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diff --git a/old/67962-0.txt b/old/67962-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3c6ebea..0000000 --- a/old/67962-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6777 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXI, No. 1, -July 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. XXI, No. 1, July 1842 - -Author: Various - -Editors: George Rex Graham - Rufus W. Griswold - -Release Date: May 1, 2022 [eBook #67962] - -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. XXI, -NO. 1, JULY 1842 *** - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - Vol. XXI. July, 1842 No. 1. - - - Contents - - Fiction, Literature and Articles - - The Polish Mother - The Fancy-Fair - Harry Cavendish - The Bridal - The Lightning of the Waters - The Sisters - Boston Ramblings - Autumn - The Brother and Sister - Tropical Birds - The Girdle of Fire - Review of New Books - - Poetry, Music and Fashion - - “Thou Hast Loved.” - Viola - Morning Prayer - Le Faineant - The Dying Minstrel to His Muse - The Daughter of Herodias - Callore - A Dirge - Sonnet to My Mother - To An Infant in the Cradle - Will Nobody Marry Me? - To —— - The Stage - “To Win the Love of Thee.” - Latest Fashions - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S - - LADY’S AND GENTLEMAN’S - - MAGAZINE, - - EMBELLISHED WITH - - MEZZOTINT AND STEEL ENGRAVINGS, MUSIC, ETC. - - WILLIAM C. BRYANT, J. FENIMORE COOPER, RICHARD H. DANA, HENRY W. - LONGFELLOW, CHARLES F. HOFFMAN, THEODORE S. FAY, J. H. MANCUR, - - MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY, MRS. SEBA SMITH, MRS. “MARY CLAVERS,” MRS. E. F. - ELLET, MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, MRS. FRANCES S. OSGOOD, ETC., - PRINCIPAL CONTRIBUTORS. - - GEORGE R. GRAHAM AND RUFUS W. GRISWOLD, EDITORS. - - VOLUME XXI. - - PHILADELPHIA: - GEORGE R. GRAHAM, NO. 98 CHESNUT STREET. - ........... - 1842. - - * * * * * - - INDEX - - TO THE - - TWENTY-FIRST VOLUME. - - FROM JUNE TO DECEMBER, 1842, INCLUSIVE. - -An Appeal in behalf of an International Copyright. By 14 - Cornelius Mathews, - -Bridal, The. By Robert Morris, 13 -Boston Ramblings. By Miss Leslie, 33 -Brother and Sister, The. By Emma C. Embury, 38 -Bud and Blossom, The. By Mrs. Seba Smith. 61 - (Illustrated.), -Bryant, Wm. C., his Writings, 102 -Ben Blower’s Story. By Charles Fenno Hoffman, 132 -Bogart, Alexander H., 155 -Bainbridge, Memoir of. By J. Fenimore Cooper, 240 -Barrett, Elizabeth B., 303 - -Characterless Women. By Mrs. Seba Smith, 199 -Clam Bake, The. By Jeremy Short, 215 -Charles VIII. of France, Segur’s Life of, 286 - -De Pontis, a Tale of Richelieu. By the Author of “Henri 65, 135, 172, - Quatre,” 235 -Dawes, Rufus, The Poetry of. By Edgar A. Poe, 205 -Dale, Richard, Memoir of. By J. Fenimore Cooper, 289 - -Error, A Tale. By Emma C. Embury, 83 -Editor’s Table, 106, 155, 221, - 286, 343 - -Fancy Fair, The. By Mrs. A. M. F. Annan, 4 -Fitch, John, Notice of. By Noah Webster, 108 - -Girdle of Fire, The. By Percie H. Selton, 50 - -Harry Cavendish. By the “Author of Cruising in the last 9, 69, 117, - War,” 201, 281, 330 -Hester Ormesby. By Mrs. Emma C. Embury, 269 -Hasty Marriage, The. By Robert Morris, 336 - -Johnsons, The. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, 96 - -Lightning of the Waters. By Reynell Coates, M. D., 16 - -Malina Gray. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, 210, 273, 304 -Minstrelsy of the Revolution, 221 - -Niagara Falls, Letter from. By Horace Greeley, 107 -Night at Haddon Hall, A. By the Author of “Letters from 194 - Ancient Castles,” - -Polish Mother, The. (Illustrated.), 1 -Persecutor’s Daughter. By C. J. Peterson, 320 - -Reviews of New Books, 56, 102, 152, - 218, 286, 339 -Reprimand, The. By Epes Sargent. (Illustrated.), 216 -Race for a Sweetheart, A. By Seba Smith, 326 - -Sisters, The, A Tale of the Sixteenth Century. By Henry 21, 73, 125 - W. Herbert, -Shakspeare. By Theodore S. Fay, 142, 192 -Somers, Richard, Memoir of. By J. Fenimore Cooper, 157 -Sketch of a Case, or a Physician Extraordinary. By “Mary 187 - Clavers,” -Scott’s Critical Writings, 218 -Speculation, or Dyspepsia Cured. By H. T. Tuckerman, 279 - -Tropical Birds. By Park Benjamin, 44 -Tennyson’s Poems, 152 -Talfourd’s Miscellaneous Writings, 218 -Truth, A Tale. By Mrs. Frances Sargent Osgood, 316 - -Waste Paper, A Tale. By Mrs. Frances Sargent Osgood, 146 - -Young Wife, The. By the Author of “A Marriage of 257 - Convenience,” - - POETRY. - -Autumn. By Albert Pike, 37 -Autumn, Approach of. By Wm. Falconer, 124 -Alice, The Lady. (Illustrated.) By Park Benjamin, 145 -Autumn, A Reverie in. By Wm. Falconer, 209 -Affection, True. (Illustrated.), 319 - -Callore. By Alexander A. Irvine, 20 - -Daughter of Herodius, The. By Mrs. Frances Sargent 14 - Osgood, -Dirge. By James Russell Lowell, 31 - -Elizabeth. By J. T. S. Sullivan, 68 - -Faineant, Le. By Charles F. Hoffman, 8 -Farewell, The Exile’s. By W. H. Racey, 68 -Farewell to a Fashionable Acquaintance. By S. G. 95 - Goodrich, -Fame, The Student’s Dream of. By Robert Morris, 101 -First and Last Parting. By C. F. Hoffman, 191 -Farewell, The, 329 - -“Hath not thy Rose a Canker?” By Lois B. Adams, 82 -Heart, The Haunted. By Mary L. Lawson, 141 -Hymn for the Funeral of a Child. By James Aldrich, 172 -Holy Nights, The. By Henry Morford, 332 - -“I Saw Her Once,” A Song. By Richard H. Dana, 256 - -Life, The Future. By William Cullen Bryant, 104 -“Love’s Time is Now.” By Park Benjamin, 200 -L’Amour Sans Ailes. By C. F. Hoffman, 272 - -Morning Prayer. (Illustrated.), 3 -Minstrel, The Dying, to his Muse. By Wm. Falconer, 8 -Maiden’s Sorrow, The. By Wm. C. Bryant, 64 -Madoc, The Song of. By G. Forester Barstow, 120 -My Mother. A Dream. By Mrs. Balmanno, 239 - -Pets, The Playful. (Illustrated.), 204 -Prayer, The Child’s. By Robert Morris, 234 -Pastor’s Visit. (Illustrated.), 336 - -Return of Youth. By Wm. C. Bryant, 185 -Religion, The Power of. By Miss A. C. Pratt. 198 - (Illustrated.), - -Sonnet. To my Mother. By T. H. Chivers, 32 -Stage, The. By William Wallace, 53 -Song. By Charles F. Hoffman, 64 -Sonnet. By W. W. Story, 79 -Song. By Hon. Mrs. Norton, 95 -Student, The Spanish. By Henry W. Longfellow, 109, 196, 229 -Storm, The Sunset. By Rufus W. Griswold, 145 -Sonnet. “Bear On,” 175 -Sonnet. The Smile, 180 -Sonnet. “Rejoice!” 214 -Sonnet. The Unattained. By Mrs. Seba Smith, 256 -Sonnet. The Serenade, 279 -Shepherd, The, and the Brook. By William Falconer, 280 -Sonnet. By Mrs. Seba Smith, 303 -Sonnets, Four. By Elizabeth B. Barrett, 303 - -“Thou Hast Loved.” By Mrs. Seba Smith, 3 -To an Infant in the Cradle. By George B. Cheever, 44 -To ——. By George Lunt, 53 -To My Sisters. By Anna Cora Mowatt, 72 -To a Swallow. By Wm. Falconer, 82 -To Fanny H. By Mrs. Seba Smith, 131 -To a Lady Singing. By George Hill, 191 -To a Belle who is not a Blue Belle. By Mrs. Ellet, 200 -To Almeida in New England. By James T. Fields, 204 -To the Earth. By James Aldrich, 204 -To the Night Wind in Autumn. By George H. Colton, 336 - -Uncas, The Last Leap of. By Park Benjamin, 79 - -Viola. By James Aldrich, 3 -Voyage, The Life. By Mrs. F. S. Osgood, 265 - -Watchers, The. (Illustrated.), 64 -Walk, The Forest, and Picnic. By Alfred B. Street, 130 -Will Nobody Marry Me? By Geo. P. Morris, 44 -Wintemoyeh: A Legend of Mackinaw. By George H. Colton, 170 - -“You Call Us Inconstant.” By H. T. Tuckerman, 134 - - STEEL ENGRAVINGS. - - LINE AND MEZZOTINT. - -Morning Prayer, engraved by Sadd. -The Polish Mother, engraved by Dunnell. -The Bud and Blossom, by Welch & Walter. -The Watchers, engraved by Sartain. -The Proposal, engraved by A. Jones. -The Lady Alice, engraved by Dick. -The Blessing, engraved by Dunnell. -The Playful Pets, engraved by Sartain. -The Pet Rabbit, engraved by Sadd. -The Reprimand, engraved by Gimbrede. -True Affection, by Rawdon, Wright & Hatch. -Awaiting the Husband’s Return, engraved by Sadd. -The Pastor’s Visit, engraved by Dick. - - MUSIC. - -“To Win the Love of Thee,” A Ballad, 54 -The Zanoni Gallop, 102 -The September Waltz, 151 -The Summer Night, 217 -“Write to Me, Love,” 285 - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: -E. T. Parris., E. G. Dunnel. -_The Polish Mother._ -Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine.] - - - - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - Vol. XXI. PHILADELPHIA: JULY, 1842. No. 1. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE POLISH MOTHER. - - -It was a gorgeous bridal. The old hall of the palace was lit up with a -thousand lights, and crowded with all the wealth, beauty and rank of -Poland. The apartment blazed with the jewels of its occupants. Princes -with their proud dames, high officers of state, nobles whose domains -vied in extent with kingdoms, and lordly beauties beneath whose gaze all -bent in adoration, had gathered at that magnificent festival to do honor -to the bridal of the fair daughter of their host. And loveliest among -the lovely was the bride. Tall and majestic in every movement, with a -queenly brow, and a face such as might have been that of the mother of -the gods, she moved through the splendid apartment the theme of every -admiring tongue. Nor less remarkable was her husband. Warsaw beheld no -noble tread her palaces more lordly in his bearing than the Count -Restchifky. The fire of a hundred warrior ancestors burned in his eye. -The fame of his high lineage, of his extended possessions, of his feats -in arms, followed his footsteps wherever he went. In manly beauty the -court of Poland had no rival to the count, in majestic loveliness the -realm furnished no equal to his bride. And now, as they stood together -in that proud old hall, surrounded by all that was noble and beautiful -in the land, the peerless beauty of the countess and the princely -bearing of her husband shone pre-eminent. - -Never had Warsaw seen such a festival. All that the most boundless -wealth and all that a taste the most fastidious could do to add to the -splendor of the occasion had been done, and the guests, one and all, -bore testimony to the success of the princely entertainer. The air was -laden with incense, flowers bloomed around, unseen music filled the hall -with harmony, and statues and carvings of rare device met the eye at -every turn. If Aladdin had been there he would not have asked that his -enchanted palace should excel in magnificence the one before him. No -visionary, in his wildest dream, could imagine aught more beautiful. And -through this unrivalled ball the count and his bride moved, conscious -that all this splendor was evoked for their honor, feeling that not a -heart in all the vast assembly but envied their exalted lot. At every -step congratulations met them until they turned away sick with -adulation. What wonder that the rose grew still deeper on the cheek of -the bride, that her eyes flashed with brighter brilliancy, or that her -step became more queenly? Could aught mortal wholly resist the -intoxication of that hour? - - . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - -Years had elapsed. That fair young bride had become a mother; but time -had passed over her without destroying one lineament of her majestic -beauty. But the scene had changed from that through which she moved on -her bridal night. There were no longer around her wealth and splendor -and beauty, the flattery of the proud, the envy of the fair. She sat -alone—alone with her two children, one a lovely girl of sixteen, and -the other a smiling boy whose birth three years before had thrilled her -husband’s heart with ecstasy, filled a province with rejoicings. But now -that husband was away from her side, that province lay smoking around -her. Her own proud home, where since her marriage she had spent the -happiest hours of her life, had been sacked and given to the flames, and -she now sat leaning against a shattered parapet, with her face buried in -her hands, and the bitter tear of a mother’s anguish rolling down her -cheeks. At her feet, leaning on her for succor, and clasping her hand, -sat her daughter; while her boy, too young as yet to be conscious of the -misery around him, smiled as he played with the jewelled cross depending -from his mother’s neck. A broken sword, a dismounted cannon, the -shattered staff of a lance, at the feet of the group, betokened that the -vassals of the count had not yielded up her house to rapine without a -deadly struggle; and indeed, of the hundreds of hearts which beat there, -but the day before, only those of the mother and her two children had -escaped captivity or death. Part of the palace was yet in flames, while, -on the plain beyond, a village threw its lurid conflagration across the -sky. Desolation and despair sat enthroned around. Who that had seen that -mother on her bridal night, could have foretold that her after life -would reveal a scene like this? - -The Polish war for independence had broken out. Among the foremost of -the patriotic band which perilled all for their country, was the Count -Restchifky. His sword had been unsheathed at the outbreak of the -conflict, his fortune had been poured the first into the coffers of the -state. From his own estates he had raised and equipped as gallant a band -as ever followed lord to the tented field. And for a short space the war -seemed to prosper. But then came the reverse. From every quarter the -haughty Catharine poured her countless legions, headed by the fierce -Suwarrow, into Poland, and smoking fields and slaughtered armies soon -told that the day of hope for that ill-fated land was over. Yet a few -noble spirits, among whom the count was foremost, still held out for -their country, fighting every foot of ground, and though retreating -before the overwhelming forces of the foe, compelling him to purchase -every rood of land he gained by the lives of hundreds of his venal -followers. It was at this period, and while the count was far from his -home, that his palace had been attacked, and given to the flames. Afar -from succor, unconscious whether or not her husband yet lived, and -trembling for the lives of her offspring amid the desolation which -surrounded them, what wonder that even the proud heart of the countess -gave way, and that she wept in utter agony over her ruined country and -her dismantled home! - -“Oh! mother,” said the daughter, “if we only knew where father was, or -if he yet lived, we might still be happy. Wealth is nothing to us, for -will we not still love each other? Dry your tears, dear mother, for -something tells me that father lives and will yet rejoin us.” - -At these words of comfort, more soothing because coming from a quarter -so unexpected, the mother looked up, and, drawing her daughter to her -bosom, kissed her, saying, - -“You are right, my child. We will hope for the best. And if your father -has indeed fallen, and we are alone in the world, I will remember that I -have you to comfort me, and strive—to—be happy,” and, in despite of -her effort to be calm, the tears gushed into her eyes at the bare -thought of the possible loss of her husband. - -“But see, mother,” suddenly exclaimed the daughter, “see the cloud of -dust across the plain—can it betoken the return of the foe?” and she -drew close to her mother’s side. - -The mother gazed with eager eyes across the plain, and her cheek paled -as she thought she distinguished the banner of Russia borne in the -advance. - -“It is, it is as I feared,” said the daughter, “they come to carry us -into captivity. Oh! let us hide from their sight—there are secret -recesses in the ruins yet where we might defy scrutiny.” - -“No,” said the mother, all the spirit of her race rising in her at this -crisis, “no, my daughter, it would not become us, like base-born churls, -thus to fly from a foe. The wife and children of Count Restchifky will -meet his enemies on his own hearth-stone, all dismantled though it be.” - -With these words she clasped her babe closer to her bosom, and sat down -again behind the parapet to await, as the daughter of a hundred princes -should await, the approach of her murderers; and although perhaps her -cheek was a hue paler, the lofty glance of her eye quailed not. Her -daughter sank to her feet and buried her face in her mother’s robe. But -after a few minutes she regained courage, and looked timidly out across -the plain. At the first glance she started and said eagerly, - -“But see, mother, can they really be enemies? They wave their banners as -if to us—they increase their speed—surely, surely that gallant -horseman in the advance is my own dear father.” - -A moment the mother gazed eagerly on the approaching horseman, but a -moment only. The eye of the wife saw that her husband was indeed there, -and, with a glad cry, she clasped her children in her arms and burst -into a flood of joyful tears. She was still weeping when the count, -dismounting from his charger, rushed forward and clasped her in his -arms. - -“Thank God!” he ejaculated, “you at least are left to me. I had feared -to find you no more. May the lightning of heaven blast the cravens who -could thus desolate the home of a woman.” - -“My husband, oh! my husband!” was all that the wife could say. - -“Father, dear father, you are safe—oh! we shall yet be happy,” said the -daughter as she clung to her restored parent. - -The father kissed and re-kissed them all, and for once his stern nature -was moved to tears, but they were tears of joy. - -His story was soon told. Finding that all hope of saving his country was -over, and eager to learn the fate of those he had left at home, he had -cut his way through the enemy with a few gallant followers. As he drew -near the vicinity of his palace, he had heard strange rumors of the -sacking of his home, and on every side his own eyes beheld the ravages -of the foe. Torn with a thousand fears respecting the fate of those he -loved better than life, he had pressed madly on, and when the blackened -and smoking walls of his palace had risen before him in the distance he -had almost given way to despair. But, at length, his eager eye caught -sight of a group amid the ruins, and his heart told him that those he -loved remained yet to cheer his ruined fortunes. - -No pen can do justice to the feelings of gratitude which throbbed in the -bosom of that father as he pressed his wife and children successively to -his heart. His plans were soon laid. He had, by remittances to England -on the outbreak of the war, provided his family against want, and -thither they now bent their steps. Over his ruined country he shed many -a tear, but, at such times, the smiles of his wife and children were -ever ready to cheer his despondency; and as he gazed on his lovely -family he felt that there was much yet in this world to bid him be -happy. - - * * * * * - - - - - “THOU HAST LOVED.” - - - BY MRS. SEBA SMITH. - - - Dearest, in thine eye’s deep light - Is a look to tears allied— - Sorrow struggling with delight, - Each the other seeks to hide; - Thou, the freighted ark of life - Lonely floating on the sea, - With thy being’s treasure rife— - Thou hast wearied thus to be. - - Thou hast sent thy dove from thee— - Forth hast launched thy dove of peace, - And the branch, though green it be, - Can it bid thy doubtings cease? - Though it speak of hope the while, - Verdant spots and sunny bowers, - Can it bring thee back the smile - That beguiled thy vacant hours? - - Take thy dove and fold its wing— - Fold its ruffled wing to rest; - Deluge airs around it ring: - Let it nestle on thy breast. - Dearest, all thy care is vain— - Mark its trembling, weary wings; - But it comes to thee again, - And an olive branch it brings. - - Take it, bind it unto thee, - Though the leaves are dim with tears; - Such thy woman lot must be— - Love and sorrow, hopes and fears. - Bind the branch of promise ever - To thy heart, with fear oppressed, - Let the leaves of hope, oh! never, - Withered, leave their place of rest. - - * * * * * - - - - - VIOLA. - - - BY JAMES ALDRICH. - - - This simple chain of sunny hair, - Thus braided by thy gentle hand, - Anear my heart I ever wear, - Since thou art gone to shadow-land. - - Whene’er upon the little gift - Of thy sweet love my eye is cast, - Will welcome memory come and lift - The curtains of the silent Past! - - Ah! my fond heart, as well it may, - Feels then, in all its depth anew, - That which, when thou wait called away, - Ennobled and immortal grew! - - Lost one! to thee I’ll constant prove, - Long as I walk this mortal strand, - So may I claim thy perfect love - When we shall meet in shadow-land. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: -_PAINTED BY LUCY ADAMS._, _ENGRAVED BY H. S. SADD._ -_Morning Prayer._ -_Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine_] - - * * * * * - - - - - MORNING PRAYER. - - - ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTURE. - - - He is not here! - We meet around the altar yet once more, - Where we our prayers have blent so oft before, - And drop a tear - Upon the holy book from which he read - Who sleeps, at length, in peace, among the silent dead. - - Yet from on high - He looketh on us—widow, daughter, son— - Pointing the course by which he glory won. - He still is nigh, - On angel’s wings, to comfort us and guide,— - Unseen, but not unfelt, forever by our side. - - Father in heaven! - Who hast called home the leader of our band, - And the bright glories of the better land - Unto him given, - O, be with us, and keep us in the way - That leads, through this dark night, to an unending day! - - Strengthen our hearts - To bear, with fortitude, the ills of time; - Preserve them ever from the winter’s rime, - So let our parts - Be acted, that again the prayer and song - We may together blend, and through all time prolong! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE FANCY-FAIR. - - - BY MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN. - - - “With her personage, her tall personage, - Her height, forsooth, she hath prevailed with him.” - Shakspeare. - -“Good morning, Saybrooke,” said a gentleman named Creswell, meeting a -friend; “I have just ascertained to whom Collins is married—a lady of -your city—Laura Sands.” - -“Amazing!” exclaimed Saybrooke, striking down his cane with such energy -that the other started; “why, she is six feet high!” - -“Not quite,” returned Creswell, laughing; “and, though somewhat large, -she is one of the most queenly looking women—” - -“Pshaw! Victoria has put that word out of fashion, or at least changed -its signification.” - -“I beg pardon—I had forgotten your horror of large women, or, rather, I -did not regard it, supposing it was your affectation—everybody has at -least one.” - -“Affectation! take care, or I’ll raise my stick at you!” - -“Well, it is unaccountable that a man of your inches should have such -notions. Now, for a little fellow, like myself, it would be bad taste to -be following women who might look as if they could flog him, but with -your six feet two, and abundant proportions, the case is different. On -the contrary, I can’t imagine anything more comical than a little wife -hanging on your arm; she would look like a reticule—not straining a -pun.” - -“In saying I detest large women, I make no committal by preferring very -small ones; but, seriously, I would no more expect to find a woman’s -soul in all its sweetness, delicacy and purity hidden in a coarse, -capacious body, than I could think of loving a woman for the -recommendation—‘_Sexu fæmina, ingenio vir._’” - -“There it is with you men of fortune! You become so finical from having -all sorts of attractions paraded before you, that you stand still -waiting for perfection, till at last, in despair, you tie up your eyes, -and, like a child at blind man’s buff, spring forward and secure the -first against whom you stumble. Now, we poor, hard-working dogs—but -I’ll get out of heart if I talk about my own grievances. I have a lady -selected for you, beautiful, accomplished, with a thousand excellencies, -and of station in society and all that, just to suit, but this last -freak has chilled my good intentions. So good bye, till I get into a -better humor!” - -In the evening the two gentlemen met again, as Saybrooke was coming out -of an exchange office, in the act of securing his pocket book. - -“Have you been filling or emptying that article, which?” asked Creswell. - -“The more agreeable alternative,” replied his friend. - -“Then you are the very fellow I wished to see. I have an appointment for -you to-night—to take you to a ladies’ fair.” - -“The mischief! when you know that fancy-fairs are my aversion, and not -from caprice but from real principle. I don’t know anything more -disgusting than to see a room full of Misses, taking advantage of some -either really or nominally worthy purpose, to exhibit themselves to the -public, and to gratify a petty and an indelicate vanity, by flirting -over their pincushions and doll-babies with any fellow who can afford an -admittance shilling for the honor.” - -“Come, come, that’s really too severe, but just now I have not time to -take the other side of the question. This, however, is no ordinary -occasion. It is an impromptu affair, undertaken by a number of charming, -whole-hearted girls, to raise a fund in aid of the sufferers by a recent -public disaster, and more taste, enthusiasm, and liberality, I have -never seen exhibited. If you wish to see the _élite_ of our beauty and -fashion, under the most favorable circumstances, you had better avail -yourself of my invitation.” - -“If that is the case, I have no scruples. I intended to appropriate a -part of this very supply to a charity so unquestionable, and it may as -well pass through the medium you have selected as any other. So I’m at -your service.” - -At the appointed time they reached the —— Saloon, in which the fair -was held, and Creswell, who from previous visits was posted as to all -concerning it, led his friend, for a cursory inspection, around the -room. Its arrangements were novel and tasteful, its decorations of the -most rich and appropriate character, and the fair projectors were -fulfilling their duties with a dignity, grace, and decorum that -surprised as well as gratified the fastidious stranger. - -“Now, if you are satisfied,” said Creswell, “I’ll give myself the -trouble to advise you in the disposal of that spare cash of yours—come -to this table,” and bowing to its fair attendant, he took up a large and -magnificently bound quarto volume, and turned over its pages; “I have -heard you express a fondness, Saybrooke,” he continued, “for what you -call the only ladies’ science—Botany; did you ever see any thing to -equal this?” It was a collection of dried flowers, of such as best -preserve their color, pressed with great niceness and skill, and pasted -on the smooth, white pages so carefully, some singly and some in groups, -that it required close examination to distinguish them from delicate -water-color drawings. Beneath them were written, in an exquisite hand, -clear, full, and accurate technical descriptions, and on intermediate -pages quotations appropriate to their symbolical characters, or fanciful -and elegant passages, evidently original. - -“This must have been the work of a lady, judging from its ingenuity and -beauty,” said Saybrooke. - -“It was done by Miss Martha Grainger, was it not?” asked Creswell, -turning to the title page, which was a graceful vignette, executed, even -to the lettering, in leaves and flowers, but it contained no name. - -“Of course,” returned the pretty vender; “no other of us could have had -the taste, patience, and knowledge for such a work, to say nothing of -the talent the literary illustrations display. I really think it was a -piece of heroism in her to give up a possession so beautiful, and one -that must have cost her a world of labor and care.” - -“If it is not already sold, I shall be happy to become its purchaser,” -said Saybrooke; and paying for his acquisition with much satisfaction, -they walked on. The next thing that struck their notice was a large vase -encrusted with shells, and filled with fragrant and splendid flowers. It -was white, and transparent as alabaster, and of an antique form, as rare -as beautiful. Saybrooke examined it carefully. “How superior,” said he, -“to the unshapely, crockery-looking ware commonly seen as -shell-work—nothing could be more perfectly elegant and classical than -it is.” - -“Is it of your workmanship, Miss Ellen?” asked Creswell. - -“I am sorry to say, very far from it. It is a donation from Martha -Grainger; she had just finished it for herself, but, with her usual -generous benevolence, gave it up in hope that it might be turned to the -benefit of the unfortunate. The flowers, which you seem to admire so -much, Mr. Creswell, are also of her culture. Her windows, you know, were -the rivals of the green-houses, but she robbed them all to fill it. -Suppose you take it for your office? There is no one who will value it -more.” - -“Ah, if I could afford to have all I value! but I would not desecrate -anything so pure and sweet, by stowing it away among the rough -book-cases, and dust, and cobwebs of a poor lawyer’s office. Now, my -friend here could give it a place not unworthy. If it were placed within -your curtains, Saybrooke, I’d engage that you would have more bright -eyes peeping through your windows than you ever had before.” - -“The temptation is too strong to be resisted,” answered Saybrooke, -smiling, and he placed his card in a handle of the vase, as its -purchaser. “I am glad to find that the botanical lady has a real love of -flowers,” he continued, as he walked away with a China rose, which he -had selected, in his hand; “it is not always the case; a proficiency in -the science argues a clear and discriminating mind; the other seems to -belong to a naturally refined taste.” - -“Pray, Mr. Creswell, can’t you find us a purchaser for this?” asked a -lady, pointing to a glass case, which contained a set of elaborately -carved ivory chess-men. - -“An exquisite set,” said Saybrooke, “they look like fairy work.” - -“I think this is not the first time I have seen them, madam; can you -remind me where they came from?” said Creswell. - -“They were added to our stock by Miss Grainger, an effort of self-denial -that I fear I never could have attained. They were sent to her as a -present by an uncle in India, but she is so conscientious that she -offered them for our undertaking, saying that she could not be satisfied -to keep them for mere amusement, when a set for ten dollars would answer -as well. Of course we cannot expect to get their real value, as, very -properly, there are few persons who would offer a couple of hundred -dollars for a thing of the kind, but we are in hopes that some one -willing to aid the cause will take them at a price which, at least, will -not be unworthy of the generosity of the donor.” - -“As it is not very likely, from present appearances,” said Saybrooke, -“that the artists of the Celestial Empire will have the courage and -leisure to execute toys so singularly elaborate and ingenious for some -time to come, I may as well avail myself of the opportunity, and take -possession of these. Will this be sufficient for them, madam?” - -“Thank you, sir, for your liberality,—it is more than we expected;” -said the lady, looking after the stranger with much curiosity. - -“That Miss Grainger must be a remarkable person to be possessed of so -much talent and industry, and so much open-handed generosity. But what -have you there?” Creswell was looking at a pair of small paintings which -ornamented one of the stalls, and Saybrooke continued, after joining -him, “these are really beautiful little things, and from their apparent -reference to the late calamity, they must have been furnished expressly -for this occasion. They are evidently by the same hand, yet it must have -been difficult for one person to do them in so short a time. There is -much feeling, as well as originality, in the designs, and not less -spirit than grace in their execution. May I ask, Miss, from whom these -were obtained?” - -“They are from the pencil of a lady, sir,—the all-accomplished Miss -Grainger.” - -“Miss Grainger again!” said Saybrooke smiling; “they are marked for -sale, I believe?” - -“They are, sir, though we would prefer letting them remain here till the -sale is over.” - -“Certainly; but you will let me secure them in time?” and having -completed the purchase, he followed Creswell; “there now,” said he, “I -think I have done my part, so I shall tie up my purse-strings; but pray -who is this Miss Grainger?” - -“What do you imagine her to be?” - -“An active, bustling, fussy old maid, such a person who is always to be -found in the like enterprises; but in addition she must have an enlarged -mind, which, having freed her from the selfishness peculiar to her -relative position, still furnishes her with resources to devote to -general benevolence.” - -“You never were more mistaken in your life,—but what do you think of -that oriental _kiosk_ which the ladies have fitted up as the -post-office?” - -“I was just going to remark that it is particularly tasteful and -beautiful.” - -“The plan is another of the labors of Miss Grainger,—but we must ask -for letters to finish our business.” - -“Certainly, but where is your fair _virtuoso_? you must point her out to -me.” - -“Very well, come along, and I’ll introduce you, but of one thing I must -apprise you beforehand,—with all her admirable qualities she is, -unfortunately, quite—a large woman—the largest, I should think, in the -room.” - -“That is unfortunate,” said Saybrooke, looking disturbed; “but as I wish -merely to have my curiosity gratified, and to pay a tribute of respect -to an intellectual and a useful woman, I shall put up with that.” - -Creswell paused to speak with an acquaintance, and Saybrooke walked -forward. Suddenly a lady swept by, almost jostling him, and of a size -that over-shadowed all around her. She was beflounced and befurred, had -a tall feather waving above her hat, a decided shade on her upper lip, -and a step like a grenadier. - -“See here, Creswell, you needn’t mind taking me to see Miss Grainger,—I -don’t want to be introduced to her,” said Saybrooke. - -“You have changed your mind very suddenly,” returned Creswell. - -“You told me she was the largest woman in the room, and by accident I -have just met her. I recognized her, of course, and my curiosity is -amply gratified.” - -Creswell followed his eye, and burst into an irrepressible fit of -laughter. “Oh, very well,” said he, “if you are satisfied, so am I. But -here is the post-office. Anything here, ladies, for Stanley Saybrooke, -Esq.?—just excuse me, while you are waiting for your letter.” - -The postmistress was one of the youngest of the association, and whilst -she was searching, with much archness and significancy, among the -letters, the eyes of Saybrooke fell upon a lady farther back in the -alcove, from whom a single look acted like magic on him. The features -were of a form and symmetry the most faultlessly classical, and were -radiant with an expression of sweetness and intelligence. Her eyes were -large and of a soft blue, her complexion was of the purest white and -red, and her hair, of a rich brown, fell in a single large curl, smooth -and glossy, down either side of her face. She wore a small black velvet -bonnet, which contrasted strikingly with the pearliness of her skin, and -which, excepting in a little bordering of blond around the face, was -entirely without ornament. Vexatiously, as our hero thought it, there -was nothing of her figure to be seen; she sat wrapped in a large shawl, -on an ottoman behind a table, and appeared quite unconscious of -attracting attention, or, at least, indifferent to it. - -“Here is a letter, sir;” said the officious little postmistress, with a -mischievous smile, but Saybrooke stood unheeding; “there is nothing -else, sir;” she added, and recollecting himself, he walked reluctantly -away. The letter was a little poetical bagatelle, to which he paid no -attention, and reconnoitering the _kiosk_, he placed himself where, by -keeping among the folds of a curtain, he might retain a view of the face -which had so much fascinated him. Though, at his distance, he could not -overhear a word, he watched her quiet, yet neither cold nor languid -manner, to the many who approached and addressed her. “What a -lovely—lovely creature she is!” thought he, “if I had not so long -dropped my school-boy notions of love at first-sight, I really would -believe myself captivated!—how calm she is!—how unembarrassed and -dignified, and yet how gracious!” - -Creswell returned, but Saybrooke, ashamed to ask a single question lest -it might betray him, pleaded fatigue, and declined walking farther, and -his friend, who had been watching him, to his secret amusement, left him -to the indulgence of his observations. - -By this time the story of his liberality, exaggerated, of course, had -made its way over the room, and many were the efforts of the fair -promenaders to catch the attention of a stranger so fashionable in -appearance, so handsome, and reportedly so rich; but if he noticed the -attractions of any, it was only to remark how inferior they were to -those he was so intently contemplating. At length, to his extreme -delight, he observed that she had picked up the rose which he had -dropped on the table in his first bewilderment. “What a dolt I have -been,” said he to himself; “after coming here to lay out money in -charity, to take and retain an equivalent for it!” and to ease his -conscience, he decided to get rid of the vase. So calling a servant who -was attending on the tables, he directed him where to find it, and to -present it to the designated lady in the post-office, with the -compliments of a gentleman. He watched as the commission was executed. -There was no flutter in the manner of the fair incognito, no wonder nor -exultation. She merely asked the man a question or two, and dismissed -him without a message. Her bearing suited him to a charm. It was that of -a sultana receiving tribute. - -“What a hand—what an incomparable hand!” was his next thought. One of -his very few coxcomberies was a passion for beautiful hands, and it had -its full gratification in the one which lay beside his vase, with whose -whiteness it did not suffer in comparison. It was not small, but was -exquisitely shaped, full, smooth and tapering, with not an irregular -protuberance to detract from its graceful outlines. It set his fancy at -a new picture. He imagined himself at his little mosaic -chess-table—which was so small that any two at it were in very sociable -proximity—and that snowy hand at the other side. Then he looked at her -forehead, which was large and nobly developed—he was something of a -phrenologist—and he decided that she had a genius for chess, -consequently, that his recent purchase of chess-men might thus be -suitably transferred. Accordingly, he hurried off to send it, but after -he had done so, he found, on returning, his place occupied by a crowd. - -The room had filled, and disappointed and abstracted he wandered about -for an hour before he found an opportunity to speak to Creswell. The -latter at length approached him, saying, - -“I have a message for you from a lady.” - -“What lady?” asked Saybrooke, eagerly, hoping it was _the_ lady—the -only one he cared about at the moment. - -“The one to whom you sent your vase and chess-men; she says that if you -don’t take them back she will offer them for sale anew.” - -“I hope she did not think me impertinent in sending them?” said -Saybrooke, looking alarmed, “how did she discover that it was I?” - -“It was easy to ascertain by whom they were purchased, and she judged -accordingly.” - -“Then you know her?” - -“Certainly.” - -“Pray introduce me, won’t you?—immediately, if you please, my dear -Creswell.” - -“I would rather not. You won’t like her—for a very _material_ reason.” - -“I will—positively—I do like her—I’m half in love already.” - -“With her face, you mean—that’s a pretty scrape for a man of twenty-six -to get into! however, I may have an opportunity after a while, so be -patient. There’s a fine figure,” he continued, looking through a glass -he had picked up from a table, and then handing it to Saybrooke—“there -in that recess—the lady with her back towards us.” - -“Very fine, but the glass contracts too much; at full size I dare say -the proportions would scarcely appear so perfect. Who is she?” - -“A particular favorite of mine, the owner of this shawl, which I am -carrying to her. Come along, and you shall have a nearer view.” - -The lady was at the farther end of the saloon, and with some difficulty -they threaded their way towards her. She was talking, and still had her -back towards them. “A fine figure, indeed,” said Saybrooke, as they -advanced, “but, she seems—isn’t she rather large?—why, upon my -word—Creswell—she must be full five feet nine, if not ten!” and, -putting his arm through his friend’s, he was drawing him in another -direction. - -“Stop! don’t jerk me off my feet, my dear fellow!” said Creswell; “I -must go on to deliver the shawl; allow me, Miss Grainger,” he continued, -“to present my friend, Mr. Saybrooke—” and as the lady turned round to -curtsey, Saybrooke recognized the brilliant face of the post-office. - -Never was there a more instantaneous revolution. “I’ll call you out for -this night’s work!” whispered Saybrooke, while the lady was replying to -the parting compliments of her former companions. Creswell pretended to -look very much surprised, and after a little while, when he made a move -to proceed, Saybrooke gave him a deprecatory shake of the head, at which -they parted for the night. - -The next morning Creswell called at the lodgings of his friend. “I am -glad,” said he, “that you were not disappointed in Miss Grainger.” - -“Disappointed!