P 264.15
HARVARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY

ARDIAN
LRT
MIA
ISTO
ECCLE
N.NO
DEM
CHRIS
LESTE
BANYON
THE BEQUEST OF
EVERT JANSEN WENDELL
CLASS OF 1882
OF NEW YORK
1918














THE
LADIES' COMPANION.
A MONTHLY MAGAZINE,
EMBRACING
EVERY DEPARTMENT OF LITERATURE.
I BELLISHED WITH
ORIGINAL ENGRAVINGS, AND MUSIC
ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO-FORTE, GUITAR, &c
VOL IX.
NEW-YORK:
WILLIAM W. SNOWDEN.
1338.


- P264.15
NAKTORU TULLELE LIBRARY
FROM
THE BEQUEST OF
EYERT JANSEN WENDELL


INDEX.
INDEX
TO THE NINTH VOLUME.
Kole:
Page
H.
I
60
C.
21
65
Page 1
Gertrude Vonder Wart.
230
Attack of the Boa-Constrictor-illustrated.
3 Grave-Yard.
296
Autograph of Queen Victoria.
60 Good Night-set to music.
297
Autumn Rhapsodies.
173
Almamen; or, the Jew of Grenada, by
Hope.
Jonas B. Phillips. 183 Historical Characters of Shakspeare.
A Waltz-music.
197
Antioch in Syria-illustrated.
203 I am not loved-I am not loved-set to music. 16,47
Arguments.
253 Indian Chaunt.
A Short Sermon.
272 Isle of the Maiden's Grave.
142
Irish Legend.
144
Burial by Fire, by Louisa Medina Hamblin. 61 Innocence.
153
Banyan Tree-illustrated.
154 I never can Forget-set to music.
248,249
Influence of a Mother.
274
Christine, a tale.
22,73,107
L.
Child s Gratitude, by J. J. Adams.
85 Life of the Leaf, by Robert Hamilton.
Coldly Beautiful, by John M. Casey.
182 Last Gift, by William Cutter.
30
Content-set to music.
196.197 Literary Notices.
49,98,149,199,250,299
Classes of Men.
Lines for the Cooke Benefit.
Coming on of Time.
274 Leaf from an Unpublished Book, by James Brooks. 66
Cortin, the Wandering Homicide, by
Lo Sconosciuto.
145
William Comstock. 275 Lecture on Anatomy.
150
Lines at Parting
164
D.
Lover's Reproach, by R. Shelton Mackenzie. 228
Demon's Cave, a tale.
204
Diamond Necklace, by Mrs. A. S. Stephens.
M.
212
Desultory Reading
272 Mary Derwent, a tale of the Early Settlers, by
Mrs. A. S. Stephens. 39,89,134,185,236,282
E.
Montmorency Falls-illustrated.
53
Editor's Table.
49,100,149,200,250,300
88
Embroidery.
Morning its sweets is flinging—set to music. 146,147
Essay-American Literature, by Mrs. E.C.Embury. 8.3
Memoirs of an Officer.
160
Excursion to the Deister.
194
Mrs. Fry and a Quaker Marriage, by John Neal.
273
Error Corrected.
190
My Friend, a sketch.
191
Marian, by H. F. Harrington.
224
Fate's Kaleidoscope, by Grenville Mellen. 38 Matrimony and Letter-Writing, by
Female Character.
50,59,192
Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. 227
Fancy.
192
N.
Female Education, by H. F. Harrington. 232,293 Noon of Night.
142
Farmer and the Squire, a tale, by
New-England Winter-Scene, by William Cutter. 143
H. F. Harrington.
0.
Farmers' Hymn.
281 | Obed Ord way, by Charles Gilman.
Farewella
292) Origin of the Red Breast.
32,130.134 / Mrs. Heman
254
31
87


INDEX.
Page
P
Page
165
172
177
203
211
253
263
272
274
292
57
80
88
106
154
176
230
273
274
Y.
32
96,97
Old Letters.
143 The Gamester, a tale, by Edward Maturin.
Our Saxon Fathers.
230 | The Sybil.
The Infidel, a tale, by S. B. Beckett.
The Poet to his Child.
Piratical Sketch.
The Fountain, by Rev. J. H. Clinch.
Pride, by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney.
30 Time of Prayer.
Prisoner at the Old Bailey, by John Neal. 33 To my Wife.
Parting, by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney.
129 The Season.
Prayer of Jeremias.
281 The Adopted, a talo.
R.
To the Nightingale.
V.
Rambles in the West.
Visit to a Star.
Rustic Civility, by John Neal-illustrated. 103
Venite Per me Cari Amici.
Rambling Sketch of the Poetical Character, by
Samuel F. Glenn. 120,174
w.
S.
Where are the Wise? by B. W. Huntington.
Stanzas, by Rev. J. H. Clinch.
Woman's Jealousy, a tale-translation.
Sonnet, by Horace Greeley.
Where is the Morn ?
Wisdom and Experience.
Song.
Woman's Love.
Song of the Silent Land, by H. W. Longfellow.
Woman's Friendship.
Sonnets, by Rev. J. H. Clinch.
Sonnet, by the author of Wilderingham. 150
Strings of Paragraphs.
195 Young Magician.
State Hall, Albany-illustrated.
229 Yagers' Adieu-set to music.
Spring, by Chief Justice Mellen.
231
Sepulchres of the Sons of David-illustrated. 253
Shetch from an Idler's Port-Folio.
267
EMBELLISHMENTS.
Sick Student's Dream.
269
Spinsters.
272 Attack of the Boa-Constrictor.
Montmorency Waterfall.
The Poisoned Jelly-translation.
Autograph of Queen Victoria.
translation. 5,220,264
Rustic Civility.
The Last Sacrifice, a tale of the American
Engraved Embroidery.
Revolution.
12
The Banyan Tree.
The Bacchanal, by George P. Morris.
21
Antioch in Syria.
To a Bride, by N. C. Brooks, A. M.
State Hall, Albany,
Theatricals.
48,99,148,199,247,298
Sepulchres of the sons of David.
Tale of the Irish Rebellion.
The Homeward Bound.
To my young friend E-
MUSIC.
The Successful Candidate, by Charles Gilman.
To my Pupils, by Miss A. D. Woodbridge. 106
The Dying Girl, by S. B. Beckett,
118 I am not loved! I am not loved !
Translation from Horace.
119 The Yagers' Adieu.
The Enthusiast's Hope, a tale.
123 Morning its sweets is flinging.
The Country Seat, by Mrs. Jane E. Locke.
Content.
The Old Oaken Chair.
131 Topsfield Waltz.
The Neglected.
145
I never can forget.
The Gladiator's Dream.
153 Good Night
11
T.
.
30
54
86
129






ya
2
PO
.
.
Za lichozí bort Choice
for dir. Lalu, limfuam
:


THE LADIES' COMPANION.
this
Within the pavilion, on a carpet glowing with the | The day was becoming sultry, and ulu lalu un nu.
rich dies of Persia, half sat, half reclined, on elderly made its way slowly up the shadowy side of the stream.
native, robed in all the splendor of an oriental prince, | The oarsmen bent wearily over their oars, for the atmos-
with his eyes half closed and apparently dropping into phere, which slumbered about them, had become oppres-
VOL. IX.-1.


innan


THE LADIES' COMPANION.
NEW-YORK, MAY, 1838.
Original.
a quiet slumber. The mouth piece of his hooka lay
ATTACK OF THE BOA-CONSTICTOR. idly between his thin lips, its jewelled lengths glittered
against his silken vest and then burst away, coil after
BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
coil, like a serpent writhing in a bed of flowers, till it
ended in a bowl of burning opal stone, from which a
A CLOUD of gorgeous light flushed over the sky, spread
wreath of perſumed smoke stole languidly upward and
upward and abroad, and, for a moment, the rich colors
floated among the azure drapery like clouds moving in
of an Eastern sunrise pietured themselves upon the hori.
the depths of a summer sky. Directly opposite, on a
zon like an arch of fretted gold and powdered gems,
i pile of orange colored cushions, lay a female, young and
broken and irregular-now standing out in abutments of beautiful
ments of beautiful as a houri. Her robe of India muslin, starred
fiery light or sinking back to the depths of the sky in and spotted with gold, was open in front, betraying a
caves of crimson, purple and palo violet, then flinging neck of perfect beauty and but half concealing the grace-
up turrets of amber and soft rose color to the zenith | ful outline of her person; her bright hair was banded
and at last melting away in a sea of sheet gold, as the back from her forehead with a string of orient pearls,
sun rose from behind the green trees of Hindostan..!
dostan. and fell over the silken cushions in a multitude of long
It was the hour of worship; the dawn had scarcely! black braids, so long as almost to reach her feet whilo
broken over the Ganges when the snowy temples and she retained her reclining position. She had the full
picturesque mosques which stood bedded in the fo-ili
10-large eye of her fiery cline, long cut and full of bright-
liage, and crowned the rocks which shot over the streanı
ness, but shaded with heavy, silken lashes, which lent
with their drapery of creeping vires, were ſung open. ! them a languishing and almost sleepy softness. A smile
From every casement and fairy lattice were lavish- was continually melting over her full, red lips, and the
ed forth showers of lotus blossoms, with glossy green il whole expression of her face was one of mingled softness
leaves and buds full of odor, the Brahmins tribute to the and energy. Behind her cushions stood a youth of
holy waters, till the river, from shore to shore, seemed slender, active forrn, with a high, finely moulded for-
bursting into blossom beneath the warm sunshine. While head, and eyes kindling with the fire of a proud but re-
the crested waves were trooping forward like crowds of strained spirit. Yet, though his port was almost regal
bright winged spirits sporting and rejoicing together and his bearing princely, he was in the humble costume
among the blossoms thus lavished upon them, a budgero, of a Hindoo slave. The hand which should have been
or state barge, followed by a train of baggage-boats, familiar with the sabre hilt, was occupied in waving a
shot out from the shadow of a grove of banian trees, fan of gorgeous feathers above the reclining princess.
and with its silken penants streaming to the morning Occasionally, when the fair girl would close her eyes as if
air made its way up the stream.
1. lulled to sleep by the musical dipping of the oars, he
It was a princely sight--that long, slender boat-as it would fix those expressive eyes upon her, as the devotee
flashed out into the broad sunshine-its gilded prow dwells upon the form of his idol. The bold menial had
curving gracefully up from the water in the form of a dared to look upon the loveliest maiden and the loftiest
peacock with burnished wings, jewelled crest and neck princess in all Hindostan, with eyes of love. And she,
of scaly gold-the sides swelling gently out at the the brightest star of her father's court, the affianced
bows and sloping away to the stern, till they met in two bride of a prince, as proud and as wealthy as her own
gilded horns of exquisite workmanship, the smaller ends haughty sire,—had she forgotten her lofty caste to lavish
twisted together and forming the extreme point of the her regard on the person of a slave? Those who had
boat. The rose colored mouths curved gently outward, I looked upon the expression of those soft eyes, unclosing
from which a borde of fruit, colored and carved to a beneath his passionate gaze, as the starry blossoms open
perfect semblance of nature, seemed bursting away over to the sunbeams, might have read an answer which spoko
the foaming waters as she cut her path graceful through much for the warm-hearted woman, but little for the
them, leaving along wreath of foam, curling and flashing | dignity of regal birth.
in her track. In the broadest part of the deck stood a The old Rajah, as he reclined, apparently half asleep,
small pavilion, its dome paved with mother of pearl and marked the mingled glances of the youthful pair, and a
studded with precious stones; its pillars of fluted ivory wicked, crafty expression stole over his face; a light
half hidden by a rich drapery of orange and azure silk, | gleamed out from his half opened eyes, which told how
fringed and festooned to the fretwork of the dome, with dark and subtle were his secret thoughts,- he lay like a
ropes of heavy silk, twisted and tassalled with silver. serpent nursing its venom for a sudden spring.
Within the pavilion, on a carpet glowing with the The day was becoming sultry, and the train of boats
rich dies of Persia, half sat, half reclined, on elderly | made its way slowly up the shadowy side of the stream.
native, robed in all the splendor of an oriental prince, The oarsmen bent wearily over their oars, for the atmos-
with his eyes half closed and apparently dropping intol phere, which slumbered about them, had become oppres-
VOL. IX.-1.
birth


ATTACK OF THE BOA - CONSTRICTOR.
sive, with the perfume which rose in clouds from the | maniac, she fell upon the deck, and with her face buried in
oleander thickets, and the thousand budding vines that her hands lay quivering in every limb like a dying creature.
flung their garlands over the water, and chained the “Peace !" thundered the old Rajah, lifting her form
tree-top into one sea of blossoming vegitation. A short from the deck and flinging it on the cushions, “ Peace
distance up, the high bank curved inward, and a little ingrate! What is the dog of a slave to thee? Look up
cove lay glittering in the sunlight, hedged in by a slope and witness his just punishment !" as if nothing could
ing hill which was covered with rich herbage and crown-appense his thiret for vengeance, he tore the hands from
ed by a thick grove, heavy with ripe bananas and other the shuddering creature's face, and again half lifting her
Eastern fruits. On the lower swell of the bank, two from the pile of cushions forced her to look upon the
lofty palm trees, shot up into the air, branching out at appalling scene. The serpent had coiled itself around
the top, in a cloud of thick green foliage, impervious its victim, while yet one part of its huge length was
almost, to the hot sunshine, which fell broadly on that twisted about the palms. She gazed with a dizzy brain
side of the river.
on the motiled folds as they writhed glistening and
The old Rajah fixed his eyes on the stately palms, as swelling eagerly around, their struggling victim. She
the boat gradually neared them ; while he gazed, the glit saw the glossy neck, flung upward with a curve that
tering branches which had hitherto remained motionless brought the head with its fierce gloating eyes, and its
began to tremble and wave to and fro. The leaves forked tongue quivering like a fiery arrow from the open
shivered; a low rustling sound was heard, as iſ a cur-jaws, over the crouching slave. A low smothered cry
rent of wind had suddenly burst over them; and then || of mortal agony arose from the boat, -then a shout and a
the head and half the body of a huge serpent shot up rush of men from the grove. She saw the gleam of
from the mass of leaves, swayed itself back and forth their batchets and pikes as they fell upon the monster.
in the sunshine for a moment, and then darted back with She saw the horrid folds that begirt her lover relax, and
the same rustling sound into his huge nest of leaves. || then with a faint gasp she fell back in her father's arms
The old Rajah's eyes kindled with a subtle fire; and he sick and entirely senseless. “ Dog!" cried the fierce
commanded his attendants to enter a baggage boat and old man, seizing the rescued slave as he ascended the
proceed to the banuna grove for a supply of fresh fruit. side of the barge pale and haggard as a corpse, yet
“Moor the boat in the inlet beneath the two palms, bearing the lilies which his mistress had ordered in his
and let Jaje remain with her,” he commanded, arms—“Dog! crocadile!! Thou hast escaped the ser-
pointing to the handsome slave who stood behind his pent, but who shall save thee from the vengeance of a
daughter. The slave made his salam, and was about to disgraced father !” The old man's cimeter flashed up-
step into the boat, when the princess called to him : ward as he spoke. The slave drew his fine form proud-
“ Thou shalt not remain idle," she said with a smile, ly to its height and fixed his stern, calm eyes full on the
" let thy task be to gather some of those lilies which old Rajah's, “ Rash old man” he said, “ what would
spring up from that bed of white sand, just within the you of me? true I have won the love of your daughter,
cove, and scatter them over my cushions should I be but if you scek vengeance for the wrong, claim it not of
asleep when the boat returns, their perfume will bring Taje, the slave, but of the prince Arungzebe, her affi-
me pleasant dreams."
anced husband, for, by the holy stream which hears us,
The slave bent his turbaned head and sprang into the || I am that man!"
boat. The princess half rose from her cushions and The Rajah's eye quailed beneath that stern glance
watched the party as they drew towards the shore. The and the cimeter fell to the deck with a ringing sound.
slave, Taje moored the boat and brought an armful of the The youth calmly put away the band which the fierce
beautiful white lilies she had desired, and laid them care- | old man had fixed on his arm, and taking a sealed parch-
fully in the prow, where he seated himself to wait for ment from the folds of his curban gave it to him. The
his companions. Her eyes were fixed with a kind of Rajah took it with a shaking hand-glanced at the sig-
dreamy abstractedness on the cove,when she saw the tops nature and then opened his arms to receive his son in-
of the palm trees in commotion; the heavy leaves be- law. The youth leaned for a moment on his bosom
gan to shiver again and the slender branches crashed, as and then they went into the pavilion together. When
with the force of a hurricane. As she looked, that huge the princess awoke from her swoon, her father was sit-
serpent began to coil itself like the stem of a great vine, ting on his carpet smoking his nooka, as quietly as if
downward, around the palm; his neck glistening, his nothing had happened. The scent of freshly gathered
head thurst out a little from the trunk and his hungry eyes lilies hung about her cushions, and her rescued lover
fixed on the slave who had dropped asleep in the boat. I was bending over her. "Oh I have had a terrible
The princess sprung to her feet with a cry of horror, and dream" she said passing her slender band over her eyes,
then stood motionless, and white as death; her fingers | “a—but you are very pale, was it real?" She started up
locked and her pale lips moving, but speechless. She and looked toward the cove. The two palm trees
was striving to cry out, but her voice was choaked in her stood towering in the sunshine, the bark here and there
throat. She saw the monster thurst his head far out from torn from their trunks, and the thick branches broken
the trunk of the palm, and then the horrid glitter of his and dangling in the air, like rent banners streaming
back as he unfolded coil after coil, and Aung half his lover a battle field, the heavy grass was trampled and
length into the boat, gleamed before her distented eyes. soiled with blood, and a huge boa-constrictor lay stretch-
With a cry, that rung over walers like the shriek of a | ed upon the white sand mutilated and dead.


THE POISONED JELLY.
Original.
Ricaredo, particularly his parents, for he was their only
THE POISONED JELLY; son, and noted for virtue, valor and intelligence. The
OR, THE COURT LADY'S REVENGE. physicians who were assembled around Ricaredo could
Translated from the Spanish.
not discover the nature of his ailment, and instead of
benefiting, they rendered him much worse.
CHAPTER 1.
At length, being one day alone with Isabella, he re-
Arter a battle between the Spanish and English, ||
ch || solved to declare his love. “Beautiful Isabella !" he
which terminated in the capture of the city of Cadiz by
said ; “thy virtue, thy grace and loveliness, have been
the latter, a great quantity of booty was carried off by
the cause of this disorder which is reducing me to the
the victors to their ships. Among other things, Clotal-
grave. If thou would'st save my life, consent to be
do, the captain of an English ship, took with him to
mine. I dare not ask thee of my parents, fearing their
London a pretty girl of about seven years old. This
displeasure; but if thou wilt pledge thy faith to me, I
was against the will and knowledge of their commander,
will give thee mine. Although this must be in secret, it
the Earl of Essex, before whom the parents of the lost
will bring healing and calm to my sorrowing heart.-
child appeared, and besought him to command her
Hope will give me strength to wait in patience until
restoration, saying their wealth they had resigned will
that happy day when the holy church-with my parents'
lingly, for even in poverty they could be happy if not
leave-will make thee wholly mine."
deprived of the light of their eyes-the prettiest crea-
While Ricaredo spoke, Isabella listened with down.
ture in all Cadiz.
cast eyes. Her modesty and dignity equalled her beau-
The Earl sent a proclamation through the squadron,
ty, and after he had ceased she replied: “Since the
commanding the child to be restored under pain of death
rigor or clemency of Heaven - I cannot determine
to the offender. Clotaldo, however, was not to be mov-
which-bas deprived me of my parents, and delivered
ed by either threats or rewards, for he had taken a
me to the care of yours, Señor Ricaredo-grateful for
fancy to the girl; he therefore kept her concealed until
the many benefits and kindnesses they have showered
his arrival in England. The unhappy parents were
upon me, I have determined never to oppose my will to
theirs. However pleased I might be at the honor you
obliged to remain without their child, who had been
intend me, I could not by word or look do aught against
given to Clotaldo's wife, to be reared as her daughter.
their knowledge. Should you be so fortunate as to ob-
Clotaldo possessed but one child, Ricaredo, who, with
his parents were Catholics in secret; but in public at-
tain your parents concent, then, Señor, my faith should
tended the worship of their Protestant queen. Catali-
be yours-pure and unswerving."
na, the wife of Clotaldo, loved the young captive as if
The lovely and discreet Isabella now ceased, and her
she were her own child. She caused her to be taught
words so charmed Ricaredo that he revived from that
all useful and ornamental branches, and in fact educated
moment. His parents were rejoiced at his rapid re-
her as if she were the daughter of noble parents, hoping
covery, which to them appeared miraculous, until he
thus to make her contented with them. Isabella, how-
confided to his mother the cause of his illness. After a
ever, (for this was her name) often sighed for her former
long explanation of his feelings and views, he ended by
home, and expressed a determination never to forget
saying, to deny him Isabella was to sentence him to
her native language. To please her, Clotaldo often
death. He so set forth the virtues and goodness of Isa-
brought Spaniards secretly to his house that they might
bella, that he at last brought his mother to think it would
converse with her in her own tongue. Isabella grew up
be much to his advantage to obtain this peerless crea-
beautiful and accomplished, and possessed one of the
ture, and even if any one married beneath their desert
most enchanting voices in the country. All these graces
it would be the Spanish maiden. She gave her son
combined with her loveliness and sweet temper, so wore
hopes of gaining over his father and induce him to con-
upon Ricaredo, that he became deeply attached to her.
sent to his wishes. So well did the Lady Catalina fulfil
At first he looked upon her as a sister, and gazed into
her promise that she never ceased entreating her hus-
her beauteous face and watched her strengthening vir-
band until at last he agreed to send excuses to the
tues; but as she grew up, his passion increased, and at
Scotch girl, to whom his son was affianced, and permit
last he determined to possess himself of so charming a
him to wed the lovely captire. At that time Isabella
creature. Many times he determined to impart his was fourteen, nnd Ricaredo twenty, and, although i
wish to marry Isabella to his parents, but feared their | green and flowery years of youth, they possessed the
disapprobation, as he was betrothed to a noble Scotch || prudence and discretion of age.
lady, also a Catholic, and he could scarcely hope to be
permitted to break with her to marry a slave, as Isa-
CHAPTER II.
bella was in fact. Pensive and perplexed Ricaredo Time flew on, and now only four days were to be
passed his days, and in anxiety to render his life happy, I passed ere the parents of Ricaredo were to present him
almost lost it. He roused himself at length from his with a bride, who, poor and a captive as she was, they
despondency, thinking it but a coward's part to suffer gladly preferred to the Scotch maiden, with all her
and die in secret, without making any effort to amelio-boundless wealth. The relations and guests were all
rate his fate-he resolved to open his heart to Isabella. || invited, the wedding feast was prepared and nothing
Anxiety of mind brought on a fit of sickness, which remained but the Queen's consent to the marriage-
afflicted all the house, as they were much attached to ll without which no one of noble blood were permitted to


THE POISONED JELLY.
wed; but secure of her ready acquiescence, Clotaldo | Arrived at the palace, they were ushered into the
had neglected until now to ask it.
grand saloon, where the Queen sat surrounded by her
He had arranged to go on the following day, when court. A rare and noble picture would that scene have
that evening their happy family circle was agitated by made. When Clotaldo and his train of gay cavaliers
the arrival of a messenger from the Queen, who brought had advanced a few paces in that spacious and gorge-
the Queen's command that Cataldo should the next ous apartment, they remained motionless, while Isabel-
morning bring before her majesty the Spanish girl whom la moved along towards the Queen. So dazzling was
he had captured at Cadiz. Striving to appear calm, her beauty, and so brilliant her attire, that she seemed
Clotaldo replied, “ He would willingly comply with the like eve's early star which snils alone through the sum-
Queen's request;" and the messenger departed, leaving mer sky-or midnight exhalation floating in the peace-
their bosoms filled with alarm and surprise.
| ful night-or the sun's first ray bursting through some
" Ah me," said the Lady Catalina; "if the Queen crevice on the mountain's top, and falling in one bright
should discover I had brought up Isabella a Catholic, streak upon the plain below. As a fiery comet prognos-
she would then suspect we were all of that persuasion, ricates a drowning or burning world, so did the appear-
and we should be ruined! If the Queen yuestion you ance of this miraculous beauty foretell the conflagra-
regarding the manner in which you have been educated tion of many a soul around. With easy dignity and
during the eight years you have been with us, be careful, graceful humilivy, Isabella approached the Queen, and,
child, not to say any thing which might condemn us." kneeling before her, addressed her in the English
“Give yourself no uncasiness, my laly," said Isabel. tongue.
la. “I rely on heaven, and believe, through Divine il “Will your majesty permit your humble slave to kiss
mercy, words will there be given me which will bring your royal hand ?" she said. “No longer lowly slave,
you no harm, but rather redound to your honor.” but lady proud, since the high honor has been mine to
Ricarede trembled, as if he already foresaw the evils view your greatness."
which would ensue. His father endeavored to relieve The Queen gazed in silence upon the kneeling girl,
his fears, and bade him rely upon the prudence and dis- unable to speak, so much was she struck by the bright
cretion of Isabella, whom he knew would come back vision before her. “She seemed to be gazing upon a
soon to them safe from harm. Again he implored Isa- starry sky," she said to her Camarera, or lady of the
bella to conceal from the Queen their religion. “ For," bed-chamber; the pearls and diamonds which covered
he added—“if the spirit is willing to suffer martyrdom, / Isabella Aashing like stars, her lovely face and eyes the
to the flesh it would be bitter."
sun and moon, while the whole was a marvel of bril-
Isabella renewed her protestation of prudence, for, liuncy and beauty. The ladies who surrounded the
although she know not what questions would be asked Queen were loud in her praise; some lauding her lus-
her, she trusted in help from on high. The night passed trous eyes, others her fine skin, or perfect form, or sweet
in these discourses, and hope and fear alternately pre- voice, while those who sought through envy to find some
vailed. At length Clotaldo consoled them with the fault, could only say,—" The Spanish girl is pretty
hope that the Queen merely wished to see one who had enough, but I do not admire her dress.”
been so much lauded for beauty. He trusted to excuse The Queen raised Isabella, saying—"Speak to me in
himself for not bringing her to court before, by saying, Spanish, damsel, for I understand that language, and
he wished to cducate her as the wife of his son, Ri- love it well.” Then calling Clotaldo, she said, “ You
caredo.
have done me a wrong, Clotaldo, in keeping this trea-
It was agreed by all, Isabella should not appearin the sure so many years from me; but in truth there is
humble garb of a prisoner, but as the bride of a noble-enough here to move any one's avarice. You must give
man, and a Spanish lady; accordingly a rich Spanish her up to me as she is mine by right.”
dress was soon arranged, in which Isabella was attired. “Your majesty speaks truth," replied Clotaldo. “My
She wore a Saya, or trained gown of green satin, | fault has been great, if it is one, to have kept this jewel
slashed and bordered with cloth of gold. The skirt of that I might polish it to its utmost perfection, ere I pre-
the dress was richly embroidered with pearls, while I sented it before your majesty. To-day I should have
chains of the same encircled each slash. A costly col- come to ask your royal licerse to wed her to my son,
lar of diamonds lay upon her white neck, and a cinture Ricaredo ; and in giving them both to you, I should
of the same bound her delicate waist; while her luxu- have laid at your gracious feet my most costly gifts."
riant hair was twisted and secured with diamonds. In 'Tis well," said the Queen ; “ but I desire no other
this splendid dress, and glowing with youth and loveli- name for her than Isabella, the Spanish girl. Clotaldo,
ness, Isabella passed through the streets of London, how comes it you promised her to your son without my
seated beside Ricaredo and his parents, in a handsome \ permission ?”
carriage. All eyes were riveted upon this beauteous! “I was to blame, my royal mistress, but I hoped the
vision as she passed, drawing the gazer's soul to follow services myself and ancestors have rendened to this
her. Behind them rode a gallant train of relations and kingdom, might obtain for me a greater boon than
friends ; Clotaldo desiring them to show her this honor license to marry my son. My son is not wedded yet,
that the Queen and all the court might see she was con lady."
sidered as the bride of his son, and be thus intimidated 1 “Nor shall be !" said the Queen, "until he merits
from offering her any harm.
her. Not for the services of his father nor forefathers,


THE POISONED JELLY.
CHAPTER III.
shall he gain this costly treasure—by his own valor Ricaredo turned away; and Clotaldo with his train of
shall be look to obtain from me this lovely girl, whom cavaliers, having made their obeisance to the Queen, all
from this moment I shall consider as my own daughter." departed, tilled with compassion and rage. Isabelia,
Hearing these words, Isabella knelt to thank the the hapless bride, remained as some lonely orphan who
Queen, saying in Spanish-" If all troubles should such sees the funeral train of her parents depart from the
discount have, Serenisima Señora, I know not how to door.
call them troubles : your majesty has given me the name
of daughter-under that title what sorrows may I not
have to fear, and what favors hope ?"
Soon after the departure of Ricaredo from his be-
Isabella spoke with so much grace and sweetness, 'trothed, he set sail to join the expedition against Spain
that the Queen felt quite attached to her, and turning to and Portugal. The bosom of Ricaredo was agitated
her principal lady of the bed-chamber, bade her take by two contending emotions. It behoved him to per-
her under her charge that she might be taught all the form some great exploit to merit Isabella, and yet, he
forms of the court. Ricaredo, who ielt in losing Isa- could not as a consistent Catholic, fight against those of
bella he was losing life, threw himself before the Queen his own religion. Should an occasion offer, he must
in distraction.
ll refuse to fight, and be called a coward, or attack those
“I need no other inducement to serve your majesty,"lof his own church. The contest between love and re-
he said, “than that which excited my ancestors' breasts ligion terminated in favor of the former, and he trusted,
when serving their kings. But if your majesty judge by the mercy of God, to find an opportunity of signali-
it fitting to place another reward before me to urge me zing himself, to the satisfaction of the Queen, without
on, show me by what mode-what difficult undertaking, acting against his conscience. After six days of fair
I can gain your royal favor, and I fly to execute it!" l wind the two barks found themselves off the Island of
" There are two barks about to sail upon a cruise," | Teciera, where they were sure of meeting Portuguese
said the Queen, “ in which go the Baron de Lausac and ships going or returning from India. On the sixth day,
his warriors-of one I make you captain, knowing the | however, a violent wind sprung up from the coast (call-
gallant blood from which you sprang, will remedy the cd in the Mediteranean, the Mediodia wind) which
defect in your years. Go, then, Ricaredo! I give you lasted so long and became so vehement, that they were
means to serve your Queen; to confer new honor upon obliged to run for Spain. Near the coast, off Gibraltar,
your noble race; to show your own valor, and to merit | they espied three vessels, one very large and the others
the rare treasure which is in reserve for you. I will small, Ricaredo gave orders for his ship to approach
watch over Isabella, and shall find the task a light one, that of the General, to know if it was his pleasure to
for her pure and lofty soul is suficient guard. You are attack the vessels. When near the General's bark they
a lover," continued the Queen, " which is pledge you were surprised to see a black flag flying from the mast,
will return crowned with noble deeds. I remember me while the mournful sounds of clarions and trumpets,
of a king who went to battle once with an army of ten gave notice some distinguished person was dead. They
thousand warriors, all lovers; the price of victory was were hailed, Ricaredo was requested to come on board
possession of their lady-loves—they conquered. Go in the Capitana, as the General died the last night of an
God's name! Say farewell to Isabella, for you depart apoplexy. All were overcome with grief, except Ri-
to-morrow.”
caredo, who, sorry as he was for the General, rejoiced
Thanking her for her goodness, Ricaredo kissed the at his good luck, for now, by the Queen's command, he
Queen's hand and turned towards Isabella. In vain he succeeded as General of the two ships.
essayed to spcak to her-his grief was too powerful for With a light heart, Ricaredo stepped on board the
words, and he stood in silence, while the tears flowed in Capitana, where he found some grieving over the dead
showers from his eyes. Ashamed of his emotion, he | General, and others approaching to congratulate the
endeavored to check his tears, which the Queen per-living. Brief were the ceremonies which installed him
ceiving, said "Nay, Ricaredo, stay not your tears. Do in his office, for the three foreign vessels were now near
not deem us so cold of heart that we should less esteem them. The two smaller vessels were discovered, by the
you for this tenderness. Well do we know the courage half-moon's upon their flags, to be Turkish corsairs,
that would lead a warrior to the cannon's mouth would which gave Ricaredo much pleasure, for he might now
desert him when saying farewell to his loved-one. Isa- hope to distinguish himself and not war with Catholics.
bella embrace Ricaredo and give him your benediction, Ricaredo's vessels carried the Spanish flag to deceive
for he well merits your kindness."
their enemies, which completely imposed upon the
The scene which had just passed had already over- | Turks, who took them for Spanish Galléons returning
whelmed Isabella with affliction, but when she beheld richly laden from India
the silent despair of Ricaredo, whom she loved as her | Rapidly they approached, and when near enough
husband, her emotion took from her all consciousuess Ricaredo bade his men to fire, which they did so rapidly
of what was said to her; large tears rolled down her that after a short canonade, the galley reeled and ap-
cheeks, and she stood so still, so motionless, that she peared about to sink. The other corsair seeing the
appeared a marble statue of grief. The silent distress situation of the galley, threw it a rope and towed it
of these deeply attached lovers, touched the hearts of around behind the larger ship. But Ricaredo, whose
all in the saloon. Without uttering a word to Isabella, men managed his vessel finely, soon followed, and pour-


THE POISONED JELLY.
ed upon them a shower of balls. The crew of the sink. || love of their religion. Ricaredo passed into the large
ing galley abandoned their vessel and ascended the side ship with fifty arquebusiers alert, their pieces primed
of the large ship, assisted by the other bark, which Ri- for instant use. On board were nearly three hundred
caredo seeing, he plied his balls into them so hotly that persons. These were soon placed in their smallest
the crew of the other galley also began to take refuge in vessel, from which all arms had previously been taken.
the ship. While passing up the sides they presented They were each given four gold escudos, and the vessel
fit marks for the artillery-men, who fired at them as at provided with a month's provisions, which they might
targets, and pitched them off one by one. The ship had want ere they landed, as the mountains of Abila and
been captured by the Turks, and was filled with Spanish Calpe could just be discerned in the distance.
and Portuguese prisoners, who burst their chains, and The grateful captives were loud in their thanks for
seizing arms attacked the Turks and quickly finished all the clemency of their conquerer, while the last one, who
who escaped the English. As soon as Ricaredo per- had been the spokesman, said, “I would be far more
ceived the Christians he bade the firing cease, when the happy, valiant Cavalier, would you take me to England
prisoners, who believed them Spaniards, called to them than to Spain, for although it is my native country, I
to come on board and take command of the ship. Ri. have met there so much of sorrow that I care not if I
caredo demanded, in Spanish, the name of the bark. never see it again."
They replied it was a Portuguese ship arriving from Ricaredo wished to be acquainted with his cause of
India, with a costly cargo of spices and more than a grief, to which request he answered.
million in gold. During a violent tempest they were so “ It is now fifteen years since, at the fall of Cadiz, I
disabled as to be an easy prey to the Turks, who were lost my only child, the comfort of my old age, the light
headed by the celebrated corsair, Armante Mami. Then of my eyes, for since they have not her to look upon I
two small galleys would not hold all their rich cargo, so care not to gaze on any thing. I lost also all my wealth,
they were towing the ship into the river Larache, which which was great, for I was a distinguished nierchant.
was not far off. Ricaredo replied, he supposed they If I had saved my daughter I should have not cared for
were taken for Spanish vessels, but they were English | my riches, but she was carried by the English to Eng-
cruisers fighting for their queen and country. The poor land, and I never saw her more. Restless and unhappy,
prisoners' hearts sank with disappointment, for now || my wife and I determined to go to India, the refuge for
they feared they had escaped one snare only to fall into the poor and afflicted. We were six days out when
another as bad.
taken by the corsairs and placed in this vessel."
“You have nothing to fear," said Ricaredo; “pro- | Ricaredo demanded the name of his daughter.
vided you make no defence I promise you liberty.” “Isabella," he replied, and thus confirmed the suspi-
“We can make no defence," they replied, “as in the cions of Ricaredo, that he saw before him the father of
storm we threw all our artillery overboard. We throw his betrothed. Wishing to surprise him, he did not
ourselves upon the generosity of your general, and hope betray his knowledge of Isabella, but gave him permis-
he will add to the benefit he has already rendered us, sion to sail with him to England, where he would give
that of liberty to return to our homes. Should he agree him every assistance in the search of his lost child.
to this, the fame of his goodness will reach wherever Ricaredo returned to the Capitana carrying the Spaniard
the news of this memorable victory will be carried." with him, and leaving sailors and officers beliind to guard
Ricaredo was inclined to set the prisoners free, but the prize. The Spaniards departed, taking with them
thought it proper to call a council of his officers on the many Turkish prisoners whom they were to free as soon
occasion. There were some of opinion, the prisoners as landed, which was done by Ricaredo to free himself
should be brought one by one on board their ship, and from the suspicion of being a Catholic.
there killed as they entered, by which means they might | The wind, which had been fair, now fell, which alarm-
carry the great ship to London without more trouble ed Ricaredo's soldiers, who feared the Spaniards, when
and time.
landed, might give the alarm, and send armed vessels
Ricaredo was horror-struck by this proposal. “Since in pursuit of them. Ricaredo was now much blamed
God has been so merciful as to send this great prize in for his generosity, but he soon infused courage into their
our hands, we should imitate his mercy and commit no hcarts, also revived by a strong favorable wind, which
cruelty. 'Tis my opinion then, these Christians should in nine days brought them safe to London.
not die. I speak not for love of the Spaniards, but for Ricaredo did not wish to show signs of joy in his ves-
love of myself. I would not this victory of to-day should sel, since the general had died when away, so that he
be sullied by a breath of reproach cast upon myself, nor | mixed with them signals of mourning, joyous clarionets,
on you my companions in war. Valor and cruelty alternated with mournful trumpets. Now gay voices
should never go together. Let us then place all the were heard singing merry songs to the sound of clashing
arms and artillery of one of our vessels in the great ship, arms, and then solemn dirges and pensive requiems
leaving the deserted bark to the prisoners, while we were borne upon the wind ;- from one end of the Capi.
return with the ship to London and they depart for tana floated banners bearing the Turkish crescent;
Portugal."
while from the other a long black flag swept down until
No one disputed Ricaredo-some lauding him as it nearly touched the water. These contrary signals of
wise and magnanimous, while others in their hearts mourning and of joy perplexed the multitude of people
suspected his kindness for these Catholics sprang from who were assembled by the river's side. They recognised


A PIRATICAL SKETCH.
the bark of General Lausac, but could not make out how sea. “Did you say die? Henry die?" she inquired
its consort had been changed for so large a ship which with a vacant stare. “Do we not proceed thither for
followed the Capitana.
his life? He will not die ?" And thus it was. No
Their doubts were all solved when they saw the val argument of mine was sufficient to impress upon her
iant Ricaredo spring on shore, clothed in rich armor, mind the considerations which every one but herself
resplendent with gold and jewels and nodding plumes. I was so fully aware of.
Followed by a great multitude of citizens, the joyous and i During our voyage thus far, the weather had been
eager Ricaredo took his way to the palace. E. R. S. | beautiful. The mighty deep had just been sufficiently
To be continued.
agitated by the wind to be pleasant, and the white cres-
ted waves rolled and tumbled with life and joy. The
Original.
nights were clear and blue heaven crowded with
stars-a full moon pouring down a flood of light-and
A PIRATICAL SKETCH.
our vessel with her bellying sails shooting through
In the month of June, 1837, I embarked on board of the waters with the velocity of an arrow. Many of the
the ship Star, bound for the West Indies. There were evenings were passed by me on the vessel's deck, listen-
a large number of cabin-passengers on board, and we ing to those “ Yarns" which the sons of Neptune are
had the promise of a pleasant and agreeable voyage. so famous for spinning. I will, for a moment, digress
The captain was a fine, open-souled gentleman, who from my subject to relate one, which to me was most
paid every care and attention to the comfort of the pas- | thrilling
sengers, and had, for many years, been conspicuous in An old tar, who had for many years ploughed the
his official capacity. I had also under my protection deep, said he recollected a circumstance, while on a
my niece, the only daughter of a deceased brother, and voyage from Liverpool to Quebec, which he never could
as lovely and sweet a girl as ever blessed a parent. She bear to think of with any degree of composure. “We
was one of those bright, ethereal creatures whose very were loaded chiefly with emigrants," said he, “ among
thoughts and feelings are beautiful, and one who looked them a great number of women and children. The
upon all creation with a golden vision, that colored all weather had been fair, and for many days we never found
objects around her with its own rich and heavenly hues. it necessary to take in a sheet. All seemed filled with
We had also in our little company an invalid, a young hope and good spirits, looking forward to a better land
gentleman with whom my niece was about to be united, than the one they had left. I remember the night well,"
and who was proceeding South in search of a more said Jack," and every one who was saved from the poor
gentle climate that might contribute to relief in a pul Santa Martha, remembers it, I warrant you, to this day.
monary complaint.
It was a clear, still evening, the moon shining down as
Nothing could exceed the attachment which she round and bright as it does at this moment, when every
manifested for her betrothed, and the devotedness man, woman and child thought themselves in the
with which she attended upon him, was truly touching. I most perfect security, that the vessel struck one of
She never, for a moment, supposed he could be taken those sunken rocks which infest the waters. It imme-
from her-in fact, I question whether she had any pro diately sprang a leak, but we were all careful to keep
per idea of death at all. How encouragingly she spoke the knowledge of the extent of the damage from the
of him to me day by day. “The climale of the South passengers. The carpenter was called, but long before
must restore him," she said, and then she exclaimed in he reached the spot, the vessel was quarter billed. Noth-
all the warmth of her manner" he will be mine in- ling could be done but to save our lives. And what do
you think we done? What could we do?" he repea-
I often endeavored to moderate her extravagant hope, ted, turning his weather-beaten countenance upon us-
and discipline her feelings in such a manner, that she “What could we do? The boats were scarce sufficient
might be better enabled to withstand with fortitude the to save the crew-and the rush for life, in case our de-
shock which we all thought must eventually ensue. One | plorable situation had been divulged, would have sunk
mellow evening, as we stood leaning upon the taffrail, them all, and thus completed our total destruction. “I'll
with a flood of moonlight streaming down upon us, I | cell yon what,' said our captain, 'our hatches must be
reminded her of the desperate disease under which her barred down, the entrance to the companion-way clo-
lover labored; and, taking her calmly by the hand- sed, every door fastened, and we must save ourselves in
** Mary," said I, “ your hope for him is too great-you the boats. It was done as he ordered ; and we had
love him, it is true--we all love him; by his many vir- scarcely left the good ship, when she gradually began
tues he has won the affections of friends and strangers ; to go down, and we heard the smothered screams of the
but then he is not immortal-we are often called upon drowning the splash, and gurgling, and spouting of
to lose those most dear-death is our great enemy-and water-the shrill voice of the women, and still, small
what I fear, is, that your affection may at last prove || voice of the infant! Heavens, I never shall forget it !
your own distruction-you adore him, and if death | All this time the ship was fast disappearing, and the
takes him from us, I fear that you may too soon follow voices growing weaker and weaker, until settling at last
after him."
to the bulwarks, she gave a plunge forward and aft, and
She started like one from a dream, for throughout | sinking down, drew her colors after her with the veloci-
my conversation, her eyes were fixed upon the moonlit || ty of lightning, forming a thousand little whirlpools that
deed."


10
A PIRA TICAL SKETCH.
wheeled madly around above her. Thus went the poor | abruptly, turned to the mate, saying—“We must try a
Santa Martha," said Jack, wiping an honest tear from run for it, and if that fails, trust to our arms. No quar-
his eye, “as good a ship as ever sat upon the waters. I 'ters there,” he added, passing down the companion-
loved her with all my heart. Why, Lord, sir, I was I way.
mate of that ship five years," he continued, brightening | During the day our vessel lay tumbling about the sea.
up; “but so she went at last.”.
Our invalid, also, was seriously affected by the heat, and
This was one among many incidents related, and at declared existence to be insupportable. About sunset,
that time they were peculiarly calculated to make a deep I was leaning against the laffrail in deep meditation,
impression upon us. I knew there were many piratical when I was suddenly aroused by a tap on the shoulder
vessels cruising in the West India waters, and must from the captain. “We shall not lay long in this devil.
confess I did not feel myself in perfect security; now ish calm,” he said, pointing to a certain flaw of wind
especially were my fears excited for my niece and her curling the waters; “ wind enough by night-fall-'twill
fecble lover, both of whom I loved most dearly. As blow the hair from your head, sir-enough to rend the
for the latter, I feared he must leave us soon at any rate, canvass from forty ships-there, don't you see?" he con-
yet I could not harbor the idea that any thing should tinued, raising his arm, and pointing westward,"a litile
occur to distress him in his last moments.
gathering there, a closing up of the vapor and small
Morning and evening passed, and still our course was clouds its coming, sir-its coming ;" and away he dar-
onward; scarcely a cloud during the voyage thus far, ted, summoning all hands, who made instant prepara-
had spotted the blue face of the heavens. We were tions to meet the approaching gule.
hailed each morning with the unobscured sun, rushingAnd not us alone. The captain of the black clipper
up from the level ocean in one sudden blaze, and at had already caught the omen in the heavens. His crew
night dropping away again, throwing an almost twilight were hurrying to and fro, as we saw by the Nashing and
over the waters. Our patient had made a slight im- glancing of their arms. Some were darting up the
provement since his embarkation, and many had a hope shrouds-others tightening the braces and all were in-
that his case would yet be conquered. Mary had no tent upon the rising gale.
doubt of it. But she, as I before stated, never doubted | Turning away, I passed down the companion-way to
from the first, that he was to be yet restored to her in the cabin, where I found the captain preparing not only
full heaith and vigor; and now, when a change was for the tempest, but a less welcome foe. “Let every
visible to all, how much more so to her; her young and piece be carefully examined," said he to the mate, in an
enthusiastic imagination dwelt upon him already in the imperative tone ; "let each be prepared with a musket
full flush of health and life.
and cutlass—the black rascals will give us the chase
On the tenth day out, the brisk breeze that had waf- soon, but they must fight for it, too. Ah, Mr. - "
ted us so merrily along, suddenly died away, and sunk he continued, turning to me; “so you see we are not
to a dead calm. Above, the sky, with a brassy and exactly unprepared,” glancing down 10 a pile of arms
burning aspect, looked down upon us, and the blazing which lay before him. “And I may give you an invita-
sun poured its scorching heat like molten fire. The tion to boat-shooting—not the dullest amusement by any
seams of the vessel's deck ran liquid tar and pitch, and / means. This is not the first time these gentlemen have
the shrouds moistened were they hung. There we lay, met me in these waters," he continued, holding up his
heaving to and fro in the trough of the ocean, watching left-hand, bereſt of one of the fingers.
the long, smooth and lazy swells that rose and sunk in. In the meantime the wind was freshening up. The
their indolence. Every one was literally burning to mists and vapor had now become a heavy black cloud,
death, and praying for a gale to lasten them on. around the edges of which the silent lightning was
About this time we observed a neighbor to windward, shooting most fearfully, accompanied by dull bursts of
who wore a most ominous appearance. She was a Bal- thunder, that died away with a smothered echo. The
timore clipper, and painted as black as night. A black old deep moved, and rousing itself from its lethargy,
flag hung from her mizen, curling lazily around the rig- lashed up its foaming waves. All sail was immediately
ging, and altogether she was a pretty little craft. The taken in, and it was evident we must "scud under bare
captain was called, who appeared on deck with his glass, poles” during the continuance of the storm.
and took a more elabarate observation. He reported the wind was west, blowing strongly from shore;
her strongly manned, carrying ten guns. In fact, she and, what was unfortunate, the gale would drive us far-
was a piratical craft. She had every appearance of a ther out at sea. Our enemy, who lay between us and
rapid sailer-her light, trim, taper masts-her long land, must approach us by drifting, as it would be in-
slender hull-her sharp bow-her ease and grace upon stant destruction to carry the least sail. But we must
the water-all were light, fleet and beautiful-they were abide the result.
not to be mistaken, nor their object to be misunderstood. The captain stood most by the gang-way with one
Her men were scattered around in a listless manner, hand upon his hat swearing most bitterly at what he
while the weapons that were bound around them, flash- thought the tardy execution of his orders, and the sai-
ed with the intense rays of the sun. They were un- lors echoed them round to one another in great profu-
doubtedly lying in wait for a wind, when we should have sion-the vessel itself reeled and plunged-the tempest
the pleasure of their company. The captain observed screaming through the rigging, and the keel and timbers
them very closely, and at last, lowering his glass very cracking at every leap. The mountain waves rose, as


A PIRATICAL SKETCI.
11
it were, midway in the heavens, and thundering down | firing upon us at each opportunity. Their sole object
upon our decks, burst in torrents over us. A twilight now was to throw their grappling irons favorably, link-
had come down upon the great sea, caused by the den- ing the two vessels together, when every hope of escape
sity and blackness of the tempest. The thunder and must vanish. They found that their guns had but little
lightning were truly awful-every flash split as it were effect, owing to the agitation of the waters. And alas!
the very heavens asunder. What fear, and quakinge, they succeeded. A brawny, stalwart pirate, with giant
and groanings there were among our passengers, I will might sent the irons over, and they caught. The cap-
not attempt to describe. The female portion were tain of the clipper instantly gave the order to board,
wrought to an agony of concern. Yet I must confess leading the way. He had no sooner stepped his foot
that Mary was more resigned than I could have expec- l upon our gangway, than the boatswain shot him with a
ted-her fear was chiefly for her lover, which rendered pistol, and he fell wounded upon our decks. At this
her in a measure unconscious of her own danger. Such moment, the first mate stepped cautiously up and cut
is woman.
the grappling-cable that bound us. Away shot the
My attention was upon our enemy. She danced upon clipper again, mounting a wave, and never again to
the face of the great deep like a feather-thunder aloft return-for instantly the whole heavens flamed up
in the lurid sky, and the next in the great abyss. Yet I long line of fire ran down from the clouds to her mast,
perceived that she made a rapid gain upon us. I was cracking it like steel, and reaching the magazine, she
just turning to the captain to assure hiin of the fact, blew up with a tremendous explosion, throwing arms
when I was startled by the ratiling of shot through the and legs, and tattered garments, and guns, and spars,
topmust rigging, and the falling of splinters around me and sails, midway in the black sky, the hull disappear-
from one of the spars.
ing like a bubble, without a splinter or vestige remain-
“Curse them," muttered the captain, “the blood- | ing to mark her destruction.
thirsty wretches would even fight in such a gale as this. In four days after this we lay safely moored in the
It will take many of their wind and water shots to bring ! port of Havana. The wounded pirate who fell upon
us down, I imagine."
our decks, was yet alive.
While he stood gazing upon them, another broadside
greeted us, with about the same effect, yet sufficient to
Original.
exhibit their desperate character. The captain also in-
STANZAS.
formed me he knew the vessel well, whose commander
never gave quarters; and he told me he had understood
BY THE REV. J. H. CLINCH.
that their flag was inscribed with the old saying, “Dead
men tell no tales."
Still they continued their firing, and as they approach Not always is the Summer fair,
ed us their shots began to have more effect. One ball For clouds and storm-gusts dim its light-
passed through the bulwarks, throwing the splinters in And Wir.ter's snows at times must bear
every direction. As for us, our only alternative was A stain upon their purest white;
their boarding us-small arms being our only weapons. So Joy must sometiines feel u blight,
And then there was Mary, fragile and delicate. Hea Across its fairest moments thrown,
vens! I could not think of this with any thing like com And Pleasure's cold but dazzling veil
posare. What was to become of her ? But as yet she Aside by Sorrow's tempests blown
did not know the full extent of our danger.
Reveals a visage stern and pale.
I looked again, and what was my astonishment to
11.
find that our foes had hoisted their jib even in such a The fairest land the sunlight cheers
tempest. A few moments would bring them down upon
Not always in that sunlight sleeps,
us, and the contest must be soon decided. Like an ar-
For half the time with dewy tears
row the clipper darted towards us, and dashing down,
The frowning eye of Darkness weeps
she rolled against us with a tremendous power, shaking While o'er the land stern watch it keeps;
every timber in our vessel. At this moment another So Gladness cannot reign alone,
broadside was opened upon us, cutting up our rigging But yields to Woe divided,
in every quarter, and carrying away the arm of the
Each for a season wants the throne
second mate. He staggered upon the taffrail, and
And sways the sceptre of an hour.
finally fell upon the deck by the bulwarks, the blood
III.
spouting from the mutilated arm-stump high in air. All
The winds not always on the main
the male passengers capable of bearing arms, stood upon
Fold up their wings in slumber mild,
lhe deck ready to meet the encounter, some, it may be,
But wake and fill the watery plain
with trembling. The clipper lay knocking and drifting
With foamy billows white and wild
against us-one moment separated by a wave-then
Like Alpine glaciers rudely piled;
thrown back upon us with greater fury. The tempest So calm Content and healthy Ease
was at its height-the sea and the skies were black-the
Must sometimes from their seat depart,
heavens throughout flamed up in one continued sheet
And Sickness, Pain and Denth must seize
of fire and during this terrible moment, our foes were
At times, with tempest force, the heart.


THE LAST SACRIFICE.
Original.
forty or fifty feet, with broken fragments of rocks lying
THE LAST SACRIFICE. in the water, having been washed from their beds
by the dashing of the waves in stormy weather. From
A TALE OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.
many parts, where it is not obstructed by trees, the
Of the revolutionary days of our country there are hills afford an extensive view of surrounding country,
many incidents of absorbing interest; many scenes of which is not less beautiful than diversified. At their
affliction and distress; many acts of cruelly and of foot their is a winding creek, extending about one third
blood—that have been, and perhaps always will be left across the island, which at this part is some two miles
unrecorded by historian, chronologist, or novelist. The wide, gradually becoming broader and deeper, until it
details of that period of unexampled suffering amongst empties itself into the East river. A sandy plain with
a large and virtuous people striving for their rights, gentle risings extends from this creek over an interven-
have been but lightly sketched, and but few pens em-'ing space of some miles in every direction, joining Har.
ployed in describing their transcendent labors, whose lem river on the east, whilst to the north it meets the
influence is, or shall be felt, wherever man exists upon high hills in the neighborhood of Manhattanville and
this earth and the name of liberty is loved. Many of King's-bridge: the first a small and quiet village, situa-
tho perils and distresses of those times, unhappily exist ted in a deep valley, and the latter celebrated as the
now &nly in tradition, the actors themselves having gone place of the advanced guard of the British army, form-
for ever from the scenes of which they formed a part- ing the southern extremity of the Neutral Ground.
but Freedom, the work of their hands, whose torch was 'l This ridge with its rugged, precipitous side, it will
lighted by a spark from heaven, still exists, and the will be perceived at once, was well fitted to afford with
beautiful structure shall stand for ages yet to come, | but a small force, a place of almost impregnable strength
shedding a cherishing smile on all who dure to trample, against any considerable army that might attack it from
upon tyranny and resist oppression. To America the the north. And so important did the British deem its
world shall look and see the flame of liberty burning possession, that during the whole war, or from early in
brighter and still brighter, and its influence more and 1776 until peace was declared in 1783, a period of up-
more extended, until men are no longer slaves to igno wards of seven years, they held its occupation with no
rance and despotism: without thee, O Goddess! what inconsiderable portion of their army. About midway
is man, families, government, nutions ?
and again near the end and towards the Hudson river,
Our story is of this period--the revolution of the colo were two roads giving ingress and egress to and from
nies of Great Britain, now the United States of America, the city; with this exception, the whole was wild and
and of which it was said in the first Continental Con-' solitary, unul military works and fortifications were
gress —"We have counted the cost of this contest, and erected, first by the Americans and afterwards by the
are with one mind resolved to die freemen rather than British, the remains of which are still to be seen.
to live slaves”-a sentiment that will truly emulate in At that season of the year when the scorching rays
patriotic heroism the resolves of ancient Greece or of the sun are fast mellowing into the softer beams of
Rome, by whomsocver spoken.
autumn, about two hours before sunset the exquisite out-
Those acquainted with the localities of the Island of line of a female figure might have been seen stepping with
which the large and populous city of New-York now agility from rock to rock and slowly ascending through
forms the Southern ex remity, well know the ridge of a narrow gorge between two high peaks of the hilly
hills extending from river to river about six miles north ridge. Saying nothing of the time and place, there was
of it. This ridge of hills called Harlem Heights, at something uncommon in the appearance of the young
the time of which we are speaking, was occupied by the female, who, as she approached a sweet-briar standing
British after the retreat of the American army north- in her path, would pluck a flower, and, inhaling iis fra-
ward. The hand of industry had not, as at the present grance for an instant, place it in her hair, which hung
day, levelled many of its protuberances and filled many luxurianily down upon her neck and shoulders in flow-
of its ravines ; neither had the axe felled the greater' ing tresses. A simple band of white ribbon surrounded
portion of the trees which skirted its summits-but, her head. The dress she wore was of entire black,
wild, solitary and neglected, it stood, until hostile bands and her bonnet, which was also black, she held in her hand
roamed through our land, seeking and destroying, made by its strings. Though her countenance was palo and
it a bulwark of defence and safeiy.
blanched her features were models of feminine beauty.
This line of hills on the east side began near the river There was a cast of care upon her face, but her dark
opposite Hell Gate, a place which in former times exci- eyes shone through the long black eye-lashes, with a
ted almost supernatural fears in the breast of the navi- lustre almost unearthly. She appeared in no haste to
gator, and is still looked upon as a location of consider- gain the end of her journey. Occasionally, as the broeze
able danger to small vessels at certain times of tide.freshened, the flowers which stuck in her hair were
From this spot they gradually rise in height, sloping off blown away, when she would fly after them with an ex-
on the Southern aspect, whilst the north side for the clamation of playfulness and pleasure. Having regain-
most part are steep and precipitous and interspersed ed them she would replace them upon her head, and
with deep gullies. Within a quarter of a mile of the then pursue her way, singing in a melodious tone of
Hudson they gradually taper off to the border of the voice a couplet of a song, and gathering the wild-flowers
river, where there is a perpendicular descent of some as she went along.


THE LAST SACRIFICE.
13
Anon she approached a stream of water, which came ed and reverberated through the woods and over hill
in a meandering course down the hill, rippling among and dale in a fearful manner, and fed from the rock
pebbles and fragments of rocks. She seated herself | against which she had been leaning with the velocity of
beside it. From a little busin filled with the water of an arrow. In an instant she was in the arms of the sol-
crystal purity she lifted the refreshing beverage with the dier, clinging for protection in a wholly senseless condi-
palm of her hand to her parched lips. After assuaging tion. The soldier, finding she had fainted, gently pla-
her thirst, she bent her head over the stream, and with ced her upon the green turf, and then advanced to the
her hands bathed her throbbing temples and forehead rock from whence she lead fled, to penetrate the causo
with the cooling liquid ; she then raised herself from of her sudden alarm. There, but a few feet from whero
her seat and proceeded on her way, keeping along the the poor girl had stood, lay coiled a large rattle-snake,
stream, its side affording a smoother pathway, and being prepared to spring upon her, and whose deadly blow
less obstructed with briars and underwood than was to she had escaped by leaving its vicinity so precipitatcly.
be found elsewhere.
He then with his bayonet quickly tranfixed the poison-
When she had nearly gained the top of the heights, alous reptile, and lifting a stone of considerable size from
confused murmur met her ears, intermingled occasion. the ground, threw it with great force and crushed the
ally with the music of a drum. She stopped and lis-serpent's head to atoms. Having done this, he return-
tened, endeavoring to convince herself of the direction ed to the still senseless girl who was gasping with re-
from whence the noise proceeded. Having apparently turning life. The fresh renovating breeze playing upon
satisfied herself, her countenance suddenly lost its sad her beautiful countenance, in a short time caused the
expression and lighted with joy as she exclaimed: mechanism of existence to renew its accustomed work.
“He is there! my Frank is there! I now shall see! Her companion, whose nerves, perhaps, had never been
him! Oh! yes, yes-I shall see him!" and she laugh- so much moved even when engaged in the strife of bat-
ed aloud. Then continued the utterance of her thoughts tle, as now in seeing this delicate creature before him in
in the same tone of feeling. “My Frank! mine—but a state of utter helplessness, and however unsoldierlike
what shall I say to him? Oh! never mind, it matters it may appear, tears might be seen coursing themselves
not-he will be rejoiced to see his own dear Editha-1 | down the veteran's face. Sitting on the grass as her
know he will!"
senses partially returned she placed her hands upon her
The last words were scarcely spoken when her atten- temples, seemingly striving to recover her recollection,
tion was attracted to a rustling noise in the bushes near and then smoothed her hair backwards from off her
her, which as it approached her still nearer, cracked brows. She now turned her eyes upon the soldier who
and snapped from the pressure of footsteps. She turn- was standing immediately before her, and interrogated
ed her face towards the place from whence the noise him in scarcely audible accents:
came and her eyes lighted upon the form of a man dress. 1 “Where am I? What place is this?" and turning
ed in the garb of a soldier, who had been attracted to her head as she spoke the last agonized heavings and
the spot by the hilarious sound of her laugh. On espywrithings of the dying reptile met her sight; “ah! that
ing the soldier she shrank timidly away and strove to horrid snake! take it away! it will get me yet—see, it
hide herself behind a rock at some distance from him. I comes-it coils itself-it springs—away! away!".
The soldier observing her efforts to rid herself of his Fear again conquered that frail tenement. The blood
presence, addressed her from where he stood, not ap- again rushed back upon the overcharged heart, and un-
proaching her vicinity, that he might not further increase consciousness again ensued. Not having recovered
her fears.
sufficiently to comprehend the true state of the reptile,
“Fear not me, young lady," said he in a soothing tone from its movements she imagined it was coming upon
of voice ; “ I would not injure the like of you—your laugh her, and unhappy consequences as we have seen follow-
brought me hither. I am a sentinel and on duty, or I ed. The kind assiduities of her companion, however,
should not now intrude myself before you." After soon brought her back to life, and whose explanations
pausing a few moments and not receiving any answer, finally effected the composure of her excited imagina-
continued: “Where art going, lady? This place, and tion. This done, he assisted her from the ground and
unprotected, could not, without some object of impor- questioned her as to the direction which she was going,
tance, have enticed thee to its solitudes.".
promising to protect her on the way as far as his duty
Upon hearing his voice, she endeavored instinctively would permit. She informed him that she was going to
to crouch closer to the rock for concealment, which see the camp on the heights. On learning this, he assisted
ing, the soldier repeated his efforts to re-assure and her in ascending the remainder of the acclivity with
calm her apprehensions.
great gentleness, and brought her by the nearest direc-
“My dear young lady, dissipate these useless fears. tion to the quarters of the commander of the station.
Though an old, rough and weather-beaten soldier-I After having arrived at the place and seated his
would not harm thee, dear Miss-not I! Come away charge in the apartment of Colonel Haviland, he left
from amongst those briars, they will tear thy delicate her alone whilst he went in quest of that officer. He
flesh-come away, and be assured thou hast but to com- met Colonel Haviland at the door just returning from
mand, if I can assist thee in thy wishes."
an excursion, and informed him that a lady was waiting
Whilst the old man was still speaking to the timid in the house to see him, and likewise told him of all the
girl, she suddenly gave a wild, shrill shriek, which echo-circumstances from his first meeting her. When the


14
THE LAST SACRIFICE.
sentinel had finished his recital, the Colonel hastened to the truth flashed upon him. The conviction of the
the presence of his visitor with his curiosity in no little beautiful and delicate being before him being the victim
degree excited.
of insanity, rushed to his heart, leaving a load of pro-
For some time after entering the room he could not found sorrow and distrese.
convince himself that his senses did not deceive him- | Perhaps, thought he, she has been the victim of de-
he started, but recovering himself and approaching his ception and misfortune-but, no! no profligate wretch
fair guest, exclaimed:
would dare to taint so fair a shrine with loathsomeness.
"Is it indeed the fair Editha Meredith, the flower of The suspicion as soon as conceived was rejected. Pity
Westchester-or am I deceived ?" He took her by the for the unfortunate creature was the predominant feel-
hand and raising it, impressed it with a kiss. “Thouing of his mind, and how to return her in safety to her
art too palpable,” he continued, smiling; "but with friends was the immediate object of his solicitude.
less proof than this, I should believe most assuredly The Colonel with a quick pace thoughtfully strode
thou wert her phantom !".
i across the apartment devising the best mode of return-
Now, lest our dear reader should imagine that Colo-ing the fugitive to her friends, the camp being both an
nel Haviland and Editha Meredith were devoted lovers | improper and impossible place for her to remain any
we must haster to undeceive them. That is to say, not time, as preparations were then rapidly making for an
lovers in the acceptation that term is generally under- || important sallie against the Americans.
Blood. Colonel Haviland, besides, was not such a person, l) He had several times paced the length of the room
as you perhaps have pictured to yourself. To put you when his attention was summoned to poor Editha, who
right on this point, we must inform you, who peradven- came running towards him, and accosting him in a mix-
iure may be interested in the fortunes of our heroine, ed tone of voice, half of jest and half serious.
that he was, in the first place, a representative of years | “A pretty traipse I've had in seeking him! He shall
sufficient in number to be the parent of that young lady. | answer for the trouble he has given me shall he not,
In the second place, he was a married man; and in the Colonel ? But trouble is nothing in seeking Frank, had
last place, he was the father of a family of three chil-I not seen that horrid, horrid snake! Oh-oh!" A
dren. After knowing this, it will be confessed that Col- || shudder shook her frame like one chilled with an ague,
onel Haviland was not a proper lover for the beautiful as she thought of that hated object, and but for the sup-
Editha. But after all this he did love her—as a parent port of Colonel Haviland she must have fell to the
loves his own offspring, and Editha Meredith loved him noor.
as an amiable child loves her own dear indulgent father. So overcome was he in contemplating this wreck of
Colonel Haviland was a British officer. He was born one whom he had known as all that was amiable and
and lived in the city of New-York, and was one of those lovely, that he could not speak. She continued, after
who, in that perilous time, sided from mistaken, though recovering from her imaginary terrors, smiling as she
conscientious motives, with their country's enemies and spoke.
oppressors. He exercised the command of that portion | “But I shall now see him-won't I, dear Colonol
of the army which were stationed upon Harlem heights. Haviland ?” She then grasped his hands and implor-
At the mansion of Colonel Haviland, before the out- ingly asked: “You will let me see my dear Frank
break which sundered the ties of brother, kindred and Graves--I know you will! You never denied me aught;
friend. Edith Meredith had often been received, and say I shall see him-do, do speak!"
would remain for months together, domicilated and Francis Graves, the lover of Editha Meredith, whom
treated with the like tender corsideration with his own she was seeking in the British encampment, mistaking
children. Thus we perceive they were not strangers to it in her infirmity for the American, in which army ho
each other. Until now they had not met for a long time, I was an esteemed officer, was not unknown to Colonel
during which interval many stirring circumstances had | Haviland. But a short time previous, a smart action
convulsed the country, which promised a hindrance to had been fought in which both officers had borne no in-
an interview for a much longer period, had not chance considerable part, and indeed, formerly their respectivo
unexpectedly made the young lady a guest of Colonel families had lived on terms of friendship.
Haviland.
Considering it impossible, owing to the unsettled state
The attention of Colonel Haviland was drawn to al of the country, to escort his unfortunate charge to her
closer scrutiny of his visitor on observing the fantastic home with safety, he left her for a few moments, to give
manner she was attired, which had escaped him on his directions for a proper guard 10 conduct her to his own
first meeting her, and the expression of surprise and house in the city. The preparations were soon comple-
joy faithfully depicted on his benevolent countenance, || ted, and her kind protector assisted her to mount one
now gave place to distrust and apprehension. Her of his gentlest steeds, and turning to the old soldier who
dress of the deepest mourning, covering a figure of the brought her to the camp, charged him to be cautious of
most perfect though delicate formation; her hair dis- | his precious trust and place her in safety in his house-
hevelled and wild roses capriciously disposed in it; that and then giving him a note to be delivered to Mrs. Havi-
face of exquisite beauty, expressing hilarity rather than land, ordered him to proceed.
composed pleasure ; the lustre reflected from those dark || Our travellers, after a two hours ride along that do-
eyes, as some metal of the highest polish-so different | lightful road, which occasionally in its course skirts the
from her appearance heretofore-the full certainty of picturesquo Hudson, and which is still admired for its


THE LAST SACRIFICE.
15
beautiful scenery by the thousands who daily traverse it || love of liberty in both act and conscience; nor was be
for health and pleasure, arrived safely at the mansion of an unworthy specimen of the children of that heroic
Colonel Haviland, where we shall leave her in compara- band. A man like this, in whatever arena le chooses
tive security, and pass to some circumstances, which had to exert his influence, cannot be inconsideruble, either
preceded her adventure.
for good or for evii-a proposition eminently true in the
case of Mr. Meredith. Happily for his country, all his
After the reduction of Fort Washington by the feelings were strongly animated for her welfare, and his
British, their line of posts extended on the north as opinions were sought for with avidiiy by many of his
high as King's-bridge, and taking a southeasterly direc. contemporaries who were undecided, or unable to form
tion followed the course of the Harlem river, until it them for themselves in the great cause which then con-
joins the east river. The space between this line and vulsed our country to its very centre. Nor was this in-
White Plains, where the American head quarters was Auence exerted only among his immediate household
established, a range of country about twenty miles in and neighbors, for he had been found on several pre-
extent and reaching from the Sound to the Hudson river, | vious occasions of trust and difficulty, serving his coun-
was called the Neutral ground, and which has been ren- | try faithfully, and it now looked to him as no unimpor-
dered classic by the elegant pen of our countryman, ihe tant auxiliary in her present difficulties.
author of the Spy. This track of country in contra- Bui Mr. Meredith was not satisfied with this, in his
vention of what its name imports, was any thing but estimation, passive support, though his years would
neutral-it was emphatically the theatre of contention, readily have excused him from more active co-operation,
strife and devastation: and this not solely between the land, when the loud war-blast was first heard in our
chief belligerants, but by a set of marauders called Cow lanıl, called together those of his neighbors who loved
boys, who carried from one extremity to the other dis- their kindred and their peaceful homes, and with his
tress and desolation in their path. They were the com- | son at his side, sallied forth armed for the battle and the
mon enemy of all that lived between the lines, and death. It was at the battle of Long Island, where so
whether Whig or Tory, was to be equally obnoxious to many of our countrymen deluged the soil with their
their depredlations; nor did feeble age or delicate woman blood, that Mr. Meredith and his son both fell, martyrs
escape their unhallowed persecutions. The British, || to the cause they had espoused. As the dying father
with their foraging parties would make frequent inroads was breathing his last blessing upon his beloved child
collecting and carrying away every thing that would and a last adieu to the unprotected at home, his gallant
answer the purpose of support to man or beast; whilst son fell hy a mortal shot from the enemy.
the Cow-boys, ransacking the country, extorting by! The intelligence of this mournful catastrophe reached
threats and violence every thing they could find of any | the family of Mr. Meredith at the time when the royal
value, and in many instances committing acts of the forces were overspreading their neighborhood, laying
most startling cruelty. These, with an occasional skir- | waste with fire and sword every thing that owned a
mish between the soldiery, wrought continued excite- rebel master. Nor did the house of the Merediths es-
ment in the minds of the quietly disposed inhabitants.
cape the general devastation; as a partisan of the Co-
Security and happiness had fled far from their humble
lonial cause he had been too active for them to pass it
dwellings, and the very demons of wrath seemed to with impunity, and though inhabited by women only, it
have been let loose against them.
was not protected from the flames. The mother and
There lived in the lower portion of this district, until | daughter escaped in safety and sought an asylum with
just previous to the time when the seat of active war a relative at some distance, who, favoring the royalist
fare was shifted from New England to its vicinity, in a party, were consequently saved from the wrath of
pleasant though sequestered spot, a happy family, con- fire and sword. Mrs. Meredith, owing to her
sisting of four individualsan elderly couple who had || complicated and heavy misfortunes, acting upon a na-
numbered about threescore winters, and their two chil turally delicate constitution, was attacked with a ner-
dren, a son and a daughter. The son, just entering | vous fever, from the effects of which she soon sunk,
upon the stage of active life, when early manhood steels | making the third death in a very short period of time in
the till then dormant energies to exertion, and success | that unfortunate family.
seems certain tu a sanguine imagination. The girl, a Editha Meredith still lived, the only individual saving
fair and delicate Aower, having recently turned her it from extinction. But, oh! what a contrast between that
eighteenth birth-day. Their name was Meredith. ll being now and she who had been the life, spirit and pre-
William Meredith, the senior and head of this family, | siding genius of that happy fire-side a few weeks since !
was a stern and uncompromising Whig-a steady and The same body, the same form was there--but the mind,
firm resister of all innovations which were so continu- ll the spiritual part of our nature, where was it? Gono,
ally attempted to be hcaped upon her colonies by the || aye, gone! Editha—the lovely, the beautiful, the gay,
mother country. He was not one of the many bluster- || the innocent-was now a maniac! Yes! the destroying
ing and noisy demagogues of the day, but acted from | angel had gone forth, and left marks of his scathing
principle alone with a sure and unwavering purpose fingers upon the whole of that household. Three of its
a worthy coadjutor of the men of those trying times, || members had passed from the scene of their troubled
whose names have become immortal. A descendant of || labors, and the most fragile, the purest, the best, the one
the Pilgrim Fathers of Plymouth, he acted from the most needing a kind, protecting hand, was shorn of her


