find our own. Well, well! I’m too old to hunt, -and if the trapping turns out no better than it did last -year, we’ll have our next Thanks-giving, Mary, -where there will be no end to it! and sure you have -earned the <span class='it'>right</span> to be at rest, by your faithfulness, -however it may go with me!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While this picture was floating through my mind, -I had learned from occasional sentences, that our -host was the son of parents of respectability; but -his father had foolishly left the agricultural life, -which he understood and was pursuing prosperously, -for cities and merchandize, for which he had no -talent. He died a bankrupt, leaving one son at the age -of eight years and a daughter of eighteen. The latter -had been affianced, during her father’s prosperity, -to the son of a man of wealth; but that wealth had -been the result of the closest selfishness in early -life. As usual, the native vulgarity of feeling and -heartlessness of character which had caused his unwonted -and undeserved pecuniary success, remained -unchanged in the days of his spurious social elevation. -He forbade the further visits of his son the moment -the disaster of the parent of his intended wife -was known. He forbade it suddenly and without a -warning. The consequences were such as are -almost too frequent to attract attention. A lovely -woman pined a few years over the ill-requited needle, -and died “in a decline.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A young man about town” looked sad for a few -months, and then married an heiress to extend the -curse of hereditary meanness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the little village where our host was reared, by -a near relative in the original occupation of his father, -he formed his attachment to his present companion: -She was then a teacher, starving upon the <span class='it'>liberal</span> -salary that rewards the principal of a female common -school in “the State where education is universal.” -To marry at home would have required sacrifices of -conventional rank on the part of his intended, to -which his pride would not suffer him to reduce her; -for how could he ask her to share the fortunes of a -laborer in the field? To wait until their united efforts -would enable them to secure a farm, was more than -his impatience could endure. In evil hour a bright -dream of the west had thrown him into the wilderness, -and rendered him dependent upon the accidents -of sun and rain for protection against the tender -mercies of a Land Company—which calculated upon -the profits of indiscretion and extended credit willingly, -while accepting actual payment with regret. His -energies might probably bear him through his trials, -could he be contented to avoid expansion until the -flood-tide of civilization might have time to reach -his retreat, but already he was restless, and his eyes -were directed to the fatal west—and it appeared -painfully probable that a few short years would find -him again dependent on his axe, or a prey to larger -speculations in a deeper wilderness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We soon retired to our comfortable cat-tail beds, -by the light of a domestic candle, regretting that our -kind entertainers refused us the extempore lodging -on the floor to which, in true woodland courtesy, -they condemned themselves.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was long before sleep relieved the unpleasant -thoughts awakened by the conversation of the evening. -My mind wandered over many a tale of the -woods, in which blighted hopes and ruined prospects -constituted the prominent features. True, I had -seen much of happiness in similar situations,—for -Providence has constructed some one of the human -family peculiarly fitted to occupy each niche in the -great temple of society,—but how frequently the -abuse of the inestimable privilege of <span class='it'>free will</span> renders -it a curse instead of a blessing. I sometimes -think that the exceptions constitute the rule, and that -a small minority only ever accomplish the destiny -for which they were created. Jarring, confusion, -and disorder mark every page of nature,—every -paragraph of history! Here was a man of spirit, -enterprise, energy, and talent, who had fled from the -only field where happiness was proffered at a slight -expense of pride, to waste his powers upon a wilderness -for the benefit, in all probability, of certain -merchants and capitalists in Holland. He dragged -down with him an amiable being who was fitted by -her moral excellencies, and even by her education, -humble as it may have been, for a far wider sphere -of usefulness; and why? Because he could not bear -to ask a fond and loving woman to descend to a station -which she would have gloried to share with -him!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>How little men know of the true character of the -self-sacrificing sex, until the frosts of old age begin -to crown their venerable fronts, and they find their -knowledge useless!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is said that there is but one step from the sublime -to the ridiculous; but, although legend upon legend -crowded on my memory, the pathetic had still the -ascendancy, and I entertained my companion with -stories, not all of which were colored in rain-bow -hues, until the moon-light deserted the casement, and -the fatigue of nearly forty miles of travel enabled us -to sink into repose. As one of these recollections is -pertinent to the occasion, and illustrative of life in -the woods, it may not be amiss to offer it to the reader. -It furnishes an instance of indiscretion which, -could the effect have been foreseen, would be -esteemed an act of cruelty worthy of the worst -days of the inquisition. And yet it was perpetrated by -a female—by one who should have known the peculiarities -of her sex!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Our highly intelligent friend, Mc——,” said I, -“has resided for some years in the town of ——, -and has become familiar with the independent life -of a western village. She owns a considerable tract -of wild land on the New York border, and, as her -husband’s eccentricities (for he is an American Old -Mortality) are equal with his fame and classical acquirements, -she thought it best to proceed by herself, -on horse-back, to visit the property and examine its -resources. After journeying for several days by -every stages and frequented routes, she took an appropriate -path and plunged into the forest.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After much difficulty and fatigue, she arrived at -the cabin of a squatter, which she knew to have been -<span class='it'>located</span> for many years on or near her line. The -visit of the owner was not unsafe, for the man was -a bee-hunter, trapper, and timber thief of the most -gentle manners, and utterly despised all efforts at -clearing beyond the acre. His pigs—his only stock—ran -wild in the woods, and he cared nothing for -real estate so long as there were trees left for a deer-cover, -timber to be stolen, bees to be limed, and a -bounty for wolves. He looked upon a new settlement -as only another market and prowling ground, -incommoding him in nothing, and likely to increase -the dainties of his larder by an occasional chicken -and eggs. He lived for the <span class='it'>present</span>—dreamed neither -of the <span class='it'>past</span> nor the <span class='it'>future</span>—and nothing but habitual -laziness prevented him from being perpetually peripatetic. -He was absent from home when Mrs. —— arrived, -and she was received with back-woods hospitality -by his wife;—for even this creature, whose -only beverage was “Le vin ordinaire de ce pays -ci—un liqueur abominable qu’on appelle <span class='it'>Ouiskey</span>!” -actually had a wife, and an affectionate one, who -had resided on or near the spot since the days of Jefferson! -After a comfortable night of repose upon a -bundle of dried leaves, in her riding suit, Mrs. —— -arose, and made preparations <span class='it'>for viewing the property</span>. -No lady neglects the toilet, even in the most -distressing circumstances. I have several times -heard death preferred to the loss of a fine head of -hair, in the wards of a hospital, and it is not to be -supposed that Mrs. R. was unprovided with a looking-glass. -She proceeded to withdraw the several appurtenances -of the dressing-room from her well-stored -portmanteau, narrowly and wonderingly watched by -her kind hostess. But the instant the mirror appeared, -the lonely denizen of the wilds exclaimed, with startling -energy—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! dear Mrs. R.! That’s a looking-glass! Do -let me look in it! I have not seen my face plainly -for thirty years! I go down to the spring sometimes -and try to see myself; but the water is so rough that -it don’t look at all like me! Do let me look at it! -Do now!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The glass was handed to the delighted woman. -She cast but one glance upon it. The mirror fell in -fragments on the floor, the unfortunate creature -fainted and fell back on the rude bench behind her, -and Mrs. R. visited her ample domain, that day, with -a head half combed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The very early breakfast the next morning was a -cheerful one. When it was completed, we rode -over by the squire’s, with our host for a guide, and -after proceeding about three miles into the woods, -tied our horses at the termination of all signs of road, -and advanced on foot. We soon separated, the merchant -and the farmer to estimate the chances of water-power, -iron beds, timber, and lime-quarries, and -I, with my host’s rifle, a paper of pins, a botanical -box, and a pocket insect net, to my favorite pursuits. -We agreed to rendezvous at the place of parting -when the hour of three arrived; and, being all -familiar with the art of navigating the forest, there -was no danger of a failure in meeting the engagement. -When we returned from our excursions, and -I observed the disappointed look of my Athenian -friend, I felt myself the richer, notwithstanding he -styled himself possessor of five thousand acres, and -I bore upon my shield the footless birds of a younger -son; for my hat was serried with glittering insects, -impaled upon its crown and sides; my box was -stored with rarities, and, on a hickory pole across -my shoulder, hung a great horned owl, a hawk, -twelve headless black squirrels, and a Canada porcupine!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We stopped at the squire’s for a dinner; and, -strange to say, succeeded in inducing our host to bear -us company, despite his political aversions; so that -we have reason to believe that our visit was successful -in settling a feud which had seriously curtailed -the comforts of both parties for nearly three long -years. As we were rambling over the ground, -while our meal was in preparation, our attention was -called to a tamed marmot or ground hog, that had -been a favorite of the family during several years. -He had just commenced burrowing a residence for -his long months of hybernation—for the coolness of -the nights forewarned him that the period of activity -was nearly over. By the orchard fence, upon a little -mound commanding a broad view of the squire’s -improvements, he sat upright on the grass, by the -side of the yellow circle of dust which his labors -already rendered sufficiently conspicuous. The sun -obliquely shed a milder and more contemplative -light over a scene softened by the autumnal haze. -The foliage wore the serious depth of green which -precedes the change of the leaf, and, on the higher -ground, small patches of yellow, red and brown began -to vary the uniformity of the forest. He sat -with his fore-paws gently crossed upon his bosom, -like an old man reposing at evening by the door of -his cottage, calmly and peacefully reflecting that the -labors of life were drawing to a close. The autumn -wind soughed by, with a premonitory moan, and our -philosophic friend threw up one ear to drink the -ominous sound, shook his head, as it died away, -with an obvious shudder, as though some chilly dream -of winter disturbed his repose, and turning slowly -round, commenced digging deliberately at his burrow. -In a few minutes he reappeared and seemed again -buried in contemplating the beauty of the scenery. -Ere long another and a stronger blast swept through -the trees, with a more threatening voice—bearing -upon its wings a few withered leaves.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One of these fell close to the person of the marmot. -The intimation was not to be mistaken. He -gently descended to the horizontal attitude, crawled -towards the unwelcome courier of decay, applied -his nose to it for a moment, then, wheeling rapidly -round, plunged suddenly into his hole and sent the -dirt flying into the air by the rapid action of his fore-paws. -I turned to the Exile of Connecticut, who -had also watched this interesting scene, and remarked: -“You propose to go to the prairies! It is -summer with you yet, but I see that the leaves are -beginning to turn: there are a few grey hairs gathering -about your brow. Is it not time to choose your -last resting place? to dig your last burrow?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He felt the force of the query, and remained in -thought for several minutes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If it were not for the next instalment, I think I -should stay where I am till the neighborhood could -grow up around us, and Mary could go to church -and little John to school. But—I don’t know!—I -think I shall have to sell out and <span class='it'>flit</span> in the spring, if -I could find a purchaser! I’m young yet; and that -little beast did not throw the dirt so high in the -spring.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Poor fellow! I hear that the ground reverted to -the company two years afterwards; but whether he -sold out and <span class='it'>flitted</span> with a full purse, or started on -foot with his Mary and the children, and an axe on -his shoulder, I have never heard.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_3'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f3'><a href='#r3'>[3]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>It were ungrateful in the writer, not to acknowledge the -marked courtesy and kindness received from several friends -during a short residence at Hartford, and if tempted to -speak a little severely of the manners of the place, there is -much more pleasure in the thought, that a town, honored -by the residence of Mrs. Sigourney, Mr. Wordsworth, the -liberal patron of the <span class='it'>fine arts</span>, and the model of <span class='it'>fine feeling</span>, -and Rev. Mr. Gualladet, the devoted philanthropist, can -endure some censure upon its general hospitality. On a more -suitable occasion, I should be most happy to extend this -list, partly, because it would be no more than just to do so,</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“And partly that bright names will hallow song!”</p> - -</div> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk118'/> - -<div><h1><a id='sonn'></a>SONNET.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<div class='stanza-inner'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Still</span> he is absent though the buds of Spring</p> -<p class='line0'>  Bursting, have flung their freshness o’er the earth,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And all its brightest flowers have waked to birth</p> -<p class='line0'>The perfume in their petals slumbering;—</p> -<p class='line0'>The bright green leaves of Summer’s garnishing</p> -<p class='line0'>  Have blanched away;—the wild bird’s song of mirth</p> -<p class='line0'>Is hushed into an echo, and his wing</p> -<p class='line0'>  Chill’d by the breath the north wind scatters forth:—</p> -<p class='line0'>And yet the loved one is not with us, yet</p> -<p class='line0'>  He lingers in some foreign beauty’s bower,</p> -<p class='line0'>While we the lonely, we in vain regret</p> -<p class='line0'>  The distant rapture of the greeting hour,</p> -<p class='line0'>Till hope seems, poised upon its wavering wings,</p> -<p class='line0'>Departing like the fair earth’s loveliest things.</p> -<p class='line0' style='text-align:right;margin-right:1.5em;margin-top:0.5em;'><span style='font-size:smaller'>E. J. P.</span></p> -</div> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk119'/> - -<div><h1><a id='falsel'></a>THE FALSE LADYE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE BROTHERS,” “CROMWELL,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>There</span> were merriment and music in the Chateau -des Tournelles—at that time the abode of France’s -Royalty!—Music and merriment, even from the -break of day! That was a singular age—an age -of great transitions. The splendid spirit-stirring -soul of chivalry was alive yet among the nations—<span class='it'>yet</span>! -although fast declining, and destined soon to -meet its death blow in the spear thrust that hurled -the noble Henry, last victim of its wondrous system, -at once from saddle and from throne!—In every art, -in every usage, new science had effected even then -mighty changes; yet it was the <span class='sc'>old world still</span>! -Gunpowder, and the use of musquetry and ordnance, -had introduced new topics; yet still knights spurred -their barbed chargers to the shock, still rode in complete -steel—and tilts and tournaments still mustered -all the knightly and the noble; and banquets at high -noon, and balls in the broad day-light, assembled to -the board or to the dance, the young, the beautiful, -and happy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There were merriment and music in the court—the -hall—the stair-case—the saloons of state! All -that France held of beautiful, and bright, and brave, -and wise, and noble, were gathered to the presence -of their King.—And there were many there, well -known and honored in those olden days; well known -and honored ever after!—The first, in person as in -place, was the great King!—the proud and chivalrous -and princely!—becoming his high station at all -times and in every place—wearing his state right -gracefully and freely—the second Henry!—and at -his side young Francis, the King-Dauphin; with her, -the cynosure of every heart, the star of that fair -company—Scotland’s unrivalled Mary hanging upon -his manly arm, and gazing up with those soft, dove-like -eyes, fraught with unutterable soul, into her -husband’s face—into her husband’s spirit.—Brissac -was there, and Joyeuse, and Nevers; and Jarnac, -the renowned for skill in fence, and Vielleville; and -the Cardinal Lorraine, and all the glorious Guises,—and -Montmorenci, soon to be famous as the slayer of -his King, and every peer of France, and every peerless -lady.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Loud pealed the exulting symphonies; loud sang -the chosen minstrelsy—and as the gorgeous sun-beams -rushed in a flood of tinted lustre through the -rich many-colored panes of the tall windows, glancing -on soft voluptuous forms and eyes that might out-dazzle -their own radiance, arrayed in all the pomp -and pride of that magnificent and stately period—a -more resplendent scene could scarcely be imagined. -That was a day of rich and graceful costumes, when -men and warriors thought it no shame to be adorned -in silks and velvets, with chains of goldsmith’s work -about their necks, and jewels in their ears, and on -their hatbands, buttons, and buckles, and sword-hilts; -and if such were the sumptuous attire of the sterner -and more solid sex, what must have been the ornature -of the court ladies, under the gentle sway of -such a being as Diane de Poitiers, the lovely mistress -of the monarch, and arbitress of the soft follies -of the Court?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The palace halls were decked with every fanciful -variety, some in the pomp of blazoned tapestries -with banners rustling from the cornices above the -jocund dancers, some filled with fresh green branches, -wrought into silver arbors, sweet garlands perfuming -the air, and the light half excluded or tempered -into a mild and emerald radiance by the dense foliage -of the rare exotics. Pages and ushers tripped -it to and fro, clad in the royal liveries, embroidered -with the cognizance of Henry, the fuigist salamander, -bearing the choicest wines, the rarest cates, in -every interval of the resounding dance.—It would -be tedious to dwell longer on the scene; to multiply -more instances of the strange mixture, which might -be witnessed everywhere, of artificial luxury with -semibarbarous rudeness—to specify the graces of -the company, the beauty of the demoiselles and -dames, the stately bearing of the warrior nobles, as -they swept back and forth in the quaint mazes of -some antiquated measure, were a task to be undertaken -only by some old chronicler, with style as curious -and as quaint as the manners he portrays in -living colors.—Enough for us to catch a fleeting -glimpse of the grand pageantry! to sketch with a -dashy pencil the groups which he would designate -with absolute and accurate minuteness!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But there was one among that gay assemblage, who -must not be passed over with so slight a regard, since -she attracted on that festive day, as much of wondering -admiration for her unequalled beauties as she excited -grief, and sympathy, and fear, in after days, for -her sad fortunes,—but there was now no cloud upon -her radiant beauty, no dimness prophetic of approaching -tears in her large laughing eyes, no touch -of melancholy thought upon one glorious feature—Marguerite -de Vaudreuil, the heiress of a ducal fortune, -the heiress of charms so surpassing, that rank -and fortune were forgotten by all who gazed upon -her pure high brow, her dazzling glances, her seductive -smile, the perfect symmetry of her whole shape -and person! Her hair, of the darkest auburn shade, -fell in a thousand ringlets, glittering out like threads -of virgin gold when a stray sunbeam touched them, -fell down her snowy neck over the shapely shoulders -and so much of a soft heaving bosom—veined -by unnumbered azure channels, wherein the pure -blood coursed so joyously—as was displayed by the -falling laces which decked her velvet boddice—her -eyes, so quick and dazzling was their light, almost -defied description, possessing at one time the depth -and brilliance of the black, melting into the softer -languor of the blue—yet they were of the latter -hue, and suited truly to the whole style and -character of her voluptuous beauty. Her form, as -has been noticed, was symmetry itself; and every -movement, every step, was fraught with natural and -unstudied grace.—In sooth, she seemed almost too -beautiful for mere mortality—and so thought many -an one who gazed upon her, half drunk with that -divine delirium which steeps the souls of men who -dwell too steadfastly upon such wondrous charms, -as she bounded through the labyrinth of the dance, -lighter and springier than the world-famed gazelle, -or rested from the exciting toil in panting abandonment -upon some cushioned settle! and many inquired -of themselves, could it be possible that an exterior so -divine should be the tenement of a harsh worldly spirit—that -a demeanor and an air so frank, so cordial, and -so warm, should be but the deceptive veil that hid a -selfish, cold, bad heart. Aye! many asked themselves -that question on that day, but not one answered -his own question candidly or truly—no! not one -man!—for in her presence he had been more or less -than mortal, who could pronounce his sentence unmoved -by the attractions of her outward seeming.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For Marguerite de Vaudreuil had been but three -short months before affianced as the bride of the -young Baron de La-Hirè—the bravest and best of -Henry’s youthful nobles. It had been a love treaty—no -matter of shrewd bartering of hearts—no cold -and worldly convenance—but the outpouring, as it -seemed, of two young spirits, each warm and worthy -of the other!—and men had envied him, and -ladies had held her more fortunate in her high conquest, -than in her rank, her riches, or her beauties; -and the world had forgotten to calumniate, or to -sneer, in admiration of the young glorious pair, that -seemed so fitly mated. Three little months had -passed—three more, and they had been made one!—but, -in the interval, Charles de La-Hirè, obedient to -his King’s behest, had buckled on his sword, and led -the followers of his house to the Italian wars. With -him, scarcely less brave, and, as some thought, yet -handsomer than he, forth rode upon his first campaign, -Armand de Laguy, his own orphaned cousin, -bred like a brother on his father’s hearth; and, as -Charles well believed, a brother in affection. Three -little months had passed, and in a temporary truce, -Armand de Laguy had returned alone, leading the -relics of his cousin’s force, and laden with the doleful -tidings of that cousin’s fall upon the field of -honor. None else had seen him die, none else had -pierced so deeply into the hostile ranks; but Armand -had rushed madly on to save his noble kinsman, and -failing in the desperate attempt, had borne off his reward -in many a perilous wound. Another month, -and it was whispered far and near, that Marguerite -had dried her tears already; and that Armand de -Laguy had, by his cousin’s death, succeeded, not to -lands and to lordships only, but to the winning of that -dead cousin’s bride.—It had been whispered far and -near—and now the whisper was proved true. For, -on this festive day, young Armand, still pale from -the effects of his exhausting wounds, and languid -from loss of the blood, appeared in public for the first -time, not in the sable weeds of decent and accustomed -wo, but in the gayest garb of a successful -bridegroom—his pourpoint of rose-colored velvet -strewn thickly with seed pearl and broideries of -silver, his hose of rich white silk, all slashed and -lined with cloth of silver, his injured arm suspended -in a rare scarf of the lady’s colors, and, above all, the -air of quiet confident success with which he offered, -and that lovely girl received, his intimate attentions, -showed that for once, at least, the tongue of rumor -had told truth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Therefore men gazed in wonder—and marvelled -as they gazed, and half condemned!—yet they who -had been loudest in their censure when the first -whisper reached their ears of so disloyal love, of so -bold-fronted an inconstancy, now found themselves -devising many an excuse within their secret hearts -for this sad lapse of one so exquisitely fair. Henry -himself had frowned, when Armand de Laguy led -forth the fair betrothed, radiant in festive garb and -decked with joyous smiles—but the stern brow of -the offended prince had smoothed itself into a softer -aspect, and the rebuff which he had determined—but -a second’s space before—to give to the untimely -lovers, was frittered down into a jest before it left -the lips of the repentant speaker.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The day was well-nigh spent—the evening banquet -had been spread, and had been honored, duly—and -now the lamps were lit in hall, and corridor, and -bower; and merrier waxed the mirth, and faster -wheeled the dance. The company were scattered -to and fro, some wandering in the royal gardens, -which overspread at that day, most of the Isle de -Paris; some played with cards or dice; some drank -and revelled in the halls; some danced unwearied in -the grand saloons; some whispered love in ladies’ -ears in dark sequestered bowers—and of these last -were Marguerite and Armand—a long alcove of -thick green boughs, with orange trees between, -flowering in marble vases, and myrtles, and a thousand -odorous trees mingling their perfumed shadows, led -to a lonely bower—and there alone in the dim star-light—alone -indeed! for they might now be deemed -as one, sat the two lovers. One fair hand of the frail -lady was clasped in the bold suitor’s right—while -his left arm, unconscious of its wound, was twined -about her slender waist; her head reclined upon his -shoulder, with all its rich redundancy of ringlets -floating about his neck and bosom, and her eyes, languid -and suffused, fondly turned up to meet his passionate -glances. “And can it be”—he said, in the -thick broken tones that tell of vehement passion—“And -can it be that you indeed love Armand?—I -fear, I fear, sweet beauty, that I, like Charles, should -be forgotten, were I, like Charles, removed—for -him thou didst love dearly—while on me never -didst thou waste thought or word.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Him—never, Armand, never!—by the bright -stars above us—by the great gods that hear us—I -never—never <span class='it'>did</span> love Charles de La-Hirè—never -did love man, save thee, my noble Armand.—False -girlish vanity and pique led me to toy with him at -first; now to my sorrow I confess it—and when -thou didst look coldly upon me, and seem’dst to woo -dark Adeline de Courcy, a woman’s vengeance stirred -up my very soul, and therefore to punish thee, -whom only did I love, I well nigh yielded up myself -to torture by wedding one whom I esteemed indeed -and honored—but never thought of for one moment -with affection—wilt thou believe me, Armand?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sweet Angel, Marguerite!” and he clasped her -to his hot heaving breast, and her white arms were -flung about his neck, and their lips met in a long -fiery kiss.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Just in that point of time—in that soft melting -moment—a heavy hand was laid quietly on Armand’s -shoulder—he started, as the fiend sprang up, revealed -before the temper of Ithuriel’s angel weapon—he -started like a guilty thing from that forbidden -kiss.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A tall form stood beside him, shrouded from head -to heel in a dark riding cloak of the Italian fashion; -but there was no hat on the stately head, nor any -covering to the cold stern impassive features. The -high broad forehead as pale as sculptured marble, -with the dark chestnut curls falling off parted evenly -upon the crown—the full, fixed, steady eye, which -he could no more meet than he could gaze unscathed -on the meridian sun, the noble features, sharpened -by want and suffering and wo—were all! all those -of his good cousin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a moment’s space the three stood there in silence!—Charles -de La-Hirè reaping rich vengeance -from the unconquerable consternation of the traitor! -Armand de Laguy bent almost to the earth with -shame and conscious terror! and Marguerite half -dead with fear, and scarcely certain if indeed he who -stood before her were the man in his living presence, -whom she had vowed to love for ever; or if it were -but the visioned form of an indignant friend returned -from the dark grave to thunderstrike the false disturbers -of his eternal rest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am in time”—he said at length, in accents -slow and unfaltering, as his whole air was cold and -tranquil—“in time to break off this monstrous union!—Thy -perjuries have been in vain, weak man; -thy lies are open to the day.—He whom thou didst -betray to the Italian’s dungeon—to the Italian’s dagger—as -thou didst then believe and hope—stands -bodily before thee.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A long heart-piercing shriek burst from the lips of -Marguerite, as the dread import of his speech fell -on her sharpened ears—the man whom she <span class='it'>had</span> -loved—<span class='it'>first</span> loved!—for all her previous words were -false and fickle—stood at her side in all his power -and glory—and she affianced to a liar, a base traitor—a -foul murderer in his heart!—a scorn and by-word -to her own sex—an object of contempt and -hatred to every noble spirit!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But at that instant Armand de Laguy’s pride -awoke—for he <span class='it'>was</span> proud, and brave, and daring!—and -he gave back the lie, and hurled defiance in his -accuser’s teeth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Death to thy soul!” he cried—“ ’tis thou that -lieth!—Charles!—did I not see thee stretched on -the bloody plain? did I not sink beside thee, hewed -down and trampled under foot, in striving to preserve -thee?—and when my vassals found me, wert thou -not beside me—with thy face scarred, indeed, and -mangled beyond recognition, but with the surcoat and -the arms upon the lifeless corpse, and the sword in -the cold hand?—’Tis thou that liest, man!—’tis -thou that, for some base end, didst conceal thy life; -and now wouldst charge thy felonies on me—but -’twill not do—fair cousin.—The King shall judge -between us!—Come lady”—and he would have -taken her by the hand, but she sprang back as though -a viper would have stung her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Back traitor!—” she exclaimed, in tones of the -deepest loathing.—“I hate thee, spit on thee! defy -thee!—Base have I been myself, and frail, and -fickle—but, as I live, Charles de La-Hirè—but as I -live <span class='it'>now</span>, and <span class='it'>will</span> die right shortly—I knew not of -this villany! I did believe thee dead, as that false -murtherer swore—and—God be good to me!—I -did betray thee dead; and now have lost thee living! -But for thee, Armand de Laguy, dog! traitor! villain! -knave!—dare not to look upon me any more; -dare not address me with one accent of thy serpent -tongue! for Marguerite de Vaudreuil, fallen although -she be, and lost for ever, is not so all abandoned -as, knowing thee for what thou art, to bear -with thee one second longer—no! not though that -second could redeem all the past—and wipe out all -the sin!—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fine words! Fine words, fair mistress!—but -on with me thou shalt!” and he stretched out his -arm to seize her, when, with a perfect majesty, -Charles de La-Hirè stepped in and grasped him by -the wrist, and held him for a moment there, gazing -into his eye as though he would have read his soul; -then threw him off with force, that made him stagger -back ten paces before he could regain his footing!—then! -then! with all the fury of the fiend -depicted on his working lineaments, Armand unsheathed -his rapier and made a full lunge, bounding -forwards as he did so, right at his cousin’s heart! but -he was foiled again, for with a single, and, as it -seemed, slight motion of the sheathed broadsword, -which he held under his cloak, Charles de La-Hirè -struck up the weapon, and sent it whirling through -the air to twenty paces distance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Just then there came a shout “the King! the -King!”—and, with the words, a glare of many -torches, and, with his courtiers and his guard about -him, the Monarch stood forth in offended majesty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha!—what means this insolent broil?—What -men be these who dare draw swords within the palace -precincts?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>My</span> sword is sheathed, sire,” answered De La-Hirè, -kneeling before the King and laying the good -weapon at his feet—“nor has been ever drawn, -save at your highness’ bidding, against your highness’ -foes!—But I beseech you, sire, as you love -honesty and honor, and hate deceit and treason, grant -me your royal license to prove Armand de Laguy, -recreant, base, and traitorous, a liar and a felon, and -a murtherer, hand to hand, in the presence of the -ladies of your court, according to the law of arms -and honor!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Something of this we have heard already”—replied -the King, “Baron de La-Hirè!—But say out -now, of what accuse you Armand de Laguy?—shew -but good cause, and thy request is granted; for I -have not forgot your good deeds in my cause against -our rebel Savoyards and our Italian foemen—of -what accuse you Armand de Laguy?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That he betrayed me wounded into the hands of -the Duke of Parma! that he dealt with Italian bravoes -to compass my assassination! that by foul -lies and treacherous devices, he has trained from me -my affianced bride: and last, not least, deprived her -of fair name and honor.—This will I prove upon his -body, so help me God and my good sword.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stand forth and answer to his charge De Laguy—speak -out! what sayest thou?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I say,” answered Armand boldly—“I say -that he lies!—that he did feign his own death -for some evil ends!—and did deceive me, who -would have died to succor him!—That I, believing -him dead, have won from him the love of this fair -lady, I admit.—But I assert that I did win it fairly, -and of good right!—And for the rest, I say he lies -doubly, when he asserts that she has lost fair -name, or honor—this is <span class='it'>my</span> answer, sire; and I beseech -you grant <span class='it'>his</span> prayer, and let us prove our -words, as gentlemen of France and soldiers, forthwith, -by singular battle!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Amen!” replied the King—“the third day hence -at noon, in the tilt yard, before our court, we do -adjudge the combat—and this fair lady be the prize -of the victor!—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No! sire,” interposed Charles de La-Hirè, again -kneeling—but before he had the time to add a second -word, Marguerite de Vaudreuil, who had stood all -the while with her hands clasped and her eyes rivetted -upon the ground, sprung forth with a great cry—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No! no! for God-sake! no! no! sire—great -King—good gentleman—brave knight! doom me -not to a fate so dreadful.—Charles de La-Hirè is all -that man can be, of good, or great, or noble! but I -betrayed him, whom I deemed dead; and he can -never trust me living!—Moreover, if he would take -me to his arms, base as I am and most false hearted, -he should not—for God forbid that <span class='it'>my</span> dishonor -should blight <span class='it'>his</span> noble fame.—As for the slave De -Laguy—the traitor and low liar, doom me, great -monarch, to the convent or the block—but curse me -not with such contamination!—For, by the heavens -I swear! and by the God that rules them! that I -will die by my own hand, before I wed that serpent!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Be it so, fair one,” answered the King very -coldly—“be it so! we permit thy choice—a convent -or the victor’s bridal bed shall be thy doom, at -thine own option!