—she is the most fascinating woman I ever met with—full -of sweetness, feeling, and intellect! I do not remember to have enjoyed -a conversation more in my life than the one we had as I escorted her -home last night” - -“Why, Saybrooke! you certainly did not do that? she is unquestionably -large enough to take care of herself!” - -“You are an impudent dog, Creswell,” returned Saybrooke, laughing. - -“But, seriously, Saybrooke, it is a great pity that Miss Grainger is so -large; to a man of your sentiments, who never could see a woman over the -medium height without thinking of an ogress, it must very much -neutralize the effect of her unrivalled face, her winning manners, and -her delightfully _spirituelle_ conversation.” - -“If you’ll oblige me by remaining civilly quiet, for a few minutes, I’ll -tell you how I argued that point. I stated to myself that the larger -women I had seen were as small ones examined through a magnifying glass, -every defect being thus rendered more apparent. Now, I continued, here -is a woman of the magnified size, without a single defect, and she is of -course entitled to a magnified portion of admiration.” - -“Very good.” - -“And then I recollected that I was not the first who had come to such a -conclusion. That Juno would not have looked the queen of Olympus had she -been other than a large woman—that had the rib of Menelaus been but a -small bone of contention, Troy might have been standing to this day.” - -“Pshaw!” said Creswell. - -“And that a man must have a very contracted imagination to fancy a -little Venus De Medicis, a little Cleopatra or a little Mary Stuart.” - -About six months after this, a gentleman and lady passing, bowed to -Creswell through his office window while an acquaintance was sitting -with him. - -“A magnificent looking couple—who are they?” said the latter. - -“The new bride and groom, Stanley Saybrooke, and Martha Grainger, that -was. By the by, I made that match.” - -“Indeed! how did you accomplish it?” - -“Just by persuading the lady to sit still for a few hours. He had a most -absurd aversion to large women, and as I knew that Martha, who, in fact, -is a sort of cousin of mine, would suit him exactly in other respects, I -laid a plan to get him in love with her before he found out her size, so -I took him to a fancy-fair, where he saw a great number of her -productions, and heard a great deal of her character, and then I -contrived to give him a sight of her beautiful face, having, as I said, -apprised her that she would oblige me very much by keeping her seat -until I gave her notice. That finished the business. He stared till he -was conquered, and then the three or four extra inches became very small -matters indeed.” - -“But now, since they are married, won’t the defects shoot up again?” - -“Not at all. I never saw a fellow so proud of a wife. He says that a -small casket could not contain so lofty an intellect and so noble a -heart!” - - * * * * * - - - - - LE FAINEANT. - - - BY C. V. HOFFMAN, AUTHOR OF “GREYSLAER,” “THE VIGIL OF FAITH,” ETC. - - - “Now arouse thee, Sir Knight, from thine indolent ease, - Fling boldly thy banner abroad in the breeze, - Strike home for thy lady—strive hard for the prize, - And thy guerdon shall beam from her love-lighted eyes!” - - “I shrink not the trial,” that bluff knight replied— - “But I battle—not _I_—for an unwilling bride; - Where the boldest may venture to do and to dare, - My pennon shall flutter—my bugle peal there! - - “I quail not at aught in the struggle of life, - I’m not all unproved even now in the strife, - But the wreath that I win, all unaided—alone, - Round a faltering brow it shall never be thrown!” - - “Now fie on thy manhood, to deem it a sin - That she loveth the glory thy falchion might win, - Let them doubt of thy prowess and fortune no more, - Up! Sir Knight, for thy lady—and do thy devoir!” - - “She hath shrunk from my side, she hath failed in her trust, - Not relied on my blade, but remembered its rust; - It shall brighten once more in the field of its fame, - But it is not for her I would now win a name.” - - The knight rode away, and the lady she sigh’d, - When he featly as ever his steed would bestride, - While the mould from the banner he shook to the wind - Seemed to fall on the breast he left aching behind. - - But the rust on his glaive and the rust in his heart - Had corroded too long and too deep to depart, - And the brand only brightened in honor once more, - When the heart ceased to beat on the fray-trampled shore. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE DYING MINSTREL TO HIS MUSE. - - - BY WILLIAM FALCONER. - - - Farewell, gentle Muse! fare thee well, and for ever! - No more in the greenwood with thee must I stray: - Thy flowers which I cherished have bloomed but to wither, - Like youth’s vernal wreath, they all faded away: - Yet sweet was the morn, timid Muse, when I sought thee, - In the green ruined tower by the wild Scottish rill; - A heart framed for joy like the wine-cup I brought thee, - With Fancy’s rich draught thou the chalice didst fill. - - O soft was thy dawning, thou mental Aurora, - It shed on my morning-dream heaven’s young ray, - With the seraph-wing’d bird through the cloudlets of glory - My soul soared exulting through life’s early day; - Then love’s vernal flush filled my bosom with gladness, - And she whom I loved shared its passion with thee; - She left me to pine in the chill shade of sadness, - Then crossed I in anguish the wide-spreading sea. - - But thou wert more faithful, for rocked on the ocean - ’Twas thou who mad’st lovely the dreams of my rest, - My spirit went forth on the wings of emotion - To sport with the bird o’er the blue waters’ breast. - Now in my pent bosom life’s last pulses tremble - Like sear fluttering leaves on yon wind-beaten tree, - With spring-loving birds on its boughs that assemble - My soul to the Land of the Spirit shall flee. - - Then come, O my wild lyre, my sole earthly treasure, - ’Neath Death’s downy pinions come slumber in peace; - Leave the world to the rosy-crown’d vot’ries of Pleasure, - Its garlands must wither—its Bacchanals cease! - Dear Enchantress, farewell! but that friend of my bosom - Revisit once more, o’er the waves’ deafening swell, - Inspire him that one fleeting flowret may blossom - To the memory of him who hath loved him so well! - _Paris, France._ - - * * * * * - - - - - HARRY CAVENDISH. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR,” THE “REEFER OF ’76,” ETC. - - - THE PRIVATEER. - -I remained but a short time in the Arrow after we sailed finally from -the port of ——; for happening to fall in with and capture a rakish -little schooner, Captain Smyth resolved to arm and send her forth to -cruise against the enemy on her own account. A long Tom was accordingly -mounted on a pivot amidships, a complement of men placed in her, and the -command given to our second lieutenant, with myself for subordinate. -Thus equipped, we parted company from our consort, who bore away for the -north, while we were to cruise in the Windward Passage. - -For several days we met with no adventure. The weather was intensely -sultry. He who has never witnessed a noontide calm on a tropical sea can -have no idea of the stifling heat of such a situation. The sea is like -molten brass; no breath of air is stirring; the atmosphere is dry and -parched in the mouth, and the heavens hang over all their canopy of -lurid fire, in the very centre of which burns with intense fierceness -the meridian sun. The decks, the cabin, and the tops are alike stifling. -The awnings may indeed afford a partial shelter from the vertical rays -of the sun, but no breeze can be wooed down the eager windsail; while, -wherever a stray beam steals to the deck through an opening in the -canvass, the turpentine oozes out and boils in the heat, and the planks -become as intolerable to the tread as if a furnace was beneath them. - -It was on one of the hottest days of the season, and about a fortnight -after we parted from the Arrow, that we lay thus becalmed. The hour was -high noon. I stood panting for breath by the weather railing, dressed in -a thin jacket and without a cravat, feverishly looking out across the -ocean to discern, if possible, a mist or cloud or other evidence of an -approaching breeze. My watch was in vain. There was no ripple on the -deep, but a long monotonous undulation heaved the surface of the water, -which glittered far and near like a mirror in which the sun is reflected -vertically, paining and almost blinding the gaze. The schooner lay -motionless on the ocean, the shadow of her boom shivering in the wave, -as the swell undulated along. Silence reigned on the decks. To a -spectator at a distance, who could have beheld our motionless shadow in -the water, we would have seemed an enchanted ship, hanging midway -betwixt the sea and sky. - -Noon passed, and the afternoon drew heavily along, yet still no breeze -arose to gladden our listless spirits. Two bells struck and then three, -but the same monotony continued. Wearied out at length I was about -turning from the weather quarter to go below, when I fancied I saw a -sail far down on the horizon. I paused and looked intently in the -direction where the welcome sight had been visible. For a moment the -glare of the sun and the water prevented me from distinguishing with any -accuracy whether what I saw was really a sail or not, but at length my -doubts were removed by the cry of the look-out on the fore-castle, and -before half an hour it became evident that the vessel to windward was a -square-rigged craft, but of what size or character it was impossible to -determine. - -“They must have had a puff of wind up yonder,” remarked the second -lieutenant to me, “or else they could not have come within sight so -rapidly.” - -“But the breeze has left them ere this,” I said, “for they have not -moved for the last quarter of an hour.” - -“We shall probably know nothing more of them until nightfall, for the -wind will scarcely make before sunset, even if it does then. He has the -weather gauge. Until I know something more of him I would rather change -positions.” - -“He is some fat merchantman,” I replied, “we will lighten his plethoric -pocket before morning.” - -During the afternoon the calm continued, our craft and the stray sail -occupying their relative positions. Meantime, innumerable were the -conjectures which we hazarded as to the character of our neighbor; and -again and again were our glasses put in requisition to see if any thing -could be discovered to decide our conflicting opinions. But the royals -of a ship, when nothing else of her is visible, give scarcely any clue -as to her character; and accordingly hour after hour passed away, and we -were still altogether ignorant respecting the flag and strength of our -neighbor. Toward sunset, however, signs of a coming breeze began to -appear on the seaboard, and when the luminary wheeled his disc down the -western line of the horizon, the sea to windward was perceptibly ruffled -by the wind. - -“Ah! there it comes at last—” said the second lieutenant, “and, by my -halidome, the stranger is standing for us. Now, if he will only keep in -his present mind until we can get within range of him, I am no officer -of the United Colonies if I do not give him some hot work. By St. -George, the men have had so little to do of late, and they long so -eagerly to whet their palates, that I would venture to attack almost -twice our force—eh! Cavendish! You have had such a dare-devil brush -with the buccaneers lately that I suppose you think no common enemy is -worth a thought.” - -“Not altogether,” said I, “but I think we shall have our wish gratified. -Yonder chap is certainly twice our size, and he carries his topsails as -jauntily as a man-of-war.” - -“Faith! and you’re right, Harry,” said my old messmate, as he shut the -glass with a jerk, after having, in consequence of my last remark, taken -a long look at the strange sail, “that’s no sleepy merchantman to -windward. But we’ll swagger up to him, nevertheless; one doesn’t like to -run away from the first ship he meets.” - -I could not help smiling when I thought of the excuses with which the -lieutenant was endeavoring to justify to himself his contemplated attack -on a craft that was not only more than twice our size, but apparently an -armed cruizer, for I knew the case would have been the same if this had -been the hundredth, instead of the first vessel he had met after -assuming a separate command, as no man in the corvette had been more -notorious for the recklessness with which he invited danger. Perhaps -this was the fault of his character. I really believe that he would, if -dared to it, have run into Portsmouth itself, and fired the British -fleet at anchor. In our former days, when we had been fellow officers on -board the Arrow, we had often differed on this trait in his character, -and perhaps now he felt called on, from a consciousness of my opinion, -to make some excuse to me for his disregard of prudence in approaching -the stranger; for, as soon as the breeze had made, he had close-hauled -the schooner, and, during the conversation I have recorded, we were -dashing rapidly up towards the approaching ship. - -As we drew nearer to the stranger, my worst suspicions became realized. -Her courses loomed up large and ominous, and directly her hammock -nettings appeared, and then her ports opened to our view, six on a side; -while, almost instantaneously with our discovery of her force, a roll of -bunting shot up to her gaff, and, unrolling, disclosed the cross of St. -George. There was now no escape. The enemy had the weather gauge, and -was almost within closing distance. However prudent a more wary approach -might have been hitherto, there was no longer any reason for the -exercise of caution. It would be impossible for us now to avoid a -combat, or get to windward by any manœuvre; and to have attempted to -escape by going off before the wind would have been madness, since of -all points of sailing that was the worst for our little craft. Gloomy, -therefore, as the prospect appeared for us, there was no hesitation, but -each man, as the drum called us to quarters, hurried to his post with as -much alacrity as if we were about to engage an inferior force, instead -of one so overwhelmingly our superior. - -The moon had by this time risen and was calmly sailing on, far up in the -blue ether, silvering the deep with her gentle radiance, and showering a -flood of sparkles on every billowy crest that rolled up and shivered in -her light. Everywhere objects were discernible with as much distinctness -as under the noon-day sun. The breeze sang through our rigging with a -joyous sound, singularly pleasing after the silence and monotony of the -day; and the waves that parted beneath our cut-water rolled glittering -astern along our sides, while ever and anon some billow, larger than its -fellows, broke over the bow, sending its foam crackling back to the -foremast. Around the deck our men were gathered, each one beside his -allotted gun, silently awaiting the moment of attack. The cutlasses had -been served out; the boarding pikes and muskets were placed convenient -for use; the balls had already been brought on deck; and we only waited -for some demonstration on the part of the foe to open our magazine and -commence the combat in earnest. At length, when we were rapidly closing -with him, the enemy yawed, and directly a shot whistled high over us. - -“Too lofty by far, old jackanapes,” said the captain of our long Tom, -“we’ll pepper you after a different fashion when it comes to our turn to -serve out the iron potatoes. Ah! the skipper’s tired of being silent,” -he continued, as Mr. Vinton ordered the old veteran to discharge his -favorite piece, “we’ll soon see who can play at chuck-farthing the best, -my hearty. Bowse away, boys, with that rammer—now we have her in a -line—a little lower, just a trifle more—that’s it—there she goes;” -and as he applied the match, the flame streamed from the mouth of the -gun, a sharp, quick report followed, and the smoke, clinging a moment -around the piece in a white mass, broke into fragments and eddied away -to leeward on the gale; while the old veteran, stepping hastily aside, -placed his hand over his eyes, and gazed after the shot, with an -expression of intense curiosity stamped on every feature of his face. -Directly an exulting smile broke over his countenance, as the -fore-top-sail of the ship fell—the ball having hit the yard. - -“By the holy and thrue cross,” said a mercurial Irishman of the old -veteran’s crew, “but he has it there—hurrah! Give it to him nately -again—it’s the early thrush that catches the early worm.” - -“Home with the ball there, my hearties,” sung out the elated veteran, -“she is yawing to let drive at us—there it comes. Give her as good as -she sends.” - -The enemy was still, however, at too great a distance to render her fire -dangerous, and after a third shot had been exchanged betwixt us—for the -stranger appeared to have, like ourselves, but a single long gun of any -weight—this distant and uncertain firing ceased, and both craft drew -steadily towards each other, determined to fight the combat, as a -gallant combat should be fought, yard arm to yard arm. - -The wind had now freshened considerably, and we made our way through the -water at the rate of six knots an hour. This soon brought us on the bows -of the foe. Our guns, meanwhile, had been hastily shifted from the -starboard to the larboard side, so that our whole armament could be -brought to bear at once on the ship. As we drew up towards the enemy a -profound silence reigned on our deck—each man, as he stood at his gun, -watching her with curious interest. We could see that her decks were -well filled with defenders, and that marksmen had been posted in the -tops to pick off our crew. But no eye quailed, no nerve flinched, as we -looked on this formidable array. We felt that there was nothing left for -us but to fight, since flight was alike dishonorable and impossible. - -At length we were within pistol shot of the foe, and drawing close on to -his bows. The critical moment had come. That indefinable feeling which -even a brave man will feel when about engaging in a mortal combat, shot -through our frames as we saw that our bowsprit was overlapping that of -the enemy, and knew that in another minute some of us would perhaps be -in another world. But there was little time for such reflections now. -The two vessels, each going on a different tack, rapidly shot by each -other, and, in less time than I have taken to describe it, we lay -broadside to broadside, with our bows on the stern of the foe, and our -tafferel opposite his foremast. Until now not a word had been spoken on -board either ship; but the moment the command to fire was passed from -gun to gun, a sheet of flame instantaneously rolled along our sides, -making our light craft quiver in every timber. The rending of timbers, -the crash of spars, and the shrieks of the wounded, heard over even the -roar of battle, told us that the iron missiles had sped home, bearing -destruction with them. A momentary pause ensued, as if the crew of the -enemy had been thrown into a temporary disorder—but the delay was only -that of a second or two—and then came in return the broadside of the -foe. But this momentary disorder had injured the aim of the Englishman, -and most of his balls passed overhead, doing considerable injury however -to the rigging. Our men had lain flat on the deck after our discharge, -since our low bulwarks afforded scarcely any protection against the fire -of the enemy, and when, therefore, his broadside came hurtling upon us, -the number of our wounded was far less than under other circumstances -would have been possible. - -“Thank God! the first broadside is over,” I involuntarily exclaimed, -“and we have the best of it.” - -“Huzza! we’ll whip him yet, my hearties,” shouted the captain of our -long Tom; “give it to him with a will now—pepper his supper well for -him. Old Marblehead, after all, against the world!” - -With the word our men sprang up from the decks, and waving their arms on -high, gave vent to an enthusiastic shout ere they commenced re-loading -their guns. The enemy replied with a cheer, but it was less hearty than -that of our own men. Little time, however, was lost on either side in -these bravados; for all were alike conscious that victory hung, as yet, -trembling in the scales. - -“Out with her—aye! there she has it,” shouted a grim veteran in my -division, “down with the rascally Britisher.” - -“Huzza for St. George,” came hoarsely back in reply, as the roar of the -gun died on the air, and, at the words, a ball whizzed over my -shoulders, and striking a poor fellow behind me on the neck, cut the -head off at the shoulders, and while it bore the skull with it in its -flight, left the headless trunk spouting its blood, as if from the jet -of an engine, over the decks. I turned away sickened from the sight. The -messmates of the murdered man saw the horrid sight, but they said -nothing, although the terrible energy with which they jerked out the -gun, told the fierceness of their revengeful feelings. Well did their -ball do its mission; for as the smoke eddied momentarily away from the -decks of the enemy, I saw the missile dismount the gun which had fired -the last deadly shot, scattering the fragments wildly about, while the -appalling shrieks which followed the accident told that more than one of -the foe had suffered by that fatal ball. - -“We’ve revenged poor Jack, my lads,” said the captain of the gun,—“away -with her again. A few more such shots and the day’s our own.” - -The combat was now at its height. Each man of our crew worked as if -conscious that victory hung on his own arm, nor did the enemy appear to -be less determined to win the day. The guns on either side were plied -with fearful rapidity and precision. Our craft was beginning to be -dreadfully cut up, we had received a shot in the foremast that -threatened momentarily to bring it down, and at every discharge of the -enemy’s guns one or more of our little crew fell wounded at his post. -But if we suffered so severely it was evident that we had our revenge on -the foe. Already his mizzen-mast had gone by the board, and two of his -guns were dismounted. I fancied once or twice that his fire slackened, -but the dense canopy of smoke that shrouded his decks and hung on the -face of the water prevented me from observing, with any certainty, the -full extent of the damage we had done to the enemy. - -For some minutes longer the conflict continued with unabated vigor on -the part of our crew; but at the end of that period, the fire of the -Englishman sensibly slackened. I could scarcely believe that our success -had been so decisive, but, in a few minutes longer, the guns of the -enemy were altogether silenced, and directly afterwards a voice hailed -from him, saying that he had surrendered. The announcement was met by a -loud cheer from our brave tars, and, as the two vessels had now fallen a -considerable distance apart, the second lieutenant determined to send a -boat on board and take possession. Accordingly, with a crew of about a -dozen men, I pushed off from the sides of our battered craft. - -As we drew out of the smoke of the battle we began to see the real -extent of the damage we had done. The ship of the enemy lay an almost -perfect wreck on the water, her foremast and mizzen-mast having both -fallen over her side; while her hull was pierced in a continuous line, -just above water mark, with our balls. Here and there her bulwarks had -been driven in, and her whole appearance betokened the accuracy of our -aim. I turned to look at the schooner. She was scarcely in a better -condition, for the foremast had by this time given way, and her whole -larboard side was riddled with the enemy’s shot. A dark red stream was -pouring out from her scuppers, just abaft the mainmast. Alas! I well -knew how terrible had been the slaughter in that particular spot. I -turned my eyes from the melancholy spectacle, and looked upwards to the -calm moon sailing in the clear azure sky far overhead. The placid -countenance of the planet seemed to speak a reproof on the angry -passions of man. A moment afterward we reached the captured ship. - -As I stepped on deck I noticed that not one solitary individual was to -be seen; but in the shattered gun-carriage, and the dark stains of blood -on the deck, I beheld the evidences of the late combat. The whole crew -had apparently retreated below. At this instant, however, a head -appeared above the hatchway and instantly vanished. I was not long in -doubt as to the meaning of this strange conduct, for, almost immediately -a score of armed men rushed up the hatchway, and advancing toward us -demanded our surrender. I saw at once the dishonorable stratagem. Stung -to madness by the perfidy of the enemy, I sprang back a few steps to my -men, and rallying them around me, bid the foe come on. They rushed -instantly upon us, and in a moment we were engaged in as desperate a -_mêlée_ as ever I had seen. - -“Stand fast, my brave lads,” I cried, “give not an inch to the cowardly -and perfidious villains.” - -“Cut him down, and sweep them from the decks,” cried the leader of the -men, stung to the quick by the taunt of cowardice. “St. George against -the rebels.” - -A brawny desperado at the words made a blow at me with his cutlass, but -hastily warding it off I snatched a pistol from my belt, and fired at my -antagonist, who fell dead to the deck. The next instant the combat -became general. Man to man, and foot to foot, we fought, desperately -contesting every inch of deck, each party being conscious that the -struggle was one of life or death. The clashing of cutlasses, the crack -of fire-arms, the oaths, the shouts, the bravado, the shrieks of the -wounded, and the dull heavy fall of the dead on the deck, were the only -sounds of which we were conscious during that terrible _mêlée_, and -these came to our ears not in their usual distinctness, but mingled into -one fearful and indescribable uproar. For myself, I scarcely heard the -tumult. My whole being was occupied in defending myself against a -Herculean ruffian who seemed to have singled me out from my crew, and -whom it required all my skill at my weapon to keep at bay. I saw nothing -but the ferocious eye of my adversary; I heard only the quick rattle of -our blades. I have said once before that my proficiency at my weapon had -passed into a proverb with my messmates, and had I not been such a -master of my art, I should, on the present occasion, have fallen a -victim to my antagonist. As it was, I received a sharp wound in the arm, -and was so hotly pressed by my vigorous foe that I was forced to give -way. But this temporary triumph proved the destruction of my antagonist. -Flushed with success, he forgot his wariness, and made a lunge at me -which left him unprotected. I moved quickly aside, and, seizing my -advantage, had buried my steel in his heart before his own sword had -lost the impetus given to it by his arm. As I drew out the reeking -blade, I became aware, for the first time, of the wild tumult of sounds -around me. A hasty glance assured me that we barely maintained our -ground, while several of my brave fellows lay on the deck wounded or -dying; but before I could see whether the ranks of the foe had been -equally thinned, and while yet scarcely an instant had passed since the -fall of my antagonist, a loud, clear huzza, swelling over the din of the -conflict, rose at my side, and, turning quickly around, I saw to my joy -that the shout proceeded from a dozen of our tars who had reached us at -that moment in a boat from the schooner. In an instant they were on -deck. - -“Down with the traitors—no quarter—hew them to the deck,” shouted our -indignant messmates as they dashed on the assailants. But the enemy did -not wait to try the issue of the combat. Seized with a sudden panic, -they fled in all directions, a few jumping overboard, but most of them -tumbling headlong down the hatchways. - -We were now masters of the deck. As I instantly guessed, the report of -the fire-arms had been heard on board the schooner, when, suspecting -foul play, a boat had instantly pushed off to our rescue. - -“A narrow escape, by Jove!” said my messmate who had come to my aid, -“these traitorous cowards had well nigh overpowered you, and if they -could have cut your little party off they would, I suppose, have made -another attempt on the schooner—God confound the rascals!” - -“Your arrival was most opportune,” said I, “a few minutes later and it -would have been of no avail.” And then, as I ran my eye over our -comparatively gigantic foe, I could not restrain the remark, “It is a -wonder to me how we conquered.” - -“Faith, and you may well say that,” laughingly rejoined my messmate; “it -will be something to talk of hereafter. But the schooner hasn’t come -off,” he added, glancing at our craft, “without the marks of this -fellow’s teeth. But I had forgot to ask who or what the rascal is.” - -The prize proved to be a privateer. She had received so many shot in her -hull, and was already leaking so fast, that we concluded to remove the -prisoners and blow her up. Her crew were accordingly ordered one by one -on deck, handcuffed, and transferred to the schooner. Then I laid a -train, lighted it and put off from the prize. Before I reached our -craft—which by this time had been removed to some distance—the ship -blew up. - -We rigged a jury mast, and by its aid reached Charleston, where we -refitted. Our capture gave us no little reputation, and while we -remained in port we were lionized to our hearts’ content. - -Eager, however, to continue the career so gloriously begun, we staid at -Charleston no longer than was absolutely necessary to repair our -damages. In less than a fortnight we left the harbor, and made sail -again for the south. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE BRIDAL. - - - A SCENE FROM REAL LIFE. - - - BY ROBERT MORRIS. - - -The scene was one of mirth, and joy, and loveliness, and beauty. Two -spacious parlors had been thrown open in one of the largest houses in -Arch street. Lights had glittered in the various chambers since early -sundown—carriages by dozens had driven up to the door, each freighted -with friends or relatives, so that the world without found little -difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that some extraordinary scene -of festivity was in progress within the walls of that spacious mansion. - -It was about nine o’clock when we entered. The two large parlors, -brilliantly illuminated by gas, and glittering with a rich collection of -young and beautiful females, each dressed in the most tasteful or -gorgeous manner, presented a scene truly magnificent. For a moment the -eye seemed to quail before the general flash, while the mind also grew -dizzy; but these feelings lasted but for the instant, as friends were to -be met on all sides, and we soon found ourselves mingling in the giddy -and trifling conversation that too many of our fair countrywomen seem to -delight in on such occasions. Still, as the first flash passed by, we -paused to contemplate the scene in a calmer and more meditative spirit. - -The party was a “Bridal” one, and the bride was the daughter of one of -our most respectable merchants, a worthy, good-hearted man, who had -devoted himself to his business, and paid no attention whatever to the -frivolities of fashionable life. The bride seemed _very_ young—not more -than sixteen or seventeen. She could not be regarded as beautiful in the -general appreciation of the word, and yet she had one of the sweetest -faces that we ever saw. She had soft blue eyes, brown hair which fell -over her shoulders in ringlets, a pretty and expressive mouth, with -teeth that appeared to us faultless. Her complexion was clear, but her -face looked rather pale, although at times it became flushed and ruddy -as the rose. Her dress was of the richest white satin, and the ornaments -of her hair and neck and wrists consisted almost exclusively of pearls. -Her frame was slight and full of symmetry, and her voice was remarkable -for the gentleness and amiability of its tone. We gazed upon her calmly -for many minutes, and the thought passed through our mind—“So young, so -fair, so delicate, so happy, and yet so willing to enter upon the severe -responsibilities of the wife and the mother.” “Who,” we inquired of -ourselves, “may read that young creature’s destiny? Doubtless she loves -the object of her choice with a woman’s virgin and devoted -love—doubtless she believes that the next sixteen years of her life -will prove radiant with happiness, even more so than the girlish and -sunny period which has but just gone by—and doubtless the youth who has -won that gentle heart believes that he possesses the necessary -requisites of mind and disposition to render her happy. And yet how -often has the bright cup of joy been dashed from the lips of woman when -about to quaff it! How often does man prove recreant and false! How -often is he won from his home and his young wife, whose heart gives way -slowly, but fatally and steadily, under the influence of such -indifference and neglect!” But we paused and dismissed these gloomy -reflections. The nuptial ceremony was pronounced—for a moment all was -breathless silence—and then the busy hum broke forth as audibly as -ever. The wedding was a brilliant one in all respects. It was followed -up by party after party, so that nearly a month rolled away before the -giddy round was over. The only one who did not appear to mingle fully in -the general feeling, was the mother of the bride. She loved her daughter -so tenderly that it seemed impossible for her to consign her to other -hands. She was one of those women who devote themselves wholly to their -children, and who have no world without them. On the night of the -wedding, a tear would occasionally roll down her cheek as she gazed upon -her chaste child, and as a tide of maternal recollections melted all her -soul! - - * * * * * - -The world rolled on. We frequently saw the young bride in the streets, -and her cousin, who was our immediate neighbor, spoke of her prospects -as cheering and happy. But one evening, just after sundown, and less -than a year since we had seen each other at the wedding, he called, and -with rather a grave aspect invited us to accompany him for a few minutes -to the house of his aunt—the same house that had glittered with so much -light, and re-echoed with so much laughter on the night of the Bridal. -We proceeded along calmly, for although somewhat struck by the sedate -aspect of our friend, it did not excite much surprise. On arriving at -the house, the first objects that attracted attention were the closed -and craped windows, and the awful silence that seemed to “breathe and -sadden all around.” Our friend still refrained from speaking, but led on -to the _Chamber of Death_! Our worst apprehensions were realized. The -fair young creature, who less than a year before had stood before us -radiant with loveliness and hope, was now still, pale, and cold in the -icy embrace of death. Her last agonies were dreadful, but the sweet, -soft smile, that told of a gentle heart, still lingered on her features. -Her infant survived,—but the sudden decease of that cherished one shed -a gloom over that home and its happy household, which is not yet totally -dispelled. The windows of the dwelling are still bowed, and the -afflicted mother, although a sincere Christian, and anxious to yield in -a Christian spirit to the decrees of Divine Providence, frequently finds -herself melting in tears, and her whole soul convulsed with grief at the -memory of her dear _Clara_. - -_And such are human hopes and expectations!_ - - * * * * * - - - - - THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. - - - BY MRS. FRANCES S. OSGOOD. - - - PART I. - - Serene in the moonlight the pure flowers lay; - All was still save the plash of the fountain’s soft play; - And white as its foam gleamed the walls of the palace; - But within were hot lips quaffing fire from the chalice; - For Herod, the Tetrarch, was feasting that night - The lords of Machærus, and brave was the sight! - Yet mournful the contrast, without and within, - _Here_ were purity, peace,—_there_ were riot and sin! - The vast and magnificent banquetting room - Was of marble, Egyptian, in form and in gloom; - And around, wild and dark as a demon’s dread thought, - Strange shapes, full of terror, yet beauty, were wrought. - Th’ ineffable sorrow, that dwells in the face - Of the Sphynx, wore a soft and mysterious grace, - Dim, even amid the full flood of light poured - From a thousand high clustering lamps on the board; - Those lamps,—each a serpent of jewels and gold,— - That seemed to hiss forth the fierce flame as it rolled. - Back flashed to that ray the rich vessels that lay - Profuse on the tables in brilliant array; - And clear thro’ the crystal the glowing wine gleamed, - And dazzling the robes of the revellers seemed, - While Herod, the eagle-eyed, ruled o’er the scene, - A lion in spirit, a monarch in mien. - - The goblet was foaming, the revel rose high. - There were pride and fierce joy in the haughty king’s eye, - For his chiefs and his captains bowed low at his word, - And the feast was right royal that burden’d the board. - - Lo! light as a star thro’ a gathered cloud stealing, - What spirit glanced in ’mid the guard at the door? - Their stern bands divide, a fair figure revealing; - She bounds, in her beauty, the dim threshold o’er. - - Her dark eyes are lovely with tenderest truth; - The bloom on her cheek is the blossom of youth; - And the smile, that steals thro’ it, is rich with the ray - Of a heart full of love and of innocent play. - - Soft fall her fair tresses her light form around; - Soft fall her fair tresses, nor braided nor bound; - And her white robe is loose, and her dimpled arms bare; - For she is but a child, without trouble or care; - - Now round the glad vision wild music is heard,— - Is she gifted with winglets of fairy or bird; - For, lo! as if borne on the waves of that sound, - With white arms upwreathing, she floats from the ground. - - Still glistens the goblet,—’tis heeded no more! - And the jest and the song of the banquet are o’er; - For the revellers, spell-bound by beauty and grace, - Have forgotten all earth, save that form and that face. - - It is done!—for one moment, mute, motionless, fair, - The phantom of light pauses playfully there; - The next, blushing richly, once more it takes wing, - And she kneels at the footstool of Herod the King. - - Her young head is drooping, her eyes are bent low, - Her hands meekly crossed on her bosom of snow, - And, veiling her figure, her shining hair flows, - While Herod, flushed high with the revel, arose. - - Outspake the rash monarch,—“Now, maiden, impart, - Ere thou leave us, the loftiest hope of thy heart! - By the God of my fathers! what e’er it may be,— - To the half of my kingdom,—’tis granted to thee!” - - The girl, half-bewildered, uplifted her eyes, - Dilated with timid delight and surprise, - And a swift, glowing smile o’er her happy face stole, - As if some sunny wish had just woke in her soul. - - Will she tell it? Ah, no! She has caught the wild gleam - Of a soldier’s dark eye, and she starts from her dream; - Falters forth her sweet gratitude,—veils her fair frame,— - And glides from the presence, all glowing with shame. - - - PART II. - - Of costly cedar, rarely carved, the royal chambers ceiling, - The columned walls, of marble rich, its brightest hues revealing; - Around the room a starry smile the lamp of crystal shed, - But warmest lay its lustre on a noble lady’s head; - Her dark hair, bound with burning gems, whose fitful lightning glow, - Is tame beside the wild, black eyes that proudly flash below: - The Jewish rose and olive blend their beauty in her face; - She bears her in her high estate with an imperial grace; - All gorgeous glows with orient gold the broidery of her vest; - With precious stones its purple fold is clasped upon her breast; - She gazes from her lattice forth. What sees the lady there? - A strange, wild beauty crowns the scene,—but she has other care! - Far off fair Moab’s emerald slopes, and Jordan’s lovely vale; - And nearer,—heights where fleetest foot of wild gazelle would fail; - While crowning every verdant ridge, like drifts of moonlit snow, - Rich palaces and temples rise, around, above, below, - Gleaming thro’ groves of terebinth, of palm, and sycamore, - Where the swift torrents dashing free, their mountain music pour; - And arched o’er all, the Eastern heaven lights up with glory rare - The landscape’s wild magnificence;—but she has other care! - Why flings she thus, with gesture fierce, her silent lute aside? - Some deep emotion chafes her soul with more than wonted pride; - But, hark! a sound has reached her heart, inaudible elsewhere, - And hushed, to melting tenderness, the storm of passion there! - The far-off fall of fairy feet, that fly in eager glee, - A voice, that warbles wildly sweet, some Jewish melody! - She comes! her own Salomé comes! her pure and blooming child! - She comes, and anger yields to love, and sorrow is beguiled: - Her singing bird! low nestling now upon the parent breast, - She murmurs of the monarch’s vow with girlish laugh and jest:— - - “Now choose me a gift and well! - There are so many joys I covet! - Shall I ask for a young gazelle? - ’Twould be more than the world to me; - Fleet and wild as the wind, - Oh! how I would cherish and love it! - With flowers its neck I’d bind, - And joy in its graceful glee. - - “Shall I ask for a gem of light, - To braid in my flowing ringlets? - Like a star thro’ the veil of night, - Would glisten its glorious hue; - Or a radiant bird, to close - Its beautiful, waving winglets - On my bosom in soft repose, - And share my love with you!” - - She paused,—bewildered, terror-struck; for, in her mother’s soul, - Roused by the promise of the king, beyond her weak control, - The exulting tempest of Revenge and Pride raged wild and high, - And sent its storm-cloud to her brow, its lightning to her eye! - Her haughty lip was quivering with anger and disdain, - Her beauteous, jewelled hands were clenched, as if from sudden pain. - - “Forgive,” Salomé faltering cried, “Forgive my childish glee! - ’Twas selfish, vain,—oh! look not thus! but let me ask for _thee_!” - Then smiled,—it was a deadly smile,—that lady on her child, - And “Swear thou’ll do my bidding, now!” she cried, in accents wild: - “Ah! when, from earliest childhood’s hour, did I thine anger dare! - Yet, since an oath thy wish must seal,—by Judah’s hopes, I swear!” - Herodias stooped,—one whisper brief!—was it a serpent’s hiss, - That thus the maiden starts and shrinks beneath the woman’s kiss? - A moment’s pause of doubt and dread!—then wild the victim knelt,— - “Take, take _my_ worthless life instead! Oh! if thou e’er hast felt - A mother’s love,—thou canst not doom—no, no! ’twas but a jest! - Speak!