16
THE LAST SACRIFICE.
richest endowment and left a victim of insanity! In- || side him whose face was familiar. The intruder was
scrutible are thy ways, oh, l'rovidence, and past finding an old colored servant of the Meredith family.
out!
“Ah! Master Graves-Master Graves !” said Harry
The engaging fascinations of Editha Meredith were Williams, in more correct language than was comnionly
not wholly concentruied upon her own family and con- the case at that time with those of his class, and for
nexions. The courageous and accomplished Francis which he was principally indebted to his young mis.
Graves was her devoted admirer and affianced husband. I tress; "we have had sad doings since you were hero
Of the many gallant spirits who fought for their coun- last."
try's liberty, none were more untiring, enthusiastic and “Sad, sad indeed, good Harry! But tell me, wbere
brave than him. He had periled fortune, life and sacred | is thy young mistress?"
honor, in the cause of freedom. He had joined at the “Indeed, Master Francis, I don't know."
first onset of the revolution the rebel army, as it was “Not know, old man! Do you know what you are
insolently called, in spite of British sneers, British 1 saying?”.
threats and British pride, and never did he regret his “Yes, I do, Master Francis, I do!" sobbed forth the
determination.
faithful servant.
Owing to the unceasing care and toil consequent upon “You do, and you don't-why, what mean you ? Are
his duties, young Graves had been unable to see his be- you mad ?"
trothed wife for a period of several months. Neither “No, I am not mad-give me time, and don't be so
had he received any information until very recently of impatient, Masier Graves, and I will tell you all.”
the occurrences which had transpired in her family. Harry Williams now gave the young man a circum-
Immediately on learning the mournful tidings of the stantial account of all the occurrences in the family
loss of all her natural protectors, he obtained leave of as they had transpired, including the sudden flight of
absence and set out to visit her, with the intention of his mistress, and how they had searched the country
making himself her lawful guardian by leading her to without gaining any tidings of her. The worst fears of
the altar. With this intention he left the camp for her the unhappy Graves seemed to be confirmed: aud with
residence, and as may be supposed if delay slackened | frerful speed he struck his spurs into his horse, and
his progress, he was entirely guiltless of the occurrence. Il galloped to the house of Editha's relative, from whence
The sceond morning, after a long, wearisome travel, | she had disappeared so mysteriously.
he reached the neighborhood of the house of his mis- | Here he gained no information more satisfactory than
tress, to which he had so often travelled in joy and in had been told him by the servant, which was substan-
gladness. As he drew nigh the place it is impossible cially confirmed. They could not imagine whither she
lo describe accurately his feelings, when instead of well had gone, nor what was her fate. From the unsettled
known scenes, he found nothing but bear walls and state of her mind, which had shown itself some days
blackened ruins. The house burnt to cinders, fences before her flight, their apprehensions were of the most
broken down, that garden with its elegant parterre of alarming kind. That she had gone to the city, and was
flowers, and its arbors with their graceful tendrils, tram- under the protection of Colonel Haviland, was a contin-
pled upon and destroyed. All was like a dream. He gency so highly improbable that they discarded it in a
stopped his horse and gazed upon the scene, which was moment. The hint, however, struck the mind of her
still smouldering in different places. Fearful anxiety lover more forcibly than it did her friends, and the more
mingled with distorted imaginings, as the thought of his he dwelt upon the suggestion, the more probable it ap-
beloved, took possession of his soul. Where was she ? || peared, until finally he felt a conviction of its truth.
Is she safe? Has she escaped insult? A thousand
bewildering apprehensions flitted across his mind. At It was night- a night meet for lovers to offer to
last his mind, overwrought from its intense emotion, its the adored of their hearts their purest aspirations.
uncertainty and suspense of the fate of his Editha, ob The silvery queen of that hour rode the heavens, shed-
tained vent in words.
ding forth her beams upon the earth, unobstructed and
“All is altered-ruin marks their track and happiness unshorn-she was full and majestic. The gay stars as
flies their footsteps—the wolves of England have done they peeped from the clear blue expanse, shone like
this! Their heart is seared from all nobility of soul, | diamonds of the highest polish. The soft whisperings
and helpless, innocent women escape not their fury of the breeze, as it wafted the fragrance from many a
Oh, God of heaven, wilt thou see the spoiler of our flower, struck the senses with delight. The whole
land march through it unscathed and unshorn ? No! scene was well adapted to still the excited passions, and
thou wilt not-the limits of his power is written, and produce upon the perturbed and anxious mind feelings
the termination is not far hence! Aye, and if my Editha of tranquillity. The influence of calm natural scenery
is in safety, pure and undefiled, I thank thee, Britons, upon our intellectual being, in allaying its torrents of
for this deed-it shall nerve my arm to fourfold might intense feeling, is, perhaps, superior to any other agen-
against thee !"
cy; nor was its legitmate effects unacknowledged upon
Unable to sit upright from his emotions, his body bent the mind of Francis Graves, as he rode silently along
and lay motionless upon the beast's neck. After laying the road, over a beautiful country interspersed with hill
in this position for a few moments, he felt a gentle tap and valley, and streamlet, towards Fort Washington.
upon his shoulder, and rising found a man standing be- He had travelled some eight or ten miles across


THE LAST SACRIFICE.
17
the country without meeting the least molestation. | my clothes quickly and met them and tried to reason
The beauties of the night and scene did not pass his ob- them from their outrage; and to deter, threatened them
servation altogether unheeded, though they did not with punishment. They laughed and scoffed at my
receive that degree of admiration which they would menaces; the rushing of a torrent from a mountain steep,
ordinarily have solicited, for he was an ardent lover of could as easily be stayed, as those men bent from their
the unsophisticated scenes of nature. He was upon object. They proceeded to search the house. Their
the verge of a considerable hill thickly studded with object was money--but not finding sufficient to satisfy
trees, leaving the road shaded from the moon's light, them, they returned and demanded that I should tell
when he heard a tumultuous noise. The road now where it was hidden. On my informing them that they
making a sudden turn, he saw before him, about a mile had got all that was in my possession, they still insisted
distant, dames of fire ascending and curling high in the that I had hidden it, and wastelling them a falsehood. All
heavens. He stopped his horse, who, with ears erect, my protestations to the contrary was like adding fuel to
pranced and snorted loudly—the next moment he dash-their ungovernable rage. Disappointment in gaining their
ed with the speed of lightning down the hill, his rider object drove them into fiendish excitement. I endea-
having resolved how to act.
vored to escape their fury, by fleeing the house. My
Before gaining the immediate vicinity of the confla- | object was discovered by one of the gang-I was pur-
gration, he was hailed by a man standing on the skirt of il sued and quickly overtaken. The fellow hollowed to
the woods, at a short distance froin the road. He turn-1 his associates--they joined us, and dragged me hither,
ed his horse and went towards him. He found an aged as though I had been a dog. They stripped me of all
gray-haired man, bound to a tree with ropes, in such a my clothes except my shirt, and tied me to this tree ;
manner as left him incapable of the smallest motion, and then, with a lash and twigs from yonder sapling,
and in the greatest agony. The man was rearly naked, two of the strongest of their number with all their
the shirt, his only covering, was dyed in blood and stick- strength, lay on, blow after blow upon my back and
ing to his flesh in spots, with clotted gore. As Graves shoulders. They continued their hellish work until my
drew nigh, the poor old man whose face was pale with flesh was gored and swelled and they themselves wero
exhaustion, in pitious accent prayed he would unbind tired; and then left me as you found me, execrating what
bim. His visitor dismounted immediately and loosed they called my obstinacy and threatning to burn my house.
the viction of cruelty, from his painful position. The Their threats they put in execution, and at this moment,
limbs of the unfortunate, which from age were barely | house, and stables, and barns are gone-scarce a vestige
capable of supporting his frail body, were stiffened and I remains. You have heard my story, sir."
rendered nearly helpless, from the severe castigation he “A dreadful, barbarous story, indeed, sir!"
had received from the villains who infested that region of “ It is one, young man, but too common in this region
country. After partially recovering, he murmured forth of country, many have reason to curse the horrors of this
in broken accents his thanks to his deliverer, who had war. It is not the open enemy alone at this time, from
providentially saved his life.
whom misery comes—but the secret, the insidious foo
“ My dear sir, do not thank me for an act of kindness | -those without name, without honor, and without a
which would have been performed equally for my horse, l stake to loose in the great contest-those who are
if he had stood in need of like assistance. Tell me cowardly, base and worthless enough to take advantago
rather who done this devellish deed, and what led to it. l of age and weakness, and prey upon the helpless and
But, in the first place, whose house is that burning?" l unresisting."
" It is mine, young man-but by this time little of it. Young Graves assisted the poor old man to the house
is left-these villains are not satisfied unless they de- of one of his neighbors, and then pursued his way 10-
prive us of all we have-for money they would immo-wards Fort Washington, where he arrived a little after
late their nearest blood and kindred."
inidnight, and delivered the orders which he bore from
“But where is your family—are they safe ???
head quarters.
“Yes, thank heaven! they are safe from these marau This fort, contrary to the better judgment of some of
ders, which they would not have been, had they remain-| the American officers, on the retreat of the main portion
ed at home. They are in the city.”
of the army to White Plains, was left in the possession
“Tell me, good sir, how it is, that destruction has been of some three thousand soldiers for its defence. He
poured ont upon you—an old man, and doubtless neutral found the garrison upon the qui vive, as a large force
in this bloody struggle ?”
was concentrating in its neighborhood for its reduction,
" Ah, sir! it is not for partizanship or love of country commanded by four experienced Generals, and an at-
they care, who can commit a deed like this—no, sir! a tack was momentarily expected.
baser set of villains exist not, than are these cow-boys | As the fall of this fortress is a matter of history we
- neither age, nor sex, nor the common principles of shall not attempt its description. We would only say,
humanity, save the most innocent from these ruthless it being partly connected with our narrative, that it was
spoilers. I went to bed this night and was awoke from nobly defended, and fell through the discrepency of
my first slumber, by a loud knocking at my door, with a numbers, many times exceeding those left for its de-
demand to open it. I told them to desist as they could fence. It was a bloody victory to the captors, and many
have no business there, and requested them to go away. stipendary Hessians found their grare at Fort Washing-
They succeeded in breaking open the door. I put on ton. After hard fighting, the garrison amounting to


18
THE LAST SACRIFICE.
twenty-seven hundred men, finally surrendered by | girl, who, as she had lost both parents and home, looked
honorable capitulation, prisoners of war. Among the upon her as her own child, and without whose kindness
number was Francis Graves, who had distinguished and attention the worst consequences must have ensued.
himself in a highly courageous manner during the ac- | There was one beneficial result from her late indisposi-
tion.
tion, and for which, she could not be too thankful to her
Our hero, with the other officers, were sent to the city Maker-her insanity had disappeared-of all misfor-
of New York on parole, and were more fortunate in the tunes, the prostration of intellect is the worst that can
treatment they received than their gallant comrades. | befal a human being.
Opportunities were not wanting in striving to gain themi She was now convalescent, and sitting in her apart-
from the cause of their country ty tempting offers of ment, in the momentary expectation of receiving her
promotion and recompense; we need not say, however, lover for the first time, after a long and oh! how painful
that they were unsuccessful.
a separation. She had sat in the position we have seen
On learning from Colonel Haviland, whom he met in her for a considerable time, looking upon the bright and
the British camp, that his beloved Editha was at his sunny waters of the bay, and observing the movements
house in the city, he found it difficult to regret his cap- ll of the British vessels as they were passing up and down
ture. It seemed to him as a direct interposition of Pro- the Hudson and East rivers, in silence. The time apo
vidence, in bringing them again together. But, alas! || pointed for his visit had elapsed and he came not. She
he knew not the sore trial which awaited him-a trial, became anxious. She rose from her chair and left the
which to surmount successfully, would require all the window. The book she held was thrown upon the table.
power of his intellect. The gay pinions of hope still She advanced and opened the door of the room, and af-
carried him buoyantly forward, and happy anticipations ter listening a moment, shut it again. She retraced her
gave a sweetness to his fancy. All this, however, did steps to the window, speaking her thoughts in a sad
not make him false to the cause in which he had embark- | tone of voice.
ed, and the splendid offers made him to abjure and fight “He comes not, he comes not-he has forgotten his
with his enemies, was indignantly scorned. For rather poor Editha. Oh! no, no! I will not wrong him thus.
would he have lost his Editha for ever, aye, his life, than | He came day by day during my sickness-he would not
to be a recreant to honor and to his country.
desert me now."
At that moment a tapping was heard at the door of
the apartment—the latch was turned-it opened--Fran-
Before a window, fronting on the splerdid bay, form-llcis Graves entered. The next instant she was locked
ing the harbor of New York, in a large mansion of some l in the arms of her lover. That meeting, that moment,
what aristocratic appearance for that day, sat Editha the long, long embrace-they were fraught with heart-
Meredith. A tarrier dog of uncommon beauty lay at felt, unalloyed, complete happiness. Never were two
her feet, her only companion. He was watching her mortals more blessed than they—not a want, not a regret,
countenance, intentively marking its most evanescent was present there, to cast the slightest sadness upon the
expression, and when at intervals his mistress deigned lovers. She was the first to speak, looking him con-
to show him the smallest notice, his motions and ges- | fidingly in the face.
lures, developed happiness in the strongest possible “But what would you say, Francis, if you knew that
manner without the aid of speech itself. Her pale face Editha Meredith bad for a moment doubted your
and sunken eyes, which were directed upon the bay, told truth?”
the tale of recent illness. A book rested upon her left “ Say, dearest! I would say she deserves punishment,
knee, which was partly open, one of her fingers being and thus I inflict it upon her." And he saluted her with
placed within it, marking the place where she had been a kiss.
reading, whilst her elbow leant upon the book and the “If I am to pay the penalty of indiscretion so, I shall
hand supported her head. There was less of that burn-beware of incurring it for the future," she answered,
ing lustre in her eyes than when we last saw her; nor and a smile lighted up her countenance more gaily than
was there the same glossiness attached to her hair, which
it had been accustomed for many a long day. He now
was less abundant than on that occasion. She was still
led her towards the window, and seating himself beside
beautiful-not as formerly, the beauty of the fresh open- her said,
ing rose, but rather, the drooping chaste repose of the “You have not yet welcomed me hither, Editha."
water lily. There was still the same look of innocence. “I do it now-welcome, my beloved Francis! And
and truth, but it was combined with sadness of demea-i so thou art here at last ?"
nor, which at times amounted to positive pain.
“Yes, dearest, I have come-and when I go, and
Editha Meredith on her arrival at Colonel Haviland's | heaven grant it may be soon, will take thee with me, if
house, was immediately confined to her bed with an thou art not afraid to trust thyself with a soldier and a
alarming sickness, her system being prostrated by the prisoner."
intense fatigue and excitement she had undergone. For "Afraid to trust myself with thee-no, to the ends of
some time she was in the utmost danger, her disease the earth would I go with thee! But I am feeble, very
having concentrated itself upon her brain. Her ravings feeble-my sufferings have been great since we have seer
were terrible. Many were the long and anxious hours each other."
which the good Mrs. Haviland watched the unfortunate “I know it all-pay dry those tears--do not griere


THE LAST SACRIFICE.
19
my Editha. With God's dispensations, we should en-' know that in such scenes I was remembered by thee, do
deavor to be reconciled."
not think I could be so selfish, as not to feel acutely for
“ I shall do my utmost, Francis; but we cannot help your misfortunes and distress."
feeling when a catastrophe so dreadſul overwhelms us. Young Graves, holding the hand of his mistress be-
It seems but as yesterday, when in our country house, tween his own now related to her his plans for escaping
all was tranquillity and happiness; father, inother, from the city, which were matured and ready for exe-
brother, all were there."
cution at any moment. A trusty boatman was engaged
cution an
“A dreadful change indeed—but he who promises to to await his coming near the shore immediately in the
temper the wind to the shorn lamb, will out of desola- rear of Trinity church yard, and waſt him across to the
tion bring peace; let us trust in him, and in trouble he opposite side of the Hudson. To secure more effectu-
will not withhold his consolation."
ally the success of the plan, they had chosen midnight
“ This treble loss, my Francis, for a poor weak girl to for the attempt, as at that hour it was supposed the sen-
bear, is great. And were it not, that this heart, from try would be less likely to intercept them. The feat
earliest infancy, had been nurtured in the principles of was not without danger. It required the utmost caution,
our holy religion, I know not, but it had long ere this,' in the first place, to pass the sentinels on the shore, and
been broken with the shock-but God does indeed, tem- if they should be discovered even after having gained
per the wind to the shorn lamb."
il the middle of the river, the vessels laying in the stream
“Yes, dear Editha! and though his dealings with us might prevent the enterprise. There was a chance,
are sometimes severe, they are nevertheless merciful. however dangerous, of escaping and he had resolved to
What may be the termination of our present struggle make the essay. After having told every thing, the dif-
against our furious, vindictive and powerful foe, we ficulties to be apprehended, and the dangers to be ac-
know not: it may be in slavery; it may be in death; it countered, he said :-
may be by the ignominious halter;—but believing in the! “Are you still, my Editha, are you still determined to
everlasting justice of our cause, and in a full reliance trust yourself to my guidance ?”
upon the Supreme being, who reigns King of Kings, we “Trust myself with thee! Yes, now and for ever!
trust our country shall remain victorious to the last with my consent we part not again," answered tho
that this war will end with freedom for ourselves and heroic and confiding girl with emphasis.
our children. Should it peradventure be otherwise, myil “Then,” said her enraptured lover; "then one hour
Editha-should it be our lot to fall, and an unhallowed, before midnight, ineet me at your door. This night wo
disgraceful death our portion, we think there is suill vir- | make the attempt, for another day, and I may be in
tue enough among mankind, to dissipate every oppro- prison. I shall tap at the door thrice, open it, ard come
brious epithet that may be applied to our memory.” li with me. Throw a cloak over your shoulders that will
"Do not doubt it, Francis! and for myself if the sacri- protect you from the damp night air. Till then fare-
fice should be needed, I could behold-but not without i well, my dearest Editha-I go to get all in readiness.
feeling; I could behold all that I hold most dear, of 'Put up your prayer to heaven for our success-again
nearest kindred, aye, and even you yourself, too, fall one farewell!” Having pressed her closer to his heart and
br one, in this holy cause of human rights, unregretted, imprinted a kiss on her pale forehead, he quickly left
though not unmourned."
the apartment.
“I believe it, Editha, and thou dearest art but one of Every thing promised success. Some days previous,
the thousands of instances throughout our beloved coun- he had surrendered his parole to the officer having com-
try, of women who hold the same exalted sentiments, i mand of the prisoners, purposing to take advantage of
and are daily arousing their brothers, sons, and hus- the first opportunity that ſortune might offer of esca-
bands for the fight."
li ping. That officer, either considering him a friend of
“Yes, Francis Graves !-and were they fitted by Colonel Haviland, as he knew him to be intimate in the
nature for the task of war, and the rencounter with family, or by some unaccountable negligence, had omit-
men in the battle field, our army would feel no want of ted to imprison him, which gave him time to make such
soldiers to fill its ranks!"
| arrangements as promised speedy liberation. Another
“ Thou sayest well, love! thy sex in thee, have but a source of infinite satisfaction, and quite unexpected, was
fair specimen of its courage and patriotism in the hour the ready acquiesence of Editha to accompany him,
of danger. Thy sentiments, dear girl, have determined whom it was his intention to wed the moment they should
me to open my views to you earlier than I had intended. arrive at a place of safety.
It is long since we have met-according to the common. The mere fact of being a prisoner, to a generous and
computation of time, three months, but to me it has ap- ardent mind, burning for distinction, however honorable
peared like three times three months--though absent, or light may be its chains, galls and wounds in a manner
need I say, your image was ever present to my inind; which is borne with restlessness and discontent, and
can Editha say as much ?"
any plan affording the most distant prospect of freedom
“Francis Graves! by day, by night, in the hour of is hailed withi welcome: to a mind thus constituted, no
peace or in the day of trouble, in the moment of dangeri perils of slight moment will prevent the execution of
and death-your Editha, still thought upon her betroth. its designs—they are met with fortitude and generally
ed lover and husband."
subdued. In the present case, however, there was other
* Thanks, dearest, thanks! but however flaticring to cause for fear beside the danger that might accrue to


20
THE LAST SACRIFICE.
“ Heavens have their time to fall,
his own person-one much dearer to him than life-one
And flowers to wither at the North wind's breath,
from whom he had parted long since in joy, and now
And stars to set-but all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh, Death !"
just met in the deepest sorrow-a weak, a feeble wo-
man, barely recovered from a bed of pain and danger,
Yes, thou hast all seasons for thine own-the old winter,
was to share the adventure. When his thoughts took cog.
the ripe autumn, the young summer, the budding spring
nizance of these things, irresolution for a moment would -all seasons are alike to thee! Thou hast the day, the
shroud his soul, almost causing him to forego his pur- night, the full sunshine, and erebean darkness. The
pose and bend to fate. But these waverings and fluctua-
time is when nature breathes her softest, sweetest ze-
tions of mind were transitory ; for, on casting his phyrs, and when the rain, the hail, and the storm, up-
thoughts upon the lowering condition of his country, roots the proudest monuments of man-ihe whole
and the lilile probability of escape if the present chance ton is
tion is thy place of action, and all seasons are to thee a
was thrown away, brought back his firmer feelings, and"
harvest-aye, verily, at all times thou goest forth,
made him resolve to pursue it at all hazards.
“Conquering and to conquer.”
Accordingly, at the appointed time, all things being!
With frantic energy the young man jumped into the
prepared, he called at the house of Colonel Havi-||
i novi boiling waves, as the boat was sinking, with the dead
land. Editha detained him not a moment. He found
body of his mistress in his arms. He buffetted and
her already at the door, and ushered her quickly to the tugged with giant force until finally he gained the shore.
place of embarkation. The boatman was there anx. : Cold, cold was that form as he drew it from the water
whom and lay it upon the grass beneath. Several shot follow-
iously awaiting their coming, and speedily placed them an
ed that which had proved so fatal, but yielded not the
in the boat. A short time after the sun had sunk be-
neath the horizon, the night became dark and tempes-
coveted death to him, as if all their rancor had been
luous. The wind was fresh, causing the waves to run spent.
It was a long time ere Francis Graves succeeded in
roughly. They succeeded in passing the sentinel unob-
served, and their little bark was making rapid progress
subduing the dreadful feelings which that fearful night
had originated. The body of his beloved and slaugh-
to the opposite shore.
tered Editha was the next day buried at the foot of the
The wind now suddenly increased in turbulence, and
hill, on the margin of the Hudson, near the place where
occasionally the rolling of distant thunder broke upon
she had received the fatal wound. No stone marks the
the ear. A flash of lightning rent the heavens-another
1 spot of her burial-place. For many years after, when
louder crash of thunder followed-a pause ensued, and S
his country had gained her independence, and to which
the next instant rain poured down in torrents. The
he had in no litile degree assisted, her lover would visit
voyagers were in the utmost danger. At the hinder
that small grass.covered mound, and in the still hour
part of the boat sat the two lovers wrapped in each
of midnight, call upon his dear Editha with the passion-
others arms, whispering comfort to one another. It
ate invocations of former days. His after history, both
required all the efforts of the boatman to keep their
interesting and instructive in the highest degree, was
frail vessel from swamping between the waves. The
far more fortunate than the story of his early life, which
heavy thunder and sharp lightning which illuminated
shows the extinction or Last Sacrifice of a family, than
the waters and the heavens, was most fearful. But lit-
whom, none were more eminently worthy of a happier
tle hope remained of escaping the fury of the tempest,
A. U.
and to save them from instant sinking, young Graves
was necessiated to leave his charge and apply himself
Original.
to throwing the water from the boat, as it had increased
SONNET.
to such a degree, that she labored like a log upon the
PORTRAIT OF A LADY-PAINTED BY D. R. BARKER.*
water.
By the discharge of the water she gradually lightened, I have not known thee, lady! yet, I ween,
and cut the waves more buoyantly, and the wind drill We are not wholly strangers-Time has laid
ving them directly towards the shore, Hope began to I Never on thee his wand, beneath which fade
rise again within their breasts. They went gallantly The cheek of Beauty and Life's spring-time green.
forward, and a few short minutes more would bring them I have not met thee in the gaudy maze
to land. But an enemy more dangerous and vengefulll Of Fashion's fools and Mammon's eager slaves :
than the tempest was on their track-they had been But magic Art, which from Oblivion saves
descried by the lightning's flash from the British vessels. | The good, the true, that light our evil days,
The noise of heaven's artillery was now succeeded by Brings thee in life before me: Radiant curls
the roar of angry cannon from one of them. A shot Curtain those pearl-like temples; and that brow,
had been sped but too fatally-it came onward, onward,! Calmly upturned to heaven; the gem-like glow
bringing death upon its wing. It struck and shattered || Of those soul-speaking eyes-So!-Fancy furls
the boat-a splinter flew and pierced the lovely fugi. Her eagle wing-she has come back to thee:
tive. There was a deep groan of agony-an opening of If such the Artist's form, oh, what must Naturo's be ?
the colorless lips--a faint effort to speak -a tremor,
H. G.
and the pliant form of Editha Meredith was hugged to
the heart of her lover-a lifeless corpse :
* A young and talented artist of this cily, whose rooms are in
Pearl street
end.


THE BACCHANAL.
21
Original,
THE BACCHANAL.
Original.
THE LIFE OF THE LEAF.
BY GEORGE T. MORRIS.
BY ROBERT HAMILTON.
Beauty hath left thee-come is decay
To thy fresh green check-thou child of day!
Withered and wan is thy lovely form.
Toss'd on the wings of the winter storm,
Leaf of the forest-home-tell me, oh, tell!
How the blight of destruction thy beauty befol ?
From the depths of the carth my being I drew,
The sun warın'd my cheek, and the night's balmy dew
Lent its nectarine draughts to cherish my youth,
Till I flourished in beauty, and nature's sweet truth.
From a bud I burst forth to a child of the tree,
And waved in the breeze of bright liberty !
III.
'Neath my shade, hung the bird of the forest all free,
And happily humm'd the sweet honey bee;
O'er the deer of the wild wood, my covert hath hung,
And the hunter beneath me his bugle hath rung,
And the son of the forest-the savage in power!
Hath couch'd his brown form in the noon's fervid hour.
IV.
Beside a cottage door
Sung Ella at her wheel,
Ruthven rode o'er the moor,
Down at her feet to kneel:
A spotted palfrey gay
Came prancing by his side,
To bear the maid away
As his affianced bride.
A high-born noble he
Of stately halls secure;
A low-born peasant she
Of parentage obscure.
How soft the honied words
He breathes into her ears !
The melody of birds !
The music of the spheres !
With love her bosom swells,
Which she would fain conceal-
Her eyes, like chrystal wells,
Its hidden depths reveal.
While liquid diamonds drip
From feeling's fountain warm,
Flutters her scarlet lip-
A rose-leaf in a storm!
As from an April sky
The rain-clouds flit away,
So, from the maiden's eye,
Vanish'd the falling spray,
Which lingered but awhile
Her dimpled cheek upon,
Then melted in her smile
Like vapour in the sun.
The maid is all his own-
She trusts his plighted word,
And, lightly on the roan,
She springs beside her lord.
She leaves her father's cot,
She turns her from the door-
That green and holy spot
Which she will see no more!
They hied to foreign lands,
That lord and peasant-maid :
The church ne'er bless'd their bands,
And Ella was betrayed !
Then droop'd that lovely flower,
Torn from its parent stem,
Then fled, in evil hour,
The lustre from that gem.
They laid her in the ground,
And Ella was forgot-
Dead was her father found
In his deserted cot.
But Ruthven-what of him?
He ran their story o'er,
And, filling to the brim,
He thought of it no more.
I was joyous and bright ! life thrilled in my core
As I waved my green flag in the thunderburst's roar!
The lightning, his arrows of death sweeping fire,
Passed by me all scathless. The pine burning pyre
Hath round me in fury flash'd up to the sky,
Like the type of destruction in earth's closing eye.
| Thus proud in my beauty_I knew not at last
Would come icy winter with death breathing blast.
He came in my pride-I shrunk ’neath his power,
And I dropp'd from the arms of the green leafy bower;
Thus blighted and seared is my once beauteous form,
Now a child of decay on the wings of the storm!
Original.
INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY.
Time dims the lustre of the eye
And pales the rosy cheek;
And furrowed brows, and withered forms,
This mighty power bespeak.
But o'er the mind he hath no sway,
Its beauties nerer fade ;
And they alone, of all we know,
The tyrant's grasp evado.


22
CHRISTINE.
Original.
erful, but to me, common influence, on our affairs; for
- CHRISTINE.
when taught to read, I pored over the most visionary
German romances, and began to live in a world of un-
There is a ruined palace on the left bank of the rapid' real forms, and fancies, long before those of happier and
Mur, about two miles from Gratz, and there, in its once more social childhood have thought beyond the present
stately saloons, long galleries, and marble halls, I re- hour.
member to have passed the first years of my life. My il My brighter days passed ;-there was a painful parting
apartments led to the gardens, whose luxuriant wildness with my peasant nurse ;-another visit from the master
and untrained beauty, betokened the fertility of the of our destiny-long, fierce upbraidings, and loud wail-
Styrian soil, and the neglect of those who called that fair ings ;-and threats, and denunciation, and submission.
demesne their own, whether proceeding from careless I went to sleep in my beautiful chamber where the roses
indifference, or broken fortunes, I am not able now to fell over the windows, casting their purple glow on the
discover. But it was all loveliness, and sunshine to me; snowy draperies within; and silken cushions invited to
the rich clustering flowers, the thick, heavy, drooping prolonged slumber, and clear mirrors, and sunny pictures,
branches of overgrown shrubs, covering the deep green shone upon the walls; and I awoke at early dawn,
marted grass beneath, with blossoms of all dyes, and wrapped in a furred cloak, pressed in my sobbing mother's
most rare odors, offended not the eye of childhood, by arms, as we travelled along a rugged road with pocci-
the redundance of their growth, or suggested the neces-'pines and giant pines on each side ; the chill morning
sity of giving assistants to the one, gray old man, who wind flapping the leather curtains of a heavy wagon,
labored in this sweet wilderness.
and the deep, gruft' voices of savage bearded men, uiging
Two or three maids, my nurse, a Carniolian peasant, along the slow, gaunt, wearied animals, that dragged
and my mother, were the only inhabitants of the palace. the cumbrous vehicle. Why was all this, I knew not,
Sometimes my father visited us, but that was seldom, and my memory fails me here :-these are indistinct
und never bringing pleasure to me; for those were and feeble remembrances of after scenes;-of mean ap-
stormy interviews. Who was most to blame, I know partments, and then wide-spread plains ;-and plumed
not, but it was natural, that I being the sole companion soldiers, and chargers, and tents, and banners ;-and
of my mother, should feel as if she was the injured par- sordidly covered tables, and coarse scanty food;-and
ty, and yet I can now recollecı, her temper was violent, frequent reproaches from my father, and replies, more
but not sullenly reserved, and vindictive like my father's. subdued, more uncomplaining, day by day, from my
He never smiled, never even on me,-perhaps I was in mother,-and again, the seasons seemed to change; I
some degree the cause of many of their unhappy meet- never had felt it so before ;-it was winter, and paler sho
ings, as there is a faint shadowing forth in my memory, I grew, and yet more sad, and then she died. I sat by a
of his regrets that I was not a boy. When the sound of low bed, in a rude bare room, with two or three hag-
his horse's hoofs were heard, as he dashed forward to gard looking women around. I wept, but not loudly,
the outer gates, in a still summer's evening, how my for they feeded me not;-but at length my father came,
poor mother's cheek would crimson, and blanch, alter- and lifting me in his arms, took me away; it was then
nately, how her heart would throb, as clasping me close he first spoke gently to me. From that time he kept
to her bosom, bending her head on my neck, her long me with him, but it was in a camp, and I had much to
black hair streaming over her face, and hot tears falling suffer, many privations to endure ; yet not for a great
on me, as I clang to her, she would await the entrance while, for there was a battle:-Oh, the long, deep, solemn
of the slight, fierce-eyed, sinewy soldier, who I was roll of cannon, and the wreaking, stilling smoke, and
taught to call my father! He seldom remained more the rush of fighting squadrons, the blaze, the crash, the
than a night; and often I have seen him as he departed thunder;—the terrible prancings of thousands of horses,
in the morning, hold up a roll of papers to my mother the yells, the shouts, the horrible mingling of voices, in
and shaking them with a smile of mocking bitterness, the fierce contest; and the dying groans, low, but many,
point in the direction I had been told Vienna lay, as if .-many and distinct, like the dismal moanings of a win-
there he would seek retribution for whatever wrong had ter wind, heard in the pauses of that raging multitude,
been done to him, -and then when he left us, my mother booming on my ear, a lone, deserted child, crouching in
would apparently gain new life; her spirits becoming the speechless agony of terror, in my father's tent, on
almost irrepressible, she would dance around the rooms | the verge of the broad and bloody battle field of Leip-
like a child, kissing me violenily, and carolling the live. i sic!
liest airs like a bird, until exhausted by her unwonted On the morning of that day, as my father buckled on
gaiety, she would sink in a chair, and then reclining, his sword, he kissed me, and said, Christine, I have not
gaze in dreamy stupor over the green woods that skirted time to send you away-should Gustave lenve you, tell
the shelving bank of the swiſt and joyous river. Thus, whoever you inay sce, to take care of you, for the
in my earliest years, my feelings were kept in perpetual Count Von Gravenstein--he hastened off, and the ser-
excitement; I was continually expecting some startling / vant soon followed him. Patiently I listened, and watch-
occurrence, what, I could not definitely express ; for: ed and waited through all; terrible faces now and then,
though the only variety in the sameness of our lives, looked in at me, but I was partly concealed from them.
were these inauspicious visits of my father, yet my ex- I repeated over, and over my father's last words,-/
pectations of unusual events did not center in his pow. never saw hin more. When overcome with cold and


CH P. ISTINE.
23
home.
hunger, and deafening noises, and dreud of unknown with lady Nugent in Germany, principally in the Austrian
evils, I cowered under some cloaks and military trap-Capital, but frequently varied, by visits to Prague,
pings, I found heaped together there-1 fell asleep but | Weima, Munich, Frankfort, and other cities of equal
was soon aroused by a rush of men into the tent, who note, and thus was I imperceptibly acquiring experience
pulling around the clothing discovered me. A Prussian and information, not often within the scope of young
officer snatched me up, and with a pitying look, said, minds, even in the most distinguished situations.
“Here is my prize, poor little creature! I must leave I Her ladyship though affectionate, and naturally bene-
you, my comrades, until I place this forlorn one in safe-volent, was fanciful, and not always constant in her at-
ty." He carried me to some women they were rough tachments ; however, the latter quality was preserved
and strange, but not unkind; food was given to me, and in her, by the assiduous vigilance of her son, to whom I
warmth and shelter, were at least obtained for a little became daily and yearly, more interesting. They had
time. I believe my protector sought to find some communicated with a nephew of my father's relative to
human being on whom I might have a claim, but without me, but Herr Von Gravenstein, denied ever having heard
success. My father must have perished in the malée ; l of his uncle's marriage, and asserted that name must
and it appeared no one recognised his name. Under this have been given through deception, or some mistake of
soldier's care, I passed through so many vicissitudes for mine, attributed to my parent:-he had no doubt good
a few months, that I cannot find any thing positive in my reason for his declarations, as he was the late Count's
mind of what happened to me, until finally, by some heir; and as lady Nugent did not like the trouble, and
strange chance, he heard of a benevolent English lady in his lordship had a selfish wish to retain his pet, and
Vienna, who expressed a willingness to take me; to her pupil, I believe they allowed themselves to be easily
charity he consigned me, and there at length I found a satisfied on the subject, and to suspect the reality of my
claim, from some discrepancies in my childish state-
Lady Nugent was the widow of an Irish nobleman, and ments. It then mattered litile to me; I was happy,
mother of one child. This cherished boy she had ac- caressed, living in a palace, with every luxury abound-
companied several years before to Leyden, as she could ing, and ready menials frattering the slightest wish of
not bear separation from him; and after his education | one on whom their lord bestowed his favor.
had been finished, they lived for some time in the north | Sometimes the mother and son did not quite coincide
of Germany, but latterly they had resided at Vienna, I in their mode of management; my lady liked to show
where, after my admission to the family they continued me off, and while exhibiting my talents, and grace, re-
for several years. Viscount Nugent was twenty-two, ceive a reflected praise on her own liberality, and the
when at the age of seven or eight, I first became his tenderness of her feelings. She had a peculiar fancy to
mother's protegée. He was exceedingly kind and af- have me look like the Czigani girls of that mysterious
fectionate in disposition, but suspicious, haughty, and people, so widely diffused among the nations of Europe,
impatient of contradiction, exhibiting frequent proofs of and some countries of the East. Fortunately for her,
the disadvantage of feminine management over an only my appearance strongly aided her in perfecting the like-
child. He was of a cold, fair, stately beauty, very iness. One morning before a masqued ball she intended
manly in person, though delicate in complexion, with to give on the ensuing birth day of her son, while she
soft large blue eyes, and fair curling hair, often permit- | discussed the business of dressing me, with more than
ted in defiance of fashion, to fall in ringlets on his shoul- | ordinary enthusiasm, Gerald could not forbear listening,
ders like a cavalier of the second Charles.
though he generally contrived on such occasions, to ap-
At his particular desire, I was provided with every pear inattentive, as he had to be neutral. Her ladyship
description of masters, and urged to perfect myself in was lamenting my being so extremely petite-and went
accomplishments, which might as his mother intimated, on,
eventually lead to independence. I was emulous to ex-
“For I am afraid, child, as you grow older, and your
cel; and possessing a fine ear, and buoyant form, made form rounds into womanhood, you will grow broad, and
great progress in music and dancing. French and Ger-stout, and lose that fragility, buoyancy, which now con-
man were eyually familiar to me, as my mother always | stitutes the prominent grace of your figure. I wish too,
had used either language, indifferently, when talking to your hair were strait; I must positively have it braided
me. English, of course, I soon acquired, for Gerald, as down, and not allow it to curl over your head in those
I was allowed to call Lord Nugent, never spoke to me short ringlets :—why you look absolutely wild, Chris-
but in the favorite accents of his native land. And Itine, when you shake the hair back from that high
became his pupil in a rambling sort, without any systein,, forehead of yours :--but your eyes will do very well,
but still proceeding in the material parts of education, they are really superb; so magnificently black, and
and receiving knowledge from his accurate explanations, brilliant, and with brows so noble arching over them,
and beautiful illustrations, not to be acquired from the your mouth is hardly small enough for a Gipsy's, but
dry and heartless lessons of schoolmasters and govern- certainly you laugh like them just now,-yes, exactly,
esses. It is a pleasant age from eight to fourteen, when showing so much of your fine teeth, as you ought, for a
passed in affluence; kind words and looks cheering graceful, mischievous laugh ;-nay child, the blood need
your progress in the paths of learning, and the mind not rush to your brown cheek, so eloquently, you will
softly expanding beneath the fostering care of genius, do exceedingly, for my Zingara band; but I wonder how
with love united. Such to me, was the period passed it happens, with all the rest of your features, you have


24
CHRISTINE.
ing."
such a short, straight nose, what a pity it was not a little now, for instance, I think you are too familiar with that
retroussé, you would have made so nice a Rosalana!" rude, forward boy, Count Pally."
“I am sorry, madame, my nose is not as you wish it." "Ah, but you know, Gerald, as I am very young too,
“Sorry!" said his lordship laughing, “you are very his familiarity does not appear so to me—and he is very,
amiable, Christine, to be sorry that your face has not a very merry;- he wonders how I can stay so much with
defect to suit my mother.'
one so grave as you, but as I told him I owed every
“Nay, Gerald, that is no defect; Christine's style of thing to you, and— ”
beauty would be much more piquante, had she un nes “And why do you talk of me? You are seldom so
retroussé; but I can nevertheless make her look like confidential about your affairs, with me, as you lead me
what I want, in the Zingara costume—and then her little to suppose you are with him.”
feet, and most exquisite little hands, will be so charm- “ But then, you know, he is only eighteen, and you
ingly displayed in the tamborine dance she is pratis- are twenty-eigth-now that makes a difference."
“It does indeed, make a very singular difference,
"Mother," said Gerald,“ do you not think it is too soon
Christine, if you can be more at ease with the acquain-
to introduce Christine to such gaiety as you propose ?
tance of a few months, than the companion of years."
she ought, of course, still be engaged with her important
“Nay, now, Gerald, you are jealous of poor little
studies, and this will unsettle and bewilder her, during
Palfy, but I do not love him as I do you."
those years which are now so valuable.”
I laid my hand on his cheek as I spoke, and he crim-
“A little relaxation, Gerald, will only do her good-
d_ soned up to the temples, then suddenly throwing his
you are over-teaching, my son-she knows more than I
arms around me, he imprinted one long passionate kiss
do already ;-you need not smile, Christine, I am quite
on my lips, the first signet of love those lips had ever
serious; you have excellent opportunities, and I must
received. Stunned and terrified by his vehemence, I
say, you have improved them; but Gerald, she is almost
shrank from him, when springing up from his chair, he
fifteen."
, hastened from the apartment. My eyes were opened; I
knew that Gerald loved me; naive as I seemed, it was
“No, mother, no,-she is little more than fourtcen,
seeming, for having no mother to watch over my private
according to all that we can ascertain."
hours, when Gerald's guardian eye could not behold me,
“Well, what matter,—when I was fourteen I liked a
with the aid of my lady's French waiting maid, and
ball as much as when I was twenty, and I am sure," she
said rising and leaving the room, "little Christine will |
through the medium of French romances, I was no
stranger to the symptoms, and effects of that levelling
not be sorry to put her dolls to sleep, and see a bal
passion whose power is equally singular and despotic,
masqué for once."
in every age and station.
" Christine,” said Lord Nugent in a low voice,
Lord Nugent was constrained, and painfully reserved
“cone bither."
when we met in the evening; our relations as master
was sitting near a window, the curtains partly and scholar were ended; we could no longer meet with
shaded the light from his face, but I could read his coun-
indifference, though the love was all on his side. My
tenance by fainter rays than even those that fell upon us
girlishı vanity was flattered, but contrary to my assertion,
there. I stood beside him.
one smile of Ferdinand Palfy was more precious to me
“Christine, though my mother wishes you to enter than Nugent's anticipated coronet. Still Gerald thought
into society, you must not forget it is only as a child, - not so; and my lady seeing our lessons abandoned, and
you are too young to be exposed to the gaze and criti- l not being able to elicit a satisfactory reason, came at
cisms of fashion,-I have often said so,-and if such once to the right conclusion, and as I supposed, attacked
observation does not make you uncomfortable, you will bis lordship on the subject. Their explanations must
lose the sweet bashfulness of girlhood, which is its have been disagreeable, for on the morning after a long
greatest charm." He paused and seemed confused. conversation with his mother, he ordered his horses,
“ You think yourself handsome, Christine ?"
and went to Baden forsome days. Her ladyship then
“Not very, my Lord.”
gave directions about our preparations for going to
“ Well, not very,”-he smiled," still, that implies Paris; and when he returned, we set off, there never
you are not insensible to your personal advantages,- | having been any private interviews between us, from the
with these, you must be very guarded, young as you first day of his revealed love.
are, for many will pay you compliments, and say more I was not quite pleased at this, though I did not care
than they think, Christine."
greatly about it; but still, with natural curiosity, I wish-
“Yes, my Lord.”
ed to hear how a lover talked in reality; but his lord-
“Nay, Christine, do not be so formal,-am I not your ship cautiously avoided being betrayed into an error
brother Gerald; I will not be my lorded in this way.” like the first; and he gradually withdrew from our
“But then you are speaking so gravely, I cannot help society when in Paris, except for an hour or two in the
thinking of you more as my superior, both in years and evening, when we were always crowded with company.
rank, than usual."
One morning my lady had left me at home practising
“But do not, Christice. I want to caution you against some difficult music; and when weary of its intricacies,
lending a too ready credence to the butterflies who will I began a little wild romance, which in Zingara fashion
surround you; and rather shun very young persons- I used to sing for her ladyship's Vienna circle. It was
HA
si
prawi


CHRISTINE.
25
a favorite of Palfy, and I felt more sad than I had been considered it the best and wisest thing we can do for
for years. I was beginning to learn that one must pos- you at present."
sess the adventitious distinctions of wealth, and rank, li She said no more, but left me to my sad meditatione.
and birth, to gain the fashionable world's judiciously Thus coldly turning me from what seemed as my home,
meted notice, and that youth, beauty and talents, were to the kindness or indifference of strangers, at the very
little prized without the former. Leaning my head on season of life when the cup of its young pleasure is
the piano, a toar stole down my cheek on the music I most entrancing, and which had been so thoughtlessly
had displaced, when a light hand touched my shoulder, presented to my lips, till it had become almost necessa-
I looked up-it was Lord Nugent, who with an expres- | ry to existence.
sion of deep concern, was leaning over me.
"Christine, what is the matter-has any thing offen- ! Thus in a few short months I became the inmate of a
ded you ?”
| little precise country hoarding-school : in whose small
“No, my lord,” I replied, hastily attempting to dry parlors I felt as if even my tiny figure had scarce room
my wet cheeks, now glowing with shame.
to move ; in whose narrow bedchambers I was stifled ;
"Christine, I am afraid the life you are leading here and with its occupants, having scarce an idea in com-
is not suitable for one of your sensitive and easily exci- mon. What a change from the lofty circled and pillar-
ted mind-you will be better in England, where we ed palaces of the continent-lined with mirrors, glitter-
shall soon go. There will not be such dissipation, nor ing with gilding and every description of ornnnient-
such a succession of amusements, which rail with their filled with gorgeous ſurniture, and curtained with silks
unceasing recurrence. In our old shadowy green woods, of the richest dyes; and there 100 surrounded by ele.
you will be soothed to quiet; and you will learn to love gant women and equally elegant and obsequious men-
the calm of domestic life, which here, or indeed any every want administered to by watchful tenderness, and
where, since you have lived with us, you have never every wish anticipated by him of whose devotion I never
known."
understood the value, until deprived of it for ever. Si-
“Oh, where could I have found such a home? My lent
lent and abstracted would I pace, with my demure com-
loril, do justice to yourself and my lady; do not think panions,
panions, at stated hours round a small enclosure-
dignified by the name of a park, with a muddy pond in
it is any thing unpleasant in my situation which has
the centre-sadly revolving in my mind the strange ro-
depressed me at this moment-indeed, no-you are
mance of my early years, the wild and ihrilling scenes
every thing to me. I only grieve because I can never
through which I had then passed, and lastly the long,
hope to do aught in return for all I have received.”
sweet days of delicious enjoyment which had glided by
“Say not so, Christine. Your gratitude--your love, in the he
love, in the home of Gerald Nugent.
is too rich a reward for our few years of pleasant guaro Whatever might have been Lady Nugent's original
dianship. Oh, if it could be thus for ever! if there were
vere l'intentions respecting me, it seemed that in less than a
no claims, no duties, no honor implicated-my life would
year she had almost forgotten my existence; no doubt,
be but too blest with you thus by ny side, for ever smi-
so unimportant on item would never have been remem-
ling-those dark, fond eyes still shining on me, and that bered, but for the semi-annual bills of my school-mis-
cheek, like the young pomegranate flower, telling the
tress, Mrs. Somers. It is true, Lord Nugent's marriage
emotions of the gilted mind this fairy form enshrines."
was duly announced to me, and a handsome present,
At this instant Lady Nugent entered—we were both said to be from the bride, accompanied the letter. I
startled, and my lord soon bade good morning, und left was not so simple, but that I could divine why no invi.
us. She looked very grave and a little austere ; but I ſtation to the wedding had been given; and it was well
was accustomed to petty lectures, and listened with a for me I could smile at the delight with which my lady
good grace when she begin, as she said, to explain her expatiated on the splendor of the nuprials, the beauty
plans for me.
of the bride, the devotion of the bridegroom, and the
“You must know, Christine, I have been thinking felicity of all.
that we have not arranged our affairs in regard to you, il “Ah!" said I, "happy for you, my lady, little Pally
precisely as we ought to have done. You will be too attracted me more than your noble son, or the coronet
young to appear in company, either in London or at you prize so highly might have shone amid the raven
Forest Hall; and as Lord Nugent must complete his curls of your orphan Zingara.”
engagement with the lady to whom he is to be marrierl, I But although I fretted at the obscurity to which they
(she looked at me searchingly) I presume you have he had consigned me, I did not really desire to occupy the
fore heard Gerald has been long betrothed to the daugh- place of the new Viscountess. Still, I had misgivings
ter of an English Earl-therefore, I have determined to about my future fate; gradually ripening into woman.
send you to a friend of mine, an excellent woman, who lood, and no prospect either of independence or of
keeps a seminary for young ladies in the Shire." leaving a situation, which, though daily less disagieea-
“Oh, madam, will you send me away?" I exclaimed ble, was not to be regarded as a permanent establish-
with unfeigned sorrow.”
ment. I ventured to inquire in one of my duty epistles,
“I must, child, for a year or two, not more. But you what her ladyship proposed to do with me hereafter ;
will still come to us in the holidays, and you will be but to this I received no answer. Possibly, she had
very happy, no doubt. Indeed, Gerald and I have long never read a line of my well-penned and long studied


26
CHRISTINE.
----
letters, which, Mrs. Somers assured me, were models ! civility paid to every visitor; but I won him from his
of epistolary excellence. Finding myself left like a reserve, as he had a fair cousin at school, who had
wave on the verge of the common of benevolent consi- been the first cause of our introduction. When she
deration, I thought best to make myself agreeable to left us to reside at home; her name, her letters, all
those with whom my spring of life was stealing away; things relative to her, were the connecting links that
and at the end of six years, I had attained exceeding twined our little conversations into bonds of mutual in-
influence in this little dominion. My accomplishments terest. I thought Elliot had a strong but disguised re-
promoted me to the highest place from the first; they gard for me, because after she went away, he ever sought
could teach me nothing, except manual operations on me, and while talking of her in an absent manner, with
canvass, or some such trifle; and I was, in most cases, drooping eyelids, and faintly muttered words, he would
called upon when any difficulty occurred to interpose look up, bold and bright, if the subject was changed to
with my authority between the ignorance of the pupils aught of me, or my concerns; and then, it was my turn
and the half knowledge of the teacher. Of course, to seem distrait, grow pale and red alternately, and
fewer restrictions were laid on me than on others; and listen with averted eyes to his cheerful voice, and yield
I was often invited to accompany the young sister of a cold hand to his thrilling pressure.
Mrs. Somers, on visits to the relations and friends who One day I casually told him, that his cousin had in-
lived in the neighborhood. One of these families, vastly vited me to spend a few weeks with her, and I would
superior to any other of our acquaintance, resided in the gladly do so, had I a proper escort, as she lived fifty or
old Manor-House; they were of ancient birth and refin- sixty miles distant. Immediately he caught at my inti-
ed habits; they became extremely interesting to me. mation, and delighted, as I believed, to escape from the
From the commencement of my intimacy there, a change searching eyes around us, to be alone and untrammelled
came over me—a shadow fell upon my heart, and on my by the tedious ceremony of our elder guardians, he set-
fate.
tled, that when I should obtain Mrs. Somer's permission
Yes-all are before me now, like the imagery of a he would be ready to accompany me.
dream! Those pleasant daysthat curiously built, an- il The good lady demurred a little when I told her my
tique mansion--those wide branching, thick blossoming intended excursion, but she knew opposition was vain.
trees, that shaded it with their soft dim leafiness; the || And on a soft sunny morning in autumn, with a heart
glossy dark green ivy veiling the broken stone-work of wildly joyful, and hardly conscious of touching the earth
the pointed gables—the smooth slaven lawn—the fair on which I trod, I bounced into Mr. Clare's old pony-
garden with its broad flower-bordered walks and alleys,, chaise, and seated by Elliot, brilliant with youth and
deep and verdant: and the oak parlor, its massive fur- happiness, set off for a neighboring town, where he had
niture, shining with the polish of careful housewifery, engaged places for us in the mail-coach. Never, never,
its carved tall-backed chairs, its beaufet, displaying do I remember so sweet a day-rever, never, did my
treasures of delicate china; the narrow-paned windows | heart beat so freely, so gaily; again, it was like a bird
about which jassamine and moss-roses threw their odor-escaped from captivity; and my joy burst forth in
ous cla-pings; and the master of this sweet home, sit-causeless laughter, and snatches of merry songs, for I
ting in cushioned state, glancing at the portrait of his could not repress nor restrain the raptuous feeling of
younger days with smiling complacency; and his eye being the sole companion of my young ardent boy, who
gleaming with martial fire as it occasionully rested on gazed at me with a fondness of expression, my erring
the old cavalry cap and feathers, the tassalled sword and fancy imagined love.
scarlet sash, that decorated the brown panelled wall; For part of the way, there was but one passenger in
and the bright, glad, rose-lipped daughter, springing up the coach beside ourselves. She was a pinched-up,
at a word on her father's errand, or bounding to the prim, inquisitive looking woman, of perhaps five and thir-
window to gaze at bird or butterfly-and the quiet, re- ty; of not unpleasing features, but it seemed as they were
tiring movements of the son, with his shy upward glance modelled in duenna sameness; smiles never varied the
at strangers, the quick blush, the half-concealed smile, cold inquiry of her face, nor lighted the measuring scru-
and through all the veil of boyish reserve, the truth, the tiny of her clear gray eyes. She was, however, willing
nobleness, the purity, that shone on the broad white to converse; and Elliot who had much quiet humor,
brow of Elliot Clare.
amused himself by misleading her in her conjectures,
Why should I pause over those days of happiness ? of who we were, and what might be the object of our
Why should I linger over the soft dewy dawnings of journey. She was not at all desirous to conceal the pre-
vivid hopes and tender anticipations, clouded and over- sent state of her own affairs, for she gratuitously inform-
cast so soon, so sadly by the untimely darkness of gloomed us, that she was going to commence her career as
and storm ? Let it be imagined my acquaintance with companion to a lady of quality; that she had been se-
the primitive inhabitants of the Old Grange, ripened into lected by the lady's particular friend, that she was to
friendship, and that also, on my part, that friend-stop at the town of W.-here to proceed to her desti-
ship became a warmer sentiment:-it is too long past nation; the seat, she said was called Forest-Hall. “ For
for me to blush, that I permitted my heart to indulge a est-Hall," I repeated in breathless amazement, but said
love unnoticed and unreturned. Elliot was two or three no more, as I had no wish to let her discover my close
years younger than I, and scarce ever ventured to speak acquaintance with her future mistress. We dined at
to me, or treat me with any attention, except what his the town where she left us, and as we answered the hasty


CHRISTINE.
27
summons of the coach, in passing out, I saw a carriage municaied with the low-ceiled, oak pannelled parlor,
with the Nugent liveries at the inn door, an old steady, and with his night-cap pushed away, and lengthened
footman, whom I well remembered, came forward and face, would peep forth, to be sure, (as he told me the
with wondering gaze, and low obeisance, exclaimed, next morning,) that Elliot had not brought some errant
“ Countess Christine; is it possible ?".
Gipsy woman, to tell fortunes to the girls, and per-
“I hope you are well, Jones," I replied, while Elliot chance rob the hen-roosts. But this mood is gone, I am
with looks at the man of eqnal astonishment, hurried me sad again :-the story of my life was traced with a
into the coach, which whirled us off in a moment. For heavier pen from the second day of my visit to Ivybrook.
sometime he was silent, but observing, our companions | It is said woman quickly discorers when she is belov.
were two business-like men, not thinking of attending Ied-but I think not so; especially if she herself have a
to us, he asked what the servant meant by thus address- partiality for the person so loving; but, indubitally, we
ing me. I explained a little more of the details of my can soon distinguish between the friendship, however
life, previous to our acquaintance, and was pleased to tender, of one whom we love, and his passion for ano-
see, as I construed, an increased softuess mingled with ther, even though undeclared, if that other be in daily
deference of manner towards me ;-but I could not association with us. Ah, one must be very stupid, in-
enter very fully into particulars, as I knew incidents of deed, not to make that discovery but too, too soon!
other's lives, were involved in my own, and consequently And this I had the miscry of seeing fully unfolded, but
not proper to be disclosed even to him. But soon the yet, with the secret satisfaction, that though Grace fan-
hours flew around, those happy hours-and about eight cied herself attached to her young cousin, the feeling
o'clock we arrived at the lown, near which was the resi- on her part was no stronger than might be expected
dence of my friend.
from the lies of consanguinity. When my illusory hopes
As it was mild and balmy as summer, and a broad vanished, my spirits became variable; sometimes elated
moon rising, Elliot proposed we should set off in humble to wildness, again sinking to despondency. Grace
pedestrian guise, and surprise his cousir; though I told thought I was weary of their plain country ways, for
him, she was informed by me, of our intended visit, and there was much less refinement of manner, and intellec-
would no doubt send some vehicle from the farm for our qual elegance here, iban among the Clare's; but I assure
accommodation, still I was well pleased to walk with ed her it was now usual for me to feel depressed, as the
him, for at that age, love and moonlight were insepa- uncertainty of my future fale weighed heavily upon me.
rately connected in my romantic reveries. Orders were To cheer me, as she said, we had liule singing and dan-
given to have our luggage sent to Ivybrook, if any of 'cing parties with a few neighbors in the evenings. I
the servants called to inquire for us; and my arm fold- amused myself with flirting desperately with the rustic
ed tenderly in Elliot's, we went slowly on our way; beaux, rather experimentally, trying to awaken the least,
sometimes on a by-road, screened by hedges of honey- | the very least pang of jealousy in Elliot; but, no-lhere
suckle and hawthorn; then through lanes, shaded by he sat smiling, and looking at me with comic gravity-
tall over-arching beeches; and grassy fields and coppices, I seeming to say, “How cruel of you, Christine, to be
with falling leaves strewing our pleasant path, for the turning those poor fellows' heads so unmercifully!"
way was familiar as home to him, who had spent many li One evening he was unusually quiet, even sad; he
years of his early life with his worthy uncle Gordon. I spoke little, and from time to time, glanced at Grace
As we entered the long avenue of trees leading to with tearful tenderness, and stranger yet, coming to
the house, we saw white dresses gleaming in the moon- ' me, for the first time in the two years we had known each
shine, and heard cheerful voices, now and then break- 1 other, asked me to sing. There was no piano, no harp,
ing into merry laughter. Soon we met sweet Grace not even the old-fashioned spinnet, but a half-stringed
Gordon, with two or three young girls, her companions ; l' guitar was enough for me ; as it is now no vanity for me
there were joyful greetings, and warm claspings of me,
to say, my voice was rich, powerful and sweet, and had
and kisses even for Elliot, who stood almost motionless, I been cultivated with much care and attention. As he
and certainly silent, while his fair cousin welcomed him
cousin welcomed himsat beside me, he appeared hardly conscious of my pre-
without any of the tremulous reserve indicative of in- !
sence; he looked toward Grace, and then bending his
cipient passion.
bead, idly, but not “ for want of thought," plucked the
But I cannot, if I would, describe our first evening.
'st evening. i rringe of my satin scarf, and pulled out the embroidery,
I cannot with feeble words, recal the looks, and smiles,
S, as I poured forth my heart in the old ballad, which I
and mirthful sayings, of youth and innocence which preserve, because it was the only one he ever wished
wore away the time till the old carved oak clock chimed me to sing :*
midnight's witching hour. Nor how the good mother
of Grace, sat in simple but pleased wonderment at my
" I wish that I had learned to school
This beating heart of mine,
very foreign and peculiar appearance; and the young
The lesson that I long to teach-
country girls were not much less bewildered by my
To bear and not repine ;
A low and mournful whispering
manner and language, which still gave evidence that I
Comes thrilling from its core,
was speaking the tongue of a strange land; and as my
I am not loved, I am not loved,
It tells me o'er and o'er.
wild laugh, which was singularly distinct from that of
the others, pealed out occasionally, the old gentleman
would open the door of his bed chamber, which com li + This song is set to music in the present number


28
CHRISTINE.
“My cheek and lip are fading fast,
whose opinions we respect, if it appear that we are
Mine eyes are sunk und dim,
There is no inusic in my voice,
considered as merely common-place in their estimation.
No winning toue for him ;
Therefore, seeing I preserved unbroken silence, he was
And yet, to me, there's many a heart
Has bow'd in courtly hall;
forced to begin-
But now, I am not loved by one
“You are fond of my cousin, Miss Gravenstein ?"
I prize beyond them all.
"He little hecds how well a smilo
“Yes, I always liked her."
The bitter thought can hide;
“We have been very happy these last few days."
He little deems the gay salute
But comes from woman's pride;
" Very."
With gentle looks, my hand he clasps,
“ Hem! Did you ever think I cared a great deal for
Aud softly breathes my naine,
I am not loved, and coldly turn
Grace? I mean, that I thought of her more than a
In trembling, grief and shame.
cousin;" he colored and paused.
“He shall not know the foolish hope
I seek to fling away-
“ More than a cousin should ?" I inquired.
He gazes on a fairer flower,
“No, no-not that. Why should I not think of her!
And never dreads decay;
But change may come, and youth may fail,
I mean, to speak plainly, did you believe I loved her ?"
The lamp of life be dim ;
“I did I do."
I am not loved, I am not Joyed
But who will care for him?"
"And she loves me too-you know that, I suppose ?”.
As I finished, I stooped low to hide my burning cheeks, He looked at me, eagerly descrying the confirmation his
and Elliot also leaning forward, on pretence of lifting scarce acknowledged doubts required.
the instrument I had laid down, pressed the scarf he “ I suppose she may."
had been destroying, to his lips, and raised his eyes to "Well, Miss Gravenstein, you will think me very silly,
mine with a look of pitying inquiry. It was plain to perhaps-but I respect and admire you more than any
me he had not comprehended the meaning of my song; one, except Grace; and my heart is aching I have been
but supposed it had reference to come one far away. hardly used-at least, it scems so to me, and I must
Why should I then wish to reveal the deep and fervent explain the whole affair to you. Will you have patience
devotion of my heart to one, either so cold, or so ob- to hear me ?"
tuse ? But, alas! he was neither; his soul was bound “Certainly,"-I made a vain attempt at smiling, but
up in that calm fair girl, and he knew not he was pour- it failed sadly.
ing out the fountain of his life upon sand.
“Then, Miss Gravenstein, I went to Ivybrook, solely
This was our last evening. The next day we bade to lay before my uncle the proposition of my father
farewell with different feelings from those which filled about what he would do for Grace and myself, and to
our joyous bosoms when we met; though the change ask his consent to our union, when I shall be of age-
had only touched Elliot and myself. The Gordons, save that is, in about two years. But my father is not so
that we had given them a little trouble, and perhaps a rich as my uncle Gordon, though you might suppose
little pleasure, to talk about, were the same frank, hes- otherwire; and Grace has had some wealthy suitors :
pitable, even-tempered people as before ; neither sorrow, among others, a London tradeeman, or something of
nor disappointment, nor envy, nor mortification, had that kind, who is very rich. My uncle says, she is not
ever blighted the placid faces of the kind friends who fit to be the wife of a country gentleman of small for-
crowded around to bid us farewell.
rune, (so my poor father pleases to style it,) he saya,
Oh, it was a strange and wayward delight to feel that Grace may have her own carriage, if she chooses, and
again I was alone with Elliot Clare! He loved me he is determined she shall choose it. He has therefore
not-but still, she was not there-he might think of her, I told me to go to London, accept the offer an old mer.
but he must listen, must look at me. Nor could it be chant, a relation of ours, made to my father some time
wrong to try to win a small portion of his precious re- ago, and try to win gold in that great mart of nations.
gard; for she cared not for him-not as I did-despi. Unless I do so, or have some prospect of doing so
sing all the splendor, the magnificence I had once known is no permission for me to think of Grace; and she is
and which might again be mine-the homage of many too mild, too obedient, to oppose her parents in any
a noble admirer, and even the passionate, though fruit- thing. Miss Gravenstein, had I not enough to make me
less fondness of Gerald Nugent, as mean and valueless, li miserable last night, when told-five or six years hence
beside the cold, sweet smile of him, who neither sought I might make a better offer?"
nor prized my preference.
“Five years sound very tedious."
There was a cloud on his brow and a paleness on his | “Ah, Miss Gravenstein, you speak coldly-you do not
cheek, which I attributed to the late parting. Evident- || know how to appreciate the sacrifice I make in exiling
ly longing to communicate something to me, he saw, | myself five years from all that I have cherished since
with a gleam of satisfaction, that our fellow-passengers boyhood! You were too young to have left any one you
left us at the first town where we changed horses. He loved when you came to Mrs. Somers; and, of course,
attempted to speak several times, and by restless and you have seen no person who could possibly please you
fretful movements, apparently thought to induce me to while there; it is wild and foolish, lamenting to you-
commence a conversation ; but I was not so disposed, only those who have felt as I do, can sympathize with
being certain the mystery would be more readily ex- me."
plained, if I seemed indifferent. It is natural to wish || I was becoming paler and paler as he proceeded, eren
that curiosity or interest should be excited in persons so as to attract his notice, he looked keenly at me, and
ora


CHRISTINE.
29
taking my hand, while my face crimsoned to the fore- || rose shining ever before me. How the time would wear
head, said:
away, I could scarcely imagine; there was a blank-
“Pardon me, Miss Gravenstein, if I have touched for a vacuum, in our little circle, perceived by every one,
bidden ground. I wish not to penetrate the recesses but not as it was felt by me. I sought his sister more
of your heart; I entreat you, forgive me, if I have unin- frequently, for she talked ever of her brother, and in
tentionally awakened unpleasing or painful recollec- measured terms reprehended the coretous, or unreason-
tions."
able desires of her uncle, wishing to place his daughter
"You have not, Mr. Clare-you are forgiven-you only in a sphere, which Emily was assured would never bo
misunderstand me.” Slowly and faintly the last words her choice, as she was a peculiarly humble and unpre-
fell from my lips, my voice was husky, and my eyes tending girl.
filled with tears; but he saw it not-wrapped in his own But I was soon recalled from this romantic misery by
grief, the transient interest he had expressed for me, the new turn given to my private affairs. A letter was
had passed as a shadow, and he thus continued: announced from Lady Nugent, addressed to Mrs.
"And then, to leave all and bury myself in one of the Somers, expressing her determination to resign all
dark, dull, suffocating dens of London; those dingy charge of me in future. It appeared that a friend, (I
counting-houses-those noisome streets and lanes-, recognized our scrutinizing companion of the mail.
who have so loved the broad heath, and the free air, and coach) had seen me travelling with a young man, sup-
the clear sky's blue canory spreading over me, with the posed 10 be, if not my husband, at least in a fair way
sun, and moon, and the starry host of heaven; to see to become so. As I had given no intimation of my
them but in patches, or to enjoy a wider view on a holi- | movements to her ladyship, and Mrs. Somers having
day, among pert apprentices and dapper cits in a sub- been equally negligent, she conceived herself exonora-
urban garden, or an excursion to Richmond. Oh, happy Ited from all further care of me. She had paid my bills
birds !-happy any creature, however mean, that may up to the vacation, and had placed two hundred pounds
enjoy for its short scason of life, the instincts of nature, li at my disposal, with her bankers, Golding & Co., in
without the letters of reason! Do not think me extrav- | London ; but henceforth, she wished it to be distinctly
agant, Miss Gravenstein, the wretchedness I have but understood, no application made to her on any subject
heard of, as a strange and scarce believed story, I must connected with me would be noticed : thus she left me,
learn to bear. They are throwing darkness over our as she found me, a homeless, friendless, unprotected
best and brightest days, and the harvest they shall gath- orphan.
er may not be of joy. But if gold is to win Grace Gor- | There was no time for lamentation. I was too high-
don, that I must obtain, or die!"
1 spirited to let a change be discernable in my general
He leaned his head against the back of the coach, and manner; and as my position in Mrs. Somers' domicil
tears burst forth, large and singly, from between his soon became known to its curious inmates, glad of any
close pressed eyelids. His was the first bitter agony of particle of excitement to vary the ennui of their exis-
a young, wilful, untamed spirit: good and evil had yet tence, I determined to be my own adviser, as I was my
to strive for mastery over him, and the work was but own mistress, and set off, as the story-books say, to scek
begun. Selfish as I was, as I am prone to believe is my fortune. Mrs. Somers wished to recommend me to
natural to us all, I could not regret the cause of his suf- la friend in York as an assistant teacher; but I refused
fering, though compassion for the effect, made me weep her kindnessI was not to be bound down to school-
as if the sorrow had been mine own.
hours, and to teach stolid dullness, and endure the in-
No more confidential conversation passed between us. solence of half-bred ignorance, and be the victim of the
We arrived at H- ; there Elliot found the old chaise | petty squabbles, tricks and conspiracies of that minia-
awaiting us, and silently and sadly we drove home. Asture monarchy-a boarding school. But the poor wo-
we parted at Mrs. Somers' door, he pressed my hand man offered me her best; she knew she had indulged
softly, and said:
me too much, and thought, as her weakness had allow-
"I may not see you, perhaps, once again, as I shall led my headstrong purpose to lead me too far, that she
go to London in two or three days be not forgetful of ought to make some reparation, if possible. And yet,
Emily, when I leave-and sometimes think of me, who at the very bottom of my heart there lay an untold plea-
will always remember you. God bless you, Miss Graven- sure, in knowing, that henceforward to none was I re-
stein!"
sponsible for my actions-being free to pursue my
My heart was bursting—I felt utterly forlorn, and schemes, I might follow that young Elliot through all
wildly clasping him until he bent towards me, I pressed his new, and it might be, wayward course, whatever
my lips to his, and then rushed into the opening door. I should be the peril of his path. Having arranged all
I was shocked at what I had done, but I knew by Elli- | my litile business, and bidden farewell to those with
ot’s parting look at me, he never dreamed of more in whom I had so long been domiciliated, I went to Emily
this than sisterly affection.
Clare and staid for a day or iwo before my departure,
Not many days after this, I heard that he had gone; | wandering arnid the sunny lawns, and shady groves, and
gone, without a farewell visit-vainly had I waited, and broad meadows of the old Manor. She was addition-
watched, and hoped for a second parting word ; but, no ally grieved at my leaving her, for while together she
- he never felt for one lone heart, secret and solitary, I could talk of her brother; and it seemed as if they
pining for a last look of those soft, sweet eyes, which were not so entirely separated. And many were her


30
THE LAST GIFT.-- PRIDE.
1.
injunctions that I ghould immediately inform him of my !
Original.
residence, when I had decided where to live ; and she
PRIDE.
fondly hoped we would both return to spend the sum-
mer of the ensuing year with her. Alas ! for the hopes
BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.
of poor, sweet Emily!
LESLIE.
To be continued.
PRIDE, take the hemlock cup. The wily world
Hath dregg'l it for thee, while her smile was bright,
Original.
Yea-while her lip with promises was curld,
THE LAST GIFT.
She falsely mingled deadly aconite:
So drink ihy hemlock, and with haughty frown,
BY WILLIAM CUTTER.
Walk 'mid thy boasted flowrets faint perfume,
Until thy limbs grow weary. Then lie down
A short time previous to his death, my friend presented
me a beautiful, half-blown rose, which he had caused to be
nd die!
watched and nursed for ine, requesting me to press and keep
it as a remembrance of him.
It is thy doom-
Yes, friend beloved ! I'll gaze on this,
And yet complain not. Thou hast had thy will,
And ever think of thee,
The sparkling foam from earth's allurements born
When thou art in those realms of bliss
Did'st thou not choose of this to have thy fill?
Where flowers fude not away.
And did'st thou not the poor in spirit scorn ?
Who with meek eye and chasten'd spirit, still,
I'll keep it as a treasure reſt
Kept on the narrow way 'mid rock and thorn
From Time's all grasping hand-
And duly bow'd the knee unto the manger born!
A link of a lost chain—a giſt
From Memory’s better land.
Original,
I'll press it to my heart, to be
Thine own sweet emblem there,
TO A BRIDE.
Wasting in silent grief away
BX N. C. BROOKS, A. M.
Beneath Love's fostering care.
J'll watch the fading of its hues
As I have watched thine own;
Thou wilt roam no more the bowers,
And drink the fragrance of its dews,
Where thy chcek in youthful bloom
'Till each sweet breath hath flown.
Shamed the blushing of the flowers;
And every fading tint shall be
And thy breath their sweet perfume :
A memory to my heart,
And where Childhood's summer hours,
To tell of all I've loved in thee-
Hope and Fancy did illume.
All but the deathless part.
II.
But, oh! the odorous breath it yields
'Twill speak of things on high,
For thou hast received the token
Of thee, in ever-blooming fields,
Of a love that must not die;
A lower that cannot die.
And the holy words hast spoken
Of that sweet and mystic tie:
And thy vow, not to be broken,
Original.
Is now registered on high.
HOPE.
III.
WAEN O'er the scene of life
Misfortune casts her pall,
We beheld ihy bosom heaving
And gloomy thoughts are gath’ring fast,
With long-treasured thoughts, and new;
And joys have vanish'd all:
While joy, and tears of grieving
'Tis then the Star of Hope
Shone within thine eyes of blue,
A ray of promise brings,
For the home that thou wast leaving,
And, through the clouds of deep despair,
And the friends, long-tried and true.
The light of Pleasure flings.
When on the bed of death,
By sickness we are laid ;
May his tenderness who found theo
And from our sight the things of Earth
Pure and gentle as a dove,
In quick succession fade :
And joy's chain that now hath bound thee
Hope points beyond the grave,
With the golden links of love,
To brighter worlds above;
Suill be thrown for ever round thee,
Where friends shall meet to part no more,
Till you both are crowned abovo.
--For ever joined in love.
W Baltimore, Må.
iv.