—Meanwhile your swords, sirs; -until the hour of battle ye are both under our arrest. -Jarnac be thou Godfather to Charles de La-Hirè!—Nevers, -do thou like office for de Laguy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By God! not I, sire;” answered the proud -duke. “I hold this man’s offence so rank, his guilt -so palpable, that, on my conscience! I think your -royal hangman were his best Godfather!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nevertheless, De Nevers—it shall be, as I say!—this -bold protest of thine is all sufficient for thine -honor—and it is but a form!—no words, duke! it -must be as I have said!—Joyeuse, escort this lady -to thy duchess—pray her accept of her as the King’s -guest, until this matter be decided. The third day -hence at noon, on foot, with sword and dagger—with -no arms of defence or vantage—the principals -to fight alone, until one die or yield—and so God -shield the right!”</p> - -<hr class='tbk120'/> - -<div><h1><a id='sonns'></a>SONNETS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY PARK BENJAMIN.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>               EVENING.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>In robes of crimson glory sinks the Day;</p> -<p class='line0'>    The Earth in slumber closes her great eye</p> -<p class='line0'>    Like to a dying god’s; from hills, that lie</p> -<p class='line0'>Like altars kindled by the sunset ray,</p> -<p class='line0'>The smoke in graceful volumes soars away;</p> -<p class='line0'>    From every wood a chorus soundeth nigh;</p> -<p class='line0'>    Those veils of day, the shadows, floating high</p> -<p class='line0'>Around the tree-tops, fall upon the gay</p> -<p class='line0'>And gem-like flowers that bloom beneath; the West</p> -<p class='line0'>    Its burnished gold throws back in softened lines</p> -<p class='line0'>    Upon the East, and, as it sweetly shines</p> -<p class='line0'>    On lapsing river and reposing dell,</p> -<p class='line0'>Tinges with rosy light the hovering breast</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of the small, tremulous lark—boon Nature’s evening bell.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>               HEREAFTER.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh, man is higher than his dwelling-place;</p> -<p class='line0'>    Upward he looks, and his soul’s wings unfold,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And, when like minutes sixty years have rolled,</p> -<p class='line0'>He rises, kindling, into boundless space.</p> -<p class='line0'>Then backward to the Earth, his native place,</p> -<p class='line0'>    The ashes of his feathers lightly fall,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And his free soul, unveiled, disrobed of all</p> -<p class='line0'>That cumbered it, begins its heavenly race,</p> -<p class='line0'>Pure as a tone and brilliant as a star.</p> -<p class='line0'>    Even through the shadows on life’s desert lawn</p> -<p class='line0'>Hills of the future world he sees afar</p> -<p class='line0'>In morning rays that beam not here below.</p> -<p class='line0'>Thus doth the dweller in the realm of snow</p> -<p class='line0'>    Through his long night perceive the distant dawn.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk121'/> - -<div><h1><a id='harr'></a>HARRY CAVENDISH.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR,” “THE REEFER OF ’76,” ETC. ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“And I have loved thee, ocean! and my joy</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>I wantoned with thy breakers.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:0.75em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='sc'>Childe Harold.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>INTRODUCTORY.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>I was</span> sitting the other afternoon before my library -fire, listening to the fitful breeze without that swayed -the trees to and fro before the house and moaned -down in the neighbouring woods, when I suddenly -recollected that the last sheets of “The Reefer” had -gone to press a fortnight before, and that, consequently, -my career of authorship was closed. The -idea, I confess, gave me pleasure, for I am by nature -an indolent man, and would at any time rather dream -by a cheery fire, with my slippered feet reposing on -my tiger-skin rug, than tie myself down to a writing-table, -even though it be to record my own or my -friends’ adventures, and “go about the world from -hand to hand.” I am not ambitious. I prefer ease -to reputation, quiet to turmoil, the epicurean to all -other philosophy. To read my favorite authors; to -indulge in reveries at the twilight hour; to gaze on -fine pictures, choice statues, and tasteful rooms; to -listen to the melting airs of Burns, or the glorious -hallelujahs of Handel; to sport on my own grounds -on a clear, bracing morning; to gallop over the wild -hills and through the romantic valleys which surround -my residence;—these are the enjoyments in which -I delight, and which I prefer to all the reputation -either the pen or the sword can give. Others may -choose a more bustling life; but I have had my share -of that! Give me a quiet, happy home, for there only -is true happiness to be found.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Musing thus, I was unconscious of the entrance of -an intruder, until I heard a slight cough beside me, -and looking up, I saw my faithful servant John standing -over my chair. He laid on my lap, at the instant, -a copy of Graham’s Magazine for December. As -John did so, he heaved a sigh, and then, as if something -was on his mind, busied himself in arranging -various articles in the room. I knew by these tokens -that he was desirous of attracting my attention. The -woe-begone expression which he wore during all -this time, amused me, for I fancied I could guess -what was passing through his mind. As I quietly -cut the pages of the book, I indulged him by opening -the conversation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, John,” I said, “it is finished. ‘The Reefer’ -has followed my own adventures, and you will have -no more trouble in acting as proof-reader for me. -Our days,” and here, at the use of the plural, the old -fellow grinned from ear to ear, “our days of authorship -are over. I think we had better retire while -our laurels are green. Are you not glad?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Glad! What for Massa Danforth think that? No, -no,” and he shook his grey head mournfully, “John -<span class='it'>not</span> glad.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And why not, John? We shall have more time -to ourselves. I’m afraid,” I said, looking towards the -window, and endeavoring to peer through the twilight -without, “I am afraid our planting is sadly behind -hand—the clump of trees out yonder wants -thinning—and then the water-fall is getting out of -order—and Mrs. Danforth has been pleading for an -addition to her garden—all this requires overseeing—and -besides these, there are a thousand other things -which will require our attention.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I could see that the old fellow had, with difficulty, -restrained himself until I had finished; for he kept -moving his body unceasingly, and once or twice had -opened his mouth to speak. He now broke out—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nebber do, Massa Danforth, nebber do to give up -authorship, take old John word for dat. You now -great man—talk of in all de papers—it Massa Danforth -here and Massa Danforth dare—ebbery few -month you get extra puff in de prospective of de -Magazine—and think you discontinue if you give -ober writing? Gor amighty nebber! Ebbery body -can do planting,—dere Massa Jones, Massa Tyson, -Massa Smit, and de oder blockheads in de county—but -you be only one hereabout been to sea, or can -drive a pen ober paper like a four-in-hand, polishing -skrimanges for a hundred thousand readers—for dat -many Massa Graham say thumb his book ebbery -month. It plain text, plain sermon. Who so big as -Massa Danforth de author?—who so little, beg pardon -for say it, as Massa Danforth de farmer? De -public like our sleepy boy Joe in de kitchen, he nebber -know any one alive, unless dey keep bawling, bawling -in his ear all de time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But what am I to do?” said I, smiling at his earnestness, -and peculiar style of illustration. “Even -if I wished to continue an author, I could not. My -own adventures are published; so are those of the -Reefer,—if I go on, I must—to say nothing of the -trouble—draw on my fancy, and that, you know, -wouldn’t do. I always bear in mind what honest -Sancho Panza says—‘Let every one take heed how -they talk or write of people, and not set down at random -the first thing that comes into their imagination.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Massa Sanka Pancer had better keep his advice -to himself, dat my mind—I nebber saw him here, or -read his name in de papers, and he derefore no great -shakes—but I no see dat dere be an accessory for -any fiction about it. Ah! I hab him—I hab him. I -think of a new feature.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A new feature! Well—let’s hear it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But first, dere be accessory for a story. Once -Massa know I be a poor scoundrel in newspaper -office—hard life dat, where kicks plenty and dinners -scarce—and ebbery now and den when editor pushed -to de wall for cash, he say in his paper dat de next -day he come out wid a new feature. Well, ebbery -body, besure, be on tip-toe. Office run down next -mornin for paper. Massa editor fill his pockets for -once anyhow—no trouble, little cost, all wit do it. -How? He put in new head to his paper, and call -dat ‘new feature.’ Now, suppose Massa Danforth -get a new head to ‘Cruising in de Last War,’ and so -be author, and dat widout trouble, for anoder year. -Ah! ha! dat grand stroke.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I laughed heartily at the proposal, but replied—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That would never do, John—but I must tell -Graham of your idea.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Eh! what?—put old John in print. Gor amighty -dat make him grand as de minister—not dat he care -much for it—he not vain—but, but, what Massa -gwine to say?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ll know in good time—but at present see -who knocks at the library door.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Package forgot at post-office,” said John, returning -from his errand, and giving me a huge bundle of -manuscript.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah! what have we here? A letter from Graham, -I declare. What says he?—‘a valuable private -history of the revolutionary times,’—‘only wants a -little pruning’—‘thrilling adventures’—‘a run unsurpassed -for years’—‘unequalled’—‘edit it as a -great favor’—and so forth. Well, let us see what -it is.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Eh! yes—see what he is. Massa Graham one -<span class='it'>obi</span> man, he know de quandary we in, and send dis -to settle de argument. No escape now, Massa Danforth—it -little trouble—thank God! you be great man -still—and de people still say as we drive out togedder, -‘dare go de celebrated Massa Danforth, and his -man John!’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now, reader, having acquainted you with the -manner in which the following history came into my -hands, and given you a hint as to the reasons which -have induced me to appear again in print, I will -take leave of you without further parley, and let the -autobiographer speak for himself.</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>THE WRECK.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>The parting word had been said, the last look had -been taken, and my traps had all been snugly stowed -away in the narrow room which, for some years, -was to be my home. I stood by the starboard railing -gazing back on the dear city I was leaving, and, -despite the stoicism I had affected when bidding -farewell to my friends, I could not now prevent a -starting tear. Nor did my mess-mates seem in a -more sportive mood; for they could be seen, some -in the rigging and some leaning over the ship’s side, -looking back on the well known landmarks of the -town with a seriousness in the aspect which betokened -the thoughts passing through the heart. Yes! -we were about leaving the scenes of our boyhood, -to enter on a new and untried life—and who knew -if any of us would ever return again to our homes? -The chances of war are at all times dreadful, but in -our case they were terribly increased by the flag -under which we sailed. Who could tell whether -the officers of the revolted colonies might not be -considered as traitors as well as rebels? Who knew -but that the very first enemy we should meet would -either sink us or hang us at the yard arm? And yet, -firm in the righteousness of our cause, and confiding -in the God of battles, there was not one of our number -who, having put his hand to the plough, wished -to turn back. Sink or swim—live or die—we were -resigned to either destiny.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Evening was closing fast around the scene, and, -even as I gazed, the town melted into gloom, Copp’s -Hill alone standing up in solemn majesty over -the shadowy city. The distant hum of the town -died fainter and fainter on the darkness, the evening -breeze came up fresher across the waters, the song -of the fisherman and the dip of passing oars ceased, -and, one by one, the white sails of the ships -around us faded away, at first seeming like faint -clouds, but finally losing themselves altogether in -the darkness. All around was still. The low monotonous -ground swell heaving under our counter, and -rippling faintly as it went, alone broke the witching -silence. Not a breath of air was stirring. The -boatswain’s whistle was hushed, the whisper had died -away, no footfall rose upon the stillness, but over -shore and sea, earth and sky, man and inanimate -creation, the same deep silence hung.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Gradually, however, the scene changed. Lights -began to flash along the town and from the ships in -port, and, in a few moments, the harbor was alive -with a long line of effulgence. A half subdued halo -now hung over the city. The effect produced was -like that of magic. Here a ship lay almost buried in -gloom—there one was thrown out in bold relief by -the lights—now a tall warehouse rose shadowy into -the sky, and now one might be seen almost as distinctly -as at noon day. The lights streaming from the -cabin windows and dancing along the bay, the swell -tinged on its crest with silver, but dark as night -below, and the far off sails gleaming like shadowy -spectres, through the uncertain light, added double -effect to the picture. And when the stars came out, -one by one, blinking high up in the firmament, and -the wind began to sigh across the bay and wail sadly -through our rigging, the weird-like character of the -prospect grew beyond description. Hour after hour -passed away and we still continued gazing on the -scene as if under the influence of some magician’s -spell; but, at length, exhausted nature gave way, -and one after another went below, leaving only those -on deck whose duty required their presence. For -myself, though I sought my hammock, a succession -of wild indistinct dreams haunted me throughout the -livelong night.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A pleasant breeze was singing through the rigging -as I mounted the gangway at dawn, and the tide -having already made, I knew no time would be lost -in getting under weigh. Directly the captain made -his appearance, and, after a few whispered words, -the pilot issued his orders. In an instant all was -bustle. The boatswain’s whistle, calling all hands -to their duty, was heard shrieking through the ship, -and then came the quick hurried tread of many feet, -as the men swarmed to their stations. The anchor -was soon hove short; the sails were loosed; the -topsails, top-gallant sails and royals were sheeted -home and hoisted,—the head yards were braced -aback and the after yards filled away; a sheer was -made with the helm; the anchor was tripped; the -gib was hoisted; and as she paid beautifully off, the -foretop sail was filled merrily away, and the spanker -hauled out. Then the yards were trimmed, the -anchor catted, and with a light breeze urging us on, -we stood gallantly down the bay. As we increased -our distance from the town, the wind gradually -freshened. One after another of the green islands -around us faded astern; the heights of Nahant opened -ahead, glanced by and frowned in our wake; and -before the sun had been many hours on his course, -we were rolling our yard arms in a stiff breeze, -leagues to sea. Before sun-down the distant coast -had vanished from sight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>My mess mates had already gathered around the -table in the long narrow room which was appropriated -to the midshipmen, when I dove down the -hatchway after the watch had been set. They were -as jovial a set as I had ever seen, and, although our -acquaintance was but of twenty-four hours standing, -we all felt perfectly at home with each other; and -as the salt beef was pushed from hand to hand, and -the jug passed merrily around, the mutual laugh and -jest bore token of our “right good fellowship.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A pretty craft, my lads,” said a tall fine-looking -fellow, obviously the senior of the group, and -whom I had been introduced to as a Mr. O’Hara; “a -pretty craft and a bold captain we have, or I’m no -judge. I’ve been at sea before, but never in as gallant -a ship as this. Here’s success to <span class='sc'>The Arrow</span>—no -heel-taps.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The toast was drunk with a huzza, and O’Hara -continued the conversation, as if, under the circumstances, -he felt that he was the only proper person to -play the host.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re most of you green-horns, my boys—excuse -the word, but ‘tell the truth,’ you know—and -will not be good for much if this swell continues. -One or two of you are getting pale already, and, if -I’m not mistaken, Cavendish and I are the only two -of the set that have smelt salt water before. Now, -take a word of advice. Cut into the beef like the -deuce, never mind if it does make you worse, cut -away still, and bye and bye, when you get all your -long shore swash out of you, you’ll find that you feel -better than ever. We’re for a long voyage, and -many a hard rub you’ll get before it’s over, but never -flinch from duty or danger—even if Davy Jones -himself stares you in the face. Kick care to the -wall, and be merry while you may. But always -have an eye to what is due to your superiors. The -captain’s a gentleman. God bless him! The first -lieutenant, I’ve a notion, is a sour sinner—never let -him catch you tripping,—but you needn’t mind him -further, for he looks as if he ought to be tarred and -feathered as the Boston boys served the exciseman. -And now, lads, here’s to a prosperous voyage, and -let’s turn in, one and all, for I’ve got the morning -watch, and I’ve a notion this breeze will have settled -down into a regular hurricane, and be blowing great -guns and marlin-spikes before then.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The air of easy good-humor with which O’Hara -spoke, attracted me to him at once. He was evidently -my senior, and had seen some service; but it was -equally as evident that he affected no superiority -which was not his of right. I determined to know -him better.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was still dark when I was aroused from sleep -by the calling of the watch, and, hastily springing up, -I soon stood upon the deck. The first glance around -me proved that O’Hara’s anticipations were fulfilled, -for the tempest was thundering through the rigging -with an almost stunning voice, driving the fine spray -wildly along, and blowing with an intensity that -threatened to sweep one overboard. The men, bent -before the blast, and wrapped in their thick overcoats, -stood like statues half seen through the mist. The -night was bitterly cold—the fine spray cut to the -marrow. As far as the eye could see, on every hand -around us, the sea, flattened until it was nearly as -level as a table, was a mass of driving foam. The -binnacle lamp burned faint and dim, with a sickly -halo, through the fog. Above, however, all was -clear, except a few white fleecy clouds, driven wildly -across the frosty stars that twinkled in the heavens. -As I ran my eye along the tall taper masts, now -bending like rushes in the hurricane, I saw that nearly -all the canvass had been taken in, and that we were -scudding before the tempest with nothing spread but -a close-reefed maintopsail, a reefed fore-course, and -the foretopmast staysail,—and even these, as they -strained in the gale, threatened momently to blow -out into ribbons before the resistless fury of the -wind. Under this comparative press of canvass, -<span class='sc'>The Arrow</span> was skimming along, seeming to outvie -even the spray in velocity. And well was it that -she sped onward with such hot haste!—for, on -looking astern, I saw the billows howling after us, -urging on their white crests in fearful proximity, and -threatening at every surge to roll in over our taffrail. -Wilder and wilder, more and even more fiercely -they raced each other in the pursuit, like a pack -of famished wolves pitching and yelling after their -prey.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Keep her so,” said the first lieutenant, as he left -the deck in charge of his successor, “for you see it -is neck and neck with those yelling monsters astern. -If the sails are blown from the bolt ropes they must -go—but as the canvass is new I think they will -stand.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ship ahoy!” shouted a look-out at this moment, -startling us as though a thunderbolt had fallen at our -feet, “a sail athwart hawse.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where, where?” exclaimed both the officers -incredulously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Close under our fore-foot—a brig, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My God, we shall run her down,” was the exclamation -of the second lieutenant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All eyes were instantly turned in the direction of -the approaching danger, and there, sure enough, -directly athwart our hawse, a small trim-looking brig -was seen lying-to—the wild hurricane of flying -spray, which covered the surface of the deck in places -with an almost impervious fog, having hitherto concealed -her from our sight. It was evident that the -inmates of the brig had but just discovered us, for -her helm was rapidly shifted and a few hurried -orders, whose import we could not make out, were -given on board of her. All, indeed, seemed confusion -on the decks of the unhappy craft. Her crew were -hurrying to and fro; the officer of the vessel was -shouting in his hoarsest tone; two or three forms, as -if those of passengers, rushed up the companion way; -and to crown all, the sheets were let fly, and with -a wild lurch she rolled over, and lay the next moment -wallowing in the sea broadside on. I could almost -have jumped on her decks. All this had passed with -the rapidity of thought. Never shall I forget the -shriek of horror which burst simultaneously from -both vessels at this fearful crisis. Already were we -close on to the brig, driving with the speed of a sea-gull -with the gale, and we knew that before another -moment should elapse, aye! almost before another -breath could be drawn, the collision must lake place. -But the lightning is not quicker than was the officer -of the deck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Port—a-port—ha-a-rd, <span class='it'>hard</span>,” he thundered, -grinding the words between his teeth in his excitement, -and waving his hands to larboard, and the -helmsman, taking his cue more from the gesture than -from the words—for in the uproar of the tempest he -could not hear a dozen yards to windward—whirled -around the wheel, and our gallant craft, obedient to the -impulse like a steed beneath the spur, swept around -to starboard. For a second the ill-fated brig could be -seen dancing under our stem, and then, rolling heavily -around, she seemed as if she would escape, though -narrowly, from her frightful position. A cry of joy -was already rising to my lips; but, at that instant, I -heard a crash, followed by a dull grinding noise, and -simultaneously I beheld the brig come into collision -with us just abaft the cathead, and, while all our -timbers quivered with the shock, she whirled away -astern, rolling and rubbing frightfully, and half buried -in the brine. A shriek rent the air, on the instant, -whose thrilling tones haunted me for days and nights, -and seems even now to ring in my ears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“God of my fathers!” I exclaimed, “every soul -will be lost!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Heave her to,” thundered the officer of the deck. -“For life or death, my lads! Up with the foresail—down -with your helm—brace up the after yards—set -the mizzen stay sail there.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is a libel on sailors to say they never feel. No -men are more ready to aid the unfortunate. On the -present occasion the crew seemed inspired with an -energy equal to that of their officer, and springing to -their duty performed the rapid orders of the lieutenant -in an almost incredible space of time. Happily a -momentary lull aided the manœuvre, and our proud -craft obeying her helm came gallantly to.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Meet her there, quarter-master,” continued the -officer of the deck; “set the main stay-sail—brace -up the fore-yards—merrily, merrily—there she has -it—” and, as these concluding words left his mouth, -the manœuvre was finished, and we rode against the -wind, rising and falling on the swell, and flinging the -spray to our fore-yard arm as we thumped against the -seas.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>My first thought was of the brig. As soon, therefore, -as our craft had been hove-to, I cast a hurried -glance over the starboard bow to search for the -unfortunate vessel. I detected her at once lying a -short distance on our weather bow,—and it was -evident that the injury she had sustained was of the -most serious character, for even through the mist -we fancied we could see that she was settling deeper -in the water. Her officers were endeavoring to heave -her to again; while rising over their orders, and -swelling above all the uproar of the hurricane, we -could hear the despairing wail of her passengers. At -length she lay-to a few fathoms on our starboard -bow, drifting, however, at every surge bodily to -leeward. Confusion still reigned on her decks. We -could see that the crew were at the pumps; but they -appeared to work moodily and with little heart; and -we caught now and then the sound of voices as if of -the officers in expostulation with the men. A group -of female figures also was discernible on the quarter-deck, -and a manly form was visible in the midst, -as if exhorting them to courage. At the sight a thrill -of anguish ran through our breasts. We would have -laid down our lives to save them from what appeared -to be their inevitable doom, and yet what could we -do in the face of such a tempest, and when any attempt -to rescue them would only entail ruin on the adventurers, -without aiding those we would preserve? -As I thought of the impossibility of rendering succor -to those shrinking females, as I dwelt on the lingering -agonies they would have to endure, as I pictured to -myself the brig sinking before our eyes, and we all -powerless to prevent it, a thrill of horror shivered -through every nerve of my system, my blood ran -cold, my brain reeled around, and I could with difficulty -prevent myself from falling, so great was my -emotion. But rallying my spirits, I tried to persuade -myself it was all a dream. I strained my eyes through -the mist to see whether I might not be mistaken—to -discover if possible some hope for the forlorn -beings on board the brig. But, alas! it was in vain. -There were the white dresses blowing about in the -gale as the two females knelt on the deck and clung -to the knees of their protector—there was the crew -mustered at the pumps, while jets of brine were -pouring from the scuppers—and there were the -crushed and splintered bulwarks betokening that the -efforts of the men were dictated by no idle fears. -I groaned again in agony. Had it been my own fate -to perish thus, I could have borne my doom without -a murmur; but to see fellow creatures perishing -before my sight, without my having the power to -succor them, was more than I could endure. I closed -my eyes on the dreadful scene. Nor were my -emotions confined to myself. Not a heart of our vast -crew that did not beat with sympathy for our unhappy -victims. Old and young, officers and men, hardy -veterans and eager volunteers, all alike owned the -impulses of humanity, and stood gazing, silent, spell-bound -and horror-struck, on the ill-fated brig and her -despairing passengers. At this instant a gray-haired -man, whom we knew at once to be her skipper, -sprung into the main-rigging of the wreck, and -placing his hands to his mouth, while his long -silvery locks blew out dishevelled on the gale, -shouted,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We—are—sink-ing!” and, as he ceased, a -shiver ran through our crew.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“God help us,” said the captain, for that officer -had now reached the deck, “we can do nothing for -them. And to see them sink before our eyes! But -yet I will not despair,” and raising his voice, he -shouted, “can’t you hold on until morning, or until -the gale subsides a little?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The skipper of the brig saw by our captain’s gestures, -that he had hailed, but the old man could not -hear the words in the uproar of the gale, and he shook -his head despondingly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We are sinking!” he shouted again; “there is a -foot of water in the hold, and the sea is pouring in -like a cataract. We have been stove.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Never shall I forget that moment, for, to our excited -imaginations, it seemed as if the brig was visibly -going down as the skipper ceased speaking. His -words sounded in our ears like the knell of hope. -A pause of several seconds ensued—a deep, solemn, -awe-inspiring pause—during which every eye was -fixed on the battered vessel. Each man held his -breath, and looked in the direction of the brig, as she -rose and fell on the surges, fearful lest the next -billow would submerge her forever. We all saw -that it was useless to attempt holding any communication -with her, for no human voice, even though -speaking in a voice of thunder, could be heard against -the gale. The two vessels were, moreover, rapidly -increasing the space betwixt them,—and, although -objects on the deck of the brig had been at first -clearly perceptible in the starlight, they had gradually -grown dimmer as she receded from us until now, they -could scarcely be seen. There was no alternative, -therefore, but to abandon her to her fate. The skipper -of the brig seemed to have become sensible of this, -for, after having remained in the main rigging watching -us for several moments longer, he finally descended -to the deck, waving his hand mournfully in -adieu.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meantime the aspect of the heavens had materially -changed. When I first came on deck, the stars, I -have said, were out bright on high, with only a few -scud clouds now and then chasing each other over -the firmament. Even then, however, I had noticed -a small black cloud extending across the western -horizon, and giving an ominous aspect to the whole -of that quarter of the sky. But during the last half -hour my attention had been so engrossed by the -events I have just related that I lost all consciousness -of this circumstance. Now, however, the increasing -darkness recalled it to my mind. I looked up. Already -dark and ragged clouds, precursors of the vast body -of vapors following behind, were dimming the stars -overhead, now wrapping the decks in almost total -darkness, and now flitting by and leaving us once -more in a dim and shadowy light, through which the -men loomed out like gigantic spectres. The wind -had perceptibly decreased, while the sea had risen -in proportion. The spray no longer flew by in showers, -but the white caps of the billows, as they rolled -up in the uncertain light, had a ghastliness that thrilled -the heart with a strange emotion, almost amounting -to superstitious dread. The ship strained and creaked -as she rose heavily on the billows, or sunk wallowing -far down in the abyss; while ever and anon the -sea would strike on her bows like a forge-hammer, -breaking in showers of spray high over the forecastle, -and often sending its foam as far back as the main -hatchway.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The huge mass of vapors meanwhile had attained -the zenith, and was rolling darkly onward towards -the opposite horizon. Directly the wind died nearly -altogether away, while a total darkness shrouded us -in its folds. Even then, however, a few stars could -be seen low in the eastern seaboard, twinkling sharp -and serene, just under the edge of that ominous -cloud, but casting only a faint and dreamy radiance -around them, and in vain attempting to penetrate the -gloom higher up in the sky. The brig was last seen -to the north-west, where the darkness had become -most intense. She was still doubtless in that quarter, -but no trace of her could be discerned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s as black up yonder as the eye of death,” said -the captain, “and I can see nothing there but a dense, -impenetrable shadow—your sight is better, Mr. -Duval,” he continued, addressing the first lieutenant, -“can you make out any thing?” The officer shook -his head. “Well, we will hail, at any rate. I would -not have run afoul of them for my commission!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The hail rung out startlingly on the night, and -every ear listened for the response. No answer -came.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Again!” said the captain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A-ho-o-y!—Hil-lo-o-o-o!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A second of breathless suspense followed, and -then another, when we were about giving up all -hope; but at that instant a faint cry,—it might have -been a wail or it might not, God knows!—came -floating across the waste of waters. It fell on our -listening ears like a lamentation for the dead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Heaven preserve us!” solemnly said the captain, -“I’m afraid all is over with them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Amen!” ejaculated the lieutenant, and for an -instant there was a breathless silence, as if each -was too awe-struck to speak. Suddenly the huge -sails flapped against the mast, bellied out again, and -then whipped backward with a noise like thunder. -The effect was electric. The captain started and -spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The wind is shifting,” he ejaculated, holding up -his hand, after having first wet it slightly; “ha! the -breeze is coming from the north. It will strike by the -mainmast. Let her stretch away at first, but we’ll -heave-to as soon as possible. I wouldn’t for the -world desert this neighborhood: God grant we may -find some vestige of the brig when morning dawns!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The hurried orders of the officer of the deck to -prepare for the coming hurricane had scarcely been -given and executed, before it seemed to us as if we -could see, even amid the blackness of darkness to -the north, the whirling motion of gigantic clouds, -and, almost simultaneously, with a roar as of ten -thousand batteries, this new tempest was upon us. -Its first fury was beyond description—surpassing -imagination—defying belief. It howled, shrieked, -and bellowed through the rigging in such awful and -varied tones, that the oldest hearts were chilled with -fear. It was as if the last convulsive throe of a -world was at hand. It was as if the whole fury of -the elements had been collected for one last effort—as -if tortured nature, made frantic by agony, had -broke loose from her tormentors—as if the mighty -deep itself, in horror-struck penitence, was thundering -its awful “<span class='it'>de profundis</span>” on the eve of final -dissolution. I could scarcely breathe, much less -stand. I could only grasp a rope, fling myself almost -prostrate, and await either the subsidence of the -storm, or the foundering of our ship,—for, during -several minutes, it appeared to me as if every second -was to be our last. Torrents of water, meanwhile, -swept in sheets from the crests of the billows, were -whirling like smoke-wreathes along the decks,—while -the ravening surges, faintly seen like shadows -through the gloom, chased each other in wild and -rapid succession along our sides. All was darkness, -doubt and terror.