—speak! and let me fly once more, confiding, to thy breast!” - A hollow and sepulchral tone was hers who made reply: - “The oath! the oath!—remember, girl! ’tis registered on high!” - Salomé rose,—mute, moveless stood as marble, save in breath, - Half senseless in her cold despair, her young cheek blanched like - death! - But an hour since, so joyous, fond, without a grief or care, - Now struck with wo unspeakable,—how dread a change was there! - “It shall be done!” was that the voice that rang so gaily sweet, - When, innocent and blest she came, but now, with flying feet? - “It shall be done!” she turns to go, but, ere she gains the door, - One look of wordless, deep reproach she backward casts,—no more! - But late she sprang the threshold o’er, a light and blooming child, - Now, reckless, in her grief she goes a woman stern and wild. - - - PART III. - - With pallid check, dishevelled hair, and wildly gleaming eyes, - Once more before the banquetters, a fearful phantom flies! - Once more at Herod’s feet it falls, and cold with nameless dread - The wondering monarch bends to hear. A voice, as from the dead, - From those pale lips, shrieks madly forth,—“Thy promise, king, I - claim, - And if the grant be foulest guilt,—not mine,—not mine the blame! - Quick, quick recall that reckless vow, or strike thy dagger here, - Ere yet this voice demand a gift that chills my soul with fear! - Heaven’s curse upon the fatal grace that idly charmed thine eyes! - Oh! better had I ne’er been born than be the sacrifice! - The word I speak will blanch thy cheek, if human heart be thine, - It was a fiend in human form that murmured it to mine. - To die for _me_! a thoughtless child! for _me_ must blood be shed! - Bend low,—lest angels hear me ask!—oh! God!—the Baptist’s head!” - - * * * * * - - - - - THE LIGHTNING OF THE WATERS. - - - BY DR. REYNELL COATES. - - -There are few phenomena observable on the ocean, more striking than the -phosphorescence of the water, when seen in high perfection. It has -forcibly attracted the attention of poets and philosophers in all ages, -and many and curious have been the speculations of those who have -endeavored to explain the brilliant apparition. In later times, however, -the progress of natural science has dissipated the mystery to a -considerable extent, destroying a portion of its romantic interest, -without, thereby, diminishing its exquisite beauty. - -We are well informed, at present, that all the brilliant pyrotechny of -Neptune is the effect of animal secretion, not differing essentially in -cause from that which ornaments our groves and meadows, when the -glow-worms of Europe, the fire-flies of North America, or the fulgoure -of the Indies are lighting their fairy love-lanterns beneath the cool, -green leaves, or filling the air with their mimic meteors. - -To those who are not familiar with microscopic researches, it may seem -almost impossible that animal life can be multiplied to such excess in -the transparent waters, where not a mote is visible by daylight, as to -give rise to the broad and bright illumination of the sea, so frequently -observed within the lower latitudes; and many, for this reason, have -attributed these night-fires of the deep to the impurity and occasional -fermentation of the ocean,—a cause which they esteem more nearly -commensurate with the magnificence of the result. Such theorists regard -this phosphorescence as similar to that so constantly produced by -putrifying fish and decaying wood. - -These ideas, as I have stated, are no longer tenable, and the real -origin of the phenomenon is better understood. But even now, the few who -have witnessed it in full extent, variety, and grandeur—a privilege -rarely enjoyed, except by those who have made long voyages, and have -become familiar with many seas—are lost in wonder; and, unless -professionally devoted to the study of natural history, they find it -difficult to credit the assertion, that all these vast displays are mere -results of living action. - -It may prove interesting, then, to those who are fond of such -investigations, to offer some remarks on the multitudinous character of -those tribes of simple and transparent beings, which swarm about the -surface of the ocean, and may be found continually changing in race and -habits, with almost every degree of latitude we traverse. - -If you will take the trouble, on some suitable occasion during the month -of November or December, to descend into a _fashionable oyster cellar_, -and ask admission to the pile of freshly opened shells stowed in the -usual receptacle, which is in some dark vault or closet about the -premises, you may chance to witness, on a diminutive scale, the -far-famed phosphorescence of the sea, without enduring the heavy -_immigration tax_ levied, with unrelenting severity, by the old -trident-bearer upon all novices, except, perhaps, a few fortunate -favorites. - -Take up the shovel that leans against the wall, order the light removed -and the door closed, and then proceed to disturb the shells. If they -have been taken from the water, where it is purely salt,—and still more -certainly if gathered from the beds of blue marine mud that are the -favorite resort of the finest oysters—the moment you throw a shovelful -upon the top of the pile, the whole mass, jarred by the blow, will -become spangled with hundreds of brilliant stars—not in this case pale -and silvery, but of the richest golden-green or blue. None of these -stars may equal in size the head of the finest pin; but so intense is -the light emitted by them, that a single, and scarcely visible point -will sometimes illuminate an inch of the surrounding surface, even -casting shadows from the little spears of sea-grass growing in its -neighborhood. - -Choose one of the most conspicuous of these diminutive tapers, and, -without removing it from the shell, carry it towards the gas-lamp. As -you approach, the brilliancy of the star declines; and when the full -flood of light is thrown upon the shell, it nearly, or entirely -disappears. If you press your finger rudely upon the spot, you will -again perceive the luminous matter diffused, like a fluid, over the -surrounding surface, and shining, for an instant, more brightly than -ever, even under the immediate glare of the gas. Then all is over. You -have crushed one of the glow-worms of the deep—an animal, once probably -as vain of his golden flame as you of any of your brilliant -endowments—perhaps some sentinel there stationed to alarm his sleeping -brethren of the approach of danger—perhaps an animalcular Hero trimming -her solitary lamp to guide her chosen one, through more than Leander’s -dangers, along the briny path to her rocky bower, beset by all the -microscopic monsters of the corallines! At all events, despise it as you -may, this little being was possessed of life, susceptible of happiness, -and endowed with power to outshine, with inborn lustre, the richest gem -in Europe’s proudest diadem! - -The sea is filled in many regions, and at various seasons, with -incalculable multitudes of living creatures, in structure much -resembling this little parasite, but often vastly more imposing in -dimensions. The smallest tribes that are able to call attention to their -individual existence generally wander, like erratic stars, beneath the -waves. They may be seen by thousands shooting past the vessel, on -evenings when the moon is absent or obscured, suddenly lighting their -torches when the motion of the bow produces a few curling swells and -breakers on either hand, and whirling from eddy to eddy, as they sweep -along the side and are lost in the wake. From time to time the vessel, -in her progress, disturbs some large being of similar powers, who -instantly ejects a trail of luminous fluid which, twining, and waving -about among contending currents, assumes the semblance of a silver -snake. But the most surprising of all proofs of the infinity of life is -furnished by those inconceivably numerous bands of shining animalcules, -too small for human vision, which in their aggregate effect perform, -perhaps, the grandest part in beautifying the night scene on the ocean. - -The crest of every wave emits a pale and milky light and every ripple -that, urged onward too rapidly before the breeze, expires in spreading -its little patch of foam upon the water, increases the mysterious -brightness. On a starless evening the novice may find it very difficult -to account for the distinctness with which even the distant billows may -be traced by their whitened summits, while every other object is thrown -into the deepest shade. The gentle radiation from within the foam -deceives the eye:—it seems a mere reflection from the surface; and he -turns again and again towards the heavens, with the constantly renewed -impression, that the moon has found some transient opening in the cloudy -canopy through which descends a thin pencil of rays to be glinted back -from the edges of the waves. - -Though certain portions of the ocean, generally, present but slender -proofs of phosphorescence,—such being peculiarly the case within the -gloomy limits of the Gulf Stream, for reasons not to be appropriately -mentioned here—yet no observing person can have passed a week upon the -ocean, or rowed his skiff by night on any of our principal harbors, -without becoming familiar with most of the appearances to which allusion -has been made. A mere voyage to Europe frequently presents much grander -examples; but he who would enjoy the view of the phenomenon in its -fullest glory, must “cross earth’s central line” “and brave the stormy -spirit of the Cape.” - -Let me transport you for a few moments into the midst of the Indian -Ocean! The sultry sun of February has been basking all day upon the -heated waters from a brassy sky without a cloud—the vapors of the upper -regions resembling a thin veil of dust, fiery and glowing, as if -recently ejected from the mouth of some vast furnace! But the tyrant has -gone to his repose, and we enjoy some respite from his scorching -influence. It is not cool, but the temperature is tolerable, _and this -is much_! Leave the observation of the barometer to the captain! You -cannot prevent a hurricane, should it be impending. Then trust such -cares to those in whom is vested the responsibility, and come on deck -with me. - -There is no moon—but the “sentinel stars” are all at their post. -Observe those broad flashes reflected upward from beneath the bows, and -playing brightly upon the jib! At every plunge of the vessel, as she -sinks into the trough of the sea, you might read a volume fluently by -that mild radiance; and beautiful indeed is the view from the fore -stay-sail nettings, looking down upon the curling wreaths on either side -of the cut-water, and the long lines of foam thrown off by the swell as -the vessel gracefully breasts the coming wave, all glowing like molten -silver intermingled with a thousand diamonds! - -But I will not lead you thitherward—a noble sight awaits us in our -wake. Step to the stern and lean with me over the taffrail. What a -glorious vision! For miles abaft, our course presents one long and wide -canal of living light—the clear, blue ocean, transparent as air, -filling it to repletion; while the darker waters around appear like some -dense medium through which superior spirits have constructed this magic -path-way for us and us alone, so nicely are its breadth and depth -adjusted to the form of our gallant bark. Has not the galaxy been torn -from heaven, and whelmed beneath the waves to form that burning road? -No! no! Though thousands of bright orbs are set in that nether firmament -to strengthen the delusion, yet it cannot be. Night’s stormy cincture -never gleamed like this, nor bore such dazzling gems. There it still -glimmers with its myriad sparks, athwart the dark blue vault, paled by -the radiance of its sea-born rival, while huge globes of fire roll from -beneath the keel, and blaze along the silvery track like showers of -wandering meteors, but all too gentle in their aspect to be deemed of -evil-augury. - -Those stars are literally _living stars_,—that ocean galaxy is formed -of living beings only,—and even those meteors, invisible by day, except -when they approach unusually near to the surface, are active in pursuit -of prey. Observe one closely, and you perceive its motions. Formed like -a great umbrella of transparent jelly, with fibres, yards in length, -trailing from its margin, and the handle carved into a beautiful group -of leaves, it flaps its way regularly through the water with a stately -march, and wo to the unfortunate creature that becomes involved in the -meshes of its stinging tendrils. - -This is no exaggerated picture, for such are the beautiful phenomena -occasionally witnessed in the Indian and Pacific Oceans. The animals -upon whose agency they are dependent, generally become invisible by -daylight in consequence of their transparency; but there are certain -tribes among them whose peculiar structure renders them conspicuous: and -of these one of the most remarkable is known to naturalists by the title -of Salpa. - -There are many species of the salpæ, but they bear a closer likeness to -each other than do most of these simple tribes of being. In form they -all resemble diminutive purses, composed of highly transparent jelly, -with wide mouths like the ordinary clasp—and strengthened by a net-work -of ribbons interwoven with the general texture of the purse. These are -designed to supply the place of muscles. The salpæ move through the -water by contracting the net-work, so as to render the cavity smaller -and expel the water from it with some force; then, relaxing the fibres, -they allow their natural elasticity to expand them to their original -form; thus drawing in a fresh supply of fluid with which to renew the -effort. In this manner they are driven onward, always retreating from -the principal orifice of the sac. But I will not detain you with a -detailed description of their singular organization. It is enough for -our present purpose to state that near the bottom of the purse, within -the thickness of its walls, there is a golden spot, as if a solitary -coin was there deposited. This spot alone enables us to see the animal -distinctly when floating in the water. - -When young, these little creatures adhere together in strings or cords -arranged like the leaflets of a pinnated leaf, in consecutive pairs, to -the number of twenty or more. At that period, the most common species in -the South Atlantic rarely exceed one half an inch in length, and the -yellow spot hardly equals in size an ordinary grain of sand; yet, in -certain regions of the ocean these salpæ swarm in such inconceivable -multitudes that the sea assumes the appearance of a sandy shoal for -miles in length and breadth. To the depth of many fathoms their delicate -bodies are closely huddled together, until the constant repetition of -the diminutive colored spots renders the water perfectly opaque, and so -increases its consistence that the lighter ripple of the surface breaks -upon the edge of the animated bank, while the heavier billows roll on -smoothly, with the regular and more majestic motion of the ground swell. -In passing through such tracts the speed of the vessel is sometimes -sensibly checked by the increased resistance of the medium in which she -moves; and when a bucket full of brine is lifted from the sea, it may -contain a larger portion of living matter than of the fluid in which it -floats. - -There can be no reasonable doubt that most of those false shoals which -disfigure the older charts—their existence proved upon authorities of -known veracity and denied by others no less credible—have really been -laid down by navigators who have met with beds of salpæ, and were -ignorant of their true nature. - -I have never seen these animals emitting light, but it is well known -that many phosphorescent animalcules shine only in certain stages of the -weather or at certain seasons of the year: and as several distinguished -travellers have spoken of their luminous properties, it is at least -probable that they or their congeners act an important part in dramas -similar to that which has been just described. At all events, their -history clearly shows the vastness of the scale of animal existence in -the superficial waters of the ocean. But for the little yellow spot -within their bodies, they would be totally invisible at the distance of -a few feet in their native fluid, and could not interfere appreciably -with the progress of the rays of light. - -If further proof were necessary to show the incalculable increase of -many oceanic tribes, it might be found in the history of living beings -much more familiar to the mariner. Most persons have met with notices of -the Portuguese man-of-war, called, by naturalists _physalia_, a living -air sac of jelly provided with a sail, armed with a multitude of -dependant bottle shaped stomachs, all capable of seizing prey, and -colored more beautifully than the rainbow. This splendid creature -pursues its way over the waves with all the skill of an accomplished -pilot, and furnishes, when caught, one of the most astonishing examples -of the adaptation of animal structure to the peculiar wants, and theatre -of action of living beings, one of the most striking evidences of -Omniscient Wisdom which nature offers to the moralist. The physalia -rarely sails in squadrons, but wanders solitary and self-dependent over -the tropical seas, a terror even to man, by the power which it possesses -of stinging and inflicting pain upon whatever comes in contact with its -long, trailing cables. - -But there is another little sailor called the _velella_; unprovided with -offensive weapons, though formed in most respects upon a model somewhat -similar to that of the physalia, unguarded as the peaceful trader -against the piratical attacks of a thousand enemies, its very race would -soon become extinct, were it not for its unlimited increase. - -Provided with a flat, transparent, oval scale of cartilage, for the -support of a gelatinous body, it floats by specific levity, alone, for -it has no air vessel—and employs its hundreds of stomachs for ballast. -Another scale arising at right angles with the first and covered with -thin membrane, supplies it with a sail. This unprotected creature serves -as food for many predatory tribes, and of these, the most voracious is -the barnacle. The flesh devoured, the scales still float for many days, -mere wrecks of these gay vessels. - -The velellæ are usually found in fleets, and to convey some idea of -their numbers, I may state that on one occasion, when sailing before the -western winds, beyond the southern latitude of the Cape of Good Hope, -our ship encountered a group of globular masses of a pale yellow color -swimming upon the surface and surrounded by fringes of an unknown -substance. Each mass resembled the eggs of some great sea-bird, reposing -on a nest of buoyant feathers. Taking them with a dip net, from the -chains, we found the yellow masses to be globular cryptogamous plants, -to every one of which adhered a group of barnacles, far larger than the -largest I had ever seen before.[1] Many of these last were so intent -upon demolishing their prey, that, even in leaving their native element, -to fall into the hands of tyrants more dangerous than themselves, it was -not always relinquished. Grasping in their horny arms the unfortunate -velellæ, they continued grinding the soft jelly from the tougher -cartilage, with an avidity and determination that reminded me strongly -of the scene in Byron’s Siege of Corinth, where Alp, the renegade, - - “Saw the lean dogs beneath the wall - Hold, o’er the dead, their carnival, - Gorging and growling o’er carcass and limb; - They were too busy to bark at him!” - -This drew our attention to the source from which such plentiful supplies -of food were obtained, and on examination, the ocean was found literally -covered with the scales of the murdered velellæ, faintly distinguishable -by their glistening in the sunshine, and interspersed with a few living -specimens waiting their turn in the general massacre. We scooped them up -by thousands; and for three long days the ship swept onward “dead before -the wind” with the steady and scarcely paralleled speed of more than ten -knots an hour, thus accomplishing a change of more than seven hundred -miles in longitude, before the last remnant of this unhappy fleet was -passed. - -Though it is not pretended that these little sea-boats possess the -phosphorescent quality, their numbers and the wide extent of their -flotilla will suffice to render far less wonderful the vastness of those -beautiful results of animal secretion which have furnished the subject -of this sketch. - -But there are other similar and more remarkable phenomena attendant on -these brilliant night scenes, that can only be explained, either by -supposing that myriads of these aquatic beings are endowed with a -community of instinct, or, that the changes of the weather influenced -them in such a way as to awaken all their luminous powers upon the -instant, without the intervention of any mechanical disturbing cause, in -the mere frolic mood of nature. - -Those who have visited the Chinese islands, or either of several other -well known regions in the Pacific, have been occasionally surprised, on -a calm moon-light night, when scarce a swell, and not a ripple is -perceptible, to see the ocean suddenly converted into one wide pool of -milk! As described by a few observers who have been so fortunate as to -witness this rare and strange appearance, the color is so equally -diffused over the whole field of view, that all resemblance to the -ordinary hue is lost, and yet no wandering stars,—no scattered torches -can be seen—not even beneath the bows—so feeble is the intensity of -the light emitted, that several have denied the agency of -phosphorescence in producing this remarkable effect, and were convinced -there was a real change in the nature of the fluid; but others, less -enamored of the supernatural, have clearly proved that even this -phenomenon is due to the activity of an infinity of animalcules. - -The very rarity of such occurrences distinctly shows that the -microscopic beings which produce it do not emit their light at all -times, and there must exist some cause for this wide-spread and -consentaneous action. To community of instinct it can hardly be -attributed. - -We may understand the fact, wonderful as it may be, that an army of -emmets should cross a public road or open space, from field to field, or -from forest to forest, fashioning themselves, as they are sometimes -known to do, into the form of a snake, by crawling over each other’s -backs, by dozens, from the tail to the head of the figure; thus -shortening it at one extremity, while they lengthen it at the other, and -cause it to advance slowly towards their desired retreat! We may -understand this evidence of untaught wisdom, for we see its purpose and -its usefulness. Such means enable these defenceless beings to elude the -vigilance of their feathery enemies, whose beaks, but for the terror of -the mimic reptile, would soon annihilate the weak community. - -We may even comprehend that more magnificent display of providential -guidance witnessed in the habits of the coral animals, where nations of -separate beings, outnumbering a thousand times the living population of -the earth and air, enjoy one common life, and build up islands, for the -use of man, on models definitely fixed. For here, also, there is -_purpose_, and were it not that every individual of the host performs -his proper duty—constructing, _here_ a buttress, _there_ an -alcove,—the dash of the billows and the fury of the storm would soon -disintegrate the growing structure. The reef that lies athwart the -mariner’s path, and strews itself with wrecks, would never rise above -the surface, to gather the seeds of vegetation, attract the cool, fresh -moisture from the air, and lay foundations for the future happiness and -wealth of man. - -But how shall we explain an instinct by which myriads of creatures, -totally distinct and unconnected, are induced, without apparent end or -object, to act in concert over leagues of sea, as it would seem merely -to fright the passing voyager! It may be that the action of these -animalcules, by which the milky glimmering is occasioned, is -involuntary. It may be the result of atmospheric or electric influence -upon the living frame, to serve some hidden purpose in their unknown -economy; for many things, even in our own organic history, surpass our -powers of comprehension; we know neither their nature nor their use. But -analogy would lead us to infer the exercise of _will_ in all the various -phenomena of phosphorescence, however impenetrable the purpose of its -exercise may be. Like the insect songs of a summer night, or the -love-light of the glow-worm and the fire-fly, they probably control or -guide the motions of the individual or of whole communities. - -This idea receives some countenance from the history of a more -remarkable example of this sub-marine meteor, witnessed in the southern -summer of 1823-4, near the island of Tristan d’Acunha, under -circumstances never to be forgotten—and with one short notice of its -character I will leave the reader to his reflections upon these wonders -of the deep. - -The night was dark and damp—the western breeze too light to steady the -vessel, and she rolled heavily over the wide swell of the South -Atlantic, making it difficult for a landsman to maintain his footing on -the deck. A fog-bank, which hung around the northern horizon at sunset, -now came sweeping slowly down upon us in the twilight. The captain -ordered the light sails furled in expectation of a squall, and we stood -leaning together over the bulwarks, watching the mist, which approached -more and more rapidly, till it resembled, in the increasing darkness, an -immense and toppling wall extending from the water to the clouds, and -seemed threatening to crush us beneath it. There was something -peculiarly awful in its impenetrable obscurity; and even the crew -relinquished their several occupations to gaze on the unusual aspect of -the fog. It reached us;—but just at this moment, a flash, like a broad -sheet of summer lightning, spread itself over the ocean as far as the -eye could reach, but deep below the waves. Five or six times, at -intervals, of a few seconds, the flash was repeated, and then the vessel -was enveloped in the mist. The breeze immediately quickened; the sailors -sprang to their stations, and, for a few minutes, the bustle of -preparation for a change of wind attracted the exclusive attention of -every one. In this short interval, the narrow belt of vapor had passed -off to leeward, and left us bounding merrily along at the rate of ten -knots an hour, with a spanking norther full upon our beam, over waves -sparkling and dancing in the clear, bright moon-light. But, _the -lightning of the waters was gone_! - ------ - -[1] The Anatifa Vitrea. - - * * * * * - - - - - CALLORE. - - - BY ALEXANDER A. IRVINE. - - - Thou art ever fair to me— - Fairer than the Autumn moon, - Or a fountain, in its glee, - Singing through the woods of June— - Fairer than a streamlet bright - Flowing on in shimmered light, - Darkling under grassy sedge - Fringing all the river’s edge, - Rippling by the breezes fann’d, - Sliding over silver sand, - Through the meadow gayly ranging - With an aspect ever changing, - Yet with quiet depths below, - And an even, constant flow, - Pensive, musical and slow— - Ever such thou art to me, - Laughing, blue-eyed Callore! - - Oh! the stars have sybil tones! - Singing by their golden thrones, - Singing as they watching stand - In their weird and silent land! - But thy voice is sweeter far - Than the music of the star! - Melting on the air at even, - With a mystic sound - Flowing, flowing all around, - ’Till the soul is raised to heaven - Oh! at moments such as these - I could kneel on bended knees, - Ever kneel and hear thee sing, - Silent, rapt and worshipping. - - As a bark upon the tide - Moving on to symphony, - With its dipping oars beside - Keeping time melodiously, - So thou movest on thy way, - Ever graceful, ever gay. - Or, perchance, in sportive band, - With thy sisters hand in hand, - Swinging all in mystic round— - Thou wilt dance with gentle sound, - A sound as that of fairy feet, - Soft, harmonious and sweet, - As woodland waterfalls at night - Tinkling in the still starlight. - - How thine eyes with tears o’erflow - At the troubled tale of wo— - In those eyes I love to look, - They to me are as a book. - There I read without disguise, - And a joy beyond control, - All that in thine inner soul - As upon an altar lies— - Gazing thus, I feel as when - Buried from the haunts of men, - In some quiet shady nook, - Looking downwards in the brook— - I have heard the forest breeze - Wake mysterious melodies, - Bringing sounds of childish play - From the solitudes away, - Singing as a gleesome boy, - Ravishing the soul with joy, - Lifting it on pinions free— - Silver-tonguéd Callore! - - Ever, ever thou art meek, - With a mirthful soberness; - None have ever heard thee speak - Of thy passing loveliness— - Thou dost joy to be away - From the garish light of day; - Brooding o’er each holy feeling - Soft across thy bosom stealing; - With thine eyelids downward bent, - Musing in a meek content, - Like a saint upon a shrine - Wrapt in dreams of bliss divine! - Surely, thou art not of earth— - With the angels is thy birth— - Thou hast come awhile, to be - My guide to heaven, Callore! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SISTERS. - - - A TALE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. - - - BY H. W. HERBERT, AUTHOR OF “RINGWOOD THE ROVER,” “THE BROTHERS,” - “CROMWELL,” ETC. ETC. - - - PART I. - -In one of those sweet glens, half pastoral half sylvan, which may be -found in hundreds channelling the steep sides of the moorland hills, and -sending down the tribute of their pure limestone springs to the broad -rapid rivers which fertilize no less than they adorn the lovely vales of -Western Yorkshire, there may be seen to this day the ruins of an old -dwelling-house, situate on a spot so picturesque, so wild, and yet so -soft in its romantic features, that they would well repay the traveller -for a brief halt, who, but too often, hurries onward in search of more -remote yet certainly not greater beauties. The gorge, within the mouth -of which the venerable pile is seated, opens into the broader valley -from the north-eastern side, enjoying the full light and warmth of the -southern sunshine; and, although very narrow at its origin, where its -small crystal rivulet springs up from the lonely well-head, fringed by a -few low shrubs of birch and alder, expands here, at its mouth, into a -pretty amphitheatre or basin of a few acres circuit. A wild and feathery -coppice of oak, and birch, and hazel, with here and there a mountain -ash, showing its bright red berries through the rich foliage, clothes -all the lower part of the surrounding slopes; while, far above, the -seamed and shattered faces of the gray, slaty limestone rise up like -artificial walls, their summits crowned with the fair purple heather, -and every nook and cranny in their sides crowded with odorous wild -flowers. Within the circuit of these natural limits, sheltering it from -every wind of heaven, except the gentle south, the turf lies smooth and -even as if it were a cultured lawn; while a few rare exotic shrubs, now -all run out of shape, and bare, and straggling, indicate even yet the -time when it was a fair shrubbery, tended by gentle hands, and visited -by young and lovely beings, now cold in their untimely sepulchres. The -streamlet, which comes gushing down the glen with its clear, copious -flow, boiling and murmuring about the large gray boulders which -everywhere obstruct its channels, making a thousand mimic cataracts, and -wakening ever a wild, mirthful music, sweeps here quite close to the -foot of the eastern cliff, the feathery branches of the oakwood dipping -their foliage in its eddies, and then, just as it issues forth into the -open champaine, wheels round in a half circle, completely fanning the -little amphitheatre above, except at one point hard beneath the opposite -hill face, where a small winding horse track, engrossing the whole space -between the streamlet and the limestone rock, gives access to the lone -demesne. A small green hillock, sloping down gently to the southward, -fills the embracing arms of the bright brook, around the northern base -of which is scattered a little grove of the most magnificent and noblest -sycamores that I have ever seen; but on the other side, which yet -retains its pristine character of a smooth open lawn, there are no -obstacles to the view over the wide valley, except three old gnarled -thorn bushes, uncommon from their size and the dense luxuriance of their -matted greenery. It was upon the summit of this little knoll that the -old homestead stood, whose massive ruins of red freestone, all overgrown -with briers, and tall rank grass and dock leaves, deface the spot which -they adorned of old; and, when it was erect in all its fair proportions, -the scene which it overlooked, and its own natural attractions, rendered -it one of the loveliest residences in all the north of England—the -wide, rich, gentle valley, all meadow land or pasture, without one brown -ploughed field to mar its velvet green; the tall, thick hawthorn hedges, -with their long lines of hedgerow timber, oak, ash and elm, waving above -the smooth enclosures; the broad, clear, tranquil river flashing out -like a silver mirror through the green foliage; the scattered -farm-houses, each nestled as it were among its sheltering orchards; the -village spire shooting up from the clump of giant elms which over-shadow -the old grave-yard; the steep, long slope on the other side of the vale, -or strath, as it would be called in Scotland, all mapped out to the eye, -with its green fences and wide hanging woods; and, far beyond, the -rounded summits of the huge moorland hills, ridge above ridge, purple, -and grand, and massive, but less and less distinct as they recede from -the eye, and melt away at last into the far blue distance—such was the -picture which its windows overlooked of old, and which still laughs as -gaily in the sunshine around its mouldering walls and lonely -hearth-stone. - -But if it is fair now, and lovely, what was it as it showed in the good -old days of King Charles, before the iron hand of civil war had pressed -so heavily on England? The grove of sycamores stood there, as they stand -now, in the prime and luxuriance of their sylvan manhood; for they are -waxing now aged and somewhat gray and stag-horned; and the thorn bushes -sheltered, as they do now, whole choirs of thrushes and blackbirds, but -all the turf beneath the scattered trees and on the sunny slope was -shorn, and rolled, and watered, that it was smooth and even, and far -softer than the most costly carpet that ever wooed the step of Persian -beauty. The Hall was a square building, not very large, of the old -Elizabethan style, with two irregular additions, wings, as they might be -called, of the same architecture, though of a later period, and its -deep-embayed oriel windows, with their fantastic mullions of carved -freestone, its tall quaint chimneys, and its low porch, with overhanging -canopy and clustered columns, rendered it an object singularly -picturesque and striking. The little green within the gorge of the upper -glen, which is so wildly beautiful in its present situation, left as it -is to the unaided hand of nature, was then a perfect paradise; for an -exquisite taste had superintended its conversion into a sort of -untrained garden; an eye well used to note effects had marked its -natural capabilities, and, adding artificial beauties, had never -trenched upon the character of the spot by anything incongruous or -startling. Rare plants, rich-flowering shrubs, and scented herbs were -indeed scattered with a lavish hand about its precincts, but were so -scattered that they seemed the genuine productions of the soil; the -Spanish cistus had been taught to carpet the wild crags in conjunction -with the native thyme and heather; the arbutus and laurestinus had been -brought from afar to vie with the mountain ash and holly; the clematis -and the sweet scented vine blended their tendrils with the rich English -honeysuckle and the luxuriant ivy; rare lotuses might be seen floating -with their azure colored cups and broad green leaves upon the glassy -basins, into which the mountain streamlet had been taught to expand, -among the white wild water lilies and the bright yellow clusters of the -marsh marigold; roses of every hue and scent, from the dark crimson of -Damascus to the pale blush of soft Provence, grew side by side with the -wild wood-brier and the eglantine, and many a rustic seat, of mossy -stone or roots and unbarked branches, invited the loitering visiter in -every shadowy angle. - -There was no spot in all the north of England whereon the winter frowned -so lightly as on those sheltered precincts—there was no spot whereon -spring smiled so early, and with so bright an aspect—wherein the summer -so long lingered, pouring her gorgeous flowers, rich with her spicy -breath, into the very lap of autumn. It was, indeed, a sweet spot, and -as happy as it was sweet and beautiful, before the curse of civil war -was poured upon the groaning land, with its dread train of foul and -fiendish ministers; and yet it was not war, nor any of its direct -consequences, that turned that happy home into a ruin and a desolation. -It was not war—except the struggles of the human heart—the conflict of -the fierce and turbulent passions—the strife of principles, of motives, -of desires, within the secret soul, maybe called war, as, indeed, they -might, and that with no figurative tongue, for they are surely the -hottest, the most devastating, the most fatal of all that bear that -ominous and cruel appellation. - -Such was the aspect then of Ingleborough Hall, at the period when it was -perhaps the most beautiful; and when, as is but too often the case, its -beauties were on the very point of being brought to a close forever. The -family which owned the manor, for the possessions attached to the old -homestead were large, and the authority attached to them extended over a -large part of Upper Wharfdale, was one of those old English races which, -though not noble in the literal sense of the word, are yet so ancient, -and so indissolubly connected with the soil, that they may justly be -comprised among the aristocracy of the land. The name was Saxon, and it -was generally believed—and probably with truth—that the date of the -name, and of its connection with that estate, was at the least coeval -with the conquest. To what circumstances it was owing that the -Hawkwoods, for such was the time-honored appellation of the race, had -retained possession of their fair demesne when all the land was allotted -out to feudal barons and fat priests, can never now be ascertained; nor -does it indeed signify; yet that it was to some honorable cause, some -service rendered, or some high exploit, may be fairly presumed from the -fact that the mitred potentate of Bolton Abbey, who levied his tythes -far and near throughout those fertile valleys, had no claims on the -fruits of Ingleborough. During the ages that had passed since the advent -of the Norman William, the Hawkwoods had never lacked male -representatives to sustain the dignity of their race; and gallantly had -they sustained it; for in full many a lay and legend, aye! and in grave, -cold history itself, the name of Hawkwood might be found side by side -with the more sonorous appellations of the Norman feudatories, the -Ardens, and Maulevers, and Vavasours, which fill the chronicles of -border warfare. At the period of which we write, however, the family had -no male scion—the last male heir, Ralph Hawkwood, had died some years -before, full of years and of domestic honors—a zealous sportsman, a -loyal subject, a kind landlord, a good friend—his lot had fallen in -quiet times and pleasant places, and he lived happily, and died in the -arms of his family, at peace with all men. His wife, a calm and placid -dame, who had, in her young days, been the beauty of the shire, survived -him, and spent her whole time, as she devoted her whole mind and spirit, -in educating the two daughters, joint heiresses of the old manor-houses, -who were left by their father’s death, two bright-eyed fair-haired -prattlers, dependent for protection on the strong love but frail support -of their widowed mother. - -Years passed away, and with their flight the two fair children were -matured into two sweet and lovely women; yet the same fleeting suns -which brought to them complete and perfect youth were fraught to others -with decay, and all the carking cares, and querulous ailments of old -age. The mother, who had watched with keen solicitude over their budding -infancy, over the promise of their lovely childhood, lived indeed, but -lived not to see or understand the full accomplishment of that bright -promise. Even before the elder girl had reached the dawn of womanhood, -palsy had shaken the enfeebled limbs, and its accustomed -follower—mental debility—had, in no small degree, impaired the -intellect of her surviving parent; but long before her sister had -reached her own maturity, the limbs were helplessly immovable, the mind -was wholly clouded and estranged. It was not now the wandering and -uncertain darkness that flits across the veiled horizon of the mind -alternately with vivid gleams, flashes of memory and intellect, brighter -perhaps than ever visited the spirit until its partial aberrations had -jarred its vital principle—it was that deep and utter torpor, blanker -than sleep and duller, for no dreams seem to mingle with its day-long -lethargy—that absolute paralysis of all the faculties of soul and body, -which is so beautifully painted by the great Roman satirist, as the - - “omnii - Membrorum damno major dementia, quæ nec - Homina servorum, nec vultum agnoscit amici - Cum quo præterita cænavit nocti, nec illos - Quos genuit, quos eduxit”— - -that still, sad, patient, silent suffering, which sits from day to day -in the