OBED ORD WAY.
31
Original.
|| chief-making fellows, the college students, had just
OBED ORD WAY.
rushed into the Hall. After the blessing had been in-
voked by the tutor, Ohed attracted their attention. He
BY CHARLES GILMAN.
had never been accustomed to such scenes of confusion as
The rood old land of wooden nutmegs, and horn gun-l presently arose from the hurried din and clatter of plates,
flints, blue laws, and clock pedlars, never gave birth to knives aud forks, and calls from every quarter for this,
a more honest soul, ihan Obed Ordway. Of a truth, he that and the other thing. There he stood, “steadfast
was one of nature's simplest children. Brought up in and immioveable," auris erectis, and his eyes-une
a wholesome, comfortable manner, he was taught to would have supposed they would start from their spheres.
make way with as much bread and butter, pumpkin-
When Obed did start, it was like the careering of a
pies, etcetera, as could be expected of a lad of his age.
wild colt, with no reasonable expectation of stopping
The intellectual part was not encumbered with a super-
this side of the globe. He was well nigh crazed, being
abundance of ideas, and according to ordirary stan-
called hither, and thither as he was, to supply the ab-
dards, would have been adjudged minus in this respect.
sorbent powers of the hungry youth, to whom he minis.
Taking into consideration the capacity of his bread.
tered.
basket, and arriving at the sage conclusion that the
This rusticity did not pass unnoticed, and some plan,
stomach was the seat of the soul; Obed would have' was, of course, to be devised for a frolic at his expense.
been rated high in the intellectual scale of beings. I Tom Pringle, Bill Putnam, and their copartners in fun,
have said he was honest, and it came like the three R's, and frolic, having put their wits together, came to tho
of the pedagogue; “reading, riting, rithmetic," entire conclusion to impress on him the idea, that before he
ly by nature. Obed, performed the duties incumbent could regularly perform the duties of a waiter, he must
upon him, at the rustic abode of his father's, will he be inaugurated. Being very susceptible of impressions
arrived at the age of manhood.
of this nature, it did not require a great force of argu.
Like most young men, on whom parental constraint
ment to persuade him that this was the customary course
does not set lightly; Obed had looked forward, with pa-
of things. Had he possessed the sagacity of Hudi-
tience to the day of his " freedom.” He had painted bras' valorous Ralphe, he would have exclaimed with
in glowing colors, withont doubt, the happiness and
him. “I smell a rat." But Obed's intellectual olfac-
pleasure, that so naturally arises from being, as Sam
tories were not thus affected, and he agreed, without
Slick would say, “ President of all he surveys.” The objection, to be in readiness at a stated time, 10 aliend to
long wished-for-day, arrived, and his revered sire, on his inauguration in the chapel, which agreement was
arising at his accustomed hour, found his hearth-stove scrupulously adhered to.
cold. It was seldom that he was under the necessity of The time arrived, and Tom Pringle appeared in the
arousing his son from his slumbers, and on this morning, i capacity of Pope, accompanied by ten Cardinals, fan-
going to the stairs which led to Obed's domitory, he sum-tastically dressed. Obed was conducted into their au-
moned him in tones, not to be misunderstood, to “come gust presence. He was taught in his earlier days, liko
down and make the fire.” One may well conceive of his all other boys, to make his bow on entering school, and
gurprise, when Obed vociferated in a corresponding tone,
on this occasion held in remembrance this custom, and
“No, I shan't, dad; I'm my own mun, now.” This made a “very obsequious," on entering the chapel.
annunciation satisfied the old gentleman, as to the ques. With difficulty those present restrained from a burst of
tion of right, but a compliance with his command would laughter, when Obed took his stand before them. Ho
have, in his estimation, discovered a little more filial was commanded to kneel, and promptly obeying, Tom
respect. But he acquiesced, and suffered his “own and his associates arose. Waving his hand, the specu-
man," to enjoy a “little more slumber, a liule more fold-lators also arose. At this stuge of the proceeding,
ing of the arms to rest," while he proceeded to make Obed trembled like an aspen leaf. Then came forth in
the fire.
solemn tone an unintelligible gibberish from the mouths
The “free" disposition maniſested on the first morn- of the “eleven," and the spectators sent forth a re-
ing of his independence increased. Obed could not sponse, almost confounding the inauguree. Tom then
harbor the idea of being confined all the days of his life I laid his hands in solemn manner upon the devoted head
lo the homestead, and he suddenly determined to change of Obed, and thus proceeded. “Impono paws in capite
his abode to the city. With this view he packed up his tuo vacuo, et libinunc a dose dabo. You sommelenily
wardrobe, bade adieu to his comfortable fireside, and square allequiance to all these persons here assembled,
took up his line of march. He reached the place of and everlasting secrecy with regard to such knowledge
his destination in a few days, after his departure from of their devoted service to their master, the 'ancient
the “ land of steady habits.” Soon after his arrival, he Henry,'of:en by profane mouths, termed the old Harry,'
chanced to fall in the way of our worthy Steward, who as many fortuitously and accidentuously become known
was in search of a subject to fill a vacancy in the unto you. You will admit by day or night, whenever
"kitchen cabinet,” of the University. The consequence thereunto required by us, to the kitchen cabinet' of
was, that Obed entered into his employment. The natural and eatable curiosities, that we there eat chock
Common's Hall, was to be the principal theatre of his full. Should we feel in want of a little poultry, find it
operations, and his debut, I shall never forget. It was for us with due secresy, and be ignorant of the place
made at the dinner hour. Those laughter-loving, mis- where you found the same. You will then transfer it to


32
TIE YOUNG MAGICIAN.
Bill Putnam, our most illustrious chief cook and botile-
INCANTATION.
washer, and there await further orders.' Finally, my Come to me, come, it is our own sweet hour,
good fellow, your supreme devotion to all our wishes is The sun's fast ray is fuding from the west,
to be your rule of action, paramount, as they may be, to The wandering bee is cradled in its ſlower,
all the rules and regulations of this University. Nunc The bird with folded wing has sought its nesi,
socii, impone tuos paws in capite, Obed." No sooner Come to me, gentle ones, it is our time of rest!
said, than twenty additional paws fell upon his devoted!
head, and he came nigh being crushed bencath their Come from the wilderness, the mountain care,
accumulated weight. They were then with Irawn, and I Come from the forest river's winding shore,
Pringle commanded him, to arise and depart in peace. Come, where your own calm bowers still greenly wave,
The whole scene, and it is an owertrue tale,"-was. || Where bud, and blossom, court ye as of yore,
as Zaccheus would say, next to his, “the most sublime, if I call ye, gentle ones, -oh, come, once more, onco more.
lofty and imposing, that the luminaries of human intel-
Come hither, come, I see the snowy veil,
ligence ever beheld.” When Obed hnd retired, huzzas,
27.as, || That shades thy bending head, oh, lady mine!
loud and lung, issued from the chapel, and nothing save Thy solitary star is rising nale.
sudden departure, kept us from the clutches of an ever And now, I meet those fond sad eyes of thine,
vigilant Faculty. What was most sirange, Obed never come
e never come to thy child's lone heart-oh, come, sweet mother
"smelt the rat," during his natural life; that's a fact.
mine.
Bangor, Me. 1838.
Come thon, with clustering ringlets, softly glide,
Dim through the twilight shade,-oh, sister hear!
Original.
Come thou, young Eve, with smiles of mocking pride,
THE YOUNG MAGICIAN.
Even though thy loved one whispers low, and near,
Come from his side to me, -I call ye both,-appear!
Behold a lofty chamber, dusk, and lone,
Whose cold grey walls have caught a crimson ringe And come, oh, thither come, ye fair and bright,
From the last glances of the lingering sun,
Like sunbeams through a day of storm and gloom,
Through the high lattice stealing mid the leaves, Come with your radiant tresses, eyes of light,
And veiling gracefulness of summer flowers ;
And cheeks of fresh Aurora's earliest bloom,
Before a broad black mirror in the midst,
Come, with your silver voices, come and soothe my
An antique tripod bears a golden vase,
spirit's doom!
Filled with rare perfumes, breathing fragrant clouds
Oh, come as ye were wont-here with my wand,
In palpable odours, as the stifled fame
I point to thee for regions where ye duell,-
Is ſed from time to time by incense rich,
Thus with the fragrant wealth of India's land,
Flung from the lavish hand of him who stands
I light the mystic blaze-by words, and spell,
Within th' extreme verge of that magic circle.-
And by these burning tears, I call ye, to my call!-
Around those firm limbs, in magsive folds,
Sweeps a dark robe, and in that upraised hand,
Oh, come, the night is waning-why in vain,
Those very movements daring-light is poised
Haste, I my fund enchantments ?-well ye know,
An Ebon wand, -back from the fair neck falls
Life's last warm drops, this ready hand would drain
The sable collar,-bright the shining curls
To bring ye hither-thus,-and thus, I throw,
Wave o'er the terrible brow,-aye, terrible,
Your trained braids on the flame-they come !- they
For there, on that young forehead, solemn things,
come! and lo-
Dreams of the past, and shadow's yet to come,
They pass me, as faint shadows on the sky
A story of strange fortunes, fierce, and wild,
They linger noi-they answer not-away,
Evil, and good, soft hope, and stern despair,
All now is gore !-like angels wandering by-
And over these, the master, a proud will
Thou hast no charm to bid my vision stay
To work its purpose,-all are written there.
False book !-and powerless wand, I break thee, while
What seek the eager glancings of those eyes,
I may.
Fearful their dazzling brilliance, searching far
For misty gliinpses of the spirit world ?-
Yes, all are gone! some to the forest shade,
And wherefore doth the sudden smile now gleam
And some to smile where music foats around,
O'er those red lips, that parting, thus display
One gathers lilies in the dewy glade,
The silver whiteness of the glittering pearl ?
And one, above her brow, the wreath has wound,
Why with the dauntless, and triumphing look,
And one, one lost for aye, sleeps in the cold, deep ground!
And outstretched arm, of him, the Pythian archer, My eyes are heavy,-and my dream is past,
Stands this fair boy, alone, and desolate,
The light hath vanished, and my hope is flown-
Calling up visions of his happier days,
| I call ye not, ye gentle ones and last,
And revelling in the fantasy of dreams?
Sweet be thy long rest in that world unknown,
List then the longings of a loving heart,
Oh, mother mine, farewell !-once more, once more
Far separate from those with whom his life
alone!
Was wrapt in bonds rent by a wayward fate.-
LESLIE.


THE PRISONER AT THE OLD BAILEY.
33
Original.
santly as it did me. I was able, moreover, in the course
THE PRISONER AT THE OLD BAILEY.
of the day,-another circumstance for which I feel par-
ticularly thankful, to hear a considerable part of what
BY JOHN NEAL.
was going forward ; although I could not see the faces
Who would be a juryman if it could be helped ?!
of the jury, of the bar, of the witnesses, or of the
Think of being obliged to hear the same thing over and
court, except by occasional glimpses. The prisoner I
over again from five to forty times! First the opening
could see; and owing to a very humane contrivance, a
council:* then all the witnesses, one after another: then
mirror hung in front of hin-I sometimes caught the
the opposite counsel, with all his witnesses--then the
reflection of his face. It was frightful.
summing up of counsel on both sides and then the
There was not much noise in the court; yet some how
charge from the court. Who would be a juryman if he
or other, I found the man upon trial, and a witness under
examination, before I had heard the jury sworn, the in-
could help it!
Before I had entirely recovered from the perplexity,
dictment read, or the oath administered. The barristers
into which all my notions of penal jurisprudence had
were taking snuff, with unspeakable solemnity; but,
been thrown, by my first visit, to a temple of justice, in
for relief, and at intervals, nodding, shaking hands,
that great country whose laws were so remarkable for
drawing caricatures, or scrawling, with a very signifi-
their humanity, and whose men, having authority, were
cant expression, sundry lille things upon bits of paper,
so tender of human life, and so awfully sensible of their
which went the rounds of the court, bar, bench, and
accountability, it was my fortune to have another oppor-
connor' jury, in the course of the trial, and always, with a very
tunity for correcting the strange misapprehension into agreeable effect, I observed, upon the countenance of the
which I had fallen, by reading, instead of seeing and
reader.
hearing and judging, for myself.
At last, the examination of a witness began.
A gentleman of the law-and a benevolent gentleman
“I say-a-a-you've been sworn, hey?” said a
he was 100,-did me the favor, to apprise me one morn-
barrister.”
ing, that an extraordinary trial would probably come on
“Sworn, is he, hey?" said a judge.
that very day : that a “convenient seat” could be easily
“ Yes, me lord.”
“ Very well.”
obtained, if I would come early: that I should undoubt. |
“Hold up your head,” continued the barrister;
edly be much gratified, if I could bring myself to endure
the uncomfortable delays and ceremonies, common to
you're for the crown, are you?"
the administration of justice, in such cases.
“No, sir!—I'm for the hing: God bless his majesty."
· Pray, sir,” said I, what is the nature of the case?" A general whisper and laugh followed, which soon
" Murder, sir-murder-a man is taken up on suspi | died away, under the rebuke of the officers, who broke
cion of having murdered another, in a very disagreeable out, all together, from every part of the house, with
manner.”
sh!-sh!-sh!-whist!--sh!--sh!-sh!-as people
“How was it?"
quiet children, when they are refractory.
“ He cut him in two, with a scythe.”
"Oh, for the king, are you? Very proper distinction
"On suspicion, you say. Is the evidence very clear?"||-dare say tho', he'd cure more for a crown.”
“ Perfectly, sir, perfectly-circumstantial and posi Another laugh,
tive."
“You seem 10 know the witness, brother W. ? speak
" Thank you, sir, I shall make it a point to be louder if you please : what are you saying to him?”.
there."
“No, no, not at all. Never saw 'im afore: don't
“ Do-you will be very much pleased, I am sure ; and I know 'is name.” Here witness opened his eyes in a
I shall be unspeakably gratified, in contributing to the sort of perplexity, that seemed to amuse the whole bar.
removal of what excuse my freedom, sir-I should " Never clapped highs on 'im afore-say he is from the
think were extraordinary misconceptions, and prejudi-West Hinges."
ces, against the humanity of our laws, if you were not a
"Nor I,” said brother C.--" I say, Jenkins, what's
forcigner-excuse the liberty, sir."
your name?" Another laugh.
“ Certainly-I thank you for your candor.”
1 “Bobby Jenkins-that's my name, sir. Lord, sir,
I went: and, after waiting about half a day, way for you know me; and all the folks up there, and—”.
tunate enough to obtain a place for my head, between! “Mr. Jenkins!--witness ! -Turn your face, that way:
two or three umbrellas, and a large bonnet dripping address the persons you see in the box.”
with rain; and another for one foot, by placing which, ! “And do me the favor, Mr. Jenkins, to relate to the
nearly at right angles, with my other leg, I was enabled gentlemen, in the box, all that you know about the mur-
to resist the pressure behind for some hours, and i here-
e hours, and where der of Simeon Galt, Esquire.” Prisoner turns pale,
by save the lives of several, who, if it had given away, and clings to the iron railing; and tries to turn away
would have been precipitated over the railing, into the his eyes from the glass before him. He could not abide
house below. I reckoned myself especially lucky, con- the look of the eyes he saw there. No man that saw
sidering the occasion, and the size of the gallery, which his emotion, paleness, and anxiety, would have doubted
would not accommodaie above half a hurdred so plea-l his guilt.
"Brother A.--I am astonished"
In England, counsel are not allowed to argue to the jury in
criminal cases.
“ Brother B.--80 am I.”


34
THE PRISONER AT THE OLD BAILEY.
"I appeal to their lordships."
Il way, you know-(bowing respectfully.) You see I've
“So do I.”
knowed old Mr. Galt ever since he wasn't no higher
“ Gentlemen! Gentlemen!"
than a six-penny-worth o' ha'pence."
“ Brother A.-let the witness tell his own story, in hisi "And so, you infer, that the blood uron the scythe,
own way, if you please.”
was the blood of Mr. Galt, because you have knowed
“ Brother B.-me luds, the learned gentleman-inold Mr. Galt-his very words, my lud-ever since he
short, I must not be interrupted. What, sir !--what, wasn't no higher than a six-penny-worth o' ha' pence?'
me luds! (taking snuff' with great vehemence, and (a laugh.) Pray, sir, (very smartly adjusting his wig
snapping his pocket-handkerchief, like a horsewhip,)' with one hand, putting out one arm toward the witness,
what, my lud, in a case of this nature, involving consi-, ard appealing to the court at the same time ;) pray, sir,
derable of the, of the takes another pinch, and gives havo you, or have you not, in the course of your life-
another flourish-of the-as I have already observed—"
gentlemen of the jury, I beg your attention to this
“ Brother B.-allow me. The learned gentleman point-ever known any other old man, 'ever since he
entirely misunderstands the question. I was merely wasn't no higher than a six-penny-worth o' ha'pence ?"
about to observe, that Sir Matthew Hale, than whom, l "I don't know exactly, you know what we'd have"
(rising his voice) no greater, sir-no greater man, me " You don't know exactly, you know-Gentlemen, I
lud-ahem !-as your lordship is perfectly aware- beg you to observe that-He doesn't know exactly, you
ahem !"
know-whether he has, or has not known, any other
“ Brother A.” said a judge, interrupting in his turn; l' person, ever since he wasn't no higher than a six-pen-
“the point in issue, if I understand any thing of crimi-ny-worth o' ha'nence."
nal law-"
“I didn't say that"
" True, true, me lud-your ludship is perfectly right. |“You didn't! Gentlemen-you see how he contra-
I was about to say precisely the same thing, and- dicts himself.''
and—”
“ Brother B.-you mistake,” said a judge, with a sub-
Here a long discussion followed, relative to the doc. dued smile. "The witness did not say that he had
trine of cross-examination; examination on a voir dire; never known any other person; but that he had never
examination in chief; leading questions; the character known any other old man."
of Lord Coke, Lord Bacon; Shakspeare; and the
Here was a pleasant intimation from that quarter, to
u
“ glorious Revolution;" throughout the whole of which, which the accused is to look for counsel-the bench.
I observed that each party coniradicted every thing the The witness avuiled himself of it immediately.
other said, whether it related to the subject or not; and
ana: “ Beg your pardon, me lud,” said the counsel, “ I do
whether it was, or was not a concession.
not trust to recollection. Here are his very words—I
The court, now consisting of three, listened with great
i will read them, your ludship."
decorum. One of the bench read a newspaper through
“No necessity for that, brother B. Better put the
and through, advertisements and all-another sat back
question again."
in his chair, with his head on one side-while a third :
“ The witness swears, me lud, that he does not know
appeared amusing him, with some pleasant story; for
exactly-you know ".
his ludship smiled more than once, while I was looking
wins“True—but where are the words of your question ?"
at him.
“ To be sure, witness, a hem-I shall put the question
At last they decided : 1st, that it is highly improper
|' to you once more; and I beg you'll please to understand
to prompt your own witness; 2ndly, that it is not allo-
it. You said, just now, so and so," repeating all that
gether “the thing” to put leading questions to your own
had passed.
witness, before he has opened his mouth; 3rdly, that no
“I did not."
“such thing” had been done or attempted on that occa-
sion ; 4thly, that the discussion was premature--and
“Now, sir, I ask you, upon your oath-did you not
altogether uncalled for, but very ingenious, learned and
say so and so," repeating the question. Witness re-
satisfactory.
plied as before, with a long explanation.
“Witness, proceed,” said the lord chief justice.
| “Go on with your story, sir. Do you know any thing
" Au' so, sir, you know, my lud, as I was a comin' |about the cause of Mr. Gali's death? Was the body
along by the road, there I saw the scythe, you know, on the ground by the scythe? Was he dead ? or was
layin' there; covered all over with blood, you know—" he not? I ask you upon your oath, when did this occur?"
“ Whose blood ?”
“Yes, sir-no, sir,"— witness looks bothered.
“ Squire Galt's blood.”
“Yes, sir; no, sir! You hear him, gentlemen! You
“How do you know 'twas his blood ?"
see him, gentlemen! Yes, sir; no sir!-a pretty fel-
"How do I know 'twas his blood! Why, don't every | low, to be sure."
body know 'twas his blood ?"
Court.-—" Witness, explain yourself."
" But how do you know the blood of Mr. Galt, from! “I meant as I didn't know whether Squire Galt was
that of any other man ?-that of his ludship for exam- gone dead."
“You didn't ask him, perhaps."
“Why, as for that matter, you know, it's hard ! “No, sir-(another laugh)-but I meant yes-if you
tellin', without I could see some o' both, in the same wanted to know who killed him.”
ple."


THE PRISONER AT THE OLD BAIL E Y.
35
Court." Very well. That's coming to the point. “Have you no witnesses ?"
Who did kill him?"
“No, my lud."
" That are white-faced feller, in that are box." Priso “None to your character?"
ner shudders all over, and litts up his eyes in despair. “No, my lud. There are some people, to be sure,
“But how do you know that? Was he there when who know me. But what can they prove? They do
you saw the body?”
not know that I was at home when the murder-if Mr.
“No-not as I know on."
Galt ever was murdered-look place. I thought, may
“ Did you see him kill Mr. Galt?”
it please your ludship, that, by the law of the land,
“No-d'ye think I'd stand by, and see 'im murder every man is held to be innocent, until he is proved to
an old man?”
be guilty. But here it would seem, that I am considered
“Did Mr. Galt charge him, or any body with his as a guilty man; for you call upon me to prove my inno-
death ? (a barrister whispered across the lable here cence. I came here with no sort of apprehension for
no, brother, no!) It is not a dangerous question. The the consequences ; for I had read Blackstone, and,
man was dead at the time; and to the jury I have wit-knowing myself to be innocent of this man's blood, I
nesses to prove that he never suspecled the prisoner at' came here, expecting the prosecutor would be obliged
the bar."
to prove my guilt. Knowing that to be impossible, I
Court.—“Indeed !" (another laugh.)
felt no concern, I tcok no advice. I now find I was
“Not as you know on," brother B.
mistaken. Nothing can save me. That is a settled
"Look ye, witness, if you did't see the affair, how do thing. I blame nobody-1 submit. Still, however,
you happen to know who killed him ?"
there is one question which I should like to ask; not
No answer.
because it can be of any consequence in your estima-
“I ask you again, sir, how do you happen to know tion, but that I may show the extreme simplicity of my
who killed M:. Galt, or how he was killed ?"
honest neighbor. All that he has declared, he believes.
“Why, don't every body know who killed him? All I have no doubt of his regard for truth. But he knows
the people in our quarter, and you too, Mr. Lawyer, nothing of the matter himself. It is all hearsay, and
you know it as well as I do-ax him, yourself. Hel general report. The people would not not take away
won't deny it-I say, you mister !" Court interfered. | my life wrongfully; they believe what they say; and
"My luds! common reputation, I take it, is not suffi-| therefore it is that they appear against me, fully persua-
cient, in a case of this kind, where—(He was interrup-i ded that I am the murderer; because, if I am not, they
ted by his adversary.) Cominon reputation, says my know not who is, nor whom to suspect. For myself, I
Lord Coke, who distinguishes between the different cannot help thinking, that poor Mr. Galt came to his
kinds of probability, in the following words :" (Begins death by accident; but your ludships, I perceive, think
to look over a large volume, full of white references, otherwise. My question is this: Mr. Jenkins, how
and leaves turned down.)
old are you?"
"But where the body is not found, says my Lord “Forty-three, the twenty-third of last Febwary."
Hale, whose merciful disposition - I am sure-your “And how old was Mr. Galt, at the time of his
ludships will be proud of imitating."
|| death?”
* But the body is found in this case, brother B." ||
"Don't know rightly; somewliere between fifty and
" True, my luds; but suppose the body was not found
na sixty, I'm a thinkin'."
-and suppose the-".
“How, then, could you have known him, 'cver since
Prisoner interrupts the procedure in a faint voice, by
inquiring if he may put a question to the witness.
he was no higher than a six-penny-worth o' ha'pence?'”
Chief Justice.-“ By all means-certainly, But-| The man was puzzled. The court and bar thunder-
(shaking his head, and looking as if he had better not. | struck.
a motion and a look immediately repeated by the whole l “Me luds !" continued the prisoner, “ I have done. I
bar and jury)-you will take your own course.” have not another word to say, My object is accom-
"I have no doubt, your ludship-no doubt, in the plished. I do not wish to injure the witnese. I kuow
world, that my good neighbor there believes me guilty him to be an honest man. I have no doubt he believes
of the murder; but, we have not been on good terms me to be the murderer. But still, would have all who
for many years, in consequence of a foolish dispute, hear me observe the effect of prejudice. I see by the
when we were both young. But, nevertheless, if your paper that has just been handed to me, that I was mis-
ludships will permit me-".
taken in the day of the murder—and that I can prove,
“Where are your witnesses ?"
what is here called an . alibi.' And I shall attempt it,
“I have none. I could have none. I am a poor man. I desperate as it is. This poor man, I have no doubt, if
I was taken out of my bed, at night, hurried before a 1 he were asked the question, would swear positively, in
magistrate, and charged with having committed murder so many words, that he knows me to be the murderer!"
upon a man whom I had never seen but once-and with | “To be sure I would.” Prisoner looks very cheerful.
whom I happened to have a quarrel, years before his “Yes, I thought so. And why? Observe what he
death. I am innocent. That is all I have to say--I says. By knowledge he means belief-belief from re-
am innocent, your ludships. I cannot prove my inno- || port; and if you search him, you will find it so."
"Why! Why, because you know-why didn't I see
cence."


36
SHAKS PEARE'S HISTORICAL CHARACTERS.
the field, an' the blood, an' the dead man, an' the scythe ; || from images, formed in the poet's creative mind, still
an' didn't I see you, when they took you ?"
libey live to us; and, through his happy mode of intro-
“Undoubtedly. And because you saw all this, you duction, we become as well acquainted with them as
and the others united in expressing your conviction, be- || with our own contemporaries. I am, however, inclined
fore the coroners and the magistrate, that I was the ſto suspect, that Shakspeare where he does not follow
murderer."
the beaten path of history, drew his characters and in-
A bustle took place in the court; and a personage of cidents from traditionary stories and family anecdotes ;
high rank appeared, who, being duly sworn, proved' sometimes probably from preceding dramas in which
beyond all question, that the prisoner was with him they were preserved, and other short-lived productions
for several hours, at the time of the murder, at a dis- that have long since perished in the side of time.
tance of nearly twenty miles from the place. And, The reflection thrown out by Surrey to Cardinal
after a little conversation, it appeared that he had never ! Wolsey from its being so circumstantial in point of time
consulted with any counsel, under a notion that his guilt and description of person, appears to have been foun-
must be positively proved; and the murder to have ded upon some well known story in Shakspeare's time :
been perpetrated on the fourteenth, when he was at
Surry. I'll startle you
home, nearly all the day, in a solitary hut, instead of the Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench
Lay kissing in your arins, Lord Cardinal.
fifteenth, when it appeared he was with Lord S- ,
nearly the whole day.
Mr. Walpole has ingeniously observed, that “ Leontes
The prisoner was discharged. And I waited no lon-
and Hermione,” in the Winter's Tale, were “the typi-
ger than to hear another witness, repeat over and over
cal representatives of Henry VIII. and Anne Bullen,"
again, a long, circumstantial story about some quarrel,
and the character of Paulina seems to be that of the
that had taken place, between two persons, one of
old lady placed in a more conspicuous and more favora-
whom had stabbed the other. He had been talking
rollinoible point of view. The same officious zeal to serve her
about half an hour, in a kind of recitative, as if he had mistress, and the same kind of garrulous intrepidity
it all by heart.
towards an irascible monarch, is apparent in both cha-
“Pray," said the court,“ when was this ?"
racters. “ The child," says Paulina, " is yours-
“ About ten or a dozen years ago."
And might we lay th' old proverb to your charge,
So like you 'tis the worse. Behold, my Jords,
“And who were these persons ?"
Although the print be liule, the whole matter
The question was well timed; for it turned out that And copy of the father: eye, nose, lips,
And tricks of his frown-Act 2. Scene I.
the witness was telling a story about two very different
people; that he knew neither the prisoner nor the suf-
The conjecture that I am again going to hazard may
ferer; nor any thing of the circumstances, except what appear, like this, too fanciful. That Shakspeare, how-
ho had heard, like the first witness, whose testimony I
ever, often covertly alluded to different persons and
have given, at second hand.
transactions in the days of Queen Elizabeth and of her
Alas! thought I. Where are we to look for perfec-
father, has been clearly shown by his commentators in
tion; if, in a country like this, human life, and human
various instances; but the following passage in “ All's
liberty are tampered with so irreverently?
Well that ends Well," has eluded their observation or
imposed on mine. The king says, that he had presen-
Original.
ted a ring to Helena,
And bade her, if her fortune ever stood
HORÆ CRITICÆ.
Necessitated to help, that by this token
I would relieve her.-Act 3. Scene 4.
It appears to me that the romantic story of Queen
THE HISTORICAL CHARACTERS OF SHAKSPEARE. Elizabeth's having delivered a ring to Essex, with a
promise to assist him in any distress on his producing
SHAKSPEARE never studied Homer, but was as deeply
Wit, gave birth to this incident. Its reality has been ques.
read as the Grecian bard in the page of nature. In the
familiar and confidential conversation occasionally held
lioned and ridiculed by Voltaire, but it has been suppor-
ied with ability and success by Walpole.
by his characters, we catch their minds, as if by sur-
prise, in an undress; we detect their peculiar habits
I mentioned that several characters and incidents are
alluded to in our poet's comedies. Some have been poin-
and feel, like confidants in an intrigue, a satisfaction in
Tied out, but, doubtless, in respect to the greater pari, no
having those peculiar traits communicated to us.
clue remains to guide our steps, and direct us to the
Who, for instance, can doubt that the “proud northern
original. I am fully convinced, that Master Slender
lord, Clifford of Cumberland," exercised his baronial
sut for his picture to this unrivalled portrait-painter, as
privilege of swearing, uncontrolled, to an eminent de- i
well as his cousin Shallow. “ His little wee face,”—
gree, when we read the scofing addresses to him as he ||
“his little yellow cain-colored beard,” his having fought
lay expiring on the field of battle?
with a warrener, been intoxicated and robbed by his
Warwick. They mock thee, Clifford, swear as thou wert knavish companions, and other exploits, equally miemo-
wont.
Richard. What not an oath! Nay, then the world goes rable, seem to mark a real character, and to record real
hard.
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath-
facts: circumstances probably that excited no little mirth
I know by that he's dead. (Henry VI., Part 3, Act 2 at the time of representation. Indeed, the greater part
If we suppose such representations are merely drawn of the first scene in “ The Merry Wives of Windsor,"
NUMBER I.


SHAK SPEARE'S HISTORICAL CHARACTERS.
37
may have been copied from the liſe, and have passed in berries, and the unimportant errand on which he sends
Sir Thomas Lucy's judicial hall. Even the breaking the courtly prelate.. Catesby observes, "the king is
open the lodge and kissing the keeper's daughter, which angry, see, he gnaws his lip;" and Margaret, in her
Falstaff, (a character, it is said, partly drawn for an imprecations upon him, exclaims :
inhabitant of Stratford,) humorously disavows, may No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be while some tormenting dresin
bave been charges there seriously urged against Shaks- | Atfrights thee with a hell of ugly devils.
Richard III, Act 3. scene 3.
peare and his merry associate3.
As the first dramatist is universally allowed to be a We are not to consider either of these expressions as
copyist of nature, it induces us to place an almost un- ! casual, but strictly appropriate and historically true.
limited confidence in him. We cannot but suppose in Different authors relate, that“ his sleep was (generally)
his historic dramas, even where we are unable to trace filled with perturbations," and particularly on the night
him, that he dwells on real, not imaginary transactions; previous to the engagement in which he perished.
and has preserved many genuine anecdotes, not of When Falstaff ridicules the slender form of Prince
weight sufficient to have gained admittance into the Henry, and says he would give a thousand pounds to
page of history, or taken from authors, whose writings; be able to run as fast, etc., we must not suppose that
scarcely survived their own existence.
these words are thrown out accidentally. Historians
The following remarkable incident, attending Cardi-l agree in describing him as tall, thin and active. Like
nal Beau fort's death, is so forcibly characteristic, thau Achilles, he was no less conspicuous for swiftness than
we cannot easily suspect it to be an invention, though no, for personal courage. We see at once, ihen, the pro-
history mentions the circumstance:
priety of Hotspur's styling him “the nimble, mad-cap
Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on hearing bliss,
Prince of Wales ;' and the peculiar justness of the
Hold up thy haud, make signal of thy hope-
He dies, and makes no sign! (Henry VI. Part 3. Act 3.
following comparison, drawn by Vernon, a friend of
Hotspur's :
The description of his anguish and despair occurs in |
Hall's Chronicle, but the additional circumstances
I saw young Harry with his beaver on,
His cuises on his thighs, gallantly arma,
thrown in by Shakspeare wonderfully increase the hor-
Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury;
And vaulted wit! such ease into his scat,
ror of the scene. The address to the Cardinal may be
As if an angel dropt down from the clouds
illustrated by the following meditation, to be found in a
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,
And witch the world with noble horsemanship,
little devotional book, entitled “ The Key of Para-
Henry IV. Part 1.scene 1.
dise :"
A variety of beautiful and happy allusions occur like-
* Imagine thyself lying in thy death bed, with an hallowed
candle in thy hand, a crucifir on thy breast, and thy ghastly
wise in the former part of the same speech. An atten-
father calling on thee, that if thou can'st not speak, yet at least to tion to such minutiæ, though not historically true, must
kold up thy hand in token of thy hope, und atiance in the mercies
of Christ."
have a wonderful effect in realizing the dramatis per-
The death of Gloster, in the same drama, though,
sonæ. Even in respect to animals, as well as men,
according to history, its manner was uncertain, is mark-
Shakspeare will not deal in generals. The tragedy-
ed with so many minute and appropriate circumstances
hero of a modern dramatist would call for “his barbed
that Shakspeare most probably heard it thus minutely
steed,” or “his fiery courser;" but Richard orders his
described, or took his description from actual observa.
groom to
tion, or a similar event.
“ Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow."
The interview between Henry V. and Williams, the And historians say, that when he entered the town of
soldier, (Henry V. act 4. scene 4.) the night preceding
Leicester "he was mounted on a great white courser."
the batile of Agincourt, with their interchange of gloves,
May we not reasonably suppose, that this was the iden,
and the trick, in consequence, played upon Fluellen, I tical Surrey ? The gallant Earl, whose name he bore,
appears to have been founded on some traditionary sto- was warmly attached to Richard, and had probably, as
ry. Our hearts, at least, will not allow it to be fiction, a proof of his regard, bestowed on him this acceptable
but rather delight at such an unexpected, though by no | present.
means unnatural, romance of Hal's original humor. | The impetuous Hotspur impatiently inquires after his
There are many other little incidents, like the forego- crop-ear Roan," and exclaims “that Roan shall be my
ing, which we ought not to consider as invention, be | throne.” His fondness for his horse (of which he ap.
cause we cannot trace them to their source. Had the pears to be no less fond than Diomede, a congenial cha-
story of Simpcox, of St. Albans, and the combat be-
racter, was of the steeds of Troas,) is one of his murk.
tween the armorer and the apprentice, Peter, (Henrying features, and humorously ridiculed by his rival in
VI. Part 2.) been no where recorded but in Shakspeare, | fame, Prince Henry. (Henry 4. p. 1. act 2. scene 8.)
they would probably have been considered as merely || When Vernon, therefore, expatiates, with more candor
ludicrous fictions, intended to rut the upper gallery in than discretion, in praise of his “ noble horsemanship,”
good humor. Each of these incidents, however, are it peculiarly irritate:
it peculiarly irritates the mind of Hotspur. His reply,
noticed in different chronicles of the times. The nume- I particularly the conclusion, is truly characteristic.
rous circumstances relative to the death of Lord Has-
Come, let me take my horse,
Who is to bear me, like a thunderbolt,
tings, form a kind of episode in the tragedy of Richard
Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales,
III., and they are adapted from history; so also is the
Harry to Harry shall, and horse to horse,
Meet, and not part till one drop down a corse-
compliment which he pays the Bishop of Ely's straw-||
Henry IV. Part 1. Act 4. scene 9.


38
FATE'S KALEIDOSCOPE.
Hotspur feels himself touched in a tender point. His 11
rival is celebrated for a qualification in which he thought
himself pre-eminent; and his mind reverts with vexa-
tion to an idea so unpleasing. The beauty of this natu-
ral sally of passion escaped the earlier editors of Shaks-
peare; and it has been printed “not horse to horse,” in
every edition but the first, when Sir Thomas Hamer
restored the original reading. Such a little trait distin-
guishes a master's hand more than pages of labored
declamation.
The natural antipathy between Hotspur and “the
sword and buckler Prince of Wales," is finely concei-
ved and admirably executed. They are planets in fiery
opposition. We cannot find a speech but what seems
to be dictated by nature itself. Their birter ebullitions
of passion, their mutual jealousy, which one strives to
conceal by treating his rival with ridicule, and the other
by holding him in affected contempt, familiarize them to
us. We see, we know them, are privy to the dissipated
relaxations of the one, and the turbulent thoughts that
agitate the mind of the other. This observation may
be extended to almost every leading character: we con-
template men like ourselves, endued with the same pro-
pensities as those that actuate them in real life, and are
consequently interested in their fortunes. But our feel-
ings are not excited by the pompous characters in de-
clamatory tragedy: they are beings of another species,
and we have nothing in common with them.
If the wonder-working pen of Shakspeare induces us
to pay more credit to his representation of histrionic
characters, than historical severity may sometimes
allow, it is a delusion too pleasing to be lightly resigned.
We see, or secm to see, realities; and the causes, which
I have just explained, operate also in his fictitious dra-
mas. Though he cannot there build on real facts, yet
appropriate and strong-marked descriptions of persons
and places, familiar conversation and characteristic an-
ecdotes, commonly give an appearance of truth and con.
sistency to the most wild and extravagant dictions.
All bleak along my own hills,
The heather waves, and bracken free;
The fruit upon my own hills
Is scarlet hip, or blaeberry:
And yet I would not those exchange
'Mid gay Italian scenes to range-
No! vine-clad hills would look as strange,
As stern and lone as these to me.
“Since bleak and cold, thy own hills
But wave with fern or heather free;
What charm is in thine own hills,
To bind thy heart so tenderly ?''
'Tis memory hath thrown a spell
So fair along each hill and dell,
That on the musing eye they swell
And sink-like fairy scenery.
In boyhood on my own hills
I pluck'd the flower and chas'd the bee;
In youth upon my own hills
I wooed my love by rock and tree;
'Tis hence my love-to tears-they claim,
And—let who will the feeling blame-
Yet, when in sleep I dream of them,
I would not wake aught else to see!
L.
Original.
FATE'S KALEIDOSCOPE.
BY GRENVILLE MELLEN.
A. A. L.
Original.
SONG.
Oh! these are not my own hills,
Fair though their verdure be,
Distant are my own hills,
That look'd so kind on me.
These may have their rock and cairn-
Their blooming heath and waving fern,
But still they stand so strange and stern,
Ard never look like friends to me.
One day as old Destiny wheel'd his flight,
On misty wing, in hand with Time,
In his speed he o'ertook a form of light,
That straight commenc'd its airy chime.
“Stay-stoop your swift pinion-let Time pass on,
His sands are not splendid now;
His eye is dull and his smile is gone-
And weariness hangs on his cheerless brow!"
The dim spirit paus'd in its quick career,
And sunk its wing to hear her song,
O'er this daughter of Sight he drop'd a tear
To think how quick she would weep him-gone!
Then Hope came forward with her glorious eye,
To peer thro' the wondrous glass-
She saw all her visions like gold go by,
And smil'd as she saw them pass.
“Oh! Life had been cold, had I never known
Such rainbow scenes would greet me here!"-
The glass mov'd on-and the dream had flown-
Hope turn'd away to hide her tear!
“Stay ! once, again !”—but the dim spirit rose,
And laughing wing'd his flight away-
And cried as he flew—"Time only knows
How dull may sink Hope's fairest day!"
Then she call'd on Time for his joys again,
But, ah! how swift that Time had flown!
On the far dusky sky his form was seen,
And Hope was left to weep alone!
“Where, prythee, are thine own hills ?
In the clime of Italy?
How are clothed thy own hills,
That are so fair lo see?
Grow's, in Summer's endless shine,
The orange there, or purpling vine,
Does myrtle with the rose entwine-
On mountains so beloved by thee?"


MA R Y DER WE N T.
39
$200 PRIZE ARTICLE. was soon found to work the cleared land, “on shares,"
and the neighbors collected together, and erected a
The following story was written at a time when the author had welling of two rooms on the little island, which the old
formed a resolution never again to connect her name with a ' lady selected for her residence. Mrs. Derwent had
prize article, nor indeed with any species of Magazine litera-
ture; consequently the highest prize offered by the publisher i chosen this location, for other reasons than its surpass.
of the Ladies'Companion, during the last season, was adjudg. ing loveliness. Yet, with a natural taste for the sublime,
ed to her, under a fictitious signature, that of Mrs. Catharine
Rogers. It will be remembered, that at the time the com- ! and beautiful, there brought into close neighborhood,
mittee decided on the premium articles, the author was in no she exerted all her ingenuity in ornamenting her little
way connected with this magazine, and was, consequently a
house. The native fruit trees, which grew in abundance
proper candidate for the prize of two hundred dollars.
among the wild rocks, and on the brink of the river,
Original.
were transplanted to her domain ; the brush-wood and
MARY DER WENT.
stinted trees were cleared away; a few sugar maples,
and one magnificent oak, flung their shadows over the
A TALE OF THE EARLY SETTLERS.
stream; and in the autumn, when the trees were bur-
BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
thened with fruit, when the crab-apples hung in crimson
clusters on the boughs, when the luxurious peach, the
CHAPTER 1.
purple grape, and the wild plum, blushed together, and
“To set on rocks, to muse on flood and fell,
ripened in the same sun-shine, the little island might
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominions dwell,
have been mistaken for a floating garden, of the East,
And mortal foot has ne'er or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen
lost among the stupendous mountain-scenery of our
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
colder climate.
Above nir deep and foaming talls to lean;
Mother Derwent was happy in her new dwelling.
This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold
Converse with nature's charms, and view her storms unroled." || she had contrived to purchase imolamente con
She had contrived to purchase implements for spinning
CHILDE HAROLD.
and weaving the coarse cloth, which constituted the
MONOCKONOK Island lies in the stream of the Susque-l principal clothing of the settlers. The inhabitants gave
hannah; its trees cast their shadow with a dreamy
her plenty of work, and the share of produce from her
beauty over the waters, as they sweep onward toward farm supplied her little household with grain and vege-
their outlet, and its green slopes, broken into little hilo tables. Even the two litile girls, who under many cir-
locks and enamelled with wild flowers, lie sleeping in the cumstances would have been a burthen, were in reality
sunlight like a vast pile of emeralds drifted up from the an assistance to her. Jane, the eldest, was a bright and
bed of the river, and heaped like a miniature paradise beautiful child, with dark silky hair, pleasant eyes, and
upon its bosom. On either side are hills, burthened i lips like the damp petals of a red rose. She was withal,
with rocks and abundance of foliage, sometimes crowd- a tidy, active little maiden, and, as mother Derwent
ing to the very brink of the river, in ragged cliffs, and i was wont to say, "saved grandma a great mary steps,"
then falling back with a majestic sweep, and sloping by running to the spring for water, winding quills, and
down to the waters in a broad meadow, or a breezy doing what Miss Sedgwick calls the odds and ends of
grove. Down a few miles from the island, nestled in | housework. Jane led a pleasant life on the island.
between a bold curve of the river and a picturesque She was a creature of frolic and mirthfulness, and it
mountain, lies the little town of Wilkesbarre, a gem of suited her joyous nature to paddle her canoe on the
a village set in a haven of loveliness. But the valley of bosom of the broad river, or even to urge it down the
Wyoming is classical ground; our ren glides timidly | current, when “grandma" wanted a piece of cloth
over its beauties, conscious that a mightier has gone carried to the village, or was anxious to procure from
before. More than half a century ago, u few log cabins thence, tea and other little delicacies for her household.
stood on the site of the beautiful village. A clearing, When mother Derwent's quill-box was full, and “the
now and then, with its humble dwelling was scattered work all done un," Jane might be found clambering
along the brink of the stream; and one log hut, shelter among the wild rocks, which frowned along the shore,
ed by a huge sugar maple, with a grass plot sloping to looking over the face of some bold precipice, at her
the water in front, and a garden made cheerful by a few image reflected in the stream below; or, perchance,
hollyhocks and marigolds behind, stood like a mammoth perched in the foliage of a grape-vine, with her rosy
bird's nest, on Monockonok Island. Its resident was an face peering out from the leaves, and her laugh ringing
aged and infirm woman, who had moved into the valley i merrily from cliff to cliff, while her little hands shower-
among its first settlers, with an only son and his two ed down the purple clusters, to her sister below. Such
motherless daughters. While the son was yet laboring was Jane Derwent, at the age of fourteen ; but differ-
to clear the fifty-acre-lot, which he had purchased with ent, far different, was her younger sister, Mary. Poor
the intention of forming a home for his aged parent and little Mary Derwent! as she was called in the neighbor-
his orphan girls, death called him suddenly from his hood. While her sister was endowed with rare beauty
labors, and old mother Derwent, was thrown on the land unclouded cheerfulness, she, poor delicate thing-
world, burthened with two helpless children. But the shrunk instinctively from the eyes of her fellow crea-
sympathies of our nature take deeper root and flourish tures, and sought companionship, only, with the inani-
more kindly among the hardy settlers of our forests, | mate things of nature; she could not bear that strange
than in our crowded and fashionable cities. A tenant eyes should gaze on her deformity.


40
MA RY DER WENT.
From her birth, the little girl had presented a strange was clenched, and her unseemly trunk dilated with
mixture of the hideous and the beautiful. Her oval passion a moment, then the blood flowed back upon her
face, with its marvellous symmetry of feature, mighthave heart, her white lips closed over the clenched teeth, and
been the original from which Dubufe, drew the chaste ishe fell forward with her face upon the ground, as one
and heavenly features of Eve, in his glorious picture of stricken by unseen lightning. The group gathered around
“The Temptation. The same swectness and purity ber, awe-stricken and afraid. They could not compre-
was there, but the expression that was chastened and hend this fearful burst of passion in a creature, habitual.
melancholy. Her soft blue eyes were always sad, and ly gentle and sweet-tempered to a fault.
almost always moist; their heavy lashes drooped over Her brave defender knelt and raised her head to his
them, with an expression of languid misery. A smile bosom, while tears of generous indignation still lingered
never brightened her delicate mouth-the same chasten- on his burning cheek, and his form shook with scarcely
ed expression of hopelessness, sat for ever on that calm, abated excitement. Unmindful of the threats, and
white forehead; the faint color would often die away hostile gestures of his cousin, he fanned the pale face,
from her cheek, but it seldom deepened there, and her which lay so like marble upon his bosom, rubbed the
tresses, bright as a sunbeam and silky as thistle down, cold hands, and exerted all his little skill to re-animate
seemed too free and sunny to shadow that joyless face, her. Jane stood by, wringing her hands and moaning
or to perform the office of concealment, when they fell in like a demented thing, for, poor child, she was ignorant
shining radiance over the unseemly hump, and the dis- of the strength of human passions, and thought that
torted limbs, which rendered her unseemingly person nothing but death could take a form so appalling. At
almost hideous to look upon. Nature, as if to inflict the length Mary Derwent arose with the calmness of a
greatest injury with the most cruel consciousness of it, hushed earthquake upon her face, and bent her way to
had imbued her spirit with that subtle fire, which men li her father's house. She was henceforth a changed being.
call genius, but which mingles with the delicate nature One great shock had thrust her forward as it were to a
of woman, like the holy flame which lighted the altars' muturity of suffering; her smile became mournful and
of the ancients, consuming the heart it plays upon, sad in its expression, as if the poor creature had become
with a rapidity proportioned to its brightness.
weary of life and of all living things ; she never again
It is almost startling to learn the strength of feeling, I joined iri the childish sports of her companions. When
and the hoard of bitter thoughts, which are sometimes their shouts of merriment rang loudest on the green, she
exposed lurking in the bosom of a child. Mary was was alone among the wild, high rocks, or away by the
ten years of age before any person supposed her con- river's brink, gazing upon the perpetual flow of its
scious of her horrible malformation, or was aware of waters, and musing, hour after hour, upon the beautiful
the deep sensitiveness of her nature. The event which, fancies, which at that period dawned upon her intellect,
brought both to life, occurred a few months before the as if to compensate for the evils that had been heaped
death of her father. It was on the clearing, before the upon her person. In the solitude of nature, alone, could
little log school-house of the village. Mary was chosen she escape the terrible consciousness of her deformity;
into the centre of the merry ring, by Edward Clark, a. a consciousness so suddenly and cruelly brought home
bright-eyed handsome boy, with a gay open countenance, to her delicate spirit. The flowers had no eyes to
and with manners bold and frank almost to carelessness.mock at her unshapely form, as it bent over them; the
The kind-hearted boy, drew her gently into the ring, moss received her weary frame, as lovingly as if limbs of
pressed his lips to her innocent forehead, and joined the the most perfect symmetry pressed its green bosom.
circle, without the laugh and joyous bound which usual. There was no hollow mockery in the gurgle of the rivu-
ly accompanied his movements. There was an instinctive let, as it leaped like a shower of liquid light from its
feeling of delicacy and tenderness toward the little girl, basin in the wild rocks-no disgust in the heavy green-
which forbade all boisterous merriment when she was ness of the trees, or the fluttering birds that congregated,
his partner. The feelings which were to form the mis- with their bright plumage and sweet voices, among the
ery of the woman breathed in the bosom of the child leaves. She held communion with nature, till her spirit
even at this early age; a slight tremor stirred her became imbued with its poetry, as the young grass re-
heart, and when those frank lips were raised from herceives its color from the light in which it exists. Her
forehead, a flush more rosy than the light pressure could heart became gentle and delicate as a flower, yet in the
have warranted remained upon its surface. It was her unfathomed depths thereof, lay strength and passion,
turn to select a partner; she extended her hand timidly and fervency of feeling; with the vivid imagination
toward the cousin of Edward Clark, a boy of his own which lavishes a portion of its own brightness on all
age, he drew back with an insulting laugh, and refused earthly things. To the few beings who had been the
to stand up with the hunch-back. Instantly the ring | cherishers of her helpless state, her heart twined with a
was broken up. Edward Clark leaped forward, with the double intensity, from the repulse she had met with else-
bound of a panther, and with a blow, rendered powerful where. She clung to the love of her grandmother with
by his honest indignation, smote the insulter to the the trusting fondness of a sickly infant. To her sister
ground. For one moment Mary looked around bewil. Jane, she was at once a dependant, from physical weak-
dered, as if she did not comprehend the nature of the ness, and a monitress in intellect. Though exceedingly
taunt; then the blood rushed up to her face, her soft blue sweet and affectionate in her nature, she retained an in-
eyes blazed as with a flash of hidden fire, the little hand fluence over the headstrong will and more common place


MA RY DERWENT.
propensities of her beautiful and healthy sister, which I sic,” were not natural to all. She only wondered that
the lofty and strong mind always possesses over those she had never heard themi spoken of. Then, remember-
of a more earthly mould. Her spirit mingled with the ing the sensitive feeling, which caused her own heart to
coarser and more buoyant mind of her sister, as the conceal its bright hoard of ideas, she supposed others
sweet song which rises ard swells from the heart of a to be actuated by the same shrinking impulse, and went
nightingale, while she sits panting with the love of her on, dreaming and filling the paradise of her mind with
own music among the thick branches, may charm the images and aspirations of more than earthly beauty and
notes of a louder and stronger bird, hushing him to intensity. Her thoughts turned continually on themes
silence by the sweetness of a richer and more thrilling too spiritual and visionary for mere humanity; yet, with
melody. With her father, there was more of equality which the few earthly objects, which were left to her
and companionship. Her helplessness had rendered her love, were interwoven, till her attachments were refined
a thing of almost holy attachment to him, and with her and concentrated to a degree of affection almost painful
quick feelings and almost inuitive perception of his to its possessor. The objects of her earthly love be-
own, she had won for herself a portion of confidence and came the idols of the ideal world pictured in the depths
respect, which gave to the tie between then, a dignity of her mind. One being had so entwined himself with
almost proportioned to its immeasurable tenderness. her every thought-had been to her beart so like a kin-
Mr. Derwent was an educated man, and one of strong dred harmony-that she loved him with an impulse as
natural understanding; yet he was not fully capable of natural and as innocent, as that which turns the sun-
appreciating the strange combination of weakness flower to the west when the day closes. That being
and strength-the spiritual and the passionate, which was Edward Clark-he who had avenged her insulted
formed the character of his child. At times, his strong feelings so bravely. I have said that she loved him-
spirit would become absolutely subdued by the depth and it was with a passion deep and holy as an angel's
and fervency of her's. He was occasionally startled prayer-yet passionate, sincere, and self-devoting, “as
almost out of his protecting love by the vivid fashes of woman's love." All these elements of misery had ri-
intellect which broke upon him from the frail child, pened in her heart while she was a mere child, and the
whom he had cherished the more dearly for her very current of her young existence flowed on, colored and
helplessness and supposed inferiority. When the poe-mellowed by them, as waters receive a tint from the
try, which was its essence, would break up from her minerals over which they flow.
heart, like fire from a kindling altar, he would take her Mary never dreamed of the nature of the unquiet
to his arms almost in fear, as one who has fostered some guest she had taken to her bosom. Edward Clark was
feeble object, believing it a creature of weaker powers the only being, of the other sex, with whom she had
and kindred sympathies, but who suddenly finds that an associated since the death of her father. If a tremor,
angel-a spirit of a far off and beautiful world, higher like a soft breeze rippling the surface of a bright lake,
and brighter than he can comprehend, has been nestled' stole through her heart, at the sound of his footsteps-
lovingly in his bosom, the object of its kindly feelings if every heart-string vibrated, as with a thrill of music,
and the creature of its fostering love.
when he read to her, in his deep, rich voice, the passa-
While this feeling of mingled tenderness and venera-' ges she loved most in Milton-could she, a child, full of
tion was springing up in the bosom of the father, he strange impulses, be supposed to understand the myste-
died, and she was left without companionship and with-, rious throbbings of that mysterions creation-the heart?
out preceptor, with the elements of good and evil slum. She only knew that a sensation, tremulous, blissful and
bering in her heart, like a mine of rough gems bedded very strange-a commingling of all the sweet and sensi-
in earth, and but partially laid open to the sunshine. l live feelings she had ever known before-had broken up
From the time of her father's death, the love of soli- from the depths of her heart. It might be poetry-it
tude became a passion with the deformed girl. Ex-might be prayer-but it could not be love! Had she
empted, by the tenderness of her grandmother, from supposed it possible, she would have sunk to the earth
the labors of the household, she spent her time in sum. shuddering with self-disgust, as one who had committed
mer constantly among the hills. She could manage a a deadly sin against nature. For what had she, a crea-
canoe, and was familiar with every grassy hollow and ture flung out from the rest of her kindred-branded,
flowery nook for miles up the river. She had but two and set apart, with a fearful mark upon her-to do with
books-the Bible and an old volume of Milion; one of the feelings which link human beings together?
these was her constant companion. With a refinement!
" It is a fearful trust, the trust of love.
of taste inherent in her nature, she selected such por-
In fear, not hope, should woman's heart receive
tions of Holy Writ as contain, perhaps, the highest and
A guest so terrible. Ah! never more
Will thy young spirit know its joyous hours
holiest poetry out of heaven, and over them she ponder-,
Of quiet hopes and innocent delights:
ed with a thirst for the beautiful and an intense longing
Its childhood is departed."
for something higher and more lofty than she had yet Poor Mary Derwent! better had she wandered away
known, till her heart drooped with a sense of its own fee. a harmless life, among the high rocks and the lovely
bleness. The genius within was struggling for utterance. wild-Howers which made her home a sheltered paradise,
She knew nothing of poetry as a science-nay, was dreaming of the future, and of that Heaven which is
almost ignorant that the thoughts, which sometimes the only quiet hereafter to a spirit like hers, than to
filled her heart with the sweetness of “unwritten mu have cast her all of hope on a being changeable and


42
MAR Y DER WENT.
wayward as man. For what man ever returned, or re- !! “Angry, no! I never am angry with you, Jane. I
warded, the devotion of a heart like that? Love is a' don't want to refuse you any thing on your birth-day-
dangerous and a fearful trust even to the quiet and the but I cannot meet these people. You cannot guess-
beautiful. And what had she io hope for, with her lofty you can have no idea of my sufferings when any one
mind and hideous person? A return of love! There looks upon me except those I love very, very dearly."
are men who can appreciate inteliect and goodness even | " That is just what they say,” replied Jane, while a
in a form like hers! A broken or a hardened heart ? ' flush of generous feeling spread over her forehead.
Why should we question ? Her destiny was before her. ! “What, who says ?re inquired Mary, for her heart
trembled with a dread that some allusion was to be made
CHAPTER II.
to her person, and she felt as if the sister whom she
" Where is the heart that has not bowed
loved so dearly, would be shut out from her heart for
Alave, eternal love, to thee!
ever, were she to repeat the unfeeling remarks which
Look on the cold, the gay, the proud,
And is there one among them free?
she suspected to have been made on her deformiry, by
" And what must love be in the heart,
those who had been the playmates of her childhood.
All passion's fiery depths revealing,
After her question, there was a moment's silence. They
Which has in its minutest part,
More than another's whole of feeling?"
had both arisen, and the deformed girl stood before her
sister with a tremulous lip and a wavering, anxious eye.
“ And so you will go, Mary, dear-though this is my! The expression of her face was like that of a troubled
birth-day? I have a great mind to cut the canoe loose angel. Yet with the jealous restlessness of spirit, which
and set it adrift."
i in some, never tastes one drop of a bitter cup without
" And then how will your company get to the island ?" draining it to the dregs, as if enamored with self-lor-
said Mary Derirent, raising her eyes to the blooming ture, she could not help putting her question again,
face of her sister, while a quiet smile stole into their , somewhat impatiently. “Why will you not tell me
blue depths.
what they say?"
“I don't care for company! I don't care for any June was quick wilted, and with many faults ; very
thing-you are so contrary-so hateful. You never stay kind of heart. When she saw the distress, visible in
at home when the young folks are coming-it's too bad!”, her unfortunate sister's face, she formed her reply with
And Jane flung herself on the grass which surrounded a more of tact and kind feeling, than of strict regard to
little cove where a bark canoe lay rocking in the water, 1 sruth. Why it is nothing " she said. " the girls
and indulged her petulence by tearing up a bed of straw-loved you and
W-loved you, and perted you so much, when we were lille
berry-vines which her sister bad planted there.
children in school together, that they don't like it when
“Don't spoil my strawberry bed," said Mary, bending
y, bending you go away without seeing them. They think that you
over the wayward girl and kissing her forehead.
are grown proud since you have taken to reading and
“Come, do be good.natured and let me go, I will bring talking fine language. You don't have to work like the
you some boneysuckle-apples, and a whole canoe full rest of us, and they feel slighted and think you put on
of wood-lilies. Come, I can't bear to see you discon- lairs."
tented to-day!”
Oh, it is happiness to feel that we are still cared for
"I would not care about it so much-though it is hard ''
“ and cought after by those whom we have supposed
that you will never go to frolics, nor enjoy yourself like :
estranged from us; and the highly gifted—those whom
other folks—but Edward Clark made me promise to ..
Lºl we might suppose the most independent from their
keep you at home to-day.”
mental resources, are perhaps the most susceptible
A color like the delicate tinting of a shell, stole into to kindly feelings in others; the most unwilling to break
Mary's cheek, as it lay caressingly against the rich dam-
any of those sacred ties which keep the heart young.
ask of her sister's. “ If no one but Edward were com-
Tears stole into the eyes of the deformed girl, and a
ing, I should be glad to stay," she replied, in a soft,
sudden light, the sunshine of an affectionate heart, broke
sweet voice; “but you have invited a great many, havu't
over her face, as she said, -
you? Who will be here from the village ?”
"It is not that, my sister-I have loved them very
Jane hegan to enumerate the young men who had í
been invited tv her birth-day party : they heid prece-
much, all these years that I have not seen them, but
dence in her heart, and consequently in her speech ; for,
since that day - sister, you are very good, and oh,
to own the truth, Jane Derwent was a perfect specimen
how beautiful; but you cannot dream of the feelings of
of the rustic coquette ; a beauty, and a spoiled one ;
a poor creature like myself. Without sympathy, with-
but a warm-hearted, kind girl notwithstanding. “There
out companions, hunch-backed and crooked. Tell me,
Jane, am I not hideous to look upon ?".
are the Ward boys, and John Smith, and Walter Butler
10—" Jane stopped, for she felt a shiver run over the
This was the first time in her life that Mary had per-
form around which her arms were flung, as she promitted a consciousness of her malformation to escape
nounced the last name, and she saw that the chcek of her in words. The last question was put in a voice of
her sister was blanched to the whiteness of snow. "I mingled agony and bitterness, wrung from the very
had forgotten,” she said, timidly, after a moment; “Il depths of her heart. She fell upon the grass, as she
am sorry I asked him. You are not angry, with me, I spoke, and with her face to the ground, lay grovelling at
Mary, are you?"
her sister's feet, like some wounded animal; for now


MA RY DERWENT.
43
qator
that the loveliness of her face was concealed, her form || brace. Both blushed, and a glad smile dimpled the
seemed scarcely human.
round cheek of the elder, as she stepped forward to
All that was generous in the nature of Jane Derwent, greet the new comer. But Mary drew her shawl more
swelled in her heart, as she bent over her sister. She closely over her person and shrunk timidly back; but
wept like an infant, and with broken words and half with a quickened pulse and a soft welcome beaming
stiled sobs, sirove to raise her from the ground
from her eyes.
“Hideous! oh, Mary, how can you talk so ?" she | Il “ I have just come in time to keep you at home, for
said, kneeling down and raising the head of the unfor- lonce," said the youth, approaching the timid girl, after
tunate tenderly to her bosom: “Don't shake and having gaily shaken hands with her sister. “I am sure
tremble in this manner. You are not frightful nor we shall persuade you "He was interrupted by a
homely; only think how beautiful your hair is. Edward call from Jane, who had run off to the other side of the
Clark says he never saw any thing so bright and silky cove; probably, with the hopes of being speedily fol-
as your curls; he said so, indeed he did, Mary, and the lowed by her visitor.
other day, when he was reading about Eve in the little “Come here, Edward, do, and break me some of this
book you love so well, he told grandmother, that he sweet-hriar; it scratches my fingers so." Clark dropped
fancied Eve must have had a face just like yours.” Mary's hand, and went to obey this capricious sum-
“ Did Edward say this,” murmured the poor de- || mons.
formed, as Jane half lifted, half persuaded her from the “Don't try to persuade Mary to stay,” said Jane, as
ground, and with her arms flung over her neck, was she took a quantity of the sweet-briar from the hands of
pressing the face she had been praising to her heaving ber companion. “She is as restless when we have com-
bosom. For Mary, though naturally tall, was so dis pany as the mocking-bird you gave us; besides,” she
torted, that when she stood upright, her head scarcely added, with a little hesitation, “ Walter Butler, will be
reached a level with the graceful bust of her sister. here and she don't like hiin."
“Did he say it, Mary.” “Yes, he certainly did, and “It were strange if she did,” replied the youth ; and
so do I say it. Look here." And eagerly gathering a frown passed over his fine forehead; “but tell me,
the folds of a large shawl over the shoulders of the Jane, how it happened that you invited him, when you
deformed, she gently drew her to the brink of the basin, I know that I dislike him almost as much as she does."
where the canoe still lay moored. “Look there,” she Jane looked confused, and like most people, when
exclaimed, as they bent together over the edge of the they intend to persist in a wrong, began to get into a
green-sward, “can you wish for any thing handsomer passion.
than that face ?"
“I am sure I thought I had the right, to ask any one
The two young girls did indeed, form a beautiful pic- || I pleased," she said, petulently.
ture as they stood, with their arms interlaced, bending || “Yes, but one might expect, that it would scarcely
over the tranquil waters. Never had that smooth sur- | please you, to encourage a man, who has so shamefully
face mirrored two faces more strikingly lovely, yet more insulted your sister. My blood boils when I think of the
unlike in their beauty. Unconsciously they had taken l wretch! Poor Mary, I had hoped to have seen her
the attitude a painter would have chosen. 'The head enjoy herself to-day; but now she must wander off alone
and half the form of the elder, from the finely rounded as usual. I have a great mind to go with her.” And
shoulders down to the graceful outline of the waist, was turning swiftly away from the angry beauty, he went to
flung back with the exactness of life. Her eighteenth Mary, spoke a few words, and they stepped into his
birth-day had brought its richest bloom to her cheek, canoe together. But, he had scarcely pushed it from
and recent excitement had lezat a brilliancy to her eyes, I the shore when, Jaue ran forward and leaped in after
and an intellectual beauty to the forehead, which was them. “If you go, so will I!” she said, angrily seat-
scarcely natural to them. Her head was partly bent, ling herself in the bottom of the canoe. Mary was
and a profusion of rich curls fell over her graceful neck. | amazed and perplexed. She looked into the stern, dis-
A few white blossoms had been twined among them in | pleased face of the young man, and then at the sullen
honor of her party, and thus she was mirrored, hall || brow of her sister. “What does this mean?" she in-
concealing the form of her sister, whose face, in all its quired, gently, “what is the matter, Jane?" Jane be-
pale spiritual loveliness, beamed out from the protection gan to cob, but gave no answer, and they rowed across
of her arm. It was like the head of a cherub, sheltered the river in silence. They landed at the foot of the
and cherished by a form of earthly beauty. A green broken precipice, that hung over the river like a ruined
tree waved its branches over them, and the sunshine battlement. Clark assisted Mary to the shore, and
came shimmering through the leaves with a wavy light. and was about to accompany her up the foot-path, which
The waters were tranquil as the arch of a summer sky, wound over the precipice, but Jane, who had angrily
and the sisters were sull gazing on the lovely faces, refused his help to leave the boat, began to fear that
speaking to theirs from their clear depths, when a canoe she had carried her anger too far, and timidly called him
swept suddenly round the grassy promontory, which back to her. There were a few angry words from the
formed one side of the cove. With a dash of the oar, || young man-expostulation and tears from the maiden, all
it shot, like an arrow, into the basin, and its occupant, of which, a bend in the path prevented Mary observa
a young man of perhaps two-and-twenty, leaned uponing; and then, Clark went up the hill-told the solitary
the green sward. The sisters startod from their em-l girl not to wander far-to be careful and not sit on the


44
MARY DER WENT.
damp ground-and that he would come for her by sun the dull lustreless color, common to the Indians ; but
down; the young folks would have left the island by that with a bloom upon it like that shed by the sunlight on
time, he said. They were all going down to Wilkes- the wing of a flying raven. She appeared to be neither
barre, to have a dance, in the old school-house. He Indian, nor white, but of a mixed race. The spirited
and Jane, were going, but they would wait and take her and wild grace of the savage, was blended with a deli-
home first. Edward was almost out of breath, as he cacy of feature, and nameless elegance, more peculiar
said all this, and he appeared anxious to go back to the to the whites. In her dress, also, might be traced the
canoe. But Mary, had not expected him to join her same union of barbarism and refinement—a string of
lonely wanderings, and his solicitude about her safety, | bright scarlet berries, defining the edge of her clear
was so considerate and kind. It went to her heart like forehead, and interwoven with the long braids of her
a breath of summer air. She turned up the mountain hair, now and then glanced in the sunlight, as she
path, lonely and companionless; but very happy. Her moved her head, like a chain of burning rubies and
eyes were full of pleasant tears, and her heart was like
polished garnet stones. A robe of gorgeous chintz,
a flower unfolding to the sunshine. There is a pleasure where crimson and deep brown were the predominating
in complying with the slightest request, from those we colors, was confined at the waist, by a narrow belt of
love; and Mary, confined her ramble to the precipice wampum, and terminated a little below the knee, in a
and the shore, merely because, Edward Clark, had' double row of heavy fringe, leaving the firm slender
asked her not to wander far. She saw him land on the ankles free and uncovered. Her robe fell open at the
island with her sister, while half sitting, half reclining shoulders; but the swelling outline of the neck, thus
on a cragg of the broken rock, at whose foot she had exposed, was unbroken, except by a necklace of cherry-
landed. Then, she saw the boat sent again, and again, colored cornelian, from which a small heart of the same
to the opposite shore, returning each time, laden with blood-red stone, fell to her bosom. The round and
her former companions. By degrees she became very tapering beauty of her arms was fully revealed and un-
sad. She felt the melancholy, and loneliness of her po- encumbered, by a single ornament. Her mocasins were
sition; she would have given worlds, had she possessed of dressed dearskin, fringed and wrouglit with tiny
them, to have mingled in equality with the gay beings, beads; but interwoven, was a vine of silken buds, and
flitting through the trees, and wandering over the green leaves done in such needlework, as was in those days,
sward of her Island home. The ringing laugh, and the only taught to the most refined and highly educated class
music of cheerful words, came swelling on the wind, to of whites. Mary had never seen any thing so ex-
her isolated seat. Happiness and sunshine were all i quisitely beautiful in its workmanship, as that embroi-
around her; budding moss, bird songs and flowers; but dery, or so picturesque and poetical as the whole appear-
her heart was weighed down with a sense of its utter; ance of the stranger.
loneliness. Then she would think of Edward Clark, For more than a minute the wild girl retained the po-
and of his late kind words, and wonder why they had sition, which her last bounding step had left her in.
ceased to make her happy. In dwelling on them, she There was something statue-like in the tension of
became quiet and contented, and dropped asleep under rounded and slender limbs, as she stood on the s
the shadow of a drooping birch, which grew in a cleft in i rock, bending eagerly over the edge, with her weight
the rock on which she lay. Her sleep was very sweet, I thrown on one foot and the other strained back
and refreshing. A mocking-bird had perched himself preparing for a spring. There was the grace but not the
in the tree, above her, and his melody floated in her chilliness of marble, for they were full of warm healthy
dreamg. They were of a far off world ; Edward Clark life. There was spirit and fire in their very repose, as
was there, and it was her home; but her form was after an eager glance up and down the river, she settled
changed and she had become beautiful-beautiful as back, and with her arms folded, remained for a moment
her sister Jane. She was aroused by the rustling of in an attitude of dejection and disappointment. A merry
branches over head; there was a bounding step, as of a laugh, which came ringing over the waters, from the di-
deer in flight, and then a young girl sprang out upon a rection of the Island, drew her attention to the group of re-
point of rock which shot over the platform on which she velers, glancing in and out of the shrubbery which sur-
lay, and bending over the edge, gazed eagerly down upon rounded mother Derwent's dwelling. Flinging back her
the river. Mary held her breath, and remained motion- hair with a gesture of fiery impatience, she sprang up-
less, for her poetical fancy was aroused by the singular | ward, and dragged down the branch of a young tree, to
beauty, and picturesque attitude of the figure. There which she grasped for support, while throwing herself
was a wildness and a grace in it, which she had never still more boldly over the very edge of the cliff. Mary al-
witnessed before. At the first glance, she supposed the most screamed with affright. But there was something
stranger to be a wandering Indian girl, belonging to grand in the daring of the girl, which aroused her ad-
some of the tribes that roamed the neighboring forests. miration, even more than her fear. She knew that the
But her complexion, though darker than the darkest breaking of that slender hranch, would precipitate her
brunette of our own race, was still too light, for any of down a sheer descent of more than one hundred feet.
the savage nations, yet seen in the wilderness. It was But she felt as if the very sound of her voice would
of a clear, rich brown, and the blood glowed through the startle her into eternity.
round cheeks like the blush of a ripe peach. Her hair! Motionless with dread, she fixed her eyes, like a
was long, profusely braided, and of a deep black; not fascinated bird, on the strange being thug hovering over
as if


MAR Y DE Å WENT.
45
death, so fearlessly, and so beautiful. All at once, those dergrowth, and a few large, white pines had anchored
bright, dark eyes kindled, one arm was flung eagerly themselves in the hollows. Mary had walked half way
outward-her red lips parted, and a gush of music, like down the ledge, when she stopped abruptly in the path;
the song of a mocking-bird, but clearer and richer, burst for sitting on the moss beneath one of these pines was
from them.
the strange girl, who had so excited her wonder. Mary's
Mary started forward in amazement. She could not slow step had not disturbed her, and unconscious of a
convince herself that it was not the notes of a real bird. witness, she was unbraiding the string of berries from
She turned her head and peered among the leaves of the her hair and supplying their place with a rope of twisted
birch, where the songster, which lulled her to sleep, had coral. The strings of scarlet riband with which she
nestled itself; but it had down on the approach of the stran- knotted it on her temple, were bright, and had evidently
ger. Before she could lift her eyes to the cliff again, a low, never been tied before. Mary's heart beat quickly, and
shrill whistle came sharply up from the direction of the she hurried forward as if sone wild animal had sprung
Island. She caught one glance of the kindling cheeks, ' up in her path. She felt an uncontrolable repulsion to
and flashing eyes, of the strange girl, as she leaped back that wild and beautiful girl, which she neither under-
from the cliff-a flash of sun light on her long hair, as stood nor tried to account for. When she reached the
see darted into a thicket of wild cherry-trees—and then i shore, the canoe, with Edward Clark, and her sister
there was no sign of her remaining, save the rustling of seated in it, was making leasurely towards the mouth of
the young tree as the bent limb swayed back to its fel. the ravine, and she sat down on the shadowy side of the
lows. Again the notes, as of a wild, eager bird, arose oak to await their coming. Their approach was so mo-
from a hollow bark, on the side of the mountain; and ionless, that she did not know that they had reached
after a moment, that shrill whistle was repeated from the shore till the voice of Edward Clark apprised her of
the water, and Mary distinctly heard the dipping of an it. He was speaking earnestly to her sister, and there
oar. She crept to the edge of the rock, which had formed was agitation and deep tenderness in his voicema
ber concealment, and looked down upon the river. A breaking forth of the heart's best feelings, which she
canoe, rowed by a single oarsman, was making its way, had never witnessed in him before.
swiftly, from the Island. She could not distinguish the “No Jane," he said, in a resolute but slightly tremu-
face of the occupant ; but there was a band of red paint lous voice, “you must now choose between that man and
around the edge of the canoe, and she remembered that me; there can be nothing of rivalry between us; I do
Edward Clark's, alone, was so ornamented. It was the heartily despise him! I am not jealous-- I could not be
same that had brought her from the Island. Did the of a creature so unworthy; but it grieves me to feel
signal come from him from Edward Clark? What that you can place him for a moment on a level with
had he in common with the wild, strange girl, who had yourself. If you persist in this degrading coquetry, you
broken upon her solitude? A thrill of pain, such as are unworthy of the pure and faithful love which I have
she had never dreamed of before, shot through her given you—forgive me, Jane, if I speak harshly don't
heart, as she asked these questions ; she would have cry, it grieves me to wound your feelings but "he was
marked the landing of the canoe ; but her strength had | interrupted by a sound as of some one falling heavily to
suddenly left her, and she sunk back to a fragment of the ground. He leaped from the canoe, and there by
stone, almost powerless, and in extreme suffering. In all the trunk of an oak, lay Mary Derwent helpless and in
little more than an hour, she saw the same solitary sensible.
rower crossing the river, but with more deliberate mo- “She has wandered too far, and exhausted herself,"
tion. She watched him while he moored the canoe in said the agitated young man, as he bore her to the canoe.
the little cove, and then she caught another glimpse of “Sit down, Jane, and take her hend in your lap-your
him as he turned a corner of her dwelling, and mingled grandmother will know what to do for her.”
with the group of young persons who were drinking tea! They were half way across the river, when Mary be-
on the green sward in front.
gan to recover animation. Edward laid down his
It was a weary hour to the deformed girl, before the oar, and taking her hand in his, was about to speak;
party broke up, and were transported to the opposite but she drew it away with a faint shudder, and burying
shore ; where farm wagons stood ready to convey them her face in her sister's bosom remained still, and silent
to Wilkesbarre. The sun was almost down, and the as before. The unfortunate girl had began to compre-
Island quiet again, when she saw two persons, a male hend the workings of her own heart. It was a fearful
and a female, coming from the house to the cove. She knowledge to her.
arose and folding her shawl about her, prepared to de-
(To be continued.)
scend to the river. The ledge, on which she had spent
(COPY-RIGHT SECURED: Entered, according to Act of Congress,
the afternoon, towered back from the precipice in all in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-
mass of broken rocks, crowned by a thick growth of eight, by William W. Snowden, in the Clerk's office of the
Southern District of New York.]
stunted pines and hemlocks. The side along which the
footpath wound, fell with an abrupt descent, to a deep ra-
vine which opened to the river-covered with loose soil, Men of high or mean birth may be possessed of good
interspersed with fragments of rocks, and cut up into qualities: but falling into bad company, they become
hollows, where the mountain stream had washed away vicious. Rivers flow with sweet waters; but having
the soil. The whole was covered with a luxuriant un- ll joined the ocean, they become undrinkable.