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But happily the duration of the squall was proportioned -to its intensity, and, in less than five minutes, -the hurricane began to decrease in violence. After -the lapse of a short period more the gale rapidly -subsided, although its power was still considerable. -Before half an hour, however, we were lying-to as -near to our old position as we could attain,—having -suffered no loss except that of our maintopsail, -which was blown from the bolt ropes in the first -moment of the squall, but with a noise which was -lost in the louder uproar of the wind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They have never survived this,” said the captain -in a melancholy tone, when we were once more -snugly hove-to: “how many souls are in eternity -the All-Seeing Eye only knows! Keep her here,” -he added after a pause, turning to descend to his -cabin, and addressing the officer of the deck, “and -with the first streak of light, if the gale shall have -abated, as I suspect it will, cruize up to our old position, -maintaining a sharp look-out in every direction. -But I shall be on deck myself by that time,” and with -the words, taking a last but fruitless look towards -the west, he went below. In half an hour the -crowded decks were deserted by all except the silent -watch; and no sound broke the whistle of the winds, -except the tread of the men, or the cry of “all’s -well” passing from look-out to look-out along the -decks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With the first appearance of morning I was on -deck. The gale had nearly gone down; the clouds -had broken away; and the stars were out again, clear -and bright, in the firmament. Yet the waves still -rolled mountain high around us, now heaving their -snowy crests above us in the sky, and now rolling -their dark bosoms far away under our stern. Morning -slowly dawned. Gradually, one by one, the stars -paled on high, and a faint shadowy streak of light -began to spread along the eastern seaboard. Over -the boundless expanse of waters around us no living -object met the eye, so that, in that dim mysterious -light, the sense of loneliness was overpowering. But -I had no thought then for aught except the ill-fated -brig. I felt an unaccountable interest in her. It -seemed as if some unknown sympathy existed betwixt -me and those on board of her, as if my destiny -in some mysterious manner was connected with -theirs. I could not rest on deck, but ascending to the -cross-trees I took my station there, and gazed out -anxiously over the waste of waters. Our ship had, -by this time, been put about, and we were now, as -near as I could judge, in the vicinity of the spot -where the collision occurred. The moment came -which was either to realize or confirm my fears. A -strange emotion took possession of me. My heart -beat nervously, my breath came heavily, I trembled -in every fibre of my system. I strained my eyes in -every direction around, and, once or twice, as a -billow rolled its white crest upwards, I fancied I -saw a sail,—but, alas! my agitation had deceived -me, and all was a blank watery waste around. For -more than an hour we cruized to and fro, but in -vain. As time passed and hope died away, the officers -and men, one by one, left the rigging, until finally -even the captain gave up the search, and issued a -reluctant order to put the ship away on her course. -At that instant I saw, far down on the seaboard, what -seemed to me a tiny sail; but as we sank in the -trough of the sea the object faded from my sight. -With eager eyes, I watched for it as we rose on the -swell, and—God of my fathers!—it was the long -looked for boat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A sail!” I shouted almost in a phrenzy—“they -are in sight!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where away?” demanded the officer of the -deck, while every eye swept the horizon in eager -curiosity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“On the lee-beam!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you make it out?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A ship’s launch—crowded with human beings!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“God be praised!—it is the brig’s crew,” ejaculated -the captain. “Up with your helm, quarter-master—around -with her all—there she dances,” -and as he spoke the gallant ship wheeled around and -in a few minutes the brig’s launch was rocking under -our bows.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The discipline of a man-of-war could scarcely -suppress the loudest demonstrations of emotion on -the part of the crew, when the freight of that tempest-tost -launch reached our decks. The sailors of the -brig were instantly seized by our tars, and borne -forward in triumph,—while our superior grasped the -hand of the rescued skipper with visible emotion. -But when the two females, with their protector, -an elderly, gentlemanly looking man, were safely -landed on the quarter-deck, every eye was at once -attracted to the interesting group. Both the females -were young and beautiful, but one was surpassingly -lovely. As I gazed on her, it seemed as if some long -forgotten dream had come back to me; but in vain -were my attempts to give it reality. At this instant -their protector spoke in reply to a question from the -captain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is indeed a miracle that we are saved. The -brig went down in that fearful squall, and though -we had taken to the launch, as a last hope, we did not -believe we should live a minute in such a hurricane. -But an Omnipotent Power preserved us for some -wise ends. All night long we were tossed at the -mercy of the waves. We saw you long before you -saw us, and thought that you had given up the search, -when suddenly your head was brought around in -our direction—and here we stand on your decks. -To whom are we indebted for our discovery? We -owe him our eternal gratitude.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All eyes were instantly turned towards me, and -the captain taking me by the hand, said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Cavendish has that enviable honor,” at the -same time presenting me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cavendish!” exclaimed a silvery female voice in -delighted surprise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the mention of that name I looked up with eager -curiosity, and saw the eyes of the lovely speaker -fixed upon me, as if in recognition. She crimsoned -to the brow at my eager glance, and as she did so, -the crowd of dim recollections in my mind assumed -a definite shape, and I recognized in that sweet -smile, in that delicately tinted cheek, in those now -tearful eyes, in that lustrous brow, the features of -my old playmate <span class='sc'>Annette</span>!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cavendish—what, little Henry Cavendish?” exclaimed -the gentleman, eagerly seizing my hand, -“yes! it is even so, although the years that have -passed since you used to visit Pomfret Hall have -almost eradicated your features from my memory. -God bless you, my gallant young friend! We owe -you our lives—our all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The scene that ensued I will not attempt to describe. -Suffice it to say I retired that night with a -whirl of strange emotions at my heart. Was it -<span class='sc'>Love</span>?</p> - -<hr class='tbk122'/> - -<div><h1><a id='song'></a>A SONG.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY J. R. LOWELL.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  <span class='sc'>Violet!</span> sweet violet!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thine eyes are full of tears;</p> -<p class='line0'>        Are they wet</p> -<p class='line0'>        Even yet</p> -<p class='line0'>With the thought of other years,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or with gladness are they full,</p> -<p class='line0'>For the night so beautiful,</p> -<p class='line0'>And longing for those far-off spheres?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Loved one of my youth thou wast,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of my merry youth,</p> -<p class='line0'>        And I see,</p> -<p class='line0'>        Tearfully,</p> -<p class='line0'>All the fair and sunny past,</p> -<p class='line0'>All its openness and truth,</p> -<p class='line0'>Ever fresh and green in thee</p> -<p class='line0'>As the moss is in the sea.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Thy little heart, that hath with love</p> -<p class='line0'>  Grown colored like the sky above,</p> -<p class='line0'>  On which thou lookest ever,</p> -<p class='line0'>        Can it know</p> -<p class='line0'>        All the woe</p> -<p class='line0'>Of hope for what returneth never,</p> -<p class='line0'>All the sorrow and the longing</p> -<p class='line0'>To these hearts of ours belonging?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Out on it! no foolish pining</p> -<p class='line0'>        For the sky</p> -<p class='line0'>        Dims thine eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or for the stars so calmly shining;</p> -<p class='line0'>Like thee let this soul of mine</p> -<p class='line0'>Take hue from that wherefor I long,</p> -<p class='line0'>Self-stayed and high, serene and strong,</p> -<p class='line0'>Not satisfied with hoping—but divine.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Violet! dear violet!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thy blue eyes are only wet</p> -<p class='line0'>With joy and love of him who sent thee,</p> -<p class='line0'>And for the fulfilling sense</p> -<p class='line0'>Of that glad obedience</p> -<p class='line0'>Which made thee all which Nature meant thee!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk123'/> - -<div><h1><a id='coz'></a>COUSIN AGATHA.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'>“O what a goodly outside falsehood hath.”—<span class='sc'>Shakspeare.</span></p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>I have</span> been thinking, Henry, that I should like to -invite cousin Agatha to spend the winter with us: -what do you say to my plan?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Really, Alice, I can say nothing about it, since -I know nothing of the lady.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I had forgotten that you had never seen her; -she is only distantly related to us, but being left an -orphan at an early age, she became an inmate of our -family and continued to reside with us until she married. -Agatha is several years my senior, and entered -society while I was yet in the school-room; she -married rather in opposition to the wishes of my -parents, as they approved neither of the profession -nor the character of her husband, who was an officer -in the army, and known to be a man of dissolute -habits. Poor thing! she has fully paid the penalty of -her folly during seven years of poverty and discomfort. -Her husband has been sent from one frontier -station to another, until the health of both was destroyed, -and at the time of his death they were both -at Sackett’s Harbor.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then she is a widow?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, her vile husband died about a year since, and -cousin Agatha is released from bondage, but reduced -to actual penury. I received a letter from her yesterday, -the first she has written since my marriage, and -she alludes most touchingly to her desolate condition -as contrasted with my happiness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And that letter, I suppose, induced you to think -of inviting her to spend the winter with us?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It did, Harry; for I felt as if it was almost selfish -in me to be so happy when my early friend was -pining in loneliness and poverty.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I love the kindliness of feeling which prompts -you to such acts, dear Alice, but, to confess the truth, -I would rather relieve your cousin’s distresses in any -other way.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But there is no other way of doing so, Henry—she -would not accept pecuniary aid from us: why do -you object to her visit?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because we are so happy that I dread any interruption -to the calm current of our life.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank you, dear Harry, I cannot find it in my -heart to scold you for your selfishness,” said the -young wife, as she laid her hand on her husband’s -arm; “but really,” she continued, “Cousin Agatha -would be the last person in the world to disturb our -tranquillity. She is full of gentleness and sentiment; -a creature of warm and affectionate impulses, and -she would delight in adding to our enjoyments. You -know my health will confine me to the house this winter, -and you may find the long evenings hang heavy -upon your hands.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not in your society, Alice.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am glad you think so, Harry; but when I am -languid and dispirited from indisposition, you would -find cousin Agatha a charming companion; besides, -she would relieve me from some of the cares of -house-keeping.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, my dear, you offer so many good reasons -in favor of her coming, that I can find no argument -against it, but I have a sort of a presentiment that -she will not be agreeable.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Harry, how can you think so? if you could -see her you would change your opinions very soon, -for her picturesque appearance would charm your -artistical taste.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is she very beautiful?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, but she is just the person to please a painter, -for there is so beautiful a combination of light and -shade in her face. She has those grey eyes which, -when fringed with long, dark lashes, are so full of -varied expression, and her hair, black as the raven’s -wing, falls in heavy natural ringlets that put to shame -the skill of a <span class='it'>coiffeur</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May she not be altered since you saw her, Alice?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“True, I had forgotten that more than five years -have passed since we last met; but, even if her person -has changed, her heart, I am sure, has not, and -when you know her you will thank me for my pertinacity -in thus wringing your reluctant consent to her -visit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you think it will add to your enjoyments, Alice, -invite her by all means.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alice Wentworth had been a wife scarcely two -years, and her married life had been a scene of uninterrupted -happiness. Nothing would have induced -her to risk the disturbance of her tranquillity, but remembering -the companion of her early years as one -who had been the confidant of all her childish joys -and sorrows, she looked upon her presence as the -completion of her plans of enjoyment. Her husband’s -scruples she naturally attributed to unfounded -prejudice which an acquaintance with her cousin -could not fail to overcome, and, therefore, following -the dictates of kindly feeling, she determined to cheer -the bereaved widow by an affectionate letter of invitation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Some three weeks after she had despatched her -missive, at an early hour, on a cold autumnal morning, -a carriage drove up to the door, and a loud ring -announced the expected guest. Alice had not yet -finished her morning toilet, and Mr. Wentworth -hastened down to receive the lady; but scarcely had -he got through the awkwardness of a self-introduction -when his wife entered, full of impatience to -embrace her early friend. During the mutual raptures -of their meeting, he had leisure to scrutinize -the new inmate of his family, and certainly his impressions -were any thing but favorable. Cousin -Agatha had taken a violent cold, her countenance -was disfigured by a swollen cheek, and her eyes were -bleared and inflamed by a severe attack of influenza, -while the effect of steamboat slumbers and a steamboat -toilet did not tend to the improvement of her -appearance. Indeed Harry Wentworth could scarcely -refrain from laughter when he contrasted his wife’s -enthusiastic description with the reality before him. -But Alice, with ready hospitality, conducted her cousin -to her apartment, and to that room the wearied -traveller, overcome with illness and fatigue, was -confined during the several succeeding days.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When will your friend be presentable, Alice?” -asked Mr. Wentworth one evening as he threw -himself upon a sofa, after tea, “since she has been -here you have not sat with me a half hour, for -your whole time seems devoted to nursing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I hope she will be well enough to meet you at -dinner to-morrow, Harry; the swelling has left her -face and she begins to look like herself. What -amuses you so much?” she asked, as her husband -burst into a loud laugh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was thinking of the force of contrast, Alice; you -are an excellent painter, dear, but you draw your tints -too exclusively from fancy; who could have recognized -your <span class='it'>picturesque beauty</span> with soft <span class='it'>grey eyes</span> and -<span class='it'>raven curls</span> in the dowdyish looking woman with red -nose and redder eyes whom I welcomed as cousin -Agatha?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For shame, Harry, you ought not to judge of her -by her appearance at that time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps not; but first impressions are the most durable, -and I shall never see any beauty in your cousin, -for even if she should hereafter appear to advantage -when dressed for display, I shall never forget how -she looked in her travelling dishabille; one thing -you may be sure of, Alley, you will never have cause -to be jealous of your <span class='it'>picturesque</span> cousin.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t mean to be jealous of any one, Harry, -but I shall be much mistaken if you do not learn to -admire cousin Agatha.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then you may prepare yourself for a disappointment, -Alice; I do not think I should feel perfectly -satisfied with any one who had thus broken in -upon our tranquil happiness, and even if I were disposed -to like your cousin elsewhere she would not -please me in our quiet home. Besides, I was disappointed -in my idea of her personal beauty, and her -manners appeared to me abrupt and inelegant.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Harry, you never were more mistaken in your -life.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, well—it will be difficult to convince me -of my error.” A slight rustle at the door was heard -as Mr. Wentworth finished his ungallant speech, and -the next moment cousin Agatha entered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I thought I would endeavor to make my way to -the drawing-room instead of depriving you any longer -of the society of your husband, dear Alice,” said -she as she languidly sank into the softly-cushioned -chair which Mr. Wentworth drew forward for her -accommodation. Of course the usual congratulations -followed, and as the invalid dropped the heavy shawl -from her shoulders, Alice glanced towards her husband -in the hope that he would not fail to observe -the symmetry of her petite figure. He was too great -an admirer of beauty to fail in such notice, yet still -he could see little to claim admiration in her face. -Her complexion was not clear; her mouth, though -well formed and adorned with superb teeth, was -large, and her eyes were dim from recent illness, -while her curls were hidden beneath one of those -fairy fabrics of gossamer and ribbon which often display -the taste of the wearer at the expense of a -crowning beauty. But, ere the evening had expired, -Mr. Wentworth was forced to acknowledge that he -had formed too hasty an opinion of her manners, for, -whatever <span class='it'>brusquerie</span> he might have observed on the -morning of her arrival, he was certainly struck now -by the easy elegance and graceful dignity of her -deportment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From this time cousin Agatha laid aside the character -of an invalid, and, quietly taking her place at -the table and fireside, seemed to have no other wish -than to make herself useful. Devoted in her attentions -to Alice, she took little notice of Mr. Wentworth -except to receive his courteous civility with -profound gratitude. He was nothing more to her -than the husband of her friend, and while she exhibited -the deepest interest in the development of Alice’s -mind and feelings, she seemed scarcely to observe -the fine taste, the elegant scholarship, and the nobleness -of sentiment which characterized Mr. Wentworth. -Alice suffered no small degree of mortification -from this evident coldness between those whom she -was so anxious to behold friends. She could not bear -to find Agatha so totally blind to the perfections of her -beloved Henry, and she was almost as much annoyed -at her husband’s indifference to the graces of -her cousin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are pained because I do not sufficiently admire -your husband, Alice,” said Agatha, one day, -when they were alone, “but surely you would not -have me estimate him as highly as you do?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I would not have you love him quite as well, but -I would have you appreciate his exalted qualities.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear coz,” said Agatha, with a slightly sarcastic -smile, “do not, I pray you, make it one of the -conditions of our friendship that I should see through -your eyes. Mr. Wentworth is a fine scholar, a tolerable -amateur painter, and a most ardent lover of his -pretty wife; is that not sufficient praise?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alice felt uncomfortable, though she could scarcely -tell why, at this and similar remarks from cousin -Agatha. She had been accustomed to consider her -husband a being of superior worth and endowments, -but there was something in her cousin’s manner of -uttering commendation of him, which seemed to imply -contempt even while it expressed praise. In the -innocence of her heart, Alice several times repeated -cousin Agatha’s sayings to her husband, and they -were not without their effect upon him. The self-love -which exists, more or less, in every heart, was -by no means a negative quantity in the character of -Mr. Wentworth. He knew his wife overrated his -talents, but he loved her the better for her affectionate -flattery, and cousin Agatha’s apparent ignorance of -his character mortified and vexed him. He began to -think that his prejudices had prevented him from -showing himself in a proper light, and his wounded -vanity led him to redouble his attentions to his guest. -Heretofore he had never thought of her except when -in her company; but now, the certainty that she was -as yet blind to his merits, made her an object of interest. -He was not a very vain man, but his wife’s -idolatry had gratified even while he was fully aware -of its extravagance, and he was proportionably annoyed -by the perfect coldness with which cousin -Agatha regarded him. She seemed to think him a -very good sort of a man, but not at all superior to the -common herd, and he was determined to convince -her of her mistake. Agatha had succeeded in her -first design:—she had aroused him from the torpor -of indifference.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Cousin Agatha was a most invaluable assistant to -a young housekeeper, for she had a quick hand, a -ready invention, and exquisite taste, so that whether -a pudding was to be concocted, a dress trimmed, or -a party given, she was equally useful. Alice had -learned the duties of housekeeping theoretically and -was now only beginning to put them in practice, as -every young wife must do, for whatever she may -know in the home of her childhood, she still finds -much to be learned in organizing and arranging -a new household. Cousin Agatha, on the contrary, -had been trained from her childhood to <span class='it'>do</span> all these -things, for the dependent orphan had early learned to -earn her bread by her own usefulness. In the course -of her married life she had been compelled to practice -the thousand expedients which pride and poverty -teach to a quick-witted woman, and it is not surprising, -therefore, that her skill should far surpass that of -the gentle and self-distrusting Alice. Doubting her -own knowledge only because Agatha was near to advise, -the young wife applied to her on all occasions, -until at length the regulation of domestic affairs was -entirely in her hands, and Alice was left only to assist -in the execution of Agatha’s plans. Cousin Agatha -was always busied in some pretty feminine employment. -She had very beautiful hands, and her long -taper fingers were always engaged in some delicate -needle-work or an elegant piece of tapestry. Did it -ever occur to you, my fair reader, that a pretty hand -never appears to such advantage as when busied with -the needle? The piano extends the fingers until the -hand sometimes resembles a bird’s claw;—the pencil -or the pen contracts it until half its beauty is concealed; -but needle-work, with the various turnings -and windings necessary to its accomplishment, displays -both hands in perfectly natural positions and in -every variety of grace. This fact was not unknown -to cousin Agatha; she had no accomplishments, but -she was rarely seen without the tiniest of gold thimbles -upon her slender finger.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Slowly and by scarcely perceptible degrees, Agatha -seemed to learn the full value of the prize which her -friend had drawn in the lottery of life. His fine -talents seemed to dawn upon her with daily increasing -vividness, his amateur sketches became more -and more characterized by genius, his musical taste -developed itself surprisingly, and, ere many weeks -had elapsed, Alice had the satisfaction of repeating -to her husband many a heart-warm compliment -breathed into the ear of the happy wife by cousin -Agatha in her hours of confidential communing -with her friend. Nor was Mr. Wentworth slower -in discovering the latent charms of his guest. Restored -to her former health, and associating as the -guest of Mrs. Wentworth, in a pleasant circle of society, -cousin Agatha threw aside the weeds of widowhood, -and appeared in all the attractive coquetry of -tasteful and becoming dress. Her luxuriant tresses -were once more allowed to shadow her low feminine -brow, and fall upon her graceful neck, or, if bound -up in conformity with fashion, the very restraint was -studiously arranged in such a manner as to display -their rich redundancy. Her grey eyes sometimes -seemed actually flashing with light, and again were -filled with the soft liquid lustre of intense sensibility; -and then her smile, displaying her brilliant -teeth and lighting up her whole face, had the effect -of a sudden sunbeam upon a darkened landscape. -The charm of Agatha’s face was its vivid and varied -expression; the grace of her person was the effect -of long and carefully studied art. Not a look, not a -gesture, not even a movement of her fringed eyelids, -but was the result of frequent practice. There was -a perfection of grace in her attitudes that seemed like -Nature’s self. Her head always assumed a pretty -position, her curls always seemed to drop in their -proper place, her drapery always fell in becoming -folds, and no one observed that she was particular in -avoiding cross lights, especially careful not to face a -broad glare of sunshine, and remarkably fond of -placing herself at the arm of a sofa, so as to obtain -a fine back ground for the exhibition of her attitudes. -Harry Wentworth wondered how he could ever have -thought her ugly. And then her manners:—what -could be more gentle, more feminine, more fascinating -than the tenderness of her tones and the sweetness -of her deportment? She seemed to look upon -gentlemen as if she felt all a woman’s helplessness, -and was willing to consider man as a “<span class='it'>chevalier sans -peur et sans reproche</span>,” born to be her natural protector. -There was something so pleading in the soft -eyes which she lifted to the face of the sterner sex, -that few could resist their charm, and actually Harry -Wentworth was not one of those few.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Long before the time fixed for the termination of -Agatha’s visit, Alice had urged her to prolong her -stay, and, when Mr. Wentworth added his earnest -entreaties, she was induced to promise that she would -set no other limit to its duration than such as circumstances -might create. But as week after week fleeted -by, Alice began to doubt whether she had acted -wisely in making this request. She was ashamed to -acknowledge even to herself the feeling, but, somehow -or other, she was not quite as happy as she had -been before cousin Agatha’s coming. She attributed -it to the nervous irritability from which she was -now suffering, and endeavored to think that when -she should once more recover her health, she would -find her former enjoyment in Agatha’s society. But -Agatha sometimes made such singular remarks;—they -were uttered with the utmost simplicity and -<span class='it'>naïveté</span>, her smile was full of sweetness, her tones -like the summer breeze when she spoke, and yet the -import of her words was excessively cutting and sarcastic. -There was often an implied censure in her -manner of replying to Alice—not in the words themselves, -but rather in their application, which the -young wife, sick and dispirited, felt perhaps too -keenly. Alice was uncomfortable and yet she scarcely -could tell why. A shadow was resting upon her path, -and she felt, although she saw it not, that there was -a cloud in her sunny sky. The idea that she was -no longer absolutely essential to her husband’s comfort -sometimes crossed her mind. During the many -hours which she was obliged to spend in her own -apartment, she found that Henry was fully occupied -with his game of chess, or his favorite book in company -with cousin Agatha, and though it seemed only -a realization of her own wishes, yet she was not -prepared to find herself so entirely thrown into the -back-ground of the family picture.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length Alice became a mother, and in the new -emotions awakened in her bosom, she forgot her -vague feelings of discomfort. Mr. Wentworth was -too proud and happy to think of anything but his -boy, and when Alice beheld him bending over their -cradled treasure with a feeling almost of awe as well -as love, she wondered how she could ever have felt -unhappy for a moment. Cousin Agatha seemed to -share in all their joy, and in the presence of the -father she fondled and caressed the child as gracefully -as possible.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you not think, Alice,” said she one day, as -she sat with the babe lying on her lap, while Wentworth -bent fondly over it, “do you not think your -sweet little Harry resembles poor Charles Wilson?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, indeed I do not,” exclaimed Alice, quickly, -while the blood mounted to her pallid cheek and -brow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I certainly see a strong likeness; there is -the same peculiar dimple in the chin, which neither -you nor Mr. Wentworth have, and even the color -of his eyes reminds me of Charles,” said cousin -Agatha.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“His eyes are like his father’s,” said Alice, “and -nothing is more common than to see in the face of a -child a dimple which entirely disappears in later life.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, Alice, dear, I did not mean to awaken any -painful reminiscence by my remark; I did not know -you were so sensitive on the subject.” These words -were uttered in the blandest tones, and the sweet -smile which accompanied them was as beautiful as a -sunbeam on a troubled sea; but Alice felt both pained -and vexed. Agatha had recurred to the only unpleasant -recollections of her whole life, and she could -not determine whether it had been done by design, -or was merely the result of thoughtlessness. The -remark had not been without its effect upon Mr. -Wentworth. He saw with surprise the evident vexation -of his wife at the mention of Charles Wilson’s -name, and while he feared to ask an explanation from -her in her present feeble state of health, he determined -to satisfy his curiosity by appealing to cousin -Agatha.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did you never hear of Charles Wilson?” exclaimed -Agatha, in great apparent surprise, when, a -few hours afterwards, he asked the question.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never until I heard you mention him,” was the -reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then I ought not to tell you anything about -him, because I cannot betray the confidence of a -friend.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But as a friend I entreat you to tell me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is impossible, Mr. Wentworth:—what Alice -has thought best to conceal I certainly will not disclose: -strange that she should not have told you; there -certainly ought to be the most perfect confidence between -husband and wife.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Agatha, you have excited such a painful interest -in the secret, whatever it is, that I must know it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will not betray me to Alice if I tell you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Certainly not, if secrecy be the only condition on -which I can learn the truth.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And you promise not to think harshly of poor -Alice?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It would be strange if I should think other than -well of one whose purity of heart is so well known -to me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, then,” replied the insidious woman, with a -slight, a very slight sneer on her lip, “since you have -such undoubting faith in your wife there can be no -harm in telling you. But really we are making a great -affair of a very trifling occurrence. Charles Wilson -was a clerk to Alice’s father, and while she was yet -at school, he made love to her in the hope of enticing -her into a clandestine marriage. Alice was only -about fifteen, and like all girls of her age was delighted -with a first lover. He lived in the house with, -us, and of course enjoyed many opportunities of -meeting her, so that before we knew anything about -it, an elopement was actually planned. I happened -to discover it, and as my duty required, I made it -known to her parents. The consequence was that -Wilson was dismissed and Alice sent to boarding-school; -I dare say she has thanked me for it since, -though then she could not forgive me. You look -pained, Mr. Wentworth. I hope my foolish frankness -has not made you unhappy. I really thought it -such a childish affair that I felt no hesitation in alluding -to it to-day, supposing that Alice had lost all sensitiveness -about it, and I was never more surprised -than by her evident agitation. However, I confess I -was wrong; I ought to have known that an early -disappointment is not easily forgotten even in the -midst of happiness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How long since this happened?” asked Mr. -Wentworth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just before I was married—I suppose about -eight years ago; I wonder Alice did not tell you the -whole story, but she is such a timid creature that I -suppose she could not summon courage enough to be -perfectly frank with you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wentworth made no reply, but the poisoned arrow -had reached its mark. His confidence in his wife was -shaken; he had not been the first love of her young -heart,—she had loved and been beloved,—she had -plighted her faith even in her girlhood, and the creature -whom he believed to be as pure in heart as an -infant, had narrowly escaped the degradation of a -clandestine marriage with an inferior. He was -shocked and almost disgusted; he felt heartsick, and -even the sight of his child, connected as it now was -with the similitude of the early lover, was painful to -him. He recalled a thousand trifling circumstances -which would pass by unheeded but for cousin -Agatha’s kind attempts to explain Alice’s meaning, -and all now corroborated his suspicions of his wife’s -perfect sincerity. The more he discussed the matter -with Agatha, the more dissatisfied did he become with -Alice; and in proportion as she fell in his estimation -the frank and noble character of Agatha arose. There -was a high-toned sentiment about her, a sense of -honor and an intensity of feeling which added new -charms to her expressive countenance and graceful -manners. Wentworth was not <span class='it'>in love</span> with Agatha, -but he was a little <span class='it'>out of love</span> with his wife, and the -constant presence of such a fascinating woman, at -such a moment, was certainly somewhat dangerous. -More than once he caught himself regretting that -Alice was not more like her cousin, and long before -Alice was well enough to leave her apartment, he -had become quite reconciled to her absence from the -drawing-room. Alice felt his increasing neglect, but -she dared not allow herself to attribute it to its true -cause. Cousin Agatha was so kind, so attentive to -her, and studied so much the comfort of Mr. Wentworth, -that she almost hated herself for the growing -dislike which she was conscious of feeling towards -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One day, about two months after the birth of her -babe, Alice, who had been suffering from a slow -fever, felt so much better that she determined to surprise -her husband by joining him at dinner. Wrapping -a shawl about her, she slowly proceeded down -stairs, and finding the drawing-room door partly open, -entered so silently as not to disturb the occupants of -the apartment. Mr. Wentworth was lying on a sofa, -while cousin Agatha sat on a low ottoman beside -him, with one hand threading the mazes of his bright -hair, while the other was clasped in his. The face -of Agatha was hidden from her, but the wretched -wife beheld the eyes of her husband upturned towards -it with the most vivid expression of fondness -and passion. Her very soul grew sick as she gazed; -she turned to glide from the room and fell senseless -on the threshold. Weeks had elapsed ere she recovered -her consciousness. The sudden shock which -her weakened nerves had sustained, produced inflammation -of the brain, and for many an anxious day -her husband watched beside her sick bed, dreading -lest every hour should be her last. She lay in a state -of stupor, and her first signs of returning consciousness -was the shiver that ran through her frame when -the voice of cousin Agatha struck upon her ear.