one usual chair, unconscious of itself and almost so of all -around it; easily pleased by trifles, which it forgets as soon, deriving -its sole real and tangible enjoyment from the doze in the summer -sunshine, or by the sparkling hearth of winter. Such was the mother now; -so utterly, so hopelessly dependent on the cares and gratitude of those -bright beings whose infancy she had nursed so devotedly—and well was -that devotedness now compensated; for day and night, winter and summer, -did those sweet girls by turn watch over the frail, querulous -sexagenarian—never both leaving her at once, one sleeping while the -other watched, attentive ever to her importunate and ceaseless cravings, -patient and mild to meet her angry and uncalled for lamentations. - -You would have thought that a seclusion so entire, from all society of -their equals, must have prevented their acquiring those usual -accomplishments, those necessary arts, which every English gentlewoman -is presumed to possess as things of course—that they must have grown up -mere ignorant, unpolished country lasses, without a taste or aspiration -beyond the small routine of their dull daily duties—that long -confinement must have broken the higher and more spiritual parts of -their fine natural minds—that they must have become mere moping -household drudges—and so to think would be so very natural, that it is -by no means easy to conceive how it was brought to pass, that the very -opposite of this should have been the result. The very opposite it was, -however—for as there were not in the whole West Riding two girls more -beautiful than Annabel and Marian Hawkwood, so were there surely none so -highly educated, so happy in themselves, so eminently calculated to -render others happy. Accomplished as musicians both, though Annabel -especially excelled in instrumental music, while her young sister was -unrivalled in voice and execution as a songstress; both skilled in -painting; and if not poetesses in so much as to be stringers of words -and rhymes, certainly such, and that too of no mean order, in the wider -and far higher acceptation of the word; for their whole souls were -attuned to the very highest key of spiritual sensibility—romantic, not -in the weak and ordinary meaning of the term, but as admirers of all -things high, and pure, and noble—worshippers of the beautiful, whether -it were embodied in the wild scenery of their native glens, in the rock, -the stream, the forest, the sunshine that clothed all of them in a rich -garb of glory, or the dread storm that veiled them all in gloom and -terror—or in the master-pieces of the schools of painting and of -sculpture—or in the pages of the great, the glorious of all ages—or in -the deeds of men, perils encountered hardily, sufferings constantly -endured, sorrows assuaged by charitable generosity. Such were they in -the strain and tenor of their minds; gentle, moreover, as the gentlest -of created things; humble to their inferiors, but with a proud, and -self-respecting, and considerate humility; open, and free, and frank -toward their equals; but proud, although not wanting in loyalty and -proper reverence for the great, and almost haughty of demeanor to their -superiors, when they encountered any such, which was, indeed, of rare -and singular occurrence. It was a strange thing, indeed, that these lone -girls should have possessed such characters, so strongly marked, so -powerful and striking; should have acquired accomplishments, so many and -so various in their nature. It will appear, perhaps, even stranger to -merely superficial thinkers, that the formation of those powerful -characters had been, for the most part, brought about by the very -circumstances which would at first have appeared most -unpropitious—their solitary habits namely, and their seclusion, almost -absolute seclusion, from the gay world of fashion and of folly. The -large and opulent county, in which their patrimony lay, was indeed then, -as now, studded with the estates, the manors, and the parks of the -richest and the noblest of England’s aristocracy, yet the deep glens and -lofty moorlands among which Ingleborough Hall was situate, are even to -this day a lonely and sequestered region; no great post-road winds -through their devious passes; and, although in the close vicinity of -large and populous towns, they are, even in the nineteenth century, but -little visited, and are occupied by a population singularly primitive -and pastoral in all its thoughts and feelings. Much more then in those -days, when carriages were seen but rarely beyond the streets of the -metropolis, when roads were wild and rugged, and intercourse between the -nearest places, unless of more than ordinary magnitude, difficult and -uncertain, was that wild district to be deemed secluded. So much so, -indeed, was this the case, at the time of which I write, that there were -not within a circle of some twenty miles two families of equal rank, or -filling the same station in society, with the Hawkwoods. This, had the -family been in such circumstances of domestic health and happiness as -would have permitted the girls to mingle in the gaieties of the -neighborhood, would have been a serious and severe misfortune; as they -must, from continual intercourse with their inferiors, have contracted, -in a greater or less degree, a grossness both of mind and manners; and -would, most probably, have fallen into that most destructive -habit—destructive to the mind, I mean, and to all chance of progress or -advancement—the love of queening it in low society. It was, therefore, -under their circumstances, including the loss of one parent and the -entire bereavement of the other, fortunate in no small degree that they -were compelled to seek their pleasures and their occupations, no less -than their duties, within the sphere of the domestic circle. - -The mother, who was now so feeble and so helpless, though never a person -of much intellectual energy, or indeed of much force of any kind, was -yet in the highest sense of the word a lady; she had seen in her youth -something of the great world, apart from the rural glens which witnessed -her decline; had mingled with the gay and noble even at the court of -England, and, being possessed of more than ordinary beauty, had been a -favorite and in some degree a belle. From her, then, had her daughters -naturally and unconsciously imbibed that easy, graceful finish which, -more than all beside, is the true stamp of gentle birth and bearing. -Long before children can be brought to comprehend general principles or -rules of convention, they can and do acquire habits, by that strange -tact of imitation and observance which certainly commences at a stage so -early of their young, frail existences, that we cannot, by any effort, -mark its first dawning—habits which, thus acquired, can hardly be -effaced at all—which will endure unaltered and invariable when tastes, -and practices, and modes of thought and action, contracted long, long -afterward, have faded quite away and been forgotten. Thus was it, then, -with these young creatures; while they were yet mere girls, with all the -pure, right impulses of childhood bursting out fresh and fair, they had -been trained up in the midst of high, and honorable, and correct -associations—naught low, or mean, or little; naught selfish, or -dishonest, or corrupt had ever come near to them—in the sight of virtue -and in the practice of politeness they had shot up into maturity; and -their maturity, of consequence, was virtuous and polished. In after -years, devoted as they were to that sick mother, they had no chance of -unlearning anything; and thus, from day to day, they went on gaining -fresh graces, as it were, by deduction from their foregone teachings, -and from the purity of their young natures—for purity and nature, when -united, must of necessity be graceful—until the proudest courts of -Europe could have shown nothing, even in their most difficult circles, -that could surpass, even it could vie with, the easy, artless frankness, -the soft and finished courtesy, the unabashed yet modest grace of those -two mountain maidens. - -At the period when my sad tale commences—for it is no less sad than -true—the sisters had just reached the young yet perfect bloom of mature -womanhood, the elder, Annabel, having attained her twentieth summer, her -sister Marian being exactly one year younger; and certainly two sweeter -or more lovely girls could not be pictured or imagined—not in the -brightest moments of the painter’s or the poet’s inspiration. They were -both tall and beautifully formed—both had sweet low-toned voices—that -excellent thing in woman!—but here all personal resemblance ended; for -Annabel, the elder, had a complexion pure and transparent as the snow of -the untrodden glacier before the sun has kissed it into roseate blushes, -and quite as colorless; her features were of the finest classic outline; -the smooth, fair brow, the perfect Grecian nose, the short curve of the -upper lip, the exquisite arch of the small mouth, the chiselled lines of -the soft rounded chin, might have served for a model to a sculptor, -whereby to mould a mountain nymph or Naiad; her rich luxuriant hair was -of a light and sunny brown, her eyes of a clear, lustrous blue, with a -soft, languid, and half melancholy tenderness for their more usual -expression, which united well with the calm, placid air which was almost -habitual to her beautiful features. To this no contrast more complete -could have been offered than by the widely different style of Marian’s -loveliness. Though younger than her sister, her figure was more full and -rounded—so much so, that it reached the very point where symmetry is -combined with voluptuousness—yet was there nothing in the least degree -voluptuous in the expression of her bright artless face. Her forehead, -higher than Annabel’s, and broader, was as smooth and as white as -polished marble; her brows were well-defined and black as ebony, as were -the long, long lashes that fringed her laughing eyes—eyes of the -brightest, lightest azure that ever glanced with merriment, or melted -into love—her nose was small and delicate, but turned a little upwards, -so as to add, however, rather than detract from the _tout ensemble_ of -her arch, roguish beauty—her mouth was not very small, but exquisitely -formed, with lips redder than anything in nature, to which lips can be -well compared, and filled with teeth, regular, white and beautifully -even—fair as her sister’s, and, like hers, showing every where the tiny -veins of azure meandering below the milky skin, Marian’s complexion was -yet as bright as morning—faint rosy tints and red, warm blushes -succeeding one another, or vanishing away and leaving the cheek pearly -white, as one emotion followed and effaced another in her pure, innocent -mind. Her hair, profuse in its luxuriant flow, was of a deep dark brown, -that might have been almost called black, but for a thousand glancing -golden lights and warm rich shadows that varied its smooth surface with -the varying sunshine, and was worn in a thick, massive plait low down in -the neck behind, while on either side the brow it was trained off and -taught to cluster in front of either tiny ear in an abundant maze of -interwoven curls, close and mysteriously enlaced as are the tendrils of -the wild vine, which, fluttering on each warm and blushing cheek, fell -down the swan-like neck in heavy natural ringlets. But to describe her -features is to give no idea, in the least, of Marian’s real -beauty—there was a radiant, dazzling lustre that leaped out of her -every feature, lightning from her quick, speaking eyes, and playing in -the dimples of her bewitching smile, that so intoxicated the beholder -that he would dwell upon her face entranced, and know that it was -lovely, and feel that it was far more lovely, far more enthralling than -any he had ever looked upon before; yet, when without the sphere of that -enchantment, he should be all unable to say wherein consisted its -unmatched attraction. - -Between the natural disposition and temperaments of the two sisters -there was perhaps even a wider difference than between the -characteristics of their personal beauty; for Annabel was calm, and -mild, and singularly placid, not in her manners only, but in the whole -tenor of her thoughts, and words, and actions; there was a sort of -gentle melancholy, that was not altogether melancholy either, pervading -her every tone of voice, her every change of feature. She was not -exactly grave, nor pensive, nor subdued, for she could smile very -joyously at times, could act upon emergencies with readiness, and -quickness, and decision, and was at all times prompt in the expression -of her confirmed sentiments; but there was a very remarkable -tranquillity in her mode of doing every thing she did, betokening fully -the presence of a decided principle directing her at every step, so that -she was but rarely agitated, even by accidents of the most sudden and -alarming character, and never actuated by any rapid impulse. The very -opposite of this was Marian Hawkwood; for, although quite as upright and -pure minded as her sister, and, what is more, of a temper quite as -amiable and sweet, yet was her mood as changeful as an April day; -although it was more used to mirth and joyous laughter than to frowns or -tears either, yet had she tears as ready at any tale of sorrow as are -the fountains of the spring shower in the cloud, and eloquent frowns and -eyes that lightened their quick indignation at any outrage, or -oppression, or high-handed violence; her cheek would crimson with the -tell-tale blood, her flesh would seem to thrill upon her bones, her -voice would choke, and her eyes swim with sympathetic drops whenever she -read, or spoke, or heard of any noble deed, whether of gallant daring, -or of heroic self-denial. Her tongue was prompt always, as the sword of -the knight errant, to shelter the defenceless, to shield the innocent, -to right the wronged, and sometimes to avenge the absent. Artless -herself, and innocent in every thought and feeling, she set no guard on -either; but as she felt and thought so she spoke out and acted, fearless -even as she was unconscious of any wrong, defying misconstruction, and -half inclined to doubt the possibility of evil in the minds of others, -so foreign did it seem, and so impossible to her own natural and, as it -were, instinctive sense of right. - -Yet although such in all respects as I have striven to depict them, the -one all quick and flashing impulse, the other all reflective and -considerate principle, it was most wonderful how seldom there was any -clashing of opinion and diversity of judgment as to what was to be done, -what left undone, between the lovely sisters. Marian would, it is true, -often jump at once to conclusions, and act as rapidly upon them, at -which the more reflective Annabel would arrive only after some -consideration—but it did not occur more often that the one had reason -to repent of her precipitation than the other of her over -caution—neither, indeed, had much cause for remorse of this kind at -all, for all the impulses of the one, all the thoughts and principles of -the other, were alike pure and kindly. With words, however, it was not -quite so; for it must be admitted that Marian oftentimes said things, -how unfrequently soever she did aught, which she would willingly have -recalled afterwards; not, indeed, that she ever said anything unkind or -wrong in itself, and rarely anything that could give pain to another, -unless that pain were richly merited indeed—but that she gradually came -to learn, long before she learned to restrain her impulses, that it may -be very often unwise to speak what in itself is wise—and very often, if -not wrong, yet certainly imprudent and of evil consequences to give loud -utterance even to right opinions. - -Such were the persons, such the dispositions of the fair heiresses of -Ingleborough, at the time when they had attained the ages I have -specified, and certainly, although their sphere of usefulness would have -appeared at first sight circumscribed, and the range of their enjoyments -very narrow, there rarely have been seen two happier or more useful -beings than Annabel and Marian Hawkwood, in this wide world of sin and -sorrow. - -The care of their bereaved and hapless parent occupied, it is true, the -greater portion of their time, yet they found many leisure hours to -devote to visiting the poor, aiding the wants of the needy, consoling -the sorrows of those who mourned, and sympathizing with the pleasures of -the happy among their humble neighbors. To them this might be truly -termed a work of love and pleasure, for it is questionable whether from -any other source the lovely girls derived a higher or more satisfactory -enjoyment, than from their tours of charity among their village -pensioners. Next in the scale of happiness stood, doubtless, the society -of the old vicar of that pastoral parish, a man who had been their -father’s friend and counsellor in those young days of college -friendship, when the fresh heart is uppermost in all, and selfishness a -dormant passion; a man old enough almost to have been their grandsire, -but with a heart as young and cheery as a boy’s—an intellect -accomplished in the deepest lore of the schools, both classical and -scientific, and skilled thoroughly in all the niceties and graces of -French, and Spanish, and Italian literature. A man who had known courts, -and camps too, for a short space in his youth; who had seen much, and -suffered much, and yet enjoyed not a little, in his acquaintance with -the world; and who, from sights, and sufferings, and enjoyments, had -learned that if there is much evil, there is yet more of good even in -_this_ world—had learned, while rigid to his own, to be most lenient to -his neighbor’s failings—had learned that charity should be the fruit of -wisdom!—and had learned all this only to practise it in all his daily -walks, to inculcate it in all his weekly lessons. This aged man, and his -scarce less aged wife, living scarcely a stone’s throw from the Hall, -had grown almost to think themselves a portion of the family; and surely -no blood kindred could have created stronger ties of kindness than had -the familiarity of long acquaintance, the confidence of old hereditary -love. Lower yet in the round of their enjoyments, but still a constant -source of blameless satisfaction, were their books, their music, their -drawings, the management of their household, the cultivation of their -lovely garden, the ministering to the wants of their loved birds and -flowers. Thus, all sequestered and secluded from the world, placed in -the midst of onerous duties and solicitudes almost innumerable, though -they had never danced at a ball, nor blushed at the praises of their own -beauty flowing from eloquent lips, nor listened to a lover’s suit, -queens might have envied the felicity, the calm, pure, peaceful -happiness of Annabel and Marian. - -They were, indeed, _too_ happy! I do not mean too happy to be virtuous, -too happy to be mindful of, and grateful to, the Giver of all joy—but, -as the common phrase runs, too happy for their happiness to be enduring. -That is a strange belief—a wondrous superstition!—and yet it has been -common to all ages. The Greeks, those wild poetic dreamers, imagined -that their vain gods, made up of mortal attributes, _envied_ the bliss -of men, fearing that wretched earthlings should vie in happiness with -the possessors of Olympus. They sang in their dark mystic choruses, - - “That perfect bliss of men not childless dies, - But, ended, leaves a progeny behind - Of woes, that spring from fairest fortune blind—” - -and, though their other doctrines of that insuperable destiny, that -absolute necessity, to resist which is needless labor; and of ancestral -guilt, still reproducing guilt through countless generations, would seem -to militate against it, there was no more established faith, and no more -prevalent opinion, than that unwonted fortunes were necessarily followed -by most unusual wo—hence, perhaps, the stern self-mortification of the -middle ages—hence, certainly, the vulgar terror, prevalent more or less -among all classes, and in every time and country, that children are too -beautiful, too prematurely wise, too good, to be long-lived—that -happiness is too great to be lasting—that mornings are too fine to -augur stormless days! And we—aye! we ourselves—we of a better and -purer dispensation—we half believe all this, and more than half tremble -at it, although in truth there is no cause for fear in the -belief—since, if there be aught of truth in the mysterious creed, which -facts do in a certain sense seem to bear out, we can but think, we -cannot but perceive, that this is but a varied form of care and mercy -vouchsafed by the Great All-perfect, towards his frail creatures—that -this is but a merciful provision to hinder us from laying up for -ourselves “treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and -where thieves break through and steal”—a provision to restrain us from -forgetting, in the small temporary bliss of the present, the boundless -and incomparable beatitude of the future—to warn us against bartering, -like Esau, our birthright for a mess of pottage. - -But I am not now called to follow out this train of thought, suggested -by the change in the fortunes of those to whom I am performing the part -of historian—by the change I say in their fortunes—a change arising, -too, from the very circumstances, as is so frequently the case, which -seemed to promise the most fairly for their improvement and their -permanence—oh, how blind guides are we—even the most far-sighted of us -all—how weak and senseless judges, even the most sagacious—how false -and erring prophets, even the wisest and the best!— - -But I must not anticipate, nor overrun my scent, meriting, like a -babbling hound, the harsh thong of the huntsman critic. It was, as I -have said already, somewhere in the summer wherefrom Annabel reckoned -her twentieth, and Marian her nineteenth year—very late in the last -month of summer, an hour or two before the sunset of as beautiful an -evening as ever smiled upon the face of the green earth; the sky was -nearly cloudless, though a thin gauze-like haze had floated up from the -horizon, and so far veiled the orb of the great sun, that the eye could -gaze undazzled on his glories; and the whole air was full of a rich -golden light which flooded all the level meadows with its -lustre,—except where they were checkered by the long cool blue shadows, -projected from the massive clumps of noble forest trees, which singly or -in groups diversified the lovely vale—and gilded the tall slender -steeple of the old village church, and glanced in living fire from the -broad oriel windows of the Hall. Such was the evening, and so beautiful -the prospect, with every sound and sight in perfect harmony—the sharp -squeak of the rapid swifts wheeling their airy circles around the -distant spire, the full and liquid melodies of thrush and blackbird from -out the thorn bushes upon the lawn, the lowing of the cows returning -from their pasture to pay the evening tribute, the very cawing of the -homeward rooks blended by distance into a continuous and soothing -murmur, the rippling music of the stream, the low sigh of the west wind -in the foliage of the sycamores, the far shout of the children happy at -their release from school, the carol of a solitary milkmaid, combining -to make up music as sweet as can be heard or dreamed of. That lovely -picture was surveyed, and that delicious melody was listened to by eyes -and ears well fitted to appreciate their loveliness—for at an open -casement of a neat parlor in the Hall, with furniture all covered with -those elegant appliances of female industry—well-filled drawings, and -books, and instruments of music, and work baskets, and frames for -embroidery—which show so pleasantly that the apartment is one, not of -show, but of calm home enjoyment, sat Annabel, alone—for the presence -of the frail paralytic being, who dozed in her arm-chair at the farther -end of the room, cannot be held to constitute society. Marian, for the -first time in her life, was absent from her home on a visit, which had -already endured nearly six weeks, to the only near relative of the -family who was yet living—a younger sister of her mother—who had -married many years ago a clergyman, whose piety and talents had raised -him to a stall in the cathedral church of York, where he resided with -his wife—a childless couple. This worthy pair had passed a portion of -the summer at the Hall, and, when returning to the metropolis of the -county, had prevailed on their younger niece, not altogether without -difficulty, to go with them for a few weeks, and see a little of society -on a scale something more extended than that which her native vales -could offer. It was the first time in their lives that the sisters ever -had been parted for more than a few days, and now the hours were -beginning to appear very long to Annabel, as weeks were running into -months, and the gorgeous suns of summer were fast preparing to give -place to the cold dews and frosty winds of autumn. The evening meal was -over, and a solitary thing was that meal now, which used to be the most -delightful of the day, and hastily did the lonely sister hurry it over, -thinking all the while what might be Marian’s occupation at the moment, -and whether she too was engaged in thoughts concerning her far friends -and the fair home of her childhood. It was then in a mood half -melancholy, and half listless, that Annabel was gazing from her window -down the broad valley to the eastward, marvelling at the beauty of the -scenery, though she had noted every changing hue that flitted over the -far purple hills a thousand times before; and listening to every sweet -familiar sound, and yet at the same time pondering, as if she were quite -unconscious of all that met her senses, about things which, she fancied, -might be happening at York, when on a sudden her attention was aroused -by a dense cloud of dust rising beyond the river, upon the line of the -highroad, and sweeping up the valley with a progress so unusually rapid -as indicated that the objects, which it veiled from view, must be in -more than commonly quick motion. For a few moments she watched this -little marvel narrowly, but without any apprehension or even any -solicitude, until, as it drew nearer, she could perceive at times bright -flashes as if of polished metal gleaming out through the murky wreaths, -and feathers waving in the air. The year was that in which the hapless -Charles, all hopes of reconciliation with the parliament being decidedly -frustrated, displayed the banner of civil war, and drew the sword -against his subjects. The rumors of the coming strife had circulated, -like the dread sub-terraneous rumblings which harbinger the earth-quake, -through all the country far and near, sad omens of approaching evil; and -more distinctly were they bruited throughout Yorkshire, in consequence -of the attempt which had been made by the royal party to secure Hull -with all its magazines and shipping—frustrated by the energy and spirit -of the Hothams—so that, as soon as she perceived that the dust was, -beyond all doubt, stirred up by a small party of well appointed horse, -Annabel entertained no doubts as to the meaning, but many serious -apprehensions as to the cause, of the present visitation. The road by -which the cavaliers were proceeding, though well made and passable at -all times, was no considerable thoroughfare; no large or important towns -lay on its route, nay, no large villages were situated on its margins; -it was a devious, winding way, leading to many a homely farm-house, many -a small sequestered hamlet, and affording to the good rustics a means of -carrying their wheat, and eggs, and butter, or driving their fat cattle -and black-faced moorland sheep to market, but it was not the direct line -between any two points or places worthy of even a passing notice. It is -true, that some twelve or fifteen miles down the valley, there was a -house or two tenanted by gentry—one that might, by a liberal courtesy, -have been designated as a castle—but above Ingleborough Hall, to the -northwestward, there was no manor-house or dwelling of the aristocracy -at all, until the road left the _ghylls_, as those wild glens are -designated, and joined the line of the great northern turnpike. It was -extremely singular then, to say the least, that a gay troop of riders -should appear suddenly in that wild spot, so far from anything that -would be likely to attract them; and Annabel sat some time longer by the -window, wondering, and at the same time fearing, although, in truth, she -scarce knew what, until, at about a mile’s distance, she saw them halt, -and, after a few moments’ conversation with a farming man on the -wayside, as if to inquire their route, turn suddenly down a narrow -by-road leading to the high narrow bridge of many arches which crossed -the noble river, and gave the only access to the secluded site of -Ingleborough. When she saw this, however, her perturbation became very -great; for she well knew that there lay nothing in that direction, -except one little market-town, far distant, and a few scattered -farm-houses on the verge of the moors, so that there could be little -doubt that Ingleborough was indeed their destination. The very moment -that she arrived at this conclusion, Annabel called a serving-man and -bade him run quick to the vicarage, and pray good Doctor Summers to come -up to her instantly, as she was in great strait, and fain would speak -with him; and, at the same time, with an energy of character that hardly -could have been expected from one so young and delicate, ordered the men -of the household, including in those days the fowler and the falconer, -and half a dozen sturdy grooms, and many a supernumerary more, whom we -in these degenerate times have long discarded as incumbrances, to have -their arms in readiness—for every manor-house then had its regular -armory—and to prepare the great bell of the Hall to summon all the -tenants, on the instant such proceeding might be needful. - -In a few moments the good gray-haired vicar came, almost breathless from -the haste with which he had crossed the little space between the -vicarage and the manor; and a little while after his wife followed him, -anxious to learn, as soon as possible, what could have so disturbed the -quiet tenor of a mind so regulated by high principles, and garrisoned by -holy thoughts, as Annabel’s. Their humble dwelling, though scarce a -stone’s throw from the Hall, was screened by a projecting knoll, -feathered with dense and shadowy coppice, which hid from it entirely the -road by which the horsemen were advancing; so that the worthy couple had -not perceived or suspected anything to justify the fears of Annabel, -until they were both standing in her presence—then, while the worthy -doctor was proffering his poor assistance, and his good wife inquiring -eagerly what was amiss, the sight of that gay company of cavaliers, with -feathers waving and scarfs fluttering in the wind, and gold embroideries -glancing to the sun, as, having left the dusty road, they wheeled -through the green meadows, flashed suddenly upon them. - -“Who can they be? What possibly can bring them hither?” exclaimed -Annabel, pointing with evident trepidation towards the rapidly -approaching horsemen; “I fear, oh, I greatly fear some heavy ill is -coming—but I have ordered all the men to take their arms, and the great -bell will bring us twenty of the tenants in half as many minutes. What -can it be, good doctor?” - -“In truth I know not, Annabel,” replied the good man, smiling cheerfully -as he spoke; “in truth I know not, nor can at all conjecture; but be -quite sure of this, dear girl, that they will do, to us at least, no -evil—they are King Charles’ men beyond doubt, churchmen and cavaliers, -all of them—any one can see that; and though I know not that we have -much to fear from either party, from them at least we have no earthly -cause for apprehension. I will go forth, however, to meet them, and to -learn their errand—meantime, fear nothing.” - -“Oh! you mistake me,” she answered at once; “oh! you mistake me very -much, for I did not, even for a moment, fear personally anything; it was -for my poor mother I was first alarmed, and all our good, kind -neighbors, and, indeed, all the country around, that shows so beautiful -and happy this fair evening—oh! but this civil war is a dread thing, -and dread, I fear, will be the reckoning of those who wake it—” - -“Who wake it _without cause_, my daughter! A dreadful thing it is at all -times, but it may be a necessary, aye! and a holy thing—when freedom or -religion are at stake—but we will speak of this again; for see, they -have already reached the farther gate, and I must speak with them before -they enter here, let them be who they may;” and with the words, pressing -her hand with fatherly affection, “Farewell,” he said, “be of good -cheer, I purpose to return forthwith,” then left the room, and hurrying -down the steps of the porch, walked far more rapidly than seemed to suit -his advanced years and sedentary habits across the park to meet the -gallant company. - -A gallant company, indeed, it was, and such as was but rarely seen in -that wild region, being the train of a young gentleman of some eight or -nine and twenty years, splendidly mounted, and dressed in the -magnificent fashion of those days, in a half military costume, for his -buff coat was lined throughout with rich white satin, and fringed and -looped with silver, a falling collar of rich Flanders lace flowing down -over his steel gorget, and a broad scarf of blue silk supporting his -long silver-hilted rapier—by his side rode another person, not -certainly a menial servant, and yet clearly not a gentleman of birth and -lineage; and after these a dozen or more of armed attendants, all -wearing the blue scarf and black feathers of the royalists, all nobly -mounted and accoutred, like regular troopers, with sword and dagger, -pistols and musquetoons, although they wore no breastplates, nor any -sort of defensive armor. A brace of jet-black greyhounds, without a -speck of white upon their sleek and glistening hides, ran bounding -merrily beside their master’s stirrup, and a magnificent gosshawk sat -hooded on his wrist, with silver bells and richly decorated jesses. So -much had the ladies observed, even before the old man reached the party; -but when he did so, pausing for a moment to address the leader, that -gentleman at once leaped down from his horse, giving the rein to a -servant, and accompanied him, engaged apparently in eager conversation, -toward the entrance of the Hall. This went far on the instant to restore -confidence to Annabel; but when they came so near that their faces could -be seen distinctly from the windows, and she could mark a well-pleased -smile upon the venerable features of her friend, she was completely -reassured. A single glance, moreover, at the face of the stranger showed -her that the most timid maiden need hardly feel a moment’s apprehension, -even if he were her country’s or her faction’s foe; for it was not -merely handsome, striking, and distinguished, but such as indicates, or -is supposed to indicate, the presence of a kindly disposition and good -heart. Annabel had not much time, indeed, for making observations at -that moment, for it was scarce a minute before they had ascended the -short flight of steps, which led to the stone porch, and entered the -door of the vestibule—a moment longer, and they came into the parlor, -the worthy vicar leading the young man by the hand, as if he were a -friend of ten years’ standing. - -“Annabel,” he exclaimed, in a joyous voice, as he crossed the threshold -of the room, “this is the young Lord Vaux, son of your honored father’s -warmest and oldest friend; and in years long gone by, but unforgotten, -my kindest patron. He has come hither, bearing letters from _his_ -father—knowing not until now that you, my child, were so long since -bereaved—letters of commendation, praying the hospitality of -Ingleborough, and the best influence of the name of Hawkwood, to levy -men to serve King Charles in the approaching war. I have already told -him—” - -“How glad, how welcome, doubtless, would have been his coming,” answered -Annabel, advancing easily to meet the youthful nobleman, although a deep -blush covered all her pale features as she performed her unaccustomed -duty, “had my dear father been alive, or my poor mother”—casting a -rapid glance towards the invalid—“been in health to greet him. As it -is,” she continued, “the Lord Vaux, I doubt not, in the least, will -pardon any imperfections in our hospitality, believing that if in aught -we err, it will be error, not of friendliness or of feeling, but of -experience only, seeing I am but a young mistress of a household. You, -my kind friend, and Mistress Summers, will doubtless tarry with us while -my Lord Vaux gives us the favor of his presence.” - -“Loath should I be, indeed, dear lady, thus to intrude upon your -sorrows, could I at all avoid it,” replied the cavalier; “and charming -as it must needs be to enjoy the hospitalities tendered by such an one -as you, I do assure you, were I myself concerned alone, I would remount -my horse at once, and ride away, rather than force myself upon your -courtesy. But, when I tell you that my father’s strong opinion holds it -a matter of importance—importance almost vital to the king, and to the -cause of Church and State in England—that I should levy some force here -of cavaliers, where there be so few heads of noble houses living, to act -in union with Sir Philip Musgrave, in the north, and with Sir Marmaduke -Langdale, I both trust and believe that you will overlook the trouble -and intrusion, in fair consideration of the motives which impel me.” - -“Pray—” said she, smiling gaily—“pray, my Lord Vaux, let us leave, -now, apology and compliment—most unaffectedly and truly I am glad to -receive you, both as the son of my father’s valued friend, and as a -faithful servant of our most gracious king—we will do our best, too, to -entertain you; and Doctor Summers will aid you with his counsel and -experience in furthering your military levies. How left you the good -earl, your father? I have heard mine speak of him many times, and ever -in the highest terms of praise, when I was but a little girl—and my -poor mother much more recently, before this sad calamity affected her so -fearfully.” - -Her answer, as it was intended, had the effect at once of putting an end -to all formality, and setting the young nobleman completely at his ease; -the conversation took a general tone, and was maintained on all sides -with sufficient spirit, until, when Annabel retired for a little space -to conduct her mother to her chamber, De Vaux found himself wondering -how a mere country girl, who had lived a life so secluded and domestic, -should have acquired graces both of mind and manner, such as he never -had discovered in court ladies; while she was struck even in a greater -degree by the frank, unaffected bearing, the gay wit, and sparkling -anecdote, blended with many a touch of deeper feeling, which -characterized the youthful nobleman. After a little while she -reappeared, and with her was announced the evening meal, the pleasant -sociable old-fashioned supper, and as he sat beside her, while she -presided, full of calm modest self-possession, at the head of her -hospitable board, with no one to encourage her, or lend her countenance, -except the good old vicar and his homely helpmate, he could not but draw -fresh comparisons, all in her favor too, betwixt the quiet graceful -confidence of the ingenuous girl before him, and the _minauderies_ and -meretricious airs of the court dames, who had been hitherto the objects -of his passing admiration. Cheerfully, then, and pleasantly the evening -passed away; and when upon her little couch, hard by the invalid’s sick -bed, Annabel thought over the events of the past day, she felt -concerning young De Vaux, rather as if he had been an old familiar -friend, with whom she had renewed an intercourse long interrupted, than -as of a mere acquaintance whom that day first had introduced, and whom -the next might possibly remove forever. Something there was, when they -met next, at breakfast on the following morning, of blushing bashfulness -in Annabel which he had not observed, nor she before experienced; but it -passed rapidly away, and left her self-possessed and tranquil—while -surely in the sparkling eye, the eager haste with which he broke away -from his conversation with Dr. Summers, as she entered, in his hand half -extended, and then half awkwardly, half timidly, withdrawn, there was -much indication of excited feeling, widely at variance with the stiff -and even formal mannerism inculcated and practised in the court of the -unhappy Charles. It needs not now, however, to dwell on passing -conversations, to narrate every trifling incident—the morning meal once -finished, De Vaux mounted his horse, and rode forth in accordance with -the directions of the loyal clergyman, to visit such among the -neighboring farmers as were most likely to be able to assist him in the -levying a horse regiment. A few hours passed, and he returned full of -high spirits and hot confidence—he had met everywhere assurances of -good will to the royal cause, had succeeded in enlisting some ten or -more of stout and hardy youths, and had no doubt of finally -accomplishing the object, which he had in view, to the full height of -his aspirations. After dinner, which in those primitive days was served -at noon, he was engaged for a time in making up despatches for his -father, which having been sent off by a messenger of his own trusty -servants to the castle in Northumberland, he went out and joined his -lovely hostess in the sheltered garden, which I have described above; -and there they lingered until the sun was sinking in the west behind the -huge and purple headed hills, which covered the horizon in that -direction—the evening circle and the social meal succeeded, and when -they parted for the night, if Annabel and young De Vaux could not be -said to be enamored, as indeed they could not yet, they had at least -made so much progress to that end, that each esteemed the other the most -agreeable and charming person it had been hitherto their fortune to -encounter; and, although this was decidedly the farthest point to which -the thoughts of Annabel extended, when he had laid down on his bed, with -the sweet rays of the harvest moon flooding his room with quiet lustre, -and the voice of the murmuring rivulet and the low flutter of the west -wind in the giant sycamores blending themselves into a soft and soothing -melody, the young lord found himself considering how gracefully that -fair pale girl would fill the place, which had been long left vacant by -his mother, in the grand Hall of Gilsland Castle. Another, and another -day succeeded—a week slipped away—a second and third followed it, and -still the ranks of the royal regiment, though they were filling rapidly, -had many vacancies, and arms had yet to be provided, and standards, and -musicians—passengers went and came continually between the castle and -the manor; and all was bustle and confusion in the lone glens of -Wharfdale. Meantime a change was wrought in Annabel’s demeanor, that all -who saw remarked—there was a brighter glow than ever had been seen -before in her transparent cheeks; her eyes sparkled almost as -brilliantly as Marian’s; her lips were frequently arrayed in bright and -beaming smiles; her step was light and springy as a young fawn’s upon -the mountain—Annabel was in love, and had discovered that it was -so—Annabel was beloved, and knew it—the young lord’s declaration and -the old earl’s consent had come together, and the sweet maiden’s heart -was given, and her hand promised, almost before the asking. Joy! joy! -was there not joy in Ingleborough? The good old vicar’s tranquil air of -satisfaction, the loud and eloquent mirth of his kind-hearted -housewife—the merry gay congratulations of wild Marian, who wrote from -York, half crazy with excitement and delight—the evident and lovely -happiness of the young promised bride—what pen of man may even aspire -to describe them. All was decided—all arranged—the marriage was, so -far at least, to be held private, that no festivities nor public -merriment should bruit it to the world, until the civil strife should be -decided, and the king’s power established; which all men fancied at that -day it would by a single battle—and which, had Rupert wheeled upon the -flank of Essex at Edge-Hill, instead of chasing the discomfited and -flying horse of the Roundheads miles from the field of battle, would -probably have been the case. The old earl had sent the wedding gifts to -his son’s chosen bride, had promised to be present at the nuptials, the -day of which was fixed already; but it had been decided, that when De -Vaux should be forced to join the royal armies, his young wife should -continue to reside at Ingleborough, with her bereaved mother and fond -sister, until the wished-for peace should unite England once again in -bonds of general amity, and the bridegroom find honorable leisure to -lead his wife in state to his paternal mansions. Days sped away! how -fast they seemed to fly to those young happy lovers! How was the very -hour of their first interview noted, and marked with the white in the -deep tablets of their minds—how did they, shyly half, half fondly, -recount each to the other the first impressions of their growing -fondness—how did they bless the cause that brought them thus -together—_Proh! cæca mens mortalium!