46
I AM NOT LOVED! I AM NOT LOVED!
ORIGINAL.
I AM NOT LOVED! I AM NOT LOVED!
8V6 ---
T

.
- loco.
I wish that I had

learned to school this beating heart of mine.
The
lesson
that
I long
to teach to
(Copy-right secured.]


I AM NOT LOVED! I AM NOT LOVED!
47

bear and not repine,
low and mournful whispering comes thilling from
its

core,
I
am
not loved, I
am not loved it
tells me o'er and
o'er

am not loved, I
am not loved, it
tells me o'er
and o'er.
00
Sva.
e My cheek and lip are fading fast,
Mine eyes are sunk and dim,
There is no music in my voice,
No winning tone for him;
And yet, to me, there's many a heart
Has bow'd in courtly hall;
But now, I am not loved by one
I prize beyond them all.
" He little heeds how well a smile
The bitter thought can hide ;
He little deems the gay salute
But comes from woman's pride;
With gentle looks, my hand he clasps,
And softly breathes my name,
I am not loved, and coldly turn
In trembling, grief and shame.
loco.
“He shall not know the foolish hope
I seek to fling away-
He gazes on a fairer flower,
And never dreads decay;
But change may come, and youth may fail,
The lamp of life be dim;
I am not loved, I am not loved
But who will care for him ?"


48
THEATRICALS.
Original.
is never the same in any two parts. As water usually "tastes of
THEATRICALS.
the soil through which it has passed," so Mr. Vandenhoff's man-
ner commonly takes a tincture from the character he is playing.
PARK.-Since our last the manager of this house has presented | In Othello he is dignified-in Iago he is a hypocrite-in Mac-
us with two novelties--a new opera, entitled “The Siege of beth he mimics guilt-in Richard he displays the sternness of
Rochelle," and "La Sylphide; or, the Dew Drow.” The music of cruelty-in Shylock its inveteracy. He takes his ideas of
of the first is in many instances an unblushing adaptation of the these passions and principles not from the abstract inquiries of
strains of another composer; and the dancing and acting of the philosophers, but from conceptions which are common to us all.
little Augusta in the last was remarkable for its grace, spirit, He gives to us the outlines of characters which all can appre-
and intelligence. Upon the performance of Madame Caradoriciate, and consequently in his portraits the likeness is strong,
Allan, we fcelit unnecessary to make any particular remarks: the impression lasting. A connoiseur may, perhaps, discover
she continues to sing with the same enchanting air and tone, numerous touches which he may consider as aberrations from
and to fill the audience as usual with pleasure and surprise. In the original: a critic may fancy himself capable of improving
our opinion, each delighted spectator must have accasionally his ideas, and correcting the whole performance, but these tri-
gazed upon this accomplished woman, expecting, in the wordsfles are lost in the grand contour of the whole. It has been
of the impassioned author of Lalla Roohk,
well observed, that when he first enters upon the stage, a stran-
"To see the face
ger smiles with contempt; when he speaks a stranger laughs
or Israfil, the angel, there."
in derision ; but when he acts, and the powers of his soul burst
Talking of angels, why doesn't Mr. Placide play more fre through the bondage of bis bodily weakness, the smile of con-
quently? We miss him exceedingly. In his line he has proba tempt is changed for the gaze of admiration, and the laugh of
bly no equal in the world. If his performances have a fault, it derison into the rapt attention of the silent soul. Mr. Vanden-
is want of ease. His conceptions are always just; but we some- hoft may well exclaim with the Psalmist,
times perceive the working of the springs, when we should
" Were I so tall to reach the sky,
only be impressed with the felicity of the effect. There are
Or grasp the ocean with a span,
certain characters in which this exhibition of the machinery
I would be measured by the soul-
The mind's the standard of the man."
does well; but it ought, in general, to be avoided. This error in
Mr. Placide, we hold to have had its origin in the peculiar dis-
We have left ourselves less room than we could have desired
tinctness of his perceptions, the accuracy with which he is ac to speak of the performances at this theatre. The house has
customed to analyze his characters, and a laudable anxiety to been well attended, and on the night of Mr.Vandenhoff's benefit,
present them to his hearers with unerring clearness and effect. as well as on that of Mr. Browne's, was crowded to an overflow.
This has imparted to his delivery an air of precision and oracu The acting on the former occasion was extremely good; on the
lar strength, which though always vigorous and effective, is latter “nothing to speak of.” Ernest Maltrarers, dramatized
not always pleasing or appropriate. Yet he never rants; he by Louisa Medina llamblin, continues to hold its own with the
may sometimes give needless or hurtful force to a just feeling, aid of Wallack's inimitable acting. Hambiin's character is de-
but he never exhibits a false one. Mr. Placide, by the way, has void of sufficient stage material to be made any thing of a part.
one excellence which we would like to see other performers The “new candidate," as she continues to be called, for some
imitate. He is not only attentive to the maintenance of his reason best known to the manager, has talent which, iſ properly
own character, but he aids, as far as possible the scenic illusion, cultivated, will lead her to the highest eminence in her profes-
by acting as if those on the stage with him were actually the sion. Her face and figure do not seem adapted for the loftier
persons they represent. This is a point too often neglected by walks of tragedy--yet she has power sufficient for the display
leading actors, who conscious of real merit themselves, conceive of vehement passion, and the expression of her countenance is
it gives them a right to despise their inferior brethren, forg
well calculated to pourtray the workings of a mind surcharged
ting that if Hamlet, for instance, marks by his contemptuous with pain, grief and sorrow. In the gentle scenes of life, how-
conduct that his bosom confidante, Horatio, is only Mr. —
ever, there cau be no doubt of her complete successihere sbe
he inevitably forces upon the audience the conviction, that the will be natural, elegant and inartificial. Her chief defect, and
Prince of Denmark himself is but a shadow. To receive as gen one which she must struggle with "might and main" to remedy,
uine the “shin-plasters" which managers occasionally put in is a solemnity of tone, which she is fast acquiring, and which,
circulation, may sometimes be a trial of patience; but the more if she is not careful, will be as serious an obstacle in her pro-
a performer of merit aids the theatrical delusion, by appearing
fessional career, as it has been in that of her sister.
to act with real persons, and under the influence of real mo-
tives, the more he will frame the audience to that state of mind
Original.
on which higher, and solitary efforts, are calculated to produce
the most favorable effect.
LITERARY REVIEW.
Mr. Simpson has done a fair business this season; and is
ALICE; or, the Mysteries, by E. L. Bulwer : Harper & Broth-
making preparations to do a better one the ensuing. Ellen Tree,
crs.-Alice is the sequel to Ernest Maltravers. We cannot let
Mrs. Wood, Madame Vestris, Power, Mathews, and other stars
this work, which will break in upon thousands and tens of
of lesser radiance are already engaged, and those who do not
thousands of readers like a burst of sunshine, pass without a
visit the theatre then must have more democracy and self-
few words of hearty welcome. It is one of the most unaffected
denial than we can lay claim to.
and most interesting works that modern times have contributed
NATIONAL.--Mr. Vandenhoff leaves for England early in May, to the lighter literature of England. There is much of beauti.
bearing with him the respect and kind wishes of all who have ful thought and beautiful writing in it-and we should scarcely
witnessed his admirable delineations on the stage, or associated
envy the reader who is able to pass to the end without deep,
with him in the private walks of life. One character Mr. Van- ||
and we should be justified in saying, lasting emotion.
denhoff has stamped as his own the character of Cato. That
RETROSPECT OF WESTERN TRAVEL: Harper & Brothers.-
he has done so, the unanimous voice of the public has evinced, Miss Martineau, it appears, has favored the reading world with
and we firmly believe that he has so identified himself with it,
another specimen of her views on American society. Miss Mar-
that no actor now living can in the smallest degree compete tineau, as a writer of no mean calibre, is too well known to re-
with him. It is a performance complete in itself-so complete, quire commendation at our hands. She is not as prejudiced, in
that it can scarcely be termed acting, or if it must be so termed, most cases, as the famous Mrs. Trollope, or the nondescript,
acting can no further go; and we are unacquainted with any Hamilton, but still she mixes the sour with the stoeet, at times,
other specimen of his powers, that can give us a better idea of rather too profusely, and not at all where it is deserved. To
his extensive application, and his ardent genius.
say that we are, as a nation, free from censure, would be ridicu-
One striking peculiarity in this gentleman's acting is, that he lous. When we individually admit into our domestic circles


LIT E R A R Y REVIEW.
49
strangers from a foreign clime, the least that is expected in re- | THE STATE PRISONER: Carey, Lea of Blanchard, Philadel-
turn is gratitude-which has ever been considered the strongphia.—This book, although it bears rather a confining name, is
est barrier, even by the most barbarous, against assault or trea. however, possessed of much interest. It is a tale of the French
chery.
regency, written by Mary Louisa Boyle. The genuine history
of Dumont, the state prisoner, his appearance, manners, cha-
CROMWELL: Harper & Brothers.--This is an historical novel,
racter and his confinement at Bordeaux, are all derived from
from the pen of H. W. Herbert, the author of "The Brothers."
information which fell casually in the author's way, but was
Cromwell is most interesting and instructive- the language
subsequently confirmed by authority that left no doubt of its
glowing and fervent--the incidents remarkably picturesque and
accuracy. The date of this extraordinary man's captivity, has
sublime. The trial of King Charles is pourtrayed with great
been changed, however, to suit the purposes of the writer ; but
skill; and the portraiture of his intriguing successor, Crom-
as his ultimate fate was involved in mystery, as well as every
well, is admirably drawn.
circumstance preceding and following a particular epoch in his
" Yet is the tale true, though it be, as strange,
life, the author has not ventured to supply from imagination,
As full, methinks, of wild and wondrous change,
the deficiency of some parts of the history, which is, in itself,
As any that the wandering tribes require,
possessed of sufficient interest.— The Carvills, Broadway.
Stretch'd in the desert round their evening fire;
As any sung of old in hall or bower
Oliver Twist, Part I: Carey, Lea & Blanchard, Philadel-
To miustrel harps at midnight's witching hour."
phia. Here is another production from the ever-welcome pen
If American readers and American publishers would only of “ Boz.” It is illustrated with twelve comical engravings,
turn their attention a little more to the encouragement of geni- from designs by Cruikshanks. The work is elegantly printed,
ws, such as that which dictated the above work, we should not and reflects the highest credit on the publishers. As this is the
be compelled to depend upon foreignuriters so much as we have first of a series of papers under this title, we would advise
of late for novels and romances. It is true, Mr. Herbert is an every one to procure an early copy.—The Carvills, Broadway.
Englishman, but he has resided in America for years, and has
ETIQUETTE FOR LADIES: Carey, Lea Blanchard, Phila-
become as it were, deeply imbued with our national feeling and
institutions.
delphia.-The ladies should comb the wool of the author of
this book for his presumption in attempting to teach them eti-
New MONTHLY MAGAZINE of European polite literature-
quette. And what is worse than all, the writer has appended
edited by Lucian J. Bisbee.—This is a new monthly magazine
some hints on the preservation, improvement and display of
Jstely commenced in this city, with a fair prospect of success, female beauty in general.-The Carvills, Broadway.
we are inclined to think. It will be composed of selections from
the entire European press, and is therefore a far preferable li BURTON ; or, the Sieges, by Professor Ingraham, is, we are
work to any of the reprints. In consequence of its being made happy to announce, rapidly going through the press of the
up entirely of selections from foreign magazines, it will inter- | Harpers', and will be given to the public in June.
fere materially with many of our weekly papers, especially
those cheap ones, which are filled with dry and trashy verbiage,
EDITORS' TABLE.
compiled from the researches of really talented men, by over-
rated, self-conceited jackalls. Competition is the great cha! Mr. D. R. BARKER, the artist.-Every person of a refined
racteristic of the age in which we live, and each accession to taste must take a delight in the contemplation of an accomplish-
the list of competitors should be hailed with delight by the ed artist's studio, with its furniture of portraits, miniatures,
reading community.
landscapes and all the graceful inventions of genius and taste.
This gratification cannot be indulged more satisfactorily than
MEMOIRS OF GRIMALDI: Carey, Lea & Blanchard, Philadel-
in the studio of D. R. Barker, 243 Broadway, who is one of our
phia.--These volumes are exceedingly amusing, and are every
very most successful American portrait-painters, both in talent and
way worthy of the transcendent pen from which they emanate,
li popularity; and on whose walls may always be seen correct,
that of the famous " Boz." We have read them through with
highly finished and spirited likenesses. It is seldom that our own
much attention, and have pondered long over the rich anecdotes
countrymen have penetration enough to discover merit-and in
with which the work is interspersed.- The Carrills, Broad-
most instances where they do so, sufficient liberality to reward
way.
it. Such is not, however, the case in regard to Mr. Barker-his
KATE LESLIE: E. L. Carey & A. Hart, Philadelphia.--The reputation has spread with unprecedented velocity, and in
plot of this work is fruitful--the characters possessing intcrest
proof, we would mention that he has completed during the last
of a thrilling nature-although that of the actress we should
year a very large number of portraits of both sexes. Mr. Bar-
pronounce most improbable. T. Haynes Bayley, is the author,
ker is one of our most promising young artists and his efforts
and well has he discharged the task imposed upon himsell.
are calculated to make the academicians look to their laurels;
Kate Leslie is an interesting work, and should be read by every
he does not ask two hundred dollars for a half-size portrait, but
one partial to light literature.-Wiley & Putnam, Broadway.
the productions of his pencil only require him to appraise them
SKETCHES OF Paris: E. L. Carey & A. Hart, Philadelphia. at that rate to make them cqual to any in the city. To the la-
Is one of the most piquant and amusing books of sketches we dies, we would particularly commend Mr. Barker; his skill in
have ever had the pleasure of looking over. It is composed of transferring their faces to canvass is astonishing; he is, more-
a series of familiar letters, written by an American gentleman over, courteous and gentlemanly in his manners—and all who
to his friends, while in France. These letters enter fully into take the trouble to visit his rooms will be richly repaid.
the intrigues, and scenes which daily occur in the Parisian me-
Hogg's BOTANICAL GARDENS, Broadway. If there is one
tropolis and they are, too, described with a graphic pen.-
passion more innocent than another in the human heart, it is a
Wiley & Putnam, Broadway.
love of flowers. Of all the gentle children of the soil, from the
David Dumps: E. L. Carey & A. Hart, Philadelphia.-Rea first delicate blossom of April to the queenly rose of midsum-
der, if you are very low spirited and completely under the con- mer, there is not a solitary blossom which may not waken some
trol of a fit of the blues, sit down and read David Dumps. It pleasant association or gentle thought in the mind. There is
will be a fine moral lesson to you, worth half-a-dozen sermons something so delightful in the cultivation of plants, so much of
on the benefits of cheerfulness, or a whole library of sentiment poetry and tranquil feeling aroused in tlie budding and putting
and philosophy. But if you are habitually happy and conten- forth of a blossom we have fostered. Something so melancho-
ted, Icad it to some nervous low spirited friend. It were a sin ly, and yet so sweet, in the fragrant decay and fall of the over-
to throw it away upon you, when it may be driving away a cloud ripe petals, that it is difficult to believe any human heart entire-
of melancholy and cheering the heart which has nothing to do ly senseless to an enjoyment so tranquil. A love of flowers
but to weave a web of sorrows to entangle itself in.-Wiley & seems so natural to woman--so necessarily a portion of her na-
Putnam, Broadway.
ture, that we should feel as if a most lovely attribute of the


50
SKETCHES AND ANECDOTES.
heart were wanting in one who did not possess it. There must husband had left her in a very distressed situation. She
be a deficiency of taste and intellect in the woman who cannot
gave her a guinea, but desired to know the poor
make tlowers a pleasant resource, and even a theme for deep and
woman's address; and in three days called upon her
holy thought. How dreary would this earth be withoutils gentle
race of flowers ;" how difficult it would be to imagine a heaven with near hilty pounds, which she had in the interim col-
without such flowers as make even our world heavenly. lected at a masquerade in the character of a begging
We were led to these thoughts by a delightful ramble
nun.
through Mr. Hogg's Botanical Gardens in the upper part of
Broadway, and if any of our fair readers have a morning to FortunaTE FOUNDLING.-Mrs. Achmet, the actress,
spare, they will do well to take a drive to this delightful esta-1 was found at night when an infant, enclosed in a basket
blishment. In a few days the garden shrubbery will be putting in one of the streets of Dublin. A gentleman hearing
forth its leaves, and even now the numerous hot-houses are in
their glory. All of them are crowded with rare, healthy plants,
the child's cries, humanely took it home, and resolved to
budding and radiant with spring-blossoms- let our readers rear it up as his own offspring. He spared no expense
wander through the beds of Geraniums, covered as they now in giving his protégé an accomplished education; and at
are with flowers of every hue and variety, from the deep, rich a suitable period conferred upon her at the altar his own
scarlet to a pure white, with a soft velvety red breaking up! nome
| name of Achmet.
from the heart of the flower-let them stand in a forest of su-
perb Japonicas—some of a snowy white, some variegated, and Child's PRAYER.-A little girl, of five years of age.
others of deep red, all unfolding to life among the glossy green
was equally fond of her mother and grandmother. On
...
leaves. Let them pay a visit to the orangery with its wealth of
golden fruit ; with the urbane and gentlemanly proprietor for
for the birth-day of the latter, her mother said to her, “ My
an escort to point out the merits of pet plants ; and then if any dear, you must pray to God to bless your grandmamma,
one of them can leave the garden without bringing away all that she may live to be very old." The child looked
carriage load of the beautiful things they have seen, they can
with some surprise at her mother, who perceiving it,
withstand temptation much beyond our powers of resistance.
Our greatest wish, at this moment, is, that poetry might be
said, “Will you not pray to God to bless your grand-
made a current circulating medium-if it were, we would pur-
mamma, and that she may become very old ?" "Ah,
chase half Mr. Hogg's stock for our own especial gratification mamma," said the child, “she is very old already, I
leaving the rest, gentle reader, subject to your order. But alas: I will rather pray that she may become young.”
poetry is not money, if it were, what a treasure the communi-
cation box of the Ladies' Companion would be! S. A. S. HORTENSIA.—The daughter of Hortensius inherited
PRESERVATION OF THE TEETH.—There is no portion of the the eloquence of her father; and when the Roman
human frame that requires more attention than the tecth; and
women were required to render on oath an account of
we are confident they are the most neglected by the great mass
of individuals composing both sexes. For this apparent inat- | their property, preparatory to a heavy
their property, preparatory to a heavy tax, she pleaded
tention to the health of the whole system, no excuse can be the cause of her sex with such force, that the decree
formed. To those who are afilicted we would recommend as was annulled.
an operator Dr. A. G. Bigelow, a gentleman of great skill in
The harangue which she delivered on this occasion
the profession, and one, too, who performs the most difficult
' before the triumviri, Antony Octavius, and Lepidus,
operations without the least pain or inconvenience.
The memoir of Miss Emma Wheatley is unavoidably deferred.
was extant in the time of Quintillian, who speaks of it
It will appear in the June number.
with great applause.
Articles from the prolific pens of Mrs. E. C. Embury, Miss
Beasley, Miss Woodbridge, S. R. Becket, Henry F. Harrington,
MATERNAL INTREPIDITY.—The wife of Mr. Lemuel
and James Brooks, have been unavoidably delayed until the
Alexander, of Smithfield, in Rhode Island, went to the
June number, when, in addition to the writers already mention well to draw water, with a young child in her arms.-
ed, articles by Mrs. Louisa Medina Hamblin, Miss Anna J. While in the act, from some cause, the child slipped or
Reid and Professor Henry W. Long fellow, will appear.
sprung from her, and plunged into the well, which was
At the solicitation of many persons, we have consented to
about thirty feet deep. The mother immediately seized
insert advertisements on the cover of the Ladies' Companion.
The work has a circulation of hve thousand, and it is, therefore,
the well-pole, with which she descended a part of the
a desirable vehicle for the purpose of advertising. The terms, i
distance, and then jumped down to the relief of her
and the nature of the notices which will be admitted, can be ' child, which was raised from the water and held in that
seen on reference to the cover.
position, until the cries of Mrs. A. brought Mr. Joshua
Arnold to her relief. Both the mother and child were
Original.
taken from the well without having received material
SKETCHES AND ANECDOTES
injury.
ILLUSTRATIVE OF
FEMALE CHARACTER.
MARY LEAPOR.–Mary Leapor, who has left two
BY THE AUTHOR OF “LETTERS ABOUT THE Hudson."
volumes of poems, although she died at the early age
of twenty four, was the daughter of a gardener to Judge
NUMBER III.
Blencore. Her education was suitable to the poverty
of her origin; she was merely taught to read and write.
“ Woman, dear woman, still the same,
While lips are balm and looks are flame,
At first her parents encouraged her propensity to poe-
While man possesses heart or eyes,
try; but afterwards, fearful that it might be prejudicial
Woman's bright empire never dies !"-MOORE.
to her well doing in the world, they endeavored by
The Begging Nux.-Mrs. General Lascells, when every means to prevent her indulging it in future. Her
more celebrated as Miss Catley, the singer, was once perseverance triumphed, and she was the author of some
entreated to contribute to the relief of a widow, whose beautiful poems.






31
HAUS
MONTMENTY WYMIERALI COME, NEZIR QUEBEC.
ili bila zamislomauon


THE LADIES' COMPANION.

Spread broadly upward through the dusky leaves,
'Till the dark forest reddened with the glare.
In double ranks, circling that glowing tree,
VOL. IX-7.
Leaps madly on in the misty spray-
It rocks on the verge-away, away!
There is nothing left but the solemn swell
ll of the waters sounding a funeral knell.


,13,


THE LADIES' COMPANION.
MA
NEW-YORK, JUNE, 1838.
BY MRS. ANN. S. STEPHENS.
Original.
|| Sat fierce brow'd warriors, like a ring of fiends,
Sent out to hold their orgies upon earth.
THE MONTMORENCY FALLS.
The winds swept through the hot and burning boughs,
And scintillating sparks-a fiery rain
Showered o'er the stirless forms; while upward sprung
The quiv'ring flames upon the smoky air.
Trere is a legend of these waterfalls,
The shafted arrow and the sinewy bow-
Which haunts my fancy like a formless dream,
The tomahawk and club and keen-edged knife-
Whispered unto my heart in other years.
Flashed to the light, and there all hotly gleamed
Where, or how, the story found a form
In the tall grass : and that, curled crisply back,
I cannot well remember membut still,
Shrivelled, grew dim and died, on the scorched earth.
It flings a vague and gloomy shadowing
It was a savage and a fearful scene-
Upon the pictured treasures of the mind,
Yet was it dashed with light; for through the trees
And takes a form as if of waking truth.
Were seen, imperfectly, the glow of flowers,
'Twas of the time when the red warrior chose
And sunny banks, and glancing bright between,
His camping-ground among those frowning rocks, Leaped the swift rapids, laughing in the sun.
And laid him down for stern, unbroken sleep,
A small canoe swung dancing to the swell,
Within the booming thunders of the Fall.
As if it felt the music of the Fall.
His council fires gleamed redly on the hills,
And shot their arrowy light along the ledge
There stood the victims!
Which girds the waters to their downward leap.
The one a girl, so gently fair,
The sea of waving foliage, dense and green,
She seemed a spirit of upper air,
Spread from the margin of the misty East,
Lured by the sound of the water's swell
To the rich crimson of the setting sun-
To the haunt of demons, dark and fell :
The gloomy precipice-the tangled dell,
But, oh! the keen despair,
The sounding cataract and purple hills
Breaking from out that large dark eye,
Where the fierce wolf prowled freely for his prey-
Bent with such chill intensity,
Where crafty panthers slumbered on the boughs,
On the wild pageant there !
Those livid lips grew cold and white;
And the huge buffalo a track had worn
And her brow was knit, in the dusky light,
Along the margin of the rushing stream:
These were the red man's glorious heritage !
| Beneath her long black hair.
Bound by many a twisted thong,
It was the prime of summer; mossy glades
In manly courage stern and strong,
Were Alush with blossoms, and the ripe, warm sun
Stood one whose eye ne'er dim'd its fire,
Floated among them, like a smile from heaven.
Though firmly bent on his funeral pyre.
The trees were burthened with rich leafiness,
Yet his bosom heaved-his heart beat quick;
And from that wild and verdant solitude
His labored breath came fast and thick ;
The anthem of that waterfall went up
His cheek grew pale, and drops of pain
With a most solemn melody. The sky
Sprang to his brow, like beaded rain,
Brooded above the earth with bending love.
As he felt the clasp of his pallid bride,
The sunshine smiled upon the leaping waves;
Where she clung, in fear, to his prisoned side.
And all things whispered of a Maker's power.
One fearful start; a wild sharp thrill-
She sinks to his feet all cold and still !
But human life, and woe, and deadly hate,
The forest has sent from cave and dell,
Had found a home in that deep solitude ;
The echoing sound of a horrid yell;
For there, beneath the green and leafy gloom
The wood is alive on either hand
of the hush'd wilderness, a circling flame
With the rushing feet of that savage band !
Crept upward round the huge and knotted trunk
The youth has rent his bonds apart !
Of an old forest oak. The splintered pine
His bride is clasped to his leaping heart!
Blazed o'er the tangled roots-fashed bright and high,
Like a stag he bounds the forest through ;
And then with red, warm tongues devouring leaped
Down, down the rapids that light canoe
To the hoar moss that bearded every bough-
| Leaps madly on in the misty spray-
Spread broadly upward through the dusky leaves,
It rocks on the vergemaway, away!
'Till the dark forest reddened with the glare.
There is nothing left but the solemn swell
In double ranks, circling that glowing tree,
1) of the waters sounding a funeral knell.
VOL. IX-7.


54
A TALE OF THE IRISH REBELLION.
Original.
present bowed down by grief, there was that in her ap-
A TALE OF THE IRISH REBELLION.
pearance which said she might “ have sung a song of
better days," before her father was ruined and crushed
In the wildest part of the coast of Wicklow, there
to the earth, through hatred of his religion and liberal
stands, or at least, there stood, towards the close of the
e | opinions, by the oppressors of his country. I said she
year 17—, a neatly thatched cottage ; remarkable not
started, as she did, three distinct raps were heard on the
only on account of its romantic situation, but also for a
window-shutter. She fell on her knees, and marking
superior air of comfort which it bore in comparison
the Shileth of her faith, the sign of the Cross, on her
with that most miserable of all dwelling-places, an Irish
ling-places, an Irish bosom, she murmured the words, “May the souls of the
peasant's cabin. Would that it were possible to de- departed rest in peace!"' and then rose to open the door
scribe the beauties of that forest spot! When nature to the person that knocked.
formed it she must have been in a fantastic mood in-
tastic mood in. “Ah, dearest Dermot ! thank God that you are safe!"
deed; for it was wild as the poet's dream, when at the
“Cathleen, my own darling sister, how have you lived
height of his frenzy. To the North, stretched out the through this long dreadful day ?"
famous Dublin Bay, or as it is called in the native lan-|“Oh, it has been terrible; but, Dermot, our poor
guage—“The black lake of the sea ;" Eastward, naught| mother"
could be seen but the broad and treacherous Irish “Great God! ves, we should not think of ourselves
Channel; and on all other sides it was completely shut while she remains to be consoled and comforted.”
in by the "Sugar-loaf” mountains.
He entered and sat down.
It was night when our story begins. The cold east. “Well, my poor boy,” said his mother; " you saw
wardly winds sent the clouds scudding athwart the hea- him take his last look of this dreary world: I hope in
vens at a fearful rate; and as now and then the moon God, he did not linger long-did not suffer much ?”
shining fitfully through, reflected her beams on the white “No, mother, no-he died, brave as a lion to the last.
washed walls of the cottage, a superstitious beholder i I followed with the crowd through the streets of Dublin
would have thought it was some troubled ghost stalking
to the green; and there he wished to say a few words
in its shroud through the scenes of its former crimes
to the people ; but his voice was drowned by the beat-
and woe.
ing of the drums of those hell-hounds—the red-coats.
In one corner of the principal room in the house, sat
When he found his efforts to speak useless, he grew
a female rocking herself to and fro and singing to a
| paler for a second, his lip quivered slightly, and the
child she held in her arms, that low and monotonous
next minute he was with his God! Stop, mother, cease
sing.song with which Irish women are wont lo lull their weeping and listen to me, I have something yet to tell
babes lo sleep. Tears were chasing each other slowly you. As the sheriff was descending from the platform.
down her cheeks, and as ever and anon, some seeming. la paper was thrown towards him from the midst of the
ly unutterable thought darted through her brain, she crowd, which astonished him so much that he read it
seemed the very image of desperate grief. Alas! she aloud, before he hardly understood its meaning. It
had terrible cause for her sorrow. That very morning was to warn him, that before a fortnight had elapsed a
her husband had been found guilty of joining the secret victim would be required in revenge for the death of my
society of “United Irishmen," and had been executed father. It was signed by that terrible name, which
as a rebel. But she was not the only one left to mourn made the boldest soldier grow pale when he heard it
his untimely and disgraceful death. There was another Gerald O'Bryan, the Outlaw."
inmate of that chamber, whose grief, though less loud, | “Ah!': cried the mother, jumping up and shaking her
was as sincere, and who to the last day of her life be- arm wildly, "may heaven pour its choicest blessings on
wailed her unhappy father's fate; for she was the re- bis head during all eternity! the noble-hearted youth!”
bel's only daughter. Cathleen O'Neale, for such was “Amen! amen!" was all that Cathleen replied to
her name, sat with her arms crossed over a small table, her mother's invocation, and then hid her face which
on which she leant her throbbing forehead; and as her was covered with deep blushes, in her hands.
hair, usually confined within due bounds, was now loose “But,” continued Dermot, “the officer immediately
and tangled, it nearly hid her whole person. Had Ovid perceiving the error he had committed in giving publici-
seen her as she sat perfectly motionless, he would have ty to such a daring defiance, offered, within hearing of
been inspired to write an ode on some beautiful Hebe almost all the assembled multitude, the immense reward
turned to stone: indeed, the only sign she showed was of three thousand guineas for the Outlaw's head."
a long and bitter sob which escaped as if it would break | “Good God!" groaned Cathleen, who had now
her heart. As a gust of wird swept by the house, she grown white as alabaster, “ he is lost!"
started, (for those were times when a less circumstance “Never!" cried her brother, “as long as he has the
would send a chill to the heart of young and old through- protection of God and every true friend of his country,
out Ireland) and throwing back her hair, displayed a the man will be safe ; ay, in the very palace of the Lord
countenance of surpassing loveliness. One glance would Lieutenant himself! As a proof of what I say-the
have told you she was of the posterity of Milesius, for sheriff had scarcely ceased speaking when I heard a hoarse
she had the dark eye and rich complexion which his de- bitter laugh behind me, and on turning round beheld the
scendents to this day have preserved as the mark of flash of that eye that can never be forgotten-Gerald
their Spanish origin. Though coarsely dressed, and at himself stood beside me!"


A TALE OF THE IRISH REBELLION.
55
Ha! ha! he again laughed. Dermot, did you ever | half military style, with a foraging cap on his head, and
imagine that your friend's head would have brought a soldier's stiff leather stock round his throat-
such a weight of gold ?'
“What the devil he wanted at that late hour of the
Hush, for God's sake!' said I, if they recognize night ?".
you, your fate is senled. But how came you here? It He replied, “ he wanted to see the magistrate."
was a desperate undertaking !
“Ha! I suppose your fingers are itching to grasp
* I came not,' said he, “to whet my rage against the some more blood-money! But come in, man or devil
enemies of my country by the sight of another murder, which ever you are. I see you are a novice in your trade
for it is already at its height; but I came to see what or you would not shake so, because I called the reward
effect that piece of paper would have, Dermot, on your for delivering one of your countrymen up to the gallows
father's executioners, and I have seen enough: my head by its true name-blood-money;" and bere he eyed the
is set against so much yellow dross! But you speak of stranger with a malignant grin ; for even the soldiers in
my fate being sealed, were I recognized; one wave of Ireland, fiends as they were in those days, despised
my arm, and one shout of The Gerald for ever!' and “the Informer.”
not a soldier here would ever again return to his bar- He showed the countryman (who might have been
racks to boast over the share he had had in the degra- about five-and-twenty years old, though he seemed a
dation of Ireland. 'Tis well that they know me not ! great deal more, as he was pale as death, and his eyes
But enough of this. When do you return to the cot-were deep sunk in his head,) into a room so full of to-
tage ?'
bacco smoke that with difficulty he perceived three men
* To-night,' I replied.
sitting at the upper end, and who were the cause of the
*Ah, so soon. Would to God I could accompany density of the atmosphere. As he approached, two of
you! But give this token to your sister Cathleen-on them took their pipes from their mouths and laughed
seeing it she will understand its meaning. Farewell,
heartily at what the third was telling them. They then
Dermot, the Gerald will avenge your wrongs "' and he
passed an immense measure from one to the other,
was gone. Here, Cathleen, is the token he spoke of;" which was filled with strong porter, and, by way of ren-
and Dermot took a ribbon from around his neck, to which dering it more palatable to their seasoned throats, had
was attached a small finely wrought golden crucifix, | about half a pint of whiskey mixed with it. When
and gave it to his sister.
each had drank about as much as would have dosed a
With trembling hands she seized and pressed it to horse, the two resumed their pipes, the third his story;
her lips. A common observer would have seen nothing never taking the least notice of the intruder. The man
more than an act of devotion, in kissing the image of thinking they had not seen him, attempted to speak, but
her Redeemer, but a nicer scrutinizer of the heart was told to be silent by the soldier who had introduced
would have remarked that she caught it too eagerly for him. The narrator, who was a corporal in a Welsh
mere devotion, indeed, a caviller at her religion would regiment, continued to tell the result of an experiment
have called it rank idolatry; but the truth is, she was he had made that morning of the latest method which
thinking of nothing more or less, at the time, than the had been invented for giving human beings a foretasie
donor of the token, outlaw and outcast as he was. She of the tortures of the damned. He mentioned he had
then touched a spring in the top of the cross, and the overtaken a countryman on the highway, and, before
back flying open revealed a small piece of paper. She the man was aware of his intention, had thrown him
drew it out, and read the words:
down and secured him with a cord he always carried
* The Judge who condemns Murdock O'Neale to death, for | about for such purposes.
death for about for such purposes. He then began to cut his ears
striving to regain his country's liberty, dies within a fortnight off after the most approved fashion. When he had ar-
after, by my hand, so help me God.
GERALD O'BRYAN. || rived at this most interesting stage of his proceedings,
“ Mother, he will redeem his pledge-the Judge is he was fortunately joined by one of his comrades, who
doomed!"
hinted what a capital opportunity to try the effects of
the latest inventions; and they proceeded accordingly
Four nights afterwards a man was seen cautiously to moisten a quantity of gunpowder and rub it in the
descending the hill which leads to the little town of shape of a cross into the wretch's head; when the
Wicklow. As he crept noiselessly along the principal skin had imbibed a sufficient quantity and his hair was
street, he appeared to be much agitated by fear or full of it, they loosened his legs, and having set fire to
some other cause, for at every stir within the houses the power, (a fact) they gave him a push and let him
be would stop and crouch to the earth, and then his run; and away the miserable man went howling with
breath came thick and his heart beat violently; at last agony, his head one mass of gore, and still blazing, to
he reached a house, which seemed larger and better throw himself into a pool of water that was close by ;
built than most of its neighbors. Crawling over the but before reaching it he fell, and there he lay on his
fence of a garden attached to it, he knocked lightly at back, writhing in torture and roaring to them like a
a back door; which was not opened until he had thricemaniac. to shoot him. When they had laughed at his
repeated the summons. As he knocked the last time contortions till they could hardly stand, the corporal
he saw a dark object run quickly past him, and as he very reluctantly sent a ball through his head; but he
started at its sudden appearance, the door opened, and could not afford time to wait any longer.
he was asked by a ruffianly looking man, dressed in a Chuckling over the picture the corporal drew of the


56
A TALE OF THE IRISH REBELLION.
“Croppy's sufferings, they regaled themselves with of the hill torrents, which dashed from one projection to
another draft of porter.
another, turned them aside until they had reached their
The head man of the trio was a regular specimen of goal; when they surrounded the “O'Neale's cottage,”
the Irish magistrate during the Rebellion; about one of as it was called through the country. But, one man,
whom, Byron, that true friend of the oppressed, hasi as they approached the house, remained behind-he was
written so eloquently.
Dermot's evil genius, his father's judge. To all his
other vices and infernal qualities, this man added that
"Without one single ray of her genius, without
The fancy, the manhood, the fire of her race;
of cowardice. He feared O'Neale as he would the tiger
The miscreant who well might plunge Erin in doubt
at bay. He well knew, that man, when fighting, through
If she ever gave birth to a being so baso-
ambition or interest, for his own or his country's glory,
If she did-let her long boasted proverb be hushed, or for whatever cause, is but mere child's play compared
Which proclaims that from Erin no reptile can spring ;
to him who fights to defend a mother's or a sister's
See the cold blooded serpent with venom full flushed
Still warming its folds in the breast of a king."
honor. As he stopt, he whispered the leader of the
band (who was the Welsh corporal) to remember not to
This wretch turned round and demanded the country-
fire the cottage, but to shoot down all the inmates except
man's business. He replied, he came to give informa-
Cathleen. At a signal given, they simultaneously raised
tion, by which it was likely that O'Bryan, the Outlaw,
a horrible yell, that fiendish shout, which, throughout
might be seized. The magistrate's countenance imme-
Ireland, was invariably the precursor of worse cruelties
diately turned of a bluish white, through deadly fear-
than ever Pizarro or Cortes inflicted upon the Indians.
(for it was he who had sentenced O'Neale,) but then the
Poor Cathleen! Where was she all this time? She
thought of three thousand guineas flashed across his
had fallen asleep about an hour before, with O'Bryan's
dastard soul, and he recovered himself. Seizing a bible,
gift clasped lightly to her bosom, imagining, poor crea-
he flung it across the table, and the man having taken
ture, that it was a charm against all evil; and, God!
the usual oath, deposed—that on the occasion of
what must have been her horror when she was startled
O'Neale's execution he had perceived his son, Dermot, from a dream by the yells of twenty fiends howling for
in conversation with a man, whom he afterwards found here
na her destruction; but a single door interved between her
out to be O'Bryan, and consequently Dermot, having and theme
favored the Outlaw's escape, was guilty of treason. A
Dermot, on hearing them, leaped from his bed, shout-
shout of joy from the infernal crew made the room ring
ing, “the Sasanachs were upon them;" he darted to
again. They had watched many a day to effect the
his mother's room, which was at the top of the house,
young man's ruin, and now he was in their power. And
and searching among the thatch, pulled from its hiding-
what crime had he committed to warrant their deadly
place a loaded musket and cutlass, being determined to
hatred ? Had he ever done them harm ? No. But
sell his life most dearly. Unfortunately, it being so
his sister was beautiful! And were he once destroyed,
difficult to procure ammunition, he had but one charge
(the father was already got rid of,) she would be an un-
of powder in the bouse. But God had destined that
protected quarry for their hawk-like vengeance to pounce
one to lake the life of as black a villain as ever breathed;
upon. The man had said enough to gain his recom-
at its discharge the corporal fell, mortally wounded, and
pense, they threw him three guineas and he departed.
died almost in as great agony as any of his victims had
“Oh! for a tongue to curse the slave
ever done. But the flash of the gun had revealed Der-
Whose treason like a deadly blight
mot's position, and he was at once brought to the
Comnes o'er the councils of the brave
And blasts them in their hour of might,"
ground, being severely wounded by three or four balls-
his last thought, as he fell insensible, vas of bis wretch-
He departed, but never more to look upon the blesseded sister. The soldiers, in a short while, not finding
sun. He was found dead next day, half way between their shots returned, thought they had killed O'Neale,
Wicklow and Dublin. A paper lying near him, with and, rushing to the door, they soon made a passage
" The Informer's doom," marked upon it. The dark through. But the first man was laid dead on the thres-
object he had seen run past him as he knocked at the hold. Cathleen, in her despair, had seized a knife and
magistrate's door, was a man who had watched him, 'stood by the door to guard the entrance; but, as she
and afterwards became his destroyer. But the money struck the first blow, (the first time she had ever harm-
he had received was not touched, though the man who ed a living thing,) the shock she felt, when she found
shot him was literally starving at the time-
the weapon sink to the hilt in the man's breast, de-
He seize that money! Seize Satanai!"
prived her of all sense, and she fell in a dead faint by
the door. The remainder of the men rushed in to plun-
It was the price of blood, and its touch would have der the house. Up-stairs they found Dermot weltering
been pollution !
in his blood, and his mother sitting with her back
against the wall, almost in the same position as that in
The moon had set, and the night was dark as Erebus. | which we have first seen her. But her song was hushed !
Twenty men crept down the mountain at the back of Her child was striving to draw its usual nourishment
O'Neale's dwelling. Led like the bandog by the scent from her bosom, but in vain ; the fountain of life was
of blood, their course was straight; deviating neither to frozen up within her for ever, for the woman was dead !
the right or leſt. Neither immense rocks nor the beds. The grief and horror she had experienced during the


THE SONG OF THE SILENT LAND.
57
last few days had strained too roughly the cords of her||
Original.
heart, for she had felt both as a wife and mother.
THE SONG OF THE SILENT LAND.
The magistrate hearing the soldiers break into the
FROM THE GERMAN OF SALIS.
house, imagined the danger must be over, and descend-
ing from his place of concealment, he entered the cot-
BY PROFESSOR HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
trge. The first object he perceived was Cathleen,
lying insensible on the floor, still in her night clothes, Into the Silent Land!
and he uttered a yell of rage, thinking she had been Ah! who shall lead us thither ?
killed in the scuffle. He stooped, and immediately per Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather
ceiving her heart beat slightly, his shout was changed to And shatter'd wrecks lie thicker on the strand.
one of triumph. Seizing her in his arms, he began to Who leads us with a gentle hand,
climb the mountains in order to get beyond the reach of Thither, oh, thither,
his comrades. For the first few yards, the lovely girl Into the Silent Land ?
remained inanimate, but the night air soon revived her.
At last, becoming perfectly conscious of her desperate
Into the Silent Land !
situation, with one bound she darted from him. In her To you, ye boundless regions
weak state the effort was too much, and again she fell. Of all perfection! Tender morning-visons
The relentless villain darted upon ber, like the hyena
Of beauteous souls ! Eternity's own land!
upon its prey. But the measure of his iniquities was
Who in Life's battle firm doth stand
full. With agonizing cry, he sprung at least three feet
Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms
in the air, and then rolled over the fainting girl a lifeless Into the Silent Land !
corpse. Gerald O'Bryan's pledge was redeemed; he
had sent a ball through the dastard's brain!
Oh! Land! Oh! Land!
For all the broken-hearted
The sun shone bright and warmly. The day was one The wildest herald by our fate allotted,
of the blooming handmaidens of the young spring. The
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand
soothing effects of the balmy air would have softened To lead us with a gentle hand
the heart of a misanthrope. A gentle breeze swept
To the land of the great departed,
across the tranquil waters of the beautiful bay of New Into the Silent Land!
York. Not a sound could be heard but the hoarse rattle Cambridge, Mass.
of a ship's cable. She had just come to. As the anchor
was let go and she swung to her moorings, three hearty
Original.
cheers were sent forth by her crew. Immediately up
RAMBLES IN THE WEST.
went the “ stars and stripes” to ber mizen peak—she
FROM HAROLD HERBERT TO HIS FRIEND.
was under the protection of America. Her sails were
Do sooner furled than a light boat was lowered from her
Detroit, Michigan, May, 1838.
stern. A female, next, was hoisted, in an arm-chair, |
MY DEAR FRIEND:
from the deck nearly to the yard arm, and then let down In my last epistle, dated at Chicago, I promised to
easily into her. Two young men followed, and they | write to you when I should have reached this place, and
were pulled towards the shore by four stout seamen. as I am at present comfortably ensconced in an easy
One of the men stood up in the stern and encouraged chair before a blazing fire, I hasten to comply with my
the sailors to their task. He was tall and well made. Il engagement. You will pardon me for not giving you a
and of a dark and melancholy countenance. But now description of my tour through Michigan, as Miss Mar-
his cheek was flushed, and his eye glistened. The land tineau has already rendered it familiar, and as the jour-
of promise was gained! The bow touched the sand, ney consists in a continued ride by stage-coach over a
and with one bound he was on the shore! Who can road, a part of which in certain seasons of the year, is,
imagine the feelings, the proud exulting throb of the to say the least of it, the worst I ever met with-the
noble heart, and the fever that raged in the veins of mud often being several feet deep. It is quite a common
Gerald O'Bryan, as he shouted the wild words, “ I am occurrence for the driver and passengers to alight, walk
free !"
several miles, each carrying a rail on his shoulder, for
Gentle reader, his companions were Dermot O'Neale | the purpose of assisting the horses in their laborious
and his lovely sister Cathleen. She had long in secret attempts to move the stage. From Yysilanti, a young
nourished the thought of one day becoming the bride and promising town, about thirty miles from Detroit,
of O'Bryan, and now she was his betrothed. And what the entire road is made of logs, extending to each side
were Gerald's feelings? He considered himself repaid of the road, forming what is termed a corduroy; a ride
a thousand fold, by the gift of her for all the dangers he over which in summer, particularly after a rain storm,
had incurred for her and hers. Dermot imagined him- | can only be appreciated by those who have had the for-
self the most blest of men in having such a brother; tune or rather mis-fortune to travel it. Within a few
and had it not been for the sad circumstances of their weeks, however, this difficulty has been obviated, the
past life, they would all have been most happy. great central rail-road which is to extend from Detrois
F. P. m. to Lake Michigan, having been completed as far as Ypsi-


58
R AMB LES IN THE WEST.
lanti. By the way-you will recollect how much was || to show you some of the weighty arguments and ster.
said by our legislature relative to the cost of the Erie ling eloquence of the honse. The “ honorable gentle.
canal, when our state, in comparison with this, was man" had been contending for a considerable length of
wealthy and flourishing in the plentitude of its magnifi- ' time for the location of a building, for the greater secu-
cent resources. Appropos of this: the state of Michi- |rity of the public documents. “Another powerful rea-
gan with an impoverished treasury, and with no prospect son," said the orator, “why this building should be lo-
of a reimbursement, except from a loan which is con- cated at Ann Arbor is, that it is not half so muddy
templated, (it producing nothing as yet for exportation) | there as it is at Detroit, nor a quarter, no, nor a six-
has already made arrangements for the construction of teenth!” Here he came down with a violence which
three rail-roads! The motto of the renowned Crockett, rendered the chair beneath him rather insecure, and his
“Go a-head !" is universally adopted here. The cars own position, to say the least of it, rather equivocal.
on the central route thus far are larger than I have seen Much might be said touching the bye-words and quo-
elsewhere, although in the Southern states, I believe tations that are used, but as “ in a flock there are al-
they are universally used in preference to smaller ones. ways some shabby sheep," I drop the subject with the
Seventy-five persons can be comfortably seated with hope that in time such abominations will be unknown.
sufficient room for a stove, and a bar at one end of the The city at this time is filled with strangers ; collec.
car. This latter arrangement, I should suppose, how- tors from the east, senators, lobby-members of the legis
ever, belongs exclusively to Michigan, as I cannot be- lature, lawyers, post-mosters, patriots, etc. I candidly
lieve that the refined and polite Southerner would be believe that three-quarters of the male inhabitants of
guilty of making a grog-shop of their cars, for the Michigan are office-holders, the consequence of which
benefit of drunkards to the discomforture of the ladies is, that there are more “litti: great men" bere than in
who may happen to be travelling, or to those of either any other state in the union. The present Governor
sex, who prefer rational comfort to the obscene and ill- held the office which he now occupies ere he had reach-
timed remarks of those, who would not otherwise be ed maturity, but considerable has been said relative to
under the influence of liquor. The thirty miles is gene- his qualifications for the situation-but this I know
rally accomplished in an hour and a half, which renders nothing about. I will say one thing respecting him,
the tour from Chicago to Detroit shorter by two days, however, that he renders himself agreeable at his pri-
and the expense of travelling considerably less. But I vate soirees, where all the distingué of the state con-
promised to say nothing of my journey. Detroit, you gregate. Appropos of the parties in Detroit. They
will recollect, is situated on the Detroit river, about present a formidable array of female beauty. Speaking
twenty miles above its mouth, and although founded of ladies, as Ollapod says, reminds me of their mode of
in the same year with Philadelphia, contains about riding. A box-cart, similar to those used with us for
ten thousand inhabitants. The houses are principally the conveyance of dirt usurps the place of a carriage.
built of wood; but I should be doing injustice to the You will readily suppose that I was surprised to witness
place were I not to mention that it has many splendid one of these carts containing three elegantly dressed
edifices which give beauty to its appearance. Like ladies, whose beauty immediately commanded one's
most Western cities, it has wonderfully improved during admiration and respect, backed against the side-walk
the last two or three years. Several new hotels have and the board removed for thein to escape. They were
been erected, which will vie in splendor and accommo- young and beautiful, which would have rendered it par-
dations with our eastern establishments. The Capitol ticularly romantic to a poet.
is a commodious, though not beautiful building.
" Forms for the heart to love and cherish ever-
The legislature has been in session during my sojourn
The visiting angels of our twilight dreams."
here, and, as you will suppose, I, of course, attended It would have have been a fine subject for one of Hal-
their deliberations for the purpose of obtaining a speci- leck's playful lyrics.
men of Western eloquence. As elsewhere, the mem- There is a theatre here, but it is absolutely beneath
bers consider it their prerogative to lie, rather than sit notice. I should write to you more fully, but the porter
in their chairs, their feet reclining on their tables, and is waiting to convey my baggage to the stage-office.-
to give their attention to public newspapers, their pri- Adieu. Thine
HAROLD HERBERT.
vate correspondents, or some other local affair, rather
than to the speaker who is addressing them for their
benefit, or, I should perhaps say, for his own, as more
A NICE POINT OF LAW.
speeches are made to obtain celebrity in the public | BLACKSTONE, speaking of the right of a wife to a
prints, than for the good of the people or the enlighten- dower, asserts that if “land abide in the husband for a
ment of the house. To say that there is no talent single inoment, the wife shall be endowed thereof;" and
among the “picked and chosen' of the state, would not he adds, that “this doctrine was extended very far by a
be true; but I may say with perfect propriety, that the jury in Wales, where the father and son were both han-
majority of the members have a perfect contempt for ged in one cart, but the son was supposed to have survi.
the “ King's English," an utter want of education, or ved the father, by appearing to struggle the longest,
good breeding, and an entire ignorance of parliamenta- whereby he became seized of an estate by survivorship,
ry usages. By the way, I recollect the conclusion of a in consequence of which his widow obtained a verdict
speech made by one of the members, which will serve for her dower.”


SKETCHES AND A NECDOTES.
59
Original.
|| demanding than requesting charity. The prison no
SKETCHES AND ANECDOTES
longer resounded with obscenity, and imprecations, and
ILLUSTRATIVE OF
licentious songs. To use the strong but just expression
FEMALE CHARACTER. of one who knew this prison well,' This hell upon earth,'
BY THE AUTHOR OF “LETTERS ABOUT THE HUDSON." exhibited the appearance of an industrious manufacto-
ry, or a well regulated family
NUMBER IV.
"It will naturally be asked," says Mr. Buxton,
“how and by what vital principles was the reformation
« Woman, dear woman! in whose name,
Wife, sister, mother meet;
at Newgate accomplished ? How were a few ladies of
Thine is the heart by earliest claim
And thine its latest heat!
no extraordinary influences, unknown even by name to
In thee, the angel virtues shine;
the magistrates of the metropolis, enabled with so much
An angel form to thee is given;
Then be an angel's office thine,
facility to guide those who had baffled all authority, and
And lead the soul to heaven!"--ANON,
defied all law-how was it that they
"Wielded at will this fierce democracy?
Mrs. Fry.-About twenty years ago, Mrs. Fry was
induced to visit Newgate, by the representations of its
How did they divest habit of its influence? By what
state made by some persons of the Society of Friends.
charm did they transform vice into virtue, riot into
She found the female side in a situation which no lan-
order? A visit to Newgate explained all. I found that
guage can describe. Nearly three hundred women, sent
the ladies ruled by the law of kindness, written in their
there for every gradation of crime, some untried, and
hearts, and displayed in their actions, they spoke to the
some under sentence of death, were crowded together
prisoners with affection mixed with prudence. These
in the two wards and two cells which are now appro-
had long been rejected by all reputable society. It was
priated to the untried alone, and are found quite inade-
| long since they had heard the voice of real compassion
quate to contain even the diminished number. Every of
| or seen the example of real virtue. They had steeled
one, even the governor, was reluctant to go amonget
iheir minds against the terrors of punishment; but they
them. He persuaded Mrs. Fry to leave her watch in
were melted at the warning voice of those who felt for
the office, telling her that even his presence would not
their sorrows, while they gently reproved their misdeed;
prevent its being torn from her. She saw enough to
and that virtue which discovered itself in such amiable
convince her that every thing bad was going on. “In
exertions for them, recommended itself to their imita-
short," said she to her friend, Mr. Buxton, in giving
tion with double attractions."
him this account, "all I tell thee is a faint picture of the FEMALE RESOLUTION.-Dumont, whose "Narrative of
reality ; the filth, the closeness of the rooms, the feroci- l a thirt four years Slavery and Travels in Africa," has
ous manners and expressions of the women towards
recently been published, relates the following anecdote
each other, and the abandoned wickedness which
of a female during the siege of Gibraltar, in 1782:
every thing bespoke, are quite indescribable." One act other
e actThe Count d'Artois came to St. Roach, to visit the
of which, Mr. Buxton was informed from another quar-
place and the works. I well remember that his high-
ter, marks the degree of wretchedness to which they
hey ness, while inspecting the lines in company with the
were reduced. Two women were seen in the act of
Duke de Crillon, both of them with their suit alighted,
stripping a dead child, for the purpose of clothing a
and all lay flat on the ground, to shun the effects of a
living one.
bomb that fell near a part of the barracks where a French
Circumstances rendered any effort on the part of Mrs.
woman had a canteen. This woman, with two children
Fry to reform this den of iniquity impossible at this
on her arm, rushes forth, sits with the utmost sang froid
ume; but about Christmas, 1819, she resumed her vis-
on the bomb shell, puts out the match, and thus extri-
its, and succeeded in forming a Ladies' Committee,
cates from danger all that were around her. Numbers
consisting of the wife of a clergyman, and eleven mem-
were witnesses of this incident; and his highness gran-
bers of the Society of Friends; to whom the sheriff's
ted her a pension of three francs a day, and promised to
and governor delegated every necessary authority for
promote her husband after the siege. The Duke de
carrying into effect the benevolent plan which they had
Crillon imitated the prince's generosity, and insured to
conceived, of restoring the degraded portion of their
her likewise a payment of five francs a day.
sex confined within the walls of Newgate, to the paths
of knowledge and virtue.
Mrs. Jacob Motte.-When compelled by painful
After a year of unceasing labor on the part of Mrs. duty, Lieutenant Colonel Lee informed Mrs. Motte,
Fry, and the other members of the committee, they had “ that in order to accomplish the immediate surrender
the noble salisfaction of exhibiting one of the most ama of the British garrison occupying her elegant mansion,
zing transformations, which was perhaps ever effected its destruction was indispensable,” she instantly replied
in the condition of a number of human beings. “Riot -"the sacrifice of my property is nothing, and I shall
licentiousness, and filth," says Mr. Buxton, “were ex view its destruction with delight, if it shall in any de
changed for order, sobriety and comparative neatness, in gree contribute to the good of my country." In proof
the chamber, the apparel, and the persons of the priso- of her sincerity she immediately presented the arrows
ners. There was no more to be seen an assemblage of by which combustible matter was to be conveyed to the
abandoned creatures, half-naked and half-drunk, rather building.


INDIAN CHA UNT.
AUTOGRAPH OF THE QUEEN VICTORIA.
001
ENGRAVED BY
Engraved by
a
J. T. Pickerino.
J. T. PICKERING.
K
Vitorial
1 Buchingham
halwo.us ways
Palace
Original.
INDIAN CHAUNT.
There is a tall wooded cliff on Rock river, upon which, many
years ago, an Indian hunter and his wife erected their simple
habitation. During her husband's absence, the woman had
entertained one of a hostile tribe, who in return for her hos-
pitality, cruelly murdered her: the husband tracked the
wretch to his camp, and subtilely following him, at length
consummated his revenge. But it being conjectured by some
of the woman's tribe, that she had perhaps been equally guil-
ty and imprudent, it is even now usual, when a Pottowotamie
passes the scene of crime and punishment, to strew kinikin.
ick on the smooth surface of the Rock river, trusting it may
be accepted by the Great Spirit as a propitiation for the sin
of their erring ancestress, and hoping it may be gathered by
him, to be smoked in peace with the Manito.
SWEEP on, sweep on,
O'er the clear river's smooth and shining wave,
That we may pass, ere day's red light be gone,
Beside her grave:
Soft summer rain,
Through which the golden sun with gentler ray
Looks on her silent rock-that life's dark stain,
Wash thou away!
Green shaded shore,
Breathe out sweet murmurs from thy flowery grass,
Like whispers of the spirit, we deplore,
Here, as we pass.
Rock, wood and stream,
Amid your ancient depths, her memory keep,
Of whose lone fate, we know but as a dream
Of midnight sleep.
Whate'er, whate'er
Was thy last struggle, and thy dying groan,
Th' avenger struck the war wolf in his lair,
If blood atone.
But if there came
A shadow o'er thy loving eyes, and thou
Did'st crush the honor of thy father's name,
We wail thee now:
And thus, and here,
These sacred leaves, upon th' unsullied breast
of this pure ride, we strew, in trust, not fear,
For thy long rest :
We ask that He,
Our Great and mighty Spirit, now will deign
The fragrance of these leaves to breathe with thee
In peace again.
No more, no more
Shall Irdian maiden's sweet voice murmur near
In joy or sorrow, by this painted shore,
The stranger's here.
Bear on, bear on
My low canoe, where far my loved ones dwell-
Rock, forest, stream, the day's last light is gone,
Farewell, farewell !
LESLIE
i


THE BURIAL BY FIRE.
61
tion,
Original.
Iliam had truly said that the evening was beautiful-not
THE BURIAL BY FIRE. a breath of air was stirring, but the atmosphere was soft
and redolent of perfume. The rays of the declining
BY LOUISA MEDINA HAMBLIN.
sun, slanting from the West, tesselated the heavens
with chequers of gold and lengthened the shadows upon
Ay, but to die, and go we know not wliere;
the earth-not a ripple stirred the mighty ocean, the
To lie in cold obstruction and to rot-
"Tis too horrible!
vast expanse of blue water lying unruffled as a lake,
Alas! Poor Yorick! He hath borne me on his back a
without a sound save when the receding tide carried
Thousand times, and now how abhorred to my imagination
with it the pebbles from the beach with a lulled and
It is! my gorge rises at it. Now get you to my lady's chamber
And tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favor
dreamy sound. The lowing of the cattle in the distant
She must come at last.-SHAKSPEARE.
pastures and the chirping of the nimble grasshoppers
joined to an occasional twittering from the inhabitants
“Will you not walk this glorious evening? Come, of the trees, all contributed to produce that feeling of
the air is as soft as balm, and the sunset on the sea will repose which the coming of night always induces
be beautiful. The afternoon worship is over, and all
most insensibly, the lovers turned away from the groups
the villagers are out in their Sunday clothes adoring
of merry villagers, and directed their course to the vil-
their creator in his works. Come, my own Mary, and age churchyard. Of all spots on earth, that containing
enjoy the beauty of the evening."
the “short and simple annals of the poor," is to a re-
It was on a summer's Sabbath, in the beautiful neigh- fective mind most interesting, and that of Hastings is
borhood of Hastings, that William Lindsay spoke thus peculiarly so. From its mild and sheltered situation,
to Mary Stuart, a fair young girl who was his promised its advantages of country joined to those of sea bathing,
wife, when success in his toilsome profession might give | Hastings is recommended by the faculty to consumptive
a sanction to their union. He was an artist of much
patients, and many a marble slab in the churchyard
talent but little celebrity, and she was the orphan child
records the early exit of creatures in the spring and
of a British officer. Her mother and herself lived in
matin of their days, who have sought for health' and
quiet contentment on the small pension allowed to the
a to the found a grave. On one which bore this simple inscrip-
widow of a Captain of Infantry. Their ways were sim-
ple-their wants few—from their little they had still a
“EMILY MARKHAM-AGED NINETEEN,"
little to spare to such as needed, and they felt them-
selves
Mary sat down, and pulling a few wild flowers, strewed
“Passing rich on forty pounds a year.”
them reverentially on the grave.
If the want of wealth ever caused a sigh in the gentle
“William," at last she said, “burial is a frightful
bosom of Mary, it was when she beheld her William
thing.”
debarred from the foreign treasures of art which he
“Death is, do you mean, my Mary?" answered he;
panted to behold, or when she heard her prudent mother
“for after death, on this earth feeling is no more.”
prophecy a long lapse of years ere they might venture
"Are you assured of that ?" asked Mary, solemnly:
to unite their earthly fate together. Mary had received
“Does that conviction bear an ij? Oh, God! to be
a tolerable education, and her mind was naturally poe-
shut down, away from light and warmth, to be straigh-
tic, her thoughts were fraught with natural beauty and
tened here, rigid, immoveable and stiff-to rot by scarce
often untutored language would flow in rich and melo-
| perceptible degrees, to have the flesh which in life wo
dious eloquence; she was never of a buoyant temper:
guard so carefully, mangled and gnawed by crawling a
a placid calmness, a softened serenity which was not
vermin-nay, in our very selves to engender the foul
sadness, was her usual mood, and the very style of her
life of corruption! It is too horrible !"
features harmonized with this shadowed feeling. Her
“Dearest Mary, this is a morbid feeling and a false
cheek was very fair, but when a chance excitement
fear. Our Creator made man in mercy, and could it be
called the eloquent blood into it, the color was rather
possible that the dead suffered by burial, it would long
che fush of hectic than the crimson of health ; her hair
have been made manifest to the living. Now, for my
was a paly brown but perfectly straight, and without
part, this scene is one to me of rest and comfort-in
any of those sunlight hues which sometimes wander
this sacred spot the dead slumber in peace, awaiting
through chestnut tresses-in a word, Mary was more a
their Maker's summons to arise. All is green and beau-
lovely twilight than a brilliant day. Captain Stuart had
tiſul-subdued, indeed, but far from sad--the flowers
died of decline, not as they fondly believed a constitu-
grow here as sweet, and those graceful willows bend
tional malady, but brought on by over exertion and ex-
down their branches as if appointed by the Spirit of
posure ; still, when William would notice the translu-
Holiness to guard the dead. And see-the evening
cent fairness of his Mary's cheek, and mark the languid
star looks out upon this tranquil spot like a good angel
soliness of her eye, a terrible fear would come across
calmly keeping
c, to be as instantly banished by the certainty of ll Watch o'er them till their souls should waken.'”
her perfect health.
Mary shuddered and shook her head. Alarmed to
She arose in answer to his invitation to walk, and, see her so depressed, William fondly urged her to re-
with a gentle smile, passed her arm through his and turn home.
strolled up the hill which bounded their dwelling. Will “William, dear William, I am well-fear nothing
his hea


62
THE BURIAL BY FIRE.
for me, but oh! my beloved, my heart quails at the ! to a friendly physician of eminence who resided in the
thought of burial. I do not fear to die-thanks be to neighborhood. Happy it is for science when such a
heaven I have no terror of death; but the grave-the man as Doctor John Burton is its professor ; learned
grave to me is overpoweringly horrible. Oh, dear Wild without pedantry; humane without ostentation ; firm
liam! would that we lived in ancient Rome, where the without brutality, he joined the skill of the best physi-
mortal remains were consigned to the funeral pyre! cian to the feelings of the kindest of men; he saw
Surely we have decreased in civilization to relinquish the Mary Stuart and at once pronounced her case to be
burial by fire for the interment under ground. Fire is a monomania—that sort of “perilous stuff which weighs
glorious element, free, mighty and immaterial as the, upon the heart," and for which drugs have no healing
soul! Fire is a purifier, and separates the grosser clay and medical science no cure.
from its immortal spirit-fire even ascends to heaven, “You must take her from here," he said gently but
it is a type and emblem of the human soul, it is tangi- firmly to her mother. “She is of a morbid tempera-
ble to the senses only while it has earthly food, when! ment, and the close retirement of her life together with
the poor material is consumed, the invisible and un- the vicinity of the churchyard has aided a predisposi-
known spirit passes away from human sight or know-ition to nervous excitement. She must have change of
ledge, and returns to Him the master of the elements ! | scene."
Would that my burial might be of fire !"
“Alas, sir!" replied the mother, in tears, “I have
“Your thoughts and wishes are strange, dear Mary; not the power, my means are scanty-this little cottage
the survivor's heart would be more wrung to see the is allowed us rent free by the landlord, who was a dear
loved remains consumed by fire. When buried, they retain friend of my husband-a single journey and month's
at least a knowledge ibat it is there, they can visit the residence in a strange city would consume all we have
spot and in memory recall its inhabitant.”
to live on for a year.”
“Aye, William-but as what ?" she asked, with a Doctor Burton was not one of those Sir Oracles who
strange look of excessive horror: “as what? A livid content themselves by saying, “this must be done,”
and loathsome mass of rottenness! A decaying, re- without endeavoring to point out the way how; he smil-
volting, putrifying corruption, from which every sense ed benevolently and took the widow's hand-
recoils in loathing! Let the fondest love pursue in fan- | “Mrs. Stuart, I venture to predict a certain cure, if
cy the buried dead-ihe lips they kissed are foul with you will follow a pleasant and easy prescription, for your
decay—the breath that used to part them is changed to daughter: you must marry her at once lo William Lind-
the stench of rolienness-lhe fair bosom on which lay say. Nothing so sure to chase ideas of death as the
the loving head is alive indeed, for the long, slimy grave blushes of a bride."
worms are feeding on it—the eyes, oh, God! dare ima-l “Oh! Doctor! they are poor enough now-if they
gination picture that eye once bearning with the soul of marry and have a family, the expenses of children ”
love, now glowing with the unnatural fire of lurid pul “Will be better to bear than losing the only one you
trefaction ?"
have !" interrupted the Doctor, gravely; " my dear,
“No more, no more, dear Mary!" exclaimed Wil- madam, Mr. Lindsay is very clever in his profession-
liam, alarmed at the excitement of her fancy on such a he has industry and good will to work; but as long as
theme: “your mother will be waiting for us."
your daughter's illness distracts his mind, he can never
" Yet hear me out, dearest; and oh, William, pro- be himself. He has friends, and the young couple will
mise-promise me, that if God takes me from you, you do well, I doubt not; but of this be sure," he continued
will never lay me in the damp, cold ground to rot ! with solemn decision, as she was about to speak—" of
Think, oh, think how pure, how beautiful is the idea of this be sure-on my reputation as a physician, I affirm,
resolving back each portion of our humanity into its that if Miss Stuart continues in this situation much lon-
native element! And then, how delightedly may fond ger, her reason or her life will pay the penalty."
affection weep over the consecrated ashes! The pure, And without allowing the querulous old lady time to
unoffensive remains of all that was loved and lovely- answer, he left her to ponder on his words. Great was
while fancy dwells with rapture on the bright thought the joy of Lindsay at this advice, and as the wise physi.
that the undying soul, the immortal mind has mounted cian had truly prophecied, the startling proposal of im-
to its FIRST ESSENCE on wings of etherial fame! Come, | mediate marriage, produced a reaction in the mind of
let us go home. I shudder to tread this rank, rich soil, Mary and very soon evinced its beneficial effects. Re-
instinct with human corruption.".
solved not to do things by halves, the excellent Doctor
From this time it appeared that the health of Mary employed Lindsay professionally in copying specimens
Stuart suffered under some secret excitement; at times, of morbid anatomy, and invited Mary to pass a few
indeed, her cheerfulness would return, and the awful weeks with his wife and daughters and consult them
phantom that haunted her be put to flight by the voice concerning her fulure arrangements. Oh! how much
of love; but too soon again the gloom returned over her happiness can be conferred by a few kind words and
soul, and by slow but sure degrees undermined her actions of those whose fortune or skill raises them above
health and life. No words can picture the grief which their ordinary fellow-creatures! How little studious of
wrung the honest heart of her lover, argument and ca- || their own enjoyment are such as never buy the dear
resses he tried in vain, and at last, believing that the delight of giving pleasure! What epicurean delight-
coil lay in her body not her mind, he applied in despair, what fashionable luxury-what expensive purchase ever


THE BURIAL BY FIRE.
63
conferred the soul-felt rapture bestowed by the grateful || believe me? Then come in yourself, William, and
heart's blessing? What gem of price ever shone with convince this obstinate heretic to happiness.
a lustre equal to the tear of rapture called forth by un- He went to the door of his private surgery and called
hoped-for benefaction? What public fame or loud- out Lindsay, who instantly flew to his beloved girl. The
mouthed huzzas—what sugаred praise or subtle flattery instant Mary beheld him, she uttered a frantic shriek,
ever gave the heart that self-content derived from be- and fell in his arms, exclaiming, “ Not dead! Not yet
holding the bliss itself has created? The truth of this doomed to the dreadful grave! William-my William!"
too little considered fact was essentially proved by the A burst of tears relieved her o'ercharged heart, and
pleased Doctor Burton and his amiable wife, as they ! the benevolent Doctor, smiling on her, said
watched the mantling blush which came ever and anon “Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip!"
like a bright bird of passage over Mary's faded features, In spite of this relief, the evening passed heavily ;
as they saw the honest tear of gratitude glisten on Wil- | there seemed an indescribable something weighing
liam's manly cheek, or heard the murmured blessing on William's heart. Mary was exhausted from over
from the relieved mother who felt that her widowed excitement, and the Doctor appeared to listen uneasily
age would not now be robbed of its only comfort. to every sound. Mrs. Burton and the ladies retired
Cheerily passes the time when the heart is at ease. early, and Ellen left Mary, as she believed in a sweet
The few weeks previous to the wedding day of Mary! and fast sleep. The mystery existing in the surgery
glided by as if the footfall of June fell only upon flowers. was soon explained to William. A certain man bad
Each of the Miss Burtons presented the expected bride died in one of the London hospitals of a disease which
with a bridal dress, and if their graceful simplicity could baffled the skill of the physicians. His relations ob-
not add to her beauty, they certainly contributed to her stinately refused his body for dissection, and with ex-
honest pride and pleasure. The cake was made, the treme peril and difficulty, a select committee, of which
love knots twisted, the ring was bought and two days Dr. Burton was the president, had contrived to steal it
only intervened between the happy day, when one eve- | from the grave. Fearing, however, lest the loss might
ning as the family of Doctor Burton were sitting cheer-be discovered and search made, the Doctor had boxed
fully conversing, the sound of carriage-wheels stopped up the body and brought it down to his own private
at the door, and a heavy lumbering noise sounded in the surgery, where, besides having time to examine mi-
hall.
nutely, he had the advantage of William's skill as a
“Oh, my father is arrived from London!" exclaimed draughtsman to copy any peculiar appearance the sys-
Ellen Burton, rising rapidly.
tem might present. It was the first time Lindsay had
" What sort of luggage are they bringing in, in the ever witnessed the process of dissection; and as the
name of wonder ?" said her sister.
body had been many days in the grave, and was in an
“Let us go and see," said Ellen.
advanced state of decomposition, the trial to his nerves
Mary stopped her; and, with a cheek as white as and senses was such, that he devoutly hoped it might be
chalk, said, tremulously, “They tread like men who | the last. He had for some time slept in a small room
bear a heavy burden; they whisper, too, beneath their adjoining the surgery, and now, for the free circulation
voices ;-there is a strong scent of camphire spreading of air, left the intermediate door open. Towards the
through the house. It is a corpse they are bringing dead of the night, his frightful occupation was inter-
rupted by the sound of a footstep. He paused, looked
" You dream, dear Mary' ;-come, let us go and meet round, called the Doctor by name, and then, seeing
this dreaded luggage; my life upon it, its terror will nothing, sat once more down to his awful task. All
vanish when encountered.”
was still as the grave which was thus robbed of its
With gentle but steady grasp she raised the trembling ghasily tenant; when, suddenly, a loud, long scream
Mary, and would have led her out, but was stayed by smote on his ear, more resembling the prolonged yell of
the entrance of her father. He looked pale and some. | a wild Indian, or the frantic howl of a maniac, than any
what excited, and hurriedly evaded their questions. ! natural cry of terror. He sprung up, and saw standing
Suddenly he heard a hard, suppressed breathing, and by him the figure of his Mary,-if, as such, he might
looking round, beheld Mary gazing at him with wild recognize the distorted face and writhing form that stood
and rigid stare; her blue lips apart, and her clenched before him, glaring on the blackened corpse.
hands pressed forcibly upon her breast. All his pre- To his dying day Doctor Burton would never relate
sence of mind at once returned, and, advancing to her without suddering the scene he saw when William's
with composure, he said—“What, Miss Stuart, and appalling cries brought him to his aid. Erect as if
have my luckless glass vials and electric machinery fashioned of stone, with bloodshot eyeballs and livid
startled you also ? For shame, young ladies, I thought features, with hair standing out stiffened with horror,
you were all better soldiers !"
and lips drawn up from the set teeth through which
" It is William !” hissed poor Mary, never for a the blood was slowly trickling,—there she stood, glaring
moment relaxing her distended gaze; “it is Lindsay's on the reality of the very phantom which so long had
corpse!"
haunted her; and Lindsay, palsied with horror, could
"Mary, my dear child! for God's sake do not thus only wind his arms around her stiffened figure, and rend
torture yourself; Lindsay is well; but to see you thus, ll the air with cries for help. The moment he entered,
might well make him otherwise. What! you do not Dr. Burton threw a cloak over the corpse, and, as if
in!"