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Wentworth was conscience-stricken when, -aroused by the sound of her fall, he had beheld -Alice lying lifeless on the floor. He uttered not a -word of enquiry, but he readily divined the cause of -her condition, and, as he bore her to her apartment, -he almost hated himself for the brief delirium in -which his senses had been plunged. He could not be -said to love Agatha, but her fascinations had not -been without their effect upon his ardent nature. He -did not attempt to analyse his feelings, but yielding -to the spell which enthralled him, abandoned himself -to the enjoyment of her blandishments. Hour after -hour had he spent in listening to the false sentiment -which fell from her lips in the most honied accents,—evening -after evening had he consumed in attending -her to parties of pleasure,—day after day had been -bestowed on the completion of her portrait, while -Alice was left to the solitude of her sick room. But -now, when he beheld her stricken down at his very -feet, the scales seemed to fall from his eyes, and his -infidelity of heart appeared to him in all its true -wickedness. The toils which the insidious Agatha -had woven about him were broken as if by magic, -and his wife, his long-suffering, wronged Alice was -dearer to him than all the world beside. He watched -by her with all the kindness of early affection, and well -did he understand her abhorrent shudder at the presence -of Agatha. His devoted attention and the <span class='it'>adieus</span> -of cousin Agatha, who now found it necessary to terminate -her visit, had no small share in restoring Alice -to convalescence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alice was slowly regaining health and strength; the -faint tint of the wild-rose was once more visible on -her thin cheek, and her feeble step had again borne -her to the room so fraught with painful remembrances. -But far different were the feelings with which she -now revisited that neglected apartment. Cousin -Agatha was gone,—she was once more alone with -her husband, and with true womanly affection she -willingly forgot his past errors in his present tenderness. -But there were some things yet to be explained -before perfect confidence could exist between them. -The serpent had been driven from their Paradise, but -its trail had been left on many a flower;—the shadow -of distrust still lay dark upon the pleasant paths -of domestic peace, and yet both shrunk from uttering -the mystic word which might chase its gloom forever. -But the moment of explanation came. A letter from -cousin Agatha was placed in the hands of Alice, and -repressing the shudder with which she looked upon -it, she proceeded to peruse it; but scarcely had she -read three lines, when, with an exclamation of surprise, -she handed it to her husband, and telling him -it interested him no less than herself, begged him to -read it aloud. It was as follows:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>My sweet Cousin</span>,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I write to repeat my thanks for the exceeding -kindness and hospitality which I received while an -inmate of your family. I feel especially bound to do -this, because, as I am on the point of embarking for -France, I may be unable for several years to offer -my acknowledgments in person. You are doubtless -surprised, but you will perhaps be still more so when -I tell you that I am going to join <span class='it'>my husband</span>. Our -marriage took place more than a year since, but we -thought it prudent to conceal it both on account of -my then recent widowhood, and because my husband -was not then of age. His guardian was opposed to -his union with your penniless cousin, and he was sent -off on a European tour to avoid me; but we were -secretly married before his departure, and as he has -now attained his majority, he has written to me to -meet him in Paris, where I hope to find that domestic -felicity which I failed to derive from my former unhappy -connection. By the way, my dear Alice, I -fancied, when I was at your house, that there was -some little coldness existing between you and your -husband. I sincerely hope that I was mistaken, and -that it was my love for you which rendered me too -observant of the little differences which frequently -occur in married life. I think Mr. Wentworth was -piqued about your early engagement with Charles -Wilson; you had better explain the matter to him -and he will probably find as little cause for his jealousy -as, I assure you, there was for yours. Don’t -pout, dear Alice, you certainly <span class='it'>were</span> a little jealous -of me, but I only flirted harmlessly with your husband -<span class='it'>pour passer le temps</span>; and perhaps a little out of -revenge. I wanted to try whether a ‘<span class='it'>little dowdyish -red-nosed woman</span>’ could have any attractions for him.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“By Jupiter! she must have been listening at the -door when I was discussing the subject of her ill-looks -just after her arrival,” exclaimed Mr. Wentworth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, and mortified vanity will account for her -well-practised seductions, Harry,” said Alice; “but -let us hear the end of this precious epistle.” Mr. -Wentworth resumed:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“I hope he has fallen into his old habits again and -is as fond and lover-like as I found him on my arrival. -One piece of advice I must give you, my sweet -Alice; do not trust him too much with those who -have greater powers of fascination than his little wife, -for believe me, he possesses a very susceptible nature. -Do not be such a good spouse as to show him -my letter. Remember I write to you with my usual -impudent frankness. Kiss little Harry for me and -remember me most kindly to your amiable husband.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-top:0.5em;'>“Ever your devoted friend and cousin,</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:4em;margin-top:0.5em;'>“<span class='sc'>Agatha</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“P.S. Can I send you any <span class='it'>nicknackery</span> from Paris? -I shall be delighted to be of service to you.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, that is as characteristic a letter as I ever -read,” exclaimed Wentworth as he flung it on the -table; “how adroitly she mingles her poison with her -sweetmeats; and how well she has managed to affix a -sting at the last: I wonder whom she has duped into -a marriage.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Some foolish boy, doubtless, for she speaks of -him as being just of age, while she will never again -see her thirtieth summer,” said Alice; “but what -does she mean Harry about my early engagement -with Charles Wilson? He was a clerk to my -father.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She told me a long story Alice about a proposed -elopement between you and this said Charles Wilson -which had been prevented by her interference.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good Heavens! Harry how she must have misrepresented -the affair. Wilson was in papa’s employ -and probably fancied it would be a good speculation -if he could marry his employer’s daughter. He became -exceedingly troublesome to me by his civilities, -and finally made love to me in plain terms, when I -communicated the whole affair to cousin Agatha, and -begged her to tell papa of it, because I was such a -child that I was ashamed to tell him myself. She did -so, and Wilson was dismissed; but I was then only a -school girl.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You seemed so agitated when she recurred to the -subject that I readily believed her story.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was vexed, Harry, because she insinuated that -there was a likeness between our dear boy and that -vulgar fellow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How I have been deceived by a fiend in the form -of an angel,” exclaimed Wentworth; “we should -have been saved much suffering if she had never -entered our doors.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Indeed we should, Harry, and I shall never cease -to reproach myself for my folly in introducing such a -serpent into our Elysium.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your motives were kind and good, Alice; and -though it has been to you a severe lesson in the deceitfulness -of the world, and to me a still more painful -one in the deceitfulness of my own heart, yet, I -trust, that to both of us it may not be without its -salutary influences.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk124'/> - -<div><h1><a id='hele'></a>TO HELEN IN HEAVEN.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>I think</span> of thee by night, love,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In visions of the skies,</p> -<p class='line0'>When glories meet the sight, love,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That dazzle mortal eyes—</p> -<p class='line0'>I think a waving cloud, love,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A golden cloud I see,</p> -<p class='line0'>A half transparent shroud, love,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That moveth like to thee!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I hear a voice of singing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A sound of rushing wings,</p> -<p class='line0'>A joyous anthem ringing</p> -<p class='line0'>  As if from silver strings,</p> -<p class='line0'>A chorus loudly swelling,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A low sweet voice alone—</p> -<p class='line0'>And I know thou hast thy dwelling</p> -<p class='line0'>  Beneath the eternal throne.</p> -<p class='line0'>                    <span style='font-size:smaller'>A. A. J.</span></p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk125'/> - -<div><h1><a id='app'></a>AN APPENDIX OF AUTOGRAPHS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY EDGAR A. POE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>In</span> our November and December numbers we gave -<span class='it'>fac-simile</span> signatures of no less than <span class='it'>one hundred and -nine</span> of the most distinguished American <span class='it'>literati</span>. -Our design was to furnish the readers of the Magazine -with a <span class='it'>complete</span> series of Autographs, embracing -a specimen of the MS. of <span class='it'>each of the most noted among -our living male and female writers</span>. For obvious -reasons, we made no attempt at classification or arrangement—either -in reference to reputation or our -own private opinion of merit. Our second article -will be found to contain as many of the <span class='it'>Dii majorum -gentium</span> as our first; and this, our third and last, as -many as either—although fewer names, upon the -whole, than the preceding papers. The impossibility -of procuring the signatures now given, at a -period sufficiently early for the immense edition of -December, has obliged us to introduce this Appendix.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is with great pleasure that we have found our -anticipations fulfilled, in respect to the <span class='it'>popularity</span> -of these chapters—our individual claim to merit is -so trivial that we may be permitted to say so much—but -we confess it was with no less surprise than -pleasure that we observed so little discrepancy of -opinion manifested in relation to the hasty critical, or -rather gossiping observations which accompanied the -signatures. Where the subject was so wide and so -necessarily <span class='it'>personal</span>—where the claims of more -than one hundred <span class='it'>literati</span>, summarily disposed of, -were turned over for re-adjudication to a press so -intricately bound up in their interest as is ours—it is -really surprising how little of dissent was mingled -with so much of general comment. The fact, however, -speaks loudly to one point:—to the <span class='it'>unity of -truth</span>. It assures us that the differences which exist -among us, are differences not of real, but of affected -opinion, and that the voice of him who maintains -fearlessly what he believes honestly, is pretty sure to -find an echo (if the speaker be not mad) in the vast -heart of the world at large.</p> - -<hr class='tbk126'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i109.jpg' alt='Signature of Chas. Sprague' id='iid-0004' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The “Writings of <span class='sc'>Charles Sprague</span>” were first -collected and published about nine months ago, by -Mr. Charles S. Francis, of New-York. At the time -of the issue of the book, we expressed our opinion -frankly, in respect to the general merits of the author—an -opinion with which one or two members of the -Boston press did not see fit to agree—but which, as -yet, we have found no reason for modifying. What -we say now is, in spirit, merely a repetition of what -we said then. Mr. Sprague is an accomplished -<span class='it'>belles-lettres</span> scholar, so far as the usual ideas of -scholarship extend. He is a very correct rhetorician -of the old school. His versification has not been -equalled by that of any American—has been surpassed -by no one, living or dead. In this regard there -are to be found finer passages in his poems than any -elsewhere. These are his chief merits. In the <span class='it'>essentials</span> -of poetry he is excelled by twenty of our countrymen -whom we could name. Except in a very few -instances he gives no evidence of the loftier ideality. -His “Winged Worshippers” and “Lines on the -Death of M. S. C.” are <span class='it'>beautiful</span> poems—but he has -written nothing else which should be called so. His -“Shakspeare Ode,” upon which his high reputation -mainly depended, is quite a <span class='it'>second-hand</span> affair—with -no merit whatever beyond that of a polished and -vigorous versification. Its imitation of “Collins’ -Ode to the Passions” is obvious. Its allegorical -conduct is mawkish, <span class='it'>passé</span>, and absurd. The poem, -upon the whole, is just such a one as would have -obtained its author an Etonian prize some forty or -fifty years ago. It is an exquisite specimen of mannerism -without meaning and without merit—of an -artificial, but most inartistical style of composition, -of which conventionality is the soul,—taste, nature -and reason the antipodes. A man may be a clever -financier without being a genius.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It requires but little effort to see in Mr. Sprague’s -MS. all the idiosyncrasy of his intellect. Here are -distinctness, precision, and vigor—but vigor employed -upon <span class='it'>grace</span> rather than upon its legitimate -functions. The signature fully indicates the general -hand—in which the spirit of elegant imitation and -conservatism may be seen reflected as in a mirror.</p> - -<hr class='tbk127'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i111a.jpg' alt='Signature of Cornelius Mathews' id='iid-0005' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. <span class='sc'>Cornelius Mathews</span> is one of the editors -of “Arcturus,” a monthly journal which has attained -much reputation during the brief period of its existence. -He is the author of “Puffer Hopkins,” a clever -satirical tale somewhat given to excess in caricature, -and also of the well-written retrospective criticisms -which appear in his Magazine. He is better known, -however, by “The Motley Book,” published some -years ago—a work which we had no opportunity of -reading. He is a gentleman of taste and judgment, unquestionably.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His MS. is much to our liking—bold, distinct and -picturesque—such a hand as no one destitute of talent -indites. The signature conveys the hand.</p> - -<hr class='tbk128'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i111b.jpg' alt='Signature of Charles Hoffman' id='iid-0006' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. <span class='sc'>Charles Fenno Hoffman</span> is the author of -“A Winter in the West,” “Greyslaer,” and other -productions of merit. At one time he edited, with -much ability, the “American Monthly Magazine” in -conjunction with Mr. Benjamin, and, subsequently, -with Dr. Bird. He is a gentleman of talent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His chirography is not unlike that of Mr. Matthews. -It has the same boldness, strength, and picturesqueness, -but is more diffuse, more ornamented and less -legible. Our <span class='it'>fac-simile</span> is from a somewhat hurried -signature, which fails in giving a correct idea of the -general hand.</p> - -<hr class='tbk129'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i112.jpg' alt='Signature of Horace Greely' id='iid-0007' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. <span class='sc'>Horace Greely</span>, present editor of “The Tribune,” -and formerly of the “New-Yorker,” has for -many years been remarked as one of the most able -and honest of American editors. He has written -much and invariably well. His political knowledge -is equal to that of any of his contemporaries—his -general information extensive. As a <span class='it'>belles-lettres</span> -critic he is entitled to high respect.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His MS. is a remarkable one—having about it a -peculiarity which we know not how better to designate -than as a <span class='it'>converse</span> of the picturesque. His -characters are scratchy and irregular, ending with -an <span class='it'>abrupt taper</span>—if we may be allowed this contradiction -in terms, where we have the <span class='it'>fac-simile</span> to -prove that there is no contradiction in fact. All -abrupt MSS., save this, have square or <span class='it'>concise</span> terminations -of the letters. The whole chirography -puts us in mind of a <span class='it'>jig</span>. We can fancy the writer -jerking up his hand from the paper at the end of each -word, and, indeed, of each letter. What mental -idiosyncrasy lies <span class='it'>perdu</span> beneath all this, is more than -we can say, but we will venture to assert that Mr. -Greely (whom we do not know personally) is, <span class='it'>personally</span>, -a very remarkable man.</p> - -<hr class='tbk130'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i113a.jpg' alt='Signature of Prosper M. Wetmore' id='iid-0008' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The name of Mr. <span class='sc'>Prosper M. Wetmore</span> is familiar -to all readers of American light literature. He has -written a great deal, at various periods, both in prose -and poetry, (but principally in the latter) for our -Papers, Magazines and Annuals. Of late days -we have seen but little, comparatively speaking, from -his pen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His MS. is not unlike that of Fitz-Greene Halleck, -but is by no means so good. Its clerky flourishes -indicate a love of the beautiful with an undue straining -for effect—qualities which are distinctly traceable -in his poetic efforts. As many as five or six -words are occasionally run together; and no man -who writes thus will be noted for <span class='it'>finish</span> of style. -Mr. Wetmore is sometimes very slovenly in his best -compositions.</p> - -<hr class='tbk131'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i113b.jpg' alt='Signature of Henry W.' id='iid-0009' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Professor Ware</span>, of Harvard, has written some -very excellent poetry, but is chiefly known by his -“Life of the Saviour,” “Hints on Extemporaneous -Preaching,” and other religious works.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His MS. is fully shown in the signature. It evinces -the direct, unpretending strength and simplicity which -characterize the man, not less than his general compositions.</p> - -<hr class='tbk132'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i114a.jpg' alt='Signature of William B. O. Peabody' id='iid-0010' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The name of <span class='sc'>William B. O. Peabody</span>, like that -of Mr. Wetmore, is known chiefly to the readers of -our light literature, and much more familiarly to -Northern than to Southern readers. He is a resident -of Springfield, Mass. His occasional poems have -been much admired.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His chirography is what would be called beautiful -by the ladies universally, and, perhaps, by a large -majority of the bolder sex. Individually, we think it -a miserable one—too careful, undecided, tapering, -and effeminate. It is not unlike Mr. Paulding’s, but -is more regular and more legible, with less force. -We hold it as undeniable that no man of <span class='it'>genius</span> ever -wrote such a hand.</p> - -<hr class='tbk133'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i114b.jpg' alt='Signature of Epes Sargent' id='iid-0011' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Epes Sargent</span>, Esq., has acquired high reputation -as the author of “Velasco,” a tragedy full of beauty -as a poem, but not adapted—perhaps not intended—for -representation. He has written, besides, many -very excellent poems—“The Missing Ship,” for -example, published in the “Knickerbocker”—the -“Night Storm at Sea”—and, especially, a fine production -entitled “Shells and Sea-Weeds.” One or -two Theatrical Addresses from his pen are very -creditable <span class='it'>in their way</span>—but the way itself is, as we -have before said, execrable. As an editor, Mr. Sargent -has also distinguished himself. He is a gentleman -of taste and high talent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His MS. is too much in the usual clerk style to be -either vigorous, graceful, or easily read. It resembles -Mr. Wetmore’s but has somewhat more force. -The signature is better than the general hand, but -conveys its idea very well.</p> - -<hr class='tbk134'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i115.jpg' alt='Signature of W. Allston' id='iid-0012' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The name of <span class='sc'>Washington Allston</span>, the poet and -painter, is one that has been long before the public. -Of his paintings we have here nothing to say—except -briefly, that the most noted of them are not to our -taste. His poems are not all of a high order of merit; -and, in truth, the faults of his pencil and of his pen -are identical. Yet every reader will remember his -“Spanish Maid” with pleasure, and the “Address to -Great Britain,” first published in Coleridge’s “Sybilline -Leaves,” and attributed to an English author, is -a production of which Mr. Allston may be proud.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His MS. notwithstanding an exceedingly simple -and even boyish air, is one which we particularly -admire. It is forcible, picturesque and legible, without -ornament of any description. Each letter is -formed with a thorough distinctness and individuality. -Such a MS. indicates caution and precision, most -unquestionably—but we say of it as we say of Mr. -Peabody’s, (a very different MS.) that no man of -original genius ever did or could habitually indite it -under any circumstances whatever. The signature -conveys the general hand with accuracy.</p> - -<hr class='tbk135'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i116.jpg' alt='Signature of Alfred B Street' id='iid-0013' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. <span class='sc'>Alfred B. Street</span> has been long before the -public as a poet. At as early an age as fifteen, some -of his pieces were published by Mr. Bryant in the -“Evening Post”—among these was one of much -merit, entitled a “Winter Scene.” In the “New-York -Book” and in the collections of American poetry -by Messieurs Keese and Bryant, will be found many -excellent specimens of his maturer powers. “The -Willewemoc,” “The Forest Tree,” “The Indian’s -Vigil,” “The Lost Hunter” and “White Lake” we -prefer to any of his other productions which have -met our eye. Mr. Street has fine taste, and a keen -sense of the beautiful. He writes carefully, elaborately, -and correctly. He has made Mr. Bryant his -model, and in all Mr. Bryant’s good points would be -nearly his equal, were it not for the sad and too perceptible -stain of the imitation. That he has imitated -at all—or rather that, in mature age, he has persevered -in his imitations—is sufficient warrantry for -placing him among the men of talent rather than -among the men of genius.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His MS. is full corroboration of this warrantry. It -is a very pretty chirography, graceful, legible and -neat. By most persons it would be called beautiful. -The fact is, it is without fault—but its merits, like -those of his poems, are chiefly negative.</p> - -<hr class='tbk136'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i117.jpg' alt='Signature of R Penn Smith' id='iid-0014' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. <span class='sc'>Richard Penn Smith</span>, although, perhaps, -better known in Philadelphia than elsewhere, has -acquired much literary reputation. His chief works -are “The Forsaken,” a novel; a pseudo-auto-biography -called “Colonel Crocket’s Tour in Texas;” -the tragedy of “Caius Marius,” and two domestic -dramas entitled “The Disowned,” and “The Deformed.” -He has also published two volumes of miscellanies -under the title of “The Actress of Padua and -other Tales,” besides occasional poetry. We are not -sufficiently cognizant of any of these works to speak -with decision respecting their merits. In a biography -of Mr. Smith, however, very well written by his -friend Mr. McMichael of this city, we are informed -of “The Forsaken,” that “a large edition of it was -speedily exhausted”—of “The Actress of Padua,” -that it “had an extensive sale and was much commended”—of -the “Tour in Texas,” that “few books -attained an equal popularity”—of “Caius Marius,” -that “it has great capabilities for an acting play,”—of -“The Disowned” and “The Deformed,” that they -“were performed at the London theatres, where they -both made a favorable impression”—and of his -poetry in general, “that it will be found superior to -the average quality of that commodity.” “It is by -his dramatic efforts,” says the biographer, “that his -merits as a poet must be determined, and judged by -these he will be assigned a place in the foremost rank -of American writers.” We have only to add that we -have the highest respect for the judgment of Mr. -McMichael.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Smith’s MS. is clear, graceful and legible, and -would generally be called a fine hand, but is somewhat -too clerky for our taste.</p> - -<hr class='tbk137'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i119a.jpg' alt='Signature of O. W. Holmes' id='iid-0015' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Dr. <span class='sc'>Oliver Wendel Holmes</span>, of Boston, late Professor -of Anatomy and Physiology at Dartmouth College, -has written many productions of merit, and has -been pronounced, by a very high authority, the best -of the humorous poets of the day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His chirography is remarkably fine, and a quick -fancy might easily detect, in its graceful yet picturesque -quaintness, an analogy with the vivid drollery -of his style. The signature is a fair specimen -of the general MS.</p> - -<hr class='tbk138'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i119b.jpg' alt='Signature of G. W. Doane' id='iid-0016' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Bishop Doane</span>, of New Jersey, is somewhat more -extensively known in his clerical than in a literary -capacity, but has accomplished much more than sufficient -in the world of books to entitle him to a place -among the most noted of our living men of letters. -The compositions by which he is best known were -published, we believe, during his professorship of -Rhetoric and Belles Lettres in Washington College, -Hartford.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His MS. has some resemblance to that of Mr. -Greely of “The Tribune.” The signature is far -bolder and altogether better than the general hand.</p> - -<hr class='tbk139'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i120.jpg' alt='Signature of Albert Pike' id='iid-0017' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>We believe that Mr. <span class='sc'>Albert Pike</span> has never published -his poems in book form; nor has he written -anything since 1834. His “Hymns to the Gods,” -and “Ode to the Mocking Bird,” being printed in -Blackwood, are the chief basis of his reputation. -His lines “To Spring” are, however, much better in -every respect, and a little poem from his pen, entitled -“Ariel,” and originally published in the “Boston -Pearl,” is one of the finest of American compositions. -Mr. Pike has unquestionably merit, and that of a -high order. His ideality is rich and well-disciplined. -He is the most <span class='it'>classic</span> of our poets in the best sense -of the term, and of course his classicism is very different -from that of Mr. Sprague—to whom, nevertheless, -he bears much resemblance in other respects. -Upon the whole, there are few of our native writers -to whom we consider him inferior.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His MS. shows clearly the spirit of his intellect. -We observe in it a keen sense not only of the beautiful -and graceful but of the picturesque—neatness, -precision and general finish, verging upon effeminacy. -In force it is deficient. The signature fails to convey -the entire MS. which depends upon masses for its -peculiar character.</p> - -<hr class='tbk140'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i121a.jpg' alt='Signature of James McHenry' id='iid-0018' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Dr. <span class='sc'>James McHenry</span>, of Philadelphia, is well -known to the literary world as the writer of numerous -articles in our Reviews and lighter journals, but, -more especially, as the author of “The Antediluvians,” -an epic poem which has been the victim of -a most shameful cabal in this country, and the subject -of a very disgraceful pasquinade on the part of -Professor Wilson. Whatever may be the demerits, -in some regard, of this poem, there can be no question -of the utter want of fairness and even of common -decency which distinguished the Phillipic in -question. The writer of a <span class='it'>just</span> review of the “Antediluvians”—the -only tolerable American epic—would -render an important service to the literature -o his country.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dr. McHenry’s MS. is distinct, bold and simple, -without ornament or superfluity. The signature -well conveys the idea of the general hand.</p> - -<hr class='tbk141'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i121b.jpg' alt='Signature of R. S Nichols' id='iid-0019' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. <span class='sc'>R. S. Nichols</span> has acquired much reputation -of late years, by frequent and excellent contributions -to the Magazines and Annuals. Many of her -compositions will be found in our pages.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her MS. is fair, neat and legible, but formed somewhat -too much upon the ordinary boarding-school -model to afford any indication of character. The -signature is a good specimen of the hand.</p> - -<hr class='tbk142'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i122.jpg' alt='Signature of Richd A Locke' id='iid-0020' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. <span class='sc'>Richard Adams Locke</span> is one among the few -men of <span class='it'>unquestionable genius</span> whom the country possesses. -Of the “Moon Hoax” it is supererogatory -to say one word—not to know <span class='it'>that</span> argues one’s self -unknown. Its rich imagination will long dwell in -the memory of every one who read it, and surely if</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            the worth of any thing</p> -<p class='line0'>Is just so much as it will bring—</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>if, in short, we are to judge of the value of a literary -composition in any degree by its <span class='it'>effect</span>—then was -the “Hoax” most precious.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Mr. Locke is also a poet of high order. We -have seen—nay more—we have heard him read—verses -of his own which would make the fortune of -two-thirds of our poetasters; and he is yet so modest -as never to have published a volume of poems. As -an editor—as a political writer—as a writer in general—we -think that he has scarcely a superior in -America. There is no man among us to whose -sleeve we would rather pin—not our <span class='it'>faith</span> (of that -we say nothing)—but our <span class='it'>judgment</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His MS. is clear, bold and forcible—somewhat -modified, no doubt, by the circumstances of his editorial -position—but still sufficiently indicative of his -fine intellect.</p> - -<hr class='tbk143'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i123.jpg' alt='Signature of RW Emerson.' id='iid-0021' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. <span class='sc'>Ralph Waldo Emerson</span> belongs to a class of -gentlemen with whom we have no patience whatever—the -mystics for mysticism’s sake. Quintilian -mentions a pedant who taught obscurity, and who -once said to a pupil “this is excellent, for I do not -understand it myself.” How the good man would -have chuckled over Mr. E! His present <span class='it'>rôle</span> -seems to be the out-Carlyling Carlyle. <span class='it'>Lycophron -Tenebrosus</span> is a fool to him. The best answer to his -twaddle is <span class='it'>cui bono?</span>—a very little Latin phrase very -generally mistranslated and misunderstood—<span class='it'>cui -bono?</span>—to whom is it a benefit? If not to Mr. -Emerson individually, then surely to no man living.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His love of the obscure does not prevent him, nevertheless, -from the composition of occasional poems -in which beauty is apparent <span class='it'>by flashes</span>. Several of -his effusions appeared in the “Western Messenger”—more -in the “Dial,” of which he is the soul—or -the sun—or the shadow. We remember the -“Sphynx,” the “Problem,” the “Snow Storm,” -and some fine old-fashioned verses entitled “Oh fair -and stately maid whose eye.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His MS. is bad, sprawling, illegible and irregular—although -sufficiently bold. This latter trait may -be, and no doubt is, only a portion of his general -affectation.</p> - -<hr class='tbk144'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i124.jpg' alt='Signature of G C Verplanck' id='iid-0022' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The name of <span class='sc'>Gulian C. Verplanck</span> has long been -familiar to all American readers, and it is scarcely -necessary to say more than that we coincide in the -general view of his merits. His orations, reviews, -and other compositions all evince the cultivated -belles-lettres scholar, and man of intellect and taste. -To high genius he has about the same claim as Mr. -Sprague, whom in many respects he closely resembles.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His chirography is unusually rambling and school-boyish—but -has vigor and precision. It has no -doubt been greatly modified by adventitious circumstances, -so that it would be impossible to predicate -anything respecting it.</p> - -<hr class='tbk145'/> - -<div><h1><a id='dor'></a>“DORCHESTER.”</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY W. GILMORE SIMMS, AUTHOR OF “ATALANTIS,” “THE YEMASSEE,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>[“Dorchester” was a beautiful little country town on the banks of the river Keawah, now Ashley, about twenty miles -from the city of Charleston, in South Carolina. It was chiefly settled by New Englanders. For a time it flourished and -became a market town of some importance. The planters of the neighborhood were generally persons of substance, -who lived in considerable state, and exercised the virtues of hospitality in an eminent degree; but with the war of the -Revolution, in which it suffered greatly, it began to decline, and its only remains now are the ruins of its church and the -open walls of the old British fort. From a memorandum which I made during a visit to the spot in 1833, I take the following:—“The -fort made of tapis—works still in considerable preservation—the wood-work alone decayed—the magazine -in ruins—and the area overgrown with plum trees. The church still standing—the steeple shattered by lightning, -and the wooden interior torn out—the roof beginning to decay at the ends of the rafters. It will probably fall in before -very long.” This prediction was not permitted to be verified. The fabric, I learn, has since been utterly destroyed by -an incendiary. Dorchester was distinguished by several actions of partisan warfare during the Revolution It was, by -turns, a military depot of the Carolinians and the British. These particulars will explain the little poem which follows.]</p> - -</div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Not</span> with irreverential thought and feeling I resign</p> -<p class='line0'>The tree that was a chronicle in other days than mine;</p> -<p class='line0'>Its mossy branches crown’d the grove, when, hastily array’d,</p> -<p class='line0'>Came down the gallant partisan to battle in the shade;</p> -<p class='line0'>It saw his fearless eye grow dark, it heard his trumpet cry,</p> -<p class='line0'>When, at its roots, the combat o’er, he laid him down to die;</p> -<p class='line0'>The warm blood gushing from his heart hath stain’d the sod below—</p> -<p class='line0'>That tree shall be my chronicle, for it hath seen it flow!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Sweet glide thy waters, Ashley, and pleasant on thy banks</p> -<p class='line0'>The mossy oak and mossy pine stand forth in solemn ranks;</p> -<p class='line0'>They crown thee in a fitting guise, since, with a gentle play,</p> -<p class='line0'>Through bending groves and circling dells thou tak’st thy lonely way:</p> -<p class='line0'>Thine is the Summer’s loveliness—thy Winter too hath charms,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thus sheltered in thy mazy course beneath their Druid arms;</p> -<p class='line0'>And thine the recollection old, which honors thy decline,</p> -<p class='line0'>When happy thousands saw thee rove, and Dorchester was thine.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But Dorchester is thine no more, its gallant pulse is still,</p> -<p class='line0'>The wild cat prowls among its graves and screams the whippoorwill,</p> -<p class='line0'>A mournful spell is on its homes, where solitude, supreme,</p> -<p class='line0'>Still, coaching in her tangled woods, dreams one unbroken dream:</p> -<p class='line0'>The cotter seeks a foreign home,—the cottage roof is down,</p> -<p class='line0'>The ivy clambers all uncheck’d above the steeple’s crown;</p> -<p class='line0'>And doubly gray, with grief and years, the old church tott’ring stands,</p> -<p class='line0'>Ah! how unlike that holy home not built with human hands!