_—oh! the short-sighted scope of -mortal vision!—alas! for one—for both!— - -The wedding day was fixed, and now was fast approaching; and hourly was -Marian with the good uncle and his dame expected at the Hall, and wished -for, and discoursed of by the lovers—“and oh!—” would Annabel say, -half sportively and half in earnest—“well was it for my happiness, De -Vaux, that _she_ was absent when you first came hither, for had you seen -her first, her far superior beauty, her bright wild radiant face, her -rare arch _naïveté_, her flashing wit, and beautiful enthusiasm, -would—_must_ have captivated you all at once—and what had then become -of your poor Annabel?” - -And then would the young lord vow—and vow in all sincerity and truth as -he believed, that had he met her first in the most glorious courts of -Europe, with all the gorgeous beauties of the world to rival her, she -would alone have been the choice of his soul—his soul first touched by -her of women!—And then he would ask in lowered tones, and with a sly -simplicity of manner, whether if _he_ had loved another, she could have -still loved him; to which with all the frank and fearless purity, which -was so beautiful a trait in Annabel—“Oh! yes—” she would reply, and -gaze with calm reliance, as she did so, into her lover’s eyes—“oh yes, -dear Ernest—and then how miserably wretched must I have been, through -my whole life thereafter. Oh! yes, I loved you—though then I knew it -not, nor indeed thought at all about it until you spoke to me—I loved -you dearly—tenderly!—and I believe it would have almost killed me, to -look upon you afterward as the wife of another.” - -The wedding day was but a fortnight distant, and strange to say, it was -the very day two months gone, which had seen their meeting. Wains had -arrived from Gilsland, loaded with arms and uniforms, standards and -ammunition—two of the brothers of De Vaux, young gallant cavaliers, had -come partly to officer the men, partly to do fit honor to their -brother’s nuptials. The day, although the season had now advanced far -into brown October, was sunny, mild and beautiful; the regiment had that -day, for the first time, mustered in arms in Ingleborough park, and a -gay show they made with glittering casques and corslets, fresh from the -armorer’s anvil, and fluttering scarfs and dancing plumes, and bright -emblazoned banners. - -The sun was in the act of setting—De Vaux and Annabel were watching his -decline from the same window in the Hall, whence she had first -discovered his unexpected coming; when, as on that all eventful evening, -a little dust was seen arising on the high road beyond the river, and in -a moment a small mounted party, among which might be readily descried -the fluttering of female garments! - -“It is my sister—” exclaimed Annabel, jumping up on the instant, and -clasping her hands eagerly—“it is my dear, dear sister—come, Ernest, -come; let us go meet dear Marian.” No time was lost; but arm in arm they -sallied forth, the lovers; and met the little train just this side the -park gates. - -Marian sprang from her horse, light as a spirit of the air, and rushed -into her sister’s arms and clung there with a long and lingering -embrace, and as she raised her head a bright tear glittered on either -silky eyelash. De Vaux advanced to greet her, but as he did so, -earnestly perusing the lineaments of his fair sister, he was most -obviously embarrassed, his manner was confused and even agitated, his -words faltered—and _she_ whose face had been, a second before, beaming -with the bright crimson of excitement, whose eye had looked round -eagerly and gladly to mark the chosen of her sister—_she_ turned as -pale as ashes—brow, cheeks, and lips—pale, almost livid!—and her eye -fell abashed, and did not rise again till he had finished speaking. None -noticed it, but Annabel; for all the party were engaged in gay -congratulations, and, they recovering themselves immediately, nothing -more passed that could create surmise—but she did _note_ it, and her -heart sank for a moment; and all that evening she was unusually grave -and silent; and had not her usual demeanor been so exceedingly calm and -subdued, her strange dejection must have been seen and wondered at by -her assembled kinsfolk. - - * * * * * - - - - - A DIRGE. - - - BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. - - - Poet! lonely is thy bed, - And the turf is overhead— - Cold earth is thy cover; - But thy heart hath found release, - And it slumbers full of peace - ’Neath the rustle of green trees - And the warm hum of the bees, - ’Mid the drowsy clover; - Through thy chamber, still as death, - A smooth gurgle wandereth, - As the blue stream murmureth - To the blue sky over. - - Three paces from the silver strand, - Gently in the fine, white sand, - With a lily in thy hand, - Pale as snow, they laid thee; - In no coarse earth wast thou hid, - And no gloomy coffin-lid - Darkly overweighed thee. - Silently as snow-flakes drift, - The smooth sand did sift and sift - O’er the bed they made thee; - All sweet birds did come and sing - At thy sunny burying— - Choristers unbidden, - And, beloved of sun and dew. - Meek forget-me-nots upgrew - Where thine eyes so large and blue - ’Neath the turf were hidden. - - Where thy stainless clay doth lie, - Blue and open is the sky, - And the white clouds wander by, - Dreams of summer silently - Darkening the river; - Thou hearest the clear water run, - And the ripples every one, - Scattering the golden sun, - Through thy silence quiver; - Vines trail down upon the stream, - Into its smooth and glassy dream - A green stillness spreading, - And the shiner, perch and bream - Through the shadowed waters gleam - ’Gainst the current heading. - - White as snow, thy winding sheet - Shelters thee from head to feet, - Save thy pale face only; - Thy face is turned toward the skies, - The lids lie meekly o’er thine eyes, - And the low-voiced pine-tree sighs - O’er thy bed so lonely. - All thy life thou lov’dst its shade: - Underneath it thou art laid, - In an endless shelter; - Thou hearest it forever sigh - As the wind’s vague longings die - In its branches dim and high— - Thou hear’st the waters gliding by - Slumberously welter. - - Thou wast full of love and truth, - Of forgivingness and ruth— - Thy great heart with hope and youth - Tided to o’erflowing. - Thou didst dwell in mysteries, - And there lingered on thine eyes - Shadows of serener skies, - Awfully wild memories, - That were like foreknowing; - Through the earth thou would’st have gone, - Lighted from within alone, - Seeds from flowers in Heaven grown - With a free hand sowing. - - Thou didst remember well and long - Some fragments of thine angel-song, - And strive, through want and wo and wrong - To win the world unto it; - Thy sin it was to see and hear - Beyond To-day’s dim hemisphere— - Beyond all mists of hope and fear, - Into a life more true and clear, - And dearly thou didst rue it; - Light of the new world thou hadst won, - O’er flooded by a purer sun— - Slowly Fate’s ship came drifting on, - And through the dark, save thou, not one - Caught of the land a token. - Thou stood’st upon the farthest prow, - Something within thy soul said “Now!” - And leaping forth with eager brow, - Thou fell’st on shore heart-broken. - - Long time thy brethren stood in fear; - Only the breakers far and near, - White with their anger, they could hear; - The sounds of land, which thy quick ear - Caught long ago, they heard not. - And, when at last they reached the strand, - They found thee lying on the sand - With some wild flowers in thy hand, - But thy cold bosom stirred not; - They listened, but they heard no sound - Save from the glad life all around - A low, contented murmur. - The long grass flowed adown the hill, - A hum rose from a hidden rill, - But thy glad heart, that knew no ill - But too much love, lay dead and still— - The only thing that sent a chill - Into the heart of summer. - - Thou didst not seek the poet’s wreath - But too soon didst win it; - Without ’twas green, but underneath - Were scorn and loneliness and death, - Gnawing the brain with burning teeth, - And making mock within it. - Thou, who wast full of nobleness, - Whose very life-blood ’twas to bless, - Whose soul’s one law was giving, - Must bandy words with wickedness, - Haggle with hunger and distress, - To win that death which worldliness - Calls bitterly a living. - - “Thou sow’st no gold, and shall not reap!” - Muttered earth, turning in her sleep; - “Come home to the Eternal Deep!” - Murmured a voice, and a wide sweep - Of wings through thy soul’s hush did creep, - As of thy doom o’erflying; - It seem’d that thy strong heart would leap - Out of thy breast, and thou didst weep, - But not with fear of dying; - Men could not fathom thy deep fears, - They could not understand thy tears, - The hoarded agony of years - Of bitter self-denying. - So once, when high above the spheres - Thy spirit sought its starry peers, - It came not back to face the jeers - Of brothers who denied it; - Star-crowned, thou dost possess the deeps - Of God, and thy white body sleeps - Where the lone pine forever keeps - Patient watch beside it. - - Poet! underneath the turf, - Soft thou sleepest, free from morrow, - Thou hast struggled through the surf - Of wild thoughts and want and sorrow. - Now, beneath the moaning pine, - Full of rest, thy body lieth, - While far up in clear sunshine, - Underneath a sky divine, - Her loosed wings thy spirit trieth; - Oft she strove to spread them here, - But they were too white and clear - For our dingy atmosphere. - - Thy body findeth ample room - In its still and grassy tomb - By the silent river; - But thy spirit found the earth - Narrow for the mighty birth - Which it dreamed of ever; - Thou wast guilty of a rhyme - Learned in a benigner clime, - And of that more grievous crime, - An ideal too sublime - For the low-hung sky of Time. - - The calm spot where thy body lies - Gladdens thy soul in Paradise, - It is so still and holy; - Thy body sleeps serenely there, - And well for it thy soul may care, - It was so beautiful and fair, - Lily white so wholly. - - From so pure and sweet a frame - Thy spirit parted as it came, - Gentle as a maiden; - Now it lieth full of rest— - Sods are lighter on its breast - Than the great, prophetic guest - Wherewith it was laden. - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNET TO MY MOTHER. - - - BY T. HOLLEY CHIVERS, M. D. - - - Before mine eyes had seen the light of day, - Or that my soul had come from Heaven’s great King— - A harmless, tiny, helpless little thing— - You loved me!—While my tender being lay - In the soft rose-leaves of your heart at rest, - Like some lone bird within its downy nest, - Beneath the concave of its mother’s wing, - Unborn—your soul came in my heart to dwell, - Like perfume in the flower, each part to bring, - As warmth unto the young bird in its shell, - And built me up to what I was to be, - A semblance of thyself. Thus, being cast - In thy heart’s mould, I grew up like to thee, - And lost in thee my first friend with my last! - - * * * * * - - - - - BOSTON RAMBLINGS. - - - BY MISS LESLIE. - - - PART THE FIRST. - -Perhaps there is no place in America where the people continued to cling -so long, and so fondly, to the relics and traditions of the olden time, -as in Boston—their first era being that of the early settlers, their -second that of the revolution. At the commencement of my acquaintance -with Boston and Bostonians, I was particularly struck with the -prevalence of this feeling, having found so little of it in my native -city, Philadelphia. Yet I was sorry to hear from my eastern friends, -that comparatively it was fast subsiding, and that a fancy for modern -improvements (blended with the powerful incentive of pecuniary interest) -was rapidly superseding that veneration so long cherished for the places -and things connected with the history of their “ancient and honorable -town,” and the founders of their country’s freedom. On my second visit -to Boston I missed much that on my first I had found still undesecrated. -On my third, but few vestiges remained of the poetry, the romance, and -the quaintness that, with regard to external objects, had so interested -and amused me in the year 1832. I looked in vain for the “old familiar -faces” of certain antiquated and, perhaps, unsightly structures that I -had delighted to contemplate as the time-honored habitations of men with -undying names. They were gone, and new and more profitable buildings -erected on their site. In many of these instances “I could have better -spared a better house.” - -Fortunately the charter of the city specifies that Faneuil Hall is never -to be sold, nor can the ground on which it stands be appropriated to any -other purpose. Except that the market-place in the lower story is now -occupied by shops, the whole edifice still remains nearly as it was when -the walls of its chief apartment resounded with the acclamations of the -people who discussed, at their town meetings, those principles that led -to their self-emancipation from the sway of Britain. Acclamations -elicited by the bold and overpowering eloquence of James Otis, the -enthusiastic outbreakings of the impetuous spirit of Warren, the pure -and self-sacrificing patriotism of Quincy, and the calm but energetic -plain sense of Samuel Adams, backed by the generous liberality of that -wealthy and noble-minded merchant whose name, as president of the first -Congress, leads on the glorious array of signatures appended to the -Declaration of Independence. Did no one think of preserving the pen with -which those names were written?—the sacred quill - - “That wing’d the arrow, sure as fate, - Which ascertain’d the rights of man.” - -The full-length portrait of Peter Faneuil stands at the upper end of the -hall, looking like its guardian spirit. It is a fine copy of a small -original that was painted in his lifetime. In regarding the likeness of -a person of note (provided always that the painter is a good artist) you -can generally judge of its verisimilitude, by its representing the -features of the mind in conjunction with those of the face. If a well -painted portrait has no particular expression, you may safely conclude -that the sitter had no particular character. When, at the first glance -of a picture, you are struck with the conviction that the original -_must_ have looked exactly so, it is because you at once perceive his -mind in his face. Who that has ever seen it, while it hung so long in -the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, does not recollect Berthon’s -admirable and life-like portrait of Buonaparte in the first year of that -consulate. Every beholder was struck with an irresistible conviction of -its perfect and unimpeachable fidelity of character. There, in his gold -embroidered blue coat, his tri-colored sash, and his buff-leather -gauntlets, was the pale, thin, almost cadaverous young soldier, just -returned from the unwholesome regions of the Nile; with his dark, -uncared-for hair shading his thoughtful brow, and his deep-set, intense -eyes, that looked as if they could search into the soul of every man -they saw. So self-evident was the truth of this picture, that it was -unnecessary to be aware of its exact accordance with all the -descriptions given at that time of the republican general, who had just -made himself the chief magistrate of the French people, and was called -only Buonaparte. A few years afterward, when “the hero had sunk into the -king,” and was termed Napoleon, and when, in becoming more handsome, his -face lost much of its original expression, this picture was equally -valuable, as showing how he had looked in the early part of his wondrous -career. - -Another picture which we feel at once to be a most faithful -representation, is Greuze’s portrait of Franklin. It was painted by that -excellent artist when the venerable printer, philosopher, author, -statesman (what shall we call him) was living in Paris. The dress is a -coat and waistcoat of dark reddish silk, trimmed with brown fur. The -head is very bald at the top, and he wears his gray locks plain and -unpowdered. He has that noble expanse of forehead which is almost always -found in persons of extraordinary intellect. His eye is indicative of -strong sense and benevolence, enlivened with a keen relish for humor. -His whole countenance exhibits that union of genius and common sense, -shrewdness and kindness, which formed his character. My father had once -in his possession (but lost it by lending) a fine French engraving taken -from this very portrait, and printed in colors. He had known Dr. -Franklin intimately, and he considered it the most admirable likeness he -had ever seen—in fact the very man. - -To return to Mr. Faneuil—_his_ portrait also is highly characteristic. -No one can look at this picture of a tall, dignified gentleman, in a -suit of crimson velvet and gold, a long lace cravat, and a powdered wig, -according to the patrician costume of his time, and can view his fine -open countenance, without believing the whole to be a correct -portraiture of the opulent and public spirited merchant who, while he -was yet living, gave its first market-place, with a hall for the -accommodation of public meetings, to the town that had afforded an -asylum to his Huguenot ancestor. The remains of Peter Faneuil, who died -suddenly in 1743, are interred amid the green shades of the Granary -Burying Ground, so called from the town granary having been in its -immediate vicinity. This cemetery is close to the Tremont Hotel, and in -view of another “ancient place of graves,” belonging to the King’s -Chapel, which was founded in 1688, and, in early times, numbered among -its congregation the largest portion of the Boston aristocracy; and many -of their descendants still worship there. It is built of light brown -stone, and is frequently called the Stone Chapel. - -The length, thickness, and luxuriance of the grass, (which appears to -require perpetual mowing,) and the closeness of the burial mounds, which -seem almost piled upon each other, make it somewhat difficult to explore -the monumental memorials of the old Boston families, whose first -progenitors are slumbering beneath. A large number of these tombs are -sculptured with armorial bearings, as an evidence that their mouldering -occupants belonged, in their fatherland, to “gentle blood.” Of the -tomb-stones dated after the revolution, I saw few that bore any -indications of “the boast of heraldry, the pomp of power.” The founder -of Boston, John Winthrop, is interred in the northwest corner of this -cemetery, with his daughter, Grace Sears, (from whom the present Sears -family is descended,) and his son, Waitstill Winthrop. The mansion of -Governor Winthrop was a large two-story frame house, surrounded by a -garden, and shaded with aboriginal trees that had been left standing for -the purpose. Its location was near the old South Church, just below -School street. Its site is now covered with stores; the block of -buildings being termed South Row. I have seen an old portrait of this -chief of the Boston colonists. It represents him as a tall, thin, -dark-complexioned man, with an oval face, regular features, and a very -serious countenance. He is habited in “a sad colored suit,” with a white -lawn ruff round his neck, and a black cap on his head. In this burial -ground Cooper has placed the vault of the Lechmere family, at the -entrance of which the mother of Job Pray was found dead; and from the -gallery of the stone chapel the half maniac father of Lionel Lincoln -interrupted the marriage of his son with Cecil Dynevor, as they stood at -the altar. Though reason may reject the interesting associations that -emanate from fiction, feeling and fancy always unconsciously adopt them. -It is this which conducts so many travellers to the shores of Loch -Katrine, and sends them in a boat to the island of Ellen Douglas, though -well aware that the damsel of the lake never in reality existed. I knew -a gentleman who traversed the wilds of Connaught to visit the sea-beaten -castle of Inismore, because it had been the fancied abode of Glorvina, -the Wild Irish Girl, another charming creation of genius. And few will -wonder at his doing so, who are familiar with the work that caused the -flood-tide of Miss Owenson’s fortune, and who have, of course, read and -re-read that beautiful letter in which Horatio describes his first -acquaintance with the castle and its inmates. - -I was yet a stranger in Boston, when a few days after my arrival I -accompanied a lady and gentleman who were residents in that city, (and -excellent _ciceroni_) on an exploring walk into what is called the North -End. This is a very old part of the town, extending northerly from Court -street to Lynn street, and bounded on its eastern side by the waters of -the harbor, and on the west by those of the estuary denominated Charles -River. Its extreme point is immediately opposite to Bunker Hill. As it -did not modernize as fast as the other sections of Boston, and as its -old buildings were longer in getting demolished or furbished up, the -_habitans_ of the North End lay under the imputation of being an old -fashioned people, sadly deficient in the organ of go-a-headness, and -pitifully submitting to creep on all fours, while the rest of the -community were making unto themselves wings. There was even a scandalous -story circulated of one of their pastors, (a good old gentleman, whose -nasal elocution had not improved by age,) uttering in his prayer the -words, “Have mercy upon us miserable offenders,” in a manner that -sounded very much like, “Have mercy upon us miserable North-enders.” - -To give me an idea of the habitations of the early Bostonians, I was -purposely taken through some of the oldest and crookedest streets; -several of which had pavements so narrow that we had to break rank and -to proceed Indian file; for when we attempted to walk abreast and the -wall was politely ceded to me, the other lady took the curb-stone, and -the gentleman the gutter. Be it known, however, that a Boston gutter is -merely a minor ravine, edged with wild flowers; and not a reservoir of -liquid mud or a conduit for dirty water; all the conduits in that city -being sub-terraneous, and entirely out of sight. - -We saw very old houses, some of time-discolored brick, and some of wood -in many instances unpainted, and therefore nearly black; in a few, the -second story projected far over the first. Many of the ancient frame -habitations were very large, and must have been built by people “that -were well to do in the world.” In some, the clap-boards were -ornamentally scolloped; and in many, the window frames instead of being -inserted in the wall, were put on outside, and looked as if ready to -burst forth upon us. There were primitive porches with seats in them, -sheltered by moss-grown pent-houses, some of which would have furnished -a tolerable crop of that roof-loving plant the house-leek. There were -wooden balconies, with close heavy balustrades, of the pattern that -looks like a range of innumerable narrow jugs. In some houses, the -balconies were gone, but the door-windows belonging to them, were still -there all the same; and as they now opened upon nothing, they looked -most dangerous, especially for children or somnambulists to walk out at. -There were street-doors cut horizontally in half, with steps descending -inside instead of ascending outside. Many of the houses that stood alone -had no front entrance, but ingress and egress were obtained through a -small unpretending door in the side. This seemed to be a good plan, when -the front was facing the chill blasts of the northeast. It is very -disagreeable to have your street door blown open by the violence of the -wind. - -In an early stage of “our winding way,” we came to the junction of Union -and Marshall streets, and there I saw a large square block of dark brown -stone, on one side of which was painted in white letters the words -“Boston Stone.” Supposing it to be one of the landmarks of the city, and -something memorable, I seated myself for a few moments upon it. I was -told by one of my companions, that this stone had been an object of -great controversy among certain antiquaries of the city. In newspapers a -century old there were advertisements of shopkeepers and mechanics, who, -in giving their locations, made assurance doubly sure, by stating that -they lived near the Boston Stone. Houses were announced for sale or hire -in the neighborhood of the Boston Stone. Street-fights and dreadful -accidents happened not far from the Boston Stone. What then was the -Boston Stone? How came it there, and for what purpose? There was no -mention of it in history. Patriotic picturesque people thought it was -the foundation-stone of a flag staff or a beacon-mast; and it is certain -that the top or upper surface of the block exhibited a slight circular -cavity, evidently made on purpose for something: though practical people -contended that the hollow was not deep enough to hold anything. I -cherished for two or three months the persuasion that the Boston Stone -was either a remarkable relic connected with great events, or else that -it had been placed there when the peninsula was first laid out for a -town, as a mark to designate where some place left off, and another -place began; or perhaps to denote the very centre of the settlement. But -“the shadows, clouds and darkness” that rested upon all my conjectures, -were very prosaically dispelled just before my departure from Boston, by -a most unexciting account obtained through the medium of a grandson of -“the oldest inhabitant” of that neighborhood. The real solution of the -mystery was so very natural, that none but very commonplace people would -believe it. It simply implied that a certain apothecary of the olden -time being in want of a very large mortar, and unable to obtain one -ready made, procured this block of stone and set his boys to hollowing -it out for the purpose. They made a beginning, but soon found that the -stone was too hard and the labor too great; and having taken a spite at -the obdurate block, they shoved it out of doors and left it on the -pavement in front of the shop. From hence no one took the trouble to -remove it, and finding that the neighbors began to date from its -vicinity, the apothecary’s boys made it more _distingué_ by inscribing -it with the title of the Boston Stone—How a plain tale will put us -down. - -Shortly after quitting the Boston Stone, we came to a house at the -corner of Union and Hanover streets, which was shown to me as the one in -which Dr. Franklin was born. It is of two stories, and built partly of -brick and partly of wood. The lower part was now occupied by a little -shop, with a blue bell as a sign. Adjoining it in Hanover street was a -dark low grocery store into which you descended by a step. It looked -exactly as if it had been the soap and candle shop of Josiah Franklin. -It was easy to imagine poor Ben. serving customers behind the old -counter; cutting candle-wicks into lengths; and snatching, at intervals, -a few minutes to read a little in hidden books when nobody saw him. An -aged and excellent woman, who had passed her life in this part of the -town, told me at a subsequent period, that she well remembered, when a -little girl, seeing the old corner house (the dwelling part of the -establishment,) pulled down, and the present one erected in its stead. -The original corner house had always been regarded as one of the -habitations of the Franklin family, and the adjoining old one-story shop -(now the grocery) as theirs. It seems to me highly probable that the -elder Franklin _did_ live in Milk street (as is generally believed) at -the time his son Benjamin was born, and that the infant _was_ wrapped in -a blanket and carried over the way to the old South Church to be -christened. His baptism is noted in the register of the church, and the -date is the same as that of his birth. This speedy performance of the -rite of baptism was in accordance with the custom of the times. The Milk -street house was a small two-story frame building, and was accidentally -burnt in 1810. On the spot has since been erected a three-story -furniture warehouse. It is but a few steps from the corner of Washington -street, opposite to the Old South. There was an old printing office just -back of it; and it is said that Josiah Franklin relinquished the Milk -street house to his son James the printer, and removed with his wife and -the younger children to Hanover street, and there carried on the soap -and candle business, in the dark low one-story shop that is still there: -living in the adjoining house at the corner. That the parents of -Franklin were residents of the North End at the time of their death -there can be no doubt, as they were interred in the North Burying Ground -on Copp’s Hill. Many years ago their remains were exhumed, and -transferred to the Granary burial place in Tremont street, at the -expense of several gentlemen of Boston. A neat monument of granite has -been erected upon the mound that covers their ashes; and in the front of -the little obelisk is inserted a slab of slate, a part of the original -grave stone on Copp’s Hill. This humble medallion bears the names of -Josiah Franklin and Abiah his wife, with the date of their deaths. I -regarded this monument with much interest, as reflecting back upon his -lowly but respectable parents a portion of the honor so universally -accorded to the great man their son. - -Having diverged from Hanover street to the North Square, we soon found -ourselves in front of two very old and remarkable houses; one of which -had been the residence of Governor Hutchinson, and the other of William -Clarke, a wealthy merchant of the early part of the last century. Both -were large old-fashioned buildings, their sides and chimneys overgrown -with the scarlet-flowering creeper-vine. Above the front-door of the -Hutchinson House, was the wooden balcony from which “Stingy Tommy,” as -he was disrespectfully called by the populace, sometimes addressed the -restive and stiffnecked people whom it was his hard lot to govern; and -by whom he was so much disliked, that whether he did well or ill they -were resolved not to be pleased. Perhaps the primary cause of his -unpopularity may be traced to his parsimonious habits, or at least to -the stories circulated of them. No man that is noted for a mean and -avaricious disposition ever was or ever can be liked, either in private -life or in a public capacity. However he may attempt to disguise it by -an occasional act of liberality, the sordid spirit that is in him will -be always creeping out, and exciting disgust and contempt. Yet (as is -often the case with such persons) Governor Hutchinson spent much upon -show and finery. At the time his house was sacked by the mob (when he -narrowly escaped with his life) from this balcony were thrown the -splendid brocade gowns and petticoats of his wife, with her laced caps, -and numerous ornamental articles of dress and furniture. A bonfire was -made of them in the street before the door. - -The gentleman who piloted us on this walk through the North End was -acquainted with the occupants of the Clarke House, (much the most -curious of the two,) therefore we stopped in, and were courteously shown -its principal apartments. It was built by Mr. Clarke, in the time of -Queen Anne, and was after him occupied by Sir Henry Frankland, and -called, for awhile, the Frankland House. It had a large, wide entrance -hall, with a parlor on each side. All the ceilings were much too low for -the taste of the present times; and a low ceiling always causes a room -to look smaller than it really is. The walls of the left hand parlor had -been covered with rich tapestry, over which a modern wall-paper was now -pasted. A small portion of the papering being peeled off, we saw part of -the tapestry beneath. But the other parlor had been evidently the room -of state. The floor required no carpet, for it was _parqueté_ all over -with small square pieces of American wood, comprising, as we were told, -fifty different sorts or specimens; the light-colored pieces forming the -ground-work, and the dark ones the figure or pattern. At the first -glance it resembled an oil-cloth, or rather (to adopt a very homely -comparison) it was not unlike the block-work bed quilts that our -grandmothers took such pains in making. On this floor there was a border -all round: and in the centre the marquetry represented a large swan with -a crown on its head, and a chain round its breast. This was the -cognizance of the Clarke family. Those conversant with heraldry know -that there is always a reason, either historical, traditionary, or -allegorical, for the introduction of certain strange symbols into a coat -of arms. We were told that this tesselated floor had cost fifteen -hundred dollars. The walls of the room were divided into compartments, -edged with rich gilded mouldings; each containing an oil painting, -tolerably good, but very vividly colored. The subjects were beyond our -comprehension. We did not know whether they were what the -drawing-masters call figure-pieces, or whether they were landscapes with -figures in them. - -In the room over this parlor the chimney-piece was of marble, decorated -with a rich and admirably executed carving of flowers, fruit, and Indian -corn, beautifully arranged, and descending down the sides as far as the -hearth. Above the mantle-piece was a very _mediocre_ picture, in a -narrow gilt frame, inserted in the wall. This painting represented a boy -and girl, evidently brother and sister. The boy is presenting something -that is either a peach or an apple to the girl, who is dressed in a -ruffled night-gown and sitting on the side of a couch. The young -gentleman is standing upright, habited in a rich suit of blue and gold, -ornamented at the wrist with deep cuffs of white lace. On his legs are -white silk stockings, ascending above his knees, and buskins laced with -gold cord. Neither of the children are looking towards each other, but -both are staring out of the picture, and fixing their very large eyes on -the spectator. - -We were told that Cooper had visited this house previous to commencing -Lionel Lincoln. Changing its location to Tremont street, he has -described it as the mansion of Mrs. Lechmere. - -Few of our American cities have retained their old family domiciles as -long as the town of Boston, and they attest the opulence of many of its -early inhabitants. However, they are fast disappearing; the large -portions of ground that they occupy, surrounded with their gardens and -lofty trees, having become too valuable to escape being converted to -more profitable purposes. When I first knew Boston, the spacious domain -of Gardiner Green extended along Pemberton Hill, far back of Somerset -street, including garden, shrubbery, and pasture ground, from whence I -was sometimes disturbed at night by the tinkling of a cow-bell, which -seemed to me strange in the very heart of a large city. Near it, on -Tremont street, stood, with its pilasters and tall windows, the mansion -of Jonathan Philips, looking like the residence of an old English -nobleman. It had a smooth green lawn in front, and an elevated terrace, -which was ascended by a lofty flight of stone steps, bordered with vases -of exotics; and among its fine shade trees was the beautiful mountain -ash, with its clusters of light scarlet berries. It was built, and -originally occupied, by Mr. Faneuil, uncle to the gentleman who bestowed -the town-hall on Boston. - -Next to the house of Governor Philips stood the residence of the -talented and unfortunate Sir Harry Vane, who had come over with the -early settlers, and afterwards been appointed governor of the province -of Massachusetts. He returned to England during the protectorate of -Cromwell; and after the restoration, was committed to the Tower for the -republican principles he persisted in advocating. Charles the Second had -him tried on a charge of high treason, and he was beheaded on Tower -Hill—behaving on the scaffold with the utmost composure and dignity. He -attempted to address the people, but the drums and trumpets were sounded -to drown his voice. This house of Sir Harry Vane was near two centuries -old. It was a large brick building, with a garden at the side. The -antique back casements still retained the small diamond-shaped panes set -in lead; but, when I saw the house, its front windows looked as if they -had been modernized about a century ago. - -On my last visit to Boston, about two years since, I found that all the -above-mentioned old mansions had been demolished, and their places -filled with rows of modern structures suited to the utilitarian spirit -of the times. The old Coolidge house, in Bowdoin Square, was still -standing in 1840. It also is a large brick building, the bricks much -darkened and discolored with time and damp. The house is almost hidden -by enormous old trees, which cast their impervious branches so close to -the windows that I wondered how its inhabitants could possibly see to do -anything, unless they burned lamps or candles all day long. The dense -gloominess of shade that environed this mansion, reminded me of the -commencement of one of Moore’s earliest poems. - - “The darkness that hung upon Willemberg’s walls - Has long been remember’d with grief and dismay, - For years not a sunbeam had play’d in its halls, - And it seem’d as shut out from the regions of day.” - - * * * * * - - - - - AUTUMN. - - - BY ALBERT PIKE. - - - It is the evening of a pleasant day - In these old woods. The sun profusely flings - His flood of light through every narrow way - That winds around the trees. His spirit clings, - In orange mist, around the snowy wings - Of many a patient cloud, that now, since noon, - Over the western mountains idly swings, - Waiting when night shall come—alas! too soon! - To veil the timid blushes of the virgin moon. - - The trees with crimson robes are garmented: - Clad with frail brilliants by the Autumn frost, - For the young leaves, that Spring with beauty fed, - Their greenness and luxuriance have lost, - Gaining new beauty at too dear a cost: - Unnatural beauty, that precedes decay. - Too soon, upon the harsh winds wildly toss’d, - Leaving the naked trees ghost-like and gray, - These leaf-flocks, like vain hopes, will vanish all away. - - How does your sad, yet calm and cheerful guise, - Ye melancholy Autumn solitudes, - With my own feelings softly harmonize! - For though I love the hoar and solemn woods, - In all their manifold and changing moods— - In gloom and sunshine, storm and quietness, - By day, or when the dim night on them broods; - Their lightsome glades, their darker mysteries— - Yet the sad heart loves a still, calm scene like this. - - Soon will the year like this sweet day have fled, - With swift feet speeding noiselessly and fast, - As a ghost speeds, to join its kindred dead, - In the dark realms of that mysterious vast, - The shadow-peopled and eternal past. - Life’s current deathward flows—a rapid stream, - With clouds and shadows often overcast, - Yet lighted often by a sunny beam - Of happiness, like sweet thoughts in a gloomy dream. - - Like the brown leaves, our lov’d ones drop away, - One after one, into the dark abyss - Of Sleep and Death. The frosts of Trouble lay - Their withering touch upon our happiness, - Even as the hoar frosts of the Autumn kiss - The green lip from the unoffending leaves; - And Love and Hope and Youth’s warm cheerfulness - Flit from the heart—Age lonely sits and grieves, - Or sadly smiles, while Youth fondly his day-dream weaves. - - Day draweth to its close—night cometh on— - Death standeth dimly on Life’s western verge, - Casting his shadow o’er the startled sun— - A deeper gloom, that seemeth to emerge - From gloomy night—and bending forth, to urge - His eyeless steeds, fleet as the tempest’s blast: - And hear we not eternity’s dim surge - Thundering anear? At the dread sound aghast, - Time hurries headlong, pale with frantic terror, past. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE BROTHER AND SISTER. - - - BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY. - - -In the days of my early childhood, the little village of ——, separated -by green hills and broad fields from the busy city, formed one of the -pleasantest summer resorts of the wealthy inhabitants of New York. Many -a stately villa was reared upon the banks of the Hudson, many a neat -country-house sheltered itself within the winding lanes which traversed -the village, for its vicinity to the great mart offered irresistible -temptations to those whose hands were chained to the galley of commerce, -while their hearts were still wedded to nature. One of the fairest -pictures in the “chambers of mine imagery” is that of a large -old-fashioned mansion, seated in the midst of a garden “too trim for -nature, and too rude for art,” where a long avenue of cherry trees threw -a pleasant shade across the lawn, while a rude swing, suspended between -two of these sturdy old denizens of the soil, afforded a cool and -delightful lounge to the studious and imaginative child. My earliest -days were passed in that pleasant home, and my earliest lessons of -wisdom learned in the school of that pretty village; therefore it is -that my thoughts love to linger around those scenes, and therefore it is -that I have fancied others might find something of interest in _one_ of -my reminiscences. - -My shortest road to school led through a narrow green lane, rarely -traversed by the gay vehicles which dashed along the main avenues of the -village, and I was delighted to find such a quiet and shady path, where -the turf was always so soft, and the air so fragrant with the breath of -flowers. But I was soon induced to take a wide circuit rather than pass -the solitary cottage which stood within that secluded lane. It was a low -one-story building, with a broad projecting roof, throwing the narrow -windows far into shade; and, as if to add to its sombre appearance, some -former occupant had painted the house a dull lead color, which, by the -frequent washings of the rain, and powderings of wayside dust, had -assumed the grayish tint that gave to the cottage its distinctive -appellation. Every village has its haunted house, and an evil name had -early fallen on the “gray cottage.” Behind it, and so near that three -paces from the little porch would lead a person to its very brink, was a -deep and rocky ravine, forming a basin for the waters of a rapid brook, -which, after flowing in sunshine and music through half the village, -fell with sullen plash into the gloom of this wild dell. Some dark and -half forgotten tale of guilt had added the horrors of superstition to -the natural melancholy of the place, and few of the humbler inhabitants -of the neighborhood would have been willing to stand after sunset on the -brink of the Robbers’ Glen. It was said that the house, in former times, -had been the abode of wicked and desperate men. The earth of the cellar -beneath it was heaved up with hillocks like graves, and supernatural -sounds had been heard to issue from these mysterious mounds. For many -years it had stood untenanted, and the boys of the village often amused -themselves by pelting it, at a cautious distance, with stones. - -But a “haunted house” had great attractions for the mind of one who -revelled in fancies of the wild and wonderful. I was exceedingly anxious -to behold the interior of the lonely cottage, which had now become -invested with so much dignity in my eyes, and finding a few companions -of like spirit, we determined to visit it. We accordingly fixed upon a -certain Saturday afternoon, and determined to find some means of ingress -into the barred and bolted cottage. A gay and light-hearted troop were -we, as we scrambled over rail fences, gathered our aprons full of wild -flowers, or chased the bright butterflies which mocked our glad pursuit. -But as we entered the lane our merry shouts of laughter ceased, each -looked earnestly in the face of the other, as if, for the first time, -sensible of the mysterious importance of our undertaking, and, but for -shame, several would have retraced their steps. I believe not one of us -was insensible to the gloom which seemed suddenly to fall upon us, and -as we looked towards the cottage, standing in the deep shadow of a -spreading elm, while all else within the lane was glistening in the -slant beams of the declining sun, we almost feared to approach the -darkened spot. Cautiously advancing, however, and peeping through the -rusted keyhole, we found our curiosity entirely baffled by the total -darkness of the interior. It was proposed that we should climb the fence -and attempt an entrance from the rear of the building, where we should -be less likely to be interrupted or discovered by wayfarers, and after a -brief consultation, held in hurried whispers, we resolved upon the -daring feat. Silently treading the margin of the Robbers’ Glen, we -reached the back porch of the little cottage, and beheld one of the -window shutters open. We looked into the apartment but saw nothing save -the naked walls of the dilapidated room, and as one of our party turned -the latch of the door, to our great astonishment, it yielded to the -touch and allowed us free entrance. Half frightened at our own success, -we stood huddled together in the narrow passage, hesitating to advance, -when suddenly a tall woman, clad in the deepest black, and displaying a -countenance as white and (as it seemed to our excited fancies) as -ghostly and rigid as a sheeted corpse, stood in the midst of us. How we -ever got out of the house I cannot tell. I remember our desperate speed, -the wild and headlong haste with which we threw ourselves over the low -fence, and the total exhaustion we felt when once fairly escaped from -that frightful place. As we lay on the grass, to rest before returning -home, each one told her own story of that terrible apparition. None had -heard a footstep when that fearful woman came among us; none had seen -her approach, and though the sound of our own buzzing voices, and the -fixed attention with which we were just then regarding the door of the -apartment, which we wished yet dreaded to enter, might easily account -for both these circumstances, yet we all came to the conclusion that we -had seen a ghost, or, at the least, a witch. - -On the following Sunday we were scarcely less alarmed, for, just as the -services were commencing, the same tall figure, arrayed in deep mourning -and veiled to her very feet, slowly proceeded up the aisle and took her -seat on the step of the altar. My blood ran cold as I looked upon her, -and when I afterwards heard that she had recently become the occupant of -the gray cottage, my dread of her supernatural powers gave place to a -belief that she was in some way or other mysteriously connected with the -guilty deeds of which that cottage had been the scene. I did not trouble -myself to remember that the events which had flung such horror around -the Robbers’ Glen must have occurred at least half a century previous, -and therefore could have little to do with a woman yet in the prime of -life. The curiosity which her presence excited was not confined to the -children of the village. Her tall stature, her sombre garb, her veiled -face, and her singular choice of a place of abode excited the -conjectures of many an older and wiser head. But whatever interest her -appearance had awakened, it was not destined to be satisfied. Those who, -led by curiosity or real kindness, sought to visit her, were repulsed -from the threshold; no one was allowed to enter her house; all prying -inquiries were silenced, either by stern reserve or bitter -vituperations; even the village pastor was refused admittance to her -solitude; and, after months and even years, as little was known of her -as on the day she first appeared. She lived entirely alone; once in each -week she was seen walking towards the city, and on Sunday she was -regularly to be found at the foot of the pulpit—but beyond this nothing -was to be discovered. Few, very few, had ever distinctly seen the face -whose paleness gleamed out from the folds of her thick veil, and, after -some time, the people found other objects of interest, while the -children carefully avoided all approach to the haunted cottage, and -could scarcely repress a shudder of horror as they heard the low rustle -of her dusky garments on each returning Sunday. - -Years passed on; circumstances occurred to remove me from the village, -and the various changes which the heart experiences between the period -of joyous childhood and earnest womanhood, had almost effaced from my -mind all recollection of the “black witch,” when I was unexpectedly and -rather strangely made acquainted with her true history. It was a tale of -ordinary trials and sorrows, such as might have befallen many others, -and yet there are peculiarities in the sufferings of every individual as -strongly marked as are the traits of character. There was no -supernatural interest in her story, but it invested her in my mind with -the dignity of unmerited sorrow, and it enables me to open for your -perusal, gentle reader, another of the many strange written pages of -human nature. - - * * * * * - -For more than twelve years Madeline Graham had been an only child, the -darling of her invalid mother, and the pride of her doting father, when -the birth of a brother opened a new channel for the affections of all -the family. During the earliest period of his infancy the child seemed -feebly struggling for existence, but he gradually acquired strength to -resist the frequent attacks of disease, and though he gave no promise of -robust health, his constitution seemed sufficiently invigorated to -warrant a hope of prolonged life. The most unwearied exertions, however, -were necessary, and his guidance over the very threshold of being was a -task of more difficulty than the lifelong care of a hardy and healthy -child. Yet the anxiety which his precarious state awakened, and the -constant attention which he required, seemed to endear him the more -closely to the little family. He became their idol, the object of their -incessant solicitude, and comfort, happiness, even life itself was -sacrificed to his welfare. Ere he had attained his third year, Mrs. -Graham, who had long been in declining health, sank beneath the fatigue -and anxiety she had endured, while, with her dying breath, she enjoined -upon Madeline the most devoted attention to her darling boy. Madeline -scarcely needed such admonition, for, from his very birth, her brother -had been the object of her passionate love; but such a charge, given at -such a solemn moment, sank deep into the heart of the young and -sensitive girl. Falling on her knees beside her mother, she uttered a -solemn vow that no earthly affection and no other duty should ever -induce her to place her brother’s interests secondary to her own. A -smile of grateful tenderness lit up the face of the dying woman, and her -last glance thanked Madeline for the self-sacrifice to which she had -thus unconsciously pledged herself. - -From that hour the young Alfred became his sister’s especial charge. -Young as she was, her father knew that he could trust her latent -strength of character, and when she took her brother, even as a child, -to her bosom, he felt assured that his boy would never need a mother’s -care. - -Madeline Graham was no common character. Though she had scarcely counted -her fifteenth summer, she had grown up tall and stately, with a face -almost severe in its fixed and classical beauty, while her manners, calm -almost to coldness, were scarcely such as are usually found connected -with youthful feeling and girlish simplicity. Educated solely by her -parents, Madeline had acquired some of the characteristic traits of -both. To her mother’s morbid sensibility and enthusiasm she united her -father’s reserve and fixedness of purpose. She possessed strong -passions, but an innate power of repressing them seemed born with them. -Her love for truth was unbounded; even the common courtesies of society -seemed to her but as so many fetters on the limbs of the goddess of her -idolatry, and, therefore, even in her girlhood, her manners had become -characterized by a sincerity almost amounting to _brusquerie_. Her -talents were of the highest order, and her habits of reflection, which -were singularly developed in one so young, enabled her to reap a rich -harvest of knowledge from her father’s careful culture. She was one to -be admired, and praised, and wondered at, but she was scarcely -calculated to awaken affection. The spontaneous gush of feeling, the -guileless frankness of a heart that knows no evil and dreads no danger, -the warm sympathy of a youthful nature, the sweet susceptibility which, -though dangerous to its possessor, is yet so winning a trait of girlish -character—all these attributes, which seem to belong to the spring-time -of life, even as the buds and blossoms are inseparably connected with -the renewed youth of the visible creation, were wanting to Madeline. - -But it was from the religious opinions of her parents that the deepest -tint of coloring was imparted to the mind of Madeline. Mrs. Graham, a -lineal descendant of one of the sternest and most intolerant of the -puritans, had early united herself to one of the strictest of strict -sects, and had been accustomed to practise a system of self-denial as -rigid, if not quite as visible, as the penances of cloistered austerity. -The impulses of innocent gaiety, the promptings of harmless vanity, the -wanderings of youthful fancy were regarded by her only as evidences of a -sinful nature, which ought to awaken remorse as keen as that which -visits the penitent bosom of deep-dyed guilt. In the enthusiasm of her -early zeal she seemed lifted above the weaknesses of humanity, and even -the gray-headed members of the Christian community looked upon her as a -chosen servant of the truth. But her excitement had been too great; the -hour of reaction came, and it was when lukewarmness and weariness had -taken full possession of her feelings for a season, that she first met -with her future husband. Ever in extremes, an earthly passion now -absorbed the heart which had consumed its energies in zeal without -knowledge, and she married Mr. Graham without allowing herself to look -upon the broad line of separation which lay between them. Had she ever -made religion a question she would have learned the fact; for if good -taste forbade him to obtrude his opinions upon others, yet love of truth -prevented him from seeking to conceal them. Mr. Graham was a skeptic. -The great truths of revealed religion were to him but as fables to amuse -the multitude; and while in the works of creation he recognised the hand -of a Deity, he read not in the hearts of men the necessity of a -Redeemer. Mrs. Graham was horror-stricken when she discovered that her -husband was not a Christian, and in proportion as the ardor of youthful -passion faded into the tender light of conjugal affection, the terrible -abyss which yawned between them became more painfully visible to her -sight. The attempt to change his opinions again awakened her slumbering -zeal, and with all the penitence of one who was conscious of having -fallen from a state of elevated piety, she endeavored to make amends for -her temporary alienation by renewed devotion. But her system of ascetic -severity was little calculated to make religion attractive to her -husband. The “beauty of holiness” was hidden beneath the sackcloth and -ashes with which her mistaken judgment endued it, and Mr. Graham learned -to look upon her piety as the _one defect_, rather than the _crowning -grace_, in his wife’s character. Her sincere affection, and a desire to -preserve domestic harmony, at length compelled her to give up all -attempts to change her husband’s opinions, and she was therefore doomed -to cherish a secret sorrow which wasted her very life away. The ascetic -devotion which seemed so unlovely to the husband, produced a very -different effect upon the imagination of Madeline. Accustomed to regard -her mother as the best of human beings, she early learned to reverence -and imitate her fervent zeal. Her reserve of character induced her to -conceal her impressions even from the mother who labored to deepen them, -and no one suspected the severe self-discipline which, even in -childhood, she practised in imitation of her parent’s example. Her -father, who, while despising Christianity, yet paid it the involuntary -homage of considering it a very proper safeguard for women and children, -did not attempt to interfere in her religious education. He contented -himself with cultivating the field of mind, and left her mother to sow -her moral nature with the tares of prejudice along with the seed of true -piety. - -Madeline had scarcely attained her twentieth year when a sudden and -violent illness deprived her of her father, and left her the sole -guardian of her young brother. Upon looking into Mr. Graham’s affairs, -it was found that his profession had only procured for him a comfortable -subsistence, and, as his income died with him, the orphans were almost -penniless. The small house which they had long occupied, together with -its furniture and a library of some value, were all that remained. To -convert these into money was Madeline’s first care, and her next step -was to invest the amount thus obtained in the name of her brother, as a -fund for his education and future subsistence. For herself she seemed to -have no anxieties, and with a degree of disinterestedness, as rare as it -was praiseworthy, she determined to derive her own maintenance from the -labor of her hands. With characteristic energy she made all her -arrangements without consulting any one, or asking the advice of her -father’s best friends. The bold self-reliance which formed her most -striking and least amiable trait was now fully developed, and she felt -no need of other aid than that of her own strong mind. She had a deep -design to work out in future—a darling scheme to mature—a hope, which -in her stern nature assumed the form of a determination to compass, and -all sacrifices seemed light which could aid her to a successful issue. -Need I add, that her brother was the object of all her future -aspirations. - -Alfred Graham had already given evidence of precocious genius which -seemed fully to justify Madeline’s ambition. Nature in his case had -displayed her usual compensating kindness, and since she had bestowed on -him a dwarfed and diminutive form, a delicate and fragile body, made -amends by giving him a countenance of almost feminine beauty, and a mind -filled with the most exquisite perceptions. He was born a poet. His -fervid feelings, his nervous temperament, his delicate sense of beauty -in the moral and physical world—even the very fragility of constitution -which shut him out from the rude conflicts of real life, and confined -him within the limits of the fairyland of reverie—all seemed to point -out his future vocation. Too young to frame in numbers the fancies of -his childish hours, he yet breathed into his sister’s ear the eloquent -words of pure and passionless enthusiasm, and Madeline’s heart thrilled -with high hopes of his future glory. But she did not suffer nature to -direct his course. Long ere the child had seriously commenced the work -of education, she had destined him to become an apostle of Christianity -to the benighted world of paganism. Imaginative, high minded, stern, and -self-sacrificing, Madeline was just such a woman as in the olden time -might have embroidered the cross upon the mantle of her best beloved -one, and sent him forth to fight the battles of the holy church. But the -missionary of modern days has a far more difficult and therefore far -nobler office to perform. Amid belted knights and men-at-arms to do -battle with myriads of the Paynim foe is a lighter task than that which -falls upon him, who goes forth alone and single handed to face the more -insidious foes of ignorance and sin amid the blinded and perverse -heathen. Yet such was the high and holy duty to which Madeline destined -her brother, while her own ambition was limited to the hope of being the -companion of his toils and his labors. She looked forward to the time -when they should go forth hand in hand into the howling wilderness of -superstition, with the gospel as a light to their feet and a lamp to -their path, while they scattered the blessings of truth among the -benighted idolaters of distant lands. - -As Alfred advanced in life he learned the full extent of his sister’s -sacrifices for his welfare. He saw her relinquishing all the -intellectual pleasures she had once enjoyed, and devoting herself day -and night to the humble labors of the needle. He noticed her attention -to his most trifling wishes, and he did not fail to observe that while -his dress was of the neatest and finest texture, and his food of the -delicate kind which best suited the capricious appetite of an invalid, -Madeline practised the strictest economy in all that affected only her -own individual comfort. Yet Alfred did not love Madeline with the entire -affection which could alone repay her devotedness. There was too much -awe, too much fear blended with his feelings towards her. Her strong -mind and stern integrity seemed ever ready to rebuke the vacillating -temper and morbid sensibility of the youth. Superior to temptations -which had no power over herself, she had little charity for the failings -of another; and the boyish errors, often but the earliest trial of -principles which the world will hereafter put to a far more severe -test—were regarded by her as heavy sins. Educated in the seclusion of -home, she could not imagine the dangers which beset a boy from his first -entrance into the miniature world of a large school. Instead of -rewarding with her approbation the first struggles of principle with -passion in the youthful heart, she seemed only shocked and mortified -that any conflict should have been necessary, and was more keenly -sensible to the weakness which had required defence, than to the -strength which had offered resistance. Such mistaken views of character -soon checked the flow of confidence between them. Alfred could not open -his whole heart to one who was incapable of comprehending all his -feelings, and though he never needed a mother’s care, he early learned -the want of a mother’s sympathy. - -Madeline had seen sufficient proofs of Alfred’s facile temper and -instability of purpose to dread his introduction into scenes of greater -temptation, and, vainly fancying that he would be safer any where than -in the busy city, she preferred that he should enter a distant college. -At the age of seventeen he was removed from his sister’s influence to -enter upon his new course of studies, and although at first truly -unhappy at this separation from his only relative, it was not long -before the absence of her keen eye and stern rebuke became a positive -relief to him. Hitherto his life had passed amid the sombre shades of -domestic life, and with all Madeline’s noble traits of character, she -lacked the tact, so truly feminine, which enables a woman to throw -sunshine around the humblest home. The cheerful song, the pleasant jest, -the merry voice, the bright smile, the buoyant step—all the lighter -graces without which a woman’s character, however elevated and noble, is -but as a Corinthian column without its capital, or as a rose without its -perfume—were wanting to the unbending nature of Madeline. The world was -to her a scene of probation and preparation, and to waste a thought upon -enlivening its grave duties seemed to her as idle as planting flowers -around a sepulchre. When therefore Alfred found himself amid a throng of -young men from every part of the country—some ambitious of renown, some -fond of study for its own sake, some utterly careless of present duties, -some slothful and indifferent to honor, but all equally alive to -pleasurable excitement and equally eager in the pursuit of amusement, he -felt as if he had suddenly been transported to a world of which he had -never dreamed. His susceptible temper rendered him an easy prey to the -lures of gay society. Intellectual enjoyments mingled their pure odors -with the fumes of the wine cup, and the refinements of elegant taste -served to veil the native deformity of vice, until, long before he had -learned the danger of his position, he was bound in the strong toils of -sensual indulgence. Full of intellect, and wonderfully acute in his -perceptions, he soon became distinguished for his genius, and the heart -of his sister was often gladdened by tidings of his success. But she -knew not that he was drinking from more turbid waters than those which -flow from the fountain of wisdom—she dreamed not that the offering -which she hoped to bring pure and unpolluted to the altar of Heaven was -already blemished and unworthy to be presented. - -Alfred Graham was not designed by nature to be a votary of evil. -Temptation had found him weak to resist, but conscience was still true -to her charge, and the youth was as free from habitual vice as he was -destitute of unsullied virtue. When the vacations brought him to his -quiet home, the better feelings of his nature were ever aroused; he -respected the virtue of his sister’s character, and when surrounded by -that pure atmosphere which envelopes real goodness, he forgot even to -harbor a sinful thought. But day by day the profession to which he was -destined became more repugnant to his feelings, and after deferring as -long as possible the announcement of his wishes, he at length summoned -courage to reveal the truth to his sister. The blow fell upon Madeline -with almost stunning violence. He had just left college crowned with -honors and flushed with success, and Madeline was exulting in the hope -of his future usefulness, when he revealed to her his change of purpose. -The first intimation of his unwillingness to devote himself to the -church, almost drove her to frenzy. All the violence of her secret -nature broke forth in the fearful threats of temporal and eternal -punishment which she predicted for such apostacy, and Alfred’s feeble -temper was actually crushed beneath the weight of her indignation. He -trembled at the storm which he had raised, and when, after days of -entreaty and expostulation, Madeline, the stern, proud Madeline, even -knelt at his feet, and implored the child of her affections to listen to -the voice of God, speaking by the lips of her who had ever been as a -mother to his heart, the weak youth yielded to her prayers and promised -what he well knew he could not conscientiously perform. His was not the -free-will offering of talents and time and health and strength in the -service of the Redeemer. He entered the sanctuary as one driven onward -by irresistible force, not as one drawn by the cords of love and piety. - -Time passed on and taught Alfred a lesson of deep hypocrisy. His timid -and feeble nature could neither resist the influence of evil nor brave -its consequences, and therefore it was that the fair face of the youth -became more and more characterized by sanctity in proportion as his -heart became less susceptible of its influences. Happy is it for mankind -that the eye rarely pierces beneath the veil which conceals the hideous -depravity of the heart. Who but would have shrunk from the delicate -beauty of Alfred’s gentle countenance—who but would have shuddered at -the contemplation of those clear blue eyes, that feminine complexion, -the delicate rose tint of his thin cheek, and the exceeding loveliness -of his chiselled and flexible lips, if the dark mass of evil thoughts -which lay beneath that fair seeming, could have been discerned. Yet -Alfred was far from being happy. Unstable as water, he had no power over -his own impulses, and remorse preyed upon him, even while he sought to -drown his senses in indulgence. Conscience was his perpetual tormentor, -and yet a constant course of sinning and repenting left him neither time -nor will to struggle effectually with his errors. - -But a still darker change came upon his character. His health, which had -several times required a suspension of his studies, began again to fail, -a short time before the period fixed upon for his ordination, and he -eagerly seized the opportunity of deferring the dreaded ordeal. The -physicians ordered perfect relaxation from all mental labors, and -unfortunately for his future peace, the listlessness of unwonted -idleness led him to examine a chest of old papers, the accumulated -records of many years, where he accidentally met with a catalogue of his -father’s library. Alfred was so young at the time of his father’s death -that he retained little recollection of him, and Madeline had carefully -kept him in ignorance of those skeptical opinions which had so grieved -both mother and daughter. It was with no little surprise, therefore, -that Alfred found the names of so great a number of infidel works among -his father’s books. He pondered long upon the subject, and at length -conjectured the truth. This excited his interest, and a vague curiosity, -awakened rather by a belief in his sister’s desire to conceal from him -his father’s opinions, led him secretly to procure the prohibited -volumes. Upon the feeble mind of one who was “blown about by every wind -of doctrine,” and who yearned after worldly pleasures while he shrunk -with unutterable disgust from religious duties, the subtleties of the -skeptics had a most fatal effect. He had never been well grounded in the -faith, and the doubts now suggested to his mind were exactly such things -as in his present state of feeling he would gladly have adopted as -truths. These six months of respite from theological studies were spent -in the careful perusal of all skeptical writings, and when Alfred -resumed his former pursuits the plague spot of infidelity had already -given evidence of the fatal disease which was spreading over his moral -nature. - -If my tale were designed only for the eye of the student of human -nature, I might dwell long upon the strange incongruity of feeling and -action, the wonderful contrariety between principle and practice, and -all the complicated workings of a wayward heart, which characterized the -deceptive course of the young student. With his usual timid hypocrisy he -concealed every real feeling, every genuine impulse. His conduct was -apparently irreproachable, his principles seemed unimpeachable, and he -even schooled himself to come forward and enrol himself beneath the -banner of the cross, when he was but too conscious that he had already -trampled the holy emblem beneath his feet. Why did he carry his deceit -to such an awful extent? Alas! who can tell just where the waves of sin -may stay their whelming force? He feared the world’s dread laugh at his -apostacy, he shrunk from the scorn of all good men, and, above all, his -mind absolutely cowered at the thought of his sister’s bitter wrath. So -he buried his secret within his own bosom, and trusting to some future -chance to rescue him from the irksome duties of his profession, prepared -himself for the ceremony of ordination. But he was not yet sensible of -the terrible power of Conscience. - -The day came, and, as usual, crowds were assembled to witness the -dedication of the youthful candidates. The two young men—for Alfred had -a companion, a pious, humble-minded, meek-hearted youth—stood before -the altar to offer their vows. Madeline, the weeping but happy -Madeline—who had sacrificed her youth and health and beauty, aye and -the hopes ever dearest to a woman’s heart, to this one darling hope—was -there too, and as she looked on her brother bending before the altar, -while his bright curls just caught one straggling sunbeam which shed a -glory around his youthful brow, she was heard to murmur “Lo, here am I, -Lord, and the child which thou hast given me.” - -The services commenced—the prayers of the congregation had arisen to -Heaven, the incense of praise had floated upward on the solemn melody of -the organ, the exhortation to the candidates had been affectionately -uttered by an aged pastor, and the moment came when the presentation of -the two was made to the Bishop by the officiating clergyman. The solemn -appeal was then uttered— - -“_Brethren, if there be any of you who knoweth any impediment or any -notable crime on either of these persons for the which he ought not to -be admitted to the holy office, let him come forth in the name of God -and show what the crime or impediment is._” - -At these words a sudden terror seemed to seize upon Alfred Graham. His -frame shook with suppressed emotion, his countenance became livid, and -his fine features were strangely contorted as if some sudden pang had -convulsed him. The next instant he uttered a faint cry and fell -prostrate to the ground, while his very life-blood was poured at the -foot of the altar which he had dared to touch with polluted hands. - -He was borne to his home in utter insensibility. The sting of conscience -had finished the work which disease had long since begun, and the -rupture of a blood-vessel in the lungs had been the consequence of his -unnatural excitement and self-command. All that medical skill could -effect was tried, but without success, and ere the lapse of another day -it was known that Alfred Graham was sinking into the arms of death. -There was no time for repentance—no time to combat prejudices and -awaken better impulses. He lay as if in the deep torpor of -insensibility, until aroused by some cordial administered by his -physician, when his strength seemed to rally, and raising himself on his -pillow, he addressed his sister in words which fell like molten lead -upon her heart. With all the eloquence of passion he poured forth a wild -confession of his errors and his doubts, and then, in language equally -fervid but far more bitter, he reproached her—_her_ who had devoted her -whole life to his welfare—as the cause of all his guilt. He accused her -of having crushed his timid spirit by sternness and unbending rigor—of -having taught him hypocrisy by her fierce contempt for his -weaknesses—of having killed him by forcing him to a profession which he -hated and contemned. - -“I am not mad, Madeline,” he exclaimed, in a hoarse voice, broken by his -difficult and long-drawn breath, “I am not mad, but so surely as I am -now stretched upon the bed of death, so surely has your ambition and -your mistaken zeal laid me here to die. I seek not to excuse myself, and -may God forgive me my many secret sins; but never, never would my soul -have been so deeply stained had it not been for your unrelenting -indignation at my boyish follies, and your determined will in the choice -of my future destiny. I forgive you, Madeline, but you will not forgive -yourself.” - -The exertion of uttering these terrible words was too great, and ere the -sounds yet died upon the ear of the horror-stricken sister, the spirit -of the misguided youth had gone to its dread account. - -From that hour Madeline was utterly and entirely changed. Whatever were -her feelings she shared them with none, but shrunk alike from question -and sympathy. Those dying reproaches, unjust as she felt them to be, -were yet engraven in ineffacable characters upon her heart, and with a -feeling akin to the mistaken austerity which punishes the body for the -sins of the soul, she resolved to make her future life a penance for her -involuntary error. Lonely and desolate, she took up her abode in a place -well suited to her embittered and almost misanthropic feelings. For more -than ten years the gray cottage was her abode, and the labors of the -seamstress furnished her scanty subsistence. During all that period not -a creature was ever admitted beyond the threshold of her door, and all -curiosity about her had quite subsided long before the termination of -her lonely career. At length she was missed from her usual lowly seat in -church. A second Sabbath came, and still the black and veiled form of -the recluse was not seen. Common humanity demanded some inquiry into her -fate, and after several vain attempts to procure admission into the -cottage, the door was forced. Upon a truss of straw, in one corner of -the desolate chamber, lay the emaciated form of the unfortunate -Madeline, stiff, and cold, and ghastly, as if days had passed since the -spirit had escaped from its clay tenement. She died as she had lived, -lonely, and unknown, for it was not until years had elapsed that I heard -the story of the brother and the sister from the lips of one who had -known them in early days; while other incidental circumstances enabled -me to identify Madeline Graham with the tall “_weird woman_” who had so -terrified my childish fancy. - -The erring brother sleeps beneath the shadow of the sanctuary, in ground -still consecrated by holy usage, but all trace of the hapless sister has -vanished from the earth. The village graveyard is now a populous -highway, bordered by tall houses and traversed by busy feet, while the -green hillock which once marked the burial place of Madeline Graham has -long since been crushed beneath the weight of pavements, echoing to the -noisy tread of many a thoughtless wayfarer. - -Alas, for human love! and, alas, for human error! How dreary and -desolate would seem many a scene of unmerited suffering did we not know -that there is a brighter world, where all tears shall be wiped from all -eyes, and where there shall be no sorrow nor sighing through an eternity -of happiness! - - * * * * * - - - - - TO AN INFANT IN THE CRADLE. - - - BY REV. GEORGE B. CHEEVER. - - - Thou lovely miniature of Nature’s painting! - Thy beauty mingles care with my delight. - These colors are to grow: not like the fainting, - Soft, dying hues, that mark the eve’s twilight— - But evermore renewed, as if the dawn, - With its deep rosy tinge, instead of fading, - Ran hand in hand with the bright dewy morn, - The sky by sunlight with all colors shading. - - These colors are to grow, from where, an infant, - Thou sleepest cradled by thy mother’s side, - On through thy childhood’s beauty, every instant, - To maiden loveliness—thy mother’s pride. - And she will guide the pencil, hers the art - To deepen Nature’s lineaments, or alter: - To image Heaven or Earth upon the heart— - What if her love should err, her pencil falter! - - O! ’tis a sacred, sweet and fearful duty - To train these earth-born spirits for the skies! - To keep this household flower green in its beauty, - Till it in Paradise transplanted rise. - May He, who took the nurslings in his arms, - Keep thee and thine, his richest grace revealing, - Hid, as his Pilgrims, from the world’s alarms, - Where quiet brooks in pastures green are stealing! - - * * * * * - - - - - WILL NOBODY MARRY ME? - - - A COMIC SONG. - - - BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. - - - Heigh-ho! for a husband!—heigh-ho! - There’s danger in longer delay!— - Shall I never again have a beau? - Will nobody marry me, pray? - I begin to feel strange, I declare! - With beauty my prospects will fade!— - I’d give myself up to despair - If I thought I should die an old maid! - - I once cut the beaux in a huff!— - I thought it a sin and a shame - That no one had spirit enough - To ask me to alter my name! - So I turned up my nose at the short, - And rolled up my eyes at the tall; - But then I just did it in sport, - And now I’ve no lover at all! - - These men are the plague of my life!— - ’Tis hard from so many to choose!— - Should one of them wish for a wife, - Could I have the heart to refuse? - I don’t know—for none have proposed! - Oh, dear me!—I’m frightened, I vow! - Good gracious!