64
THE BUR I AL BY FIRE.
with the loss of that object, vanished the unnatural || watching and weariness are unfelt, while hope still
strength with which she had looked on it. Mary fell shines in her baby's smile; the voice of despair is un-
senseless to the ground. She was bled and carried to heard while its low cry still speaks her a mother; but
bed without giving any token of recollection, and with | when this is hushed for ever-when the bright eye and
bitter fears they watched her all night; towards morning innocent smile are quenched by death-then hopeless
she seemed to sleep, and when she awaked it was with and bereaved she sinks at once to the depth of lethargy.
no remembrance of the frightful events of the night pre-If this be so with all of womankind, what additional woe
vious. She would have risen, and seemed astonished to must have fallen to the lot of the hapless Mary? She,
feel herself so weak; but her manner was calm as usual, to whom death had been a dream of horror, an incubus
and she made no allusion at all to the previous day. I of fear, was now doomed to witnegs it first in the person
William and the ladies rejoiced in deep thankfulness of her precious babe; on its loved limbs to mark the
for what they considered almost a miracle of deliverance, rigid impress—on its miniature features the cold seal of
but Doctor Burton, though he would not dash their joy, the conqueror; yet, to the wonder of all, her sorrow
feared much for the stability of that reason which the rather seemed patient and resigned, than noisy or fran-
terrible shock bad on one subject completely annihilated. ic. She resigned her breathless burthen to the arms
Mary however slowly recovered, and about two weeks of her weeping mother, and took from Mrs. Boton a
after the originally appointed day, Lindsay led her strong opiate; after which, she was unresistingly un-
proudly from the church, his wife ; and the anxious dressed and put to bed. A messenger had been sent
Doctor was perhaps the only one who noticed that, on post-haste to London for Lindsay the same hour that
returning from it through the churchyard, she smiled his baby expired, and they hoped that if Mary could be
and muttered to herself, as she looked on the graves, kept calm until his arrival, the sight of him would prove
words of which he could only hear these, “I shall her best consolation. While she slept, they shrouded
never make one amongst ye !"
the little pale corpse in muslin and lace, and laying it
Many months after their marriage passed in tranquil- out on pillows strewed the whole with flowers. It was
lity, and peace seemed once more to have builded her not until the midday following that the poor mother
nest in the heart of Mary. Her health, it is true, was awaked, and at once asked leave to see her child.
delicate; but the frightful monomania which had “Do not deny me. dear friend,” she said in a low,
hitherio poisoned her happiness seemed to slumber,
resigned tone, “I well know that he is dead, that no
and her benevolent friend and physician hoped it was
tears of mine can call back the breath which I felt pass
lulled to rest for ever. Blest with the wife he loved,
away on my lips; yet let me see the precious one for
Lindsay gave his time and attention to his profession
whom I suffered, I sorrowed so much."
with a devotion which ensured success; and having “Wait dear Mary, until William comes; he will be
removed after his marriage to London, that populous | here to-night, and then you shall see the babe."
city served not only to increase his employment, but « To-night!" she repeated thoughtfully; " will Lind.
wholly to divert the attention of his wife. And soon to say be here to-night?"
crown his cup of joy, Mary proved likely to be a mother. 1 “We hope so, love," said her mother; "in the
Asthis trying time approached, although her frame was
mean time, for all our sakes, keep tranquil."
weak, her mind was unusually buoyant. No fears ap-
“And am I not tranquil, mother?" she asked,
peared to perplex her, and her sole wish was to meet
raising herself on her arm and looking piteously in her
her confinement in the little cottage of her mother at
mother's eyes; “have I not lost my own, my prized,
Hastings, which request William granted, rather con-
my beautiful boy; and do I weep or wail ? Ah! tears
trary to the advice of Dr. Burton. Here, constantly
nor moans awake not the dead ; yet I would that I could
attended by the good Doctor and bis wife, she met her
weep; my brain is hot, but my eyes are dry. Let me
trial with unflinching fortitude, and endured severe and
once more see my child, the blessed thing which came
protracted agonies with the courage of a heroine and
10 reward my pains a thousand fold-once-I sball
the patience of a martyr. After three days of doubt and
never ask it again."
danger, a child was born to the alarmed husband, and
She looked so pale and wo-begone that they could do
about a week after he and Dr. Burton returned to Lon-
longer refuse her entreaty; and, supported by both, she
don, where both were professionally engaged on subjects
was led to the chamber of death and looked long on the
of pressing emergence. The infant sickened shortly
dead infant. It appeared that some memories of the
after, not of any violent disease, but wasting daily from
past troubled her mind, for she muttered, “How beau-
some unknown cause, fading so gradually that Mrs.
tiful le looks! Can this be death? No livid hues, no
Burton hesitated to recall her husband from his impor-
loathsome sores revolt the heart! Perhaps he only
tant occupations in the metropolis until it was too late.
sleeps, and by and by will waken? You will tell his
The little sufferer's cry became weaker and more weak,
its tiny limbs more wasted, until, like a lamp that goes
father when he comes how sweet he sleeps.".
out for want of oil, the light of his little life sunk, and
She stooped and kissed the check, and seemed re-
his baby breath was yielded in his mother's arms. volled by its coldness.
A mother's grief for her first-born child who shall de- "Ah! the ice-bolt has indeed stricken my child !
scribe ? Her long bunthen and her bitter pain are as Nothing but death was ever cold as this! He has left
nothing when she looks in the infant eyes of her blessing; his mo:her's bosom for the grave—the grave!"


LINES.
65
She said no more, and was passively led back to bed, I
Original.
where the remaining effects of the opiate soon buried
LINES,
her senses again in sleep. Finding her so composed,
WRITTEN FOR THE COOK BENEFIT, IN BALTIMORE.
Mrs. Burton, who had not been home for days, took the
opportunity to leave her for a few hours, while her poor
mother, who took the post of watcher by her bed, fell i
cuWhile nights' dark banner to the breeze unfurled,
Still waved its foldings o'er a pulseless world,
from exhaustion into a profound slumber.
It was the dead of night when the poor, old woman
And sleep deep brooding on the eyelids prest
was awaked by a stifling smoke, and starting up she
Of weary mortals sunk in balmy rest,
dimly perceived by the obscured light, that the bed by
Mocking the solemn grandeur of the night,
wbich she had slept instead of watched, was empty! |
The brightning heavens were streaked with sudden light,
Totlering with fear and age, confused and scarce awake,
That, as the blush of an untimely dawn,
the bewildered woman followed the first instinct of self
Came with redoubled radiance flashing on,
preservation, and hurried down the stairs and out of the
And startled, as the blazing meteor spread,
cotlage door. Recalled to sense by the free air, she
Each awe-struck sleeper from his downy bed.
looked up and saw the flames bursting from the case-
ments of the upper rooms. A recollection of her ill-fa-
Upon the stillness rose a din; and feet
ted daughter then thronged upon her brain, and over-
Of fear-urged crowds were heard from street to street,
powered her feeble strength. With cries of impotent Till gathered round, the city's myriads stood
terror, she tottered a few paces and fell senseless to the Upon the pave and by the reddening flood,
earth, just as a post chaise, driving furiously, appeared
And saw, without the power to restrain,
in sight on the brow of the hill. There it stopped and
Wide-wasting ruin seize Apollo's fane.
Lindsay, who probably feared that the sound of carriage
wheels might startle his Mary, sprung out to be greet-
And who that gazed and saw the raging fire
Through wreath-like clouds of curling smoke aspire
ed with-oh, sight of horror! the cottage which con-
tained her, bursting into flames. He rushed madly
To wrap in flames the proud and classic dome,
down the bill, followed scarcely less rapidly by Dr.
That crowned the summit of the Muses' home,
Burton, and came in front of the blazing building in
But inly sighed to see destruction dread
time to hear a maniac laugh which rung to the silent
On all sides round its blazing horrors spread,
sky, and to see-merciful God! the form of his wretch-
And view the burning timbers upward driven,
ed wife standirig at the casement, holding in one arm And fiercely crackling in the blasts of heaven,
the body of her dead infant and with the other wildly |
While glowing embers poured in fiery rain
brandishing a blazing billet of wood! There she stood
From lurid clouds and hurtled on the plain :
one moment, her white night dress already on fire, her
And mourned to witness desolation whelm
beautiful face and flowing hair distinctly visible by the
The vanished glories of the Drama's realm,
eddying flames, looking like the spirit of fire presiding
As sunk her Capitol, a smouldering pile,
over her native element. The next instant and the light
Above whose ashes waste and ruin smile.
material of the cottage gave way, and with a single
crash, roof, walls, and floors fell in, burying her in the
And shall the muses mourn their prostrate fane
bursting volume of fire, from which the words still seem. Where polished wit and truth were wont to reign?
ed to sound,
Or like the Phenix shall its columns rise,
“ No grave for us, my child ! no grave for us!" In more than pristine beauty to the skies?
The terrible catastrophe was too clearly understood. Urtil in burnished play, the sunbeams shine
The madness of the ill-fated Mary on one theme which Upon the dome of a far nobler shrine,
had only slumbered, was aroused in full force by the
Where he, the worthy veteran of the stage,
eight of death, but with the cunning peculiar to mono-
With whitened locks and bended form of age,
mania, she had concealed her purpose until she was un-
Who saw the wealth of years in one fell hour
watched, then with her own desperate hand, she had Dispersed in air by the Destroyer's power,
seized a brand from the chimney and like a second With grateful heart and just and honest pride
Mynha, fired her own funeral pyre. Her first, last, and Again shall at the Muses' feast preside,
strongest wish was awfully granted, for her no grave Assert the Drama's empire o'er the mind,
was dug,—no earth closed over her mortal clay,—the | And prove its power to light and bless mankind.
woworn spirit passed in madness to its maker and its
earthly tenement found a burial by fire!
|| The classic pile shall rise again. The hearts
Of subjects of the mystic Queen of Arts
THERE is nothing in this world so gensitive as affection. Are fired with homage; and this brilliant sceno
It feels its own happiness too much not to tremble for Proves that the Stage shall be where it has been ;
its reality; and strays, ever and anon, from its own de- || And vindicates the city's fame again
licious consciousness, to ask, “Is it not, indeed, a For BEAUTEOUS women and for GENEROUS men.
dream ?" A word and a look are enough either to re-
CONGREVE.
press or to encourage.
Baltimore, Md.


66
A LEAF FROM AN UNPUBLISHED BOOK.
Original.
1' masculine intellect to master; a subject which, in our
A LEAF FROM AN UNPUBLISHED BOOK. opinion, appertains exclusively, so far as action and
teaching is concerned, to men and men only. We can
BY JAMES BROOKS.
scarcely expect the great political fabric of a country to
be fairly understood and justly represented, but by those
Tue inquiry has often been put, why the letters from who have made such weighty matters the study of a life
Europe, by Mr. Brooks, late of the Portland Advertiser, --who judge by long and actual observation and abso-
and now of the New York Express, have never been lute knowledge. Mr. Brooks we conceive to be fully
published in the form of a book; and as we have long capable of doing entire justice both to the political and
been aware that he has prepared one volume of a work social relations of his own and other countries. Bred
for publication, without having the leisure or health in the school of politics, and having spent much of his
requisite to complete the other, we have solicited of him lime at the seat of government, he must be thoroughly
one of the letters from bis manuscript for publication in acquainted with our institutions and their effects.
our magazine. We are informed that Mr. B. does not Before leaving his own land he made himself acquainted
intend to publish his letters from Europe; but the with its distant sections, from Maine to Louisiana, and
volume alluded to contains a series of letters from from the Atlantic to the Mississippi, with their various
America, written at the request of a distinguished customs and domestic relations. He became familiar
statesman of Great Britain, in which there is a compa- with all classes of his fellow-countrymen, and then went
rative estimate of the public men, public measures, and to Europe, that he might study that also. The result
general condition of the people in Europe and America, of his observations have been, in part, laid before the
with sketches of travel in the old world and the new. public. No letters have ever been so broadly ciscr-
The friends of Mr. Brooks cannot but regret that the lated, or so favorably known, as were his. They came
cares of a daily newspaper should so long have delayed to us full of freshness and vigor, the rough sketches of
the completion of a book, which cannot fail to increase 'a travelling artist hastily drawn and often perfectly
his well-earned reputation. The subject is one pecu- unstudied-yet for that very reason perhaps the more
liarly adapted to his powers of mind, and one which piquant and interesting. It will be a subject of regret
should be redeemed from the superficial handling of to the author's friends, and, we doubt not, subsequently
female politicians and prejudiced tourists. Our na- to himself, should he persist in allowing them to circu-
tional honor demands that a fair and just comparison | late only in their present perishable condition. We
should be drawn between this and our fatherland. The hope that he will yet be induced to arrange and publish
British tourists who have volunteered their opinions on them in a form more worthy of their merits. Whatever
this important subject have been incapable of judging
may be the fate of his letters from Europe, we do not
both of our political and social condition. No man, hesitate to say that the admirers of Mr. Brooks will
thoroughly bred in the school of politics, and at the same find much to approve in his letters from America,
time intimately acquainted by intercourse and travel enriched as they are with the gems of his previous cor-
with our domestic habits, has yet attempted to draw a respondence, and written, as we know them to be, in a
comparison between this country and Europe. And style as spirited as his opinions are unprejudiced and
women, though highly gifted, as a Martineau, or clever independent. It is to be hoped that during the ensuing
as her predecessor, Mrs. Trollope, we conceive to be season they may be given to the public.
utterly unfitted for the task. No woman, without some
sacrifice of the delicacy and true dignity of her sex, can
pretend to make politics a study, except as the last link
New York, 1836.
in the great chain of national history. Wherever one My Lord: What is there worth seeing in the routes
has attempted more, she has generally ended by over- I have proposed, perhaps the traveller will ask. ALI
leaping the pale of gentle attributes which hedge in her depends, I answer, upon what manner of a man this
own sex, to find herself buffetted and overpowered by traveller is. Not a ruin can be seen, travel where you
the stronger minds she has dared to encounter. From may, unless it be the ruins where history is merged so
Madam De Stael-wbose greatest fault, in our estima- deeply in antiquity that no researches can tell what they
tion, was that she could awe a Bonaparte-down to the are. Indian mounds can be seen. Indian relics are
female statesmer of our own time, we have never yet numerous. Marks of a once advanced civilization are
known or heard of a lady politician-that is, a teacher visible. But the archeologist searches in vain to give
and expounder of laws and their relations--whose am them body and soul, and all are so thickly shrouded in
bition did not place her in a false position among men, 'mist, that what is seen, is very doubtfully seen, or
or who could ever quietly resume her forsaken station magnified so as to seem more than it is. No Abbey,
among women, to be loved and respected by either sex i no Cathedrals, no Arches like those in the Roman
as a woman. All this has little to do with the subject Forum, no stately and lonely Coliseum afford a resting-
of our notice, except as it goes to disclaim that the place for the fowls of the air, or filth of the earth.
female tourists, who have written so learnedly on our The land is not of the dead, but of the living and is
system of government, have had the power, or granting alive even-humming with industry, and resounding
them that, the opportunity, to judge clearly or reason all over, from every nook and corner, with the axe of
correctly on a subject which requires the lifetime of a the woodsman, or the hammer of the mechanic, for
EDITORS.


A LEAF FROM AN UNPUBLISHED BOOK.
67
the solitudes even speak, and the hills have a voice. ll Apart from the study of a national character so pecu-
All is noise, energy, action. Man acts as if he had not liar-national, perhaps, is not the word to be used, for
an hour to live, and is therefore acting with all his soul. there has been such an amalgamation of races to form
Nothing is fixed, formed, or regulated. All is change, our widely extended Union, and they have been so influ.
amendment, reform. Cities spring up-that is the word, enced by climate, and other circumstances, that there
without the metaphor-but when thus sprung up, they is no really national character, though English customs
changed their hues like the camelion, to-morrow. New and English feeling predominate; but apart from the
York is half built over almost every other year. A thing study of what is moving, doing, or talking, there is
is old there in five years. Antiquity, at the most, is only in the very face of the country, in the scenery, the rivers
half a century. The beggar-man of yesterday is the and the mountains, much to interest an Englishman.
princely merchant to-morrow. Death comes, and with all The great advantage you have in our country, and the
bis fortune, perhaps his children have been so imprudent great advantage we have in yours, is, that though we
as to have hardly a place to lay their heads. Society is are mutually foreigners to each other, and three thou-
toorking, to use the broker's phrase. The fermentation sand miles apart, yet we speak and we have the same lan-
is wonderful to behold. Every thing is up-set, and guage, and the like history. Every joke that is uttered,
every thing is set up. They walk on the Strand of every play upon words, every little thing even can be
London like man-engines, to be sure ; but in New York, || thoroughly understood; and nothing can interest an
the velocity of men is double. In Wall street it is not Englishman more than to mark the manner in which
safe to make a promenade.
ode.
The merchant is inspired.
The merchant is insmired. || the customs of his own land have been changed by a
The banker is in a fever. The omnibus-man is on a transfer to this. This advantage you will keenly enjoy
satanic whirl. The locomotive bipeds there are abso- in the observation of men and manners; but then there
lutely furious. They hurry, and bump, and dodge, and is another of which I am going lo speak, and that is in the
fly, and talk like maniacs in a rage. These are the study of our scenery, of the appearance of the surface
like of the things the traveller is to see in America. of our country, and in the remarks that you will make
The PRESENT is, as it were, concentrated, and brought upon the freshness of every thing. You dwell amid
to a burning focus. Man's energies are aroused to their the time-honored relics of antiquity. You live where
almost sensible tension. The past—we have no idea you can hear a voice from the Past. An Abbey like
of the word. “OUR ANCEstors" !--you hear no such that of Melrose, a Cathedral like that of Westminster.
appeal here, as that, with which Cicero would electrify is a monument of other times for you, and you wander
a Roman Senate, where our ancestors, and the immor-
Senare where our ancestors, and the immor- amid the crumbling arches of the one, and the tombs of
tal gods, were almost the one and the same idea. A the other, with an awe for the past, and a sympathy
thousand chances to one, if an orator of ours were to with it, and a poetical feeling that links you with these
appeal to our ancestors, that some political whipster glorious remnants of bye-gone days. Monuments they
did not answer him, “ Our schoolboys now know more are that your fathers have bequeathed you, and you feel
than the Platos of antiquity." It is an undeniable fact, / when in them a reverence for their precepts and their
that we do think ourselves the wisest people on the earth, I principles. Salisbury plain, Byron has said, is but
and that we pity the poor stupid blindness of almost all , Hounslow Heath, if Stone-henge is taken from it. But
others. There is not a country in the world where there Stone-henge left upon it, and there is a genius of the
is less reverence for antiquity, or less regard for the place, as it were, that inspires and awes you. Over
principles or precedents. Ever since the pilgrims landed your fields, and in your cities, you mark the footsteps
on the rock of Plymouth, we have been laying hold of of your ancestors. Every mountain has a history, and
the pillars of the past, and tumbling them down with every moor can tell a tale. Scott has done for his own
a fearful rapidity, at times. Antiquity is an argument home, what the mightiest of human events have done
against a theory. That others think as we do, is often for Rome, making its locks, and its highlands, even its
a reason that we should change. Among the mass of cliffs, and its castles, a pilgrimage ground for the world,
the people, there is no regard for rank, and but little by exaggerating acts of themselves amounting to nothing
for reputation. With them, there is but a very faint into all the witchery of romance, and the grandeur of
conception of the prerogative it has with you. “To be poetry. To us, then, your land is classical, as Rome or
sociable,” is to be a gentleman. To answer graciously, Greece is classical to you. An American feels a fervor
opens the heart of every one. There is no standing in your castles and cathedrals, and ruined abbeys, which
aloof in society allowed, and no putting on of airs. The I am sure you can never feel, for you were born among
plainer a man's manners are, the more friends he will them. They were the first objects upon which your eyes
have. One must hazard nothing on one's name, for fell from your infancy; and thus, like all things that are
every thing depends upon the present self. And yet common, lose their charm. Not so with us, when we
education, or an educated man, has privileges, and come among you. We have no history. We have no
attentions, which the mass of the people in no other antiquity, as I have said. We have nothing of the
country would allow him. Education is so valued above doubtful and grand, buried deeply and durably in the
all other things, that the power it gives a man here, past, on which our eyes can rest, and our fancies exalt
surpasses that which, under like circumstances, it can themselves. Hence, I am sure I showed but a feeling
have with any other people. Of the living, such are the common with my countrymen, when, for the first time,
things you will see, and hear.
with a holy awe almost, I walked under the Gothie


63
A LEAF FROM AN UNPUBLISHED BOOK
arches of Yorkminster, or clambered up the ruined Hudson, the first he sees on landing at New York, or of the
sides of Fountain's Abbey, or mused in the poet's corner Father of Waters, the mighty Mississippi of the west!
of Westminster, or visited the inner halls of the Tower. There is no such scenery on earth, I believe, as ours.
Each of these visits was an era in my life. The visions The Alps, it is true, in glaciers and snows, surpass all
of every year of my existence were illuminated at once. the mountains of which we can boast, but it is not height
I saw what I had fancied, sketched, read of a thousand nor snow that makes one feel the grandeur of mountain
times, and would have almost died to see. The feeling scenery. Location does it, a contrast, a history even.
rapidly passed away, I own, and the interest diminished, But the cataract of the Alps, high as they are, must
but such it was, and ten times more powerful than I can yield the palm to many of ours. There is but one Nia-
describe. Your country, of itself, apart from its history, gara in the broad circumference of the earth. There is
also struck me. Your beautiful parks were my amaze- no chain of mountains in Europe that feed such mighty
ment. Your highly cultivated fields fulfilled my visions rivers as ours, whether you view the noisy currents of
of an Eden. Your beautiful farm-houses, adorned with the high northern latitudes, or the calm and beautiful
hedges around them, and flowers creeping up their | Alabama, or the majestic Mississippi, or the golden
sides, were jewels in my eyes. If I were called upon waters of Missouri, or the placid and soft Ohio. And
to say which were the two happiest days of my life, there too ure lakes, those vast inland seas where fleets
when I had seen the most, felt the most, and enjoyed can ride-our boundless forests, alive with songsters
the most, I would select the two first days in May, when of almost every note, and every feather, with trees of
I landed in England. I was, without exaggeration, every cast and hue; and, if seen under the frosts of au-
drunk with pleasure, and exhausted at last, even to an tumn, beyond the power of pencil to paint, mocki
incapacity to think or move, for every thing was new to skill of man, rivalling the rich sunset on the bosom of
me every thing unlike what I had seen before. every the western clouds, and making a very paradise of earth!
thing so opposite to that I had seen in my own country. And then too our boundless Prairies, and our Savannahs.
Thus much have I said. not for the purpose of ex-and vast Havens on which beat the waves of the ocean
plaining my own feelings upon your land, but for the with a sullen war, and the still solitudes where man
purpose of illustrating what an Englishman must most feels as if he were really alone with the Indian, the
enjoy in America. The contrast that so much interested wild, unapproached, and almost unapproachable Indian,
me in England, must interest a thinking Englishman in his savage dignity, painted and decked for war, fiery
when he visits the United States. Your country is old, red, and with his armor on, “snorting for battle," as it
and ours is new. You have the vigor of manhood, and were !
often the hoary aspect of age; and we are young, lively, ! The freshness, the novelty, the romance, the adven-
and elastic. You march onward in dignity and gran. ture, and extent of such a country as ours, will interest
deur, and we leap forward with the sprightliness and you just as your antiquity, the surprising number of your
the glee of youth. Your pulse goes regularly, and you cities, your wealth, and the population that you have
can count its beats; but ours is fresh and feverish, and concentrated on two islands, interest us. In leaving
threatens often. As your servility displeases us, so our England to visit us, you shut an old book that you have
impudence displeases you. But these annoyances soon read through and through, and you open a new one,
give way to the livelier and nobler feelings inspired by which might be called “ Romance in Real Life." If
the grandeur of the achievements of the parent and the you go upon the continent, you meet with no such inci-
child. We witness with amazement what a garden you dents, for, founded as all the institutions are upon the
have made of what we should have called an almost like feudal system, and with analogous governments,
uninhabitable country; and you see even with incredu there is no such surprising change. The only difference
lous wonder what a stride we have taken in fifty years. is, that you read the same story in another tongue;
The Thames we hardly call a river-a stream, in our you hear the like people speaking another language.
western country, would have been its name; and yet on But here you read the new book in your own tongue.
that brook, we exclaim, what a world of wealth is You mark the surprising oddity of the tales. New topics
freighted! What an ocean it is in importance, if but a engross the attention of the multitude. New thoughts
streamlet in fact! So your cataracts amuse us. I usurp their attention, and new conclusions are aimed at.
laughed heartily to see a bottle, or more, of water drip. The surprising difference in your eye is, that a people of
ping down the rocks of Lowdore, the NIAGARA of Eng- the same ancestry as you are, with the same words in
land, I was told! I loved the pretty banks of Winde- their mouths that you have, should not act in the same
mere, but I felt no enthusiasm amid the wild rocks of manner, and think of the same things, and live for the
Boroughdale. If Scott had not written, the Highlands samo purposes. But though the people have the same
would have been only the Highlands, to me. I pitied words in their mouths, you mark well the different uses
the men who did business in the little Wye. And all to which they are put. The local scenery, I believe it
this happened, not, I hope, that I have no eye for nature, is, that remarkably influences conversation and thought
but because nature is so much more grand and awful in in many parts of the United States. It is natural, for
my own country. The heart that beats quick in the example, to select images fron the objects that our eye
highlands-how much quicker must it beat when under daily beholds. Thus the man of the west, amid rivers of
the cliffs of our own Kanawha! The man whose idea gigantic extent, accustomed to measure distances by the
of a river is the Thames, what must he think of the facility with which he overcomes them, ever ranging as


A L E AF FROM AN UNPUBLISHED BOOK.
69
he is, too, over a country apparently as boundless in || among the little solitudes of the Alps, or even the High-
extent as it is inexhaustible in fertility; his own govern. || lands of Scotland, can have some faint idea of an Ame-
or, too, his own law-maker, the prince of the realms rican wilderness, though hardly a nook exists on the
about him, contracts a habit of using words adapted to Alps, or on the Highlands, that the foot of civilization
his station; and, for want of better, he forges images is not daily vexing. Nowhere can the eye direct itself,
from all the materials before him. As from the ocean and the heart whisper, never civilized man has been
and the ship, the sailor collects the words in which to here before. Nowhere does there hang over the scene
embody his thoughts, so this landsman collects his, from such anxious mystery as in a solitude untrodden by the
the world before him, and the objects in that world white man, but when from each bush, or each branch,
The steamboat, the alligator, the large tree, the wild some grim imp of a savage appears. But it is not this
beast, the tomahawk, the woodman's axe, the hunts of which I speak; as such scenes must be sought in the
man's rifle, are the things with which he is ever embel- farthest and deepest wilderness, for the mighty tide of
lishing his language. “That fellow is a vheel-horse at civilization at this moment beats even at the base of the
auction," was the expressive phrase of an Arkansas Rocky mountains. I speak of the beauty that man adds
man once to me, to praise up the talents of a superior to nature. I speak of the progress of arts in a wilder-
auctioneer, the vender of goods at public sale. “I swap ness, and the link that in the imagination of the traveller
tongues," (and the like,) was his puzzling expression there is between the past and present. I speak of the
me an idea that he was the government inter- contrast that the mind is ever drawing between what
preter of the Indian languages. Thus originated that was, and is, and is to be. Imagination is at work, and
phrase of “going the whole hog," so current here in our it acts widely upon the future, peopling it with visions
politics, and so rapidly working its way into yours. Hogs of immeasureless grandeur. As in other countries, the
ran wild in Kentucky in the early settlement of that eye runs back on the long history of the past, and mag-
State. The woods were full of them. Of gold and silver nifies an object, the older it is ; so here it stretches into
there were none. Bank bills were not then in vogue as the future, and is bewildered in it, for it knows where to
they are now. A circulating medium was wanted, and fix its metes and bounds. Imagination, the traveller
the hog was pitched upon. The price of a thing de- sees, has been outrun every year by fact. Exaggera
manded, when for sale, was not in dollars nor cents, nor tion, even, has kept but a limping pace with the times.
in shillings nor pence, but in a hog, a half of a hog, ora | What was bombast, lags behind even faithful history
quarter of a hog, as the value of a thing might be. The now. The knowledge of these things bewilders the
thole bog was a monstrous price, and hence the idea of foreign traveller in the United States. The destiny of a
going great lengths, originated the phrase of “going the mighty people is marked out too on the surface of nature.
whole bog," or the whole animal, as refinement softens The promise of God is written in all the sublimity of
it. “ The Lynch Law" phrase, under which a popular || his works. He speaks this promise all along the crags
assembly try, and hang, if necessary, a culprit, origi- of the Alleghanies. It is uttered in thunder at Niagara.
nated in a similar necessity. Upon the borders, before It is heard in the roar of two oceans from the great
the courts were instituted, some bad subject was Pacific to the rocky ramparts of the Bay of Fundy. His
often found, who, not amenable to any tribunal, beyond | finger has inscribed it on the broad expanse of our inland
all jurisdiction as he was, conducted only the worse for seas, and traced it out by the mighty Father of Waters.
the freedom allowed him. A man by the name of Lynch The august temple in which we dwell was built for high
acted a conspicuous part in trying and judging, and
1$ part in trying and judging, and ) and holy purposes, and if Liberty and Concord stand
executing such culprits, in an assembly of his peers ; l upon its walls, the fame of the Palatine hill will dwindle
and hence originated the phrase of “the Lynch law,” || into insignificance in comparison with the rock of Ply-
which, during the last summer, was so cruelly put in mouth, where the English pilgrims landed.
execution in one of the remote southwestern States for! From such reflections as these spring the emotions of
the purpose of stopping the progress of gamblers, and grandeur and sublimity even that impress the traveller
the circulation of negro-incendiary pamphlets. Thou- || in many parts of the United States, such emotions
sands of curious customs, originating from the peculi. | too as are never impressed upon any but the most
arity of a border life, and thousands of phrases spring- delicately constructed minds by any of the works of
ing from such a life, are even now prevalent in all the art, or the ruins of Egyptian, Grecian, or Roman gran-
new States, where the people seem to have an imagina- | deur. Not every eye can see the poetry that is in a pic-
tion wonderfully fertile in embodying expressions for ture of a Guido, or a Raphael, nor every heart share the
their wants and feelings. It is the observation of such anguish of the marble of the Laocoon. It needs much
a people, in such a romantic life, that gives a zest and a reading, ard more thought, when one stands on the
charm to all American travelling.
Rialto of Venice, or the borders of the Place St. Mark,
The like impressions of beauty, grandeur, and subli- | with his eye upon the Adriatic, to share with Byron the
mity, are often created by the observation of things the | pathos and power with which he wrote of that proud Re-
most dissimilar. Petrarch has justly written, that an public of the middle ages. The Coliseum even, that
elevation of the mind is often felt in the forest, under mighty wreck of stone and marble, must be seen by the
the ash or the pine, or in the green grass, near the aggrandizing light of the moon,orma candle! in order to
mountains, when neither palaces, nor temples, nor any || be impressed fully with its magnificence and grandeur. But
work of man's hands, can move us. He who has been the beauty, the grandeur, the sublimity, of which I speak,


A L E AF FROM AN UNPUBLISHED BOOK.
in our scenery, needs no adventitious aid. The present tion of steam power to the navigation of rivers, and to
is majestic enough, even when unencumbered with the the propulsion of locomotives, has thrown the whole
Past, and the broad daylight of Truth itself is all that is region a century ahead in improvement and civilization.
wanted to inspire the emotion of which Petrarch spoke, No other country on earth could have been benefitted io an
so far above that which even the Coliseum of the past, or equal extent by this invention. A barge in 1817 could
the St. Peters of the present, can inspire. These thoughts make but one trip a year down and up the Mississippi
have powerfully affected me, (and so they will even the and Ohio, from Cincinnati or Louisville to New Orleans.
most unthinking man,) when I have stood upon the Months were spent in warping up the barge, or, to use
thrown-up embankments of the Mississippi that preserve the western phrase, in “ cordelling," and “poling," and
New Orleans from its inundations, and counted the “ bush-whacking” it against the stream; now drawing
number and tiers of American vessels awaiting freights, |it by cords, now pushing it with poles, and anon pulling
-watching there the whirl of the ponderous current, it up by the branches of the trees which overhang the
and listening to the loud puff of the high-pressure steam- water, or bush-whaching it, as the western boatman
hoats that come sweeping in about every hour-it may says. The labor was immense. The expense was
be from a port two thousand miles off, and in a journey frightful. But the genius of Fulton, with his engine of
so furiously made, that the ice caught on her prow in steam, changed the whole aspect of things. Piusburg,
the northern latitudes was hardly thawed by the then though 2,000 miles from New Orleans, was brought, as
blazing sun of the south. The view filled me with it were, to its very door. To go up the river, was but
admiration. From New England as I am, I never little more difficult than to go down. It is a serious
dreamed that I lived in such a country. The study of fact, that people on these rivers now go five or six hun-
statistics there, in filling up the outlines of my own mind, dred miles on mere visits of pleasure, and think no more
elevated yet higher my conceptions of the destiny that of it than you do to go to your estate in the country. A
must await us. I found that the valley of the Mississippi, party in St. Louis, Missouri, started from that city in a
near the mouth of which I was, contains more than steamboat for the Falls of St. Anthony, a distance of only
1,350,000 square miles, or considerably more than two- eight hundred miles, solely for the purpose of celebra-
thirds of the United States, and about one-twenty-eighth ting “a Fourth-of-July," our national Holiday. Twenty-
part of the whole land surface of the earth. Its outline four hours will often carry a man between four and five
or boundary exceeds 6,000 miles; and sources of the hundred miles down the stream, and one hundred and
opposite rivers, east and west, that mingle their waters fifty up. The "snags" and the “saryers"- the first, a
in this valley are fully 5,000 miles apart. Twelve log firmly fixed in the bottom of the river endways, and
States, and two organized Territories, which will soon pointing down the stream, and hidden from the sight;
be States, and five Districts are upon it. The number the second, a log thus fixed also, but with its head above
of acres of land there fit for cultivation are estimated to the water, and stwing, as it were, with the stream,
be 640,000,000, and such is the fertility of the soil, both once the terror of the Mississippi navigators, have
much of which indeed is of an alluvial formation, and now ceased to terrify, for those that have not been torn
thus inexhaustible, that it can be thickly populated with up, are now almost as well known as the islands and
human beings who may earn their livelihood with no rocks upon the ocean. “To run against a snag," a
uncommon industry. Within this boundary, and the favorite phrase in America to convey the idea, as the
territory east of the Rocky mountains, the number of Englishman would translate it, of “ bringing up a man
acres of land, surveyed and unsurveyed, of extinguished all standing,'' has thus lost half of its once forcible sig-
and unextinguished Indian titles, within the States and inification. But steamboats are not the only water-craft
Territories and without, amount, according to an esti- to be seen on those magnificent waters. Every thing
mate made by a chairman of the committee on public in the form of wood is floating with human or brule
lands in the Senate, to 1,090,871,753 acres, and to beings. The Broad Horn, as the navigator calls an
be worth the immense sum of 1,363,589 69 dollars-lloblong boat, or a creation of wood something like the
750,000,000 acres of which are without the bounds of Rhenish raft, is seen full of men, women and children,
the States and Territories, and are yet to make new and other kind of barking, bleating, and bellowing
States, and to be admitted into the Union. The reve. beings, from the household dog to flocks of sheep, and
nue from the sales of these lands for the year 1835 was bullocks for the slaughter, on which some daring farmer
9,166,590 dollars. In this estimate, nothing is said of on some retired stream has embarked his all, to find
Texas; but the man is dead to passing events in Ame-l a market hundreds and hundreds of miles from home.
rica, who does not see that this princely territory will The barge, the keel-boat, the pirogue, or canoe, gondo-
soon be the frontier State of the great Republic. The lier, skiffs, dug-outs, and others with odder names, and
English blood is there and at work, and the Spanish | more whimsical aspects, are seen floating down the
race is no match for that, either in " the tented” or the stream. When they have reached the end of the vos-
furrowed field. But remark that almost all over this age, they break them up, and sell the timber of which
mighty empire of the west, nature has done every thing they may be made. and then, if they go back, they mount
to render it accessible to the enterprise of man. the steamboat, and defy the stream. I have seen men
Streams without number afford convenient channels for of New England birth on these streams peddling little
commerce, but man is rapidly doubling even these faci- | articles from their boats all along a coast of two thou-
lities by means of railroads and canals. The applica- sand miles, with their little flag flying to indicare what


A LEAF FROM AN UNPUBLISHED BOOK.
they were-men who had started from Pittsburg with || sippi, where we stopped in the night, to Memphis, in
an abundance of Yankee notions, and who would un- in the State of Tennessee, was uninviting and unvaried
doubtedly end at New Orleans all sold out, the voyage but by the passing of the flatboats and the steamboats
being that on a river of two-thirds the distance across for New Orleans and Red River; or the occasional
the Atlantic.
soundings which we made in crossing a sand-bar. “A
Aware of the extent of these rivers, and with these quarter less twain," “no bottom," "mark above water
views I once began the ascent of the Mississippi in the wain,” or the like, were the chief sounds that saluted
latter part of April. The weather was intensely hot, our ears; while forest after forest, with the huts of the
and the lower Mississippi was flourishing in all the pride wood-cutters, was all we could see on the shores.
and health of a tropical summer. We rapidly passed Memphis is on a bluff or hill. It is a small neat
the fine rich looking habitations of the planters on both looking place, with a few brick buildings. We drifted
banks above New Orleans-habitations of all models on the current, as our small boat or yawl put off to take
and all colors, as erected by the taste of a Spaniard, a in boat stores. Memphis seems to the voyager on the
Frenchman, or a man of Saxon blood-adorning the Mississippi, like a refreshing port, when he has once
river and variegating the prospect, sometimes seeming more come in sight of land, after being long upon the
like whole villages; as the neatly painted negro-dwellings waters. We left there at evening. After a copious
clustered around the house of the master, and sometimes shower of rain, with the thunder of the south, not of
like dilapidated towns which negligence has left to ruin. England, for they seem to bave a patent thunder there,
There are chiefly rich sugar plantations on land inex- the bright moon looked forth in its full radiance, and
haustible in fertility, extending into the interior but a we journeyed up the strongly-opposing current in high
short distance, where is almost an interminable swamp, spirits and in lively conversation, a large and agreeable
but rich where it is good at all, formed from the depo- party being on board.
sites of the Mississippi, which, like the Nile, abundantly! It was on Saturday evening that we left New Orleans.
fertilizes its banks. But there is soon an end to this The next Saturday morning early, we were near the
display of a rich country, and fine habitations. The mouth of the Ohio, in the light silver waters of that
distance between them is soon increased, and the further river on the right bank of the Mississippi long before
you then ascend the poorer they become. At last the we approached its mouth, for as the two streams meet,
embankment ceases, or nearly ceases, and there is seen it is long before they unite, the Ohio keeping its peculiar
a swamp with its cypress, spotted only here and there, tinge and the Mississippi its turbid yellow color for ten
by the hut of a daring wood-cutter, who supplies the or twelve miles. We had ascended the strong current
steamboats with fuel; or bluffs appear, as they are of a river in a line as long as that from London to Rome.
called; hills overhanging the Mississippi, and of all The climate was different: the season less advanced:
shapes, from the curve to the ragged or rent parallelo- the scenery on the banks of the river more undulating,
gram. The forest has almost an unlimited domain, and || and more varied. On entering the mouth of the beau-
the echoes it sends off of the puffs of the steamboat, li tiful river," la belle rivicre" well called by the French
panting, as it were, up the vigorous tide, are the only when they first discovered it, and now struck with won-
sounds you hear. A ship is not more alone on the lider and surprise by its beauty, I felt like the sailor who,
broad expanse of the Atlantic. “A sail" at sea is not on a long voyage, has caught a glimpse of the shore, and
descried with more pleasure, than the curling smoke of yet we were 450 miles from Louisville. The country was,
some descending steamer. Baton Rouge, with its however, becoming more inviting. We were not in the
neatly built arsenal, first relieves the eye. Natchez, as I low lands. We were free from mosquitoes, from
you ascend higher up, with its elegantly built houses swamps and morasses; but yet we had indeed a voyage
and handsome streets, well bordered with china trees, \ to make, before we reached Pittsburg or Cincinnati-
is a pearl upon the waters. Then comes Arkansas, on the first city being even then nearly as far distant as St.
the left bank of the river, with little or nothing for the Petersburgh is from London.
eye, but forests and cane-breaks so thick as to be almost | An indefinable sensation of satisfaction, delight and
impervious to light, diversified they may be occasionally beauty, comes over the traveller as he ascends this
by the cabins of the wood-cutters, who are “squatting" river, and notices its graceful curves, and its sloping
(settling without right or title) on the lands of the banks, particularly if with vegetation, and when
United States, and selling stolen wood for two dollars covered with the blooming ash, the oak, cotton wood,
and fifty cents per cord (about nine shillings)-disdain- and cypress. There is a calmness, quietude, and unob-
ing to cultivate the soil, when, by levelling the high trees trusive, simple grandeur, that lulls the senses into con-
upon the banks, they could thus easily put money into tentment, and draws the eye, and opens the applauding
their pockets. Somewhere in Arkansas, while our mouth of him who has no soul for nature. The current
steamboat was “wooding,” (the boatmen taking in the is calm and unruffled. All is as quiet as when the first
wood is called wooding,) I strayed off a little into the adventurous party first sailed from the upper waters on
forest, and found near a log-cabin two Indians hideously their adventurous voyage-they hardly knew whither.
painted, as in their days of war and glory, now beasily Occasionally the banks are broken by rocks. At times,
drunk with whiskey, and revelling in all the extrava- but seldom, a precipice is to be seen; but, generally
gances of intoxication.
speaking, there is a sloping woodland of mighty trees,
Our voyage from Vicksburg, in the State of Missis- || beautiful but yet awing, alluring but impressive.


72
A LEAF FROM AN UNPUBLISHED BOOK.
I have been upon the Rhine, and marked well the pointed out, are but few in number in comparison with
battlements of its ruined castles. I have crept up the those of which I have said nothing. The breaking of
snowy sides of the base of Mount Blanc, “that mighty the river Shenandoah through the Blue Ridge at Har-
monarch of the mountains.” I have stood upon the per's Ferry, in Virginia, to join the Potomac, is one
frozen billows of Chamouni, that stiffened Niagara of among the many remarkable natural views of the world.
tumbling waters. I have clambered over the basaltic A western Prairie is not without its charm in an Eu-
pillars of your Fingal's cave. I have seen the cataract | ropean eye. Lake George, in New York, is upon the
of the Rhine, and of Terni even. Niagara is in the grand jourist ground of an American, the lake Leman
land of my birth, and the hills of the Hudson I have of our side of the water, but unlike that celebrated
sailed along many and many a day. But I can assure lake every way except in the tours made to see it.
you, that nowhere, amid none of these manifestations of Vermont, I have said before, is our Switzerland, but
nature, gigantic, awful, or beautiful as they may be, without the snow-covered Alpine summit The White
have any feeling, or any passion been created, which Hills have among them our highest mountain. The
will bear a resemblance in force to that I felt when I valley of the Connecticut is the garden of the United
first saw the mingling of the waters of the Mississippi States. Maine abounds in cataracts, and views mag-
and Ohio. The eyes of all were brightened. Hearts beatnificently wild. Elsewhere I have alluded to other
with a quicker and quicker pulsation. The grandeur of places, all of which, in Europe, would be represented
the spectacle, united with the thought of an extent in engravings, to be hung up in every saloon or cham-
almost undefined, inspired an emotion bordering upon ber.
the sublime. There is none of the voice of rushing
waters there. There is no turbulent intermingling of the
Original.
streams. Silence, severe and awful, sits watching over
the spot. Only the birds of the forest vex the woods.
THE HOME WARD BOUND.
There is nothing around that will bear the name of a
mountain. Nature is quiet and in slumber as it were.
Simplicity, rigid and austere, is the character of the PROUDLY she rides—her white sails catch the breeze-
whole scene. But POWER and Space seem to be there. Glad hearts, and anxious, speed her on her way,
The vast Ohio is taken in, and the Mississippi never And eyes are watching her fast lessening sails
seems to know it, or to change its waters even, thoughAs swift she dashes through the silvery spray;
the Ohio, for a hundred miles above, is as wide as the She moves an Ocean Queen o'er the light foam.
parent stream, and the great absorbing outlet of seventy. May angels watch, and guide her safely home!
five American rivers. Though over a thousard niles
from the Gulf of Mexico, yet the traveller sees waters The homeward bound-high beats the exulting heart,
that have come over three thousand miles beyond him, il As like a sca-bird with light gleaming wings,
and whose last force is only to be spent in the stream of Or as a gallant courser on she bounds,
the great Gulf upon the shores of Britain! The beauty And to the destined goal impatient springs.
and the sublimity of natural scenery for once seem to be The white waves part to her impetuous sway,
mingled here. The Ohio waters have flown along for And scatter diamond wreaths upon her way.
twelve hundred miles, with but one single trivial ob-
struction, at Louisville, in graceful curves, and through The homeward bound—the sailor-boy aloft
lofty banks crowned with trees of beautiful foliage. Its A bright and golden web of fancy weaves,
current has been gentle and calm, and its waters of a Sees o'er the rolling billows his loved cot,
light silvery hue, when all at once it meets the Missis- | Hears the low rustling of the forest leaves,
sippi, wild, rough, and turbid; and there, as if in The bird's blithe song amid the summer bowers,
shrinking from such an embrace, it refuses for miles to! And drinks the perfume of his garden flowers.
mingle with its stream. The heart of man can almost
feel a sympathy with the horror of the river deity. The Sees once again the dear and household band,
charming bride looks like the fabled Antiope when A father's smile, a mother's blissful tears;
struggling in the arms of Jupiter, changed into a Satyr And in the breeze that wafts him joyful on,
or a Pan. But the struggle is all in vain. The arm of. The sweet glad voices of his home he hears.
the father of rivers, if not the father of gods, is embra- | Again a truant boy o'er wood and lea,
cing her, who in his course has wedded a thousand Starts as he hears the wild ard rushing sea.
streams, though none so peerless as this. The Ohio
sees her destiny in the arms of him whose head is | Oh, I have waited for the homeward bound-
crowned on the shores of the Oregon, and whose foot | Have watched the evening star, the morning beam-
stands fixed deep in the sands of the Gulf of Mexico, | Days slowly passed, and years have waned away,
and yields at last with submission to the whirling and And hope hath faded like a midnight dream.
eddying current.
I ne'er shall see that one, from the far main,
But I must draw to a close this letter, for I have other|| 'Till all the homeward bound shall meet again.
topics of more utility, if not of more interest, to touch
EDITH.
upon. The objects of natural scenery which I have Brooklyn City, April, 1838.


CHRISTINE.
73
other
Original
(ness of Monsieur Bontonville, several pupils were ob-
CHRISTINE.*
tained, to whom I taught music, French and any thing
An humble, plain-dressed. unattended. unprotected i else required. They were not in the very refined walks
female, I arrived at the inn where the stage-coach stop-
of life, but it mattered very little to me whether noble
ped, by which I had travelled to London. After a
or roturier paid for the bread I was compelled to earn
night's rest I applied to a decent looking chambermaid
Jermaid in a way alike obnoxious to my habits, tastes and tem-
for information as to the best manner to proceed in
eed in 'per. At leisure hours, drawing became my favorite
settling myself in respectable lodgings. She smiled at
employment, and delicate fancy works, by which I hop-
the ignorance of life which my questions displayed ;,
ed ultimately to gain sufficient for my limited necessi-
but compassionating my simplicity, she engaged a hack-
ties. I wrote often to Emily Clare; and often did she
ney coachman of her acquaintance, on whose honesty
express her exceeding surprise that her brother had
and civility I might rely, to carry me to two or three
never yet called on me, although she had repeatedly
different places she recommended. Here was I. the urged him to do so; but she said he was becoming an
elegant, the accomplished, the highborn, and once care-
indolent correspondent, and after being four months
fully guarded, Christine, Countess Von Gravenstein,
from home seldom wrote ten lines to her once a week.
wrapt in a coarse travelling-cloak, seated in a corner of
Feeling mortified that he required to be urged to visit
an old half-broken hack, well filled with straw, being
me, I begged Emily to mention me no more in her let-
dragged from one narrow, mean, dirty street to another,
ters; and soon our own communications were few and
stopping at every tolerable looking dwelling which
far between, for she told me her time was fully occupied
exbibited “Lodgings to let," on its dusky windows,
in attending to the declining health of her father, that
and at intervals holding familiar colloquies on the sub-
her own was failing fast, and I could gather from the
ject with my poor driver, who being a native of that desponding tone of the last few lines I received, there
country where birth is regarded with deep reverence, was a secret sorrow preying on both, which I feared
and whose acute people quickly discover the truth might
truth might be attributed to that young and worshipped
or falsehood, of pretensions to it. The man treated |
me as if I had been a Duchess surrounded by troops of
For six months I had been in London, when one eve.
menials; but seeing there was little chance of my being
ning hastening home from giving a lesson to one of my
suited before night, he thought he might venture an ad-li pupils, as I crossed through a retired square, two half-
vice, and taking off his broken rimmed hat he began inebriated young men laughing and whispering over-
“If my lady, bein' as she looks something is a fur-
noi | took me, and in passing, rudely pushed me, while one
rener herself. would have a libin' to lodge with them l pulling off my bonnet, said—“Let me see your face,
know as dacent a couple as any in Lunnun, in a side
little one !" the other started back from the glare of the
street, ma'am, by a square, an' a nate house. he's a lamp-light, under which they stood, and exclaimed
dancin'-masther, and ud shoot her intirely."
“Miss Gravenstein! Allen, do not be rude-this lady
“ Take me there, if you please," I replied; “tired | is a friend of my sister."
to death, I will be glad to find any place, if the people
Je! “Pretty friends your sister must have, if they ramble
be bul civil.”
about in twilight through London, like this one," he
“Ah, thin, its thim that is civil to a dog, savin' ver li rejoined, sneeringly..
presence, my lady, and here goes," so giving a lively!
il
"Allen, you shall answe
“Allen, you shall answer for this. Good evening, sir.
smack to his jaded horses, we set off at their greatest
ir oropter I shall, with your permission, Miss Gravenstein, see
possible speed, and after nearly an hour's drive, halted
you safe home.”
before a very small house, in a very narrow street of the
“ Thank you, Mr. Clare," I said, as trembling with
West End.
fear, surprise and the pleasure of once more seeing
As my good-natured Irish driver had foreseen, I was
him, no matter how or where, I put my arm in his, and
suited at once. The room (for I could afford to hire
we proceeded to my lowly dwelling. We talked of our
but one) was small and poorly furnished, up two pair : unexpected meeting; he excused himself for not having
of stairs, and looking on the walls and roofs of dark discovered me before ; we spoke of the town, its amuse-
clustered houses and close dreary courts, but it was
ments, its discomforts, its motly crowds-every thing,
clean, low-priced, and my host and hostess the perfec-
but of tirnes past: the Grange, his sister, his father,
tion of French politeness and kindliness. I almost felt
his cousin, all seemed interdicted; on these he never
as if I had at length a home, when after being assisted
touched; and when I alluded to them, in any way, he
to regulate my weekly expenses by Madame Bonton-l changed to some trivial subject of discourse. This was
ville, engaging the tidy maid to procure every thing strange; but, still, it was not difficult to find the key to
necessary for my daily wants, and having put away my the
mu the ghost-chamber of bis wild and guilty heart; for
luggage as I most conveniently could, I sat down before
that he had become a foolish, misled fellow-creature,
a small bright fire to think over the strange events of was easily discovered by less acute observation than
the last few weeks, and meditate on my future inten-
mine. And yet, wayward as I was, I loved him still,
tions.
perhaps more, for I know in his dereliction from the
Through the exertions, and indeed unsolicited kind-
precise path of duty, was the certainty he could never
become the husband of her he adored, and for whose
• Continued from page 30.
sake, he had been apparently sacrificed.


74
CHRISTINE.
.
I knew my French hostess would not be so punctili- || to us, though far away from the dear home you ought to
ous as an English woman, about my inviting a young love so well."
gentleman to enter my apartment; and I asked Elliot “Ought, aye, ought-there is a great deal hidden
to follow me to my little chamber. By the light of my under that, Miss Gravenstein. I see you are not so
small lamp, I could now examine his appearance, and naive as might be supposed; but remember, if we are
note the striking change a few short months had produ to meet as friends, no old times and no advice; I am
ced in this poor boy. He was much taller, his form | sick of advice; I detest it, and whoever gives il-but
was muscular, and his conntenance that of premature, not you, Miss Gravenstein-you look too amiable, too
manhood. No more blushing, no more shy, stealing exqusitely kind, too spirituelle to give one much good
glances, no quiet smile of unobtrusive humor lurked advice.”
about his firm, curled lips. The eyes opened on you, And laughingly he bowed, and left me astonished and
bold and daringly; the brow slightly knit, or suddenly bewildered to find a hoy, a simple, unformed country
arching contemptuously; the check pale and not so youth, spring into bold, reckless, dissipated manhood
full; the hair darker and falling in heavy masses over making me blush, and tremble, and shrink from his free
the beautiful head; and the erect and haughty bearing gaze with the timidity of an awkward school girl, in-
seemed to set all at defiance who might presume to op- stead of bearing myself with the composure of a self-
pose or contradict his determined spirit: determined supported, self-guided, independent woman.
not to good, not to purity, not to the safe, but narrow
way of a self-denying will—but proud of its disregard | Several months elapsed, and I continued to follow the
of wisdom's precepts, of its dauntless grappling with humble routine of my tedious avocations uninterrupted-
moral danger, of its superiority in evil, giving a pre- ' ly; hurrying rapidly, from morning till night, through
eminence to one so young, and of late, so innocent, crowded streets, unnoticed and unregarded, to teach
similar to that of the archangel ruined. He had gain- over and over the same weary lessons, for which neither
ed much in ease and elegance of manner; it was hardly the voice of cheering or grateful approbation, nor the
to be expected, from his associates, that it could be so; bounteous hand of courteous wealth, rewarded me.
but Elliot was born a gentleman, and had he not been, | During this time, Elliot had favored me with two or
there was nature's aristocracy about him, which trans- three formal visits; and at each meeting I could per.
muted the common forms of middle life, to the refined ceive a deeper gloom on his brow, a more haggard ex-
gold of polished circles.
pression of the eye, and an apparent gradual indiffe-
He glanced carelessly around my room, and sitting rence to respectability of appearance.
down, said
It was early winter. The sun's slanting rays were
“ You find me changed, Miss Gravenstein.”
vainly endeavoring to pierce the dense obscurity of a
“Oh, very, very much you seem not as you used to London fog that veiled that multitude of busy streets
be. You are a man in appearance and manner.” He and stately palaces, and homes of happier mediocrity,
smiled.
and dwellings of misery in its misty foldings. I sat at
“ Yes, youth is gone-gone for ever. I left it in the my small window trying to see a speck of blue in the
woods of the old Grange, Miss Gravenstein."
sky, the very little bit of sky I could discern above the
I sighed: he had not hinted about his home before. | roofs and chimnies of the surrounding houses; and think.
“Have you not heard of your family lately, Mr. Clare ?" || ing, as the last gleam of sunshine faded in the deepen-
“Yes, I have—they are ailing, dull, fretful. Ah, the ing twilight, if perchance a star might be visible to look
country is a sad place to grow old in-don't you think on my loneliness with its soft, though distant bright-
ness—when I heard a heavy foot on the stairs, and pre-
"No: I would have staid there for ever, could I have senily, the door flung widely open, entered Elliot Clare,
chosen for myself."
in a disordered garb, his eyes burning as with unearthly
“No, no, Miss Gravenstein," he said, smiling; “tell fire, his cheek hollow, but marked with the inward fe-
me not that fine tale. I have heard all from my sister, ver's scarlet slain—and through his brown, and parched,
and you might have as well remained in the country as and open lips, his clenched teeth in ghasily whiteness
not; but there was some little private inducement to | shining.
come to town, confess-nay, you blush-I ain right, Without salutation he flung himself on a chair by the
and, as a trusty friend, you might tell to me your little | fire, exclaiming "Well, Miss Gravenstein, you seem
mystery; do, I am growing old, and curious, of course.” || not pleased to see me !"
He looked at me boldly. My cheeks would crimson: || “Mr. Clare, it is strange-this visit—this hour-I
but he did not turn away and ask pardon as he used, know not what to think, nor what to say."
when it had so happened before. I felt that I must be “Well, then, I will tell you without thinking; I will
more cautious, more reserved; he respected me, but he tell you all--all-the black total. I will tell you why I
could not love me, and I was determined not to lose his come to you, to the only one, perhaps, on the wide
esteem, worthless as he had become.
earth who would at this moment receive me. I know
“We will not discuss the cause of my being in Lon- your true heart, your warm feelings; I know, if there
don, if you please, Mr. Clare; but permit me to hope be one drop of consolation left in the bitter cup of life,
you will sometimes visit me, and we can refresh our old you can administer it; though we have been, and never
liking or antipathies to persons and places once familiarshall be, more than friends, I have found it wiser trust-
so ?"


CHRISTINE.
ing to friendship than to love. Oh! madness-hideous l'pation the little property my father had was sold: he is
madness! but patience, patience-I must tell you—I dead-Emily gone to reside at Ivybrook on her rela-
must be calm-I must wind up my courage to the des- tions' bounty; Grace, the happy bride of Mr. Heath-
perale feat of laying my injuries and my crimes before cote-and your faithful friend and now devoted servant,
you."
a condemned, disgraced, dishonored pauper. Will you
He pushed the curls from his damp forehead, and give me one hour's shelter after that, Christine? Will
lifting a glass of water from the table beside him, swal- you not send me forth to the ruin and opprobrium which
lowed it with convulsive eagerness.
awaits me ?"
“Ha!-water and I were old friends, but we have | “No, Elliot, no; with all your follies—it may be
become sad strangers in London. Now, see how calm crimes, (yes, I must admit-crimes,) still, I offer all I
I can be, and listen compassionately, Christine ; I aban can to you; the little I possess is yours; and, if you
don all hope, if there be no pity for me in your gentle will but make an effort, you have time enough, with
breast."
your talents and energies, to retrieve your fortune. Do
Oh, Heaven! what it was to hear such words, at such not turn away so mournfully-throw aside the evil habits
a time, fall from the sinful, but beloved lips of the un- which must as yet be burthensome rather than pleasur-
fortunate man, corrupted through the influence of vio- able to one so good, so innocently brought up, as you
lent passions, unrestrained by the soft and holy ties of were."
the domestic circle, from which he had been so unwise “ It is no use, no use. She is gone! I have been
ly thrust forth to the allurements of the world and its my own destroyer! I went with my eyes open into the
flowery perdition.
Ivortex of all misery, more from a disposition to revenge
“Mr. Clare, I do not pretend to understand what I myself on my uncle's obstinacy, and to prove he was
has thus disturbed you ; but if I can alleviate-if I can wrong in refusing an unsullied heart and modest fortune
advise, or assist you, you will find me a true friend, and -than from any positive desire to mingle in the gross
no very rigid censor.”
amusements, the disgusting pleasures of those with
“I know it, Christine, and let us throw form aside; I whom I filled my soul. And now, wasted in spirit-
let us give up that vile remnant of our bondage at least broken in constitution, by secret grief and gnawing des-
-call me Elliot, let me hear that familiar sound once pair, more than excesses, what remains for me to do,
more-God knows it may not be so long any one will but to lie down in some wretched nook, and with my
have to say it! But I must go on: why, I came here, life atone for its weak and willul errors."
you know it was with a determination to surmount “Say not so, Elliot, this is not manhood : with youth
every difficulty, and acquire, as soon as possible, the and an unstained name, you have still a fair field before
riches I was sent to seek. Ah, the dreams of youth, you. Thank God you have been preserved from worse!"
what are they? The life I was forced to undertake was. “What worse, Christine ? The law may not be ablo
totally unsuited to me; I could not bind myself down to condemn me, but do I not know I am a parricide as
eternally to that cursed desk and those horrible books. effectually as if I had committed the deed with these
Oh, the rows of figures, the ever-multiplying and sense- two hands ?”
less cyphers, they are branded on my soul, or burning He shivered, and asked for more water; I felt his
before my soul night and day—but no matter! The hand, it was burning, the red spot on either cheek was
principal was angry; he remonstrated, I replied, saying deepening; and he bent over the fire, while every limb
100 much, perhaps, and enough to have me at once cast was trembling with the premonitory chill of fever. I
on my own means. This was unknown at home. I thought saw he was not fit to be turned from our door in such a
I might come out as an author and surprise them by-the state, and on such a night too, without a friend or home
coinage of my brain ;' it was tried. I met wild fellows to receive him. Unable to resist the promptings of my
-much wit and well-filled heads and empty pockets; we heart, I ran down to Madame Bontonville, beseeching
assimilated well together. I made draft after draft on her to let him have a room, and promising to pay what
the poor old father, until he too began to remonstrate : ever expenses might be incurred on his account. She
I thought that folly in him, for at least I might spend looked concerned, but objected greatly to keeping him
my own fortune, and so I told him. They besought me on any terms.
to return-no-the cup of Circe was at my lips and no Il “Il a l'air distingué, c'est vrai, mais il n'a pas l'air
one to dash it away. Oh, Christine, facilis descensus respectable. Ah, my dear, you must be too yong to
Averni-but that you cannot know, all pure and excel. i make such doing wis un roué comme ça. Mais atten-
lent as you are! However, from bad to worse, I com- dez voila Monsieur Bontonville—what you say
menced gambling; I was fortunate, and supplied my- ami, à cette pauvre petite? She vish to take her
self with luxuries for sometime; but still I kept draining yong Monsieur Clare in keeping—to put him up in one
the meadows of the old Grange. At last-well, I must room and pay for him-what you say ?”
come to it-I must say it-Emily wrote that my father “Ah, ah! Je ne dis rien, mais je pense beaucoup.
was dying; my uncle Gordon had renounced me; and Mademoiselle it is onwell for you to put moch care on
Grace, (do you not smile when you hear me name her dis yong man; I have see him veri moch, jomping upon
so composedly?) that fair Grace, was to marry the rich de streets wid no nice personnes. Ah, ah-dat is not
London tradesman; is it not brave, prithee! A friend pretty ; better for leave him to go outside de door-he
of the family has since informed me, to supply my dissi- vill do no misshef so—but if"


76
CHRISTINE.
“Ah, Monsieur Bontonville, he is sick-perhaps dy- | accents of tender gratitude, and that white, transparent
ing; his father is dead-his sister very ill; he has no hand held mine in its fond, but feeble pressure.
friend, no relation, but myself, and do not refuse my | I never let one of his relations learn the illness or situ-
petition-do not, dear Monsieur and Madame. I will | ation of Elliot, until he was quite re-established. I
allend him, I will pay for him. Be not afraid, you wrote to Emily once, saying her brother was not in good
shall lose nothing by your kindness: believe me, I am health, but I understood he was with persons anxious
actuated solely by compassion and a knowledge of his for his welfare. By communicating the truth, I would
forlorn condition."
perhaps, have had to transfer my new-found treasure-
“Ah, ah-c'est bien vrai," replied Monsieur Bonton- and though I scarce could hope to procure him suste-
ville, with an incredulous smile. And I am moch sorri, nance a month longer, yet the happiness I tasted in see-
if dis Monsieur be sick; but how vill you have care for ing him almost my own, was too exquisite to resign until
him, and for your pupils aussi ? Ah, Mademoiselle, his own decision rendered it impossible longer to guard
you must give one or oder away; but nevare mind to him in his loving captivity. For as his strength return-
niglit-let him stay, Madame Bontonville vill permit, I ed, he, of course, considered himself bound to make
dare to say, and make you at your mind.”
exertion ; and when he told me he would now enter on
“ Yes, yes-he shall have de little closet by your own life with a strong purpose of securing wealth and repu-
chambre, Mademoiselle."
tation, I thanked heaven in my truthful heart, believing
“Ah, he shall have my own room, if you please, and
through my means, he would go forth, to run unwearied
I will take the other, for I know he cannot be removed the race of honorable enterprise.
from the fire; and thank you, thank you both, for your My small sum with Golding & Co. had been greatly
exceeding goodness—believe me, I can never forget | lessened by the expenses consequent on his illness. I
this."
now placed the remaining part in his hands, grieving
"Ah, well, if he so sick, I vill fetch de doctor. It is that it was so trifling; and when, after much persuasion,
veri good for give him de tisan, Mademoiselle. Ah, he accepted it as a loan, he said, unless he could amply
yes, veri—Madame Bontonville vill make you compre- repay all I had done for him, we should never meet
hend that. Ah, yes."
again. This was on the evening before he left me; and
Grateful and delighted to have this kind couples' con- I entreated him not to say so, but, at least, to let me
sent to save, as I firmly believed, poor Elliot from utter sometimes see him, and cheer him by my sympathy, and
destruction, I returned to him, and found his weakness the interest I should feel for his success in wbatsoever
so much increased, that he was amenable as a child, and he might undertake. No-no-he was obstinate; he
willing to do whatever I desired. After some faint op-felt the burthen of being so deeply indebted to one, on
position, he yielded to my insisting that my room should whom he had no claim. Truly miserable did I feel, as
henceforth be his; and, aided by Madame and the bidding me farewell, in a tone of melancholy affection, he
maid, I placed him in the bed, gave him some cooling | said-
drink, engaged the maid to sit with him and to call me “If better times await me, we shall meet again,
if necessary during the night, and then retired to my Christine; but it would be neither for your advantage
little closet. Fervently I prayed that I might be not nor mine, to see each other, in our present circum-
only instrumental in preserving his life, but also instances.”
renovating his principles and virtues. He was thrown! “Elliot," I inquired, “what do you mean? After
singularly on my charity—what I had long secretly desir. being so long together, so long as my brother, what could
ed was at length arrived ; not indeed as I had imagined be injurious to either, in your occasionally coming to tell
it would be in my silly day-dreams; but alone and de-me of your proceedings ?”
serted, without aught of kindred near to comfort him, Il “I cannot exactly say what I mean; I hardly know
could now be every thing; his nurse, his companion, his myself. Believe me, all that man can feel of grateful, re-
protectress, his friend, for in that little word, was com-speciful attachment for woman, I do for you. Heaven,
prised all I ever hoped from the gratitude or attachment what do I not owe you? Where should I have been,
of Elliot Clare.
had you abandoned me? Think you, I can ever forget
And from this time I devoted myself to him. Through you have been my life of life, in its darkest and drea-
long weeks of fever and delirium, through the slow re- riest moments? But I will not tire you with repetitions
covery and the certain convalescence, never did my pa- of my thanks; only let me assure you, it is for the best,
tience waver, or my affection suffer dimunition. To set that we should not meet, even as acquaintances, if I
by his bed, watch the changes in his faded beauty, wet must remain here, and become a dependant on the jus-
the parched lips, or bathe the burning forehead, or whis- tice of some mercantile man, who will bestow the pit-
per soft, nay, even tender murmurs to his ear, became tance which purchases my best energies, grudgingly, as
my daily and nightly duty. I had a steady, experienced if a beggar's dole. Should I ever attain what I still
woman hired, who relieved me from the common fatigue fondly hope, you shall be the first to hear of me, but not
of attendance; but all those gentle cares, those deli- || till then."
cate observances that soothe and solace the couch ofl “but tell me, only tell me, Elliot, what you intend;
pain, belonged to me; and rich was my reward when to what do you look with expectations so sanguine ?"
those beautiful eyes once more recognized me with mild “I must not-I dare not. Wild as you may have
inquiry, and those pale lips again breathed my name in deemed me, this would but confirm you in that opinion.