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>These ruins have their story, and, with a reverent fear,</p> -<p class='line0'>I glide beneath the broken arch and through the passage drear;</p> -<p class='line0'>The hillock at my feet grows warm—beneath it beats a heart</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose pulses wake to utterance, whose accents make me start;</p> -<p class='line0'>That heart hath beat in battle, when the thunder-cloud was high,</p> -<p class='line0'>And death, in every form of fate, careering through the sky;</p> -<p class='line0'>Beside it now, another heart, in peace but lately known,</p> -<p class='line0'>Beats with a kindred pulse, but hath a story of its own.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Ah! sad the fate of maiden whose lover falls in fight,</p> -<p class='line0'>Condemned to bear, in widowhood, the lonely length of light;—</p> -<p class='line0'>The days that come without a sun, the nights that bring no sleep;</p> -<p class='line0'>The long, long watch, the weariness, the same, sad toil—to weep!</p> -<p class='line0'>Methinks, the call is happiness, when sudden sounds the strain</p> -<p class='line0'>That summons back the exiled heart of love to heaven again;—</p> -<p class='line0'>No trumpet-tone of battle, but a soft note sweetly clear,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like that which even now is heard when doves are wooing near.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk146'/> - -<div><h1><a id='two'></a>THE TWO DUKES.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY ANN S. STEPHENS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>One</span> church and three dwelling houses, occupied -by bishops, had already been torn down to supply -material for the magnificent palace which the Duke -of Somerset was erecting for himself in the Strand,—a -sacrilege which the populace were beginning to -feel and resent, in a manner which threatened some -disturbance to the public peace. A rumor went -abroad that the Duke’s workmen had received his -commands to repair to Westminster on a certain day, -in order to pull down the Church of St. Margaret’s, -and add its materials to those already so boldly -wrested from their sacred purposes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gray of a summer’s morning was yet hanging -over the city, when a large number of workmen, each -wearing the Lord Protector’s badge, gathered in detached -parties about the Abbey. These men had been -employed in the destruction of St. Mary’s Church but -a few days before, and their coarse vestments were -torn and covered with the lime and dust which they -had brought from the ruin, a mark of their late sacrilegious -employment, which brought upon them many -a bitter taunt and frowning look from the wayfarers, -even before they entered the parish of Westminster. -So great was the manifestation of public resentment, -that each band of workmen, as it went along, drew -close together, and exhibited the pickaxes, crowbars, -and other heavy tools of iron with which they were -armed, like soldiers compelled on an irksome duty, -but resolute to perform it. These men gathered -slowly around the Abbey, and waited for a larger -body of working-men, who were expected to leave -their employment in the Strand and come to their -assistance in a force and number that might awe -the people into quiet submission to the injustice of -their lord.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The morning wore on, but they still lingered about -the church, trifling with their heavy tools and talking -together with some degree of anxiety, for the expected -aid had not yet arrived, and each instant the -streets and angles about the Abbey became more and -more thronged with sullen and discontented men, all -with lowering brows and flashing eyes, bent menacingly -upon them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Still the crowd increased. Men hurried to and fro -eagerly and with cloudy looks. The workmen gradually -gathered in a close phalanx about the little -church, whispered anxiously together, and brandished -their tools with a faint show of defiance, yet seemed -afraid or reluctant to level them against the sacred -pile which stood among that mass of eager human -beings in the cool morning light, quiet and tranquil -as the spirit of holiness that brooded over its altar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Though the persons gathered about St. Margaret’s -were considerable in numbers, they were not yet -condensed into a form that could justly be termed a -mob. The streets were alive, but not yet blocked up -with people. Men, and even women, might pass to and -fro on ordinary business without much fear of injury -or interruption, but with a certainty of being jostled -and pushed about by the scattered stream of human -life that flowed toward the cathedral.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While the neighborhood of St. Margaret’s was in -this unusual state, two females, followed by more -than an equal number of serving-men, each with the -Lord Protector’s badge upon his sleeve, came suddenly -round a corner, and, before they seemed aware of it, -were encompassed by the crowd, through which it -seemed each instant more difficult to make a free -passage. The two females were muffled in their -mantles, with the hoods drawn so closely that it -was difficult to distinguish their features, or gather -an idea of their station, save by a certain air of dignity -and refinement which hung about the shorter of -the two, and which no vestments could entirely conceal. -Both this lady and her companion seemed -bewildered and terrified by the rush of human beings -with which they had become so strangely mingled. At -first they attempted to retrace their steps, but the -street through which they had come was now blocked -up by a company of more than two hundred -working-men, who were coming up from their employment -on the Strand, to assist in the destruction -of St. Margaret’s. When thus convinced that all -hopes of retreat were cut off, the female who had -seemed most anxious to escape the crowd, put forth -a white and trembling hand from beneath her mantle -and drew the hood still more closely over her face, -while the other in her fright allowed the drapery to -fall back from her head and exposed the features of -an elderly woman slightly wrinkled, and at the moment -pale as a corpse with apprehension. Her sharp -black eyes were keen with terror, and her wrinkled -hands shook in a way that rendered the effort to draw -her hood forward one of considerable difficulty. The -servitors who followed these bewildered persons -were but little annoyed by the position which -seemed so painful to them, but one, a tall insolent -man, held up his arm that all might see the Lord -Protector’s badge, and ordered those immediately -around him to make way for a noble lady of the -Duke’s household to pass. He spoke loud and arrogantly, -but the muffled female grasped his arm, and -while her words came gaspingly from excess of fear, -muttered—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dost thou not see how these men lower and frown -upon us already? Hearest thou not my noble father’s -name bandied from lip to lip, and each time with a -curse coupled with it? Take down thy arm, good -Richard—muffle the sleeve within thy cloak and -let us struggle forward as we are best able.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The serving-man hastened to obey this direction, -and wrapped his arm in the short cloak which -had been allowed to float back from his shoulder. -This act was performed the more promptly as a score -of burning eyes had flashed back a stern admonition -of danger when challenged by the Somerset badge -thus ostentatiously uplifted in their midst. Even as -it was, the man’s temerity might have been followed -by violent consequences, but that a deeper and more -general object of resentment presented itself in the -body of workmen that had made its way up from the -Strand through the cross street which our little party -had left but a moment before, and now flung itself -impetuously into the excited crowd. The moment -these men were seen pushing their way towards -their brethren gathered about St. Margaret’s, shouting -defiance and pushing the citizens about with their -heavy iron-tools, the spirit of discord broke loose -like a wild beast from his cage. A hoarse shout -thundered through the air. The hitherto stern and -silent multitude swayed round and plunged forward, -a mass of enraged, reckless, human life, eager to -trample down the body of men who came among -them armed to do sacrilege on the holy temple of their -worship. When the first fierce cry of their onset -swept over the females whose movements we have -recorded, the one whose features were yet concealed -grasped her companion’s arm, and, shrieking with -affright, sprang wildly on one side, forcing a passage -to the steps of a dwelling-house, where she sunk at -the foot of a granite pillar, panting like a wounded -fawn beneath the drapery which still concealed her -person. Her attendants strove to follow her but were -swept away by the rushing multitude, and, spite of -their struggles, forced into the <span class='it'>mêlée</span> raging between -the citizens and the Somerset workmen. These men -fought their way valiantly. Keeping in a compact -body they resolutely cleared a path through the unarmed -mob with their heavy crowbars and pickaxes, -which proved most effective weapons of defence. -The people goaded to fury by opposition rushed -madly upon them, strove to wrest away their weapons -by brute force, and when that failed tore up the pavement -and hurled the massive stones furiously into -their midst. Many were wounded, more than one -dropped down dead, crushed beneath the deadly missiles -which filled the air. The sweet breath of morning -was made terrible by the groans and cries and -harsh sounds of hot-blooded men, goaded to fury -and fierce with a thirst for strife, which threatened -to deluge the torn pavements with blood and carnage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The band of workmen which had already reached -St. Margaret’s at first essayed to aid their companions -but it was impossible even to penetrate the mob of -citizens which separated the two parties, and they -returned to their station before the church, which -the mob, in its blind eagerness to attack the larger -and more obnoxious party, had left almost entirely at -their mercy. Still their numbers were small, and -the enraged people so near at hand that but the lifting -of an implement of destruction would have placed -them in imminent peril. So they remained inactive, -contenting themselves with a hope that Somerset, -the Lord Protector, would hear of the riot and come -to his people’s rescue. Still the fight raged on, the -workmen were driven back, step by step, to a cross -street whence they had emerged, and which their -numbers choked up, forming a solid front, narrow -and compact, which the assailants found impossible -to break and difficult to contend against, as few had -the hardihood to come within the sweep of those -heavy iron bars which were never wielded but they -crushed some human being to the earth. While the -workmen maintained this position the assailants -were compelled to abate the fury of their attack. -The scene of strife too had been considerably removed -from the first place of encounter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young female, who is the especial object of -our interest, crouched at the base of the granite pillar -where she had sought refuge, shuddering and sick -with fear, amid this tumult of strife and terrible passions -raging about her. She heard the shrieks and -howling cries of the multitude as they struggled together, -heard them tear up the pavement with curses, -and felt the air tortured into unnatural currents as -the heavy stones whirled fiercely over her head. -Still she neither shrieked nor moved a limb, but clung -with a shuddering clasp to the pillar, helpless and -almost stupefied with terror. While the fight raged -fiercest about her she remained unnoticed, for even -there, amid that throng of men tugging at each other’s -throats and wrangling like wild animals together, -females were to be seen fighting and eager for strife—the -most relentless among the throng. In this terrible -mingling of sexes and strife of angry passions, a -helpless and prostrate female, shrinking from a -scene too horrible even for her imagination, might -well have been overlooked. All were too fiercely -occupied to offer her protection or insult. But as the -scene of strife became more distant the dense crowd -around her was scattered, and more than one of the -rude persons who hang about the skirts of a riotous -mob from idle curiosity or in hopes of plunder, observed -the deathly stillness of her position. There -was a delicacy in the small white hand and rounded -arm which clung to the pillar, exposed by the falling -drapery and flung out in beautiful relief upon the stone -as if a limb of exquisite sculpture had been chiselled -there. But the persons who gazed were too rude -for thoughts of beauty though so strangely betrayed. A -cluster of brilliants that blazed on one of the fingers, -and the rich drapery that lay in a picturesque heap -over her whole person, conveyed hopes of rich plunder, -and many a covetous eye twinkled with expectation -that when the crowd were drawn to a distance -she might be left helpless and exposed to their rapacity. -At last an artisan or mechanic of the lowest -order ascended the steps where she had sought -refuge, and, apparently heedless of her presence, sat -down on the opposite side of the pillar, so near that -his dusty leathern jerkin almost touched the arm still -wound immovably around it. He now uncovered -his head and wiped the perspiration from a low and -disagreeable forehead with the sleeve of his jerkin, -pushed back a mass of coarse hair that had fallen -over his eyes, and was about replacing his cap, when -a flash of sunshine fell upon the cluster of brilliants -which gemmed one of the fingers just in a range with -his eye. A look of coarse delight came to his repulsive -features, a cunning avaricious joy disagreeable -beyond description. He cast an eager look upon the -throng, which was still great, and toyed with his cap, -waving it up and down with both hands carelessly as -if to cool his face when any person seemed especially -regarding him. At last, when the general attention -was drawn another way by a party of horsemen -coming at a hard gallop down the street, he, as if by -accident, held his cap so as to conceal his face from -the multitude, and drew back slowly till the pillar -half concealed him, then, softly removing the hand -from its clasp on the stone, he drew the ring away -quick as lightning, and grasping it in his rough palm -allowed the little hand to fall down cold and lifeless -upon the step.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Plunder from the dead is free to the first comer,” -he muttered, replacing his cap, “a woman completely -killed or in a swoon is the same thing, and one or the -other state belongs to this dainty lady, I take it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As he muttered these words, the plunderer sauntered -with a heavy idle swagger down the steps, and -would have mingled with the crowd, but at that moment -an elderly man, evidently the servitor of some -noble family, paused by the steps, glanced at the recumbent -figure, and hastily inquired who the person -was, and why no assistance had been rendered. The -artisan, to whom he addressed himself as the nearest -person, was suddenly taken with a decided and absorbing -interest in the struggle that still raged farther -down the street, and, when the question had been -thrice repeated, only withdrew his attention long -enough to declare that he was quite ignorant regarding -the lady so strangely situated, and, in truth, had -observed her for the first time when pointed out by -the worshipful questioner.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The new comer ran hastily up the steps, flung -back the mantle which had fallen over her face, and -revealed the features of a young girl, pale as death, -and lying cold and lifeless close to the pillar. A flood -of rich chestnut-brown hair had broken loose, and the -string of rough emeralds that had confined it lay -broken and scattered among the folds of her dress. -The man seemed to recognize those sweet features, -for he turned pale, and an exclamation, almost of -terror, broke from his lips. “She is dead!” he cried -in a voice of keen emotion—“her hands are cold as -ice. What shall I say to my poor lord—who will -dare tell him?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then she has taken leave within a short space -of time,” muttered the artisan, who stood with his -back toward the pillar, gazing intently afar off, as if -he had some heavy stake which the contest would -decide. “I can swear that her hand trembled as I -pulled off the ring.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For the love of heaven, is there no one here who -will call assistance!” exclaimed the new comer, -kneeling down and raising the senseless lady with -his arm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can I do anything?” inquired the artisan, gruffly, -as if aroused to a consciousness that the fainting lady -required some attention.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank you, good friend, yes—run, I beseech -you for the nearest leech, or rather look out my -Lord Dudley, who has just ridden by; say to him -that a lady whose welfare is dear to him, has -swooned in the street, and is in danger from the mob. -Go, good man, go at once, or I fear me our blithesome -lady will never smile again!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay,” said the artisan, who had fixed a greedy -eye on the emeralds scattered over the lady’s dress. -“As I may not know the Lord Dudley when he is -found, had you not better leave the poor lady to me -while you seek him out yourself; the more especially -as you may see that her mouth is red again, -and there is a tear breaking through the thick eye-lashes -that were so black and still when you first -uncovered her face. The air has done her good. -Leave her to me, and by the time you come back with -the gentleman you wot of she will be well again. -Truly, my jerkin is none of the cleanest,” he added in -reply to a glance which the other had cast on his mean -raiment, “nor my face much to your liking, I see; -but I shall not run off with your dainty trouble there, -not being fool enough to cumber myself with anything -of womankind, be she gentle or simple, so you -can trust me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was something in the artisan’s manner more -than in his appearance—and that was suspicions -enough, that rendered the person he addressed reluctant -to trust a being so helpless to his charge. He -hesitated and was deliberating how to act, when the -multitude came rushing back to their old station near -the church, shouting fiercely and uttering terrible -imprecations on the Duke of Somerset, who had sent -a large body of armed men up the Thames, who -had landed at the foot of Westminster Bridge, resolute -to support his artisans in the destruction of St. -Margaret’s. It was the first charge of this party, as -it joined the body of workmen, which still defended -the passage up St. Margaret’s street, that sent the -crowd rushing back upon the church. The small band -of horsemen which had just passed, wheeled suddenly -round and came back almost by compulsion, for their -way was entirely blocked up by the populace, and -behind were the Somerset men, urged to fierce -resentment, and goading them on to madness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The leader of this equestrian band—for it evidently -belonged to neither of the contending parties—was a -young and remarkably handsome man, who seemed -entangled with the crowd by accident, and only -desirous of continuing his morning ride in tranquillity. -The magnificent trappings of his black charger—the -jewelled buckle which fastened the plumes on his -cap, leaving a fine open forehead and a mass of light -curling hair exposed to view. The short cloak of dark -green velvet bordered with gold—the slashed and -pointed doublet and hose underneath, betrayed him as -one of the brightest and most noble ornaments of the -young King Edward’s court, and were all in striking -contrast with the rude mob from which he was deliberately -striving to extricate himself. He was followed -by a number of retainers well mounted, and -all wearing his family badge; yet it was not till they -were forced to retrace their way and made some -slight commotion in the crowd in wheeling their -horses, that the tumultuous populace seemed to -recognize them. But when the leader was known, -those men not actively engaged in the fight, pressed -back to give him way, and greeted him with uncovered -heads—a few flung their caps in the air, calling -out for those in advance to make room for the -Lord Dudley; others took up the cry, and then went -up a loud eager shout of</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A Warwick! a Warwick! room, room for a -Warwick!” Thus sounding a defiance to the Somerset -battle-cry, that rang so fiercely up from the distance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This recognition by the mob seemed to annoy the -object of their clamor beyond measure. He lifted -his hand with an imperative motion, in a vain effort to -silence their noisy greeting; but when he saw that this -was mistaken for encouragement, and that his family -name rang louder and with more joyous acclamation -above all the tumult, he bent his noble head to -the multitude with forced resignation, and strove more -resolutely to retreat from a scene, which from many -causes, filled him with anxiety and regret. More than -once his high spirit was so chafed by the notice -which he had unwillingly obtained, that nothing but -compassion for the multitude seemed to prevent him -giving a free rein to the noble beast which shook -his head, champed angrily his tightened bit, and curveted -with impatience among the mass of human -beings that scarcely gave his hoofs free play upon the -pavement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The two men whom we left near the young female, -who was just returning to animation, were interrupted -in their discussion by these two sources of -renewed commotion which we have just related, and -when the cry of “a Warwick, a Warwick,” swept -by, the last comer, who was still supporting the -lady, started to his feet, placed a hand over his eyes -to shade them from the sun, and looked earnestly -over the sea of human heads rising and falling and -flowing by, like the motion of a forest when the -wind sweeps over it. All at once he uttered an -exclamation of pleasure, and rushing down the steps, -forced his way to the young horseman who was now -almost opposite the place he had occupied. Pushing -eagerly through the crowd which surrounded the -struggling charger, he seized him by the bit, as the -only means of attracting the rider’s attention in a -scene where his voice was exerted in vain; but so -great was the tumult that even this method proved -ineffectual, and it was not till he had flung the beast -almost upon his haunches that he was recognized -by the anxious nobleman. The young man bent his -head, for the eager face of his retainer startled him, -though the words he would have uttered were swept -away by the thousand fierce sounds that filled the air. -At last, by the aid of gesture and such broken words -as reached his master’s ear, the man made himself -understood. The horseman started upright in his -stirrups, cast a keen look toward the spot pointed out -by his attendant, and, heedless of all former caution, -plunged his spurs into the restless charger, which -reared and plunged with a violence that sent the -people back upon each other, and cleared a space of -some yards about him. Regardless of consequences, -the nobleman scarcely gave his horse time to recover -himself, but urged him through the frightened crowd -with an impetuosity that sent a shower of sparks -about his hoofs when they struck upon the lower-most -of the stone flags where the lady had taken -shelter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young man sprang from his saddle, and pushing -aside the artisan who still hung about her, took -the now partially recovered lady in his arms, and in -a voice of hurried and anxious affection inquired it -she were hurt, and multiplied questions one upon -another, mingling them with broken expressions of -tenderness, which she could only answer by sobs -and the profuse tears that rushed over her burning -cheeks. She seemed entirely overcome with joy at -his presence, and the intense shame arising from her -extraordinary situation. All his questions only served -to make her weep the more bitterly; but she clung -nervously to his hand, trembling between the pleasure -of his protection and the fear that he might -condemn her, and besought him, in broken tones, to -take her home, to forgive her, but, above all things, -to help her away from the mob of coarse rough -faces that were gazing upon her humiliation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, compose yourself,” said Dudley, in those -low and persuasive tones best calculated to allay her -nervous excitement, “are you not safe with me? -you are too feeble to move yet. In a little time I -trust that we may pass in safety, but—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Forgive me, my lord,” interrupted the man who -had informed his master of the lady’s plight. “If her -ladyship can find strength to walk, had we not better -remove her at once to a place of safety? It is yet -possible to make our way round the corner, and so -into the Park.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Lord Dudley looked upon the crowd and -shook his head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“See, my lord,” said the man still more earnestly, -“the people are becoming more turbulent than ever—in -less than five minutes the space between this -and the church will be crowded full again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I fear she is too weak for the attempt,” replied -Dudley, looking down with tender anxiety into the -sweet troubled face lifted with an expression of timid -confidence to his.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, no, I am quite strong now; I can walk very -well if you are with me,” said the young girl; but -her pale and trembling lips belied the words as she -turned her back to the people and strove with unsteady -hands to gather the scattered masses of her -hair beneath the hood, which scarcely served to conceal -its rich beauty, dishevelled and loose as it was. -“See, I am quite ready,” she added, wrapping the -mantle about her, and gathering courage beneath the -concealment of its folds, and clinging to the young -nobleman’s arm she stood terrified, it is true, but -willing to submit herself to his guidance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My poor bird, how it pants and trembles beneath -my arm,” murmured Dudley. And amid all the annoyance -of his position, his heart thrilled with a -sense of the protection which it gave to the object -of his love; but the feeling gave way to one of keen -anxiety; for the populace were by this time assailed -so fiercely by the Somerset men that it was giving -way before them, and rapidly condensing itself -around the Abbey, which threatened soon to become -the scene of contention.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What can be done? which way shall we go?” -said Dudley, appealing to his attendant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The man looked around and gravely shook his -head. “I see no plan of escape unless we struggle -through the crowd,” he replied despondingly, “and -yet there is but your lordship and my humble self to -protect the Lady Jane, and the press threatens to be -great.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The artisan who had made a show of holding -Dudley’s horse, while he concealed the ring and as -many of the jewels which had dropped from the -lady’s hair as he could purloin during the short time -that she had been left alone with him, in the sleeve -of his jerkin—now slipped the bridle over his arm, -and came up the steps so far as its length would -permit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If I might advise, fair sir,” he said, doffing his -cap, and concealing a large emerald that had before -escaped him, with his foot, as he spoke. “If I might -make bold to give an opinion, three stout men are -enough to cover the retreat of one woman any day. -Your gallant self and my worshipful friend here, to -say nothing of the man before you, who lacks not -both tough bone and sinew in a fair fight, and the -noble horse, which I take it, is worth at least two -men, having a fine knack, as I but now witnessed, of -scattering a crowd with his hoofs. Well now, fair -sir, supposing you mount this noble nag and push -a way through the crowd, while my worshipful -friend and humble self follow at his heels with the -lady between us. Oh, this does not jump with the -lady’s humor, I see,” continued the man without -breaking the thread of his speech, as the Lady Jane -drew closer to her companion and murmured in an -affrighted voice, “no, no Dudley—keep you with -me or I shall die with terror else.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dudley answered by a gentle pressure of the arm -clinging to his, and the man went on, as we have -said, regardless of the interruption.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, if she does not fancy the cut of my face, -perhaps the black charger there will have better -taste. Shall I mount and clear a path for you? It -is not often that I sit on a crimson saddle with housings -of velvet and gold—but there is an old saying -or a new one, it matters not which, that if you ‘put -a beggar on horseback he will ride’—I must not say -exactly where in the presence of this lady, but to -such a journey a passage through this crowd of -hooting scoundrels would be child’s play—shall I -mount, fair sir? you see the fight is getting nearer -and there will be hot work anon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As the man finished speaking, he dropped his -sheepskin cap quite by accident, and displayed considerable -awkwardness in picking it up again. For -a person rather shabbily dressed he certainly was -somewhat fastidious in replacing it jauntily on one -side of his head; but in the process a large emerald -was sent, with a dexterous movement of the fingers, -flashing down the sleeve of his jerkin, which probably -had some connection with this elaborate display -of taste.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At any other time Dudley would have rebuked the -fellow’s boldness, but he was too anxious for thoughts -of station or dignity, and turning from the rude -speaker to his attendant, he demanded earnestly if his -plan were practicable. Before the person addressed -could reply, an immense paving stone was hurled by -his temple, and, tearing off the artisan’s cap in its -progress, was dashed to pieces against the granite -pillar which had so long sheltered the Lady Jane -Saymore. A shriek burst from her pale lips, and -every face in that little group turned white as death. -After a moment the artisan took up his cap, and -thrusting his hand through a hole cut in it by the -stone, tried to convince himself and those about him, -by a broad laugh, that he was a man of decided -courage and not to be daunted by trifles that could -drive the blood from a nobleman’s cheek; but his -voice died in the miserable attempt, and he slunk -down to the horse’s head again, for the moment subdued -into silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For the love of heaven, let us be gone,” said -Lord Dudley, terrified by the danger which threatened -the object of his love. “Mount, fellow; and if you -clear a way for this lady, you shall have gold”—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Before he could finish the sentence, the artisan -sprang to a seat on the gorgeous saddle, and striking -his mutilated cap down upon his head with one hand, -drew up the bridle, and shouting, “Make room for -the noble Dudley—a Warwick, a Warwick,” plunged -into the crowd.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dudley threw his arm firmly round the Lady Jane, -and directing his attendant to keep close on the other -side, followed his strange conductor, who proved an -excellent guide; for in his appeal now to the people -in behalf of their favorite noble, now to the Somerset -men as one of their number, he succeeded in forcing -a passage for the party till they had almost reached -the front of St. Margaret’s; but here their position -became more dangerous than ever, for a detachment -of the Somerset men, after a desperate struggle to -force a passage through the body of people, had -found the way across a corner of the park and along -Prince’s street, almost within a stone’s throw of the -church, before their movement was discovered by -those resolute on its defence. It was in vain the -artisan pleaded for a passage now, his voice was overwhelmed -by the roar. He was raised considerably -above the crowd, and was among the first to discover -this new difficulty. He arose in the saddle, cast a -crest-fallen look over the sea of human heads that -surrounded him, then bending backwards, he addressed -the young lord and his companion in a voice -that was less steady than he would gladly have rendered -it—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To the church, my lord—to the church at once! -The street is choked, as far as I can see—is choked -up with Somerset men; but they are mistaken if they -hope to reach St. Margaret’s; here are stout angry -fellows enough to keep them at bay till Michaelmas. -Seek shelter for the lady, fair Sir, before they all see -as much as I do, for there will be bloody work there, -or I am no reader of men’s faces.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was no time for parley or delay, the pale -craven face of the artisan bore witness to the truth -of what he said. Lord Dudley clasped his companion -more firmly, and forced his way with almost supernatural -strength toward the church. The artisan -would gladly have sought the shelter which he had -so wisely recommended to his noble companion; but -the horse had become restive under a strange guidance, -and before his head could be turned toward -St. Margaret’s, the mob had discovered the Somerset -workmen, and closed round him with a violence that -rendered a change of direction impossible. It was -in vain that he waved his cap, shouted Lord Dudley’s -name, and craved a free passage. His voice was -overwhelmed in the roar and rush of a conflict -more dreadful than had been witnessed that day. -The people saw the spoilers almost upon their consecrated -ground, and they fought like lions to protect -the sacred rest of their dead and the altar of their -worship. It was a just cause, but the strife a terrible -one indeed. So great was the press, that our -artisan found the motion of his horse cramped and -almost prevented. His limbs were crushed against -the noble animal till the pain became almost insupportable. -He would gladly have dismounted and have -taken his chance with the throng, but so dense was -the sea of human beings crowding upon him, that -there was not an inch of space through which he -might hope to reach the ground. So horse and rider -were violently borne forward at the mercy of the -crowd, and exposed to the shower of missiles that -now darkened the air.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meantime Dudley and his companions had reached -the door of St. Margaret’s; but it was closed, and a -company of armed men stood resolutely before it. -The little band of workmen, which had kept its station -there till within the last hour, had at length deserted -their post, terrified by this guard of armed -men added to the mob which they had so long braved. -Despairing of escape they had clambered, each as -he best might, up the gothic windows and rough -stone work of the little church, and were now -crouching in groups on the roof, and striving to conceal -themselves behind the small turrets or steeples -that surmounted its four corners, afraid of being detected -by the populace, who were each moment becoming -more and more exasperated by their brethren.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In the name of heaven, good friends, allow me -to find shelter for this lady within the church,” exclaimed -Lord Dudley, as pale and fearfully agitated -he turned in despair from the bolted door which he -had reached in spite of the pikes presented by the -self-constituted guard, “I am a friend to the people, -and this lady”—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is his sister,” interrupted the attendant hastily, -well knowing that her true title would harden the -men’s hearts against her, though she was almost -lifeless, and only kept from sinking at their feet by -the strong arm of her noble protector.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, even our church may soon be no place -of safety,” said one of the men, “a few minutes -and this building where our parents worshipped—where -our children were baptised—may be a heap -of ruins like those of St. Mary. Our holy altar stones -may be made into door steps for the Duke of Somerset’s -fine palace—yes, our chancels sacked to yield -stones to flag his wine-cellars, while the bones and -sacred dust of our fathers are cast into the street, -and scattered to the four winds of heaven.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dudley felt the gentle being, who clung to him for -safety, tremble and shrink, as if this angry speech -had been levelled at her alone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know that the people have suffered some -wrong,” he said, in a mild but unsteady voice, for -he was painfully agitated, both by his late struggle -with the crowd, and the torture which the man’s -impetuous speech was inflicting on his gentle charge. -“But let me beseech you, unclose the door, my—my -poor sister is well nigh sinking to the earth with -fatigue and terror.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Still the men remained obstinate, not only refusing -to open the door, but guarding it with a close row of -levelled pikes. The sound of fierce strife, which -now arose with appalling violence, within a few -roods of the church, seemed to fill them with cold -and stubborn bitterness. At last, when a loud and -terrible cry swept over them—a cry of triumph from -the Somerset men, mingled with a yell of defiance -from the mob, in which Somerset, the Lord Protector’s -name, was winged by shouts and curses through -the dense air, the man who had spoken before -turned almost menacingly on the young nobleman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did I not tell you,” he exclaimed, “this is no -place for a lady? If we cannot guard our dead, how -can your charge be safe? Hear that shout—the -Duke of Somerset is himself coming up from the -river to reinforce his band of pillagers. A curse light -upon his sacrilegious head for this day’s work—a -curse on him and his!