—whoever supposed - That I should be single till now? - - * * * * * - - - - - TROPICAL BIRDS. - - - BY PARK BENJAMIN. - - -Beautiful are the Birds of the Tropics. Bright, clear, sparkling, -brilliant is their plumage. It is steeped in “all the hues that gild the -rainbow.” I seek in vain for epithets by which to convey a thought of -their surpassing beauty. Had I, dear reader, the pencil of Audubon, I -might show you what they are in repose; but repose does not display -their loveliness in its perfection. They are most charming to behold -when in motion—when their many vivid colors contrast with the deep -green of the forests, in which they live and hold their jocund revels. - -Not many years ago, I passed a winter—or, I might better say, the first -months of the year—in the Northern part of South America, where these -birds abound. There, was I often delighted by these “exquisite, gay -creatures of the element.” They seemed to me like so many winged jewels, -as they glanced about in the rays of a dazzling sun. But let me not -indulge too much in fanciful allusions, lest I should reluctantly enter -upon the real purpose I have in view in preparing this article: which is -to offer some account of Tropical Birds, so that the reader may be -attracted to the study of their Natural History. It appears to me that -our American periodicals have too much of the _dulce_ and too little of -the _utile_. It is well, sometimes, to mingle the useful with the -agreeable even in works of taste: I may fail in my attempt to do so in -this place, but I shall at least deserve the credit of having made the -attempt. - -Doubtless many of my readers have in their possession certain glass -cases in which specimens of birds with variegated plumage, having -undergone the art of the taxidermist, are arranged on artificial trees -or bushes as ornaments for the drawing room. There are many persons in -Guiana, who make it their business to kill and prepare these birds, so -that they may adorn the halls of Natural History Societies or private -cabinets. Some birds, which fly about the houses or plantations, are -easily obtained; but those, upon which most value is set, live in -distant wilds and woods, and are procured with great difficulty and only -by individuals long practised in the art. Great caution must be observed -in approaching, and greater skill in shooting them; for they must be -slain so skilfully that their feathers shall not be torn nor their color -spoiled by an effusion of blood from the wound. When one, who is -unskilful, tears or disfigures his birds, he makes up one specimen out -of two or more individuals of the same species. Thus, upon a close -examination, you may often detect the wings of one bird joined to the -body of another, or, perhaps, an old head upon young shoulders. But the -worst piece of trickery, and one which renders the specimen wholly -valueless to an ornithologist, is the altering of the natural color of -the bird by fire. I have seen many a brilliant specimen exceedingly -admired, which obtained a false lustre in this manner. - -There seems to be no limit to the wonderful varieties of these birds. -Every day brings to view some new species, which outvies its compeers in -the grace of its form and the brilliancy of its plumage. The adventurous -bird-seeker will penetrate deeper and deeper into the solitudes of those -vast forests, which, in primitive grandeur, lift up their leafy columns -and form umbrageous temples in the heart of the Southern continent. -Those lovely and still unexplored domains are the probable haunts of -thousands and thousands of birds of dazzling beauty. The clear beams of -the sun, glinting through the leaves of mighty trees, play among colors, -as various and as shifting as those of gems. No human eye, save that of -some Indian hunter who may have lost his homeward way, has gazed upon -these strange, bright creatures; and the most fantastic imagination may -vainly endeavor to paint those tribes of the air which have lived in -their safe retreats, undisturbed save by one another and the war of the -elements, since light first dawned upon creation. - -Among the various little birds, black, yellow and red, which may be -observed in the midst of the sugar canes and in the many trees of -orange, mango and lemon, there is a tribe, called Tyrants, which is very -extensive. Great numbers are constantly seen. They are about the size of -our robin. One species is called “the butcher bird,” and most -appropriately, since it pounces upon and slaughters its prey with -tyrannical cruelty. It is said to be of service to the planter in -destroying grubs and insects, upon which it seizes in the manner of a -hawk. It first strikes its prey with its _bill_ (like a dun) and then -grasps it in its claws so instantaneously afterward, that the most acute -observation alone can enable one to decide on the priority of the -action. Its bill is of moderate length (unlike a tailor’s) compressed -and sharp. Its head is black and all its body is white, save the outer -feathers of the wings and tail, which are black. This family of -“Tyrants,” of which the butcher bird is an influential member, has very -extensive connections; but as they are distinguished neither for beauty -nor behavior (“handsome is that handsome does”) and can be very easily -“got round,” no great consequence is attached to their possession. - -The next most numerous tribe is one whose habits and characteristics are -widely dissimilar—the Parrots. These exhibit plumage of the most -diversified hues; but the predominating is bright green. This is often -set off and contrasted by black, lilac, pink, orange, violet and blue. -It is impossible to tell how many species have been discovered; for our -traveller refers the specimen which he has obtained to some former -description, and then points out the differences. “This,” says one, “is -the _blue_ parrot; our specimens, however, are bright _lilac_, with -_red_ spots on the back, between the wings”—a remark which, were it -made by a native of the Emerald Isle, would be called a bull; but the -fact, nevertheless, may be as true as the somewhat notorious one that -“black-berries are red when they are green.” - -The parrots are of all sizes from the macaw or ava, down to the smallest -paroket. The common green parrot, which is known in the United States, -and taught to speak, is of the medium size. The best and clearest -whistle is uttered by the homely brown parrot, which is brought from -Africa. It is likewise the most docile. These birds resemble humanity in -other respects besides the faculty of speech; some are hopelessly -stupid, while others take to learning very kindly. Curious stories are -told of their powers of articulation. The smallest kind, which cannot -live in our climate, are sometimes very successfully educated. The -manager of a plantation, which I visited, owned a little parrot, which -used to reside in a cage at the door of his house. As I rode up, I was -agreeably astonished by hearing the polite bird very considerately sing -out, “Boy, take the gentleman’s horse—boy, why the deuse don’t you take -the horse!” - -The largest kind is the macaw. It is a huge, clumsy _thing_, with a head -out of all proportion to its body, (“great head, little wit;”) its -plumage is for the most part red, interspersed with green and blue. The -noise which it makes is most horribly discordant; and its loudest yell -is very like an Indian war-whoop, (one of Mr. Cooper’s;) yet is this -monster a great favorite in the West Indies, and, as you pass the -residences of the inhabitants, you often see three or four of these ugly -wretches clambering awkwardly up the piazzas, and uttering their hoarse, -scolding cries, ten times more grating to the ear than the objurgations -of a Xantippe, heard above the shrieks of her castigated offspring. The -hardihood of these birds is surprising. There was one of them on board -of a small vessel, in which it was my ill fortune to voyage from the -mainland to the island of Barbadoes. Mr. Macaw, like a militia major in -red and blue uniform, would strut about on the lower rigging, and, as -soon as he could get near enough to the ear of a sailor, would utter one -of his shrillest and most appalling yells. Jack Tar, in his summary -method of dealing vengeance, would fetch him a blow with a handspike, -that would send him flapping to the quarter-deck; perhaps, with an utter -disregard of decorum and discipline, into the very face and eyes of the -surly old captain, who, in his rage, would beat him soundly; yet would -the valiant and stalwart feathered marine regard those lusty strokes no -more than would a pet goldfinch the taps of his lady’s fan. - -Some species of parrots exist in almost every region; the smallest and -most beautiful, however, are found only in tropical countries. They are -seldom seen near thickly populated places, but can be procured with -facility in the woods adjacent, where they live in tolerable fellowship -with their mischievous neighbors, the monkeys. - -Another numerous tribe of tropical birds is known by the name of -Chatterers. I do not know what they are called by the ornithologists; -but thus are they designated by the inhabitants, from the peculiar -sounds which they utter, (being not unlike those of a congress of -spinsters, sitting in committee of the whole on some grand question of -scandal.) They are distinguished by the epithets—red-breasted, -purple-throated, firebirds, pumpadore, red-headed, gold-headed, -white-throated, white-capped, purple-shouldered, and Mahometan. The -first five migrate; the last five stay at home. Of the former, the -firebird is so named from the fact that, in stuffed specimens, the color -is sometimes changed by the application of fire. Its natural hue is a -dark crimson, but it is susceptible of being changed, by the application -of heat, into a rich vermilion. Of the latter, the purple-shouldered is -the most rare and the most beautiful. The upper parts of its wings or -shoulders are the deepest purple; the remainder of the wings is -interspersed with blue, and they end in black. Its back is blue mingled -with black; its breast is a delicate blue, and the lower part of its -neck is a dark crimson. I describe the male bird only; for (unlike -bipeds _without_ feathers) it monopolises the beauty of the species. The -female is very plain, though there seems to be a certain winning modesty -about her, for all her homely looks. The sumptuously attired male, -(“Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these,”) if his -choice of a partner were left to himself—which I doubt—must have been -guided by a taste as unsophisticated as that of the praiseworthy -Cock-Robin, when he courted Jenny Wren, who - - “Always wore her old brown gown, - And never dressed so fine!” - -While on the subject of homeliness, I may as well conclude it by -alluding to a bird, which, on account of its hideousness, the negroes -call “Old Witch.” What a very mortifying circumstance it must be to be -so ugly, when every body else is so bewitchingly fair! Don’t you think -so, Miss Smith? (I do not mean the Miss Smith, who is reading this -article, but another.) - -Before passing to an account of the third and last family, which I shall -try to describe—being by far the most numerous, the strangest, and the -most charming of all the tropical birds—I will detain the reader for a -moment with an account of two rare species of water birds. They are in -general so classed, because, like rails, they frequent reedy ponds and -marshes and the borders of streams. I select these two species, because -the one is very curious and the other is of a kind with which classical -associations are connected, and because they admirably serve to show how -wide and fertile a field of interesting investigation lies before the -student in this particular realm of Natural History. - -The curious species is the Jacana. It is doubtful whether it should be -classed with land or water birds; it resembles the latter in its nature, -its habits, the form of its body, the shape of its bill, and the -diminutiveness of its head; it differs essentially, however, from all -others of the class, in the curious spurs which protrude from its wings; -its claws are very long and slender, and its nails very pointed and -sharp—hence has been derived its name, “The Surgeon.” It is exceedingly -wild and can be caught only by stratagem. These birds are of various -colors: some dark, tinged with violet; some green; some black; some -dusky red. Their flight is very rapid, and their cry sharp and shrill. -They travel in pairs, frequenting the borders of rivers and deep -marshes. That which is particularly singular about the Jacana is the -manner in which it is armed; when it strikes with its wings, it must do -considerable execution; it does not seem to be happily called the -Surgeon, for its instruments are rather intended to kill than cure. - -The classical species is called by moderns, “the Sultana Hen.” It is the -smallest of that genus, which was named by the ancients Porphyry—in -Greek, Πορφυριωι—in Latin, _Porphyrio_. Aristotle describes it as a -fissiped bird, with long feet, a blue plumage, with a very strongly set, -purple-colored bill, and of about the size of a domestic cock. Some old -writers, in describing this bird, have said that one of its feet was -furnished with membranes, and made to swim like a water-bird’s, and that -the other was fissiped, so that it might run like a land-bird. This is -not only untrue, but contrary to nature, and signifies no more than that -the porphyry or pelican is a bird of the shore, living on the confines -of land and water. It was easily tamed, and was very pleasing on account -of its noble carriage, its fine form, its plumage brilliant and rich in -colors of mingled blue and purple and aquamarine, its docile nature, and -its happy facility of agreeing with any companions among whom its lot -might be cast. It was held in the highest esteem by both Greeks and -Romans; they never suffered it to be eaten; they sent to Lybia for it; -always treated it with kindness, and placed it in their palaces and -temples, as worthy to dwell there on account of the nobleness of its -port, the sweetness of its temper, and the beauty of its plumage. The -largest of the species, now known as “the sultana hen,” is precisely the -same as the ancient porphyrio. The smallest is called “the little -sultana hen.” Her _petite_ majesty is very queenly, but is, no doubt, as -well satisfied with the modern name by which she is dignified, as she -would be with that which the Greeks gave to the tall highnesses of her -very old and royal family. Her robe of state is a brilliant changeable -blue and green; and it has never gone out of fashion. - -Having thus given an unsystemized and rather imperfect account of a few -species of tropical birds, I pass on to treat of the most marvellous and -most beautiful tribe of plumed creatures that float in the invisible -atmosphere. There have been more than a hundred species already -discovered, and every naturalist, who visits the equatorial regions of -this Western World, adds a new name to the splendid schedule of -HUMMING-BIRDS.[2] From their delicate structure, these tiny birds cannot -endure the rigors of our climate, where there are very few of those -gorgeous plants, upon which they banquet in tropical latitudes. There, -when the warm sun calls into life myriads of flowers, vast numbers of -humming-birds visit the fields and gardens every morning, and mingle -their golden-green tints in gleaming contrast with the white and -rose-colored blossoms, that cluster on the vines above the traveller’s -head, or spring luxuriantly at his feet. They seem, as they dart rapidly -around, humming their faintly heard tunes, to be the very Pucks and -Ariels of the light, and each night take up the burden of the fairy -song, sung at the feast of Titania, - - Over hill, over dale, - Through bush, through brier, - Over park, over pale, - Through flood, through fire, - I do wander every where, - Swifter than the moon’s sphere. - -For, at one moment, you behold “the fine apparition” before the cup of a -flower, and at the next he is gone - - “To drink the air before him and return - Or ere your pulse twice beat.” - -The bright little beings must own the very best secret of the fairies; -for none, so well as they, - - “Know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, - Where oxslips and the nodding violet grows, - Quite over canopied with luscious woodbine, - With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.” - -But alas! however elfin-like and ethereal their forms appear, they share -the fate of mortals. They are easily caught by nets thrown over them, or -killed by very fine shot or sand. I have seen some very splendid -collections. I remember one, comprising seventy-two species—from the -king of the humming-birds, as he is called, with his topaz and emerald -crown, to one so small that, when on the wing, it could scarcely be -visible. When the glass case, in which they were arranged in too studied -an order, was held in the sunshine, their myriad colors would gleam and -flash with a brilliancy as perfect as that of the many gems, after which -they are prettily named. An enumeration of some of their names will -convey an idea of their appearance—sapphire-throated, ruby-throated, -sapphire and emerald, amethystine, topaz-throated; then there are the -purple, tri-colored, violet-tufted, violet-crowned, blue-fronted, the -superb, the magnificent, the sabre-winged. And there is one which must -have been bestowed by some ornithological phrenologist, who had great -skill in interpreting “the natural language” of birds—the supercilious -humming-bird. The largest species yet discovered is that which is called -the gigantic, and the smallest, as I believe, is one that Sir William -Jardine describes as Gould’s humming-bird. - -The gigantic is in remarkable contrast to the rest of his tribe, both in -size and in the color of his plumage. He is not only the largest but the -homeliest, while the smallest is the most beautiful. The gigantic (the -monster!) is nearly eight inches in length; the crown, the back, the -under and lesser wing-coverts, brownish green, with reflections of green -tint; the under parts, light reddish mingled with a deeper tint and -shaded off with green; the feathers are generally darker at the base, -and the paler tips give a slightly waved appearance to the breast. On -the throat, the feathers, though without lustre, retain the scaly form -and texture of the more brilliant species. The wings slightly exceed the -tail in length, bend up at the tips, and exhibit the form of the most -correctly framed organ of flight; they are of a uniform brownish violet. -The tail is composed of ten feathers, of a brownish color, and with -golden-green reflections; they gradually decrease in length. This is a -very rare species. - -Gould’s is the smallest species and of the most dazzling beauty. It is -scarcely over two inches in length; its forehead, throat and upper part -of its breast are of a most brilliant green—the feathers of a scaly -form. From the crown springs a crest of bright, chestnut feathers, of a -lengthened form and capable of being raised at pleasure. The back is a -golden-green, crossed with a whitish band; the wings and tail are -brownish purple, the latter having the centre feathers tinged with -green; the lower parts are dark brownish green. The neck tufts are of -the most splendid kind, and have a chaste but brilliant effect; they are -composed of narrow feathers of a snowy whiteness—the tips of each -having a round, serrated spot of bright emerald green, surrounded with a -dark border; the largest are at the upper part of the tuft, and they -decrease in length, assuming the shape of a butterfly’s wing; shorter -feathers again spring from the base, and their green tips are relieved -on the white of the longer ones behind them. - -The most common species, and that which abounds in all parts of the West -Indies, is the ruby-crested. Though seen every day about the gardens, -near the honeysuckle and other flowering vines, it presents some of the -most splendid coloring of the family. (Those which I have mentioned are -of that sub-genus, which Linnæus calls trochilus.) The upper parts of -the head and throat are clothed entirely with those scaly formed -feathers, which always produce the parts producing the changeable hues. -On the hind head, the feathers are elongated and form a short, rounded -crest. In one position this part appears of a deep, sombre, reddish -brown; when viewed transversely it assumes a bright, coppery lustre, and -when looked upon directly with a side stream of light, it becomes of the -richest and most brilliant ruby. The scaly part of the throat and breast -again, when wanting the lustre, is of an equally sombre, greenish brown; -and, when turned to diverse lights, changes from a clear golden-green to -the most brilliant topaz. It is impossible to convey by -words—especially as it is necessary to repeat the same again and -again—an idea of these tints. The most that can be done is to name -those substances, which they most nearly resemble, then rely upon the -imagination of the reader. - -The birds, thus attempted to be described, are a few of that -multitudinous tribe which excites the liveliest wonder, and fills the -mind with admiration of that creative power, which clothes the eagle -with strength to resist the fury of the mountain storm, and so fashions -the delicate plumage of the humming-bird that the softest air from -heaven seems to visit it too roughly. The vine-clad forests and -rose-covered gardens of Guiana literally _swarm_ with these fairy-birds. -The Indian word, by which they are distinguished, signifies _beams_ or -_locks of the sun_; that such a designation is not less appropriate than -poetical, may be concluded by all who have seen them darting with the -rapidity as well as the splendor of light from flower to flower. -Compared to the humming-bird, the bee is a mere loiterer. He poises -himself on wing, while he thrusts his long, slender tube into the -flower-cups in search of food. But he subsists not simply on honey-dew -and the nectar that dwells in the lips of roses. He may often be -observed darting at the minute insects that float in the air. - -Mr. Audubon thus beautifully describes the humming-bird in quest of -food: “carefully visiting every opening flower-cup, and, like a curious -florist, removing from each those injurious insects, that otherwise -would ere long cause their beauteous petals to droop and decay. Poised -in the air, it is observed peeping cautiously and with sparkling eye -into their innermost recesses, whilst the ethereal motions of its -pinions, so rapid and so light, appear to fan and cool the flower, -without injuring its fragile texture, and produce a delightful, -murmuring sound, well adapted for lulling the insects to repose. Then is -the moment for the humming-bird to secure them. Its long delicate bill -enters the cup of a flower, and the protruded, double-tubed tongue, -delicately sensible, and imbued with a glutinous saliva, touches each -insect in succession, and draws it from its lurking place to be -instantly swallowed. All this is done in a moment, and the bird, as it -leaves the flower, sips so small a portion of its liquid honey, that the -theft, we may suppose, is looked upon with a grateful feeling by the -flower which is thus kindly relieved from the attacks of her -destroyers.” - -Their favorite places of resort were those woods, in which the superb -bignonia abounds, and when the huge trees are garlanded with parasites; -but since the cultivation of the country they frequent gardens and seem -to delight in society, becoming familiar and destitute of fear, hovering -over one side of a shrub while the fruit or flower is plucked from that -opposite. They do not alight on the ground, but easily settle on twigs -and branches, when they move sidewise in prettily measured steps, -frequently opening and closing their wings, shaking and arranging the -whole of their apparel with neatness and activity. They are particularly -fond of spreading one wing at a time, and passing each of their -quill-feathers through their bills in its whole length, when, if the sun -is shining, the wing thus plumed is very transparent and light. The -humming noise proceeds entirely from the surprising velocity with which -they perform that motion by which they will keep their bodies in the -air, apparently motionless, for hours together. When flying to any long -distance, the manner of their flight is very different from that shown -in speeding among flowers, for they sweep gracefully through the air in -long undulations, raise themselves for some distance and then fall in a -curve. - -Strange as it may seem, one of the chief characteristics of this tiny -creature, is its bravery. It will unhesitatingly attack the -mocking-bird, or the king-bird, or any other by whom it imagines its -territories invaded; it directs its sharp, needle-like bill, immediately -at the eyes of its enemy, and when so employed this must be a truly -formidable weapon. These birds are also extremely pugnacious among -themselves—two males seldom meeting, without a battle. The combatants -ascend in the air, chirping, darting and circling round each other till -the eye is no longer able to follow them. They are particularly -susceptible of jealousy, and, under the influence of this failing, they -run tilts at each other till the less doughty champion falls exhausted -to the ground. - -The nests of these little creatures are very curious; they are built -with great delicacy, but at the same time with much compactness and -warmth. Wilson says that the nest of the ruby-throated humming-bird is -generally fixed on the upper side of a horizontal branch, _not_ among -the twigs. It is sometimes, however, attached to an old moss-grown -trunk, and sometimes fastened on a strong stalk or weed in the garden. -It seldom builds more than ten feet from the ground. The nest is about -an inch in diameter and as much in depth. The outward coat is formed of -small pieces of a species of bluish-gray lichen, that vegetates on old -trees and fences, thickly glued with the saliva of the bird, giving -firmness and consistency to the whole as well as keeping out moisture. -Within this are thick, matted layers of the fine wings of certain flying -seeds, closely laid together; and, lastly, the downy substance from the -great mullein, and from the stalks of the common fern, lines the whole. -The base of the nest is continued round the stem of the branch to which -it closely adheres, and, when viewed from below, appears a mere mossy -knot or accidental protuberance. The nest of one species in Guiana is -principally composed of a spongy cellular substance, apparently similar -to that of a fungus, of which some kinds of wasps build large -habitations, suspended from the branches of trees, and an account is -given of a nest of another species composed entirely of the down of some -thistle; the seed is attached and is placed outwards, giving a jagged -and prickly appearance to the outside. Latham describes the nest of the -black humming-bird as made of cotton, entwined around the thorns and -twigs of the citron-tree, and of so firm a texture as not to be easily -broken by winds. The nest of the topaz-crested is about seven eighths of -an inch in diameter, also made of cotton, stuck over with lichens on the -outside and firmly fixed in the hanging cleft of some strong creeper by -threads of a cottony substance, and very slender roots or tendrils, the -whole lower part as if cemented by a thin coat of glue. It is probable -that the greater number build their nests nearly in the same manner. -Descriptions, however, are given of those built in different forms—one -is suspended with the entrance downwards; another is of a lengthened -form, composed of dry grass and slender roots and moss, and is not made -so compactly. A person, who saw a bird building her nest, describes her -manner of construction as very ingenious. “Bringing a pile of small -grass, she commenced upon a little twig about a quarter of an inch in -diameter, immediately below a large leaf, which entirely covered and -concealed the nest from above, the height from the ground being about -three feet. After the nest had received two or three of these grasses, -she set herself in the centre, and putting her long slender beak over -the outer edge, seemed to use it and her throat much in the same way as -a mason does his trowel, for the purpose of smoothing, rubbing it to and -fro and sweeping quite around. Each visit to the nest seemed to occupy -only a couple of seconds, and her absence from it not more than as many -minutes.” - -The extraordinary beauty of these strange beings has induced many -attempts to tame and keep them in cages, but they have not been -successful. When placed in cages and fed daintily on honey and water, -and supplied every morning with fresh cups of flowers, they have been -known to live for a long time in their native country, and in warm -weather; but no artificial warmth has as yet kept them alive for many -weeks, when transported to a less genial climate. It is conjectured, -however, that with very great care and a strict regard to diet, as the -doctors say, they will, by and by, be kept alive and happy in our -conservatories. There was once a nest of them successfully carried to -England from Jamaica. It was presented to a lady, from whose lips the -little loves would deign to accept honey. One died, probably from excess -of happiness; but the other, being more hardy, survived for two months. -Could a lady succeed in so taming one of these winged jewels so -perfectly that it would accompany her to a ball, curiously perched upon -her bouquet, or hovering around the flowers which composed it, at her -gentle bidding, so original an ornament would doubtless be more highly -prized than - - “Whole necklaces and stomachers of gems.” - -The ancient Mexicans are said to have woven their plumage into gorgeous -robes. - -If the extraordinary beauty of these birds, their mode of existence, -their nature, then habits, excite our admiration, how must we also -wonder at their structure!—the perfect adaptation of their forms to -that life which it is theirs to enjoy, and to the variations of that -glowing climate where they abound. “On presenting a humming-bird to a -common observer,” says an eminent naturalist, “the first exclamation -generally is, ‘what a beautiful little creature!’—the second, ‘but what -large wings he has!’ Such, indeed, is the case, and, in most instances, -the size of the wings and strength of the quills are entirely out of -proportion to our ideas of symmetry in a creature clothed with feathers; -but, upon comparing them with its necessities and the other parts of its -frame, their utility and design become obvious.” The principal reason -for their possessing organs of such power is, doubtless, to enable them -to pass in safety through the migrations and the long flights which are -necessary for their preservation, and, during which, they have to -withstand passing gales and showers. The delicious climes which they -inhabit are at seasons subject to tremendous rains, which drench and -almost inundate their abodes, or to hurricanes that, in a few minutes, -leave but a wreck of all that was before so splendid and luxuriant. By -means of these organs, before the dangerous season comes, which the -unerring instinct of nature warns them to avoid, they fly to districts -of country where the reparation of some previous wreck is proceeding -with all the rapidity of tropical vegetation. - -I cannot more pleasingly conclude these notices of the most wonderful -tribe of birds, than by quoting the melodious verses of a poet, who is a -native of that glowing clime which they so exquisitely adorn. - - “Still sparkles here the glory of the West, - Shows his crowned head and bares his jewell’d breast, - In whose bright plumes the richest colors live, - whose dazzling lines no mimic art can give. - The purple amethyst, the emerald’s green - Contrasted, mingle with the ruby’s sheen, - While over all a tissue is put on, - Of golden gauze by fairy fingers spun. - Small as a beetle, as an eagle brave, - In purest ether he delights to lave; - The sweetest flowers alone descends to woo, - Rifles their sweets and lives on honey-dew, - So light his kisses not a leaf is stirred - By the bold, happy, amorous humming-bird. - No disarray, no petal rudely moved, - Betrays the flower the callibree has loved.”[3] - -I have thus given partial descriptions of four of the principal tribes -of Tropical Birds. I hope the reader has not been so wearied that he -will not kindly suffer me to draw this article to a close by a brief -notice of those two birds most remarkable for their peculiar notes. The -one pours forth a stream of rich melody, which surpasses the far-famed -song of the nightingale, and is, likewise, celebrated for its peculiar -power of imitating the tones of almost every fellow-songster. The other -utters only one sound, but so strange and solemn as to inspire the mind -of the hearer with a religious awe. The natural music of the one is as -gay, cheerful and enlivening as that of the other is mournful and -soul-subduing. - -The first to which I allude is the Matthews of the woods, THE -MOCKING-BIRD. This species abound in all parts of the Western Indies; -they are found in great numbers near the sea-shore. From the trees which -grow on the beaches float their rich songs, more melodious than strains -of flute, or bugle, or any “cunningly devised instrument;” and, in -mellowness, in modulation and gradation, in extent of compass and -rapidity and brilliancy of execution, outrivalling the most magnificent -bravuras of a Sontag or a Malibran. When confined in cages and brought -to our cold climate, for the amusement of man, the bird loses, in the -loneliness of its captivity, half the richness of its voice. Though it -delights to mimic other plumed minstrels, this astonishing faculty is -feeble, in its most miraculous exhibition, when compared with its own -delicious song; but he who would listen to it in its perfection, must go -to those regions where the great magnolia shoots up its majestic trunk, -covered with evergreen leaves, and decorated with a thousand flowers, -where the forests and fields are buried in blossoms of every hue, and -where the golden orange decorates the gardens and the groves. - -The bird whose note is so melancholy is called by the Indians campanero; -by the Spaniards arapongo or guirapongo, and by the English the -bell-bird. It is extremely rare. I was so fortunate as to see a single -specimen. It is of about the size of a Barbary dove, but more gracefully -shaped, with a larger head. It is of a snowy whiteness. From the -forehead there rises a spiral tube of about a bodkin’s length. This -tube, it is said, is raised and depressed at pleasure; it is black, -dotted with white feathers, and, as it is hollow, and communicates with -the palate, it is probably elevated when filled with air, and becomes -pendulous when empty. That strange sound, for which it is remarkable, is -probably produced by the raising and depressing of this tube. It -resembles the tolling of a bell, and is very loud and distinct. It is -heard morning and evening in the woods, and one might fancy its toll to -proceed from some hidden convent, calling to matins and vespers. - -The bell-bird is seldom found in forests inhabited by other birds; it -selects lonely and desolate haunts. A recent traveller, in describing -his journey through a South American forest, writes—“Nothing can be -more still and solitary than everything around; the silence is appalling -and the desolation is awful; neither are disturbed by the sight or voice -of living thing, save one—which only adds to the impression. It is like -the clinking of metals, as if two lumps of brass were struck together; -and it sometimes resembles the distant and solemn tolling of a -church-bell, struck at long intervals. This extraordinary sound proceeds -from a bird called arapongo or guirapongo. It is about the size of a -small pigeon, white, with a circle of red round the eyes. It sits on the -tops of the highest trees, and in the deepest forests, and, though -constantly heard in the most desert places, is very rarely seen. It is -impossible to conceive any thing of a more solitary character than the -profound silence of the woods, broken only by the metallic and almost -preternatural sounds of this invisible bird, coming from the air, and -seeming to follow you wherever you go. I have watched with greet -perseverance, when the sound seemed quite close to me, and never but -once caught a glance of the cause. It passed suddenly over the top of a -very high tree, like a large flake of snow, and immediately -disappeared.” - ------ - -[2] In the United States two species only have been made known, the -Ruby-throated, charmingly described both by Wilson and Audubon, and the -Northern. I am told, however, that Audubon has recently discovered still -another. - -[3] From a poem entitled “Barbadoes,” by Dr. Chapman, a man of a fine -genius, who may be known to my readers as the author of some very fine -translations of the Greek Anthology, which have appeared in Blackwood’s -Magazine. _Callibree_ is the Indian name of the bird. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE GIRDLE OF FIRE. - - - BY PERCIE H. SELTON. - - -The lower counties of New Jersey are proverbially barren, being covered -with immense forests of pine, interspersed with cedar swamps. During the -dry summer months these latter become parched to an extent that is -incredible, and the accidental contagion of a fire-brand often wraps -immense tracts of country in flames. The rapidity with which the -conflagration, when once kindled, spreads through these swamps can -scarcely be credited except by those who know how thoroughly the moss -and twigs are dried up by the heat of an August sun. Indeed scarcely a -spot can be pointed out in West Jersey, which has not, at one time or -another, been ravaged by conflagration. It was but a few years since -that an immense tract of these pine barrens was on fire, and the -citizens of Philadelphia can recollect the lurid appearance of the sky -at night, seen at the distance of thirty or even forty miles from the -scene of the conflagration. The legendary history of these wild counties -is full of daring deeds and hair-breadth escapes which have been -witnessed during such times of peril. One of these traditionary stories -it is our purpose to relate. The period of our tale dates far back into -the early history of the sister state, when the country was even more -thinly settled than at present. - - . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - -It was a sunny morning in midsummer, when a gay party was assembled at -the door of a neat house in one of the lower counties of New Jersey. -Foremost in the group stood a tall manly youth, whose frank countenance -at once attracted the eye. By his side was a bright young creature, -apparently about eighteen years of age, whose golden tresses were a fit -type of the sunny beauty of her countenance. But now her soft blue eyes -were dim with tears, and she leaned on the shoulder of her mother, who -was apparently equally affected. The dress of the daughter, and her -attitude of leave-taking, told that she was a bride, going forth from -the home of her childhood, to enter on a new and untried sphere of life. -The other members of the group were composed of her father, her brothers -and sisters, and the bridemen and bridemaids. - -“God bless you, my daughter, and have you in his holy keeping,” said the -father as he gave her his last embrace, “and now farewell!” - -The last kiss was given, the last parting word was said, the last long -look had been taken, and now the bridal party was being whirled through -the forest on one of the sweetest mornings of the sweet month of July. - -It was indeed a lovely day. Their way lay through an old road which was -so rarely travelled that it had became overgrown with grass, among which -the thick dew-drops, glittering in the morning sun, were scattered like -jewels on a monarch’s mantle. The birds sang merrily in the trees, or -skipped gaily from branch to branch, while the gentle sighing of the -wind, and the occasional murmur of a brook crossing the road, added to -the exhilirating influences of the hour. The travellers were all young -and happy, and so they gradually forgot the sadness of the parting hour, -and ere they had traversed many miles the green arcades of that lovely -old forest were ringing with merry laughter. Suddenly, however, the -bride paused in her innocent mirth, and while a shade of paleness -overspread her cheek, called the attention of her husband to a dark -black cloud, far off on the horizon, and yet gloomier and denser than -the darkest thunder cloud. - -“The forest is on fire!” was his instant ejaculation, “think you not so, -Charnley?” and he turned to his groomsman. - -“Yes! but the wind is not towards us, and the fire must be miles from -our course. There is no need for alarm, Ellen,” said he, turning to the -bride, his sister. - -“But our road lies altogether through the forest,” she timidly rejoined, -“and you know there isn’t a house or cleared space for miles.” - -“Yes! but my dear sis, so long as the fire keeps its distance, it -matters not whether our road is through the forest or the fields. We -will drive on briskly and before noon you will laugh at your fears. Your -parting from home has weakened your nerves.” - -No more was said, and for some time the carriage proceeded in silence. -Meantime the conflagration was evidently spreading with great rapidity. -The dark, dense clouds of smoke, which had at first been seen hanging -only in one spot, had now extended in a line along the horizon, -gradually edging around so as to head off the travellers. But this was -done so imperceptibly that, for a long time, the travellers were not -aware of it, and they had journeyed at least half an hour before they -saw their danger. At length the bride spoke again. - -“Surely, dear Edward,” she said, addressing her husband, “the fire is -sweeping around ahead of us: I have been watching it by yonder blasted -pine, and can see it slowly creeping across the trunk.” - -Every eye was instantly turned in the direction in which she pointed, -and her brother, who was driving, involuntarily checked the horses. A -look of dismay was on each countenance as they saw the words of the -bride verified. There could be no doubt that the fire had materially -changed its bearing since they last spoke, and now threatened to cut off -their escape altogether. - -“I wish, Ellen, we had listened to your fears and turned back half an -hour ago:” said the brother, “we had better do it at once.” - -“God help us—that is impossible,” said the husband, looking backwards, -“the fire has cut off our retreat.” - -It was as he said. The flames, which at first had started at a point -several miles distant and at right angles to the road the party was -travelling, had spread out in every direction, and finding the swamp in -the rear of the travellers parched almost to tinder by the draught, had -extended with inconceivable velocity in that quarter, so that a dense -cloud of smoke, beneath which a dark lurid veil of fire surged and -rolled, completely cut off any retrograde movement on the part of the -travellers. This volume of flame, moreover, was evidently moving rapidly -in pursuit. The cheeks, even of the male members of the bridal party, -turned ashy pale at the sight. - -“There is nothing to do but to push on,” said the brother, “we will yet -clear the road before the fire reaches it.” - -“And if I remember,” said the husband, “there is a road branching off to -the right, scarce half a mile ahead: we can gain that easily, when we -shall be safe. Cheer up, Ellen, there is no danger. This is our wedding -morn, let me not see you sad.” - -The horses were now urged forward at a brisk pace, and in a few minutes -the bridal party reached the cross road. Their progress was now directly -from the fire; all peril seemed at an end; and the spirits of the group -rose in proportion to their late depression. Once more the merry laugh -was heard, and the song rose up gaily on the morning air. The -conflagration still raged behind, but at a distance that placed all fear -at defiance, while in front the fire, although edging down towards them, -approached at a pace so slow that they knew it would not reach the road -until perhaps hours after they had attained their journey’s end. At -length the party subsided again into silence, occupying themselves in -gazing on the magnificent spectacle presented by the lurid flames, as, -rolling their huge volumes of smoke above them, they roared down towards -the travellers. - -“The forest is as dry as powder,” said the husband, “I never saw a -conflagration travel so rapidly. The fire cannot have been kindled many -hours, and it has already spread for miles. Little did you think, -Ellen,” he said, turning fondly to his bride, “when we started this -morning, that you should so narrowly escape such a peril.” - -“And, as I live, the peril is not yet over,” suddenly exclaimed the -brother, “see—see—a fire has broke out on our right, and is coming -down on to us like a whirlwind. God have mercy on us!” - -He spoke with an energy that would have startled his hearers without the -fearful words he uttered. But when they followed the direction of his -quivering finger, a shriek burst from the two females, while the usually -collected husband turned ashy pale, not for himself, but for her who was -dearer to him than his own life. A fire, during the last few minutes, -had started to life in the forest to their right, and, as the wind was -from that quarter, the flames were seen ahead shooting down towards the -road which the bridal party was traversing, roaring, hissing, and -thundering as they drew near. - -“Drive faster—for heaven’s sake—on the gallop!” exclaimed the husband, -as he comprehended the imminency of their danger. - -The brother made no answer, for he well knew their fearful situation, -but whipped the horses into a run. The chaise flew along the narrow -forest road with a rapidity that neither of the party had ever before -witnessed; for even the animals themselves seemed aware of their peril, -and strained every sinew to escape from the fiery death which threatened -them. - -Their situation was indeed terrible, and momentarily becoming more -precarious. The fire, when first seen, was, at least, a mile off, but -nearly equidistant from a point in the road the bridal party was -traversing; and, as the conflagration swept down towards the road with a -velocity equal to that of the travellers, it soon became evident that -they would have barely time to pass the fire ere it swept across the -road, thus cutting off all escape. Each saw this; but the females were -now paralized with fear. Only the husband spoke. - -“Faster, for God’s sake, faster,” he hoarsely cried, “see you not that -the fire is making for yonder tall pine—we shall not be able to reach -the tree first unless we go faster.” - -“I will do my best,” said the brother, lashing still more furiously the -foaming horses. “Oh! God, that I had turned back when Ellen wished me.” - -On came the roaring fire—on in one mass of flame—on with a velocity -that seemed only equalled by that of the flying hurricane. Now the -flames caught the lower limbs of a tall tree and in an instant had -hissed to its top—now they shot out their forky tongues from one huge -pine to another far across the intermediate space—and now the whirling -fire, whistled along the dry grass and moss of the swamp with a rapidity -which the eye could scarcely follow. Already the fierce heat of the -conflagration began to be felt by the travellers, while the horses, -feeling the increase of warmth, grew restive and terrified. The peril -momentarily increased. Hope grew fainter. Behind and on either side the -conflagration roared in pursuit, while the advancing flame in front was -cutting off their only avenue of escape. _They were girdled by fire._ -Faster and quicker roared the flames towards the devoted party, until at -length despair seized on the hearts of the travellers. Pale, paralized, -silent, inanimate as statues, sat the females; while the husband and -brother, leaning forward in the carriage and urging the horses to their -utmost speed, gazed speechlessly on the approaching flames. Already the -fire was within a hundred yards of the road ahead, and it seemed beyond -human probability that the travellers could pass it in time. The husband -gave one last agonizing glance at his inanimate wife. When again he -looked at the approaching flames, he saw that during that momentary -glimpse they had lessened their distance one half. He could already feel -the hot breath of the fire on his cheek. The wind, too, suddenly whirled -down with fiercer fury, and in an instant the forky tongues of the -advancing conflagration had shot across the road, and entwined -themselves around the tall pine which had been the goal of the -travellers’ hopes. He sank back with a groan. But the brother’s eye -gleamed wildly at the sight, and gathering the reins tighter around his -hand, he made one last desperate effort to force the horses onward; and -with one mad leap, they lifted the carriage from the ground as if it had -been a plaything, plunged into the fiery furnace, and the next instant -had shot through the pass. - -Charnley gave one look backwards, as if to assure himself that they had -indeed escaped—he saw the lurid mass of fire roaring and whirling -across the spot through which they had darted but a moment before; and -overcome with mingled gratitude and awe, he lowered his head on his -breast and poured out an overflowing soul in thanksgivings to the Power -which had saved them from the most dreadful of deaths. And long -afterwards, men, who travelled through that charred and blackened -forest, pointed to the memorable scene where these events occurred, and -rehearsed the thrilling feelings of those who had been encompassed by -the Girdle of Fire. - - * * * * * - - - - - TO ——. - - - BY GEORGE LUNT. - - - I call upon the waves and they reply, - But not the voice I fain would hear replied, - Vainly I seek it in the wind’s deep sigh, - Earth, air, the sky’s blue depths and ocean’s tide. - - These have their various voices, soft or stern, - Moulding our feelings to the varied hour, - And the wrung heart will hear them and return - To claim on Nature’s breast a mother’s power. - - The dewy freshness of earth’s vernal prime, - Her budding promise lapp’d in fragrant showers, - The sacred sweetness of her summer time, - And her bright bosom cover’d o’er with flowers; - - The viewless music of the breathing air, - The rushing wind that sweeps across the plain, - The breeze that dallies with the brow of care - And stirs the languid pulse to life again; - - Heaven’s glorious arch, when morning through the skies - Skirts all its blue with gold, or sweeter far - At the dim twilight, or when softly rise - The new-born moon and glittering star on star; - - And the dark-rolling voiceful sea, whose moan, - On the wide waste or by the storm-beat shore, - Asks the soul’s answer like a spirit tone, - And the deep soul speaks inly to its roar; - - These have their language, mirthful, sad, or wild, - Like changing passion in the human breast; - We call them to us, as a wilder’d child - His home’s companions, and they give us rest; - - Yet though they speak, I cannot hear—no more - Comes the sweet music of the one loved tone, - And standing lonely by the lone sea-shore - Sad as my heart falls its perpetual moan. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE STAGE. - - - BY WILLIAM WALLACE. - - - Oh! I could weep when I perceive the cloud - Of dark impurities around our Stage, - Where those creations, gay, or sad, or proud— - Hamlet’s strange wo, or wronged Othello’s rage - Hallowed fair Albion’s selectest age: - Yet would I not, like certain ones, behold - Theatric pomp proscribed in liberal land, - While pale Contempt (as once in ages old) - Kills with a single look the buskin band. - A beauty sparkles yet around the Place— - A mystic charm—a fairy-beaming grace— - Appealing loudly to the coldest heart: - These boards once held the glory of our race, - And still they reverence a Shakspeare’s Art. - - * * * * * - - - - - “TO WIN THE LOVE OF THEE.” - - - BALLAD. - - - DEDICATED TO MISS LEO M. CASSIN, OF GEORGETOWN, D. C. - - - BY J. G. E. - - - John F. Nunns, _184 Chesnut Street: Philadelphia_. - - -[Illustration: musical score] - -[Illustration: musical score] - - To win the love of thee, - I would the wealth of worlds resign, - For life has nought for me, - But one sole wish to call thee mine. - All other joys of life no more, - For me a thought shall claim, - Thou art the Idol I adore, - My happiness and fame. - To win the love of thee, - I would the wealth of worlds resign, - For life has nought for me, - But one sole wish to call thee mine. - - Strive not with ornament to hide - Thy beauty’s op’ning flower; - Simplicity should be thy bride. - For therein lies thy power. - Of Constancy the model I - To wand’ring eyes should prove, - For I should only wish to die - If e’er I lose thy love. - To win the love of thee, &c. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _Notes of a Tour through Turkey, Greece, Egypt, Arabia Petræa, - to the Holy Land; including a Visit to Athens, Sparta, Delhi, - Cairo, Thebes, Mount Sinai, Petræa, &c. By E. Joy Morris. Two - vols. 12 mo. pp. 550. Philadelphia, Carey & Hart: 1842._ - -Were we disposed to be hypercritical, we should begin by finding some -fault with the title of these volumes. It is quite too long, besides -being tautological. Why speak of a tour through Egypt, and a visit to -Thebes! Or of a tour through Greece and a visit to Athens? It would be -as proper to announce a journey through England, including a visit to -London. He who travels over a country of course visits its capital. If -he supposes the readers of his journal do not know what city enjoys that -distinction, it is even then better to let them acquire this -geographical information by degrees. Too great and sudden developments -may defeat his object; a man’s vision is sometimes obscured by excess of -light. - -Of the improbabilities which are scattered throughout the work we have -space only to notice one or two. Mr. Morris informs us that the _harem_ -of the Governor of Smyrna, which he encountered on board a steamer, -“consisted of some half-dozen ladies, (wives,) and, with attendants, -amounted to near thirty persons.” Rather too many wives for the simple -Aga of Smyrna, and more than the Koran allows. The holy book of the -Mahommedan permits no one, save the Grand Sultan—the representative of -the prophet—to have more than two; and that highest of dignitaries, and -hereditary favorite of the immortals, has but four. The Governor of -Smyrna, we are assured by a competent authority, has but _one_ wife, and -she is of Turkish descent, and not, as our author avers, a Circassian. -Had she been of Circassia she would have been a concubine, not a wife, -or, as the author blunderingly calls her, a _Sultana_. That title -belongs only to the favorite wife of the _Sultan_. Our traveller tells -us that he offered to this lady some sweet-meats, although her husband -and the keeper of his harem were both present! An averment which we -would be as chary of believing as if it were that the “light” of the -Grand Seigneur’s palace had accepted an invitation to swim with him in -the Bosphorus! - -Mr. Morris tells us that he found in the slave market of Constantinople -two beautiful Georgian girls, “destined for the harems of the rich,” in -_cages_, but that he was “only indulged with a glance at them through -the _bars_!” Now a cage, or such a place as he intended to describe by -that word, even for the ugliest Numidian, would not be tolerated in -Constantinople for an hour; nor has there been for many years a Georgian -girl publicly exhibited in the markets of that city. When a writer, -sensible of the dulness of his performance, seeks to impart to it some -interest by weaving into its chapters romantic fictions, he should be -careful to give them an air of probability. We have not time nor -inclination to point out other “attractions” in these volumes of a -similar description. - -While writing of Athens and Constantinople, Mr. Morris doubtless had by -his side Mr. Colton’s “Visit” to those places; and in his notices of -Arabia Petræa and Egypt he has availed himself of the information -acquired by Mr. Stevens and Professor Robinson. He has made what, in the -language of the _trade_, is called a readable book; but it possesses -neither originality, vigor, nor freshness; and his delineations, besides -lacking these qualities, are often tediously long and needlessly -particular. He does not pretend to give any new topographical -information, and his work contains none. It was probably written out -from slight notes taken during his tour, and the more elaborate -descriptions of other travellers. It evinces some taste and judgment in -the selection of themes, and is now and then graced by a classical -allusion or quotation, gleaned, perhaps, from the guide-books, which -make authorship so easy to the tourist. - - * * * * * - - _Punishment by Death: Its Authority and Expediency. By Rev. - George B. Chester. One vol. 12mo. pp. 156. New York: M. W. - Dodd._ - -Several able sermons on this important subject have issued from the -press. This is a more extended and elaborate effort. It displays -learning, research, and philosophical acumen, and is worthy of general -and serious attention. We know of no treatise in our language, on this -subject, so well calculated for circulation among the people at large. -It is brief, clear, comprehensive, written in an interesting style, and -often rising to a strain of vivid and stirring eloquence. - -About half the volume is devoted to the argument from Scripture; in -which the original Noahic ordinance is taken as the ground-work, -commented upon in the Mosaic statutes, and confirmed in the New -Testament. The writings and experience of Paul are examined, and the -course of the Divine Providence is shown to be consentaneous with this -argument. The state of legislation and society in the antediluvian -world, as well as afterwards, are investigated, with the origin of -government, and the nature of its sanction in the Scriptures. - -The remainder of the book is taken up with the argument from Expediency. -The question is examined, What constitutes the perfection of criminal -jurisprudence! The efficacy of punishment by death in restraining crime -is argued, and also that the abrogation of this punishment would prove a -premium on the crime of murder, through the desire of concealing other -crimes. The law of nature is examined, with the powerful convictions of -conscience on this subject, as sustaining the Divine legislation, and -demanding support also in human law. Various objections are considered -and answered, with the occasion of the prejudice against Capital -Punishment. The book concludes with a chapter on the power and solemnity -of the argument from analogy, in reference to the sanctions of the -Divine Government. - - * * * * * - - _A Popular Treatise on Agricultural Chemistry: intended for the - use of the Practical Farmer. By Chas. Squarey, Chemist. One vol. - Lea & Blanchard: Philadelphia._ - -An excellent work, in which most of what is really valuable in the -treatises of Liebig, Davy, Johnson and Daubeny, has been condensed for -the practical reader. - - * * * * * - - _Tecumseh, or the West Thirty Years Since: A Poem: By George H. - Colton. 12mo. pp. 412. New York: Wiley & Putnam, 1842._ - -We alluded to this work very briefly in a former number, and now recur -to it mainly for the purpose of presenting some specimens of the -author’s versification, by which the reader may be enabled to judge of -its general execution. “Tecumseh” is a narrative, founded on the history -of that great chief whose name is chosen for its title, and whose -efforts to unite the various divisions of the red race into one grand -confederacy, to regain their lost inheritance, though unsuccessful, -should secure to him a fame as lasting as is awarded to the most -celebrated heroes and patriots of the world. - -The measure of the main part of the poem—extending to nine long -cantos—is octo-syllabic. It is free, and generally correct, though in -some cases marred by inexcusable carelessness, and phraseology more tame -and meaningless than, had he kept his manuscript for a few years, the -author would have permitted to go before the critics. The hero, with the -wily prophet, Els-kwa-ta-wa, who was his evil genius through life, is -introduced in the second canto. Distinguished - - “By his broad brow of care and thought, - By his most regal mien and tread, - By robes with richest wampum wrought, - And eagle’s plume upon his head,” - -he emerges with his companion from a forest; - - “Nor e’er did eye a form behold - At once more finished, firm and bold. - Of larger mould and loftier mien - Than oft in hall or bower is seen, - And with a browner hue than seems - To pale maid fair, or lights her dreams, - He yet revealed a symmetry - Had charmed the Grecian sculptor’s eye, - A massive brow, a kindled face, - Limbs chiselled to a faultless grace, - Beauty and strength in every feature, - While in his eyes there lived the light - Of a great soul’s transcendant might— - Hereditary lord by nature! - As stood he there, the stern, unmoved, - Except his eagle glance that roved, - And darkly limned against the sky - Upon that mound so lone and high, - He looked the sculptured God of Wars, - Great Odin, or Egyptian Mars, - By crafty hand, from dusky stone, - Immortal wrought in ages gone, - And on some silent desert cast, - Memorial of the mighty Past! - And yet, though firm, though proud his glance, - There was upon his countenance - That settled shade, which oft in life - Mounts upward from the spirit’s strife - As if upon his soul there lay - Some grief which would not pass away. - - “The other’s lineaments and air - Revealed him plainly brother born - Of him, who on that summit bare - So sad, yet proudly met the morn: - But, lighter built, his slender frame - Far less of grace, as strength, could claim; - And, with an eye that, sharp and fierce, - Would seem the gazer’s breast to pierce, - And low’ring visage, aye the while - Inwrought of subtlety and guile, - Whose every glance, that darkly stole, - Bespoke the crafty, cruel soul. - There was from all his presence shed - A power, a chill mysterious dread, - Which made him of those beings seem, - That shake us in the midnight dream. - Yet were his features, too, o’ercast - With mournfulness, as if the past - Had been one vigil, painful, deep and long - Of hushed Revenge still brooding over wrong. - No word was said: but long they stood, - And side by side, in thoughtful mood, - Watched the great curtains of the mist - Up from the mighty landscape move; - ’Twas surely spirit-hands, they wist, - Did lift them from above. - And when, unveiled, to them alone - The solitary world was shown, - And dew from all the mound’s green sod - Rose, like an incense, up to God, - Reclined, yet silent still, they bent - Their eyes on Heaven’s deep firmament— - As if were open to their view - The stars’ sun-flooded homes of blue— - Or gazed, with mournful sternness, o’er - The rolling prairie stretched before; - While round them, fluttering on the breeze, - The sere leaves fell from faded trees.” - -At the close of a conference which ensues, Tecumseh expresses his -determination to - - “go forth - Through the great waters of the North, - Round the far South, and o’er the West - By the lone streams, nor ever rest, - Till all the tribes united stand - In battle for their native land.” - -There are scattered through the poem many passages of minute and skilful -description of external nature, and interwoven with the main history is -a story of love, resulting, in the end, like most tales of the kind, in -the perfect felicity of the parties. Some episodes, by which the -narrative is broken, are well-wrought, and the entire poem possesses a -deep and sustained interest. The rapid action of the narrative is -illustrated by the following passive, descriptive of the last conflict, -in which Tecumseh fell: - - “Forth at the peal each charger sped, - The hard earth shook beneath their tread, - The dim woods, all around them spread, - Shone with their armor’s light: - Yet in those stern, still lines assailed - No eye-ball shrunk, no bosom quailed, - No foot was turned for flight; - But, thundering as their foemen came, - Each rifle flashed its deadly flame. - A moment, then recoil and rout, - With reeling horse and struggling shout, - Confused that onset fair; - But, rallying each dark steed once more, - Like billows borne the low reefs o’er - With foamy crest in air, - Right on and over them they bore, - With gun and bayonet thrust before, - And swift swords brandish’d bare. - Then madly was the conflict waged, - Then terribly red Slaughter raged! - - “How still is yet yon dense morass - The bloody sun below! - Where’er yon chosen horsemen pass, - There stirs no bough nor blade of grass, - There moves no secret foe! - Yet on, quick eye and cautious tread, - His bold ranks Johnson darkling led. - Sudden from tree and thicket green, - From trunk, and mound, and bushy screen, - Sharp lightning flashed with instant sheen, - A thousand death-bolts sung! - Like ripened fruit before the blast, - Rider and horse to earth were cast, - Its miry roots among; - Then wild, as if that earth were riven, - And, pour’d beneath the cope of heaven, - All hell to upper air were given, - One fearful whoop was rung, - And, bounding each from covert forth, - Burst on their front the demon birth. - ‘Off! off! each horseman to the ground! - On foot we’ll quell the foe!’ - And instant, with impetuous bound, - They hurl’d them down below. - - “Then loud the crash of arms arose, - As when two forest whirlwinds close; - Then filled all heaven their shout and yell, - As if the forests on them fell! - I see, where swells the thickest fight, - With sword and hatchet brandish’d bright - And rifles flashing sulphurous light - Through green leaves gleaming red— - I see a plume, now near, now far, - Now high, now low, like falling star, - Wide waving o’er the tide of war, - Where’er the onslaught’s led; - I see, beneath, a bare arm swing, - As tempest whirls the oak, - Bosom and high crest shivering - The war-club’s deadly stroke; - The eager infantry rush in, - Before their ranks, with wilder din, - The wav’ring strife is driven— - Above the struggling storm I hear - A lofty voice the war bands cheer, - Still, as they quail with doubt or fear, - Yet loud and louder given; - And, rallying to the clarion cry, - With club and red axe raging high, - And sharp knives sheathing low, - Fast back again confusedly - They drive the staggering foe.” - -We conclude our extracts with a graphic description of a forest scene, -from the last canto. - - “Within a wood extending wide - By Thames’s steeply winding side, - There sat upon a fallen tree, - Grown green through ages silently, - An Indian girl. The gradual change - Making all things most sweetly strange, - Had come again. The autumn sun, - Half up his morning journey, shone - With conscious lustre, calm and still; - By dell, and plain, and sloping hill - Stood mute the faded trees, in grief, - As various as their clouded leaf. - With all the hues of sunset skies - Were stamp’d the maple’s mourning dies; - In meeker sorrow in the vale - The gentle ash was drooping pale; - Brown-seared the walnut raised its head, - The oak displayed a lifeless red; - And grouping bass and white-wood hoar - Sadly their yellow honors bore; - And silvered birch and poplar rose - With foliage gray and weeping boughs; - But elm and stubborn beech retained - Some verdant lines, though crossed and stained, - And by the river’s side were seen - Hazel and willow palely green, - While in the woods, by bank and stream - And hollows shut from daylight gleam, - Where tall trees wept their freshening dews, - Each shrub preserved its summer hues. - Nor this alone. From branch and trunk - The withered wild-vines coldly shrunk, - The woodland fruits hung ripe or dry, - The leaf-strown brook flowed voiceless by; - And all throughout, nor dim nor bright. - There lived a rare and wondrous light - Wherein the colored leaves around - Fell noiselessly; nor any sound, - Save chattering squirrels on the trees, - Or dropping nuts, when stirred the breeze, - Might there be heard; and, floating high, - Were light clouds borne along the sky. - And, scarcely seen, in heaven’s deep blue - One solitary eagle flew.” - -From these passages the general character of the work may be inferred. -It is too long: it would be unwise to extend a poem on any theme to nine -cantos, of near fourteen thousand lines; and besides its diffuseness, in -parts, it has other faults, to which we have already alluded. It is the -first production, however, of an author just freed from the University; -not yet, apparently, twenty-two years old; and, so regarded, the -severest critic must deem it remarkably free from errors in design and -execution. - -Some half dozen elaborate metrical tales, founded on Indian histories or -traditions, have before appeared in this country, of which but one—the -“Yamoyden” of Sands and Eastburn—is comparable to this; and that is -inferior to it in unity, and, indeed, in almost all its essential -features. The admirable proem to “Yamoyden,” in which Sands laments in -such touching strains the early death of his associate and friend, is -not rightly considered a part of the poem to which it is prefixed. To -this Mr. Colton has produced nothing equal; nor is he worthy _yet_ to be -ranked with Sands as a poet. But “Tecumseh,” until some nobler work is -written, must be considered the best poem of its class written by an -American. - - * * * * * - - _Memoir of India and Avghanistoun, with Observations on The - Present State and Future Prospects of those Countries. By J. - Harlan, late Counsellor of State, Aid-de-Camp, and General of - the Staff, to Dost Mahomed, Ameer of Cabul. One vol. 12mo. - Philadelphia: J. Dobson, 1842._ - -General Harlan resided in India and Avghanistoun eighteen years, and his -official stations during that period were such as he would have chosen -had his principal object been to form a correct judgment in regard to -the social and political conditions of those countries. The facts and -opinions contained in this work must therefore command regard, -especially since the recent military operations in that quarter have -drawn so much attention to the British East Indian Empire. The volume -comprises remarks on the late massacre of the British Army in Cabul, and -the British policy in India; a reply to the Count Björstjerna’s work on -that country; the Russian influence in central Asia; the foreign -relations of the Indo-British government; the moral, religious and -political character and condition of the Indians and Avghans; and the -results of missionary exertions and prospects of Christianity among -them; together with an interesting sketch of the history and personal -character of Dost Mahomed, one of the most remarkable individuals that -have appeared in the oriental nations during this century. In an -appendix, the author indulges in some speculations on a passage in the -Book of Daniel, which he supposes has reference to the present condition -of the Mahommedan countries, and indicates the speedy extinction of the -Ottoman empire. The book is illustrated with maps and a portrait of the -Ex-Ameer of Cabul. - -We shall look with some anxiety for General Harlan’s “Personal Narrative -of Eighteen Years’ Residence in Asia,” which we believe is now in press. - - * * * * * - - _History of the Expedition under the command of Captains Lewis - and Clarke, to the sources of the Missouri, thence across the - Rocky Mountains, and down the river Columbia to the Pacific - Ocean: Performed during the years 1804, 1805, 1806, by order of - the Government of the United States. Two vols. Harper & - Brothers: New York._ - -The expedition of Lewis and Clarke was the first ever made through the -Oregon Territory to the Columbia River. An account of their tour was -published soon after their return; but as that work has since gone out -of print, and as the Oregon Territory is now a subject of much interest, -the Messrs. Harpers have issued the present volumes, in which -unimportant details in the former edition have been omitted, and -explanatory notes have been added, by Archibald M’Vickar, Esq. The -volumes form Nos. 154 and 155 of the Family Library. _Perkins & Purvis: -Philadelphia._ - - * * * * * - - _The Life of Wilbur Fisk, S. T. D. first President of the - Wesleyan University. By Joseph Holdich. One vol. 8vo. Pp. 455. - New York: Harper & Brothers._ - -Wilbur Fisk was one of the purest and most useful men of our time. With -a temperament remarkably sanguine and ardent, all his qualities were so -subdued and harmonized by religion, as to form one of the finest models -of elevated Christian character that has been presented to the world. He -was a native of Brattleborough, Vermont, where he was born in 1792. In -his early years he enjoyed no advantages that are not within the reach -of almost every young man of New England. When about twenty-two years of -age he began to study the law, but soon after turned his attention to -the ministry, and in the spring of 1818 was licensed to preach by a -Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church. In 1823 he was made a -ruling elder, and in 1825, principal of the Methodist Seminary of -Wilbraham. In 1829, he received the degree of Doctor in Divinity, from -Augusta College, and from Brown University, and the following year was -elected to the presidency of the Wesleyan University at Middletown. In -the autumn of 1835, he visited Europe, and passed about a year on the -continent and in Great Britain. The record of his travels, published -soon after his return, has been one of the most popular works of its -kind written by an American. He died at Middletown, after a long and -painful illness, borne with singular fortitude and resignation, on the -twenty-second of February, 1840. The Memoirs before us, by his friend -Professor Holdich, are written with ability and candor; but the most -interesting portions of the work are Dr. Fisk’s admirable private -letters, distinguished alike for a beauty of style, simplicity, -earnestness, and affection, that indicates, better than any labored -delineation by another hand, his high character and endowments. -_Philadelphia: H. Perkins._ - - * * * * * - - _A Narrative of Voyages and Commercial Enterprises. By Richard - J. Cleveland. Two vols. 12mo. Cambridge: John Owen, 1842._ - -This is one of the many narratives of adventures at sea given to the -public in consequence of the success of Mr. Dana’s “Two Years before the -Mast.” The author, who retired from the merchant service more than -twenty years ago, presents some interesting reminiscences of voyages to -India, South America, and other parts of the world, written in a style -of simple elegance rather unusual for a veteran sailor. The industry and -enterprise of the New Englanders is in nothing more conspicuous than in -their mercantile marine, and we infer from his pleasant work, that Mr. -Cleveland has done his part to gain for them their enviable reputation. - - * * * * * - - _Athanasion, and other Poems. By the Author of “Christian - Ballads.” New York: Wiley & Putnam._ - -The author of “Christian Ballads” is the Rev. Arthur Cleveland Coxe, -Rector of St. Anna’s Chapel, Morrisania, near New York: a young poet who -has won an enviable reputation by numerous contributions to the -periodical literature of the day, and by some more elaborate writings. -“Athanasion” is, perhaps, his best metrical composition. It has, with -many excellencies, some defects, which we lack space and inclination to -point out in this number of our Magazine. The volume before us is -printed in a style equal to that of the best English impressions. - - * * * * * - - _Fathers and Sons: a Novel. By Theodore E. Hook, Esq. Two vols. - 12mo. Philadelphia: Lea & Blanchard, 1842._ - -Theodore Edward Hook was one of the most popular of the authors who died -in the last year. His table wit, it is said, in freshness and -exuberance, was never equalled in England; and the humor that pervades -his writings will keep them in favor probably for centuries. The novel -before us was his last. It appeared originally by separate chapters in -the New Monthly Magazine, of which he was editor; and he was engaged in -its revision when seized by the disease which terminated his career. His -first work—excepting some plays written in his boyhood—was “Sayings -and Doings,” published in 1824. It was followed by a second and third -series of the same work; by “Maxwell,” “The Parson’s Daughter,” “Jack -Brag,” “Births, Deaths, and Marriages,” “Gilbert Gurney,” “Gurney -Married,” “Precepts and Practice,” several volumes of biography, and -“Fathers and Sons.” He died on the twenty-second day of September, 1841, -in the fifty-third year of his age. - -His last work has all his peculiarities; the most felicitous humor; -graphic delineations of character; and incidents interesting and -ingeniously diversified. We have not space for an analysis of its plot; -and one is the less necessary, as, notwithstanding the “hardness of the -times,” very few will permit the last legacy of Theodore Hook to go -unread. - - * * * * * - - _Sermons and Sketches of Sermons, by the Rev John Summerfield, - M. A. With an Introduction, by the Rev. Thomas E. Bond, M. D. - One vol. 8vo. Pp. 437. Harper & Brothers: New York._ - -John Summerfield was one of those remarkable men who have appeared from -time to time to electrify the religious world, by eloquence the most -persuasive, and lives which served as samples by which those who would -might guide their course to heaven. He began to preach in Ireland, when -but twenty years of age, and soon after came to the United States, where -he continued to labor as an evangelist until his death, which occurred -sixteen years ago. Most of the sermons and sketches of sermons included -in the volume before us were written down after their public delivery. -They possess a deep interest, especially to those who remember the -sainted author, more worthy of canonization than were ninety-nine -hundredths of those whose names are included in the calendar. _Henry -Perkins: Philadelphia._ - - * * * * * - - _Practical Geology and Mineralogy; with Instructions for the - qualitative analysis of Minerals. By Joshua Trimmer, F. G. - S.—Itum est in viscera terræ. One vol. Lea & Blanchard: - Philadelphia._ - -A valuable elementary treatise on Geology. For the convenience of those -who have not access to cabinets of minerals, the author has collected -various chemical and mineralogical details, to enable any person easily -to recognise the different minerals when discovered in the fields. In -the purely geological part of the work, Mr. Trimmer has confined himself -to facts and classifications and a few universally admitted inferences, -avoiding all questions affecting the higher generalizations, since they -are still and must long continue to be matters of controversy. The work -is illustrated with wood-cuts. We commend it to students in geology. - - * * * * * - - _Italy and the Italian Islands, from the earliest ages to the - present time. By William Spalding, Esq. With engravings and - illustrative maps and plans. Three vols. Harper & Brothers: New - York._ - -This is an able and comprehensive work, and may be consulted with -confidence by persons who wish to inquire concerning the history, -scenery, antiquities, topography, and present condition of Italy. The -author is, perhaps, less profound than he would have been if he had -contemplated a more voluminous treatise. For all purposes, however, of -general reference, or as a guide to more detailed inquiries, his volumes -may be consulted with advantage. The account of the social, religious -and political revolutions of the ancient and modern Italians, and the -history of the rise and progress of the arts and literature in Italy, -constitute two of its most valuable divisions. - -These volumes form Nos. 151, 152 and 153 of the Family Library, and are -published in the usual style of that excellent series. _Carey & Hart: -Philadelphia._ - - * * * * * - - _A Discourse on Matters pertaining to Religion; by Theodore - Parker, Minister of the Second Church in Roxburgh, - Massachusetts. Pp. 505, 8vo. Boston: Charles C. Little and James - Brown. 1842._ - -This is a bold and eloquent attack on the doctrines of the Bible, by one -who avows himself to be a Christian minister, and is ordained and -settled over a religious congregation. Some of the readers of Mr. -Parker’s “Discourse” who are unacquainted with the writings of the -German rationalists, may fancy that he is a man of deep research and -profound scholarship; but there is little danger that an intelligent -student in theology will be so deceived. The work embraces the substance -of five lectures, delivered in Boston during the last autumn. The author -denies the inspiration of the Holy Scriptures, the divinity of Jesus -Christ, and most of the other ideas of what he terms the “popular -theology.” We leave him and his labors to the critics of the Christian -churches. - - * * * * * - - _Masterman Ready, or, the Wreck of the Pacific. Written for - Young People. By Captain Marryat, R. N. Second Series. One vol., - 18mo. New York: D. Appleton & Co._ - -This is a sequel to the entertaining volume published under the same -title last year. Though “Masterman Ready” is an entertaining story, it -is far from being equal in any respect, save its freedom from the -coarser kind of jests, to “Peter Simple,” “Jacob Faithful,” or the other -early works of the author. - - * * * * * - - _Means and Ends, or Self-training. By the author of Redwood, - Hope Leslie, Home, Poor Rich Man, &c., &c. Second edition. One - vol. Harper & Brothers: New York._ - -One of the best of Miss Sedgwick’s smaller works. It is written in a -light, rambling style, enforcing truths by anecdotes or short stories. -It has been deservedly popular, and we predict that it will pass to a -third and even fourth and fifth edition. - - * * * * * - - _What’s to be Done? or, the Will and the Way. By the author of - “Wealth and Worth,” &c. One vol. 12mo. Pp. 232. New York: Harper - & Brothers._ - -The pleasant little volume entitled “Wealth and Worth,” which we -commended to our readers a month or two since, has been succeeded by -another work from the same pen, which we think even superior to its -predecessor. It is a story of American life, conveying, as its piquant -title indicates, a useful and impressive moral. The style is animated -and pure, and the sketches of character are graphic, forcible, and -various; while the plot preserves a deep and natural interest. “Wealth -and Worth” has gone through five large editions in the course of as many -months—a remarkable instance of rapidly attained popularity. A success -equally decided must attend the spirited little tale of “What’s to be -Done?” - - * * * * * - - _The Divine Rule of Faith and Practice, or a Defence of the - Catholic Doctrine, that Holy Scripture has been since the Times - of the Apostles the Sole Divine Rule of Faith and Practice to - the Church, against the dangerous Errors of the Authors of the - Tracts for the Times and the Romanists, as, particularly, that - the Rule of Faith is “made up of Scripture and Tradition - together,” &c: In which also the Doctrines of the Apostolical - Succession, the Eucharistic Sacrifice, &c., are fully discussed. - By William Goode, M. A., of Trinity College, Cambridge. Two - vols. 8vo. Philadelphia: Herman Hooker._ - -This is probably the most learned and able theological work that has -been published in England or America during the year. Those who have -read the “Tracts for the Times,” and all who feel any interest in the -religious controversies of the age, will thank us for directing to it -their attention. - - * * * * * - - _Diary and Letters of Madame D’Arblay: Edited by her Niece. - Parts I. and II. Philadelphia, Carey & Hart._ - -Miss Burney, afterward Madame D’Arblay, is best known to the literary -world as the authoress of “Evelina,” one of the most admirable and -popular novels in the English language. She died early in the year 1841, -at the advanced age of ninety, and two volumes of her autobiographical -remains have since been published in London, both of which are included -in these “parts” of the American edition. She was intimately acquainted -with Johnson, Sheridan, Burke, Boswell, and other eminent persons of -their time; and her diary, including a great number of interesting -anecdotes and reminiscences of her early career, is one of the most -entertaining works of the day. - - * * * * * - -Rufus Winter Griswold, a gentleman of fine taste and well known literary -abilities, has become associated with us as one of the editors of this -Magazine. The extensive literary knowledge of Mr. G. renders him a most -valuable coadjutor. - - * * * * * - -The connection of E. A. Poe, Esq., with this work ceased with the _May -Number_. Mr. P. bears with him our warmest wishes for success in -whatever he may undertake. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: _Fashion’s Latest Style for Graham’s Magazine_] - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Archaic -spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious punctuation and -typesetting errors have been corrected without note. - -[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XXI, No. 1, July 1842_, George R. -Graham, Editor] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XXI, -NO. 1, JULY 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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