CHRISTINE.
77
Ah, Christine, if Grace Gordon had been like you, or if | no caraktere, à present. Monsieur Clare, he take him
I had dared to aspire to your favor, in those many years all off; mais pardonnez-vous avez la jolie tournure,
before the blight fell on my spirit! But shrink not, un pied comme la Cendrillon, et beaucoup de gràce-
Christine ; do not fear importunity on such a subject. vit my teach you learn de make of your steps à plomb,
Imagine not, dear one, I would offer you a broken for- et peut élre; you come to de grande danse d'ailleurs.
tune, and a sullied honor. I feel my own unworthiness I vill ave great care you shall come on, in dis proffes-
too deeply; and, more than all, my heart is bound in ice. sion, if you have veri much wish—”
Fear me not, Christine; I speak to you, as to a sister. il “Ah oui, ma chère,” interrupted Madame; “voyez.
With me, the memory of love has expired, amid the I too can make le pas de zephyr-le pas de Vestris-
ruins and the ashes of its desecrated temple."
pas de Basque, et royez une pirouette comme ça!"
Faint and weeping, I folded a shawl around my head, And she commenced whirling round her little dumpling
and concealed my agitation as best I could-tinding, figure, while le mari clapped his hands in ecstasy, ex-
after all the sweet anticipations his first words had claiming-
awakened, he was, though not indifferent and cold, as “ Voyez, mademoiselle--and I made her myself!--
formerly, yet distant as ever, from becoming the light voyez qu'elle grace, qu'ell legèreté-oh, magnifique !
and sunshine of my solitary and clouded existence. Mais ma chère, pour quoi n'avez vous pas un petit
And thus we parted. And thus, after months of anxi-plus-de-pantalon? Ah, mademoiselle, I vill make
ety, privation, and unreal, unsubstantial dreamings of you too-I vill teach you one grande sensation-ah,
felicity, I turned my thoughts to my own affairs, and veri pretty!"
found I was indeed a bankrupt, in puree, in heart, and When poor Madame was tired with her exhibition,
eren in name.
we discussed the matter more composedly; and I gave
My good friends, Monsieur and Madame Bontonville,' them some little specimens of my agility, which so en-
had refrained from alarming me on what might be the chanted Monsieur, he would scarce lay down bis fiddle,
consequences of my exclusive devotion to this young or stop from his initiatory lesson, until repeatedly warn-
man, from their firm belief, that, on his recovery, weed by the gaudy time-piece of the lateness of the hour.
should be united in marriage, which would, of course, 1 In the solitude of my new, indeed, desolate chamber,
silence the invidious remarks passed on my conduct by I ruminated over the changes of my short life; and the
the other lodgers, and the few pupils who had given chances which had thrown me so utterly forlorn on the
themselves the trouble to inquire after me. But when rushing tide of an unfriendly world, urged forward by
my long attendance terminated in a separation so sin- the current of circumstances, yet with no haven in
gular, even they began to wonder; and when I applied prospect, but the silent, unwept, nameless grave. Why
to Monsieur Bontonville to enable me to find some other should I spurn at the simple kindness of Monsieur
pupils, to replace those I had relinquished, he assured Bontonville? Why should I hold myself above what a
me it would be impossible. What was I to do? My mysterious Providence seemed to have made my des-
drawings and fancy work could be disposed of for little tiny? Degraded, despised, as the occupation, I had
more than the materials cost me; and how was I to dis almost chosen, was considered, there was no reason
charge some debts I had incurred, and support myself why I should not preserve my integrity, as intact, and
for the future?
pure, as if still guarded in the palaces of my ancestors.
“Ah, ah! c'est vrai," said Monsieur, sagaciously ! True, the difficulty was immeasurably more, but the
nodding his head, and tapping his snuff-box,_“I notglory proportionably great, although unknown to any
know, mademoiselle, how you vill make live. Mais human being, but the secret treasure of my own ap-
comment, ce vilain monsieur ne veut pas rous épouser ?proving conscience. I had also become regardless of
Ab, 'ris veri ill-veri horrible. Oh, it vas not pretty- whatever might occur, if the mere necessities of life
non-de yong ladees vill not have you for teach could be provided without absolute disgrace. And after
because 'tis say, you know someing, you make un liai- a time, when I had become accustomed to my business,
son. Mais, je n'en crois rien moi. I learn bettare , the stage trickery, the glittering deceptiveness—the
also, no matter-never mind,-if vill come de talk, de Aimsy gaudiness of the tinselled beauties along with me
noise, why it most; but I have veri fine thought-you-the rush, the haste to be arrayed, and ready at the
dance tres bien, mademoiselle, n'est-ce pas ! You moment wanted—the cold huddling together, in our
know, semetime I make assistance to the ballét of the common room, as we separated, every minute particular
opera. Ah, veri well—now you come on; we want had a novelty for me, which carried away my thoughts
often, mani, oh, veri mani figuranti-vous entendez? from my own sad fate, and left me litele time, either to
Eb bien-now you see, I could not make you one great mourn over the past, or anticipate for the future.
danseuse from de forst, but wid des leçons, you vill be' And well would it be for those, who speculate on the
veri good as une des corps de ballet, une figurante. worthlessness of human nature—who reason over the
Ah, you find that well-ah, ah, veri pretty, n'est.ce determined wickedness, which chooses evil, where good
pas ?”
is also optional--of the moral blindness, which, hurrying
“Oh, it may do-but in that station, so low, so de- forward to destruction, passes unheeded the barriers of
spised, as those figuranti are, how should I ever en-decorum and virtue, -were they to study in the wild,
dure ?"
but wondrous school of philosophy, which may be found
“Mais comment ma chére mademoiselle-you ave behind the pasteboard temples, and paper groves, and
10


78
CHRISTINE.
all the mockery of paint, gilding, and chaotic confusion satin cloak the gorgeous attire which adorned her full
of a theatre;-where every temptation to vice abounds, form, followed, leaning on the arm of-Gerald Nugent.
and yet where so many, even there, preserve the chari- | The contrast-think for a moment of the contrast; she,
ties of our nature as fresh, and glowing, as those in the his wife, (that I learned afterwards,) brilliant as an idol
safe and sheltered seclusion of private life, of which of an Eastern temple, wreath-guarded, and love-lended,
these poor denizens of a little world know, but as the leaving one palace of pleasure, to seek new delights,
tales of fairy land. How much truth, and benevolence, il new homage, in another; and I, wrapt in a dingy cloak,
and simple-mindedness, and christian, aye christian, || my head covered with a slouching bonnet, carrying in
forbearance, are exercised among those very, very lowly gloveless hand the scanty earnings of the week, as a
beings, on whom, in our palmy state of wealth, and poor posture-girl, shrinking from observation, amid a
honor, we but look, as creatures born, and nurtured, 10 crowd of servants, on the cold damp pavement, withont
minister to the thirst for amusement of the pallid, and friend or relative, faint and weary, creeping to my
sated children of prosperity.
garret-home, and there, without fire to warm me, or
But I mean not to write a homily in defence of the | food to refresh me, to seek rest in my humble bed, until
theatre, or the ballet; I merely intreat indulgence for the dawn required me to renewed exertions in my call-
the profession, since, for some time, I have to appear asing. And I might have been in her place-1, by right
one of its humble votaries.
of birth, if not of fortune, should have sparkled among
My earnings were small, but they sufficed to place me the gems of youth and beauty, in that very circle from
above depending on charity. I had not much to do, as which I was, by untoward destiny, so cruelly exiled.
my figure was so petite, that I was generally placed in a Ed io anche sono nobile ! But brief and sudden darted
groupe, in some airy posture, with tamborine, or wreath, these thoughts like lightning through my brain, for a
while the superior deities of the pantomime Boated rude push threw me forward, and, slipping, I fell, my
around in their graceful twinings, and with bland smi-head striking the lower step of the pillared entrance.
lings, and looks of delusive witchery, called down thun- Instantly, angry and kind words were spoken, gentle
ders of applause. Monsieur Bontonville had not influ arms raised me-my old bonnet fell back, and the glare
ence enough to give me any distinction among the num- of light was on my face-my eyes were closed, but I
bers of figuranti; all much prettier, and many more knew the touch of Gerald's hand- I felt it was Gerald's
agile, or more graceful, than myself. Still, he consoled breath upon my cheek, and I heard, what none other did,
me; a time would come, he hoped, when my abilities his shuddering whisper, as he closely pressed me,
would be brought forward; and as he found I had a “ Heaven and earth-Christine-Christine-my lost
good voice, he recommended my continuing the cultiva-oneand thus, and here !"
tion of it, as both accomplishments might in some cha Curious servants officiously gathered round, but he
racter be united to advantage. He usually accompa- 1 ordered them off, as he saw me reviving; and telling his
nied me home, when the ballet was concluded; and, friend (who had, as I said, just preceded him and the
with paternal care, protected me, on all occasions, from countess, and who now came towards him,) to take care
the obtrusive rudeness of the young roués behind the of the ladies, and lend him his carriage for an Lour,
scenes, who presumed on the mean and contemptible | heedless of the remarks of those near, he lifted me into
station of the inferior members of the corps de ballet. | the chariot, and in a few moments, according to my half-
One evening, some misunderstanding had detained | uttered directions, we were whirling to my humble lodg.
Monsieur Bontonville, and my cheeks hot with paint, my | ing.
limbs aching with a continuation of overstrained pos- | It would be impossible to detail the inquiries, the ex.
tures, sick of the noise and bustle around me, I set out | planations, of our short conversation; the horror, the
by myself, as our little dwelling was not far from the rage, of Gerald, at this discovery of his mother's deser-
opera-house. In going through a gloomy aristocratic | lion of me; she, the unfeeling, false woman, had assured
square, I had to pass a splendid mansion, from whose him I was in a safe asylum, and for my sake, as well as
windows lights innumerable were gleaming, and before his own, she wished the secret of that asylum to be pre-
the door lounged groups of saucy menials, and poor served inviolate. And when he would insist on enter-
gazers at the magnificence within; and rows of coro-ing my apartment, to see as he said, with his own eyes,
netted carriages gave evidence of the dignity of the par- the misery to which I had been reduced, his high and
takers in the gaiety of those festive saloons, from which tender spirit could no longer control the vehemence of
music and odours came mingled, like breathings of para- his feelings; he covered his face with his hands, and,
dise, to the faint, and hungry, and woe-worn passers- throwing himself on the low cushionless settee, every fibre
by.
trembled with agony, and drops, not, oh, not disgraceful
As I went forward, hoping to glide through the crowd to his manhood, burst through his closed fingers from
unnoticed, there was a backward move from the steps, his eyes !
and “the Countess of Archdale's carriage" was called “ Christine-Christine-favorite and pupil of my
for, by several voices. I had a full view of the elegant youth-idol of my manhood, was it to such a home as
woman to whom, as I conjectured, this title belonged. this, they consigned you, when, by falsehood and pre-
A gentleman, with a slight looking girl on his arm, pre-tences too base not to be at last discovered, they sepa-
ceded her; and she, this haughty countegg, a tall, large rated me from you for ever! Why did you not seek me?
eyes, superb blonde, scarcely caring to screen with her Why did you not at least write to your friend, your early


CHRISTINE.
79
on."
guardian, your-oh, not beloved, but still your loving, lof unmanly insolence? Never-never! Say what you
Gerald I”
i will, I must rescue ycu, in despite of yourself; and if,
“ How could I, my lord? I knew you were married. after all, no devotion, no humility, can win your love,
I knew my lady desired there should be no intercourse ; at least, wealth and all its appliances must, must belong
and how could I tell if you would have listened to my to the only being I ever worshipped with an unchanged,
complaint, or if you would have been willing to excuse undying passion."
the error which occasioned the loss of her ladyship's “ Believe it not, Gerald-believe it not-I will not
patronage-I thought of course she had told you every accept of aught from your hands, no, nor your mother's,
thing."
while I have strength or capacity to gain a morsel of
“ She told me nothing, Christine-she knew I would bread. This is not pride, Gerald, but a just sense of
believe nothing against you-you, whom I have loved | what I owe to you, and to my own fair name-perhaps
since firet a little helpless child;- you won all hearts by you may say, not so perfect now, being in collision with
your forlorn and orphan beauty ;-you, to be unworthy much that is contemned, much that deserves the dis-
of my regard! Oh, never, never Christine-only from credit attached to it; but still, Gerald, while you live,
your own lips could I believe such a treason, and scarce you shall think me worthy of a better fale; still, from
even from them! But we part no more :-bound as I your proud pre-eminence, in no moment of future pru-
am to one, fair enough, and good enough, for any dis- dence, shall you have the right to despise me. I claim
engaged heart, I cannot do now, as I ought, wben the place in your regard, as pure and stainless as when
weakly yielding to old family regulations, and the per- first you received me from the storm and contention, the
suasions of my mother, I imagined I could live without | suffering and horrors of the captured city, and the battle-
you. Oh, Christine, what a life it has been-what a field!"
dreary, dull, sunless, airless vacuity, has been this pri- | Fervent were his feelings, and many the loving 80-
son life, deprived of you! And I thought to live with. || phistries he urged to induce me to consent that some
out you !-and I dreamed there could be happiness even trilling addition might be made to my present
where you were not !--and I believed you could not love slender finances; but I was obdurate, and as decisive in
me, and I left you—my own, my sweet, my cherished persisting, he could not, consistently with his station in
one, to such tender mercies as these! Heaven-Hea- life, and my respectability, appear as my visitor. Here
ven-there is judgment for this !"
we parted-and I may confess, I could not have so ob-
“My lord, my lord, in mercy have patience!”
stinately resisted the proffered liberality of Gerald, had
“My lord!" he reiterated, pressing my hands between I not dreaded that a shadow of wavering miglit commit
his, and turning his soft large tearful eyes on me, while me with one, for whose return to me I looked daily and
a smile of inexpressible sweetness was on his lips, hourly, with a wildly passionate, impatient feeling,
"My lord, to you, Christine !-your brother, my little strong in proportion to its almost hopelessness.
Christine, your own Gerald, now, and for ever! Say it, I Nevertheless, in various ways the influence of my early
say Gerald, dearest, let me hear it again-again-as no friend operated on my fortunes. To that I attributed
lips could ever ulter it but yours.”
the increased attention, and, at length, deference, of
“Then, Gerald, my brother Gerald, hear me. Low Monsieur and Madame Bontonville. The improvement
and mean as my situation may appear, its misery could in my hostess' lodgings, extending in particular to my
be increased; and you, if you have indeed pity for me, apartments, which, she declared, she could no longer
must not injure the peace of either your wife or mother, permit me to occupy as they were, und insisting I should
by seeing me on terms of open friendship, and clandes- have additional ones, as air and room were necessary
tinely I will not receive you. I can take nothing from for the exercise of my professional studies. And having,
you; my expenses are trilling, and I can, while I have as she averred, a large sum bequeathed to her, she in-
health, support myself; but, Gerald, hear me patiently sisted on furnishing the chambers tastefully and comfort-
-we meet no more ;-it would neither be honorable inably; saying, as she regarded me almost as her child,
you, nor wise in me, to renew the intimacy of happier she must expend a little of her newly acquired fortune in
years, when under the guardianship of your mother, and arrangements for my convenience.
the protection of your home."
Even to the opera-house, the provident watchfulness
“Be silent, Christine! I hear you not-I heed you of Gerald's attachment penetrated. I was no longer
not. Think you, I have but found my treasure, to cast crowded among the other friendless and slighted figu-
it away again? You know I will not : womanly and ranti. The ballet-master found something peculiarly
prudent as your counsels are, they will avail nothing elegant in my movements and performance. And it
with me. Could I leave you in this horrible condition | happened just then, a sort of mixed German opera and
in this cold and comfortless shelter, hardly excluding ballet was brought out, and I was required to take a part
the bitter winds and nipping frosts of winter-leave which was, in truth, exactly suited to me: it was a
you to struggle with the worthless, and the vilo, in your Zingara maiden, who had some wild carols to sing, and
wretched occupation, an humble suppliant for counte- her native dance to perform. In this I was very per-
nance and favor, from the hirelings and slaves of the rect, and, as every unbiassed judgment must have ad.
fantastic, fickle-minded public ?-wandering alone thro' || mitted, I looked the character to admiratia
streets, as to-night, to be thrust aside by the rude or This operatic ballet was hailed wi
careless passenger, or to be polluted by the base touch | plause. Even with the most favored


80
VISIT TO A STAR.
vided the palm of public approbation. And vain as I !
Original.
had ever been disposed to feel on the score of personal i
VISIT TO A STAR.
merit, I had now a fair excuse for so being. Compli-
ments of every description were heaped on me; rich ''Twas midnight-and I watched the clear bright moon,
presents, in jewels, and sums of no trifling amount, from
Rise sweetly in her calm unclouded noon,
undiscovered patrons; letters of a tender, but equivocal
4. And all without looked pure as Eden might,
nature, from many a noble hand; and from one, too
| Ere sin was known or misery could blight.
illustrious for his gifts to be refused, I received an ex-
Bright danced the dew on yon sweet sleeping isle,
quisitely appointed equipage, well worthy the accept-
Like tears of joy that half conceal a smile,
ance of a priestess of Terpsichore.
Ere the broad day of bliss with warmer ray,
My salary was now very large; so ample, that I de-
Chase the half melancholy drops away.
termined to furnish a house, and take my kind friends,
Oh! t'was a scene Apollo well might love,
the Bontonvilles, as superintendents of my establish-
And as I gazed methought from the still grove,
ment, and protectors of myself. Occasionally I saw
His heavenly lyre was sounding on mine ear,
Gerald ; sometimes behind the scenes, sometimes in the
Farther the music spread, and soft and clear
street; and often, lately, paying inexplicable morning
Each lengthened note did softly melt away,
visits to Madame. I never remained in her drawing-
$ Beneath the bright moon's calm and sleeping ray.
room a moment when he was there ; and, at last, I
Oh, how my soul was borne away intwined
expressed so decidedly my dislike of this intrusion, that
In ev'ry tone that floated on the wind !
he had to leave off calling on my duenna, as she was
My eyes unconscious sought a sweet repose
jestingly entitled, from her being continually by my side
On the calm lake, when from its waters rose
in the intervals of performance.
A form of female loveliness, so bright,
How deeply, how fondly Gerald regarded me, I was
So heav'nly that I knew the sight
fully conscious. I knew that I was ever present to his
Was ne'er before to mortals given. I rose
thoughts; that his existence seemed as if devoted to but
And would have fled, that I might not expose
one object; and yet that very excess of love became dis-
To fairy view one who had dared t'intrude
tasteful: though I had precluded him from all expres-
Upon her midnight hours, and rest his rude
sion of it personally, and only through its powerful influ- Unwelcome gaze on her. But the lov'd sound
ence on my now distinguished position, I was still cer- low
was still cer. Of those sweet notes had ceas'd to breathe around,
tain it was unchanged. On one of my benefit nights, l1 And oh, she spoke! The words sunk on mine ear
around a diamond tiara, which was handed to me by my So thrillingly they linger ever there.
maid, I found the following verses; whose they were, « Mortal.” she cried “I ont' have marked the sigh
my heart well understood; and cold as it was to the To wing thy way to yon bright star on high,
writer, and still bewildered in its foolish imaginings And I, a wand'ring spirit of the air,
about him, who had so evidently deserted me, sadness Have deign'd to hear thy wish and guide thee there."
for a few minutes overwhelined me, and I wept bitterly
Around my feet a rolling clou:l was spread,
as I perused them:
And thro' the midnight air we swiftly fled,
While others crowd around to gaze,
Far, far away where nought but spirits tread.
I humbly stand alone,
Nor dare my drooping eyelids raise
Oh, with what rapture throbb'd my joyful breast
To thee, the worshipped one.
When first I saw our cloudy chariot rest
With gesture bold, and accent free,
Gay words they careless speak;
O'er the pure surface of an amber lake,
I shrink, and shudder, when I see
Their breath profane thy cheek.
Whose lightest waves sweet music ever wake.
“Look, favor'd mortal," spoke my airy guide,
One calls for music-and thy song
Is poured with ready skill;
And stretched her white arm o'er the amber tide,
I seek, amid th' applauding throng,
“See, yonder in her majesty appears
To hide my wild heart's thrill;
One leads thee to the circling dance,
The queen this pigmy bevy loves and fears."
Thy fairy hand retains
I looked, and on a swan's smooth back was seen
The fire of madness lights my glance,
Its lava fills my vems.
In majesty and grace the fairy queen.
Oh, thou shouldst be a hidden gem,
Her pure white robe was of the summer rose,
Placed in an idol shrine,
But one bright amyrillis leaf she chose,
In radiance seen afar, by them
Who deer thou art not mine!
Which a proud royal mantle formed. But oh!
Mine--mine?--aud is this hope of youth,
How sweetly had she taught to flow
A strange word traced on sand,
Where sudden rolls the wave of truth,
O'er her fair face a veil the spider wove,
And sweeps it from the strand ?
And of its sparkling dew-drops ranged above
LESLIE. A diadem was formed more exquisite
To be continued.
Than all our Eastern gems most pure and bright.
Her maidens round in nature's robes arrayed,
Afflictions scour us of our rust. Adversity, like Each various taste and color there displayed,
winter weather, is of use to kill those vermin which | Ono with the tulip's motley leaf adorned,
the summer of prosperity is apt to cherish and nour- | And in the sober green another mourned.
ish.
WOh! gaily sailed the little court around,


ORIGIN OF THE RED - BREAST.
81
“Haste, bring the maize." His famished child
To feed, with joy the parent goes.
Elate with pride, with hope high swelling,
He gains the lone and leafy dwelling.
And joyously their tiny conch shells sound,
While breathe their flutes more delicately still,
Formed of the humming bird's minstrel quill.
Long on this stranger scene entranced I guzed
Until the royal maiden slowly raised
Her beauteous form, and thus the court addressed:
"Oh, brothers! sisters! 'tis the hour of rest.
Long have we sported in the clear noonday;
Now to our radiant homes let's wind our way.”
She ceased, and the bright shore was quickly won
With its light burden by each graceful swan,
And ev'ry form was hidden in the cell
Of its own white or gold or rosy shell.
Their day was done, and darkly gathered round
Dull ev'ning's mantle o'er that stranger ground,
When from the silent scene we turn'd away,
And back to earth were wafted on our way.
Hark! whose the voice which murmuring low,
Steals on his ear in tones of sadness ?
“'Tis his—my son's.” Where flies the glow,
From the high brow-that drives the gladness?
Oh, what is thus his hope o'ershading?
His breast with keenest grief invading?
-The noble forest-youth is there.-
What is it then, thy soul is dreading ?
-O'er his broad chest and shoulders bare,
A rich vermillion tint is spreading !
Soft plumes his graceful form unfolding-
The father stands with woe beholding.
Original.
ORIGIN OF THE RED-BREAST.
AN INDIAN LEGEND.*
“ The fated hour is come-and now
Thy guardian spirit hovers near;
Oh, may he crown thy youthful brow
With honors to thy race so dear!
And prosperous has thy course begun-
Thou, my beloved-my only one.
And—“Leave me not, my son!” he cries-
“Nor pierce my heart with this keen anguisha!"
Swift from the earth a Red-breast flies,
Whose eyes with grief and pity languish.
And o'er his head while gently soaring,
Soft liquid tones 'gan sweetly pouring.
“ Father, lament me not—'twas vain
To strive with fate—the spirit’s boding,
Disclosed a future filled with pain-
A heart with anxious cares corroding.
Now happier far, by thee I'll dwell,
And to vain honors bid farewell.
“ Now on the fragrant mat recline,
And rest, in fasting purity.
Lo! in thy visions-soft-benign-
Thou shalt that guardian spirit see:
And he shall chase all fear and sadness,
And wake thy soul to strength and gladness."
“ Thy morn, thy noon, and evening hours,
I'll cheer with ceaseless melody,
And seeking still his peaceful bowers,
The friend of man will ever be.
And in wild forest, mead or grove,
Be the fond harbinger of love."
A.
E.
L.
Thus spake the red-sire, and his child
Bowed to his wish in gentle seeming.
He veils his head with gesture mild,
And patient waits his spirit's dreaming.
Suns rise and set-but no bright morrow
Dawns on the youth who dreams'in sorrow.
Original.
SONNET.
BY THE REV. J. 1. CLINCH.
“ Father, in evil hour I wait-
The great Monetto's wrath is gathering!
Ah ! let me strive to shun this fate,
Nor tempt the frown my soul that's withering."||
“ Nay-yet my child in patience bide thee-
And honor, health, and fame betide thee."
Youth's flush and freshness fades—and now,
Slow through each vein the blood is wandering.
Faintness steals o'er the pallid brow;
The sire bends low, in silent pondering.
No stir-no sign of life perceiving,-
Save in that bosoms gentle heaving.
A happy smile upon thy cheek is playing,
Soft as the sunrise on the dewy rose ;
O'er all thy lovely face its light it throws,
And thy blue eye its influence betraying,
Gleams mirthfully from out its balf-closed lid,
Like violet buds by leafy covering hid,
The searcher's gaze with joyous light repaying;
So that if o'er thy features thou shouldst throw
Such veil as hides the dames of Mexico,
Thine eye alone revealing,-I should know
That thy face beamed with Joy's refulgent smile;
So eloquent of heart-felt mirth, that eye
Would tell the tale thy lip would fain deny,
And speak of gladness unallied to guile.
Dorchester, Mass.
O'er sheety lake, and forest wild,
The tenth bright moon in splendor rose.
* See " TRIP TO THE PICTURED Rocks."


82
E MBROIDERY.

TH
WARKA
Wir!
www
WY
OR
Y
18:13:71
wwwwwwwww
Wwwwwwww
w wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
ies
:
RS
Www
www
BRE
OOOOO
oceso
Www
03.


ESSAY ON AMERICAN LITERATURE.
83
1 Pou
.
Original.
| cures a competence for his family and bequeaths them
ESSAY ON AMERICAN LITERATURE. an estate rich in nature's bounties—all look with con-
tempt upon the inactive student. To them his habits
BY MRS. E. C. EMBURY.
seem those of confirmed indolence, for the man who takes
| up a book to amuse himself during his hour of relaxa-
"A country which has no national literature, or a literaturetion from bodily labor can never be made to comprehend
too insignificant to force itself abroad, must always be, to its
neighbors, at least in every important spiritual respect, an
the intense and wasting toil of mental exertion. The
unknown and misestimated country,"-EDINBUGH REVIEW.
i page which he reads with so little effort, he supposes to
have been written quite as easily, and remunerating an
So much has been written by the ablest pens on both author seems to him like bestowing the wages of indus-
sides of the Atlantic, upon the subject of American try on idleness. He who has courage enough to devote
Literature, that it seems presumptuous now to attempt himself to learning, with its usual attendant-poverty,
its discussion ; but the resources of our rapidly growing is pitied by his friends and ridiculed by the world as
country, and the station which she holds among the one who has banished himself from the society of his
nations of the earth, render it a topic of daily increas. fellows, in pursuit of a vain shadow. He will, in truth,
ing importance to all who make any pretensions to pa- find himself alone: there are few professedly literary
triotism or literary laste. To form an idea of the science men in our country, certainly not enough to form a
of a nation we must examine its various institutions for class with whom he may unite himself. Our profes-
the instruction of its youth; to learn a proper estima- sional men make some approach to such a class, but
tion of its literature we need only make ourselves ac devoted as they are to active employment in their seve-
quainted with its periodical press. If we take the most ral duties, they have but little time for the pursuit of
cursory view of the monthly, weekly and daily journals classic lore or the speculations of abstract truth. All
which traverse our country from Georgia to Maine, we useful labor can demand a high price in American, but
cannot fail to be struck with the variety of talent which we have scarcely yet learned to rank the intellectual
they exhibit, however we may complain of them for above the physical, and years must elapse before our
want of independence, party spirit, etc. The fugitive citizens can live as well by the exercise of the brains as
poetry which floats from paper to paper, read, admired by the work of their hands. The roads to wealth are
and then forgotten, is of a far higher order than that so numerous and so easily trodden, while the path of
which made the reputation of many a votary of the science is so rugged and unpromising that it is not to be
muses in the days of Queen Anne; while many of the regarded as a matter of surprise if our youth are temp-
slightly-sketched tales and essays which are thrown into ted rather by the glittering prizes which await them at
oblivion, after they have afforded a momentary amuse the shrine of Plutus, than by the laurel bough which
ment, are worthy of an Addison or a Goldsmith. But | grows by the temple of Minerva. The influence of
the very abundance of talent causes it to be undervalued wealth they feel at every step of their progress in life;
and we examine the pages of a magazine as we might but time may bleach the dark-brown locks and disease
a cabinet of gems, where the richness of the collection furrow the lofty brow before the fadeless laurel wreath
soon makes us loo fastidious to pause over any thing of can be won and worn. A few gifted spirits may rise
less price than the diamond. The reproaches which superior to the temptations of worldly aggrandizement,
have been cast upon America for her total neglect of and struggle successfully against the tide of popular
the elegances of life will never more be heard. The opinion, but how few are they compared with the multi-
young nation has heretofore labored for the means of tude who, after a few ineffectual attempts, either sink
existence-industry has brought wealth and she is now into oblivion, or cease their efforts, and float onward
able to indulge in luxuries. We have our poets and with the current. We want literary patronage, such as
our painters, our architects and our sculptors, our wri-will enable men to live in comfort, if not in affluence,
ters and our readers, and while establishing institutions by the exercise of their intellectual as well as their
for the promotion of the fine arts we have but just awa- physical powers. We want a spirit of liberality among
kened to the necessity of forming a national literature. all classes of men, such as may enable them to regard
Heretofore there have been two grand obstacles in the author as a no less useful member of society than a
the way of the establishment of a national literature, member of some every-day profession. Then and not
viz: the want of literary patronage, which necessarily till then can we have a literary class in society-a class
involves a want of literary industry, and a strange fond. willing to admit all who can show themselves qualified,
ness among our writers for foreign rather than Ameri- and which demands no other qualifications than the
can subjects on which to employ their pens. The defi- | possession of intellectual superiority.
ciency of patronage may be more easily explained than! The disposition which too many of our authors has
remedied. We are essentially an active, industrious, shown to travel abroad in search of subjects for the
commercial people, and the merchant who sits poring exercise of their intellect, may be, in some measure,
over his ledger, calculating the riches which the four attributed to the want of independence which has here-
winds of heaven are daily waſting into his coffers-the tofore prevailed among our critics. Until very recently
settler who takes his axe on his shoulder and trudges off a book written by an American was scarcely deemed
into the wilderness with the certainty of there building worthy to come under the scalping-knife of criticism
up his fortune-even the farmer who by hard labor pro- unless it had first attracted the notice of an English re-


84
ESSAY ON AMERICAN LITERATURE.
viewer, and if written upon an American subject would now a name for herself—she is one of our national glo-
have inevitably fallen lifeless from the press. Few have!' ries-our Sedgwick. Nor would we bestow on Mrs.
been found prepared to brave the unequal conflict with Sigourney the name borne by one whom we alike lament.
opinion, and many a young writer who might have been I mean Felicia Hemans. Few people are aware of the
a glory to our country has been allowed to sink into absurdity they commit when they attempt to class to-
oblivion, while our reading public have been insulted by 'gether the poetry of two individuals. Poetry is so
the re-production of myriads of trashy English books, closely connected with the feelings and affections that
exaggerated in sentiment, bombastic in style and false unless we could find two persons who thought, and felt,
in delineation. I said few have been found, but Ameri- and acted precisely alike, we could never find them wri-
ca may well be proud of those few. Long before our ting similar poetry. We might as well compare the
eyes were opened to see the exhaustless mine of literary gentle ripple of the lake with the rapid running of the
wealth which our country held within its bosom, Irving, i mighty river, as attempt to judge of Mrs. Sigourney
Paulding, and at a somewhat later period, Cooper, and Mrs. Hemans by the same rules of criticism. Be-
coined some of its fine gold and sent it forth to the sides, we would have our writers known by their
world stamped with the impress of genius. The name names, and not set ourselves to the task of weaving for
of Irving will be loved so long as America exists: he them a chaplet of the leaves which have dropped from
has associated himself with our most intimate sympathies other's garlands.
- he has discovered the sources of our smiles and tears. Our country, however, is now fully awakened, and
-we have laughed with him till our "eyes ran o'er with our literary aspirants have learned that the true aim of
glee," and we have wept with him till our tears fell like their ambition must be to acquire distinction as national
rain-drops on his page. How, then, can we think of writers. The field which lies before them is an immense
him as the mere author, the nominis umbra ? It is one. For the painter of society who seeks to “catch
Irving, the man, the fellow-citizen, the friend, whom we the manners living as they rise," there never could be
love even though our eyes may never have rested on his finer studies than are to be found at home. The eccen-
face. And who does not honor Paulding, the keen sa- tric backwoods-man, the haughty Southerner, the qua-
tirist of foreign fopperies, the true-hearted American ker-like descendant of William Penn, the acute New-
author, whose every thought has been devoted to his Englander, and the thousand queer plases which cha-
country? His pen has ever been employed in her ser- racter assumes in our Atlantic cities, might furnish a
vice, whether he used its point to sting those who would lifetime of employment to a satirist. The student of
undermine her strength by luxury, or its feather to paint political economy, and the philosophy of man can have
her exquisite scenery and the workings of human na- no better opportunity than is afforded by our free insti-
ture in the hearts of her sons. Cooper has done more tutions and the consequent freedom of opinion which
good abroad than at home. His books were American prevails. And for him, who, turning from the study of
in scenery and incident, as such they were received mankind, devotes himself to the contemplation of ihe
with avidity in Europe, and though creatures such as works of God, we could ask no nobler themes than our
be drew never existed in this or any other quarter of the magnificent country can afford. The towering moun-
globe, still they served to keep alive the interest which tain, the untrodden wilderness, the broad prairie spread-
our literature had now awakened. Many a brilliant ing like a sea of verdure, the pathless forest, with its
name may now be found among our authors who are “dim monastic aisles,” the expansive lake, the silvery
American in heart as well as by birth. We have a Bry-/ waterfall, the world-astonishing cataract, all are there
ant whose soul is filled with images of beauty, and in matchless beauty, to fill the eye and the imagination.
whose words breathe the sweetness of the “ summer | The poet and the novelist need look no farther than bis
wind." His muse was born amid our forest scenery, native soil to find subjects by which to immortalize them-
and though her eye has since delighted to watch “the selves. Let them go abroad for study- let them enlarge
blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone,” yet does she turn their minds by communion with their fellows in every
with unabated love to her native shores. Halleck, too, clime-let them ponder over the time-worn institutions
has followed no foreign leader in his flights of fancy. ' of other lands, and gaze upon the crumbling ruins of
His feelings are the impulses of an American heart, and a by-gone age, but let them then return to pay the debt
satire leaves us only cause to regret that its local merit they owe their native land. Let their hopes of indivi-
cannot be more fully estimated beyond the broad Atlan- dual fame be interwoven with her glory, than even the
tic.
laurel would seem to them worthless if it grew on any
How it irks the ear of a patriot when the names, other soil.
however honored, of the gifted in another land are ap- Much is now doing for the cause of literature, but
plied to our own writers. Who has not felt indignant' much yet remains to be done. Our young men must
at hearing Miss Sedgwick styled the Edgeworth of our be taught that wealth is not the only good. The deso
country? Whether her hand pourtrays the sweet Hope lation which is now sweeping over the land, prostra-
Leslie, the stately Grace Campbell, the noble Magawas- ting the golden harvest which men hoped to garner in
ca, or the excellent Aunt Deborah, she is alike feminine,' their barns, and, alas! crushing with it many a noble
natural and American. Why then should we bestow on spirit, may well teach them such a lesson. Our country
her the mantle which has fallen from the shoulders of needs intellectual laborers. Our sons must be educa-
another? She is no copyist of another's skill; she has ted in such a manner that if suddenly summoned to


THE CHILD'S GRATITUDE.
85
INSCRIBED TO MISS AGNES E. DAYMON.
serve their country they may be ready. A mere milita- ||
Original.
ry education was once sufficient for this purpose; but
THE CHILD'S GRATITUDE.
we fight now with other weapons than the sword and
musket. The cool head, the collected judgment, the
warm patriotism, the unswerving integrity of the states-
man are the noblest arms which one can wield for his
BY JOHN J. ADAMS.
native land. It is not alone as a poet, a philosopher, or
a satirist that a man may acquire distinction; every
The following lines, written impromptu, were sugges-
member that occupies the floor in our houses of Congress
ted by a truly affecting scene which is imperfectly de-
is an object of attention both to his fellow-citizens and
scribed in the poem. The letter alluded to came at a
to the assembled thousands of Europe. The old world
moment of great pecuniary distress, and the tears of
is calmly looking on to behold the result of our grand joy which its contents called forth awakened apprehen-
experiment of self-government, and surely it behoves us
sions in the recipient's child, a charming little girl, but
to make every effort for its success.
three years of age. On being told that the letter brought
“Let me make the sons of a nation and I care not
comfort, and that she should now have plenty of food and
nakes its laws," said one who had carefully exam- clothes, ehe exclaimed: “What, mother!" and her beau-
ined the secret springs of human actions. The laws of a tiful blue eyes lighted up with a heavenly expression-
country may be the best ever planned, yet public opi- shall I have plenty of victuals and clothes? Oh.
nion will sometimes rule in spite of them, and is it not mother! shall I thank God ?” and immediately throw-
then important that public opinion should be properlying herself into an attitude of prayer, her little soul
directed ? The same impulses which are wrought upon seemed to exhale in childish expressions of gratitude.
for purposes of evil by demagogues might be wrought Tears fell from me such as I never before shed, and all
upon for good by better men. The annoying influence my philosophy vanished. I sighed to be rich.
of newspapers will afford some criterion by which to
judge of the power which a national literature would
exercise over a nation so generally educated as our own.
With trembling hands the seal was broke,
If ever we hope to see the day when truth shall pre-
And, lo! a treasure it disclosed-
vail over party spirit, and the people shall in all cases The mother's joy no language spoke,
abide by "principles not men," it must be brought about For feeling's fountain then unclosed.
by the general diffusion of knowledge and the establish-
ment of a national, a patriotic literature. But that
No words her joy could utterance give,
time can never come unless our authors are enabled to
So fast the heart warm tears did flow;
devote themselves to mental rather than manuel labor.
In comfort she again may live.
Our philosophic students of human nature must not be
cbliged to steal a few brief moments from an arduous
But see, that cherub's look of woe.
business or a toilsome profession for such pursuits. Our
gifted poets must no longer be compelled to turn their
“Oh, mother, what afflicts you so ?
eyes from the book of nature while they pore over a Nay, nay, dear mother, do not cry !"
dull ledger or waste their fine powers on the columns of “My child, for joy my tears do flow,
a daily paper. The labors of the intellect, pleasant
Come, let me kiss that dew-gem'd eye.
though they be, are sufficiently severe without adding
the never-ending tasks of business. The lamp of life
“ The treasure which I here do find
while fed only with the student's midnight oil will waste
Will bring thee food, and raiment warm;
quite soon enough without consuming its pure light over And midst the winter's piercing wind,
the dull details of a working-day world.
The cheering pile our hearth to charm.
Original.
TO MY YOUNG FRIEND E-
ON RECEIVING A VASE OF ARTIFICIAL FLOWERS.
“ Kiss me, my child- another kiss!
The path of gloom which long I've trod,
By friendship’s ray now glows with bliss !"
“Oh, mother! shall I thank my God ?"
I THANK thee, dear one, for thy gift,
So beauteous to the eye ;
For oft as it may meet the sight,
Thy love I shall descry.
Then on her knees, that cherub child,
Her little hands did thankful raise :
It seemed as if a seraph smiled,
When broke those simple notes of praise.
These flowers will long remain unchar.g'd,
And thus, Affection's ray
For thee within my heart shall shine,
Thro' many a future day.
Could, grasping Avarice behold
A scene like that I witnessed there
No longer he'd the boon withhold,
But fly to win the cherub's prayer.
A. D. W.
11


86
THE SUCCESSFUL CANDIDA TE.
Original.
I found, and he did not overlook bim, when seeking for a
THE “SUCCESSFUL CANDIDATE." bit of sport.
The last expedient of my friend Fox had, but a few
BY CHARLES GILMAN.
weeks prior to the circumstance I am now about to re-
late, been tried with his usual success, when he bap-
THOMAS JEFFERSON Fox was the very personifica- pened to advert to my new classmate. “Friend Mor-
tion of fun and frolic. Though some two or three years ton," said he, “ that Anson is a rare subject for a joke,
my senior in age as well as collegiate standing, he did and suppose now we have a “wee bit" oſ amusement
not maintain towards me that hauteur and reserve so for our comfort and relaxation. I know where to take
characteristic of those under-graduates, whose term is him, and have thought of a plan for a capital frolic."
about drawing to a close. As we were natives of the “ What is it?" I inquired. “You know,” said he,
same village, “somewhere down eas!," and had been “how he is eternally boasting of his powers of elocu-
intimate from our earliest youth, the circumstance, no tion. 'Tis but a day or two since that I heard him say
doubt, had a tendency lo do away, as far as we were
that there was not a chap in the University who could
concerned, those conventional distinctions which exist
which exist cope with him. Now, as the boy said when he jumped
in all of our Universities. The fact, too, that Jeff, as into the mud-puddle, I am not the fellow to take a
he was familiacly termed. was endowed with a natural stump. I'll go to him this “identical same' day, and
ease and freedom of manner, rendered it difficult for
ered it difficult for inform him that it has long been contemplated by the
scholastic dignity to sit otherwise than lightly upon him.
Seniors to offer a prize for the best specimen of elocu-
He maintained a mediocre standing in his class, and, as
tion; and that, after malure deliberation, it had been
might be inferred from the intimations already given in
decided that he and I should compete for it;-a silver
relation to his temperament, he was extremely partial to
medal with a suitable device.” “IL I don't make
relaxation. This disposition was peculiarly manifest in
suitable arrangements' to have old University Hall
his unconquerable propensity for innocent amusement-
resound on the occasion, then, my dear fellow, I'll doff
for there was nothing vicious in his character which my sirname!" " Good!" said 1, slapping him on the
was always sought to be indulged whenever the most
shoulder, “ go and try him while you are in the mood
trivial opportunity offered to gratify it, and I do not
for it, and let me know the result.” “Faith, I will!”
hazard my reputation for “ truth and voracity," as and he was off in a tangent.
Jacot Bunker was wont to say, when I add that Jeff I should have remarked that Fox, though so strongly
never seemed at a loss for an opportunity.
predisposed to merriment, ordinarily looked as grave as
In the autumn of 182-, our class received an addition
| a country parson, and he was once taken for one of the
to its number in the person of master William Winkle clergy in a strange place. Nothing could discompose
ton Anson, who came fresh from the halls of Harvard,
him if he endeavored to maintain his usual rigidity of
where he had not tarried a sufficient length of time to countenance. No better person, therefore, could have
“ gain a settlement," even under the pauper act. How
been selected to approach master William without sus-
he could have been refused admittance to the lower picion. . I was confident of his success, for I had bad
class of that august institution, was not with us a mat- too frequent evidence of his attempts to carry his point,
ter of so much surprise as the fact that he was admitted I to distrust him. After the lapse of an hour, he came
a Sophomore in ours. But so it was, strange as it may into my room again in high glee. “Well, Ned," said
seem. Master William was “born, bred, and brung he, “ I have arranged matters to a charm. The way I
up," as they say on Cape Cod, in the Literary Empo-
stuffed him was not slow. If soft sawder' ever had the
rium. This circumstance, as it will be shown, was not
desired effect, I did not use it to any disadvantage."
the making of him, and, what is worse, never could “ Let me know,” said I,“ how you managed with him."
hat nature for good reasons, no doubt, left “Certainly, my dear Ned,” he replied; “ I went to his
undone. He had a weak bump on his cranium, though room, and what should I hear, as luck would have it,
it was something of a “let-up," which subsequent inci- but master Bonibastes himself declaiming with an
dents tend strangely to indicate. The fact was, that alarming violence, and if one could form an opinion
his self-sufficiency was intolerable. He was a veritable from the stamping and to-and-froing,' action was not
Sir Oracle, who said,
wanting to accompany the words. As soon as I could
" When I ope my lips,
find an hiatus, I knocked at his door, and in I went, as
Let no dog bark."
usual. I addressed him somewhat in this style:
This trait was exemplified strongly in oft-repeated “How are you, to-day, my good friend? I find you
boasts of his wondrous powers of elocution. It was a indulging in the ruling passion, which must, some day,
complete monomania with him. Judging from his ac- elevate you to a high rank in our legislative councils."
tions and manner, one would suppose that he verily “I know it, I know it, Mr. Fox," he remarked, with
believed that Demosthenes, in all his glory, was no great confidence; "and my towering ambition, sir, will
more to be compared to him, than a rush-light to the not rest satisfied till I attain the loftiest summit of dis-
moon. Notwithstanding his high pretensions, he had tinction's mount. Take a chair, take a chair, Mr. Fox;
not wit enough-and this is a natural sequence-to I am so exhausted; I declare I am almost entirely out of
know when others were making sport with him. A breath; such an effort I seldom make." I observed to
more fit subject for our jovial friend could not have been him that he should not waste his energies in private,


THE SUCCESSFUL CANDIDATE.
87
but should appear more frequently in public, and com- ||"Ode on the Passions," by William Winkleton Anson.
plimented his modesty in the highest terms. “Your ! Thereupon, said William mounted the rostrum, and,
advice," said he, “is excellent, most excellent; but, making a very slight inclination of his head, proceeded
my dear sir, when I get into the spirit of a thing, I am through the first four lines in a very mild, insinuating
irresistibly hurried into a vehemence which a Kean or a strain. But when he came to the fifth line,
Macready well might envy. I am completely enrap-
“Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,"
tured, led away by this most sublime and noble of all our orator began to “ put in the scientifics." The
the arts.” “You are enthusiastic," I continued ; “but “exulting" went off like a Aash of lightning; the
without a proper share of enthusiasm, how could the “ trembling," as if the shaft had made a “dead shot";
orator excel ? Your fellow-students are sensible of the the “raging" brought the thunder along; and the
stand you take among us, and are desirous of an opporo | “fainting" came near being fearfully theatrical, which
lunity of witnessing your powers. It has long been | melted one innocent little Freshman into tears. “The
contemplated to have a public declamation, and to offer Passions," in fine, were completely “ used up," “ all
a splendid silver medal as a prize to be awarded to the tattered and torn,” and when he reached the last stan-
best speaker of the two selected. That occasion has
za, he struck into a “square trot," immediately after
been deemed a fit opportunity for an exhibition of your which he went off amid the plaudits of an astonished
powers; aud my class, who will manage the business, | audience. Master William took his seat, casting
have selected me as your opponent. I freely acknowo towards my friend Fox a look which plainly meant,
ledge my inability to cope with you, and endeavored to
| “You can't beat that."
be excused, but they said I must serve, and you, there-
Butler, ere the apparent demonstration of applause
fore, cannot fail to be the successful speaker. The com- had subsided, arose and called upon Fox to come for-
mittee of adjudication on our respective merits will be ward. He ascended with a strong, firm step, looking
composed of seven of my class-mates, “free and disin-
for all the world as if he was charged with something
terested,' and their chairman will award the prize.
potent, and made a bow so low that those before him
Wednesday afternoon is the time appointed, and the could see the dorsal region. To the surprise of all pot
exercises will take place in the chapel. Each is to in the secret, he commenced in a “hop, skip and jump"
select his own piece for declamation. Shall I announce strain the “ Beggar's Petition, maintaining his wonted
to the committee your acceptance of their invitation ?"' | gravity of phiz, and manifesting a very apparent con-
“ With che most heart-felt satisfaction, I express my sciousness of “doing the handsome thing." When he
entire willingness to gratify their wishes. I will be spoke of his “trembling limbs,” the action was power.
prepared at the appointed time and place.”
ful. I know not with what to compare the shaking of
Having fulfilled my pretended mission, I left his his knees. His “lattered clothes," which he grabbed
room, and when fairly out of his hearing, I burst into a spasmodically, unfortunately for the occasion, happened
loud laugh at the very idea of the thing. “Now, Ned, to be his “best go-to-meetings,” in no particular an-
keep dark, lest we should be discovered before the planswering the first mentioned description. The “ furrow"
is matured and carried out. I will see Cox, Joe Butler, of the "grief-worn cheek” was invisible to human op-
Simpson, Barker, Putnam, Hunter, and Cady, let them tics, but when he came to the “flood of tears," he made
into the secret, prepare the place of operation in accord serious endeavor to suit the action to the word. He
ance with what has been said to Anson." So my did not accomplish the design, though he rubb'd his
laughter-loving friend went to wait upon the said Cox, eyes with the fold of his coat with good intent, and
Butler, etc. Instead of initiating the reader into the looked quite as ludicrous as John Sefton, when relating
modus operandi agreed on by the conclave, they will to an impatient audience the “unfortunate occurrence"
find it developed as the case proceeds.
which prevented the appearance of his brother. The
Wednesday afternoon, big with the fate of master effect may be easily imagined. One broad guffaw filled
Anson and the silver medal, soon came. It was a very chapel. The remaining stanzas were “executed,” lite-
appropriate time, being a leisure afternoon and not very | rally, and what was evident to all but Anson-inten-
seldom occupied in some such frolic. The chapel was tionally. As Jeff retired, his departure was accompa-
in the projection of old University Hall, having a stage nied by multitudinous groans and hisses, this being a
on the south side in front of the pulpit. It was elevated part of the plan of operation, as well as the lavish ap-
some four or five feet above the main floor, and covered plause bestowed in the earlier part of the exercises upon
an area of some twenty feet. In the rear the judges sat, his competitor. All this, however, had the desired
"all in a row," Joe Butler, a corpulent youngster, occu- effect in raising the expectations of the latter, who was
pying the centre. Joe could assume a good share of all attention to what was being enacted.
mock dignity when occasion required, and the present. “The last sad duty" was left to the judges of the
one presented strong claims upon the exercise of this performances in deciding on the respective merits of the
faculty. The hall was crowded with under-graduates, competitors. This, however, as they underslood the
and a few “invited guests.” Joe arose with great dig- | game, was no difficult task. Joe Butler, drawing up in
nity and requested the audience not to manifest any de- his chair, and gravely turning to his compeers on the
monstration of feeling, calculated to arrest the progress right and left, as if in wise consultation, at length arose
of the exercises. He then announced that the exercises from his seat and announced to the assembly that they
would commence with a recitation of Collins' celebrated had “unanimously altogether" agreed that the prize


88
VENITE PER ME CARI AMICI.
should be awarded of right to William Winkleton An-! Where springs of pure water leap out into day
son. This brought out a response of three cheers, loud On your wings, your soft wings, will you carry me there,
and long. The "successful candidate" was desired to To the flowers, to the waters, to sweet blowing air,
come forward and receive the prize. Whereupon, heTo the bare barren hill, to the lone forest tree,
again ascended, amid continued cheers, the rostrum, Birds of the wilderness come ye for me?
The illustrious seven arose and formed a semi-circle
Come ye for me, come ye for me,
around the prize-ee, the assemblage also arising simul-
Sunbeams that crimson on Adria's sea,
taneously. Butler then drew from his coat-pocket,
Ye have sparkled all day upon palace, and tower,
carefully enveloped in soft paper, the medal with a
Ye have stolen in your brightness through garden and
flaming scarlet ribbon appended therelo, an insinuation,
bower,
by the way, that the recipient might, some day or other,
Ye have gleamed on the wave, ye have slept on the shore,
on discovering the joke, by looking in the same glass,
And now are your beautiful wanderings o'er;
discern a reflection. Its size, according to recollection,
was about that of the bottom of a small Brittania tea-
For I see on the golden threads of your rays,
pot, and of a similar shape, and looked “very like"|
Angels of glory, that pass from my gaze,
Oh, leave me not, inelt not away in the sea,
block-tin. On one side were, in large characters, the
Thou last brilliant sunbeam-oh, come thou for me!
initials “D. F."; and on the other, whether the words
** Reward of merit," or something else, I cannot say; / Come ye for me, come ye for me,
but, as was suggested at the time, the “Reward of Winds ever joyous, as well ye may be,
merriment" would not have been inappropriate. After As ye sweep on the clouds o'er the broad blue sky,
some brief remarks, “suited to the occasion,” Butler | Or steal through the rich orange buds like a sigh,
placed the ribbon around master Anson's neck, and the Or curl in your own fierce sport, to foam,
medal dangled in front with the aforesaid “D. F." on The deep sea's bosom where fearless ye roam,
the exterior. Here the performances were closed, and Whirling in strength, on your viewless path,
the assembly was broken up amid an astounding roar, Coming in tempest, in darkness, and wrath,
though the roar-ee litile imagined his peculiar posi- || Oh, to be with ye, in all your wild glee,
tion.
Oh, free, happy winds, are ye coming for me?
Whether he ever ascertained the true meaning of the Come ye for me. come ye for me.
initials, I would not undertake to say. On inquiry of Stars that are mirrored in Adria's sea,
Fox, Anson was told that they represented “ Doctus
Doclus | Ye have glittered, and glowed on me, one by one,
Fandi." Anglice, “ skilled in speaking.” Some per-| Amid all your fair thousands, oh! why is there none
son. when mentioning of the matter afterwards, was so | Will leave for a moment these bowers of light,
uncharitable as to say that in plain English they really
And gliding away o'er the blue fields of night,
And
meant something else.
To brighten these cold sad walls with your eyes,
Bangor, Maine.
Where forsaken, forgotten, my crushed spirit lies,
Pouring wild plaints to the false, heartless sea,
Original.
Living stars of night, Heaven-oh, come ye for me!
VENITE PER ME CARI AMICI. Ye come not, ye come not-these desolate walls
With their dull sullen echoes are mocking my calls;
COME you for me, come you for me,
My friends are all smiling in splendid domes,
Dear friends, do you giide over Adria's sea,
Little think they of me in those beautiful homes;
The long colonnades, and the marble halls,
Each bird has passed on to its own gentle nest;
Whose silvery shadow on Brenta falls,
The sunbeam is shrouded afar in the west;
Have you left them yet-while the myrtle's flower The winds 100 are sleeping, the stars are so still;
Is bathed in the cool gleaming fountain's shower, But there's one coming for me~I know that he will,
Where droop the wreaths of the purple rose,
So calm, and so cold, without sound, without breath,
Where the feathery stem of the white almond blows, And the dark monks all tell me, how fearful is death!
Have you left then, to come to my cold grey cell, But I care not, far, far over Adria's sea,
Where so long, and so lonesome, I watched for you. He will bear me for ever-oh, come thou for me!
well,
LESLIE.
Have you left them, to bear me o'er Adria's sea,
Dear friends, my own kind ones, oh, come ye for me?
MRS. HEMANS.
O come you for me, come you for me,
-- We will not say
Birds that are winging so happy and free,
Farewell to thee; for every unborn age
From your nest's where the forest's leaves deepen in Shall mix thee with its household charities-
gloom,
The Sage shall greet thee with his benison,
From the vales, where the young vines have opened And woman shrine thee as a vestal flame
their bloom
In all the temples of her sanctity,
From the mountains they showed me once, far, far|| And the young child shall take thee by the hand
away-
And travel with a surer step to Heaven.


MARY DERWENT.
89
BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
CHAPTER III.
around liest foundie bared,
$200 PRIZE ARTICLE. the sky in picturesque grandeur; the foliage which
clothed them grew dusky in the waning light, and fell
Original.
back to the ravines in dark, heavy shadows. A gloom hung
about the towering precipices, and the thick masses of
M A RY DERWENT.*
vegetation, like funeral drapery swathing the pillars and
A TALE OF THE EARLY SETTLERS.
wild arches of a monastic ruin. It was the darkness
of a gathering tempest. There was something sublime
and almost awful in the gradual and silent mustering of
the elements. Tahmeroo was of a savage race, and she
loved the wild and fierce in nature with the enthusiasm
« It was a lodge of ample size,
But strange of structure and device;
of a daring spirit; but the red blood that kindled her
of such materials as around
The workman's hand had readiest found.
heart to more than feminine courage was mingled with
Lopped of their boughs, their hoar trunks bared, that of a gentle and civilized class. She was but half an
And by the hatchet rudely squared,
To give the walls their destined height,
Indian-all a woman—and her high spirit cowered be-
The sturdy oak and ash unite;
neath the sombre magnificence of the hour and the scene.
While moss and clay and leaves combined
To fence each crevice from the wind.
Though eager to reach her destination, her arm relaxed
The lighter pine trees over head,
its vigor, and the little canoe erept timidly up the river,
Their slender length for rafters spread,
And withered grass and rushes dry,
while she looked anxiously about, now on the frowning
Supplied a russet canopy,"
banks, and then up into the darkened sky. The broken
clouds surging up from the west like a troop of fright-
TAAMEROO, the Indian girl, was still sitting under the
ened birds with their wings in motion, aroused her to
pine, as Mary Derwent had left her. While the coral
fresh exertion. She bent to her task with an energy
was but half ewisted in her hair, she had stopped in her
that sent the perspiration like rain-drops to her forehead.
graceful task, and, sinking gently back to the bank of
The paddles glanced rapidly in and out of the water, and
moss which formed her seal, reclined on her elbow, with
the canoe sped on and on, with the velocity of a sparrow-
her long tresses half unbraided, and floating in wavy
hawk in the air. At length it curved round with a bold
masses over her person. She was yielding to the repose
sweep, and shot into the stupendous gap through which
of a soft and dreamy reverie, new, and very sweet to her
the Lackawanna empties its coal-stained tribute into
wild, young heart, when the sound of voices and the
the bosom of the Susquehanna. It was like the meeting
dash of an oar aroused her. She started to her feet and
of the sinful and the good in the valley of death-the
listened. The fire flashed back to those large dark
commingling of those streams in the gathering twilight-
eyes, but late so pleasant and soft in their expression,
the one so dark and turbid, the other so bright and beau-
and a rich crimson rushed to her cheek. The voices
tiful. Tahmeroo rested for a moment as she entered
ceased for a moment; then were renewed, and the rapid
the rocky jaws of the mountain; and as her frail bark
strokes of the paddle became still more audible. Tah-
rocked to the current of wind which swept down the
meroo sprang forward and ran up to a point of the hill
gorge, she looked around with a strong feeling of fear.
which commanded a view of the river. The little canoe,
A mountain, cleft in twain to the very foundation, tow-
with its band of red paint, was making from the shore,
ered on either hand to the sky, bald, bleak and shrub-
and in it was Jane Derwent, with the head of the de-
less. Through the rent, down more than a hundred feet
formed girl resting in her lap. The back of the oars-
from the summit, crept the deep still river stealthily and
man was toward the shore; his head was bent, and the
slow, like a huge dark serpent winding himself around
eyes, the beautiful eyes, of Jane Derwent were fixed on
the bulwark of a strong-hold. Not a tuft of grass or
him, with an expression which Tahmeroo's heart,
blossoming shrub was there to reveal the outline of the
new and unlearned as it was, taught her to understand.
murky water from the majestic ramparts through
A sensation of surprise, anger and fear, thrilled through
which they glided. All was wild, sterile, and gloomy.
the heart of the young Indian, and then a smile, vivid and i
As the Indian girl looked upward, the clouds swept
bright as a burst of sunshine after a tempest, broke over
back for a moment, and the last rays of sunset fell with
her face.
a glaring light on the bold summit of the mountain, ren-
The oarsman had turned his head, and his face was
dering by contrast the depths of the chasm more dreary
revealed. Tahmeroo breathed deeply and turned away.
in its intense shadow. Tahmeroo had seen the gap
It seemed as if an arrow had been withdrawn from her
often before, but never at that hour, or with that gloomy
heart by the sight of that face. She hurried down the
depth of shadow. With a sensation of awe at her heart,
hill toward a clump of black alders that overhung the
she held her breath and scarcely dared to dip her paddle
river's brink, and unmoored a light canoe hitherto con-
in the water as she glided through the massive portals
cealed beneath the dark foliage. Placing herself in the
which gave them an outlet. But when the gap was
bottom, she give two or three vigorous strokes with the
cleared, she proceeded up the windings of the Lacka-
paddle, and shot like a bird up the stream.
wanna with a firmer hand and sterner courage. The
As Tahmeroo proceeded up the river, the scenery,
threatened storm had seemingly passed over, and a few
till then half pastoral, half sublime, became more savage
stars trembled in the depths of the sky, when she moored
and gloomy in its aspect. Huge rocks shot up against
her canoe in a little inlet, washed up into the mouth of
* Continued from page 45.
li a narrow ravine, which opened on the river's brink,


90
MA RY DERWENT.
Tahmeroo tore away the dry brambles and brushwond | scene on which she looked down was one of wild and
which choked up the entrance of the defile, and made gloomy beauty. A space comprising more than an acre
her way through a scarcely defined footpath, to the of the richest green-sward, hedged in by a broken circle
bosom of the hills. A less vigorous form would have of irregular rocks and ledges, lay beneath her like an
fainted beneath the toil of that mountain pass; but the immense basin, scooped in the heart of the mountain,
young Indian scarcely thought of fatigue; for the threat-overflowing with verdure and alive with human beings.
ened storm had again mustered in the sky, and a dull, Though the winds were swaying the mighty forest trees
moaning sound came up from the depths of the forest above, as if they had been rushes in its path, the long,
like the hollow beat of a far off ocean, while, now and thick grass lay motionless in the bottom of the rocky
then, the pent-up thunder muttered and rumbled among basin, and tufts of wild-roses and wood-honeysuckles
the black clouds, floating like funeral banners above her. bloomed tranquilly in the light of the watch-fires. The
The signs of the storm gathered more densely about the broken rocks which surrounded the camping ground
mountains, and the maiden became terrified and bewil. were rough and irregular; but it was only here and there
dered. Though a wild rover of the forest, she had been that a sharp angle broke through the thick, rich moss
gently nurtured, and, for the first time in her life, was I which clung around them, or could be seen through the
alone among the hills after nightfall.
shower of viney foliage falling in massive festoons from
There is something terrible in the roar of thunder, the clefts and crevices on every side. A dozen wateh-
even to those who understand the philosophy of the ele- fires flashed up in a semi-circle, flinging a broad light
ments. It sounds upon the heart like the blast of a over the whole enclosure, and gleaming redly on the
trumpet, awakening it to a sense of its own insignifi- waving vines, the weeping birches, and ihe budding
cance, and of the mighty power of a Creator! Few are hemlocks that intermingled along its broken ramparts.
the nerves that have not trembled, or the hearts that | A hundred swarthy forms, half naked and hideously
have not quaked, when the artillery of heaven was painted, were moving about, and others lay crouching in
sounding among the clouds, and the arrows of the sky 'the grass, apparently terrified by the tempest gathering
were shooting earthward, feathered and afire with the so blackly above them. The untrodden grass and fresh
principles of destruction. Daring and wicked must herbage told that this had but recently been made a
that spirit be which refuses to yield its belief to God, place of encampment; yet in the enclosure was one
when his power is made audible in the voice of the tem- lodge, small and but rudely constructed-a sylvan hut
pest! To the imaginative and superstitious Indiangirl, which might well answer the description at the head of
there was a terrific mystery in the hoarse rolling sound, this chapter. How recently it had been constructed,
entombed, as it were, in the depths of the sky. It was, might be guessed by the green branches yet fresh on the
in her belief, the dread voice of Jehovah in his wrath- half-hewn logs. A score of savage hands had been at
a denunciation fulminated from the portals of Heaven work upon it the whole day, for the Chief of the Mo-
on the guilty and deceitful of earth. Her heart quailed hawks never rested in the open air with the lower mem-
within her, and, as the first loud peal broke upon her bers of his tribe, when his haughty wife or his beautiful
ear, she startled back, clasped her hand over her daughter was of his hunting party.
aching eyes, and then sprang onward in the dark path, ! Tahmeroo had wandered but little from the path
with the leap of a hunted deer. Now, she was lost in which led to the encampment. She had only clambered
the darkness of a ravine, and then, a flash of lightning up to the highest of the chain of rocks which surrounded
revealed her leaping from one cliff to another-clam- the enclosure, when she should have made her way
bering up the face of a precipice, or swinging herself around the base to the narrow opening which gave egress
over the narrow chasms by the saplings which the fitful to the forest. She arose from the edge of the rock,
flashes revealed to her. At length she stood on a sharp where she had been lying, more than sixty feet above
ledge of rocks, panting and in despair; for she had lost the encampment, and was atout to descend to the path
the path which led lo the Mohawk encampment. After she had missed, when a sound, like the roar and tramp
one wild, hopeless look upon the sky, she sunk to the of a great army, came surging up from the forest. The
ground, and burying her face in her hands, muttered, in tall trees swayed earthward, flinging their branches and
a trembling and husky voice, " Tahmeroo has been bad. green leaves to the whirlwind as it swept by. Heavy
She has acted a lie. The Great Spirit is very angry. limbs were twisted off, and mighty trunks splintered
Why should she strive to shut out his voice? Tahme- midway, and mingled the sharp crash of their fall with
roo can die."
the hoarse roar of the tempest. The thunder boomed
While she spoke, there was a hush in the sky, and among the rocks, peal after peal, and the quick light-
the sound of many hoarse, guttural voices arose from the ning darted through the heaving trees like fiery serpents
foot of the ledge. The terrified Indian lifted her head, wrangling amid the torn foliage. The very mountain
and a wild, doubtful joy gleamed over her face as the seemed to tremble beneath the maiden's feet-she threw
lightning revealed it, with the damp, unbraided hair herself upon the ledge, and with her face buried in its
floating back from the pallid temples, the lips parled, moss, lay motionless, but quaking at the heart, as the
and the eyes charged with terror, doubt, and eager joy. whirlwind rushed over her. A still more fearful burst
. She listened intently, for a moment, and then sunk cau- of the elements struck upon the heights-lifted a stout
tiously to the ground, as one who fears to break a plea- vak from its deep anchorage, and hurled it to the earth.
sant delusion, and crept to the edge of the rock. The | The splintered trunk fell with a crash, and the topmost


MARY DERWENT.
91
boughs bent down the young saplings with a rushing | Indian tongue, but received no answer; while his wife
sweep, and fell, like the wings of a great bird of prey, guve one quick look around the lodge, and then sallied
above the prostrate Indian. She sprang upward, with back, clasped her hands tightly and groaned aloud.
a wild cry, and seizing the stem of a vine, swung herself Tahmeroo scarcely breathed, for never had she seen her
madly over the precipice. Fortunately, the descent was mother so agitated. It was, indeed, a strange sight-
rugged, and many a jutting angle afforded a foothold to those small, finely cut features, usually so stern and cold,
the daring girl, as she let herself fearlessly down-now working with emotion-the pallid cheek, the high fore-
clinging among the leaves of the vine-now grasping head, swollen and knitted at the brows-he trembling
the sharp point of a rock, and dropping from one cleft to mouth-the eyes heavy with anguish. This was a sight
another. Twice did she force herself back, as if she which Tahmeroo had never witnessed before. She had
would have sunk into the very rock, and drag the heavy seen the dread paleness of anger settle over that face till
vines over her, when a fresh thunder-burst rolled by, or it became hueless as a corpse. She had seen stern re-
a flash of lightning blazed among the leaves ; but when solve and savage joy gendering in those eyes, like ve-
they had passed, she again swung herself downward, nom in the jaw of a serpent; but never before had she
and finally dropped, unharmed, upon the grass, back of !! seen regret or anguish stir those beautiful but worn
her father's lodge. The enclosure was now perfectly and stony lineaments. There she stood-trembling
dark; for the rain had extinguished the watch-fires and and disordered; her robe soiled, and heavy with rain;
the lightning, but occasionally revealed a group of dark her long hair falling in wet and knotted masses to her
forms cowering together, awed by the violence of the waist,-moaning, wringing her hands, and bewailing
tempest, and rendered courageless by superstitious the absence of her child. And this was the stern,
dread.
haughty woman--the white Indian Queen-who ruled
A twinkling light broke through the crevices of the the tribe of her husband with despotic rigor ;-whose
lodge; but Tahmeroo lingered in the rain, for now that revenge was deadly, and whose love was a terror. This
the fierceness of the storm was over, she began to have was Catharine Montour!
a new fear—the dread of her mother's stern presence. || When Tahmeroo heard her name mingled with the
Cautiously, and with timid footsteps, she advanced to lamentations of her mother, she started forward, ex-
the entrance and lifted the matting. She breathed freely; claiming, with tremulous and broken earnestness,
ere was no one present save her father, the great || “Mother, oh, mother, I am here !".
chief of the Mohawks. He was sitting on the ground, A burst of gladness broke from the lips of the mother.
with his arms folded on his knees, and his swarthy fore- She caught her daughter to her heart and kissed her
head buried in his robe of skins. The heart of the wildly again and again. “Thank God, oh, thank my
Indian king was sorely troubled, for he knew that the God, I am not quite alone !” she exclaimed ; and tears
wing of the Great Spirit was unfolded in its wrath above started in the eyes that had not known them for twenty
his people. Tahmeroo crept to the extremity of the summers. Those words of christian thankfulness-
lodge and sat down in silence upon the ground. She those tears of maternal love,-were strange sounds for
saw that preparations had been made for her comfort. the lodge of a savage Chief; but stranger far were they
A pile of fresh blackberries and a cake of cornbread lay to the lip and eye of that stern, hard woman.
on a stool near by, and a couch of boughs woven rudely
par by, and a couch of boughs woven rudely Without a word of question as to her strange absence,
together stood in a corner, heaped with the richest furs | Catharine drew her child to the couch, and, seeing the
and overspread with a covering of martin skins, lined bread and the berries yet untasted, she forced her to
and bordered with fine scarlet cloth. A chain of gorge eat while she wrung the moisture from her hair and
ous worsted work linked the deep scallups on the border, i took away the damp robe. She smoothed the pillows of
and heavy tassels fell upon the grass from the four cor- dark fur, and drawing the coverlid of martin skins over
ners. The savage magnificence of that couch was well the form of her child, sat beside her till she dropped to
worthy a daughter of the Mohawk. Another couch, a gentle slumber. Then she heaped fresh knots on the
but of less costly furs, and without ornament, stood at burning pine, and changed her own saturated raiment.
the opposite extremity. Tahneroo gave one timid look The drowsy Chief threw himself upon the unoccupied
toward it, and then bent her head, satisfied that it was heap of furs, and Catharine was left alone with her
untenanted, and that her mother was indeed absent. i thoughts. She stole again to the couch of her daughter,
As if suddenly recollecting herself, she hall started from and a swarm of good and tender feelings, long unknown
the ground, and disentangled the string of coral from her to that hard heart, arose at the thoughts of her child's
damp hair. With her eyes fixed apprehensively on the late peril and of her present safely. She did not, as was
bowed head of the chief, she thrust it under the fur pil- her wont, force back these gentle feelings to their source,
lows of her couch, and stole back to her former position. I but permitted them to flow over the arid places of
She had scarcely seated herself, when the matting was her heart, like dews on a bed of withered flowers.
flung back from the entrance of the lodge, and the wife Thoughts of home and kindred, and of her innocent
of the Mohawk presented herself in the opening. The childhood, thronged upon her mind. Remembrances
light of a heap of pine knots fell on the woman's face as that had been locked in the secret cells of her heart for
she entered; but it failed to reveal the form of the mai-! years, now stole forward, with a softening influence, till
den, where she sat in the shadowy side of the lodge. the present was lost in the past, and she, the Indian's
The chief lifted his head and uttered a few words in the wiſe, sat in her husband's wigwam, lost in mournful


92
MARY DERWENT.
thoughts of a home among her own people, and of hopes '| enunciation was low, but perfectly distinct. The mother
whose uprooting had sent her to the wilderness, seared started upright, as if a bullet had passed through her
in heart, and hardened, almost beyond the feelings of heart; her face was ashy pale, and she looked strangely
her sex and race. Long and sad were the vigils of that corpse-like in the dusky light. She snatched a knife
stern watcher; yet they had a good influence on her from its sheath in her girdle, and bent a fierce glance on
heart. There was tenderness and regret-nay, almost the sleeper. A moment the blade quivered above the
repentance-in her bosom, as she gazed on the soft heart of her only child, and then the wretched woman
slumbers of her youthful child-the only being on earth flung it from her with a gesture of self-abhorrence, and,
whom she had not ceased to love. More than once she'sinking to the ground, she buried her face in her hands,
pressed her lips fondly to the forehead of the sleeper, and after one slight shudder, remained motionless as a
as if to assure herself of her dear presence after the statue. It was more than an hour before that stern face
frightful dangers of the storm. She remained till after was lifted again; shade after shade of deep and har.
midnight pondering upon past events, with the clinging 'rowing agony had swept over it while buried in the
tenacity of one who seldom allowed herself to dwell on folded arms, and now it was very rale, but with a gentler
aught that could soften a shade of her haughty charac- expression upon it. Traces of anguish and deep com-
ter; and at length she was about to throw herself by the miseration were there as she arose and bent over her
side of her daughter, more from the workings of unquiet daughter. If the beautiful doctrine of good and evil
thoughts, than from a desire for rest. But the attempt spirits hovering about the heart, each striving for mas-
disturbed the slumbering girl. She turned restlessly on tery, be true, Catharine Montour's bosom was the seat
her couch and pushed away the covering, as if oppressed of a fierce spiritual warfare that night! Now the good,
by its warmth. Catharine observed that the cheek | and then the evil predominated, like the shifting light
which lay buried in the dark fur of the pillow was and shadow in an old picture. She laid a band on the
flushed and heated. She attempted to draw the pillow rounded shoulder from which the covering had been
away, when her fingers became entangled in the string flung, passed the other quickly over her eyes, and then
of coral concealed beneath it. Had a serpent coiled awoke the sleeper. “Tahmeroo," she said, but her
around her hand, it could not have produced a more | voice was low and husky, and it died away in her throat.
startling effect. She shook it off, and drew hastily back, The maiden started to her elbow, and looked wildly
as if something loathsome had clung to her. Then she about; then seeing her mother standing over her with
snatched up the ornament, went to the pile of smoulder- the string of red coral in her hand, she sunk back and
ing embers, stirred them to a flame, and examined it buried her face in the pillow.
minutely by the light. Her face settled to its habitual “Tahmeroo, look up!" said the mother in a soft, low
expression of iron resolution as she arose from her voice, from which all traces of emotion had flown.
stooping posture. Her lips were firmly closed, and her, “ Has Tahmeroo no dreams which she does not tell her
forehead became calm and cold, yet there was more of mother? The white man's gift is under her pillow-
doubt and sorrow than of anger in her forced composure. whence come it?"
She returned to the couch and placed herself beside it, A blush spread over the face, neck and bosom of the
with the coral still clenched in her hand. Her face young girl, and she shrunk from the steady gaze of her
continued passionless, but her eyes grew dim as she mother. She was sensible of no wrong, save that of
gazed on the sleeper: thoughts of her own erring youth concealment; yet her confusion was painful almost as a
lay heavily upon her heart.
sense of guilt. Catharine had compassion on her em-
Tahmeroo again turned restlessly on her pillow; her barrassment, and turned away her eyes. “Tahmeroo,”
flushed cheeks dimpled in a smile, and she murmured she said, in a voice still more gentle and winning, "tell
softly in her sleep. Catharine laid her hand on the me all-am I not your mother?-do I not love you?"
round arm, flung out upon the martin skins, and bent. The young Indian girl rose and looked timidly toward
her ear close to the red and smiling lips, thus betraying '' the couch of the Mohawk Chief. “Does my rather
with their gentle whisperings the thoughts that haunted sleep!” she said; and her eyes again fell beneath the
the bosom of the sleeper. It was a fearful contrast, as powerful glance which she felt to be fixed upon her.
the blaze shone on those two faces—the one blooming “Yes, he sleeps ; speak in English, and have no fear.”
and beautiful, smiling amid the pleasant dreams of a And Catharine went to the heap of blazing pine and
young heart; the other moulded with a symmetry more flung ashes on it; then returned to her daughter, folded
rare and intellectual, yet stamped with the iron impress her to her bosom, and for half an hour the low, sweet
of stern deeds and unrighteous thoughts. The linea- voice of Tahmeroo alone broke the stillness of the lodge.
menis, rigid and fixed as marble, yet frozen to compo-Scarcely had Catharine interrupted the confession
sure by her own powers of self-command, rather than of her child with a word of question. She might have
by the influence of time or of nature.
been powerless from emotion, for more than once her
Again Tahmeroo dreamed aloud. A name was whis. breath came quick and gaspingly; and the heavy throb-
pered in her soft, broken English, coupled with words of bing of her heart was almost audible at every pause in
endearment and gentle chiding. The name was spoken that broken narrative. Yet her voice was strangely cold
imperfectly, and Catharine bent her ear still lower, as if and calm when she spoke.
in doubt that she had heard aright. Again that name “And you saw him again this day ?"
was pronounced, and now there was no doubt; the “Yes, mother."