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh no, no; do not curse him!” exclaimed the -Lady Jane, starting from Dudley’s arm, and flinging -the hood back from her pale face with a wild impulse—“he -does not know—he has not thought how -dreadful all this is: you do not dream how kind he -is. In pity—for sweet mercy’s sake, do not curse -my father!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Her father,” exclaimed the men almost simultaneously, -and with menacing looks; “her father!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lord Dudley drew the young girl back to his side, -pulled the mantle almost roughly over her face, and -turned sternly upon the men.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Behold,” he said, with a flashing eye, “behold -the effect of your cruel delay; my poor sister is -driven stark mad at last.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The speech, and the pale steadfast features of -the young man, had the desired effect. The guard -did not open the door, it is true, but their manner -was more subdued, and they consulted in a low -voice together.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And if we unlock the church, what warrant have -we that you are not a partisan of the Duke’s?” said -the leader, glancing suspiciously at the young nobleman’s -rich vestments; “you may be of his household, -nay, his son, for aught we know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You have the word of a Warwick, and this -proof that the pledge is not given without right,” -said the young man, flinging aside his velvet cloak, -and displaying the family crest, set in brilliants, on -his sword-hilt. “Now, sirs, let me pass! I have -no share in this broil, and would gladly have escaped -from it unknown.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pass in, and heaven’s blessing go with you!” -said the man, almost angrily striking up the line of -weapons which his band still kept levelled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He unlocked the heavy door, and while the dense -mob shouted around him, eager to know why he -acted thus for a stranger, he stood, with uncovered -head, till the young nobleman had entered the church; -then, he closed the door again with a half repeated -blessing upon the lips that had been almost blistered -with imprecations a few moments before. The solemn -stillness and cool atmosphere, which pervaded -that little church, fell like a breath from heaven on -the three persons who entered it, weary and faint -from the turmoil that raged without.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The blended hues of purple and gold and crimson, -shed from the stained and diamond-shaped glass that -filled the gothic windows, flooded the building with -a dim mellow light, and slept, in a rich haze, among -the funereal urns of snowy marble placed in the various -niches, once occupied by images of Catholic -worship. A shadowy light, such as beams from a -mild sunset, lay upon the altar-stone, which gleamed -out white and pure above the purple velvet that carpeted -its steps. A baptismal fount of marble stood -on the right hand filled with clear water; but in that -rich light it seemed almost brimming with wine. Two -censers of massive silver stood above the altar, but -only as remnants of a discarded faith, for no incense -had been kindled in their hearts since the divorce of -the late Henry and Catherine of Arragon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The whole church was pervaded with a beautiful -quiet, such as might reign in the shadowy dwellings -of paradise. Dudley yielded to its influence, and -drew a deep breath, half in awe, half in thankfulness, -as he gently placed the Lady Jane upon one of the -steps of the altar, and sprinkled her pale face with -the water which he dipped with his hand from the -baptismal fount. He took off the mantle which she -still unconsciously held tightly about her person, and -gathering up the rich tresses of her hair as they fell -upon the marble, made an awkward attempt to bind -them round her head. The poor lady was conscious -of his kindness, but so exhausted that she had no -power to thank him. The very effort to unclose her -eyes was an exertion too much for her languid state, -and the soft light which fell over her like a rich sunset -seemed lending beauty to a marble statue, so pale -and deathlike were her features. When Dudley inquired -with anxious tenderness after her welfare, -from time to time, she answered him with a faint -clasp of the hand which he took in his, and grateful -tears gushed in bright drops through her closed lashes, -and fell, one after another, like jewels upon the purple -velvet beneath her cheek. At last she opened -her eyes, a sweet and tender expression of pleasure -came to her face, and one of the familiar smiles -which Dudley loved so well sprang like sunlight to -her reddening lips. She was yet bewildered and -dreamy, but tranquillized by the one dear presence, -and the holy quiet which brooded over the place of -her rest. For a time she was unconscious of the -tumult which still raged without, for the sounds came -but faintly to that holy place, and seemed more like -the heaving beat of a far off ocean than a strife of -angry men, heated and drunken with bad passions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All at once a shout so long, loud and fierce, that it -filled that tranquil building like the howl of a demon, -fell upon her ear. She started up with a full consciousness -of all that had happened to her during the -morning, and again sinking upon the steps of the -altar buried her face between her hands, and held -her breath with a feeling of terror such as she had -never known before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At that moment Dudley’s attendant, who had remained -near the church door, came hurriedly toward -his master with information that the Duke of Somerset -had joined his men in person, and was now within -a few paces of the church.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:0.75em;'>(To be continued.)</p> - -<hr class='tbk147'/> - -<div><h1><a id='zep'></a>THE ZEPHYR.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY JULIET H. LEWIS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>I sat</span> by the casement; before me there</p> -<p class='line0'>Lay a treasured thing, a long tress of hair,</p> -<p class='line0'>And it moved my heart with a touching power—</p> -<p class='line0'>’Twas the cherished gift of a parting hour.</p> -<p class='line0'>The sun-shine lay ’mid its nut-brown fold</p> -<p class='line0'>With a loving smile, as it did of old.</p> -<p class='line0'>When the curl waved free in its careless grace,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a cloud in the sky, o’er the smiling face</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the gentle girl that I loved so well—</p> -<p class='line0'>A dimming tear on the bright lock fell</p> -<p class='line0'>As thoughts of the loved one far away,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the teeming past, on my sad heart lay.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A Zephyr, that all this time had play’d,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a laughing child, ’mid the rose tree’s shade,</p> -<p class='line0'>Flew up, like a bird, to the casement there,</p> -<p class='line0'>And bore off in triumph the lock of hair.</p> -<p class='line0'>’Twas a cruel theft! and harsh words of blame,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a mountain stream, from my full heart came,</p> -<p class='line0'>For the reckless deeds of the careless thing,</p> -<p class='line0'>Ever hovering near on mischievous wing.</p> -<p class='line0'>But the day before, he had entered my bower,</p> -<p class='line0'>And scattered the leaves of its loveliest flower,</p> -<p class='line0'>And bore off a letter that lay unread,</p> -<p class='line0'>’Neath the scented buds, on a mossy bed,</p> -<p class='line0'>To the brook hard by, who, with dimpled cheek</p> -<p class='line0'>And a smothered laugh at the Zephyr’s freak,</p> -<p class='line0'>Received the gift, and bounded on</p> -<p class='line0'>As wild, and free, as a forest fawn,</p> -<p class='line0'>To its hiding spots ’neath the greenwood shade,</p> -<p class='line0'>Glancing back, through the leaves, where the young wind play’d.</p> -<p class='line0'>“Now! Spirit of Air,” I cried, “gay breeze—</p> -<p class='line0'>Are all thine acts as unkind as these?</p> -<p class='line0'>Thy wings are unfettered—thy path is free—</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet mine is the power to follow thee.”</p> -<p class='line0'>Then thought sprang up on her weariless wing,</p> -<p class='line0'>And tracked the wind, in imagining.</p> -<p class='line0'>He stole the white plume from the thistle’s crest,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which was light as down on the swan’s pure breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>And with waving wing bore the prize away</p> -<p class='line0'>To a happy group ’mid the flowers at play,</p> -<p class='line0'>And fanning the cheek of each laughing boy,</p> -<p class='line0'>With his cooling wing, waved the downy toy</p> -<p class='line0'>Their bright heads above, and the careless band,</p> -<p class='line0'>With eager eye, and with outstretched hand,</p> -<p class='line0'>Ran away, in chase of the silvery thing</p> -<p class='line0'>That the Zephyr bore on exulting wing.</p> -<p class='line0'>Now slowly it floated their hands beneath—</p> -<p class='line0'>Now upward it sprang on a stronger breath—</p> -<p class='line0'>Now wafted afar—’twas a merry race</p> -<p class='line0'>The Zephyr to lead, and the children in chase!</p> -<p class='line0'>He left them behind, but bore along</p> -<p class='line0'>Their glee-toned voices, in joyous song,</p> -<p class='line0'>And each lone mother looked up and smiled,</p> -<p class='line0'>As she caught the tones of her darling child,</p> -<p class='line0'>And paused awhile from her toil, to bless</p> -<p class='line0'>The heart, o’erflowing with happiness.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Then he went his way and on manhood’s brow</p> -<p class='line0'>His cooling fingers are busy now,</p> -<p class='line0'>He parts the dark hair from its resting place,</p> -<p class='line0'>And prints a kiss on the anxious face,</p> -<p class='line0'>And woos him to leave the dust and glare</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the crowded town, for a spot more fair,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where trees in blossom, and birds on wing,</p> -<p class='line0'>Lead the rapt heart from each worldly thing.</p> -<p class='line0'>But man heeds not, for his rest is sold,</p> -<p class='line0'>And his heart bows down to the god of gold;</p> -<p class='line0'>For the tempting Zephyr he “cares not a groat,”</p> -<p class='line0'>He is eagerly reaching a “ten pound note,”</p> -<p class='line0'>That ragged, and soiled on the counter doth lay,</p> -<p class='line0'>But the Zephyr indignantly bears it away.</p> -<p class='line0'>He toss’d it, he pull’d it, he twirled it around,</p> -<p class='line0'>Now high in the air, and now low on the ground,</p> -<p class='line0'>He moaned in derision, he whistled with glee,</p> -<p class='line0'>Ah! never was Zephyr as merry as he,</p> -<p class='line0'>Till at length, in his frolic, he entered a shed</p> -<p class='line0'>Where a widow was praying for daily bread,</p> -<p class='line0'>In the voice of faith, low, subdued and mild,</p> -<p class='line0'>She prayed for food for her starving child:</p> -<p class='line0'>Then the wind bowed down with its burden there,</p> -<p class='line0'>And Heaven thus answered the widow’s prayer.</p> -<p class='line0'>Then he entered the halls, where many a scene</p> -<p class='line0'>Of joyous pleasure, and mirth had been—</p> -<p class='line0'>He softly sighed o’er the festal board,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where the jest had passed, and the red wine poured,</p> -<p class='line0'>He swept the harp with his quivering wing,</p> -<p class='line0'>And woke the tones of each mournful string,</p> -<p class='line0'>While his murmuring voice, with its gentle chime,</p> -<p class='line0'>Seemed singing a song of the olden time,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or breathing a dirge o’er the gay hearts fled</p> -<p class='line0'>To their silent homes ’mid the lowly dead.</p> -<p class='line0'>He sighed through the banners that hung on high—</p> -<p class='line0'>(Dimmed was their gorgeous blazonry,)</p> -<p class='line0'>But they waved aloft, as they waved of old,</p> -<p class='line0'>When the shout and song shook each heavy fold,</p> -<p class='line0'>While the dust fell down in a darkening cloud—</p> -<p class='line0'>And the moth was rocked in her silken shroud—</p> -<p class='line0'>And the bat sprang forth from his loathsome nest,</p> -<p class='line0'>’Mid the pennons there, an unseemly guest!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Then he went to the violet’s lonely bowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>And gathered their breath, though he left the flowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>And hastened on with the rich perfume</p> -<p class='line0'>And a gladsome song, to the invalid’s room.</p> -<p class='line0'>He hushed his voice as he entered there,</p> -<p class='line0'>For holy and sad rose the sound of prayer,</p> -<p class='line0'>With his wealth from the woods he wafted on,</p> -<p class='line0'>And rushing memories of bright things gone</p> -<p class='line0'>To the dying bore, while a low-breathed sigh,</p> -<p class='line0'>Told of the Zephyr’s sympathy.</p> -<p class='line0'>One tender act that he did that day,</p> -<p class='line0'>Was a moment to pause where a stranger lay,</p> -<p class='line0'>In an unknown land, with no loved one near</p> -<p class='line0'>To breathe a sigh o’er his lowly bier,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or moisten his grave with the tear-drops shed</p> -<p class='line0'>From the mourning heart, o’er the loved and the dead.</p> -<p class='line0'>Then mounting upward, on breezy wing,</p> -<p class='line0'>To the white haw tree richly blossoming,</p> -<p class='line0'>And, gathering its sweets with a gentle wave,</p> -<p class='line0'>He spread them like snow o’er the stranger’s grave.</p> -<p class='line0'>Green leaf, and bud, and starry flower,</p> -<p class='line0'>Filled the rich air, like a lovely shower</p> -<p class='line0'>Of bright things, sent from a fairy land,</p> -<p class='line0'>And lay on the grave as though some kind hand</p> -<p class='line0'>Had scattered, that silent heart above,</p> -<p class='line0'>The sweets that in life it had learned to love.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  But ’twere <span class='it'>vain</span> to tell of his wanderings free</p> -<p class='line0'>O’er leafy land, and o’er foaming sea—</p> -<p class='line0'>How he swept round the palace, and played through the cot—</p> -<p class='line0'>Passed “the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot;”</p> -<p class='line0'>How he wafted the purple of lordly pride,</p> -<p class='line0'>And fluttered the rags of the beggar aside,</p> -<p class='line0'>How he made of a spray-capped wave his steed,</p> -<p class='line0'>And rode o’er the ocean with Jehu speed,</p> -<p class='line0'>(’Till his charger tossed its snowy mane,</p> -<p class='line0'>And sank to its native depths again,)</p> -<p class='line0'>How he hastened the ship on her homeward way,</p> -<p class='line0'>And scattered her track with the ocean’s spray.</p> -<p class='line0'>’Twere vain to number the acts like these,</p> -<p class='line0'>That were done that day, by the joyous Breeze—</p> -<p class='line0'>While I could but mark that, what first seemed rude,</p> -<p class='line0'>Was gentle, and tender, and kind, and good.</p> -<p class='line0'>I followed him far on his wayward track,</p> -<p class='line0'>And when, from wandering, I turned me back,</p> -<p class='line0'>He whispered at parting, these words, methought,</p> -<p class='line0'>To my hasty heart,—“<span class='it'>Judge not!</span> <span class='sc'>judge not!</span>”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk148'/> - -<div><h1><a id='shak'></a>SHAKSPEARE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THEODORE S. FAY, AUTHOR OF “NORMAN LESLIE,” “THE COUNTESS IDA,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> is the fashion to consider Macbeth a spotless -and noble soul, ensnared by the toils of the fiends, -and pulled down from heaven to hell by the chance -meeting of the weird sisters on the heath. There is -a serious objection to this view. It makes machines -of men. It takes from us the most obvious and sublime -attribute of an immortal being, viz: free agency. If -a high-minded and God-revering mortal is unprotected -against the attacks of supernatural beings—if -foul witches may watch for him in unguarded moments, -and weave around his enchanted feet the -fatal snares of crime and death, then are we truly a -wretched race. But this is not Shakspeare’s creed. -This is not the character of the tragedy. Macbeth -was a villain. He had deliberately adopted vice as -his god long before the fiends were permitted to -patter with him. They come as a <span class='it'>consequence</span> not as -a <span class='it'>cause</span> of wickedness. The withered and wild sisters -on the blasted heath were conjured up by his -own cherished weaknesses and <span class='it'>secret</span> deeds.<a id='r4'/><a href='#f4' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[4]</span></sup></a> They -were the haggard and hellish impersonations of his -own hidden thoughts and passions. He was not the -pure, generous, heaven-adoring person he is represented. -The germs of his guilt he had received into -his heart by himself years before, and they lay -shooting there in silence, only waiting the quickening -beam of opportunity—waiting the first, feeblest -temptation to start forth in all their force. He was -one of those fair-<span class='it'>seeming</span> men who pass for honest -and noble. The world contains now, as then, many -such. Many a man with an uplifted brow and a -clear name, waits only <span class='it'>occasion</span> to prove himself a -scoundrel. It is such specious hypocrites that gather -around them (as the smell of carrion does the hawk -and vulture) the plotting witches who watch for -power over the children of men. They had never -tempted the pure good old King Duncan. He might -have passed the blasted heath every day of his life, -and these hags would never have dreamed of appearing -to him. His soul was not prepared for their wiles. -But that of Macbeth—as well as that of his stern -wife—was corrupted by the whole tenor of their previous -life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Had there been left no evidence of this, I should -still have asserted it. The innocent—the pure in -heart—they who daily commune with their Maker—who -acknowledge their weakness and danger -when left to themselves—and implore humbly at his -feet his all-sufficient aid—never fall victims to the -accursed fiends, whether they appear in the deformity -of Paddock and Graymalkin, or disguised -under the fair temptations of life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Shakspeare has left proof enough in his tragedy. -He meant to show, not (as is frequently -asserted) the downfall of noble grandeur and unsuspecting -innocence, but the destruction of a fair-showing, -unsuspected villain—the wreck of a ship -whose outward semblance was tall and imposing, but -which was unseaworthy and destined to go down -before the first gale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the first place, why does not <span class='it'>Banquo</span> suffer -from the fiends? He is with Macbeth when they -appear. He even boldly addresses them, and at once—with -the frank fearlessness of a noble and virtuous -mind, conscious of its honesty, commands them, if -they can read the future, to speak to <span class='it'>him</span> also.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear your favors, -nor your hate.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Here is at once a man not to be tampered with. -They promise <span class='it'>him</span> also as well as Macbeth a dazzling -future good—a posterity of kings—but it in -no way changes his plans of life, or raises the least -idea in his mind of crime or intrigue. Even when, -according to the prediction of the witches, Macbeth -instantly receives intelligence, of his being thane of -Cawdor, Banquo’s <span class='it'>clear-seeing sense of right</span>, his -innocence of nature takes the true and virtuous view -of the affair, looks, at a glance, through all the complicated -web of the sisters’ plots, and keeps himself -unsoiled, unendangered by them.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>   <span class='it'>Banquo.</span> “But ’tis strange;</p> -<p class='line0'>And often-times, to win us to <span class='it'>our harm</span>,</p> -<p class='line0'>The instruments of darkness tell us truths;</p> -<p class='line0'>Win us with honest trifles, to betray us</p> -<p class='line0'>In deepest consequence.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>And while he is making this just reflection, the -obvious impulse of a mind not warped from the -erectness of a moral and religious integrity and reverence, -Macbeth soliloquizes with a kind of inexpressible -anticipatory triumph.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  “Two truths are told</p> -<p class='line0'>As happy prologues to the swelling act</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the imperial theme.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>And he then goes on, like a ready made, long-matured -rascal as he is—like one whose mind had -no habit of virtuous or religious contemplation, but -which has always had a familiarity with evil and a -tendency downward:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>——“Why do I <span class='it'>yield</span> to that suggestion</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,” etc.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The very moment his attention is directed to the -subject of his becoming <span class='it'>king</span>, he conceives the idea -of murdering the actual occupant of the throne, notwithstanding -the fact that there are two sons living.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An innocent man, were he told he would become -king of England, would not instantly set about murdering -the queen. He would (supposing him to have -faith in the prediction) say to himself, as indeed -Macbeth does at one time:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“If chance will have me king, why chance may crown -me, without my stir.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The very first page of the tragedy marks Macbeth -for a villain even before he has made his appearance.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>1. <span class='it'>Witch.</span> When shall we three meet again</p> -<p class='line0'>   In thunder, lightning, or in rain?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>2. <span class='it'>Witch.</span> When the hurly-burly’s done,</p> -<p class='line0'>   When the battle’s lost and won;</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>3. <span class='it'>Witch.</span> That will be ere set of sun.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>1. <span class='it'>Witch.</span> Where the place?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>2. <span class='it'>Witch.</span> Upon the heath.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>3. <span class='it'>Witch.</span> <span class='it'>Then to meet with Macbeth.</span></p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Why have these fiendish women selected the gallant -soldier as their victim? What gathers them -about the “battle” that is raging near? <span class='it'>What</span> but -the <span class='it'>scent</span> of <span class='it'>a sinful heart</span>?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But there are other proofs of an extrinsic nature, -which settle the previous character of Lady Macbeth -at the same time, and shows how ripe they both -were for the fiends.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If a man’s true nature may be supposed to be -known to any one it <span class='it'>is to his wife</span>. He may put on -a smooth face before his best friend; he may write -or speak virtuous sentiments to the public; he may -give charitable donations, and follow the career of a -flaming patriot or a meek saint, but the lady upon -whom he has conferred with his name, the right of -being with him continually, will be pretty able to tell -how matters really are. I do not say that, because -a wife abuses her husband and calls him names, he -must necessarily be a rascal; but, as a general rule, -the partner of his woes and joys has better opportunities -of <span class='it'>knowing the man</span> than almost any one -else—at least, if she be a person of Lady Macbeth’s -discrimination. Well then, see what his <span class='it'>lady</span> says -of him, to herself, on receiving his letter recounting -the prediction of the weird sisters.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  “Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be</p> -<p class='line0'>What thou art promis’d:—yet I do fear thy nature;</p> -<p class='line0'>It is too full o’ the milk of human kindness,</p> -<p class='line0'>To catch the nearest way.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>That she should suppose him <span class='it'>too full of the milk -of human kindness</span> to do cruel actions is a skilful -stroke in the delineation both of his nature and hers. -However well she knew him, as he had been till -then, an unprincipled man—even <span class='it'>she</span> had never -fathomed those depths of character, (for good or for -evil common to all men, and equally unfathomed -probably by himself,) which the subsequent events -disclosed. Shakspeare somewhere else says, “It is -not a year or so that shows us a man”—and it is an -important truth, that we are not thoroughly known -by our best friends, and do not know ourselves till -late in life. This same person, so full of the milk of -human kindness that she feared his “softer nature” -could never be brought to the necessary resolution, -no sooner finds himself once fairly compromised than -his atrocities throw the cruelties of ordinary oppressors -quite into the shade.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>              “Thou would’st be great;</p> -<p class='line0'>Art not without ambition; but without</p> -<p class='line0'>The illness should attend it. What thou would’st highly</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou would’st holily; would’st not play false,</p> -<p class='line0'>And yet <span class='it'>would’st wrongly win</span>,” etc. etc.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>This passage has been often misunderstood. “Without -the <span class='it'>illness</span>” that should attend ambition—“what -thou would’st highly thou would’st holily,” does not -mean, thou art without the <span class='it'>vices</span> which should attend -ambition, and, what thou would’st highly—thou -would’st in a <span class='it'>holy spirit</span>. It means, he is without the -<span class='it'>courage</span> to bear the risk and odium necessary to the -successful carrying out of ambitious plans, although -he is willing enough to be <span class='it'>guilty</span> if he may not <span class='it'>appear</span> -to be so. “What he would highly,” he would also -with an <span class='it'>appearance of holiness</span>. He loves the <span class='it'>mask</span> -of virtue, but he loves also the sweets of sin. He -has thus far enjoyed the good opinion of the <span class='it'>world</span>. -He cannot bear to throw aside the wreath which he -has worn and which flatters his weakness and vanity. -It is the <span class='it'>world</span> which alone he thinks of. This is his -only god. Of the Supreme Being, there is not a -word; but of his inclination to assume the moral -responsibility there is a distinct acknowledgment:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>        “Would’st not play false</p> -<p class='line0'>And yet <span class='it'>would’st wrongly win</span>. ‘Thou’d’st have, great Glamis,’</p> -<p class='line0'>That which cries, ‘<span class='it'>Thus thou must do if thou have it!</span>’</p> -<p class='line0'>And that which thou dost <span class='it'>rather fear to do</span>,</p> -<p class='line0'>Than <span class='it'>wishest should be undone</span>.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Here we have Macbeth’s character. Here we have -the secret of his goodness. It is <span class='it'>fear</span> and <span class='it'>love of the -world</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Shakspeare meant to draw a very—very common -character, only he has made it colossal. How many -men in the common life of this day are irreproachable -from the same considerations—fear and love -of the world, joined to a certain dislike of the trouble, -exertion and risk of wrong. (“If we should fail!”) -That these are the moving springs of this seemingly -noble and generous but really remorseless and impious -character we see again from a remark of his -own. After contemplating the murder for some time, -he concludes to abandon the plan. Why? Because -he will not incur the moral guilt? Because he has -thoughts of his God, whose eye is on him, and who -cannot but punish a crime? Because the commandment -has been written, “Thou shalt do no murder?” -Because the Deity himself has decreed “blood for -blood?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No. For reasons much more suited to his irreligious, -infidel, worldly mind:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  “We will proceed no further in this business!</p> -<p class='line0'>He hath <span class='it'>honored</span> me of late; and I have bought</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Golden opinions</span> from all <span class='it'>sorts of people</span>,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which should be worn now in their newest gloss,</p> -<p class='line0'>Not cast aside so soon.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>These are his reasons for not wishing to proceed. -Not a thought of his Maker—not an allusion to a -future world. He expressly says, in another passage, -if he could but be secure against detection <span class='it'>in this -world</span>, he does not feel any apprehension respecting -the other. He’ll “<span class='it'>jump the world to come</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No man, not corrupt by long previous backslidings -either of thought or deed, would act as Macbeth acts. -He grasps at the first idea of murder with the true -zest of an assassin. All his struggles are only those -of fear. The <span class='it'>first</span> time he meets the king, his generous, -grateful, and gracious master, he seems already -to have arranged the murder in his mind, and his -hypocrisy and cruelty do not waver an instant. He -discovers the self-possession and plausible villany of -a practised criminal, and this too before he sees his -wife upon the subject. It almost seems as if they -had spoken on this point before. When Duncan -heaps him with thanks and rewards, he answers:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>   <span class='it'>Mac.</span> “The service and the loyalty I owe,</p> -<p class='line0'>In doing it, pays itself. Your Highness’ part</p> -<p class='line0'>Is to receive our duties: and our duties</p> -<p class='line0'>Are, to your throne and state, children and servants;</p> -<p class='line0'>Which do but what they should, by doing every thing</p> -<p class='line0'>Safe toward your love and honor.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>When the King says, as if in dark conformity to -the witches’ prediction:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>              “from hence to Inverness,</p> -<p class='line0'>And bind us further to you,”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Macbeth, like a hungry leopard trembling with joy -at seeing his victim take refuge in his very den, says, -with an affectation of grateful submission:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>   <span class='it'>Mac.</span> “The rest is labor which is not used for you:</p> -<p class='line0'>I’ll be myself the harbinger, and <span class='it'>make joyful</span></p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>The hearing of my</span> wife with your approach.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>And then <span class='it'>already</span>, to himself:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>   <span class='it'>Mac.</span> “The Prince of Cumberland! That is a step</p> -<p class='line0'>On which I must fall <span class='it'>down, or else overleap</span>;</p> -<p class='line0'>For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires!</p> -<p class='line0'>Let not light see my black and deep desires,</p> -<p class='line0'>The eye wink at the hand, <span class='it'>yet let that be</span></p> -<p class='line0'>Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>His famous soliloquy, “Out, out, brief candle,” is -in itself a superb piece of earthly philosophy, but it -becomes resplendently significant when regarded as -the <span class='it'>creed of infidelity</span> which has brought him where -he is; for he is an atheist, and <span class='it'>therefore</span> he is a -<span class='it'>murderer</span>.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player,</p> -<p class='line0'>That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,</p> -<p class='line0'>And <span class='it'>then is heard no more</span>: it is a tale</p> -<p class='line0'>Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Signifying nothing</span>.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>These are not the thoughts of the gentle, happy-hearted -Shakspeare. These are the blasphemous -outbreakings of a blood-drenched, disbelieving soul, -vainly striving to make head against God’s vengeance -by denying his existence. No. Life’s <span class='it'>not</span> a -walking shadow. It is more than a poor player—than -a tale signifying nothing. It signifies much not -to be known by the “ignorant present,” as they find, -unhappy lost ones, who mistake such wicked blasphemies -for truth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The pertinacity with which his selfish soul is -wedded to the world is again betrayed in one of his -last soliloquies, where, in running a kind of balance -in his accounts between the gains and losses of his -murderous ambition, he complains:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“And that which should accompany old age,</p> -<p class='line0'>As <span class='it'>honor, love, obedience, troops of friends</span>,</p> -<p class='line0'>I must not look to have; but, in their stead,</p> -<p class='line0'>Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Always the world bounds his hopes and his fears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The original viciousness of his nature is also betrayed -by the readiness with which, once embarked -in the career of crime, he plunges in headlong. The -very morning of the murder of the king, he stabs in -their sleep the two grooms of the chamber, then -Banquo and Fleance (which latter escapes by chance.) -He rushes on from murder to murder with the rabid -fury of a hound maddened with the taste of blood. -He adopts the direst principles of action,</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>   <span class='it'>Mac.</span> “From this moment</p> -<p class='line0'>The very firstlings of my heart shall be</p> -<p class='line0'>The firstlings of my hand.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Surprises the castle of Macduff, and massacres his -wife, his babes,</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“And all the unfortunate souls</p> -<p class='line0'>That trace him in his line.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>That Shakspeare meant to draw, in this remarkable -portraiture, a worldly character unsupported by <span class='it'>religion</span>, -is evident from the <span class='it'>tone of piety</span> which runs -through the other characters. The gentlewoman’s -“Heaven knows what she has known,” and her -“pray God it be well.” The doctor’s “God, God -forgive us all!” Macduff’s</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>        “Did Heaven look on</p> -<p class='line0'>And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,</p> -<p class='line0'>They were all struck for thee! Naught that I am,</p> -<p class='line0'>Not for their own demerits, but for mine,</p> -<p class='line0'>Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>This is the oft repeated apprehension of a pious -heart which fears still its own weakness, and finds, -in the inscrutable and most awful visitatings of God -a merited blow—a chastener of its still corrupt desires—a -lesson to unlink it yet more from its grasp -on mortality.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Immediately again Macduff prays to heaven—and -in the same page Malcolm says:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            “Macbeth</p> -<p class='line0'>Is ripe for shaking, and the <span class='it'>powers above</span></p> -<p class='line0'>Put on their instruments.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Another instance of the pure christian piety with -which the poet invests his good characters, and of -which he deprives his bad ones, telling strongly for -Dr. Ulrici’s theory, occurs in the third scene of the -fourth act, where Malcolm, the heir to the throne, in -order to try Macduff, represents himself as being full -of vices. Macduff replies,</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            “Thy Royal Father</p> -<p class='line0'>Was a most <span class='it'>sainted King</span>; the Queen, that bore thee,—</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Oftener upon her knees than on her feet</span>.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>In his answer, Malcolm uses the expression, full -of pious reverence:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>      “But <span class='it'>God above</span></p> -<p class='line0'>Deal between thee and me,” &c.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>And still another, the morning after the murder, -when Macduff says:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“In the <span class='it'>great hand of God I stand</span>,” &c.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_4'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f4'><a href='#r4'>[4]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Vide a future</span> ¶.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk149'/> - -<div><h1><a id='dau'></a>THE DAUGHTERS OF DR. BYLES.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A SKETCH OF REALITY.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MISS LESLIE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>On</span> my first visit to Boston, about nine years since, -I was offered, by a lady of that kind and hospitable -city, (the paradise of strangers,) an introduction to -the two daughters of the celebrated Mather Byles: -and I gladly availed myself of this opportunity of -becoming acquainted with these singular women, -whom, I had been told, were classed among the -curiosities of the place.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Their father, a native Bostonian, (born in 1706, -during the reign of Queen Anne,) was connected -with the family of Cotton Mather. His education -was completed in England, where he studied theology -at Cambridge, and was afterwards ordained a minister -of the gospel according to the Episcopal faith. -On his return to Boston, Mather Byles was inducted -into the first pastor-ship of Hollis street church, then -a newly-erected edifice, constructed entirely of wood, -as were most American churches of that period. -He became proprietor of a house and a small piece -of ground near the junction of Tremont and Nassau -streets. In this house all his children were born, -and here the two that survived were still living. -His wife was a daughter of Governor Taylor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The position of Dr. Byles as a clergyman, his literary -acquirements, his shrewd sense, and his ready -wit, caused him to be highly popular at home, and -brought him into personal acquaintance or epistolary -correspondence with many of the principal men of -his time, on both sides of the Atlantic. He frequently -exchanged letters with Pope and with Dr. Watts: -and among the visiters at his “modest mansion” -might be enumerated some of the most distinguished -persons of his native province—while strangers of -note eagerly sought his acquaintance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All went smoothly with Dr. Byles till America -became impatient of her dependence on the crown -of Britain; and, unfortunately for him, his sympathies -were on the side of the mother country. He could -not be persuaded that her children of the new world -had sufficient cause for abrogating the authority of -the nation from whence they had sprung; and he -considered their alleged grievances as mere pretexts -for throwing off a chain which, in his opinion, had -pressed but lightly on them; and that, in short, as -Falstaff said of the Percy and Mortimer insurrection,—“Rebellion -lay in their way, and they found it.” -His congregation had warmly and almost unanimously -espoused the popular cause, and, consequently, -were much irritated at the ultra royalist feelings and -opinions of their pastor, whose difficulties with his -flock seeming daily to increase, Dr. Byles eventually -thought it best to resign his situation as minister of -Hollis street church.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The war broke out; the battle of Bunker Hill was -fought, and Boston was subsequently occupied by the -British army, and besieged by the Americans, who -established themselves in hostile array upon the -heights that commanded the town,—and, with a -view of dislodging the enemy, they vigilantly exerted -themselves in stopping all supplies of fuel and provisions. -After holding out against the patriots during -a leaguer of more than eight months, the British -finally withdrew their forces, and embarked them to -carry the war into another section of the country. -Now, that something like order was again restored -in the town of Boston and its vicinity, it was thought -time to punish those who had rendered themselves -obnoxious by aiding and abetting the cause of the -enemy. Some of the most noted royalists were -expelled from the province and took refuge in Nova -Scotia, others went into voluntary exile and repaired -to England, where they preferred a claim of indemnification -for the losses they had sustained by adhering -to the cause of monarchy. Among others, Dr. Mather -Byles was denounced at a town-meeting, for his -unconcealed toryism: for having persisted in praying -for the king; and for interchanging visits with the -British officers, most of whom were received familiarly -at his house. Upon these charges he was tried -before a special court, and at first sentenced to have -his property confiscated, and himself and family transported -to England. But the board of war, out of -respect to his private character, commuted his punishment -to a short imprisonment in his own house, -under the guard of sentinels, and allowed him to -retain his possessions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The rebellion eventuated in a successful revolution; -and honor, fame, and the gratitude of their -country rewarded those who had assisted in the -glorious contest for independence; while all who had -held back, and all who had sided with the enemy, -were contumeliously cast into the shade, regarded -with contempt by their former associates, or compelled -to wear out their lives in exile from the land -of their birth. Most of the connections of the Byles -family quitted the States. But the doctor remained, -and finding that he could not regain his former place -among his townsmen, he lived in retirement during -the residue of his life, and died at his own house in -Boston, in 1788, in the 82d year of his age. He was -interred beneath the pavement of the chancel in -Trinity church, having worshipped there with his -family after quitting that of Hollis street.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the old family house his two surviving daughters -had ever since continued to reside, steadily refusing -to sell either the building or the lot of ground attached -to it, though liberal offers for its purchase had repeatedly -been made to them. So deep-rooted was -their attachment to this spot, where they had been -born, and where they had always lived, that they -considered it impossible for them to exist in any -other place, continually asserting that a removal -from it would certainly kill them. They had a trifling -source of income which brought them two hundred -dollars annually, and they contrived to save nearly -the whole of this little sum. Also, they possessed a -tolerable quantity of old-fashioned plate, which they -had put away in a chest up stairs, never to be used -or sold while they lived. In the mean time their -wants were chiefly supplied, (and, indeed, many little -luxuries were furnished them,) by the benevolence of -certain ladies of Boston, who, in the goodness of -their hearts, overlooked the anomaly of two women -who had the means of a comfortable independence -within their reach, submitting to receive assistance -from eleemosynary bounty rather than relinquish -the indulgence of what, in those matter-of-fact times, -would, by most persons, be regarded as a mere -morbid fancy. But on this point of feeling they -believed their happiness to depend; and their tolerant -benefactresses kindly enabled them to be happy in -their own way.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Miss Byleses kept no domestic; but a man -came every morning to attend to the wood and water -part of their <span class='it'>ménage</span>, and to go their errands—and -a woman was employed every week to do up the -Saturday work. A newspaper was sent to them -gratuitously—books were lent to them, for the -youngest was something of a reader, and also wrote -verses; and they frequently received little presents -of cakes, sweetmeats, and other delicacies. They -rarely went out, except to Trinity church. Then -they put on their everlasting suits of the same Sunday -clothes: their faces being, on these occasions, -shaded with deep black veils suspended from their -bonnets, not so much for concealment as for gentility.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The lady who volunteered to introduce me to the -daughters of Dr. Byles, was, as I afterwards understood, -one of those who assisted in affording them -some of the comforts which they denied to themselves. -We set out on our visit on one of the loveliest -mornings of a Boston summer, the warmth of the -season being delightfully tempered by a cool breeze -from the sea. After passing the beautiful Common, -(why has it not a better name?) my companion -pointed out to me, at what seemed the termination of -the long vista of Tremont street, an old black-looking -frame-house, which, at the distance from whence I -saw it, seemed to block up the way by standing -directly across it. It was the ancient residence of -Mather Byles, and the present dwelling of his aged -daughters; one of whom was in her eighty-first and -the other in her seventy-ninth year. This part of -Tremont street, which is on the south-eastern declivity -of a hill, carried us far from all vicinity to the -aristocratic section of Boston.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length we arrived at the domain of the two -antique maidens. It was surrounded by a board -fence, which had once been a very close one, but -time and those universal depredators, “the boys,” -had made numerous cracks and chinks in it. The -house (which stood with the gable end to the street) -looked as if it had never been painted in its life. Its -exposure to the sun and rain, to the heats of a hundred -summers and the snows of a hundred winters, -had darkened its whole outside nearly to the blackness -of iron. Also, it had, even in its best days, been -evidently one of the plainest and most unbeautified -structures in the town of Boston, where many of the -old frame-houses can boast of a redolence of quaint -ornament about the doors, and windows, and porches, -and balconies. Still, there was something not unpleasant -in its aspect, or rather in its situation. It -stood at the upper end of a green lot, whose long -thick grass was enamelled with field flowers. It -was shaded with noble horse-chestnut trees relieved -against the clear blue sky, and whose close and -graceful clusters of long jagged leaves, fanned by -the light summer breeze, threw their chequered and -quivering shadows on the grass beneath, and on the -mossy roof of the venerable mansion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We entered the enclosure by a board gate, whose -only fastening was a wooden latch with a leather -string; like that which secured the wicket of Little -Red Ridinghood’s grand-mother. There was a -glimpse of female figures hastily flitting away from -a front window. We approached the house by a -narrow pathway, worn by frequent feet, in the grass, -and a few paces brought us to the front door with -its decayed and tottering wooden steps. My companion -knocked, and the door was immediately -opened by a rather broad-framed and very smiling -old lady, habited in a black worsted petticoat and a -white short-gown, into the neck of which was tucked -a book-muslin kerchief. Her silver hair was smoothly -arranged over a wrinkled but well-formed forehead, -beneath which twinkled two small blue eyes. Her -head was covered with a close full-bordered white -linen cap, that looked equally convenient for night or -for day. She welcomed us with much apparent -pleasure, and my companion introduced her to me as -Miss Mary Byles. She was the eldest of the two -sisters.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miss Mary ushered us into the parlor, which was -without a carpet, and its scanty furniture seemed at -least a century old. Beneath a surprisingly high -mantel-piece was a very low fire-place, from whence -the andirons having been removed for the summer, -its only accoutrement was a marvellous thick cast-iron -back-plate, of a pattern antique even to rudeness. -There were a few straight tall-backed chairs, -some with bottoms of flag-rush, and others with -bottoms of listing; and there was one <span class='it'>fauteuil</span>, to be -described hereafter. My attention was attracted by -the oldest-looking table I had ever seen, and of so -dark a hue that it was difficult to tell whether it was -mahogany or walnut. When opened out it must -have been circular; but, now that the leaves were -let down, it exhibited a top so strangely narrow (not -more than half a foot in width) that it was impossible -to divine the object in making it so; unless, indeed, -it was the fashionable table of the time. And fashion, -at all periods, has been considered reason sufficient -for anything, however inconvenient, ugly or absurd. -To support the narrow top and the wide leaves, this -table seemed to be endowed with a hundred legs and -a proportionate number of bars crossing among them, -in every direction, all being of very elaborate -turned work. I opine that this must have been a -great table in its day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>My companion inquired after the health of Miss -Catherine Byles, the youngest of the ladies. Miss -Mary replied that sister Catherine was quite unwell, -having passed a bad night with the rheumatism. -Regret was expressed at our losing the pleasure of -seeing her. But Miss Mary politely assured us that -her sister would exert herself to appear, rather than -forego an opportunity of paying her respects to the -ladies; and we as politely hoped that, on our account, -she would not put herself to the smallest inconvenience. -While compliments were thus flying, the door -of the next room opened, and Miss Catherine Byles -made her entrance, in a manner which showed us -that she went much by gracefulness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miss Catherine was unlike her elder sister, both in -figure and face; her features being much sharper, (in -fact, excessively sharp,) and her whole person extremely -thin. She also was arrayed in a black bombasin -petticoat, a short-gown, and a close lined cap, -with a deep border that seemed almost to bury her -narrow visage. She greeted us with much cordiality, -and complained of her rheumatism with a smiling -countenance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>My eyes were soon rivetted on a fine portrait of -Dr. Mather Byles, from the wonderful pencil of -Copley—wonderful in its excellence at a period -when the divine art was scarcely known in the provinces, -and when a good picture rarely found its way -to our side of the ocean. And yet, under these disadvantages, -and before he sought improvement in the -schools of Europe, did Copley achieve those extraordinary -fac-similes of the human face, that might -justly entitle him to the appellation of the Reynolds of -America, and are scarcely excelled by those of his -cotemporary, the Reynolds of England.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The moment I looked at this picture I knew that -it <span class='it'>must</span> be a likeness; for I saw in its lineaments the -whole character of Dr. Byles, particularly the covert -humor of the eye. The face was pale, the features -well-formed, and the aspect pleasantly acute. He -was represented in his ecclesiastical habiliments, -with a curled and powdered wig. On his finger was -a signet-ring containing a very fine red cornelian. -While I was contemplating the admirably-depicted -countenance, his daughters were both very voluble -in directing my attention to the cornelian ring, which -they evidently considered the best part of the picture; -declaring it to be an exact likeness of that very -ring, and just as natural as life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Before I had looked half enough at Copley’s picture, -the two old ladies directed my attention to another -portrait which they seemed to prize still more -highly. This, they informed me, was that of their -nephew, “poor boy,” whom they had not seen for -forty years. It was painted by himself.—His name -was Mather Brown, and he was the only son of -their deceased elder sister. He had removed to London, -where, as they informed me, he had <span class='it'>taken</span> the -Prince of Wales and the Duke of York—“and, -therefore,” said one of the aunts—“he is painter to -the royal family.” They both expressed much regret -that they had not been able to prevail on their father, -after the revolution, to give up America entirely, and -remove with his family to England. “In that case,” -said Miss Mary, “we should all have been introduced -at court; and the king and queen would have spoken -to us; and I dare say would have thanked us kindly -for our loyalty.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The truth was, as I afterwards found, that a much -longer period than forty years had elapsed since their -nephew left America; but they always continued to -give that date to his departure. He had painted -himself with his hair reared up perpendicularly from -his forehead, powdered well, and tied behind,—and, -in a wide blue coat with yellow buttons, and a very -stiff hard-plaited shirt-frill with hand-ruffles to -match. In his hand he held an open letter, which, -both his aunts informed me, contained the very words -of an epistle sent by one of them to him, and, therefore, -was an exact likeness of that very letter. To -gratify them, I read aloud the pictured missive, -thereby proving that it really contained legible words.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Having looked at the pictures, I was invited by -Miss Mary Byles to take my seat in the large arm-chair, -which she assured me was a great curiosity, -being more than a hundred years old, having been -sent over from England by “government,” as a present -to their maternal grandfather, Governor Taylor. -The chair was of oak, nearly black with age, and -curiously and elaborately carved. The back was -very tall and straight, and the carving on its top terminated -in a crown. This chair was furnished with -an old velvet cushion, which was always (by way of -preservation) kept upside down, the underside being -of dark calico. Miss Mary, however, did me the -honor, as a visiter, to turn the right side up, that I -might sit upon velvet; and as soon as I had placed -myself on it, she enquired if I found it an easy seat? -On my replying in the affirmative. “I am surprised -at that”—said she, with a smile—“I wonder how -a republican can sit easy under the crown.”—Beginning -to understand my cue, I, of course, was properly -diverted with this piece of wit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miss Catherine then directed my attention to the -antique round table, and assured me that at this very -table Dr. Franklin had drank tea on his last visit to -Boston. Miss Mary then produced, from a closet by -the chimney-side, an ancient machine of timber and -iron in the form of a bellows, which she informed -me was two hundred years old. It looked as if it -might have been two thousand, and must have been -constructed in the very infancy of bellows-making, -about the time when people first began to grow tired -of blowing their fires with their mouths. It would -have afforded a strange contrast, and a striking illustration -of the march of intellect, if placed by the -side of one of those light and beautiful, painted, gilt -and varnished fire-improvers which abound in certain -shops in Washington street. This bellows of other -days was so heavy that it seemed to require a strong -man to work it. The handles and sides were carved -all over with remarkably cumbrous devices; and the -nozzle or spout was about the size and shape of a -very large parsnep with the point cut off.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miss Mary now asked her sister if <span class='it'>she</span> had no -curiosities to show the ladies? Miss Catherine modestly -replied that she feared she had nothing the -ladies would care to look at. Miss Mary assured us -that sister Catherine had a box of extraordinary -things, such as were not to be seen every day, and -that they were universally considered as very great -curiosities. Miss Catherine still seemed meekly -inclined to undervalue them. My companion, who -<span class='it'>had</span> seen the things repeatedly, begged that their -Philadelphia visiter might be indulged with a view -of these rarities—and, finally, after a little more -coquetry, a sort of square band-box was produced, -and Miss Catherine did the honors of her little -museum.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She showed us the envelope of a letter addressed -to her father by no less a person than Alexander -Pope, and directed in the poet’s own hand. The -writing was clear and handsome, and had evidently -been executed with a new pen, and with a desire -that the superscription should look well. Next, were -exhibited four commissions, each bearing the signature -of a different British sovereign. The names of -the royal personages were placed at the top of the -document and not at the bottom. This, the old ladies -told us was to show that royalty ought to go before -every thing else. The first signature was that of -Queen Anne, and headed the appointment of their -grandfather to the government of the province of -Massachusetts. I have never in my life seen any -autograph so bad as that of “great Anne whom three -realms obeyed”—if this was to be considered a fair -specimen. It looked as if nobody had ever taught -her to write, and had the appearance of being -scratched on the paper, not with a <span class='it'>pen</span> but with a -<span class='it'>pin</span> dipped in ink. I believe it is related of the Emperor -Charlemagne (who pressed the seals of his -missives with the hilt of his dagger) that he effected -his signature by plunging his thumb into the ink, and -making with it a large black spot or blot on the -parchment. No doubt, being a man of sense, he took -care that his dab or smear should always be of exactly -the same shape and dimension, and so <span class='it'>unique</span> -in its look as to preclude the possibility of counterfeits.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next document shown us by Miss Catherine, -was honored with the name of the First George—that -sapient Elector of Hanover, whose powers of -comprehension were so obtuse that he never could -be made exactly to understand by what means he -succeeded to the throne of England, and often said -“he was afraid he was keeping some honest man -out of his place.” His majesty’s pen-maker was palpably -unworthy of holding that office, for, in this -autograph, both up strokes and down were so thick -that they looked as if done with the feather of the -quill instead of its point.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Afterwards was displayed a commission signed by -George the Second. Here the royal caligraphy seemed -on the mend. The signature was well written, and -his majesty’s pen-provider was evidently fit for his -station.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Last, was a paper bearing the name of George the -Third, written in a fair and easy hand, but rather -inferior to that of his predecessor, notwithstanding -that the second of the Hanoverian monarchs had -“never liked <span class='it'>b</span>ainting or <span class='it'>b</span>oetry in all his life, and did -not know what good there was in either.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is a most fallacious and illiberal hypothesis that -the hand-writing is characteristic of the mind. And -those who profess that theory frequently employ it -as a vehicle for the conveyance of impertinent and -unjust remarks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We were next shown a small portion of moss -gathered from the time-honored roof of Bradgate -Hall, the mansion in which the unfortunate Lady -Jane Grey first saw the light.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>These relics of the departed great were followed -by the exhibition of some little articles, only remarkable -as specimens of mechanical ingenuity. Among -them was a large deep-red mulberry, looking surprisingly -like a real one.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And now,” said Miss Catherine, “I will show -you the greatest curiosity of all.” She then took out -an inner pasteboard box that had been placed within -the larger one, and setting it on the floor, produced, -from a round hole in the lid, an artificial snake, that -looked something like a very long, very close string -of button-molds. By giving it some mysterious impulse, -she set the reptile in motion, and caused it to -run about in the neighborhood of our feet. We -thought it best to be a little startled and a little -frightened, and very greatly surprised at the ingenuity -of the thing. After we had sufficiently enjoyed the -sight, Miss Catherine attempted to replace her -snake in the box, telling him it was time to go home. -But he seemed rather refractory, and quite unwilling -to re-enter his prison. “What”—said she—chastising -him with two or three smart taps—“won’t you -go in.—Are <span class='it'>you</span> a rebel too!”—The serpent stood -rebuked; and then obediently hurried back into his -hole. And we laughed as in duty bound—also with -some admiration at the old lady’s slight of hand in -managing the reptile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miss <a id='cath1'></a>Catherine, having completed the exhibition of -her snake, now addressed Miss Mary, and proposed -that her sister should show us an extraordinary trick, -“which always astonished the ladies.” To this -Miss <a id='mary'></a>Mary made some objection, lest we should -have her taken up and hanged for a witch. On our -promising not to do so, she took a scrap of white -paper which she tore into four little bits, and then -laid them in a row on the table. Having done this, -she left the room, shutting the door closely after her, -so as to convince us, that while remaining outside -it was impossible for her to see or hear anything that -was done in her absence. Miss Catherine now desired -me to touch, with my finger, one of the bits of -paper—any one I pleased. I touched the second—and -Miss Mary was then called in by her sister, who -said to her, as she entered,—“Be quick.”—Miss -Mary immediately advanced to the table, and unhesitatingly -designated the second paper as that which -I touched while she was out of the room. Being -unacquainted with the trick, I was really surprised; -and wondered how she could have guessed so correctly. -The trick was several times repeated, and -every time with perfect success.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After I had been thoroughly astonished, and declared -my utter inability to fathom the mystery, the -sisters explained to me its very simple process. The -four bits of paper, arranged on the table in a row, -denoted the four first letters of the alphabet.—When -I touched the second, (which signified B,) Miss -Catherine directed her sister to it by saying, as she -returned to the room—“Be quick.”—When I -touched the third—D—Miss Mary, on her entrance, -was saluted by her sister with the words—“Do you -think you can tell?”—After I had touched the first -paper, A, Miss Mary was asked—“Are you sure -you can guess?”—and when I touched C, Miss -Catherine said to Miss Mary, “Come and try once -more.” And thus, by commencing each sentence -with the letter that had just been touched, she unfailingly -pointed out to her sister the exact paper. To -succeed in this little trick, there must, of course, be -an understanding between the two persons that -exhibit it: and to most of the uninitiated it appears -very surprising. By adopting a similar plan of collusion, -some of the professors of Mesmerism have -contrived to obtain from their magnetized sleepers, -replies which, to the audience, seemed truly astonishing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We now arose to take our leave; and our attention -was then directed to a square pine table standing by -one of the windows, and covered with particularly -uninviting specimens of pincushions, needle-books, -emery-bags, &c. The old ladies informed us that -this was a charity table, which they kept for the -benefit of “the poor.” I had thought that the Miss -Byleses were their own poor. However, we gratified -them by adding a trifling sum to their means of -doing good: and I became the proprietor of the -ugliest needle-book I had ever seen. But I magnanimously -left the less ugly things to tempt the choice -of those persons who really make an object of their -purchases at charity tables.—“Dear good little me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Miss Byleses were very urgent in inviting me -to repeat my visit, saying, that any time of the day -after nine o’clock, they were always ready to see -company, and would be happy to receive me and -such friends as I might wish to bring with me. And -they enumerated among their visiters, from other -parts of the Union, some highly eminent personages.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While we were listening to the “more last words” -of Miss Catherine, her sister slipped out into the very -short passage that led to the house door, and then -slipped back again. We, at last, paid our parting -compliments, and Miss Mary escorted us to the front -door, but seemed to find it locked, and seemed to find -it impossible to unlock. This gave her occasion to -say wittily—“The ladies will have to send home -for their night-caps; as they are likely to be kept -here all night.” Luckily, however, this necessity -was obviated, by the key yielding as soon as it was -turned the right way: and finally Miss Mary Byles -curtsied and smiled us out.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:0.75em;'>(To be concluded.)</p> - -<hr class='tbk150'/> - -<div><h1><a id='eye'></a>THE EYES OF NIGHT.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MISS MARY SPENCER.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Night</span> has eyes—sparkling eyes!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Some soft, some bright;</p> -<p class='line0'>The flashing fire ne’er dies</p> -<p class='line0'>  From eyes of night.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Night has many wooers</p> -<p class='line0'>  To watch her eyes,</p> -<p class='line0'>To love her silent hours</p> -<p class='line0'>  And mellow skies.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Night has a witching spell</p> -<p class='line0'>  To bind the heart;</p> -<p class='line0'>Its silent glances quell</p> -<p class='line0'>  And awe impart.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A perfumed breath has Night:</p> -<p class='line0'>  It wafts the sighs</p> -<p class='line0'>Of flowers young and bright</p> -<p class='line0'>  Around the skies.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Night has a breathing tone</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like distant swell</p> -<p class='line0'>Of softest music, thrown</p> -<p class='line0'>  From fairy’s knell.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh! how I love the Night!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its sparkling eyes—</p> -<p class='line0'>Its softened shadowy light—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its melodies.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk151'/> - -<div><h1><a id='thy'></a>THY NAME WAS ONCE A MAGIC SPELL.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.3em;font-weight:bold;'>BALLAD.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>SUNG BY MR. DEMPSTER.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:0.5em;font-size:0.9em;'>WRITTEN BY</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>THE HON. MRS. NORTON.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='it'>Philadelphia</span>: <span class='sc'>John F. Nunns</span>, <span class='it'>184 Chesnut Street</span>.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i163.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0023' style='width:75%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thy name was once the magic spell</p> -<p class='line0'>  By which my heart was bound,</p> -<p class='line0'>And burning dreams of light and love,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Were wa-ken’d by that</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i164.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0024' style='width:75%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>sound my heart beat quick,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When stranger tongues with idle praise or blame,</p> -<p class='line0'>Awoke its deepest thrill of life,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To tremble at thy name.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Long years, long years have pass’d away,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And alter’d is thy brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>And we who met so fondly once,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Must meet as strangers now;</p> -<p class='line0'>The friends of yore come round me still,</p> -<p class='line0'>  But talk no more of thee;</p> -<p class='line0'>’Tis idle e’en to wish it now—</p> -<p class='line0'>  For what art thou to me?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yet still thy name, thy blessed name,</p> -<p class='line0'>  My lonely bosom fills,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like an echo that hath lost itself,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Among the distant hills,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which still with melancholy note,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Keeps faintly lingering on,</p> -<p class='line0'>When the joyous sound that woke it first,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is gone, for ever gone.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk152'/> - -<div><h1><a id='rev'></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h1></div> - -<hr class='tbk153'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>In</span> commencing, with the New Year, a New Volume, we -shall be permitted to say a very few words by way of <span class='it'>exordium</span> -to our usual chapter of Reviews, or, as we should -prefer calling them, of Critical Notices. Yet we speak <span class='it'>not</span> -for the sake of the <span class='it'>exordium</span>, but because we have really -something to say, and know not when or where better to -say it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That the public attention, in America, has, of late days, -been more than usually directed to the matter of literary -criticism, is plainly apparent. Our periodicals are beginning -to acknowledge the importance of the science (shall -we so term it?) and to disdain the flippant <span class='it'>opinion</span> which -so long has been made its substitute.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Time was when we imported our critical decisions from -the mother country. For many years we enacted a perfect -farce of subserviency to the <span class='it'>dicta</span> of Great Britain. At last -a revulsion of feeling, with self-disgust, necessarily ensued. -Urged by these, we plunged into the opposite extreme. In -throwing <span class='it'>totally</span> off that “authority,” whose voice had so -long been so sacred, we even surpassed, and by much, our -original folly. But the watchword now was, “a national -literature!”—as if any true literature <span class='it'>could be</span> “national”—as -if the world at large were not the only proper stage -for the literary <span class='it'>histrio</span>. We became, suddenly, the merest -and maddest <span class='it'>partizans</span> in letters. Our papers spoke of -“tariffs” and “protection.” Our Magazines had habitual -passages about that “truly native novelist, Mr. Cooper,” or -that “staunch American genius, Mr. Paulding.” Unmindful -of the spirit of the axioms that “a prophet has <span class='it'>no</span> honor -in his own land” and that “a hero is never a hero to his -<span class='it'>valet-de-chambre</span>”—axioms founded in reason and in truth—our -reviews urged the propriety—our booksellers the -necessity, of strictly “American” themes. A foreign subject, -at this epoch, was a weight more than enough to drag -down into the very depths of critical damnation the finest -writer owning nativity in the States; while, on the reverse, -we found ourselves daily in the paradoxical dilemma of -liking, or pretending to like, a stupid book the better because -(sure enough) its stupidity was of our own growth, and discussed -our own affairs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is, in fact, but very lately that this anomalous state of -feeling has shown any signs of subsidence. Still it <span class='it'>is</span> subsiding. -Our views of literature in general having expanded, -we begin to demand the use—to inquire into the offices and -provinces of criticism—to regard it more as an art based -immoveably in nature, less as a mere system of fluctuating -and conventional dogmas. And, with the prevalence of -these ideas, has arrived a distaste even to the home-dictation -of the bookseller-<span class='it'>coteries</span>. If our editors are not as yet -<span class='it'>all</span> independent of the will of a publisher, a majority of them -scruple, at least, <span class='it'>to confess</span> a subservience, and enter into -no positive combinations against the minority who despise -and discard it. And this is a <span class='it'>very</span> great improvement of -exceedingly late date.