MARY DERWENT.
93
miehe wind
"Did he again tell you to keep these meetings from and all the accomplishments gathered in the favored
my knowledge?"
youth of the mother, were transferred to the child. Even
“He said the Great Spirit would visit me with his the beautiful doctrines of christianity, which sometimes
thunder if I but whispered it to the wind."
stole upon the mother's memory like the whisperings
“The name, tell me the name once more; but low, I of a holy dream, were instilled in the heart of the daugh-
would not hear it aloud. Whisper it in my ear-yet cer; for Catharine had two much poetry and taste min-
the hiss of a serpent were sweeter," she muttered inly. I glied with her stern nature, not to admire the beauties
Tahmeroo raised her lips to her mother's ear and of truth, though she sacrilegiously withheld her belief
whispered as she was commanded. She felt a slight in thern.
shudder creep over the frame against which she leaned, Catharine Montour loved power, but that which she
and all was still again.
| possessed was not of a kind to satisfy her ambition ; for,
“You first saw this this man when we were en into this passion had a thousand others merged them-
camped on the banks of the Delaware, three moons selves. She understood the nature of her influence over
since, while I was absent on a mission to Sir William her husband and his tribe too perfectly to receive plea-
Johnson : did I hear aright in this !" questioned the sure from it. She felt that it was not that of a great
mother after a few minutes of silence.
mind over its own compeers, but of the intellectual over
"It was there that I first saw him, mother."
the animal. It was the power of a resoluto mind, crafty
"Listen to me, Tahmeroo-were I to command you and unhesitating in its means, over the ignorance, super-
never again to see this man, could you obey me?" stition, and brute strength of a savage and almost bar-
The young Indian started from her mother's arms, barous race. She ruled a people with whom she had no
and the fire of her dark eyes flashed even in the half sympathy. But the dominion which she held over her
smothered light.
daughter's heart was woven with all the gentle and better
“Never see him? What, tear away the blossoms from feelings left to her nature. It was the power of intet
my own heart? Obey ? No, mother, no. Thrust me lect over intellect-of love over a loving heart, and her
from my father's lodge--make me a squaw of burthen, absolute rule over that one being had been to her a
such as the lowest woman of our tribe-give me to the treasured sovereignty, dear alike to her pride and to her
tomahawk, to the hot fire,-but ask me not to rend the affections. It had kept one well-spring almost pure in
life from my own bosom. The while blood which my the depths of a wicked heart.
heart drank from thine must curdle that of the Mohawk, Catharine Montour had studied the human beart as
when his child yields or takes love, save at her own free a familiar book, and she knew that it would be in vain
will! No, mother, I could not obey) would not." to contend with the aroused spirit, so suddenly burst
Catharine Montour was struck dumb with astonish- forth in the strength of its womanhood. She felt that
ment. Was she, the despotic ruler of a fierce war- her power over that heart must hereafter be one of love
tribe, to be braved by her own child? The creature she unmixed with fear-an imperfect and a divided power.
had loved and cherished with an affection so deep and The heart of the strong woman writhed under the con-
passionate-had she turned rebellious to her power ? || viction, but she stretched herself on the couch without a
Her haughty spirit aroused itself to furiness, and the word of answer. Her own fiery spirit had sprung to
gladiator broke from her eyes, as they were bent on the rapid growth in the bosom of her child: passions had
palpitating and half-recumbent form of Tahmeroo. The shot up, budded and blossomed, in a night time. The
girl did not shrink from the stern gaze, but met it with stern mother trenibled when she thought of the fruit
& glance of resolute daring. The young eaglet had | which, in her own bosom, had turned to ashes in the
begun to plume its wing! There was something of ripening,
wild dignity in her voice and gesture which assorted well. When Tabmeroo awoke in the morning, the lodge was
with the curbless strength of her mother's spirit. She empty. Her mother had left the encampment at early
respected the strong and energetic mind, even when | dawn.
it rebelled against her own power. Though stern and
cruel to others, her anger had never seriously, till now,
CHAPTER IV.
burst on the head of her daughter. The beautiful and
" The quality of mercy is not stained ;
wild creature whom she had reared in the depths of the
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven,
Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed,
wilderness, had been to her a thing set apart, not for the
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes :
fond quiet of maternal love, but for the idolatry of a seared
"Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
and erring heart, which turned with affection to nothing
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
on earth or in heaven, save that one pure girl. Her
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
very love was a sin; for it gave to the creature, a wor-
But mercy is above this sceptred sway:
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
ship scoffingly withheld from the Creator.
It is an attribute to God hiinself."
With untiring application and a degree of patience
foreign to her character, she had withdrawn her daugh- The history of Wyoming is interwoven with that of a
ter from the women of ber tribe, and lavished on her pious and good man, who forsook home, rank and for
young mind all that had ever been bright or beautiful in tune, and who came among the Six Nations, with his
her own. The lore and pure accents of her own native life in his hand, learned their habits, shared the hard-
land were made familiar to the lips of the young Indian, lehips of their rude life, and became to them a teacher
12


94
MARY DER WENT.
and a brother. This man was sitting alone in his log- of form, and scarcely above the middle height; her air
hut, built on à curving bank of the Susquehanna, be- was courtly and graceful, but dashed with hanghtiness
tween Wilkesbarre and Monockonok Island. He was almost approaching to arrogance. She bad probably
a man of mild and benign countenance; the pious medi. numbered forty or forty-five years, and her face, though
tations of a subdued and humble heart diffused their slightly sun-browned, was still fair, and bore traces of
sunshine over a face peculiarly gentle and merciful in its great beauty, spite of the rigid expression about the
expression. Yet was there a shade of habitual sadness | small mouth and finely cut forebead. There was some-
in the eye, a patient sweetness about the lips when he thing in the appearance of the stranger that puzzled the
smiled, which cold most truly, that years of sorrow and penetration of the missionary; he had spent his life
struggle against the ills of life had been at last rewarded amid the aristocracy of an European court, and had
by repose-the repose of subdued passions and perse- passed from thence to the lowly settlement, and to the
vering search after the good and pure. His dress was still more remote Indian encampment; but the air and
of the plainest materials, yet its general neatness, and dress of the strange woman were not strictly those of any
the air of refinement betrayed in every motion, was suffi- |class with which he had as yet become familiar. There
cient to distinguish him, to the most careless observer, I was a wildness mingled with the majesty of her presence,
as one bred to a situation far different to the character and her rich and picturesque attire partook at once of
he had chosen. His hair was parted from his forehead the court and of the wigwam. Her long and yet abundant
after a peculiar fashion, and fell loosely to his shoulders, | hair was wreathed in slender braids around her head,
giving the upper portion of his face an air of meek and and surmounted by a small coronet of gorgeous feathers.
almost feminine softness. It had once been of a deep A serpent of fine, scaly gold, the neck and back striped
brown, but was now thickly interspersed with silver, and variegated with minute gems, was wreathed about
and had fallen slightly away from the back part of the the mass of braids on one side of her bead, and formed
head. His whole appearance was that of a man of a knot of slender coils where it clasped the coronet.
chastened and benevolent spirit-one to whom a child There was something startlingly like vitality in the
or a wounded bird would instinctively have crert for writhing folds when the light struck them, and the
protection.
jewelled head shot out from the feathers and quivered
The hut was small and but newly built. A deal box over the pale temple with thrilling effect. There was
stood in one corner filled with books and rolls of manu. an asp-like glitter in the sharp, emerald eyes, and the
script. Two stools and a rude table, with a few cook tiny jaw seemed full of subtle venom. It was a magpi-
ing utensils, were the only remaining furniture. The ficent and rare ornament to be found in the solitude of
missionary sat by the table with implements for writing an Ainerican forest; yet scarcely less remarkable than
before him, but intent on the pages of a worn bible. the remainder of the strange woman's apparel. A robe
The morning was yet young, and the fresh air cume of deep crimson cloth, bordered with the blackest lynx
balmly to his temples as he read. The forest trees, fur, was girded at the waist by a cord of twisted silk,
which interwove their branches like an arbor over the land fell back at the shoulders in lappels of rich black
hut, were vocal with bird-songs, and the murmur of a | velvet. It had loose hanging sleeres, likewise lined
mountain cascade came so tly through the unglazed with velvet, beneath which, the white and still rounded
window. The missionary occasionally lifted his head arm gleamed out in strong contrast. A serpent, similar
and looked out with a tranquil smile, when a bird came to the one on her head, but glowing with still more costly
chirruping by the door, or shook the dew from the green jewels, coiled around the graceful swell of her right
boughs waving against the window. Then he would arm, a little below the elbow, but its brilliancy was con-
smooth back the pages which the breeze playfully lifted cealed by the drapery of the sleeve, except when the
whenever he removed his hand, and again become ab- | arm was in motion. She wore elaborately wr
sorbed in his book. It was a picture of holy and quiet moccasins, also of crimson cloth, but the embroidery
study; but the crackling of branchro, and the sound of was soiled with dew, and the silken thongs with which
approaching footsteps interrupted its benutiful tranquil. | they had been laced to the ankle had burst loose in the
lity. The silvery now of the water-fall was broken by rough path through which she had evidently travelled.
the sound; the birds Auttered away from their green The missionary stood by the table, while his visitor
nestling places in the leaves, and a half tamed fawn, cast a hasty glance around the apartment, and then
which had been sleeping in a tuft of brake leaves, I turned her eyes keenly on his face.
started up, gazed a moment on the intruder with his “I am not mistaken," she said slowly, withdrawing
dark, intelligent eyes, and then dashed up the river's her gaze; "you are the Godly man to whom my people
bank, as she crossed the threshold of the lowly dwelling. have directed me-the Indian missionary.”
The missionary looked up as the stranger entered, and a
The man of God bent his head in reply.
feeling of astonishment mingled with the politeness “ You should be, and I suppose are, an ordained
which long habit had made a portion of his nature. minister of the established church,” she resumed.
He arose, and with a slight inclination of the head, “I am a Moravian, madame."
placed the stool, on which he had been sitting, for hier || His voice was deep-toned and peculiarly sweet. The
accommodation. The intruder bent her head, in ac- || woman started as it met her ear; a gleam of un-
knowledgment of the courtesy, but remained standing. I wonted expression shot over her composed features,
She was a woman of majestic and stately bearing, slight and she fixed another penetrating glance on the face of


MA'R Y Ø ER WENT.
95
the speaker, as if some long buried recollection had | eyes to mine in the still and solemn wilderness, with
been aroused; then she turned her eyes away, satisfied nothing but savage faces around me, with no heart to
with the scrutiny, and, drawing a deep breath, spoke sympathize with mine in its deep yearning love, that
again.
child became to me a part of my own life. For years
“A Moravian! I know nothing of their religion. I had loved nothing; but now the pent-up tenderness of
But it matters not: have you authority to perform mar my being gushed forth, and the infant became to me an
riages after the established law ?"
idol. In the wide dark world I had but one object to
“I have; but my services are seldom required. I love, and for the first time in a weary life affection brought
mingle but little with the whites of the settlement, and I to me happiness. You may be a father, or may have
Indians have their peculiar forms, which, to them, are been the husband of a being whom you have worshipped
alone binding."
and doted on, who has lain in your bosom year after
“True," replied the woman, with a slight wave of the year, pure and gentle as a spring blossom, and when
hand, “and these forms shall not be wanting; all the that being has wound herself around your heartstrings,
bonds of a christian church and savage custom will when she was dearest and loveliest,-she may have
scarcely yield me security." She spoke as if unconsci been stolen from your bosom, sullied in her innocent
ous of a second presence, and again abruptly addressed thoughts."
the missionary.
“Forbear, in mercy forbear !" said the missionary in
“ Your services are needed in the Mohawk encamp-l a voice of agony.
ment, a few miles back in the mountains. A guide Catharine looked up and saw that his eyes were full
shall be sent for you at the appointed time. Stay in this of tears; her own face was fearfully agitated, and she
place during the next twenty-four hours; within that went on with a degree of energy but little in keeping
space you will be summoned."
with the pathos of her last, broker speech.
The missionary, though an humble man, was by no “A white, one of my own race, came to the forest
means wanting in the dignity of a christian, and a gen- || stealthily, like a thief, and with a gift, which he taught
uleman; he liked not the arrogant and commanding her to believe was a bond of marriage among his people,
tone assumed by his singular visitor, and there was a he lured my child from honor and from the heart of her
slight degree of reproof in his manner when he an- || mother. And now I beseech you, for I see that you'
swered.
are kind and feeling, and that I was wrong to command,
"Lady," he said, “if the welfare of a human being-1-come to the camp at !welve to-night, for then and
if the safety of an immortal soul, can be secured by my || there, shall my child be lawfully wedded."
presence, I will not hesitate to trust myself even among “I will be there at the hour," replied the missionary,
my most bitter enemies, the Mohawks—a people who in a voice of deep sympathy. “ Heaven forbid that I
have, more than once, sought my life; but, for a less should refuse to aid in righting the wronged, even at the
important matter, I cannot obey your bidding." peril of life.”
“ Rash man! know you whom you are thus braving ?” “My owr. head shall not be more sacred in the camp
said the woman, fixing her eyes sternly on his face. l of the Mohawks than shall yours," said Catharine with
“ If your life is utterly valueless, delay but a moment energy.
in following the guide which I shall send, and every il “I doubt it not; and were it otherwise, I should not
pulse in your heart shall have a death of its own to shrink from a duty. I owe an atonement for the evil
struggle with! Catharine Montour's will has never opinion I had of you. A heart which feels dishonor so
yet been disputed within twenty miles of the Mohawk's keenly cannot delight in carnage and blood." .
lent without frightful retribution."
“And do they repeat these things of me?" inquired
The missionary started back with a slight shudder at Catharine, with a painful smile: “they do me deep
the mention of that terrible name, but he speedily re- || wrong. Fear me not; I appear before you with clean
gained his composure and answered her calmly and with hands. If the heart is less pure, it has sufficiently
firmness.
avenged itself; if it has wronged others, they are now
“Threats are but powerless with me, lady," he said. revenged; for, has not the love of my child gone forth to
"The man who places himself unarmed and defenceless || another? Am I not alone ?"
in the midst of a hoard of savages, can scarcely be sup-1 “Lady," said the missionary, in a voice of deep com.
posed to act against his conscience from the threat of a miseration, for he was moved by her energetic grief,
woman, however stern may be her heart, and however " this is not the language of a base heart. Your speech
fearful her power. Tell me the nature of the services is elegant, your manner noble. Lady, what are you."
which I am required to perform, and then receive my. There are seasons when the heart will claim sympathy
answer."
spite of control. This power was upon the heart of:
The haughty woman moved towards the door with a Catharine Montour. “Yes, I will speak,” she mul-
gesture of angry impatience, but returned again, and tered, raising her hand and pressing it heavily to her
with more of courtesy in her manner, seated herself on eyes. The motion flung back the drapery of the sleeve,
the stool which had been placed for her.
and the light flashed full on the jewelled serpent. The
“It is but just,” she said, “that you should know the missionary's eyes were fixed wildly upon it, and he
service which you are required to perform. There is in sallied back against the logs of the hut, with a death-
the Mohawk camp a maiden of mixed blood, my child, like agony in his face.
my only child; from the day that she first opened her
To be continued.


96
THE YAGERS' ADIEU.
THE YAGERS' ADIEU.
Arranged for the Guitar.
On
prancing
steeds Three
Yagers sprang, A
- dieu,
A • dieu
A.;
fieu,
Their
sweethearts
fair
thus
gail
· ·
ly
sung,
A-
dieu, A · dieu, A
- dieu.
No
other
tears shall wet, they cried, The


THE YAG ERS' A DIEU.
97
cheek
a warrior's
kiss has dried ; A
• dieu, & - dieu, à • dieu, a : dieu, Then
all
for
glory
fly,
Then
all
for
glory
fly, Huzza,
hu
huz
-
za,
huz
za.
ch
A thousand more are on the field;
With martial sounds the skies are filled;
Then where is he so mean and shy,
In woman's arms would trembling lie,
When all for glory fly ? &c.
Our country calls-the Yager hears ;
We give her hope and calm her fears;
Then speed we on and leave behind,
On its bleak sides, the mountain wind,
For we to glory fly, &c.
And where, young warriors, dost thou fly,
With dauntless brow and eagle eye?
To meet the foe that fiercely comes
To spoil our fields and sacred homes,
We now to glory fly, &c.
Where cannons dread their lightnings flash,
And sword meets sword in fearful crash,
The Yager there still spurs his steed,
While 'neath his foot the foe doth bleed,
For we to glory fly, &c.
But now we pant for war's alarms;
From love and beauty's twining arms
We go; but in the dreadful fight
For us dark dangers path you'll light,
For all to glory fly, &c.


98
LITE R A R Y REVIEW.
Original.
UNCLE HORACE: Carey, Lead Blanchard, Philadelphia.-
LITERARY REVIEW.
Mrs. S. C. Hall, the author of these volumes, is a charming
writer, and seems to understand the art of novel writing better
LADY OF Lyons : Harper & Brothers.-The Lady of Lyons, than many of her coinpeers. Her characters and plots are
or Love and Pride, by E. L. Bulwer, is a play in five acts. In always couceived in a spirit of truth, and remarkable for their
the preface to this dramatic offspring the author acknowledges nice and precise delineation. Mrs. Hall is no less distinguished
that he is partly indebted for the plot to an "indistinct recol for fertility of imagination and descriptive powers, than for the
lection of a very pretty litile tale, called La Perouse, or the masculine strength of her mind. None will deny that her wri-
Bellows-mender.” The language of the play is exceedingly tings possess that peculiar delicacy in delineating manners, and
beautiful, but in many parts, in reading, it is far inferior to the tracing almost imperceptible shades of thought, so distinctive
Duchess de la Valliere. It wants greatly the relief of an under of the female intellect, combined with the power and energy
plot-though, on the stage, this is more of an advantage than a of the other sex. A contemporary remarks, that "the work
defect. The monotony of the Duchess de la Valliere destroyed before us prosents the attraction arising from a combination of
it as a production for the stage. Its interest was allowed to all these qualities, and it is scarcely necessary to state our
wane ere its termination ; and the curtain dropped, much to the opinion of its ultimate popularity. We never recollect to have
disappointment of all, on the entering of the Duchess to the met with a more delightful character than that of the hero-
dunnery. But not so with the Lady of Lyons : Pauline, the par distinction-of the novel Uncle Horace-an independent,
heroino, is a beautiful creature, though somewhat aristocratic high-spirited merchant, with a proper sense of the usefulness
and proud, yet still a child of nature; possessing a share of those of his class, and overflowing with the truest feeling of nature's
rudiments which should be instilled into the mind of every nobility--eccentric and singular in his modes of thought and
young female. That Mr. Bulwer has eminently succeeded as a action, but never, with all his singularity, intentionally injuring
dramatist, is allowed by all. For ourselves, we rejoice in it, any deserving mortal, for
inasmuch as it will be the means of opening to the world an-
* Even his feelings leaned to virtuc's side,'
other channel for dramatic productions.
and, to crown all, a bachelor with nearly all the anxieties of the
THE ROBBER, by G. P. R. James : Harper & Brothers. We married state upon him. These form a character as amusing
have not read any book with so much interest as this since the
as it is fascinating and instructive. And then the heroines-for
publication of Ernest Maltravers. To say that Mr. James has
we verily maintain that there are two—are pourtrayed as only a
equalled his former efforts, would be sheer injustice. The
woman can describe her own sweet sex-with all their noble-
Robber is superior to all the other works which Mr. James has
ness and self-sacrificing devotion. We do not thus praise
written since that of Attila. There is so much real life thrown
without mature investigation, and we feel confident that the
into the story, that every one must become delighted in its
future popularity of the work will prove that we are sustained
perusal. There are no foreign phrases introduced to mar the
in our opinion by the judgment of an enlightened publie, to
interest of the dialogue or descriptions. The language is pure,
whom we heartily commend it."-Wiley & Putnam.
elegant and natural. The portraits, we should think, were
drawn from life, rather than from fancy--they are so fraught THE RIVER AND THE DESART: E. L. Carey & A. Hart,
with the rich coloring of nature. Witness that of Mono Gray, Philadelphia.—These are exceedingly pleasing volumes, but
the wife of the Robber: how pure and yet how unhappy they cannot compcte, either in interest or graphic delioeation,
beautiful and interesting as the offsprings of her own sunny
with their predecessor, the "City of the Sultan." Nothing
Italy are ever pourtrayed-constant to her trust, and faithful that emanates from the pen of Miss Pardoe can be dry or upin-
in her allegiance to her husband-never for a moment harboring
teresting ; but the volumes before us are more common place
a thought, save in common with him, and scorping, with woman's
in detail than we have been accustomed to peruse from the same
pride and virtuous indignation, all offers to betray him ; but
source. The work is a series of letters written to a valued
yet how awful was her fate. With what love, pure and up-
friend in the familiarity of personal recollections.-Wiley 4
adulterated as it was, did she pronounce the dying blessing on
Putnam.
her erring and misled husband. Young Langford is a fine and
LOVE: Carey, Lea & Blanchard, Philadelphia.-The fair
spirited youth, driven, through the injustice of his own father,
author of "Flirtation," "The Divorced," etc., has been some-
to the assumption of this name, while, in reality, he was the
what quick in giving the world this novel, at least so soon after
rightful possessor of the endless honors, and immense estates
“The Divorced.” We have read only a portion of the work,
held by another. Alice Herbert is a noble and high-minded
and from our casual glance we are inclined to think that the
girl, well deserving such a suitor as Langford. All romances
incidents and plot are well conceived, and illustrated by cha-
must boast a villain, and the Earl of Danemore is a perfect per-
racters which are naturally drawn and appropriately intro-
sopification of all that is cruel and dishonorable. We again
duced. The moral tendency is excellent, beyond the shadow
assert that Mr. James has over-reached himself in his present
of a doubt: it chiefly aims to show that those who aspire to a
effort. The Robber is a masterly production, and will be as
bliss beyond the common standard of happiness, invariably fall
extensively read as any work that has been issued in this city
below it. With these brief remarks, we must leave the public
for months. We are not in the habit of lavishing useless praise
to form their opinion of Love.-The Carvills.
upon a book, but in this case it is merited in the fullest sense of
the term
LIFE OF Walter Scott: Carey, Lea & Blanchard, Pkila-
Hood's Own.- George Dearborn & Co. have published the
1 delphia.-We have received the seventh and last part of the
first part of a series of papers entitled “Hood's Own," illus-
“Memoirs of the life of Sir Walter Scott," by J. G Lockhart.
trated with innumerable wood cuts, characteristic of each sub-
The whole numbers form an immense volume, with a correct
ject. The work cmanates from the pen of the mirthful Hood.
likeness of the Bard of Avon. Now, that the work is in a perfect
It is 'got up' in a handsome style, in point of typographical
state, those who have been holding back in consequence of its
execution. The drawings are spirited and well adapted. The
being issued in numbers can possess themselves of it, by calling
remaining parts will be issued in quick succession.
at the book-store of the Carvills.
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY: Carey, Lea & Blanchard, Philadelphia. ENDLESS FUN: E. L. Carey & A. Hart, Philadelphia.-Most
This is a work to be continued monthly, and completed in of our readers are doubtless acquainted with the English Comic
twenty numbers, each of which is illustrated with two plates. Annual, edited by Thomas Hood, or, at least, they have heard
ife and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby, containing a' of such a work. Endless Fun is a reprint of this annual for
faithful account of the fortunes, uprising, and the career of the 1838, and is filled with the richest of reading. To all who are
Nickleby family, by “Boz," will doubtless prove a valuable troubled with the blues, we would commend this work.-Wiley
work.-The Carvills.
$ Putnam.


THEATRICALS.
99
P
.
MUSICAL GAZETTE: Otis, Broaders & Co., 120 Washington |We see this peasant first in the cottage of his mother. He
street, Boston, have cominenced a new semi-monthly periodical comes bounding in after some fresh village triumph, full of high
under the above title, devoted exclusively to the science of mu- l thoughts and high dreams, the hope of fame, and the ambition
sic. If the two numbers before us are to be taken as a specimen to be worthier to Jove Pauline." This last has long been the
of the future style of the work-the publishers have great rea passion of the young peasant's heart, and he fancies himself
son to rejoice at the success of their undertaking.
now approaching within reach of its fulfilment, for he has seen
THE HESPERIAN; or, Western Monthly Magazine.-edited by
her wear the flowers he has privately sent her, and is at this
William D. Gallagher and Otway Curry, is as neat a work as is
moment awaiting the result of a more daring and open avowal
of his adoration in a copy of verses transmitted to her with his
to be found in America. Mr. Gallagher as a literary writer is
name. Should these elicit one favorable word, Claude will join
well known at the West. Our pen could add nothing to his
the armies of the republic; and love which "does not level tho
already exalted reputation. We wish the Hesperian every
proud but raise the humble," shall lift the successful soldier to
success.
the level of Pauline. In the midst of these buoyant expecta-
The Two FlirTS AND OTHER Tales: E. L. Carey & A. tions the messenger returns, the bearer of insult and scorn. A
Hart, Philadelphia. This work is the joint production of Lady letter from Beausant reaches him the instant after, declaring the
Blessington, Hon. Mrs. Norton, Mrs. Gore, E. L. Bulwer, Cap- | writer's knowledge of his daring passion, and promising that,
tain Medwin, and various other well known writers. From a
on certain conditions, he shall marry its object, and bear her to
casual glance through its pages, we should pronounce the work his own home. The act ends in a tumultuous rebound of hope
well worthy of a perusal.-Wiley & Putnam.
back from the depths of his rage and bis despair.
The DESERTED BRIDE AND OTHER Poems, by George P.
In the second act Claude Melnotte is a prince, and the betroth-
ed of Pauline. He has consented to the artifice in a moment of
Morris.-We owe an apology to the public for so long neglect-
ing to notice this beautiful little volume of poems. To those
revenge; and half hoping he may teach the beauty who has
who love the sweet and natural in poetry, its pages must alrea-
scorned him, the elevation of true passion-half supposing it
dy be familiar, or we should indulge, notwithstanding our want
will never be pushed to the extremity of marriage-happy
of room, in some favorite extracts. From the Old Oak, we
above all in the presence of the beloved one which unconscious-
would select several stanzas of the most sweet and gentle melo-
ly fills whatever void may be to come with the warmth of pas-
dy; from the leading poem, others of pathos and sentiment;
sionate desires, of gayest hopes, of brightest fancies-he pur-
but when we once begin to indulge in extracts it is difficult to
sues the artifice, insensible to its extent of deception and crime.
know where to stop. Of the whole book, we speak a candid
The act abounds in masterly touches of nature.
and unprejudiced opinion in saying, that it is full of sweet and
The opening of the third act sees Pauline and her husband
pere melody; that there is much of Wordsworthian simplicity
on their way to the “ palace" of the prince, but arrested by a
and more of pure and pleasant thought in its pages. General
feigned accident near the cottage of Claude's mother. Every
Morris will never have cause to regret that he has collected his
word of her trusting affection increases his heart-broken re-
Little treasure of gems into a casket worthy of them.
morse. “Is it not cold ?” he asks, "Never, beneath thy smile!"
is Pauline's answer. The dismay in the cottage is one of the
most masterly touches ever given to the stage-in various,
Original.
quick and startling emotion-no less than in manly and sustain-
THEATRICALS.
ed pathos.
The next morning (the opening of the fourth act) finds Claude
PARK.-The only novelty at this house since our last has been in his peasant's dress again, watching at the chamber door of
the production of Bulwer's new play, “The Lady of Lyons." || Pauline. When she enters he has left the cottage to pre
The main object of this drama is to shed over the lower pro- for her return to her father's home, and “the place seems still
vinces of man's existence the light of high aims and meritorious more desolate without him." Her scene at this point with
achievements; and with this view its hero is exhibited, in an Claude's mother is one of the most affecting in the play. Her
age of violent revolutionary change, quietly and unobtrusively love for her husband rises more and more-(“Oh! if he were
working his way by personal qualities alone, through the repul- but a poor gentleman!")—Beausant enters, and Claude arrives
siveness of low birth and mean position, and using the niggard in time to save her from his villainous purposes. Her parents
ness of fortune only as a foil 10 the bounty of nature. Since the Il arrive at the cottage, and after a scene of various power, Pau.
errors and sufferings of Julia made their affecting appeal to the | line, in one passionate burst of love, resigns her vanity and
heart, and were answered by the sympathy of every heart that | pride, and asks of Claude that she may share his cottage. But
witnessed them, we have had nothing at all comparable to the he feels that he has a crime to expiate before such happiness
Lyons in that description of interest, or in the extent may be his, and not till he has redeemed the fair fame be bas
and enthusiasm it produces among the audience.
lost, will he dare to lift his thoughts to Pauline. The struggle
The scene opens in 1795 in the house of a rich Lyons mer is conducted with touching truth and skill. In the end, by tho
whose daughter, Pauline, all are doing interference of a brave blunt soldier, Claude enters the French
many virtues are alloyed by the one sin of pride | army, passionately pledging himself to return " a better man
the overpowering desire that she has to rise, by marriage with than a prince-a man who has bought the right to high thoughts
some foreign noble, above the detestable equality of the revolu by brave deeds."
tion. In this she is encouraged by a foolish mother, and her Three years are supposed to pass before the curtain riseg-in
first act in the play is to refuse the addresses of M. Beausant, the the fifth act, and while they have seen Claude Melnotte rise
title-stripped son of a Marquis, who had offered for her with from rank to rank in the republican army, and under the assu-
the secure air of a man who is going to make the object of his med pame of Morier, achieve the ſame and station which ho
choice eternally grateful. In the rage of his disappointment he had promised himself should cancel his crime and raise him to
casts about for some expedient of revenge, and hears opportune Pauline-her father has been gradually sinking into distress,
Iy of a peasant-genius in the neighboring village, by whom all till the sacrifice of his daughter to the wealth and still surviving
boys swear and for whom all the girls pray, who has been left passion of Beausant has been determined on as the last resource
an old gardner, his father, and has for to save his credit and his name. Claude himself, disguised and
the last four years devoted himself to accomplishments above unrecognized in the dress of the famous Colonel Morier, is pre-
his station, with all the glorious hopes that were then born of the seot at the scene, (full of deepest pathos) where the heart-bro-
young republic. Beausant forms the project of passing off this ken girl consents to sign the divorce which is necessary to the
elegant clown upon the family of Pauline as a foreign prince, of new marriage, and as the friend and comrade of Melnotte,
seducing her into a marriage with him, and of availing himself receives her last message to him. A few instants after sees Pau-
of the humiliation and abasement that would follow her disco-\|line in his arms, the happy wife of the wealthy and honored
very of the truth.
soldier.


100
EDITORS'TA BL E.
We have left ourselves little space to speak of the perfor-11 To the other branch of this division of our subject, we shall
advert but briefly. Many good and well-meaning persons are
mance of this piece. When we say, however, that the princi
induced to subscribe for newspapers or periodicals, by their
pal characters were sustained by Mrs. Richardson, Mrs. When
Jove of variety in reading. their want of time to compass the
ley and Miss Cushman-by Messrs. Forrest, Placide, Richings perusal of books, their isolated situations in life, or their desire
and Wheatley, we need not say that the acting was excellent. to contribute their mite towards establishing and sustaining
such works in sections of the country where they are needed.
NATIONAL.- This house was very brilliantly attended on the With either or all of these feelings, they enter their names
occasion of the complimentary benefit to Mr. James Wallack. when requested to do so, or voluntarily forward them to the
publisher, determined that the very first money which they can
He has sailed for England, and will probably secure for the en-
spare from other uses shall be appropriated to the payment of
suing season some of the most sterling and efficient talent on the their subscriptions. This is all very well; and but few pub-
other side of the water. Miss Davenport, a sprightly and very lishers will refuse to credit money received within a month or
two after the time of subscribing, or the commencement of a
intelligent girl of eleven years, is now playing at this theatre.
volume or year, as advance payment. But we regret to say
The daily papers speak in high terms of her abilities, and cer experience has demonstrated, that where one such person
tainly not too much so if she plays every thing as well as she makes payment according to his intentions, ten never become,
does the "Manager's Daughter," the only part in which we have
or never think themselves, able to pay at all; and these, after
deriving entertainment and information from their favorite
scen her.
periodical for a year or two, have to suffer their names to be
stricken from the subscription-books, and in many instances
their names appear on the BLACK List, much to their own
Original.
mortification and regret, and greatly to the injury of the pub-
lisher and the detriment of his work. As a general rule, then,
EDITORS' TABLE.
all who subscribe for a paper or a magazine under circum-
stances similar to those here stated, and find or imagine them-
“LET US HAVE JUSTICE."-We were on the eve of making a
selves unable to pay a year's subscription at the expiration of
two or three months, should discharge the small debt incurred
few observations to the subscribers of the LADIES' COMPANION,
in the enjoyment of what they have had, and at once request
when the following remarks, in the May number of the “Hes- their names to be erased. This, it is true, may be a cause of
perian," met our eye. The justice that dictated them cannot great inconvenience to the publisher, and disarrange, if not
overthrow, all his plans and calculations; but it is better he
be questioned, nor will it be denied that the poor publisher of a
should know early that he is not doing a making or a saving
magazine is filched daily of his hard-earned pittance by those business, than find too late that his prosperity was only appa-
very persons whom he has exerted every nerve to amuse, in the rent, and that he has involved himself in ruin.
hope that they possessed suſficient honesty, honor, and justice, The great body, however, of those who take a periodical, are
able to pay the cost, most of them at the time of subscribing, all
to comply with the terms of the work. For our part, we have
of them in a short time thereafter. But it is so little customary
adapted the rule to publish on the cover, the names of all
for publishers, generally the most backward of all business men
persons, either male or female, that discontinue the Ladies' in presenting their bills, to demand payment before the expira-
Companion, or remove from their former residence, without
|tion of twelve or eighteen months, that very few think they are
in want of the trifle due from each. But these trifles of three
settling in full all arrearages. Is there a single individual, and five dollars make up the whole of their revenue; and there
however lost to virtue or honesty, that will not blush at seeing is no other business which, in proportion to its extent, requires
or hearing of his name being published for the nominal sum so incessant and no large a drain for its energetic and successful
prosecution, as that of publishing a large pewspaper, or a good
required to defray the price of a magazine? This alternative
periodical of extensive circulation. This is notorious to all who
is never resorted to, until every other means fail, and then it is
have any knowledge of the different kinds of labor which enter
with great reluctance.
into the production of such a work, and the great number of
individuals necessary for its proper execution and punctual
“The principal cause that operates against the success of
issue."
periodicals, is, the negligence of good subscribers, and the
rascality of bad ones, with regard to making payments. This
In conclusion, we would observe that the subscription price
we should gladly decline noticing; but it is an evil of such
general prevalence, affecting the prosperity of our newspapers
of the Ladies' Companion is three dollars a year, when paid in
and political journals as well as that of our periodicals, that it advance; or four dollars, during the year. The MAY NUMBER,
should not be passed over lightly, but rather commented upon with the majority of our subscribers, commenced a new year.
at length, in plain and rebuking language. He who orders a
All who will forward the three dollars previous to the first of
paper or a periodical, and after receiving and enjoying it for a
year or two, changes his place of residence without notifying the | August, will be credited the year-otherwise, four dollars
proprietor of the fact, or orders a discontinuance without will be exacted. (For delinquent subscribers, see cover.
paying up arrearages, is just as guilty of robbery, in the truest
sense of the term, as he who breaks into a dwelling-house at “OUR ENGRAVINGS."-We wish to call the attention of the
midnight, and bears away the plate or the jewels thereof. public particularly to the fact, that the engravings which now
There is, in reality, no substantial difference between the two
ornamcut the Ladies' Companion are engraved purposely for
cases. Yet how different are they regarded, in the operations
of our system of public morals! It is strictly within the bounds
the work by Mr. A. Dick, of this city. No other magazine in
of truth, and the sanction of experience, to say, that the pub. America, save the Ladies' Companion, is adorned with steel
lishers of newspapers and periodicals in the United States, are
engravings monthly.
robbed of thousands of dollars every week, in the manner here
stated, by persons who would scorn to enter upon the premises THE PRIZE TALE--"Mary Derwent," the two hundred dole
of their neighbors, and carry off covertly the value of a dime!
Jar prize article, by our associate, Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, which
This conduct towards the publisher has for so long a time been
customary in this country, that a portion of the public seem to
is continued in the present number, will be found of the most
consider themselves invested with a kind of prescriptive right absorbing interest. Our readers, we predict, will be much
to impose upon and defraud him whenever they can. And that gratified in the perusal of this "Tale of the Early Settlers."
they, in many instances, even descend to paltry maneuvres for
the purpose of availing themselves of this “right," every per NATIONAL ACADEMY OF DESIGN.-We have seldom visited a
son knows who has had any considerable connection with the place of public exhibition with so little satisfaction as this. A
American press, in either of its departments-scientific, lite.
rary, or religious. All this, we are told, will be considered
very large number of bad paintings may be seen--a few good
harsh language. So it will by those to whom it applies, and so ones, with several miniatures, erecuted, we doubt not, with con.
we wish it may. It is truth- and the truth is generally unplea-
siderable tact. In short, the visitors are regaled with a great
sant and harsh-sounding to such as have violated the injnnc-
display of good canvass, handsome frames, but very disgraceful
tions of duty, or disregarded the laws of honesty. We hold no
fellowship with such persons; we want neither their friendship paintings. We shall never have creditable exhibitions in New-
nor their “patronage."-(Heaven save the mark !)—and we York, until that illiberality which is so apparent on the part of
care not how soon we are at quits with them entirely and for
the managers of the institute, is frowned down by the public.
ever. But the honest man, who takes his paper, or his maga-
zine, or his review, and pays for it when the subscription MR. J. Watson, the accomplished composer and professor of
money is due, according to the terms, or when he is called
music, having determined on making New-York his permanent
upon, will see nothing undeservedly harsh in what we have said.
residence, will give lessons in all the various branches of music.
His common sense will at once perceive the truthfulness and the
propriety of our language, and he will unite with us in repro- | A card of terms will be furnished at 33 Bleecker street. (See
bating that flexibility of morals which we have just sketched. I advertisoment on the cover.)






一​。
一
​.


THE LADIES' COMPANION.
TILY. :838.

es
Pontian
The
fires. You will thank me that I have
feeble pen, and from the mind of another, have opened | guage you havo empowywa
a treasure of thought beneath your feet. S. A. S.
know your own meaning ? What would you thin
| me? That I was playing the philosopher perhaps, th
The child is father of the man. Men are but children I wanted to puzzle you with a childish question, that i
of a larger growth. How often do we meet with this thought I was thinking, or at best that I was a little out
VOL. IX-13.





THE LADIES' COMPANION.
NEW-YORK, JULY, 1838.
Original.
| array of words! Yet how insensible we are to the pro-
RUSTIC CIVILITY,
found philosophy they enwrap. Sublime and astonish-
OR CHILDREN-WHAT ARE THEY?
ing truths! Uitered every day in our hearing, set before
our eyes at every step of our journey through life, written
BY JOHN NEAL.
over all the monuments of Earth, upon the pages and
banners of all History, upon the temples and the pyra-
GENTLE reader, it is with reluctance that I allow this mide, the palaces and the sepulchres of departed Nations,
beautiful print to pass by without any attempt at illus- upon all the doings of the Past and the Present, as with
tration. There is something so deliciously quiet and re-extinguishable fire, and sounding for ever and ever in the
freshing in the shadow of that green dell, in the grassy unapproachable solitudes of the Future! Yet heard
slopes, and the sunshine stealing so softly to them, that with indifference, read without emotion, and repeated
I long to weave a little romance with its loveliness. I from month to month, day after day, and year after year,
can scarcely resist the impulse to connect a tale of happy without a suspicion of their deep meaning, of their trans-
love, with the rustic cottages half hidden by the trees cendent importance, of their imperishable beauty. And
yonder upon the bill ! but after dwelling upon the leafy why? The language is too familiar, the apparent signi-
beauty of the scene-the verdant back ground—that fication too sitple and natural for the excited under-
steep green bank, and the sunny front, the attention is standings of the multitude. There is no curtain to be
irresistibly fixed upon that group of children, with an lifted, no veil to be rent as with hands of giants, no zone
interest that gives them the leading position in the mind, to be loosened, no mystery to be expounded alar off, as
moving the heart with a thoughtful sympathy; which the in the language of another world, nothing to be guessed
perishable beauties of nature fail to excite. It is not at, or deciphered, nothing but what any body might un-
merely the half shy, half eager curiosity of the little ones, i derstand if he would; and therefore nothing to be re-
as they gaze on the approaching horseman, whose membered or cared for.
shadow is darkening the green sward before them ; nor But in simple truth, a more sublime interrogation
is it the bashful, irresolute courtesy of the larger boy, as could not be propounded, than that which may appear to
he stands there shading his forehead with one hand, be answered by the language referred to. What are
while the other grasps the bar, as if undivided whether children? Step to the window with me. The street is
to open a passage for the traveller or not; but in each of full of them. Yonder a school is let loose ; and here,
those little faces, we feel that there is an immortal spirit! just within reach of our observation, are two or three
pictured forth-a spirit that has yet to work out its own noisy little fellows; and there another party, mustering
destiny of sorrow or gladness-of virtue, or of crime per- for play. Some are whispering together, and plouting
chance! The mind centres around that little group, so loudly and so earnestly, as to attract every body's at-
and gradually takes a saddened and a wider range of tention ; while others are holding themselves aloof, with
thought. It turns to the thousands and thousands of their satchels gaping so as to betray a part of their plans
little beings who wander over our thoroughfares, and
for to-morrow afternoon, or laying their heads together
play among the green places of our land, almost un in pairs, for a trip to the islands. Look at them, weigh
headed; creatures whom we pass daily, with an almost the question I have put to you, and then answer it, as it
entire forgetfulness of their dignity and importance in deserves to be answered. What are children? To
the scale of being, without a thought that they are tread- which you reply at once, without any sort of hesitation
ing in our footsteps, and are shaping the destiny of a perhaps,-- Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined;'
coming age, by the shadows we cast behind, in our way or “Men are but children of a larger growth,' or perad-
to the green. If you are a parent, gentle reader, you venture, ‘The child is father of the man.' And then
will thank me that instead of amusing you with a fanciful perhaps you leave me, perfectly satisfied with yourself
illustration of this most exquisite picture, I have con- and with your answer, having plucked out the beart of
nected it with the vigorous and almost startling thoughts the mystery, and uttered without knowing it, a string
of a leading spirit in our national literature, of one who of glorious truths, pearls of great price.
burst forth a brilliant star, when but few twinkled in our But instead of answering you as another might, instead
intellectual hemisphere, and by the attraction of his own of saying, very true, what if I were to call you back to
light has drawn out a whole constellation of kindred | the window with words like these-Do you know what
fires. You will thank me that I have flung aside my own
you have said? Do you know the meaning of the lan-
feeble pen, and from the mind of another, have opened
guage you have employed ? or in other words, Do you
a treasure of thought beneath your feet. S. A. S.
know your own meaning? What would you think of
me? That I was playing the philosopher perhaps, that
The child is father of the man. Men are but children || I wanted to puzzle you with a childish question, that I
of a larger growth. How often do we meet with this thought I was thinking, or at best that I was a little out
VOL. IX-13.


104
RUSTIC CIVILITY.
of my senses. Yet if you were a man of understanding, ll with patience; a Benjamin Franklin higgling for nuts or
I should have paid you a high compliment; a searcher gingerbread, or the old Parr' of another generation,
after truth, I should have done you a great favor; a sitting apart in the sunshine and shivering at every
statesman, a lawgiver, a philanthropist, a patriot, or a breath of wind that reaches him. Yet we are told that
father who deserved to be a father, I should have laid just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined.'
you under everlasting obligations, I should have opened i Hereafter is made up of the shreds and patches of
a boundless treasury underneath your feet, I should have | Heretofore. If • Men are but children of a larger
translated you instantly to a new world, carried you up growth,' then what are children? Men of a smaller
into a high mountain as it were, and set before you all growth. And this happens to be the truth, not only in
the kingdoms of the earth, with all their revolutions and the world of imagination, but in the world of realities;
changes-all future history—the march of arinies-the not only among poets, but among lawyers. At law
growth of conquerors—the waxing and the waning of children are men; little children murderers. A boy
empire, the changes of opinion, the apparition of thrones of nine, and others of ten and eleven, have been put to
dashing against thrones, the overthrow of systems, and death in England, two for murder, and a third for. cun-
the revolution of ages.
ningly and maliciously' firing two barns. Of the little
Among the children who are now playing together, like murderers, one killed his playmate, and the other his
birds among the blossoms of earth, haunting all the bedfellow. One hid the body, and the other himself.
green shadowy places thereof, and rejoicing in the bright And therefore, said the judges, they knew they had done
air ; happy and beautiful creatures, and as changeable wrong, they could distinguish between good and evil;
as happy, with eyes brimful of joy, and with hearts and therefore, they ordered both to be strangled. And
playing upon their little faces like sunshine upon clear they were strangled accordingly. As if a child who is
waters:-Among those who are now idling together on old enough to know that he has done wrong, is therefore
that slope, or pursuing butterflies together on the edge old enough to know that he deserves death.
of that wood, a wilderness of roses, you would see noull So with regard to children of the other sex. Ai law,
only the gifted and the powerful, the wise and the elo- babies are women, women babies. The same law which
quent, the ambitious and the renowned, the long-lived classes our mothers and our wives, our sisters and our
and the long-to-be-lamented of another age; but the daughters, with infants, lunatics, idiots and persons be-
wicked and the treacherous, the liar and the thief, the yond sea,' allows a child to be betrothed at seven, to
abandoned prolligato and the faithless husband, the be endowed of her future husband's estate at nine, and
gambler and the drunkard, the robber, the burglar, the lo agree or disagree to a previous marriage at twelve.
ravisher, the murderer and the betrayer of his country. And what is law in England, is law here. We are still
The child is father of the man.
governed by the court of King's Bench, the lawyers and
Among them, and that other little troop just appear-the judges of Westminster Hall. Let no man say, there-
ing, children with yer happier faces and pleasanter eyes, fore, that these are the dreams of poetry, the glittering
the blossoms of the future--the mothers of nations-you shapes that wander about for ever and ever, among the
would see the founders of states and the destroyers of vast chambers of a disordered imagination. They are
their country, the steadfast and the weak, the judge and not so. They are no phantasms, they are realities, they
the criminal, the murderer and the executioner, the ex- are substantial existences, they are known to the law.'
alted and the lowly, the unfaithful wife and the broken- ! Such are children. Corrupted, they are fountains of
hearted husband, the proud betrayer and his pale victim, bitterness for ages. Would you plant for the skies?
the living and breathing portents and prodigies, the em-Plant in the live soil of the warm, and generous, and
bodied virtues and vices of another age and of another Il youthful; pour all your treasures into the hearts of
world, and all playing together! Men are but children children. Would you look into the future as with the
of a larger growth.
spirit of prophecy, and read as with a telescope the
Pursuing the search, you will go forth among the little history and character of our country, and of other
creatures, as among the types of another and a loftier countries? You have but to watch the eyes of children
language, the mystery whereof has been just revealed to at play.
you, a language to become universal hereafter, types in | What children are, neighborhoods are. What neigh-
which the autobiography of the Future was written borhoods are, communities are, states, empires, world's!
ages and ages ago. Among the innocent ard helples. They are the elements of Hereafter made visible.
creatures that are called children, you would see warriors. Even fathers and mothers look upon children with a
with their garments rolled in blood, the spectres of kings il strange misapprehension of their dignity. Even with the
and princes, poets with golded harps and illuminated poets, they are only the flowers and blossoms, the dew-
eyes, historians and painters, architects and sculptors, drops or the playthings of earth. Yet of such is the
mechanics and merchants, preachers and lawyers; here kingdom of heaven. The Kingdom of Heaven! with
a grave-digger flying his kite with his future customers; all its principalities and powers, its hierarchies, domina-
there a physician playing at marbles with his, here the tions, thrones! The Saviour understood them better;
predestined to an early and violent death for cowardice, to him their true dignity was revealed. Flowers! They
fighting the battles of a whole neighborhood, there a are the flowers of the invisible world; indestructible.
Cromwell, or a Cæsar, a Napoleon, or a Washington, self-perpetuating flowers, with each a multitude of
leiding themselves for fear, enduring reproach or insult flowers, with each a multitude of angois and evil spirits


RUSTIC CIVILITY.
105
anderneath its leaves, toiling and wrestling for dominion || bravely in snow-storms, in the dust of the trampled high
over it! Blossoms! They are the blossoms of another way, where drums are beating and colors flying in the
world, whose fruitage is angels and archangels. Or roar of cities. They love the sounding sea-breeze and
dew-drops? They are dew-drops that have their source, the open air, and may always be found about the
not in the chambers of the earth, nor among the vapors | wharves, and rejoicing before the windows of toy-shops.
of the sky, which the next breath of wind, or the next They love the blaze of fire-works and the smell of gun-
flash of sunshine may dry up for ever, but among the ever powdor, and where that is, they are, to a dead cer.
lasting fountains and inexhaustible reservoirs of mercy tainty.
and love. Playthings! God !--if the little creatures. You have but to go abroad for half an hour, in pleasant
would but appear to us in their true shape for a moment! weather, or to throw open your doors or windows on a
We should fall upon our faces before them, or grow pale | Saturday afternoon, if you live any where in the neigh-
with consternation-or fling them off with horror and borhood of a school-house, or a vacant lot, with here and
loathing.
there a patch of green, or a dry place in it; and steal
What would be our feelings, to see a fair child start up behind the curtains, or draw the blinds, and let the
before us a maniac or a murderer, armed to the teeth? fresh wind blow through and through the chambers of
to find a nest of serpents on our pillow ? a destroyer, or your heart for a few minutes, winnowing the dust and
a trailor, a Harry the Eighth, or a Benedict Arnold
scattering the cobwebs that have gathered there whilo
asleep in our bosom? A Catharine or a Peter, a Bacon, you were asleep, and lo! you will find it ringing with the
& Galileo, or a Bentham, a Napoleon or a Voltaire, clam- | voices of children at play, and all alive with the glim-
bering up our knees after sugar-plums? Cuvier laboring mering phantasmagoria of leap-frog, prison-base, or
to distinguish a horse-fly from a blue-bottle, or dissecting || knock-up-and-catch.
a spider with a rusty-nail ? La Place trying to multiply. Let us try the experiment. There! I have opened
his own apples, or to substract his play-fellow's gingerthe windows, I have drawn the blinds, and hark! already
bread? What should we say to find ourselves romping there is the sound of little voices afar off, like 'sweet
with Messalina, Swedenbourg, and Madame de Stæl? || bells jangling.' Nearer and nearer come they, and now
or playing bo-peep with Murat, Robespierre, and Char- we catch a glimpse of bright faces peeping round the
lotte Corday? or puss puss in the corner, with George corners, and there, by that empty enclosure, you see a
Washington, Jonathan Wild, Shakspeare, Sappho, Jere general mustering and swarming, as of bees about a
my Tailor, Mrs. Clark, Alfieri, and Harriet Wilson? || newly discovered flower garden. But the voices we now
Yet stranger things have happened. These were all hear proceed from two little fellows who have with-
children but the other day, and clambered about the drawn from the rest. One carries a large basket, and
keees, and rummaged in the pockets, and nestled in the his eyes are directed to my window; he does'nt half like
laps of people no better than we are. But if they had | the blinds being drawn. The other follows him, with a
appeared in their true shape for a single moment, while tattered book under his arm, rapping the posts, one after
playing together! what a scampering there would have the other, as he goes along. He is clearly on bad terms
been among the grown folks! How their fingers would with himself. And now we can see their faces. Both
have cingled!
are grave, and one rather pale, and trying to look fero-
Now to me, there is no study half so delightful as that cious. And hark! now we are able to distinguish their
of these little creatures, with hearts fresh from the words. “Well, I ain't skeered o' you,' says the fore-
gardens of the sky, in their first and fairest and most most and the larger boy. “Nor I ain't skeered o' you,'
unintentional disclosures, while they are indeed a mys- | retorts the other; 'but you need'nt say you meant to
tery, a fragrant, luminous, and beautiful mystery. And lick me.' And so I thought. Another, less acquainted
I have an idea, that if we only had a name for the study, l with children, might not be able to see the connexion ;
it might be found as attractive and as popular; and but I could-it was worthy of Aristotle himself or John
perhaps--though I would not go too far-perhaps about || Locke. “I didn't say I meant to lick ye.' rejoined the
as advantageous in the long run to the future fathers and first, “I said I could lick ye, and so I can.' To which
mothers of mankind, as the study of shrubs and flowers, the other replies, glancing first at my window and then
or that of birds and fishes. And why not? They are all up and down street, “I should like to see you try.'
the cryptogamia of another world, the infusoria of the Whereupon the larger boy begins to move away, half
skies.
backwards, half sideways, muttering just loud enough to
Then why not pursue the study for yourself? The be heard, 'ah, you want to fight now, jest 'cause you're
subjects are always before you. No books are needed, close by your own house.' And here the dialogue
no costly drawings, no lectures, neither transparencies finished, and the babies moved on, shaking their little
nor illustrations. Your specimens are all about you. heads at each other and muttering all the way up street.
They come and go at your bidding. They are not to be | Men are but children of a larger growth! Children but
hunted for, along the edge of a precipice, on the borders Empires in miniature.
of the wilderness, in the desert, nor by the sea-shore. How beautiful and how strange are the first combina-
They abound, rot in the uninhabited or unvisited place, tions of thouglit in a wayward, or peevish child! And
but in your very dwelling-houses, about the steps of your then, how alike we all are in our waywardness and
doors, in every street of every village, in every green peevishness! It is but a change of name, and one trifle
field, and every crowded thoroughfare. They flourish is about as good as another to breed a quarrel, or to


106
W H ERE ARE THE WISE?
throw the wisest and the best of our grown babies off
their balance. A bit of writing, the loss of a paper with
pictures on it, a handful of glittering dust, or somebody
making mouths at us, a word or a look, and we are
stamping with rage, of miserable for half a day. A
cloud coming up when the horses are at the door, a little
bad weather, a spot upon our new clothes, or a lump of
sugar not quite so large as another's; and what children
we are! How perfectly wretched !
Children are not merely unjust, and cruel, and treach-
erous, even as men are. Like men, they are murderers, i
mischief-makers, devils, at times. I knew iwo boys, the
oldest not more than four, who caught a hen, and having
pulled out her eyes with crooked pins, they let her go;
after which, on seeing her stagger and tumble about, and
perhaps afraid of discovery, they determined to cut off
her head. One was to hold her and the other to per-
form the operation; but for a long while they could not
agree upon their respective shares in the performance.
At last they hit upon a precious expedient. They laid
her upon the steps, put a board over her body, upon
which one of the two sat, while the other sawed off her
head with a dull case knife! Parents! Fathers!
Mothers! What child of four years of age was ever ca.
pable of such an act, without a long course of prepara-
tion ? for neglect is preparation. Both were murderers,
and their parents were their teachers. If the child is
father of the man,' what is to become of such children?
If it be true, that just as the twig is bent, the tree's in-
clined,' how much have you to answer for? If men
are but children of a larger growth,' watch your children
for ever, by day and by night! pray for them for ever, by
night and by day! and not as children, but as Men of a
smaller growth, as men with most of the evil passions,
and with all the evil propensities, that go to make man
terrible to his fellow-men, his countenance hateful, his
approach a fiery pestilence, and his early death a blessing,
even to his father and mother!
Where are the wise ? A thousand group
Within the chambers of the earth,
Shut out from nation's ample scope,
To give some hidden treasure birth ;
Their lot is low-but wisdom's grace
Despiseth not the meanest brow;
Desert they Nature's glorious face
To scek that richer beauty now?
Where are the wise ? Yon towering mount
Gushes with fame's perenial tide ;
Parch'd thousands have attained the fount,
And as they knelt to quaff it-died !
Thousands have toiled, but never won;
Thousands have won to scorn the prize;
Thousands are daily toiling on,
To win and scorn-are they the wise ?
Where are the wise ? oh! answer, Heaven!
For record in thy court is kept
Of all who here have wisely striven,
And after strife have sweetly slept.
The wise are they, a chosen few,
Whose feet attempt the narrow road,
With steadfastly that light in view
Whose centre is the throne of God.
Not many mighty throng the way;
Not many noble there are call'd;
But yet the weakest bears a sway,
Before which princes stand appallid,
With the ignoblest of the train
Man's lofiiest lord may never vie ;
One claims on earth a brief domain ;
And one, a kingdom in the sky.
Original.
TO MY DEAR PUPILS.
ON RECEIVING FROM THEM A NEW YEAR'S GIFT.
Original.
WHERE ARE THE WISE?
BY B. W. HUNTINGTON.
Where are the wise ? behold yon dome
Where Science hath for ages dwelt,
Responding from her mystic tome
To myriads who around her knelt;
And ask if through that fuvor'd clan,
The many spared or martyr'd few,
The voice of Wisdom ever ran
In blessings from her lips of dew.
Where are the wise ? behold, a crowd
Upon yon floating kingdom stand,
Whose music is the tempest loud,
Who brave the sea to bless the land;
And ask if Wisdom's rubied stare,
To deck the spirit's diadem,
Allures them from the stable shore;
Alas! they seek a meanor gem,
Upon this threshold of the year,
What vision meets my sight,
It comes mine inmost soul to cheer,
With Joy's celestial light;
Its home is not on earth or sea,
Nor stoops it from above,
It springs from hearts both fond and free,
It is—your gift of love.
How shall I thank you ?-by these tears
From Gratitude's deep fount !
By love which may not fade with years,
But time shall aye surmount !
By placing it in memory's shrine,
'Mid treasures of the heart-
Whose chords around it shall entwine,
And from it never part.
This year, my dear ones !-may it bring
To each the cup of joy!
May Hope, her radiance round you fing,
And each find sweet employ
In treading virtue's pleasant way-
O! from it never fall!
Press on, and upward, day by day!
God bless you, one and all !
4. D. w.