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Escaping these quicksands, our criticism is nevertheless -in some danger—some very little danger—of falling into -the pit of a most detestable species of cant—the cant of -<span class='it'>generality</span>. This tendency has been given it, in the first -instance, by the onward and tumultuous spirit of the age. -With the increase of the thinking-material comes the desire, -if not the necessity, of abandoning particulars for masses. -Yet in our individual case, as a nation, we seem merely to -have adopted this bias from the British Quarterly Reviews, -upon which our own Quarterlies have been slavishly and -pertinaciously modelled. In the foreign journal, the review -or criticism properly so termed, has gradually yet steadily -degenerated into what we see it at present—that is to say -into anything but criticism. Originally a “review,” was -not so called as <span class='it'>lucus a non lucendo</span>. Its name conveyed -a just idea of its design. It reviewed, or surveyed the book -whose title formed its text, and, giving an analysis of its -contents, passed judgment upon its merits or defects. But, -through the system of anonymous contribution, this natural -process lost ground from day to day. The name of a writer -being known only to a few, it became to him an object not -so much to write well, as to write fluently, at so many -guineas per sheet. The analysis of a book is a matter of -time and of mental exertion. For many classes of composition -there is required a deliberate perusal, with notes, and -subsequent generalization. An easy substitute for this -labor was found in a digest or compendium of the work -noticed, with copious extracts—or a still easier, in random -comments upon such passages as accidentally met the eye -of the critic, with the passages themselves copied at full -length. The mode of reviewing most in favor, however, -because carrying with it the greatest <span class='it'>semblance</span> of care, -was that of diffuse essay upon the subject matter of the -publication, the reviewer (?) using the facts alone which -the publication supplied, and using them as material for -some theory, the sole concern, bearing, and intention of -which, was mere difference of opinion with the author. -These came at length to be understood and habitually practised -as the customary or conventional <span class='it'>fashions</span> of review; -and although the nobler order of intellects did not fall into -the full heresy of these fashions—we may still assert -that even Macaulay’s nearest approach to criticism in its -legitimate sense, is to be found in his article upon Ranke’s -“History of the Popes”—an article in which the whole -strength of the reviewer is put forth <span class='it'>to account</span> for a single -fact—the progress of Romanism—which the book under -discussion has established.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now, while we do not mean to deny that a good essay is -a good thing, we yet assert that these papers on general -topics have nothing whatever to do with that <span class='it'>criticism</span> -which their evil example has nevertheless infected <span class='it'>in se</span>. -Because these dogmatising pamphlets, which <span class='it'>were once</span> -“Reviews,” have lapsed from their original faith, it does -not follow that the faith itself is extinct—that “there shall -be no more cakes and ale”—that criticism, in its old -acceptation, does not exist. But we complain of a growing -inclination on the part of our lighter journals to believe, on -such grounds, that such is the fact—that because the British -Quarterlies, through supineness, and our own, through a -degrading imitation, have come to merge all varieties of -vague generalization in the one title of “Review,” it therefore -results that criticism, being everything in the universe, -is, consequently, nothing whatever in fact. For to this end, -and to none other conceivable, is the tendency of such propositions, -for example, as we find in a late number of that -very clever monthly magazine, Arcturus.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“But <span class='it'>now</span>” (the emphasis on the <span class='it'>now</span> is our own)—“But -<span class='it'>now</span>,” says Mr. Mathews, in the preface to the first -volume of his journal, “criticism has a wider scope and a -universal interest. It dismisses errors of grammar, and -hands over an imperfect rhyme or a false quantity to the -proof-reader; it looks <span class='it'>now</span> to the heart of the subject and -the author’s design. It is a test of opinion. Its acuteness -is not pedantic, but philosophical; it unravels the web of -the author’s mystery to interpret his meaning to others; it -detects his sophistry, because sophistry is injurious to the -heart and life; it promulgates his beauties with liberal, -generous praise, because this is its true duty as the servant -of truth. Good criticism may be well asked for, since it is -the type of the literature of the day. It gives method to -the universal inquisitiveness on every topic relating to life -or action. A criticism, <span class='it'>now</span>, includes every form of literature, -except perhaps the imaginative and the strictly dramatic. -It is an essay, a sermon, an oration, a chapter in -history, a philosophical speculation, a prose-poem, an art-novel, -a dialogue; it admits of humor, pathos, the personal -feelings of auto-biography, the broadest views of statesmanship. -As the ballad and the epic were the productions of -the days of Homer, the review is the native characteristic -growth of the nineteenth century.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>We respect the talents of Mr. Mathews, but must dissent -from nearly all that he here says. The species of “review” -which he designates as the “characteristic growth of the -nineteenth century” is only the growth of the last twenty -or thirty years <span class='it'>in Great Britain</span>. The French Reviews, for -example, which are <span class='it'>not</span> anonymous, are very different -things, and preserve the <span class='it'>unique</span> spirit of true criticism. And -what need we say of the Germans?—what of Winkelmann, -of Novalis, of Schelling, of Göethe, of Augustus William, -and of Frederick Schlegel?—that their magnificent <span class='it'>critiques -raisonnées</span> differ from those of Kaimes, of Johnson, -and of Blair, in principle not at all, (for the principles of -these artists will not fail until Nature herself expires,) but -solely in their more careful elaboration, their greater thoroughness, -their more profound analysis and application of -the principles themselves. That a criticism “<span class='it'>now</span>” should -be different in spirit, as Mr. Mathews supposes, from a -criticism at any previous period, is to insinuate a charge of -variability in laws that cannot vary—the laws of man’s -heart and intellect—for these are the sole basis upon which -the true critical art is established. And this art “<span class='it'>now</span>” -no more than in the days of the “Dunciad,” can, without -neglect of its duty, “dismiss errors of grammar,” or “hand -over an imperfect rhyme or a false quantity to the proof-reader.” -What is meant by a “test of opinion” in the -connexion here given the words by Mr. M., we do not comprehend -as clearly as we could desire. By this phrase we -are as completely enveloped in doubt as was Mirabeau in -the castle of <span class='it'>If</span>. To our imperfect appreciation it seems to -form a portion of that general vagueness which is the <span class='it'>tone</span> -of the whole philosophy at this point:—but all that which -our journalist describes a criticism to be, is all that which -we sturdily maintain it <span class='it'>is not</span>. Criticism is <span class='it'>not</span>, we think, -an essay, nor a sermon, nor an oration, nor a chapter in -history, nor a philosophical speculation, nor a prose-poem, -nor an art novel, nor a dialogue. In fact, it <span class='it'>can be</span> nothing -in the world but—a criticism. But if it were all that Arcturus -imagines, it is not very clear why it might not be -equally “imaginative” or “dramatic”—a romance or a -melo-drama, or both. That it would be a farce cannot be -doubted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is against this frantic spirit of <span class='it'>generalization</span> that we -protest. We have a word, “criticism,” whose import is -sufficiently distinct, through long usage, at least; and we -have an art of high importance and clearly-ascertained -limit, which this word is quite well enough understood to -represent. Of that conglomerate science to which Mr. -Mathews so eloquently alludes, and of which we are instructed -that it is anything and everything at once—of this -science we know nothing, and really wish to know less; -but we object to our contemporary’s appropriation in its -behalf, of a term to which we, in common with a large -majority of mankind, have been accustomed to attach a -certain and very definitive idea. Is there no word but -“criticism” which may be made to serve the purposes of -“Arcturus?” Has it any objection to Orphicism, or Dialism, -or Emersonism, or any other pregnant compound indicative -of confusion worse confounded?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Still, we must not pretend a total misapprehension of the -idea of Mr. Mathews, and we should be sorry that he misunderstood -<span class='it'>us</span>. It may be granted that we differ only in -terms—although the difference will yet be found not unimportant -in effect. Following the highest authority, we would -wish, in a word, to limit literary criticism to comment upon -<span class='it'>Art</span>. A book is written—and it is only <span class='it'>as the book</span> that we -subject it to review. With the opinions of the work, considered -otherwise than in their relation to the work itself, -the critic has really nothing to do. It is his part simply to -decide upon <span class='it'>the mode</span> in which these opinions are brought -to bear. Criticism is thus no “test of opinion.” For this -test, the work, divested of its pretensions as an <span class='it'>art-product</span>, -is turned over for discussion to the world at large—and -first, to that class which it especially addresses—if a history, -to the historian—if a metaphysical treatise, to the -moralist. In this, the only true and intelligible sense, it -will be seen that criticism, the test or analysis of <span class='it'>Art</span>, (<span class='it'>not</span> -of opinion,) is only properly employed upon productions -which have their basis in art itself, and although the journalist -(whose duties and objects are multiform) may turn -aside, at pleasure, from the <span class='it'>mode</span> or vehicle of opinion to -discussion of the opinion conveyed—it is still clear that he -is “<span class='it'>critical</span>” only in so much as he deviates from his true -province not at all.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And of the critic himself what shall we say?—for as yet -we have spoken only the <span class='it'>proem</span> to the true <span class='it'>epopea</span>. What -<span class='it'>can</span> we better say of him than, with Bulwer, that “he must -have courage to blame boldly, magnanimity to eschew envy, -genius to appreciate, learning to compare, an eye for beauty, -an ear for music, and a heart for feeling.” Let us add, a -talent for analysis and a solemn indifference to abuse.</p> - -<hr class='tbk154'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Stanley Thorn. By Henry Cockton, Esq., Author of “Valentine -Vox, the Ventriloquist,” etc., with Numerous Illustrations, -designed by Cruikshank, Leech, etc., and engraved -by Yeager. Lea and Blanchard: Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“Charles O’Malley,” “Harry Lorrequer,” “Valentine -Vox,” “Stanley Thorn,” and some other effusions now “in -course of publication,” are novels depending for effect upon -what gave popularity to “Peregrine Pickle”—we mean -<span class='it'>practiced joke</span>. To men whose animal spirits are high, whatever -may be their mental ability, such works are always -acceptable. To the uneducated, to those who read little, to -the obtuse in intellect (and these three classes constitute -the mass) these books are not only acceptable, but are the -only ones which can be called so. We here make two -divisions—that of the men who <span class='it'>can</span> think but who dislike -thinking; and that of the men who either have not been -presented with the materials for thought, or who have no -brains with which to “work up” the material. With these -classes of people “Stanley Thorn” is a favorite. It not only -demands no reflection, but repels it, or dissipates it—much -as a silver rattle the wrath of a child. It is not in the least -degree <span class='it'>suggestive</span>. Its readers arise from its perusal with -the identical ideas in possession at sitting down. Yet, -<span class='it'>during</span> perusal, there has been a tingling physico-mental -exhilaration, somewhat like that induced by a cold bath, or -a flesh-brush, or a gallop on horseback—a very delightful -and very healthful matter in its way. But these things are -not <span class='it'>letters</span>. “Valentine Vox” and “Charles O’Malley” are -no more “<span class='it'>literature</span>” than cat-gut is music. The visible and -tangible tricks of a baboon belong not less to the <span class='it'>belles-lettres</span> -than does “Harry Lorrequer.” When this gentleman -adorns his countenance with lamp-black, knocks over -an apple-woman, or brings about a rent in his pantaloons, we -laugh at him when bound up in a volume, just as we would -laugh at his adventures if happening before our eyes in the -street. But mere incidents, whether serious or comic, whether -occurring or described—<span class='it'>mere incidents</span> are not books. -Neither are they the basis of books—of which the idiosyncrasy -is <span class='it'>thought</span> in contradistinction from <span class='it'>deed</span>. A book without -action cannot be; but a book is only such, to the extent of -its thought, independently of its deed. Thus of Algebra; -which is, or should be, defined as “a mode of computing with -symbols by means of signs.” With numbers, as Algebra, it -has nothing to do; and although no algebraic computation -can proceed without numbers, yet Algebra is only such to the -extent of its analysis, independently of its Arithmetic.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We do not mean <span class='it'>to find fault</span> with the class of performances -of which “Stanley Thorn” is one. Whatever -tends to the amusement of man tends to his benefit. Aristotle, -with singular assurance, has declared poetry the most -philosophical of all writing, (<span class='it'>spoudiotaton kai philosophikotaton -genos</span>) defending it principally upon that score. He -seems to think,—and many following him, have thought—that -the end of all literature should be instruction—a favorite -dogma of the school of Wordsworth. But it is a truism -that the end of our existence is happiness. If so, the end -of every separate aim of our existence—of every thing -connected with our existence, should be still—happiness. -Therefore, the end of instruction should be happiness—and -happiness, what is it but the extent or duration of pleasure?—therefore, -the end of instruction should be pleasure. But -the cant of the Lakists would establish the exact converse, -and make the end of all pleasure instruction. In fact, <span class='it'>ceteris -paribus</span>, he who pleases is of more importance to his fellow -man than he who instructs, since the <span class='it'>dulce</span> is alone the <span class='it'>utile</span>, -and pleasure is the end already attained, which instruction -is merely the means of attaining. It will be said that Wordsworth, -with Aristotle, has reference to instruction with eternity -in view; but either such cannot be the tendency of his -argument, or he is laboring at a sad disadvantage; for his -works—or at least those of his school—are professedly to -be understood by the few, and it is the many who stand in -need of salvation. Thus the moralist’s parade of measures -would be as completely thrown away as are those of the -devil in “Melmoth,” who plots and counterplots through -three octavo volumes for the entrapment of one or two souls, -while any common devil would have demolished one or two -thousand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When, therefore, we assert that these practical-joke publications -are not “literature,” because not “thoughtful” in -any degree, we must not be understood as objecting to the -thing in itself, but to its claim upon our attention as critic. -Dr.—what is his name?—strings together a number of -facts or fancies which, when printed, answer the laudable -purpose of amusing a very large, if not a very respectable -number of people. To this proceeding upon the part of the -Doctor—or on the part of his imitator, Mr. Jeremy Stockton, -the author of “Valentine Vox,” we <span class='it'>can</span> have no objection -whatever. His <span class='it'>books</span> do not please <span class='it'>us</span>. We will not -read them. Still less shall we speak of them seriously as -<span class='it'>books</span>. Being in no respect works of art, they neither deserve, -nor are amenable to criticism.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stanley Thorn” may be described, in brief, as a collection, -rather than as a series, of practical haps and mishaps, -befalling a young man very badly brought up by his -mother. He flogs his father with a codfish, and does other -similar things. We have no fault to find with him whatever -except that, in the end, he <span class='it'>does not</span> come to the gallows.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We have no great fault to find with <span class='it'>him</span>, but with Mr. -Bockton, his father, much. He is a consummate plagiarist; -and, in our opinion, nothing more despicable exists. There -is not a <span class='it'>good</span> incident in his book (?) of which we cannot -point out the paternity with at least a sufficient precision. -The opening adventures are all <span class='it'>in the style</span> of “Cyril Thornton.” -Bob, following Amelia in disguise, is borrowed from -one of the Smollet or Fielding novels—there are many of -our readers who will be able to say <span class='it'>which</span>. The cab driven -over the Crescent <span class='it'>trottoir</span>, is from Pierce Egan. The swindling -tricks of Colonel Somebody, at the commencement of -the novel, and of Captain Filcher afterwards, are from -“Pickwick Abroad.” The doings at Madame Pompour’s -(or some such name) with the description of Isabelle, are -from “Ecarté, or the Salons of Paris”—a <span class='it'>rich</span> book. The -Sons-of-Glory scene (or its <span class='it'>wraith</span>) we have seen—<span class='it'>somewhere</span>; -while (not to be tedious) the whole account of Stanley’s -election, from his first conception of the design, through -the entire canvass, the purchasing of the “Independents,” -the row at the hustings, the chairing, the feast, and the -petition, is so obviously <span class='it'>stolen</span> from “Ten Thousand -a-Year” as to be disgusting. Bob and the “old venerable”—what -are they but feeble reflections of young and old -Weller? The <span class='it'>tone</span> of the narration throughout is an absurd -<span class='it'>echo</span> of Boz. For example—“ ‘We’ve come agin about -them there little accounts of ourn—question is do you mean -to settle ’em or don’t you?’ His colleagues, by whom he -was backed, highly approved of this question, and winked -and nodded with the view of intimating to each other that -in their judgment that was the point.” Who so dull as to -give Mr. Bogton any more credit for these things than we -give the buffoon for the <span class='it'>rôle</span> which he has committed to -memory?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That the work will prove amusing to <span class='it'>many</span> readers, we -do not pretend to deny. The claims of Mr. Frogton, and -not of his narrative, are what we especially discuss.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The edition before us is clearly printed on good paper. -The designs are by Cruikshank and Leech; and it is observable -that those of the latter are more effective in every -respect than those of the former and far more celebrated -artist.</p> - -<hr class='tbk155'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Vicar of Wakefield, A Tale. By Oliver Goldsmith, M. B. -Illustrated with Numerous Engravings. With an Account -of the Author’s Life and Writings. By J. Aikin, -M. D., Author of Select Works of the British Poets. D. -Appleton and Co: New York.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This publication is one of a class which it behoves every -editor in the country to encourage, at all times, by every -good word in his power—the class, we mean of well -printed and, especially, of well illustrated works from among -the standard fictions of England. We place particular -emphasis upon the mechanical style of these reprints. The -criticism which affects to despise these adventitious aids -to the enjoyment of a work of art is at best but <span class='it'>étourderie</span>. -The illustration, to be sure, is not always in accordance -with our own understanding of the text; and this -fact, although we never hear it urged, is, perhaps, the most -reasonable objection which <span class='it'>can</span> be urged against pictorial -embellishment—for the unity of conception <span class='it'>is</span> disturbed; -but this disturbance takes place only in very slight measure -(provided the work be worth illustration at all) and its disadvantages -are far more than counterbalanced by the pleasure -(to most minds a very acute one) of comparing our -comprehension of the author’s ideas with that of the artist. -If our imagination is feeble, the design will probably be in -advance of our conception, and thus each picture will stimulate, -support, and guide the fancy. If, on the contrary, -the thought of the artist is inferior, there is the stimulus of contrast -with the excitement of triumph. Thus, in the contemplation -of a statue, or of an individual painting of merit, -the pleasure derivable from the comments of a bystander is -easily and keenly appreciable, while these comments interfere, -in no perceptible degree, with the force or the unity of -our own comprehension. We never knew a man of genius -who did not confess an interest in even the worst illustrations -of a good book—although we have known many men -of genius (who should have known better) make the confession -with reluctance, as if one which implied something -of imbecility or disgrace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The present edition of one of the most admirable fictions -in the language, is, in every respect, very beautiful. The -type and paper are magnificent. The designs are very -nearly what they should be. They are sketchy, spirited -cuts, depending for effect upon the higher merits rather than -upon the minor morals of art—upon skilful grouping of -figures, vivacity, <span class='it'>naïveté</span> and originality of fancy, and -good drawing in the mass—rather than upon finish in -details, or too cautious adherence to the text. Some of the -scraps at the commencement are too diminutive to be distinct -in the style of workmanship employed, and thus have -a <span class='it'>blurred</span> appearance; but this is nearly all the fault we -can find. In general, these apparent trifles are superb; -and a great number of them are of a nature to elicit enthusiastic -praise from every true artist.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Memoir by Dr. Aikin is highly interesting, and embodies -in a pleasing narrative, (with little intermixture of -criticism upon what no longer requires it,) all that is, or -need be known of Oliver Goldsmith. In the opening page -of this Memoir is an error (perhaps typographical) which, -as it <span class='it'>is</span> upon the opening page, has an awkward appearance, -and should be corrected. We allude to the word “<span class='it'>protégée</span>,” -which, in the sense, or rather with the reference -intended, should be printed <span class='it'>protégé</span>. This is a very usual -mistake.</p> - -<hr class='tbk156'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Tales and Souvenirs of a Residence in Europe. By a Lady -of Virginia. Lea and Blanchard: Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Barring some trifling affectation, (apparent, for example, -in heading a plain English chapter with the French <span class='it'>Pensées</span>,) -this volume is very creditable to Mrs. Rives—for it -seems to be well understood that the fair author, in this -case, is the wife of the well-known Senator from Virginia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The work is modestly prefaced, and disclaims all pretension. -It is a mere re-gathering of sketches, written originally -for the amusement of friends. A lady-like taste and -delicacy (without high merit of any kind) pervade the -whole. The style is somewhat disfigured by pleonasms—or -rather, overburdened with epithets: a common fault with -enthusiastic writers who want experience in the world of -letters. For example:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is an <span class='it'>inexpressible</span> pleasure in gliding rapidly in -a <span class='it'>little</span> car, over the <span class='it'>neat</span> but <span class='it'>narrow turnpike</span> roads, bordered -by <span class='it'>hawthorn</span> hedges, looking out upon <span class='it'>bright</span> fields, -clothed with the <span class='it'>richest</span> and most <span class='it'>exquisite</span> verdure, occasionally -catching a glimpse of some <span class='it'>sequestered</span> cottage, with -its <span class='it'>miniature gravel</span> walks, and <span class='it'>innumerable</span> flowers, which, -at this season, in the <span class='it'>distant</span> land of the traveller, may have -bloomed and passed away, but which here offer their <span class='it'>brilliant</span> -tints, and <span class='it'>rich</span> perfume; while on the other hand some -<span class='it'>proud</span> castle rises in <span class='it'>bold</span> relief against the <span class='it'>dappled</span> sky.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Of mere errors of grammar there are more than sufficient; -and we are constrained to say that the very first sentence -of the book conveys a gross instance of faulty construction.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“The gratification of friends must once more serve as an -apology for permitting the following souvenirs to see the -light.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Has the gratification of friends ever <span class='it'>before</span> served as an -apology for permitting <span class='it'>the following</span> souvenirs to see the -light?</p> - -<hr class='tbk157'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Poetical Works of Reginald Heber, Late Bishop of Calcutta. -Lea and Blanchard: Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>It was only a year ago that the poems of Heber were first -given to the public in a collection, from which the present -edition is a re-print; but, individually, the pieces here presented -have been long and favorably known—with the -exception of two or three lighter effusions, now first published.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The qualities of Heber are well understood. His poetry -is of a high order. He is imaginative, glowing, and vigorous, -with a skill in the management of his means unsurpassed -by that of any writer of his time, but without any -high degree of originality. Can there be anything in the -nature of a “classical” life at war with novelty <span class='it'>per se</span>? At -all events, few fine scholars, such as Heber truly was, <span class='it'>are</span> -original.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The volume before us is <span class='it'>a study</span> for the poet in the depth -and breadth of its execution. Few nobler poems were, upon -the whole, ever penned than are “Europe,” “The Passage -of the Dead Sea,” and the “Morte D’Arthur.” The minor -pieces generally are <span class='it'>very naïve</span> and beautiful. The Latin -“Carmen Seculare” would not have disgraced Horace himself. -Its versification is perfect. A sketch of the author’s -life would have well prefaced the edition, and we are sorry -to miss it.</p> - -<hr class='tbk158'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Poetical Works of Lord Byron. Complete in one volume. -J. B. Lippincott and Co: Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is a duodecimo of six hundred and eight pages, -including <span class='it'>all</span> the poetic works of Lord Byron. The type -is, of course, small—a fine nonpareil—but very clear and -beautiful; while the paper is of excellent quality, and the -press-work carefully done. There is a good plate engraved -by Pease from Saunders’ painting of the poet at nineteen, -and another (by the same engraver) of a design of Hucknall -Church by Westall. The binding is neat and substantial; -and the edition, on the whole, is one we can recommend. -The type is somewhat too diminutive for weak eyes—but -for readers who have no deficiency in this regard—or -as a work of reference—nothing could be better.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As a literary performance it is scarcely necessary to -speak of this compilation. We make objection, however, -and pointedly, to the omission of the biographer’s name. A -sketch of the nature here inserted is worth nothing when -anonymous. Nine-tenths of the value attached to a certain -very rambling collection of Lives, depends upon our cognizance -of their having been indited by Plutarch.</p> - -<hr class='tbk159'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Critical and Miscellaneous Essays. By Christopher North, -(Professor Wilson.) In Three Volumes. Carey and Hart: -Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This publication is well-timed—if, at least, there be any -truth in the report, that Professor Wilson is about to visit -this country. The reception of the man will thus be made -a part of the perusal of his works. And very glorious -works they are. No man of his age has shown greater versatility -of talent, and few, of any age, richer powers of -imagination. His literary influence has far exceeded that -of any Englishman who ever existed. His scholarship, <span class='it'>if -not profound</span>, is excursive; his criticism, <span class='it'>if not always -honest</span>, is analytical, enthusiastic, and original in manner. -His wit is vigorous, his humor great, his sarcasm bitter. -His high animal spirits give a dashing, free, hearty and -devil-may-care tone to all his compositions—a tone which -has done more towards establishing his literary popularity -and <span class='it'>dominion</span> than any single quality for which he is -remarkable. The faults of Professor Wilson, as might be -supposed from the traits of his merits, are many and great. -He is frequently led into gross injustice through personal -feeling—this is his chief sin. His tone is often <span class='it'>flippant</span>. -His scholarship is questionable as regards extent and accuracy. -His style is apt to degenerate, or rather <span class='it'>rush</span>, into a -species of bombastic <span class='it'>periphrasis</span> and <span class='it'>apostrophe</span>, of which -our own Mr. John Neal has given the best American specimens. -His analysis, although true in principle (as is -always the case with the idealist) and often profound, is -nevertheless deficient in that calm breadth and massive deliberateness -which are the features of such intellects as -that of Verülam. In short, the <span class='it'>opinions</span> of Professor Wilson -can never be safely adopted without examination.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The three beautiful volumes now published, will be followed -by another, embracing the more elaborate criticisms -of the author,—the celebrated critiques upon Homer, &c., -which it has not been thought expedient to include in this -collection.</p> - -<hr class='tbk160'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Pocahontas, and Other Poems. By Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. -Harper and Brothers: New York.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Some years ago we had occasion to speak of “Zinzendorf, -and Other Poems,” by Mrs. Sigourney, and at that -period we found, or fancied that we found many points, in -her general manner, which called for critical animadversion. -At <span class='it'>no</span> period, however, have we been so rash as to -dispute her claim to high rank among the poets of the land. -In the volume now published by the Messieurs Harper, we -are proud to discover <span class='it'>not one</span> of those more important -blemishes which were a stain upon her earlier style. We -had accused her of imitation of Mrs. Hemans—but this imitation -is no longer apparent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The author of “Pocahontas” (an unusually fine poem -of which we may take occasion to speak fully hereafter) -has also abandoned a very foolish mannerism with which -she was erewhile infected—the mannerism of heading her -pieces with paragraphs, or quotations, by way of text, from -which the poem itself ensued as a sermon. This was an -exceedingly inartistical practice, and one now well discarded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The lesser pieces in the volume before us have, for the -most part, already met our eye as fugitive effusions. In -general, they deserve all commendation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pocahontas” is a far finer poem than a late one on -the same subject by Mr. Seba Smith. Mrs. Sigourney, -however, has the wrong accentuation of Powhatan. In the -second stanza of the poem, too, “harassed” is in false -quantity. We speak of these trifles merely <span class='it'>en passant</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Hereafter we may speak in full.</p> - -<hr class='tbk161'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Letters of Horace Walpole, Earl of Orford: Including -Numerous Letters now first published from the Original -Manuscripts. In Four Volumes. Lea and Blanchard: -Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Horace Walpole</span> has been well termed “the prince of -epistolary writers,” and his Letters, which in this edition -are given chronologically, form a very complete and certainly -a very <span class='it'>piquant</span> commentary on the events of his age, -as well as a record, in great part, of the most important historical -transactions from 1735 to 1797.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Prefixed to the collection are the author’s “Reminiscences -of the Courts of George the First and Second”—Reminiscences -which have been styled “the very perfection -of anecdote writing.” There is, also, the “Life,” by Lord -Dover. The volumes are magnificent octavos of nearly 600 -pages each, beautifully printed on excellent paper, and -handsomely bound. It is really superfluous to recommend -these books. Every man who pretends to a library will -purchase them <span class='it'>of course</span>.</p> - -<hr class='tbk162'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Early English Church. By</span> <span class='sc'>Edward Churton</span>, M. D., -<span class='it'>Rector of Crayke, Durham. With a Preface by the</span> Rt. -Rev. <span class='sc'>L. Silliman Ives</span>, M. D., <span class='it'>Bishop of the Protestant -Episcopal Church in the Diocese of N. Carolina. From -the second London edition. D. Appleton and Co.: New -York.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The title of this volume does not fully explain its character. -The aim of the writer, to use his own words, has been -“by searching the earliest records of English history, to lay -before the English reader a faithful picture of the life and -manners of his Christian forefathers.” This design, as far -as we have been able to judge in a very cursory examination, -is well executed.</p> - -<hr class='tbk163'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. By</span> <span class='sc'>Daniel -De Foe</span>, <span class='it'>with a Memoir of the Author, and an Essay on -his Writings. With Illustrations by</span> <span class='sc'>Grandville</span>. <span class='it'>D. -Appleton and Co.: New York.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>A magnificent edition—to our taste the <span class='it'>most</span> magnificent -edition—of Robinson Crusoe. The designs by Grandville -are in a very superb style of art—bold, striking, and original—the -<span class='it'>drawing</span> capital.</p> - -<hr class='tbk164'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Somerville Hall, or Hints to those who would make Home -Happy. By</span> Mrs. <span class='sc'>Ellis</span>, <span class='it'>author of “Women of England,” -“Poetry of Life,” etc. etc. D. Appleton and Co.: -New York.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This interesting volume is one of a series to be entitled -“Tales for the People and their Children.” To this series -Miss Martineau and Mary Howitt will contribute.</p> - -<hr class='tbk165'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Wild Western Scenes. Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 4. By</span> <span class='sc'>J. Beauchamp -Jones</span>. <span class='it'>Philadelphia: Drew and Scammell.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Jones is a man of talent, and these descriptions of -Wild Western Life evince it. We read each successive -number with additional zest.</p> - -<hr class='tbk166'/> - -<p class='pindent'><a id='fash'></a></p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i175.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0025' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk167'/> - -<p class='line' style='margin-top:2em;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'><a id='notes'></a>Transcriber’s Notes:</p> - -<p class='noindent'>Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. -Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious -punctuation and typesetting errors have been corrected -without note. Other errors have been corrected as noted -below. For the text only version of this eBook, in the article -“An Appendix of Autographs”, the various signatures which were given -in other eBook formats as an illustration, are represented -in the text version as text with variable spacing and punctuation -representing the way in which the particular signature is handwritten.</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p class='noindent'>A cover has been created for this ebook and is placed in the -public domain.</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p class='noindent'>An interesting note on the poem “Agathè.—A Necromaunt, In -Three Chimeras” found in this issue of Graham’s is that it was plagiarized -by Mr. Tasistro. It was previously published as a stand alone publication in 1831, -titled “Death-Wake, or Lunacy, A Necromaunt. In Three Chimeras.” by Thomas T. -Stoddart. Copies of Mr. Stoddart’s poem can be found online for those -interested in comparing the two.</p> - -<div class='lgl' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>page 64, Miss Mary, having completed ==> Miss <a href='#cath1'>Catherine</a>, having completed</p> -<p class='line'>page 64, Miss Catherine made some objection ==> Miss <a href='#mary'>Mary</a> made some objection</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p class='noindent'>[End of <span class='it'>Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 1, January 1842</span>, George R. Graham, Editor]</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XX, NO. 1, JANUARY 1842 ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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