108
CHRISTINE.
brothers, husbands, or sons, in mine, I should indubita-' “Miss Gravenstein, according to my promise, I have
bly be avoided and scorned by those, who, notwithstand- come to wait on you; and if convenient, to have a little
ing the publicity of their characters, are chary of all the serious conversation with you."
proprieties of domestic life. Reproach me not, there- | Here he paused, looking at Gerald, who proud as he
fore, with being exclusive towards you; you know, I am was, and displeased at the intrusion, stood with folded
so with all your class.”
arms, glancing first at me then at Elliot, who bore the
" But it cannot be, Christine-it cannot be-must not inquiring gaze of his lordship, with a calm and noble
be. I have been your tutor, may 1 not claim a tutor's composure, gratifying to my womanly feelings of pride
previlege, and sometimes steal in to note how my little in the object of my secret devotion.
promising pupil spends her leisure hours? I have been “I am happy to see you, Mr. Clare," (faintly I spoke)
your guardian, may I not still exercise a guardian's pre-“ and I am, or will be disengaged in a few moments :-
rogative, and inquire into her plans and schemes for the, it is long since we met where we could converse together,
undeveloped future? If you fear to listen to the love, and now indeed, I wish to do so unreservedly.
you know is ever burning in my secret heart, discard Gerald's brow darkened, but he stood immovable, in
that imaginary terror; I will never anvoy you, by word stern observance of the unknown intruder. I longed to
or look. No, Christine, I will talk with you, laugh with dismiss him, but I could not be guilty of such rudeness,
you, sing with you, as we used to do in dear Vienna, but had he no other claim on my politeness, than the noble
my lips shall never breathe aught to offend you, though sentiments he had so lately expressed relative to me.
my heart should break in the agony of silence." And I dreaded lest Elliot should expose himself and me
“My lord, this is no good proof of how you would pre lo ridicule, by commencing a lecture on my situation, or
serve your wise resolutions; and I think it were far from some other subject of fanatical tendency; he being no
prudent, to endanger your peace, or quiet, by further great proficient in the technicalities of religious language,
communication with one, who indeed, indeed, feels she or principles, therefore liable to reprehension, for at-
is not worthy of the lavish prodigality of affections so un tempting what he did not understand to execute.
merited. I do not pretend with woman's petty art, to “You may think it strange, Miss Gravenstein, that
disbelieve your professions. I know you love memand for eight months you have never heard of me; but there
I also know, it is best for both that we should never is a curious story of that time, to relate to you. Many
meet again."
sorrows have encompassed me since I parted with you,
“ And do you then fear to see me, Christine ?” his and my lot has been a weary one. But as I have no re-
whole countenance lighted up with a vivid Aame of hope, serves, and this gentleman appears to be a friend of
of new-born happiness—"have you said, it were belter yours, I may tell you at once ; I endeavored, in various
for both, we should not meet ? Why say so, if you love ways, to accomplish my purpose of settling in life re-
me not ?—there can be no peril to you—you so cold, so spectably—to plod through its money-seeking windings
inflexible, can experience no difficulty in keeping within steadily, and, as you may believe, I failed in all. Despair
the pale of chill courtesy, and unvarying reserve-unless, had well nigh overwhelmed me, but my guardian angel
unless-at last-at this late, untimely hour, when bope was at hand, and saved me from the temptations of the
of honorable union is extinct, by that strange fatality Evi! one. I was led to a better path ; a holy light was
which is the curse of love, your soul has yielded to the lished on my revived spirits ; some pious, charitable
clinging ardor of mine, and is sinking helplessly in the friends directed my feeble steps aright; I have since,
tangling meshes of passion.
through their influence, become a chosen minister of
“My lord, I said not so; and I trust, neither my Him, who is ready and willing to save,'-and to you,
speech, nor actions, can be tortured to condemn me in and to all, I now come, as the messenger of glad tidings,
this affair ; I but meant--"
entreating the wicked to turn from their evil ways, for as
“Nay, Christine, it matters not what you meant, Iit is written, “why will ye die?''
may have misunderstood; but mistake me not, dearest He had risen as he became excited, and he stood with
I would not have you love me I would not sully the his arms extended, his flowing tresses covering his
purity of that dove-like spirit, by drawing it down to shoulders, the white simple collar falling back from his
to this earthly breast of mine-never, never, my Chris beautiful throat, the ardor of his enthusiasm burning in
tine ;-let me live on, unpitied, unsolaced. I was a fool, his dilated eyes, a smile of almost passionate entreaty on
that let them rob me of my treasure; but I will not obtain his fair lips, truly more like an inspired being, than a
it again, dishonestly. Perhaps I may have uttered such creature of our common clay.
a wish-perhaps, oh, more than a perhaps !--it is my “What is the meaning of this, Miss Gravenstein ?"
longing, thirsty, feverish desire to be to you, as you are' said Gerald—“ who is this gentleman, that evinces so
now to me--but yet, I have something of the Roman great an anxiety for your immortal welfare ?"
about me, Christine, and I would perish in the gulf that “An old friend of my school-days, my lord-with
yawns before me, to save thee from dishonor, dearest whose relations I was intimate, and from whom I have
one. Love me not-love me not, Christine"
received much kindness."
And here, in wild imploring energy, he had clasped I “Little, little kindness, compared to that which you
my hands, while trembling and in tears, I stood before so generously bestowed on me. My lord, pardon me for
him, when the door was flung open, and “Mr. Clare," addressing you, but you will excuse the apparert pre-
announced by the footman, entered the apartment. sumption of my thus interfering with hours destined to


CHRISTINE.
109
lighter pleasures; for I have a duty to dischargemachafed into a betrayal of that love, and mocked for the
duty which can no longer be delayed; and perhaps, it madness of my wild confession ? I am not mad, Chris-
may be useful to speak without concealment, let who tine, I am not mad, indeed; but I thought, nay I was
will be auditor. Christine-generous, benevolent Chris- sure, you loved me--for that, I left you-for that, I staid
tine-but this day I learned what course of life you have an exile from your sight, because I knew, until something
adopted, and by what means you enjoy the luxury that permanent was secured, I would but drag another to
surrounds you; and without pausing to fear, whether perdition with myself. Oh! Christine, weep not-weep
you will contemn me, or abjure my counsels for ever, I not, beautiful, beloved !-you believed I doated on that
call upon you, Christine, to look within-to narrowly pale, modest Grace-and once I did; but even then, then
examine your feeling, and answer, if the great moral - I dared not lift my eyes to yours, for I felt they would
judge, Conscience, is silent from conviction ; that the path make a traitor of my heart. I see you pity me, you,
you have selected is a safe one, or if it be only lulled in a proud noble-but pity me not-for she loved me first-
torpor, from which one day it will arise, with the strength she loved me best-she saved my life-she tended me
and fury of an awakened lion.”
with more than woman's fondness and fidelity; she
“What mean you, Mr. Clare ? are you condemning! scorned me not, in shame and sorrow; she gave me not
me for earning my bread by a profession, which, though her warm, true feelings, because I was of the rich, and
not exempt from danger, still may be pursued without lofty, or elevated above my fellow-men. Be it your
moral degradation ?".
punishment to know, that you have not gathered the
“I am—but not for that alone-yet let us treat of flower, while the dew was on its leaves, it was mine in
your profession; as you are pleased to style it. Why its first opening purity; and is it thus—is it thus, Chris-
have you chosen it? Why have you left the humble tine, it has been guarded for my sake ?"
modesty of your former life, to shine for a few short years il “Oh! Elliot, Elliot-stay for an instant !-go not,
at most, a gaudy, glittering thing, among the meretricious leave me not, I entreat-
allurements of depravity-?".
“ Begone, madınan," said Gerald, his voice smother-
“Stop, sir, if you please," interposed Gerald, measured by rage, and furiously stamping with passion, "begone,
ing him with a glance of withering scorn and disgust ere I annihilate you, base plebeian!"
“ your language is extremely inappropriate, on tbis oc-
T“I go not at your bidding; her master you may be-
casion : and though your profession muy warrant it, yet
but not mine. Christine, once more I offer you a home;
as I also, have a profession-one, which will not bear
burst asunder the bonds of misery which are fettered
me out, in seeing a woman disconcerted by ill-timed in-
around you. Come to me, Christine, but think not I
terference, allow me to inform you, my chivalry forbids
would too hastily urge you ; you shall see me again ; and
me enduring further insult, either to this lady, or to her
now-
so much despised profession."
I dared not again ask him to remain, for I feared the
“My lord, I partly comprehend you—but even this
result between the fiery passions of these two mistaken
calls still more loudly for my vehement protestations
men; and what was inexplicable to both, I could not then
against all connected with this lady's occupation. Be-
unfold. But when Elliot gave one mournful look, and
think you, Christine, when your bloom is faded and
closed the door, I turned upon Gerald, commanding him
gone-when the eye is no longer brilliant-and the step
to leave instantly; and throwing myself amid the velvet
no more elastic-when, with fainting heart, and feeble
foot, you are gradually passing into unregarded obscurity
cushions of a sofa, burst irto loud and uncontrolled
—who then will crowd around to applaud—who then / weeping.
will gaze on your no longer buoyant graces, with un- |
with un. “So, madam,” said the jealous noble, as he almost
wearied admiration—who then will offer incense to the fiercely gazed at me, “so, madam-this is your favor-
decaying idol, and worship at its shrine, with unholy ite; it is for him I have been slighted, excluded, trampled
love, and unfaithful adoration? Oh! leave this miserable on, as if a worm in your gallant's path; I might excite
liſe, ere the lustre and sweetness of your days are gone! his displeasure, or create annoyance. This is he, for
fear not that you shall suffer from poverly-I bave a whom you abandoned the asylum, in which you were
pittance and come to me—come to me, Christine, as to
| indeed safe. I heard the story, Christine, I heard it, and
a brother's home; such will it be to you. I have no
the name—but not even from my mother's lips, did I be-
no longer a sister to share it with me-she is gone to her lieve it, until now."
cold grave, in innocence and peace ;-will not you, my “And what do you believe now ?-how dare you be-
second, my dearest sister, supply her place ?"
lieve any thing against me? I love you not-I never let
“Why, this is very midsummer madness!" exclaimed you deceive yourself, with such a dream for a moment:
Gerald—“By heaven, madam, he is a bold suitor, who and what have you to charge to me? you have destroyed
heads not a witness to his vows, without even knowing me; you have robbed me of his good opinion, whose
whether another may not have a better right than he!" least, and slightest word, I value more highly, than all
“A better right !-is it so in truth, Christine ? is the the splendor of your fortune-the magnificence of your
tale I heard this day, a true one ?-unwillingly I listened rank—the distinction of your position, as the caressed
-but believed not;--and is this my hope ?-is it for this, I of princes ;-aye, even more than the long tried love of
I have struggled all in vain ?--you another's, Christine, ( years : our affections are not to be won by the paltry
and I, so long, so well, concealing how I loved you, to be pageantry of this world, nor even by the tenderness,


110
CHRISTINE.
however deer, however true, which finds no echo in our || ted on a sofa in the green-room. But the die was cast,
own bosom "
I knew it noi,—I dreamed not of it there, I never
"I could have pardoned you, Christine, had your heart danced again.
wandered to one worthy of yours :-to one of a noble
stock, or-but I will not be so mean as depreciate, be | Early the next day I was roused from a stupor that
cause you admire."
had taken possession of me, by being informed a lady
“You need not--you need not; it would avail you wished to see me, but declined sending her name; in-
nothing. Elliot is a gentleman by birth and education ; different to every thing, I ordered them to show her
and if he were not, there is nobility in genius, and he into my boudoir, and with amazement beheld the Vis-
has that about him, which you cannot dare to despise.” countess Nugent enter, her head a little more exalted
His present fanatic raving, is, I presume, a symptom than formerly, and her sable plumes nodding to the min-
of his genius."
cing, precision walk she effected, as if treading on some
“ My lord, my lord-you shall not breathe a syllable enchanted or forbidden ground. Slightly bowing to me,
of contempt towards Elliot Clare, before me. However she seated herself with easy nonchalence on a couch,
warped his exquisite mind, his distinguished talents may and lifting her eyeglass said,
have become-whatever blight may have fallen on him, “Mademoiselle Christine, you possibly do not recog-
still through all the mists around him, he is the light and nise me after the lapse of so many years."
hope of my existence. Begone from me, you have mis- My Hungarian blood mounted for an instant, but
led him by your words and your manner; never before rushed back to strengthen its citadel, my heart, and I
did I dream he cared for me and is the jewel but replied,
placed before my ey e s,to be snatched from my eager “The people of my land seldom forget those who
grasp for ever!”
have been their friends."
“ Farewell Christine,-farewell !-while I believed “Well, I am glad you are not oblivious of past kind-
your heart was unoccupied, while I imagined it remain- ness; it is a proof, the stamina of feeling are still per-
ed enshrined in its icy temple, untouched, unwarmed by | fect, though the petals, which are mere ornaments of the
passion, I lingered near you,-ever, ever, by you, though plant, may be withered. But you no doubt, consider
seldom visible to you :-listening to the glad music of this is a very singular circumstance, my appearing in
your voice, gazing on the wild brilliance of your beau- this place to day."
ty,-thinking life well spent in being an unnoted wor- “Not more singular to-day, than any other day. Yet
shipper beside you ;-but the enchantment is dispelled, I really am surprised, you should be the first to overstep
-the shrine is broken, and the temple rifled; I would the interdict laid on our communication."
not be so base as to seek for that, with fawnings, and “Well child, you know, those who make laws, can
crouchings, which has been so freely, so prodigally be- break laws; and I have a subject of vital importance to
stowed on another. Farewell Christine, this day has treat upon ;-being no less than the peace of an amiable
to cloud over me. never to be dispersed until the land suffering woman;-to mitigate her anguish, to re-
last cold resting place shall receive me. After all, think / store in some degree, her former happiness, I have come
not, I blame you, no no, Christine, we are not, as to talk with you :-and this pattern of feminine excel-
you said, masters of our will;—had you been left to me | lence, this true Griselda, may have been otherwise re-
at first, another could not have won you, and I have to presented to you; as I presume you have heard much
say, as now, forgive the harshness of one awakened of the Countess Archdall, from my son, in your private
from the sweetest vision that ever cheered existence. conversations."
You shall bear of me, if you need me, but not till then." || Her ladyship fixed her dull grey eyes on me with an
He was gone. Gerald, Elliot,-both noble-both attempted look of extraordinary diplomacy, but I an-
loving, but ah, not both beloved !-had gone: and 1, swered with composure,
now truly a solitary leaf on life's broad current, might “I have never heard him mention Lady Archdall;
brood over my weakness and my woe, uncared for, de- and we have had very few private conversations."
serted, and alone. But no. Solitude I would not com- “Not many private,”—she stopped-"then pray, in
mand. That night they sent for me, I was forced to what manner does he employ himself when here ?"
go, there was no reprieve. And I placed the white “He is not often here, madame."
lilies in my raven hair,--and I clasped the diamond “And yet he has been traced to this house at all
round my slender ankles,-and I came with wild looks, l times, and all hours, both day and night."
and wild music, and a wilder heart, on that broad illu-k “He is fortunate in being the object of so careful a
minated stage, -and Aung free, and bold, my silver- | surveillance."
broidered scarf above my head, -and poised with gay! “But, mademoiselle Christine, I would be exceeding.
smilings, on my sandalled foot, and whirled through ly pleased to learn on what terms, he visits this house ;
the airy mazes of that joyous dance, which had been the and in what way Lord Archdall has charge of you."
pride and glory of my palace home in childhood.
"I am not his ward, madame."
Long and loud were the acclamations accorded to my L “ It is inexplicable !—I do not wish to animadvert
unrivalled performance of the Zingara maiden; deep, upon the line of life in which you are established ;
and passionate were the nearer murmurs of those who though I think you might have been more reputably
crowded round me, as I sank overpowered and exhaus- | employed as a companion or governess, but still, a mo-
brou


CHRISTINE.
111
ment's reflection will convince you, les biensance of “ Positively no. By some super-refinement, the mo-
domestic life, are strangely violated, if a man, exempla- ney is passed from Gerald's hands to Piffelberg, for your
ty until now, become the noted friend or protector of a use, and nominally, as your salary. I heard a whisper
danseuse."
of it, and I bribed the fellow to tell me the whole;-he
"Pardon me, Lady Nugent,--but you are taking for convinced me, and show'd me Gerald's drafts on his
granted, what is by no means the actual case."
banker for several large sums; and if you go yourself,
"Nay, nay, child, the affair is so public, no one thinks and ask the man, he will not deny it."
of doubting it; and settle it as you will between you, || I was thunderstruck, confounded;where then, ended
whether it be merely a sentiment, or a liaison, it comes my fire-dream of independence, if this story should
to the same thing in the eyes of the world. You know prove true. Here had I been wasting money in unwar-
how excessively rigid I am in my notions of female rantable extravagance, living in ostentatious luxury,-
virtue."
profuse in all my expenditure ;-and even extorting an
. “Yes, in the inferior grades, madam," I said, smiling increase of salary, not from the deputy treasurer, or
dubiously.
maitre du ballet, but from the purse of Gerald Nugent.
“ Certainly,-for those in elevated life, have a thou I satisfied her ladyship that I would inquire into this
sand minute barriers, which they cannot possibly get strange affair,--and solemnly assuring her of never have
over."
ing any association with her son, incompatible with the
strictest propriety, I saw her depart with a deeply mor-
“And yet, they are so minute, as scarcely to be dis-
tified spirit, bowed as I thus was to the very dust, by
tinguished, therefore, frequently from deficiency of the
disappointment and despair.
moral vision, broken through."
But I struggled with the agony this discovery occa-
“Ah, Christine, you are reasoning as you used to do, sioned; knowing that I had no time for the indulgence
and you know, I am too sensitive to discuss these matters of weakness; that action and energy were at once re-
calmly. But think what it is to be the means of banish- liquired; and ordering my carriage, I went directly to
ing joy from the brow, smiles from the lip, roses from the learn my fate of Monsieur Piffelberg.
cheeks, and repose from the pillow, of so perfect al When ushered to his apartments, the little German
character as Lady Archdall!"
was quite overcome by the suddenness and singularity of
"I should grieve exceedingly, were I the cause of
my appearance. He received me with trenibling obse-
this fearful train of evile; but assure her ladyship from
quiousness, as if deprecating some unforeseen storm,
me, if her lord has a truant disposition, it finds no access
which he expected to endare from my now passionate
here."
and capricious temper. But I hastened to relieve him,
“In solemn sincerity, then, Christine, will you use
use || by going straight to the point, and with calm sternness
your influence, which I know is powerful with Gerald, L inquired.
to overcome his repugnance lo Lady Archdall's so- | “Does the salary I receive, come from the manager
of the King's Theatre, or a private individual ?"
I started, -“Madam, you are investing me with a || “Das is very singulare question, mademoiselle !
power which I do not possess, neither would I interfere will you favor me vis a share,-ore dis sofee,-dis so-
with the tastes of any one ;-and to satisfy you, in plain fee be excessive easy, mademoiselle.”
truth, your son and I have parted, never perhaps, to! “No doubt, monsieur,-but pray reply distinctly to my
meet again.”
i question,-are my services considered deserving of the
“What, you have quarrelled then ?".
salary I receive ?"
"I have had no occasion to quarrel with Lord Arch- || “Deserve,-Himmel !- very much deserve,-and it
dall. Quarrelling implies a degree of intimacy to which is my hop you have pleasure vis your salarie."
we have never arrived."
"Monsieur Piffelberg, you told Lady Nugent, that
“Christine, I don't understand you. But without Lord Archdall deposited in your hands certain sums to
further preamble, I will settle a handsome annuity on | be paid to me, as if remunerating my services; but that
you, if you give up all further intercourse with lord my real salary remained as it originally was. Is this
Archdall."
true or not?--no prevarication, sir,-I hate suspense,
“Madam, you may appropriate your money to a bet- and I hate temporising."
ter purpose. You are creating a monster out of nothing, ll “ Das is true-de Lord pay all, bot some little more,
like a silly child, who starts at his own shadow in the so when you fors dance wis us.”
night. My own exertions can supply me with such “Tell me then, sir, how much you think I can obtain
comforts as you see, and while I have the ability to pro- simply by my own deserts. How much now, since I
cure so much, I should be unreasonable to cover more.” have become distinguished, and as you must acknow-
“Really, Christine, this affectation of independence is ledge, almost second danseuse of the coroo, will be rea-
too much !-- as if you did not know the enormous salary, sonable for me to expect, if I decline altogether Lord
paid to you by Monsieur Piffelberg, comes from the cof- || Archdall's bounty ?"
fers of Lord Archdall!"
“Ah, das is nost easy-you nost have goot friend in
“ Lord Archdall !-madam, what do you mean? | him no more? eh, mademoiselle ?”
you assert that the money I receive from the person you “ That is no concern of yours, sir;- tell me what I
mention, is not the remuneration of my services ?" may calculate upon ?"
ciety ?"
14


112
CHRISTINE.
“Bot den de patrone,-he be nice great thing ,-|| morning. It was of a collage near Warwick: directly
wasont him, de oders look blake at you. De Lord go-|| I engaged it, and proceeded to examine the premises.
oders come, eh ?"-
Finding it fully equal to my expectations, I made ar-
“Monsieur Piffelberg, give me a direct answer ; rangements about the furniture and other matters with
what do you suppose would be the utmost I could ob- the occupant; hired a decent woman and little girl for
tain ?"
very trifling wages; found a steady elderly laborer, who,
“Why 'tis hard for say, bot may be tree, five guinea for a small compensation, agreed to attend my little
in de week,-dis is goot."
field and orchard; and then returned to London, to
“Five guineas a week! why it would not buy my collect the remaining valuables I possessed, and take a
shoes!"
final leave of Monsieur and Madam Bontonville, with
“Oh, it buy many shoe! Bot if de Lord go das is de whom I left my address and a letter for Mr. Clare, still
whole; you see, dere is no caraktere, you make figure trusting to his half promise of returning to resume his
in, bot de Zingara ;-it will come to fall, —'tis wearing offers of assistance. My good natured friends parted
sin,-de house grow sin,-now nossing make for you with me unwillingly. I had been grateful, when I had
bot dis,--so we cannot pay strong."
the ability of proving how I felt their former liberality;
“Good morning, Monsieur Piffelberg."
and they regarded me as a self immolated being; from
“ Bot, mademoiselle, to-morrow night, -remember, the first intimation of my design to leave the stage, until
come early,—we will have de King, and de Zingara is the conclusion of my arrangements to reside in the
desire." .
country, they had not a moment to spare for thought, on
“ Then the King will have to do without me ;-I shall
any other subject; their whole time being devoted to
come no more."
ejaculations of pity, wonderment, contempt, and despair.
“ Come no more !-Oh mein Gott,-is de woman
It was rather inconceivable that in less than two weeks,
craze? de King is coming I say, and you must be here,
I should have been a caressed and applauded danseuse,
or pay de heavy forfeiture from your engagement.”
an active calculating woman of business, selling and
“But you forget, good Monsieur Piffelberg, I have buying, if not with the skill, at least, with the air of one,
had no regular engagement,-only an increase of salary, cunning in the craft of bargain making, and lastly settled
on the astonishing success of late performances ;-and down into a little calm-eyed, pale faced, demure resident
where that augmentation came from, you also know.
of one of the prettiest, and most sequestered cottages in
Better beware, sir!-the story will not bear public in-
Warwick-shire.
spection ;-you have acted meanly, sir, and the worm
you attempt to crush, may turn and sting you.”
When all was over, the excitement of removal, and
"Well, well, we say nossing ;—but I can get no per-|| business past, the novelty of change, having lost some-
son for dis, I will give you de full amount, for dis week, I thing of its gloss, I had time to sit down and repent.
if you consent."
To consider in my solitude, how the errors of an ungo-
“No, sir, engage me at that rate for the season, not |verned will had brought me to this, not comfortless, but
otherwise."
companionless way of life. I was becoming wise too
• “Oh, we lose, we lose, we could not nevare; I will late: for it was easy to trace the origin of all the evils I
talk wis de manager, and you come dis night, you will." || had endured, and whatsoever I might yet encounter, to
“ No, sir, I will not come; I will never come again ; my capricious ingratitude in not reciprocating the early
and for your comfort, until you send to Vienna, you will love of Gerald Nugent. Had he discovered any sym-
never find another to fill up your Zingara vacancy." pathy with his feelings; had he imagined the possibility
I ran down stairs, leaving him waddling around, fu- of irteresting my young affections, I do not think any
ming, slamping, and wringing his hands in ludicrous consideration would have been sufficiently powerful to
perplexity; and springing into my dear little carriage make him resign me. And coldly neglectful, unpardona-
for the last time, threw myself back on its soft cushions, indifferent to one, she had from infancy cherished, as
and began to consider what course I should now pur Lady Nugent became, still, my conscience acquiesced in
the reprehension my conduct deserved, when under the
My mind was soon made up, and I acted upon its | easy guardianship of Mrs. Somers. Had I not commit-
suggestions at once. My horses and carriage were sent ted a flagrant breach of decorum in travelling about with
off to Long-acre, and disposed of; my furniture and a young man, without any ostensibly useful purpose, her
plate sold at auction; the jewels I had received as lo- ladyship could not have been at liberty, even according
kens of respect or admiration from unknown patrons, to her own code of morals, to abandon and leave me
were privately sold ; and though much of this came destitute.
from Lord Archdall's munificence, I knew I could in no| Twenty two summers had but as yet, passed over
way return him the sums he had secretly devoted to my my head. Possessed of this small competence, I re-
use; and I knew he would be better satisfied that I solved to take a higher standard for my guidance than
should in this manner accumulate sufficient to support heretofore. I had no temptation to be evil, it was not
me in some retired situation. I did not scruple to find then so very difficult to be as good, as poor human na-
the money thus acquired, and so, secured a small in- ture can, when unassisted by the genial influence of a
come of about one hundred and fifty pounds per annum. || fervent piety. The first virtues desirable to be culti-
An advertisement in a newspaper caught my eye one | vated, were patience, contentment, and gratitude to
sue.


CHRISTINE.
113
Providence. Each day rose more peacefully and calm- || Three months had glided on in unruffled quiet. It was
ly to my eyes than the last. My garden, rich in its summer; and one still evening after a light, warm rain,
wealth of fruits and flowers, redolent of beauty and the sunset clouds gorgeously piled up in gold and crim-
sweetness, with its clustering beehives beneath the shel-son masses in the West; their rich glow tinging the
tering hedge-row, called for the early hand of industry trees and dewy flowers, and the close green fragrant
to tend it, and health and balmy slumbers rewarded my grass, with delicious softness; I walked slowly through
pleasant labors. And in the soft shadows of evening my small domain, breathing with delight the revived
repose, the roses and honeysuckle hanging thickly round perfume of my languid moss roses, and lingering to gaze
my latticed windows, breathed amid their odors, memo on the broad dark blue heaven, from which, star after
ries of long past hours, and the long forgotten dead, star came peeping out with clear and emerald radiance,
and awakened aspirations to be with them in a higher when a low rustle in a hazel coprice startled me, and
and holier state of existence.
presently crawled forth a hideous figuro, in the dim twi-
True-there was no one to whom I could say soli- light, shapeless and crouching, muttering wild gibbering
tude was sweet. Some families of great respectability sounds, and stilling, horrid laughter, and then with the
resided within a few miles; but they had never conde- spring of the mad wolf from his lair, it rushed onward,
scended to notice the gipsy lady, as the poor cottagers with matted tresses, thick over the glaring eyes, and
in the neighborhood styled me. And though the curate, | white teeth bared and grinning in ghastly smilings, and
after having seen me at church, once or twice called on long naked bony arms extended, waving broad fern and
me, I felt no disposition to encourage intimacy with withered branches ; and torn, coarse, scanty garments,
him: he was not married, and I deemed his visits might foul with the slime of muddy pools, and wreathed with
rather injure than benefit me among those who might grass and reeds from marshy hollows, covering in rage
casually hear my name. But I longed for something to ged filthiness the gaunt and bleeding limbs that bore
love; something to pet, to caress. There was a void in this fearful phantom towards me.
my heart ; yes, the absorbing passion I once felt for “Ho, ho. I know her-I know her: the trim ankle,
Elliot Clare, had mellowed down to tender pity and af- . and the rapid whirl. She danced for me ; aye, aye, an
fectionate solicitude. From the moment I had so bar-opera girl-a light one, boys—no matter, in good sooth,
barously outraged Lord Archdall's feelings, by contrast- I loved her not. But come, lady fair, come-nay, let
ing my indifference to him with my love for the other, | me clutch thee; one giddy round to make the old earth
a change came over me; a revulsion, for which, in tremble, and drive the fat heavy toads and merry frogs
vain I strove to account reasonably, had overwhelmed || from the marshes ; come nearer, fly me not-I am the
my mind; I was subdued by my own vehemence; con- | winged Mercury; look at my heels, there's a pair of
quered by the violence of my whirlwind passions, which wings! Aye, they are a little the worse for skimming
after sweeping all from their path, sunk into dreary still- so many fine quagmires, and so many slanding pools !
ness over the devastation they had made. I had gain-|| Rememberest thou? I am Mad Tom, and drink the
ed, what once I would have died 10 hear, the declara- | green mantle.' Pah! thou art scented mightily; but
tion of Elliot's love; and, capricious as it may seem, 1 silence--scream not, they will hear thee, and then, and
felt in my triumphant soul the gift was worthless—the then, they come, and the whip, and the chain, and the
flower had faded, and the fruit was withered in the damp straw, and the mouldy bread, and the bitter wa-
core. Whence, or wherefore is this curious contrariety ter, and many stripes. Oh, do not call them-do not
in our natures, that too often the love we seek with the call them hither, and indeed I will sing no more !" !
most impassioned ardor becomes of no value when ob- \| Horror, and the agony of fear, kept me silent before
tained; held for an instant with the eager grasp of gra- | the wretched object, until he dropt, whining and shed-
tified possession, and then cast, with a sigh for raptures | ding idiot tears, at my feet. Here was that Elliot, with
anticipated but never realized, among other costly frag- whom once to be alone, was bliss too great for utter-
ments of once precious idols beneath the dark and si-ance; and now, oh, heaven! how leaped my rejoiced
lent waters of oblivion ? Tell me not the memory of heart when old Margery came seeking me through the
love is imperishable! Tell me not it rises in pristine garden gate; he too saw her, and sprang up, wildly
beauty when years of absence, aye, or even of hallowed | yelling:
association, have passed away! Oh, true, the shadow “A witch! a witch! by the Lybian Jove! Do you
of what once excited, a bright, a burning reality, may bring your sorceress to mumble her incantations beside
haunt the minds' dulled vision; but cold and spectral me? To fling her enchantments over me? To trans-
as a sickly dream, causing wonder that such could have form me into swine? Ah, she's no Circé, no, ha, ha!
called forth the energies of passion-and mourning that no Circé, no, no!"
the splendor of the phantasm, can never, never charm “Missus, missus!” she esclaimed; "for the merci.
the awakened heart again!
| ful! beest thee got a madman here ?".
And yet, with the singleness of woman's devotion, Ill “A madman! Aye, to be sure, a devil of a madman,
had vowed myself to be the friend of Elliot's future life, Il you old sinner! Sinner! A sinner!" and then, casting
whenever, or wherever his wild bewildered destiny up his eyes and clasping his hands, he howled, “We
should call for the fulfilment of my promise. The time are all sinners, O Lord, miserable sinners! Pour down
was near.
thy grace upon us, and let the light of thy countenance
In early spring I first inhabited my pretty cottage. | shine before us; cover us with the shadow of-but


114
CHRISTINE.
halloo, there, Mademoiselle Danseuse ! no bolting; I'll from his purpose; and when he had breakfasted, I
have you, “but I will not keep you long !'” he grasped mastered my feelings so far, as to become his watcher
my arm firmly, and leered hideously in my face." and companion while Matthew went to a neighboring
"Oh, God--oh, God, have mercy! Elliot Clare! El-town to purchase several articles necessary for our new
liot, dear Elliot, do you not remember me! Will you inmate; and I found that, by gentleness and decision
come with me ? Margery stay by us, and call Mat- united, I could compel bim to be more quiet and reason-
thew."
able than I had ever hoped to see him from the terrible
“Fifth chapter-seventh verse: “Blessed are the specimen of my last night's interview.
merciful, for they shall obtain mercy! You are a civil || But I need not linger over these painful recollections
body, Margery-hold your lanthorn straight, and stum- of his gradual approach to sanity, and then his relap-
ble not, you witch !"
ses; my hopes, my fears, my schemes to engage his
“Elliot, pray Elliot, hear me. Come with us."
attention, or arouse the slumbering memories, which, I
“ Elliot! Who calls for Elliot? He is not here: i fondly trusted, would restore health to his disordered
thou liest, foul fiend! "Full five fathom deep my true mind. Every personal comfort he required was sup-
love lies,' thou can'st call spirits from the vasty deep- plied; every tenderness the most assidious attention
.but will they come when you do call on them?' Ha! | could prompt, or attachment inspire, was bestowed on
ha! lady bird !"
him; and at lust he remembered me as Christine,
We were near the house, and fortunately, old Mat- the Christine of his youthful friendship, but no farther;
thew had also come out to discover the cause of my allusions to London, or his residence there, or any cir.
unusual absence. The poor wretch shivered and gasp- cumstance subsequent to his leaving the home of his
ed, when the old man came suddenly forward and seized childhood, invariably caused renewed wanderings, and
him by the arm.
the fearful ravings of ribald mockery, or intense des-
" Who hast thee caught here, missus ? Be he a thief pair. As time passed on, I ventured occasionally to
or a crazy chap ?”
take him to our village church, and was gratified by ob-
“Oh, Matthew," I whispered ; "he is my brother- serving the interest with which he joined in the service;
my nearest friend, help me to coax him in and secure and thankfully I replied to the kind inquiries of the
him in some way."
amiable curate, and returned the civilities of the decent
The slavish fear of madness now possessed him; and rustics, who reverently met me with a low obeisance
he suffered Matthew to lead him into the kitchen. The and looks of deep and humble sympathy, as I carefully
small, but cheerful fire, seemed to revive some old as- l guided the uncertain steps of my melancholy charge.
sociations; and he looked around with a quieted ex-
pression on the anxious and wondering faces about him. Summer was over. I was becoming reconciled to the
With soft and soothing words I persuaded him to sit belief that his mental powers would never recover from
down; and after some time we gave him food, he ate the disease which clung around them; but he was com-
ravenously, for famine was imprinted in his sunken eyes paratively peaceable and submissive. And autumn too
and bollow cheeks; and his fleshless, almost skeleton wore on; when late in October, after some days of un-
fingers, tore the meat with savage impatience, and thrust usual gloom and silence, he disappeared in the evening;
it rapidly into his wide, eager mouth, until satiated, he and my old gardener and the neighboring peasants,
rose and Aung himself on the wooden settee by the fire searched for him for two or three days, but in vain.
side.
This was a renewal of my anxiety—but as grief was
After much gentle persuasion to remove to a cham useless, I endeavored to hope that, perchance, when
ber was used in vain, Matthew thought best to try the weary with wandering he might voluntarily return. Nor
efficacy of threatening, which succeeded; and by the was I deceived. One stormy night when the early win-
same means, (Margery attending with an abundant ter wind scattered the few remaining leaves from their
bath,) Matthew forced him to undergo the necessary branches, and loud gusts swept past my windows, dash-
ablutions, and supplied him some clothing of his own; ing the heavy rain at intervals against them-hearing a
then constraining him to lie down in the bed prepared low tap, I summoned Matthew to the door, and my for-
for him, the good old man caine to me where I still re lorn qne entered-drenched with rain, and shivering
mained with the woman in the kitchen, and after long with cold. When he was partially recovered from the
debate on how we should manage the poor forlorn one, chills that attacked him, and had his dripping clothes
Matthew went to sleep in a closet next his room, and I changed for dry and warm habiliments, he sat down
retired to arrange my scattered senses, to meditate on beside me, at our pleasant fire, and looking in my eyes
what was the best way to benefit the unfortunate to with a shy and sad smile, reminding me forcibly of our
weep and pray, but not to rest that night.
early acquaintance, he softly took my hand in his and
He slept well, and stirred not until the morning sun began :
broadly illumined the little apartment, as the thin mus. “You believed I had left you, Christine ?"
lin curtains could not exclude the early glories of his “No, Elliot; I only thought you had gone on some
summer beams. Matthew was in attendance, and found urgent business. Now, pray tell me, was it not so ?"
him much more composed, but with no connection of “Yes, Christine. You will not be angry if I tell you
ideas, and desirous to resume his ramblings through all ? Say no! Well, you must understand I have had
wood and field. By various means, he dissuaded him very, very strange and horrible dreams; and many


CHRISTINE.
115
shapes came to me in the still dark night, upbraiding | unperceived, and, seeking around, I gained a chamber
me with long neglect, and forgotten love. So I set out tenanted by one quiet inhabitant. Cold and calm lay
one calm evening, and travelled all through the dreary that honored noble; and the waxlights gleamed on his
blackness until dawn, and then I slept in a bushy dell white forehead, and the fair curls fell in masses on the
till the sun was gone again ; and I travelled on and on, satin pillow: and there were none to watch or weep
until I saw the ancient woods, and the meadows, and over him. Long Igazed-then examining the splendor
the shady lanes and green dingles of our own old of that silent room, I saw a rich inlaid casket on a ta-
Grange."
ble, and curiously I raised the lid, and there, amid
“Elliot! how could you, without a guide or a know- many old papers, and some of fresher seeming, this I
ledge of the road, travel so far, and without suste- found for thee; take it, Christine—the last farewell of
nance too ?”
him who lay there in his marble beauty, the once belov-
“Ah, no matter-I wanted no guide ; for there was ed and loving, Gerald Nugent!"
ever and ever, when the stars peeped out, a small flit- Here let me pause. Why should I essay to depict
ting light that gleamed before, and I followed on the agonizing emotion with which I heard from so
Well, you may suppose how I roved through all those strange a messenger that he, the gallant, the high-mind-
pleasant walks we used to love; and how I sat beneath ed, the devoted, was lost to me for ever? Oh! the
those tall bowering laurels that grew so thick, and shin- | appalling consciousness that no reparation can be made
ing beyond the verdant alleys of the garden; and listen for injury, that no submission will bring forgiveness
ed to the birds singing so merrily, as if, silly things, from the unchanging dead!
they were glad to see me again; and so passed one! Let me not weary with my own sorrows, my untimely
blessed day. But the night came, and the small light mournings. In the silence of my chamber, I knelt to
shone again, and I followed on; and we entered the read his precious letter, and hushed the beatings of my
churchyard : and the broad yews looked blacker than heart's intense wretchedness, that each sad and tender
before, and waved mournfully over me; and from the word might steal, as if from his own true lips, to meet
grey old monuments a whisper came that thrilled my | the late, too late acknowledged love, unspoken love, on
aching heart: and far off and dimly seen, were hud- mine.
dling into nooks and open coffins, shadowy forms that
THE LETTER.
knew me not but as a thing of living earth. And then
I stood very still, and cold as marble--and there came
" When the hand that traces this faint and feeble line, shall
lie motionless and cold; when the heart, that waste and desolato
to me, from behind a large white stone, a young pale yet holds amid its ruins the image of her, whose love, even as a
maiden with eyes of the grave's dull hue, and lips mov-
child, was life and light, shall mingle with its kindred dust, and
rest from the long, deep throbbings of its broken hopes; to you,
ing whence no sound was heard: and she looked on me Christine, this farewell will be given, and, perchance, it may
and paused-it was Emily; then she passed on and
recall a memory of him who once did think to dwell within
your bosom.
faded in the mist. Then another shape appeared: oh! | “A blight has fallen on me. My manhood is bowed down by
disease; and the last sad pleasure of this parting world, is thus
it was bent with age and deep woe, and the long white
to breathe my spirit out to you. But, gentle and affectionate as
bair str
kenc
vou have ever been, grieve not when the tidings reach you that
Gerald-the true and faithful Gerald, is free from the captivity
glared dim and red in their fleshless sockets; neither of life, and rejoicing in the peace, which faded from him here,
did this pale mouth utter words—but it also paused and among the ransomed in the glorious Heaven.
"Weep not for me, Christine, but calmly reflect, that few and
sadly gazed on me and then a rushing sound, as of
full of sorrow are our years below ; wayward and evil our pas-
prot
sions; despotic and misjudging our will, leading us to follow
the illusions of vain ambition, or vainer love, until the last lone
ke too, the silver-tressed old man, was shrouded from refuge of the awakened dreamer, is opened to receive him ;
my vision. Aye, Christine, it was a wild night that,
and then lift those beautiful eyes to the fair expanse above, and
think, oh, still beloved! one spirit longs to welcome you, where
among those peopled tombs; but ere dawn I fled, fled pure as when first emanating from the Fount of Life, our souls
fast and far-and one, one (oh, he was a fearful compa-
shall be united in holy and eternal communion.
“It may be you will regret the sternness with which my love
nion !) came ever beside me-close he pressed on me has been repelled—but not so, dearest: well has it been for me,
the treasure I coveted so long, so ardently, came not into iny
with a loud ringing tramp, and black he was with hot
possession, enchaining to this decaying earth, every thought,
and fiery breath, and darts of fame shot from beneath every hope, every lollier impulse, in the sweet but fatal bonds
of human passion.
his ebon brows, and horrid whisperings poisoned my
"When with you, the radiance that had illumined my soli
ears, and blasphemy and foul predictions of the torture tary lot had vanished, I stood in utter darkness until the moni -
tor within warned me to seek for light in other worlds. My
that awaited me in Hades. Oh, heaven-heaven! he
doom was written on my pale brow, in my feeble step, in my
carried me whither I prayed and struggled not to go.
failing breath, and deeper yet within my aching breast; the
consummation is near at hand! the bitterness of death is past;
You know not the place-no; but fear not, Christine and lay this to thy lips, and keep this in thy heart, the last, frail
he left me when I rushed amid the crowds and mingled
token of the love of
GERALD."
with my fellows in the thronged streets of London. I
wandered up and down, finding no resting-place; and I
sought for a shelter, but there was none; when, at last, | Over the unavailing grief of my misguided heart, I
I saw a tall desolate mansion in the sober twilight; the will now draw an eternal veil. The memory of him,
insignia of Death was above its doors, and the voice of, whose love was cast away by my folly, is too sacred to
mourners in wailing met my ear; and there were many | be again the theme of one so weak and so unworthy.
entering and coming out, busy funeral faces, and men Ere a month was over I was recalled to some sympathy
bearing palls and trappings of sorrow: and I stole in with the sufferings of another.
La


116
CHRISTINE.
Exposure and fatigue had done their work on poor i' usual effect on my vacillating temper, and soon I be-
Elliot. He was attacked by a violent fever, and so lieved myself,-convicted of sin, regenerate, a sincere
greatly debilitated he seemed hovering between death convert to their faith, a brand plucked from the burn-
and life for many days; but as he recovered, though he ing.' The little eloquence and information I possessed
was but partially restored to health, his convalescence were marvellously magnified by the devout, who, pri-
brought with it the revival of his mental faculties; and vately gratified by securing a young man of fashionable
he was quietly and gratefully conscious of my long- appearance and manners, as an example to those still
tried tenderness and disinterested care.
on the verge of perdition, made it a point of practical
The winter, dreary and melancholy, wore over. With piety to be sedulous in all outward attentions and de-
spring's first buds and blossoms he began to droop monstrations of unlimited regard. Among others, a
again; and at length the physician admitted his situa- respectable mercer of a certain town, courted me to his
tion to be hopeless; his complaint being rapid decline. house unceasingly. He was a strict, austere man of
He knew he could no longer look forward for even a forbidding aspect, but upright and sincere in his deal-
few months; and he declared his willingness to leave a "ings with man and his piety to God. He had a wife
world in which, for the last two years, he had been a younger than himself, of a rich and mellow beauty,
wretched, depraved, insane burthen to society. But | endeavoring to school her feelings and countenance to
there seemed to be a secret uneasiness preying on him, the religion she was compelled to affect and practice.
unconnected with the natural dread of the last passage She deemed me more companionable than other mem-
to another state. I could not devise any means to bers of their sect; and the influence I had acquired
elicit this latent cause of melancholy; until after re- over her was attributed to spiritual graces operating on
peated solicitations to confide in me, with a look of her mind. Alas, there was nothing spiritual there -
unwonted determination and energy, he drew me to- She was fair, gentlemunlike any one with whom I was
wards him, one balmy evening as we sat on a sofa at an associated : I, young, weak, wicked, and flattered and
open window, admiring the deepening verdure of our beloved. But, pardon, Christine; this tale may be ex-
fairy lawn, inhaling the odors of our early blossomed cused from the lips of the dying, as aught else it should
trees, and gazing, with thoughts of a better land, on not be told to you. The consequences of our sinful at-
the glories of the departing sun.
tachment made her an object of suspicion, (for their
“ Christine, I must tell you all. I can no longer be union of twelve years had been childless,) her husband
reserved on this subject with you. I have long resolved, discovered all through the spies he placed around us,
but wavered in my resolution. But now it is time, ere and when assured of her guilt, by her written condem-
I go to the silent dwellers of the tombs, to ask your nation of herself, his justice was sudden and inexora-
gentleness and mercy to be extended to another home- ble.
less, helpless being. On the borders of the Lincoln- “Not long after I last saw you in London, did this
shire seas, there is a lonesome hamlet, and in one of exposure occur. I had returned to Lincolnshire, and I
its meanest hovels lives an aged, withered woman, who was living in a decent lodging near the man's house.
tends with fretful, and oft-times bitter complainings, a One night of storm-of heavy drenching rains and roll-
small, pale, motherless babe : that babe is mine," he ing thunder, and blazing lightnings, while gusts of the
paused: deep, heart-breaking sighs burst from his hea. | whirlwind shook the slight casements of my humble
ving breast-I pressed his hand and whispered words room, I heard shrill wailings in the pauses of the blast,
of soothing, and he proceeded:
and shrieks, faint, but often repeated and nearer and
“When I left you in London, Christine, after the nearer they came ; and, in pity to the wanderer, I rush-
illness through which you were my sole support, I tried ed down stairs, where my widowed landlady was sitting
many ways of gaining a livelihood. I have before told calmly reading her bible, and begged her to unlock the
you a good deal. I wrote, my poor compositions were door for me, that we might see who was the wretch
slighted and returned to me; I entered an attorney's without. She did so—and before us, on the ground,
office, but he required a fee to engage me permanently; moaning in deep and bitter agony, she lay: I raised
I became a tutor in a gentleman's family, they disliked her, and openly she told her misery and her disgrace.
me-I was whimsical, peevish, not steady in my habits. Bowed down with remorse, I prayed the pious woman
I even attempted the last resource of young, dissipated to grant us a shelter for that night; she had learned too
men of imagined talent—the stage: I was off; and this much, her religion forbade it—the crime in either was
mortification, combining with idleness, sunk me in ex. unpardonable, and her husband was the wealthiest and
treme dejection-when a benevolent Methodist, who of the greatest influence in the sect throughout the dis-
once knew me, aving recognized me in a deplorable trict. We were turned forth to the elements, warring
condition, entertained some hope of rescuing a fellow and raging above and around us; and onward we slow-
being from misery both here and hereafter; and com- ' ly crawled, she, with frequent interrupted gaspings, sob-
passionately suggested the advantage of uriting myself bing out her lamentations and I, silent; no sigh, no
to his persuasion; and, as an itinerant preacher, I tear was mine. She clung to me, poor thing, feebly I
might earn, at least, a subsistence, be of some use to supported her; and at last I asked her where we were
others and eventually profit my own soul. To this, I to gomin few words she told me, and onward still we
first consented, because utterly destitute of means; but went.
the excitement and fanaticism of numbers had the “It was then I first thought the winds were trumpel-


CHRISTINE.
117
tongued, and bellowed out my crime: it was then, first, | with faint smiles he pointed to me the broken tracery of
spectres, with stony eyes and speechless mockings, their shadows on the smooth grass beneath, when sud.
passed us in sheeted troops — and demons, waving denly he leaned down, as if to slumber; I felt the slight
snaky, fiery scourges, followed us with horrible and pressure of his hand relax, heavily his head reclined
deafening yells! She knew I could not answer her, and upon the pillow-there was a trembling—a quiver of
she ceased to speak; but still the low moan of coming the lip—a convulsive movement of the eyelids, and they
pain, would pierce my heart, as wearily we toiled closed-it was the long sleep of Death.
through that long dark road of punishment.
“ We reached the hamlet, and on the outskirts stop- A few days after Elliot was laid to rest among his
ped before a miserable mudwalled cottage. I knocked kindred, I set off in search of the orphan committed to
faintly, and then louder; the voice of crabbed age de- my charge. Language would fail in describing the for-
manded who we were--and then she prayed the doorlorn destitution in which I found her; her sickly beauty
might be opened. A light was struck-the creaking gleaming like a pining flower amid the loathsomeness,
hinges sounded-a withered crone stood within, and and unimaginable misery of the dwelling in which she
with mingled kindness and coarse reproach for the dis-lived, an unloved, untended, unwelcome burthen, on the
turbance invited us to enter. She sank upon the low, shrunken, meagre, and rapacious looking creature, who
foul bed and told her story; this old beldame was her grudgingly took charge of her, for the pittance allowed
nurse, and thought herself justified in upbraiding the by a relation, when the poor mother died.
suffering being before her. Money I had, and placed it. Thank Heaven, since those first hours of sorrow, her
in her hands; her avaricious eyes softened, and soon years have been as cloudless as the beautiful brow, and
all her care, trilling as it seemed, was needed—for she, sunny eyes which are even now glittering beside me,
lying on that squalid bed, still covered with mired and while she bends with the pliant grace of youth, over an
rain-soaked garments, gave birth to the unfortunate embroidery, intended to decorate ‘her aunt, the Coun-
inheritor of sin and shame.
tess' writing table, in her own boudoir !!
“What my sensations were when raising that delicate For now, almost the closing scene of my romance
blossom in my arms, I cannot now describe; for not long arrives.
did reason remain with me. I laid it on a mat of rushes, ll To you, my early friend, I need scarcely recal the late
and knelt beside the mother; and her thin hands were remorse of the Herr Von Gravenstein, who childless and
folded nogether, and her soft eyes upward gazed, and deserted by the mistress he adored, began to remember
her pale lips moved and blessed me-aye, even thus and that restitution was due to the child of his uncle; and
there; I, the criminal, the destroyer, was blessed with through the Austrian ambassador, he communicated
love's unchanging fervor! and then the hands unclasping with Lady Nugent respecting the existence and identity
fell on the blackened coverlet-the mouth opened wide, of her former protegée. She having by advertising, dis-
and panting, the breath Muttered one lingering moment, covered my residence, wrote to me; I deputed my agent
and passed away for ever.
in London to call on her, and when every thing was
It is a true, sad tale. I tell it plainly without disguise, I satisfactorily proved, I found myself once more reinsta-
or varnish of words. What they did then I hardly know. Wted in the heritage and privileges of my ancestors.
There is a glimmering recollection of bidding the woman You, my dear Count Pally, have remembered me with
keep the infant until I should return; and something too, the early preference which was so generously bestowed,
of a burial with no mourners, and a parish coffin, thrown when I was only considered an appendage to the suite
obscurely into a church-yard nook, at lone twilight. and state of the Lady Nugent. I have enjoyed the pe-
And then they carried me away; whither, I suspect, butculiar felicity of being congratulated on my restoration,
like not to remember. And now you know all. Can as you term it, in my own turretted castles, and fair
you look at me again, Christine, and say, even yet ‘I and fertile demesnes, by many a lofty head, that scorned
will not forsake you, most wretched Elliot Clare?'” to notice the little Zingara Danseuse.
“I can, I can, my poor Elliot, pity and forgive your But as a Canoness of St. Austin, I have concluded to
errors, for which so grievous a retribution has fallen on you.' devote these maturer years, to the service and honor of
But let me go to-morrow and seek the neglected babc." Him, who has so singularly protected me through all my
“No, Christine, no-let me not look again on the wanderings and distresses, and so bountifully enabled
image of her whom I murdered, until we meet purified me to supply the necessities of the less fortunate, and
in Heaven. Quietly my hours are waning away, and above all, to guard the child of my warmest affections,
they are numbered. The blossoms will not fade upon my orphan Emily Clare, from the evils of unendeared,
those shadowing trees, before the sod will be piled over unregarded poverty.
my grave. Then, Christine, but not till then, take home. This little narrative has been, perbaps, too diffusely
the orphan babe of one unworthy to be called your written; but as it is for you, my friend, and that here-
friend."
after you may, when I shall be no more, if you think it
He predicted truly. Gradually he declined; day by || judicious, inform my pupil, and your ward, of the errors
day his increasing feebleness was perceptible ; but he and sufferings of her parents, that they may prove as a
never murmured at being so early called to render upbeacon, to warn her from the path of self-indulgence-
his life to its Creator. A young silver moon was setting and also, that you will understand and remember me
amid veiling clouds, behind the light waving larches, as with more distinctness, than would be possible, had I


118
THE DYING GIRL.
BY S. B. BECKETT.
merely re-appeared as the heroine of a romantic tale; I Was hovering o'er the hills, one only cloud-
present it to your forbearance, trusting it may amuse an Such was the landscape that reposing lay
idle, or soothe a melancholy hour. And believing no Out-spread before the dying maiden's eye,
farther elucidation of my motives in writing this memo- Aud stilled the tumults of the final hour.
rial of myself, will be required by you,—with kind, good At length, o'erflowing with calm holy thoughts,
wishes, I bid you a short farewell. By the rules of my She called her brother to her couch's side,
order, I am called to reside for some time in seclusion; And in this wise gave utterance to her heart :
from which, when I emerge again, Count Ferdinand
Palfy, I trust you will greet with unchanged feelings, ||
"Brother! To part with you
your early friend, Christine,
Is death indeed! Yet doth my time draw near,
LESLIE.
When I must bid thee and these friends so dear,
A long and last adieu!
Original.
Blest visions throng before
THE DYING GIRL.
My brightning mind; and Sharon's lovely roso
Is bending in its sweetness and repose,
On the celestial shore-
A picture dwelleth on my memory,
Thither to welcome me;
A bright spot 'mid the waste of by-gone years,
Yet do my poor affections strangely cling
Which haunts me oft in revery's quiet hour,
To this my home of doubt and suffering,
A young West Indian Girl, an invalid,
Kind brother, and to thee !
As time the welcome spring, with singing birds
Fairer the green land seems,
And bloom was out amid the woods and fields-
More beautiful and pure the sky's love deeps,
Had come from o'er the sea to seek for health
Calmer the sunlight on those distant steeps,
Amid the pastoral quiet of our vales.
And on the far bright streams.
But spring went by, and brought her no relief,
Sweeter the free bird's lay;
And waned her strength with summer's waning prime ; |
And fresher flows the zephyr round my brow-
And when brown Autumn came with fruit and sheaves,
0! the wide world seems brighter, fairer, now
To make the peasant's bosom bound for joy,
So soon to pass away.
She sought her pillow to lie down and die !
And this they call a waste !
It was a balmy eve, such as oft gilds
A weary bourne! O, it hath been to me
The passage of the merry harvest month
In our New England clime- a quiet eve,
Ever a world of strange sublimity,
With every beauty graced;
The hour of rest. The gentle Southern wind
That through the open casement found its way,
Yet must I not deplore
Breathing of new-mown fields and fragrant grain,
My fate, but calmly meet what Heaven wills;
Renewed the lustre of her mild, dark eye,,
Then fare ye well, green fields and swelling hills,
And o'er her features spread the hue of health.
Farewell for ever more !
The glories of the fading sunset, shed,
O brother! there's a spell
Through the bright vines that round the window hung, In that one word-concentrating in my gaze
A quiet radiance through the dreamy room,
Is memory of a thousand happy days-
And brought to light a glittering tear, that stood
And yet, bright scenes, farewell!"
Upon her long, dark eye-lash; there perchance
Again she turned to dwell upon the world
Conjured by some remembrance of past years,
of beauty through the vine-drap'd window seen ;
Or, haply, by a feeling of regret,
And as sweet images possessed her mind,
To leave a world so brightly beautiful
Her eye with pensive light became suffused;
As lay without, in far prevailing calm !
And the bland smile that stole across her brow
Sooth 'twas a matchless scene, and well might stir
Bespoke a heart at rest with all the world.
The deep springs of the affections in the heart;
And slowly settled down the shades of night-
A purely pastoral scene—with fields of grain,
The robin ceased his lay, and every sound
In wavy ripeness, spread o'er swelling hills,
Was lulled to rest-save evening's low-voiced gale,
And burnished waters winding far away
That indistinctly breathed its monotones
Through staid, old woods, and slopes of emerald green,
Through the dark branches of a neighboring pine,
Reflecting in their depths the roseate heavens
Or the shrill cricket in the harvest fields,
The gorgeous foliage of the neighboring trees,
Or fitfully the distant cattle's low,
With thrifty farm-house, meadow, dale and cliff,
Or joyous urchin's faint and far off shout.
Succeeding, still succeeding, till afar,
Once more her brother bent to catch her words.
Upheaved above the blue horizon's rim,
The mountains towered, enrobed in purple haze,
“ It was an idle thought,
And crowding down the sky, just where the sun
But in my mind it rankled, that once more
Concentered all his beams, a scarf-like cloud,
I might revisit our lov'd native shore
Bright as the plumage of some tropic bird,
Ere pain and death had wrought


THE DYING GIRL.
119
Or the continual sound
Of the sea breeze amid the leafy shade-
A low, lone, dreamy melody, that made
The calm yet more profound!
But short lived dream! it fled !
Faded as yonder lingering light doth wane,
And consciousness hath brought me back again
To this my dying bed ;
Yet hath that vision fair
Banished my pain--caused my regrets to cease-
And I can now go to the grave in peace!
Kind Heaven has heard my prayer !
Dear brother, now we part!
Never again shall I behold the day;
And thou'lt return alone, a weary way,
Stricken and sad at heart;
Yet brother, do not mourn-
'Tis but to change a world of doubt and gloom
For immortality-beyond the tomb
I see the blessed bourne !
Soft voices like the strain
Of wind-touched harps, como floating on my car,
To beakon me away-dry up the tear
We part to meet again!
On this frail form their quest-
That I might see our mother, and unurn
The garnered up affections that do yearn
Within this weary breast!
0! long, long hours have fled-
When midnight was around me, and the breeze
Spake mournful things among the forest trees
And when the dawning red
Bade night's wild storms depart-
And when the cheery noon-tide sunbeam lay
Upon the silent hills and plains-alway!
That prayer was in my heart ;
It was the chiefest source
Of my regret. It wrought upon my brain,
As on my body worked disease and pain
Their unrelenting course.
But list thee, brother! while
My loving eye hath wandered o'er the scene
Before me spread, so stilly and serene,
In the day's fading smile.
As by the enchanter's wand,
The landscape changed its features; far away
Beyond these golden sunset portals lay
Our own beloved land!
All vividly and bright-
Cane field, and cot, and woodland far and wide;
Calm as the ocean when the storms have died
It glowed before my sight!
Our home beside the stream,
Those smoothe, green slopes, where bloomed the cactus
flowers,
Where erst we passed so many happy hours,
0, 'twas a blessed dream!
Then suddenly the gloom
That hovers round me here became estranged
This shadowy room for our own home was changed !
Yes! in my own small room,
In our own native isle
I woke as it 'twere, from dreams; and there, instead
Of these kind, tender friends, beside my bed
Our mother sat the while;
Pensive she seemed, and worn
As if from trouble ; and in accent bland
She held swcet converse of that blessed land
The worn and weary's bourne !
And friends were gathered there,
The sweet companions of my early years ;
With looks of tenderness and eyes in tears-
I was their only care!
Without 'twas sultry noon,
And the wide landscape lay in hushed repose,
Save when from 'mid the negro cots there rose
Some slow and plaintive tune-
(Perchance a mother's lay
Over her sleeping infant,) or the glee-
The joyous outbursts, sounding merrily-
Of urchins at their play;
As pass the weary to the land of dreams,
That senseless girl sunk in the sleep of death
So quietly, that they who eat around
Were unaware, but listed that she still
Drank in the glories of the fading day.
Alone she sleeps, in a calm, dreamy nook,
Where the witch-elm and beech inlace their boughs,
Above her grassy grave. A simple stone
Reads her name. And still the briar rose
That long ago the village children placed
About the mound, sheds its wild fragrance there.
Original.
TRANSLATION.
HORACE LIB. II. CARMEN XIV.
“Eheu! fugaces Posthume, Posthume,
Labunter anni," &c.
Alas' alas! the fleeting years !
How swift they speed away,
Nor pious deeds, nor streaming tears
Can cause the least delay;
But wrinkled age and dreaded death,
(For such is Fate's decree)
Will bow the frame and stop the breath
Ard none their doom can flee.
Pluto sits tearless by the waves
Of Styx, thrice flowing round,
Dark, cheerless stream, the realm that laves
Where joy nor hope is found.
That gloomy stream, Earth's children all,
What'ere their station bo,
The rich, the poor, the great, the small,
The captive and the free,
15


120
A SKETCII OF THE POETICAL CHARACTER.
W. H.
Must surely pass: For all in vain
Il mind and wealth at the same time; and au contraire
The tented field we fly,
the opposite party who experienced it not, being unfitted
Or ocean's waves, or winter's rain;
for “the tricks of trade" suffered. Yet, borne down by
Soon, soon we all must die.
privations and enduring the scorn of an unappreciating
The summer's sick’ning heat we shun,
world, like Milton and Goldsmith, they had and bare
within themselves a source of strength-a fount of de-
And autumn's noxious breath,
light, which the worldling surrounded with his luxuries
In vain-we all are hurrying on
cannot feel. Vain-conceited as the worldling is; and
To the silent realms of death.
imagining as he often does that the voice of applause is
There black Cocytus, cold and still,
“meat and drink” to the soul, yet is he unwise. The
A waveless stream is spread,
mind finds more real enjoyment in communion with
Its noisome vapors, damp and chill
itself, or with kindred minds, than all the adulation
Roll round the wretched dead.
which man can offer. I do not presume in this remark:
This pleasant Earth, our homes, our friends,
I have higher authority than myself to give. Who at-
Must all forsaken be;
tained more popularity throughout the civilized world
Of things to which our care extends,
than Walter Scott ? Yet at the very epitome of his
Nought-save a single tree,
greatness he writes the following in a letter to his friend
Ellis: “ People may say this or that of the pleasure
The gloomy cypress, its brief Lord
of fame or of profit as a motive of writing. I think the
Shall follow to the grave
only pleasure is the actual exertion and research." And
And there alone, in winter's wind,
Bulwer too, who is now the cynosure, what does he say?
And summer's breeze shall wave.
He holds this language in his Ernest Maltravers:
Our sons, unmindful of our fate,
“It is not the ambition that pleases, it is the following
Our vacant halls shall fill :
of a path congenial to our tastes, and rendered more dear
There they shall feast in gorgeous state,
to us in a short time by habit. *** It is the work
When we in death are still.
itself, whether of action or literature that interests and
Snow Hill, Md.
excites us. And at length the dryness of toil takes the
familiar sweetness of custom. But in intellectual labor
Original.
there is another charm; we become more intimate with
our own nature, the heart and soul grow friends, and the
A RAMBLING SKETCH OF
THE POETICAL CHARACTER.
affections and aspirations unite. Thus we are never
without society, we are never alone; all that we have
BY SAMUEL F. GLENN.
read, learned and discovered is company to us."
I do not make these extracts, or offer my own views,
[I have designed in the following any thing but al with the idea that public favor is not grateful to the au-
detail. Should I have wished to have been diffusive. I thor; but to exhibit, in a degree, the fine susceptibilities
the subject and its connections would have prevented of the soul which support the mind under the most dis-
me.]
couraging events. The author of Paradise Lost, alrea-
dy mentioned, is an illustrious example. And further:
to show that the heart of the author, though touched by
_“None havo vainly e'er the muse pursued,
neglect, breaks not. Johnson has observed that the lite-
And those who she delights, regret no more
The social, joyous hours, while rapt they soar
rary man is only appreciated by those in pursuit of the
To worlds unknown, and live in fancy's dream:
same object; and I may add, partially appreciated by
0, Muse divine ! thee only I implore,
Shed on my soul thy sweet inspiring beams,
the intellectual. My reason for adding this will appear
And pleasure's gayest scene insipid folly secms!"-
obvious when it will be remembered that though “ faint
MRS. TIGHE'S PSYCHE.
praise" was awarded by a few to Milton during his life,
It has become an aphorism, that the chaplet which il yet Andrew Marvel was the only avowed champion in
decks the brow of the poet is generally the only proper bis behalf.
ty appertaining to the genus. It is true that there are The inductive lessons to authorship, although carry.
exceptions, bright ones too, where not only comfort, but ing along with them a charm, which when the fountain
absolute wealth was and is the concomitant of ge-l is pure fails not, are often trying in the extreme. Pover-
niuses. I may instance Byron and Rogers; and Walter ty is not the only obstacle presented; but a thousand
Scott in his success; but usually the corps literati were misrepresentations-a multitude of thrusts, (which,
and are a nondescript corps, feasting moro mentally however are but pigmy lances magnified by the sensitive
than corporeally, and often drinking deep of the cup mind)—and ridicule are the demons who assault the
of penury. Else we should not record a Goldsmith in pilgrims to Fame's Temple. These are often a neces-
wretched poverty; a De Foe in the pillory, or a Chat-sary evil: proving genius as if by fire. They discover
terton a suicide. It is almost incompatible with a ta- the interpolator in the gardens of Truth and Fancy, and
lented mind to strive for lucre: hence those whom I many are left without even the shadow of a great name."*
have mentioned enjoying superfluity were, it is well
known, by unusual circumstances, blessed with both | * Magni nominis umbra.
CHAPTER I.


A SKETCH OF THE POETICAL CHARACTER.
121
Its than
Their vagarics often but too great a cause for opprobri- || solaces are the sensibilities of his own soul. Desiderated
um. I write not of what mankind in general call ec -contemned by the world, he resorts to himself, and finds
centricity, because that word is as much misunderstood there a refuge. His feelings, however, are as often as
as it is misapplied; but of the absolute freaks.which a morbid as they are gleesome. Melancholy finds him a
buoyant fancy exhibits without forethought. One of the being whereon she may gloat; and from extreme happi-
many “ Journals" which are inflicted upon these United ness, by a trick of the imagination, he falls into extreme
States tells the folly of its own author in such a peculiar wretchedness. Acuteness of soul renders him the prey
happy manner-with so much self complacency, that lo morbidity, and drags him from Elysium to Charybdis.
it may be worth while to note it here because so appro- || So will he too involuntarily show himself unless great
pos. The Edinburg Review, writing of Mrs. Fanny command is exercised over his feelings. Sir James
Kemble Butler's American Journal, says: “The frolic- Mackintosh closes a letter addressed to his early friend,
some huinor of our young heroine at times took eccen Hall, “May you, my dear friend, who have so much of
tric flights, and must have put her in some danger of the the genius of Tasso and Cowper, in future, escape their
treadmill or a lunatic asylum, with a generation who misfortunesthe calamities incident to tender sensibility
are not very indulgent to a joke. As they went through to grand enthusiasism, and to intense exertion of in-
the streets of Philadelphia, during the riot of an elec- ||tellect.” Vol. I. p 370.
tion, she kept brandishing her father's theatrical sword | This letter, which as a Reviewer of Sir James' Life
out of the window. Another of her freaks was bolder observes, was “on the whole, as beautiful a letter as
still. They were travelling from New-York to Boston, ever was penned; or perhaps the most delicate of all pos-
ea toiturier; or, in American phraseology, as exclusive sible subjects, was written on Hall's recovery from a first
extras. The following adventure occurred to them on access of insanity. These facts speak for themselves.
the journey :-“At one place where we stopped, I saw But will mankind say that we bear with genius for
a meek-eyed, yellowish-white cart-horse, standing with nought ? Does talent produce us nothing ?-teach us or
a man's saddle on his back. The opportunity was irre- | amuse us not ? shall it be held up only as the target for
sistible; and the desire too! I had not backed a horse the shafs of ridicule. Genius has not more fault
for so long. So I got upon the amazed quadruped, others, but the eminence on which it is placed makes its
woman's fashion, and took a gallop through the fields, blue lights shine more vivid, and were they as pure as
with infinite risk of falling off, and proportionate satisfac- |chrystal, the microscopic eye of selfish malevolence will
tion."
discern blemishes. A poet, and a sweet one too, says
Now, most indulgent reader, do not imagine that I " Every effort to castigate vice, and to pourtray virtue,
think I quote high authority for my carollary. I do not, I even if the effort be mediocre, should receive encourage-
I assure you, consider the fair authoress, a pearl above ment.” But man is naturally a jealous being, and scorns
all price, but as she has created “quite a sensation;" why to receive instruction from his companion man. Besides,
refuse her the dignity of quotation, to strengthen my ar he questions the ability of his instructors often, to avoid
gument, viz:-that the evanescence of the spirit must the assent he must yield to superiority. That great
have vent, either by flourishing the “inky fluid," or by
power is vested in the poet, no one will doubt. He
playing romance in real life. Add to this what Byron ob assists the word of God delivered from the pulpit; and
serves in his “Conversations with an American,"— can we doubt then that the gift of poetry is an high-an
“Madness or insanity," he says, is much more prevalent exalted-a noble attribute? And should we be surprised
than people imagine; indeed their notions respecting the that it brings forth corruption from its depths, to show
nature of it are very loose. There are three different the magic of its powers. Why then oppose that which
stages of it, and it goes by three names-oddity-eccen- lis sacred, even if it be but the attempt? Why, I say,
tricity and insanity. One who differs a little from the the answer is plain. Because there are thousands who
rest of the world in his whims, taste or behavior, is misjudge themselves, and subject both themselves and
called odd; he who differs still more, is called eccentric; the legitimate children of poesy to scorn.
and when this difference passes certain bounds, it is Poetry pictures the poet more liberally than Shaks-
termed insanity. All men of genius are a little mad.” | peare has satirically done :
Coleridge was eccentric to a high degree, because his
“Creative genius and the power divine,
fancy so led him ; but it was not to be distingué, for he
That warms and melts the enthusiastic soul,
A pomp and prodigality of praise ;
sought retirement, and rather avoided than courted the
These form the Poet.
influx of company which attended his conversations—his or in the more beautiful language of Horace:
“ Table Talk.” It was, as a Foreign Review calls it,
" the eccentric bias of his mind.” Coleridge's devia-
“Magna sonaturum, des nominis hujus honorem."
tion I instance, because it is a strict-a true and a well | The great end of the art is, to impress truths upon the
known case; I might enumerate others, but the reader | mind-realities, by the use of poetical eloquence-and
is already acquainted with them, without doubt. These || when it fails in that effect there is incapacity.
exhibitions are all broughtforward by ungenerous persons,
as the faults of genius, and fit subjects for theirridicule; and ||
they are always ready to exclaim with Shakspeare-"The But aside from the disagremens attendant upon ge-
lanatic, the lover and the poet, are of imagination all com- nius in a literary point of view, Misfortune often thrusts
pact." Superiority finds little sympathy. But the Poet's her gloomy form into their abodes in other ways. It is
CHATTER II.


122
A SKETCH OF THE POETICAL CHARACTER.
but too true that the gaunt spectre of Misery doth follow! As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep."
the steps of the gifted. It was misfortune which clou-
ded the brows of many of past days in domestic trials. Where is the learned pedant who has originated such
I will name only* Mrs. Tighe, the author of “ Pysche," an idea, and has clothed it in such language? Milton
and will instance more particularly Mrs. Hemans, the may be named, but even he with his unbounded genius
favorite of England; whose head was crowned with and aided with all his acquirements, has not a sentence
unfading laurels from her youth until Death deafened comparable to this. And learning in modern days?
her ear to the plaudits of millions. How beautifully See what Campbell says of it: the opinion will answer
and how thrillingly does she pourtray her afflictions : the purpose of further reasoning Writing of Burns,
"Tell me po more-no more
he says, “ The poetic genius of Burns, nourished on
Of my soul's lofty gifts! Are they not vain
scanty learning and inspired by nature herself, will fur-
To quouch its panting thirst for happiness?
Have I pot tried, and striven, and failed to bind
nish a text for the philosopher, who speculates on the
One true heart unto me, whereon my own
inAuence of book-acquired learning on gifted minds of
Might find a resting-place- a home for all
Its burden of affections? I depart
the first order. Milton on the one hand, stands an ex-
Unknown, though fame goes with me; I must loaye
ample of the poetic benefits of much learning; whilst
The earth unknown. Yet it may be that death
Shall give my naine a power to win such tears
Shakspeare and Burns confront and refute the assertion
As might have made life precious,"
that a little learning is a dangerous thing.' That
Undoubtedly a wise Providence so orders this. To ab- much learning is covetable by a poet, has long ceased
stract sensibility from the snare of Ambition: to woo | to be my opinion. In the bare toil of acquiring it his
away the soul from fleeting things and lead it to dwell mind exhudes much of its natural strength and sensibi-
upon a hereafter. Mrs. Hemans has confessed herself lity; but that some learning is useful, has been illustra-
that she entertained no fixed opinion respecting religionted by Shakspeare, whose mind-an alembic of sweets
until after her meridian, though her effusions were al-1-distilled more of the essential odors of classic mytho-
ways distinguished by pious breathings. I mention this logy, and more of the beautiful in classical history, than
as my deductions will appear more reasonable to many. the minds of a thousand pedants could have collected.
This abrogation from the flights of Fancy preserves the Burns, apparently less learned than Shakspeare, never
mind from that satiety of applause, which, as in the case looked back to ancestral inspiration, but was himself
of that lady, was unceasing-without a controverting an ancestor in poetry. I cannot give up my classical
word of disproval. Then despite the complaints of the partialities, but I confess the truth of Burns' words
Muse—the trials of her votaries may be looked upon when he derides those who think to climb Parnassus'
as blessings rather than evils: even when worldly cir- hill by dint of Greek ;' and his strokes of nature bring
cumstances are only consulted. They give relief from down my conception of the quantum of learning that is
the trammels—the oppression of constant - ardent needful for a genuine poet to the lowest point. I could
thought. Melancholy, for example, is banished in a point out in Burns' songs, thought exactly similar to
degree by a variety of ills ; for though it is strange, yet those beautiful Greek epigrams, of which Burns could
it is undeniable, that life must have that variety. Bur- have never heard. Here Burns wrote Greek poetry,
ton- queer old Burton in his “Anatomy of Melancho- | without having learnt the very characters. When na-
ly” gives “two main reasons why students should be ture takes genius by the hand she always conducts her
more subject to this malady than others. The one is, | pupil to the tender and the beautiful, and by a shorter
they live a sedentry-solitary life, sibi et Musis, free road than the learned languages."
from bodily exercise and those ordinary disports which we cannot but coincide with the author of the "Plea-
other men use; and many times, if idleness concursures of Hope:" they are too obvious. Yet it may be
with it, (which is too frequent) they are precipitated urged that Johnson was a scholar and that his “ Irene"
into this gulf of a sudden,” etc. Give something for contains many fine sentiments which would have added
the mind to think upon besides its passion and life is lustre to even Shakspeare's plays; but where shall we
spared half its gloom.
find the vigorous beauty which so distinguishes the de.
Shakspeare remains an immortal monument of the lineations of Nature's own poet? Learning certainly ex-
success of genius without a thorough-a classical edu- il pands the mind by keeping it in healthy exercise ; pro-
cation. There is embodied more natural strength in : vided that it does not clog by the surfeit: and while, if
one paragraph of his poetry than in all the productions in the inextinguishable thirst that often seizes the stu-
of a score of “popular writers,” who have lived before dent when he once enters with delight upon his studies.
or after him. In what poem can we find equal gran- does not, like the fascination of an igni fatus works
deur to this casual extract ?--
| away his strength of body and mind. The most com-
“These our actors,
mon principle of Physiology will tell us this ; therefore,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
though Pope has contemned “a little learning," it is
Are melted into air; into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
better to have the taste remaining with that litule than
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
allow the brain to sicken in its fullness. A knowledge
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit shall dissolve;
of languages foreign to our own is certainly an accom-
And, like this unsubstantial pageant faded,
Leaves not a rack behind: We are such stuff
plishment. Almost every volume of Poetry issued,
shows that much of it originated in France, Italy, Spain
*How many could I name!
| or other foreign climes. When introduced, these trans-


THE ENTHUSIAST'S HOPE.
123
BY AN ITALIAN.
lations give the appearance of attainments of a superior terials from which it was to be created, and he joyed
intellect it is true, but that same intellect might have over it as an alchemist over the dust, which, his fancy
produced better things had it been thrown upon its own tells him, is soon to be transmuted into the treasure he
resources as Shakspeare's was. I may add in support has so fondly sought.
of my logic, the following from a Review on Milton and The being of our enthusiast's hope, was one, who, liko
his biographers in the British Critic:
the gentle Ida, prided herself upon “full fifteen sum-
* Learning does not very frequently employ taste as mers," with beauty, still childlike, but giving promise of
her scribe; and her manuscripts, which if written in a a rare maturity, and a mind which was ever displaying
fairer hand, would have been received into every house, itself in her words and actions as a compound of fancy
are consequently not seldom confined to the solitude of! and judgment, that needed but culture to give it all the
the studious scholar.” Sir Walter Scott is an instance I power and charm of genius. Her heart was suited to
of success without the aid of classics. He makes a her years ;-warm but calm. Love, such as poetry
remark in his Diary, that being asked to review a Latin teaches, had not yet disturbed it. She admired Mau-
work, he expresses his entire ignorance of the language. rice Alden, for though she knew not how to define the
Probably, like many others, memory did not retain his ! intellectual splendor and the classic grace of his coun-
early knowledge of it. And being about making a tour tenance and figure, she saw that few could equal them
at the same time into France, he says that he must rub in beauty; though she knew not his voice was music it-
up his French for it was “growing musty:" this was self, nor that its words were eloquence, there was none
at the acme of his fame. Genius triumphs without the that she loved so well to hear, for she was an orphan
help of foreign auxiliarios.
unused to tenderness, and she was grateful that to her
Washington City.
they were soft and kind; she had not learned to judge
of mind, but she had heard he was for that lauded
Original.
by the world, and she was proud of his affection, and
so, with girlish admiration, and gratitude, and pride, but
THE ENTHUSIAST'S HOPE.
without a woman's passion she became his wife.
Three years passed, and there was a buzz and flutter
among the fashionables of a great American city. A
stately ship had arrived to bear a titled and important
“I loved, and deemed that thou wouldst be
official to his distant country, and her gallant company
A resting place of hope for me."--MRS. NORTON.
proposed making her the scene of a gorgous fête, in his
honor. The rich, the fair, and the distinguished, were
" Exquisite bud of beauty! I will place her in my bo- to be among the guests, and its novelty was the theme
som, and in her expanding shall the dearest dream of of every tongue.
my life be realized !"
Il Genevieve Alden stood with a flushed cheek and
With this agreeable hope, closed a long reverie of sparkling eye, before a mirror that told her truly of her
Maurice Alden over past years, in which,-
surpassing beauty; she knew that her form had grown
# The want of one to be
into a symmetry that the artist might not excel. She
A spirit of sweet thoughts to him,"
knew that her eyes were full and clear, in their every
was the only want that had ever caused him an hour's glance bespeaking thought and feeling; that the lashes
sadness, and this, his heart exulted in believing, would which drooped so gracefully over them, were exquisitely
soon be richly supplied.
long and shining; that her cheek was round and smooth,
Maurice Alden was not one to meet with a light and that her lips were curved and colored matchlessly,
word or careless look from female lips or eyes. The land for each of these perfections, she knew descriptions,
fame of his talents had gone forth into the world, and and similies, and metaphors, that had taught her the
had brought him back honor, that the haughtiest would value set upon them. Her mind had matured with her
have been proud to share, and in the graces of his per- person, so that there her husband's hopes had not been
son he possessed a power to win his way to the coldest disappointed, and her heart, it, too, had changed, but
heart. Of this he was aware, and he rejoiced in it not alas! its darker, wilder passions had gathered strength
as a matter of vanity, but as a means of obtaining that to thrust the gentler feelings from the place, where, in
most rare trinity in human nature, beauty, heart, and her earlier years, they had rested. “Pride, the child of
intellect, which, in his boyhood's romance, and his man- ' intellect," with its follower, ambition, was now her ru-
hood's thought and feeling, he had dreamed of as the ling spirits, and when she asked herself if hers were a
charm that could complete the measure of his life's hap- form and face to be hidden like a toy, amidst books, and
piness." But where was this to be found ? He had seen | pictures, and nowers, she paused not to dwell upon the
feeling turning its graceful tendrils around the proud pure and manly love which had still sent its incense
column of mind, and sighed that the crowning light of around her there; when she longed to be ever in scenes
beauty was not upon it to complete the glorious struc- where she might enjoy the applause and deference,
ture, and he had seen beauty, wondrous in its perfec- which her wit and knowledge had been wont to call
tion, but had turned from it as a ray upon an icicle, or forth, she gave not even a thought to the rich and lofty
gilding upon dross. At last, when he began to despair intellect which had delighted to pour itself out upon
in his pursuit, the object was at hand, at least, tho ma-hers, to purify, and brighten, and enlarge it. But she


124
THE ENTHUSIAST'S HOPE.
had also learned art to conceal her waywardness, and,'| mother's breath on its closing eyelids, and the mother
until now, she had exercised it.
had hurried from her domestic sanctuary, with the flush
She entered the apartment in which her husband sat, of impatient eagerness on her cheek.
playfully tossing a cherub-like child in his arms, and, i “I have no selfish wish to seclude her from the world
though he held but lightly the object for which it had for my own enjoyment;" he said internally, “but I
been studied, Alden looked with fond admiration at her would have had her go into it as my companion, to seek
appearance, to which the polished taste of her adorning, such things as it contains to be loved, and admired, and
had given a splendor, even unusually striking. “So, wondered at; not with an idle longing after its gauds
love," he said gently; "you are resolved to join this and baubles, among and seemingly on a level with the
revel?”
fools who know nothing higher than to prize them;" and
“Of course;" was her cold and decisive answer. thus in sad and bitter reflections, the husband passed the
“Then, of course, you will leave us each a kiss as a night.
kecpsake till you return;" and smiling, he approached The fète on the water was as rare in brilliancy as the
with the frolicsome boy who sprang towards her. scene of its celebration was unique. The huge vessel
She drew away, remarking impatiently, “ he will dis- was decorated in a style “worthy" as the newspapers
compose my dress, and—there! the carriage is at the of our day would describe it; "of the refined taste of its
door."
directors, and the beauty and fashion that bore witness
“ You will, at least, take this with you as a warning to its elegance.” The gallant young foreigners who pre-
that, though all may deem you the fairest of the fair, sided, did the honors with a delight equal to their sur.
their united devotion cannot be as much as is centred in prise at finding so much grace and loveliness among the
this little room;" and he held out a few sweet rosebuds" wild flowers of our forest land," and they in turn
and geranium leaves.
were fully grateful for the admiration of those whose
“ My hair and bouquet are already arranged;" re- / judgment had been trained in the classic halls of the old
plied Genevieve, and as he observed that she was orna. world.
mented with the rare and costly flowers she had receivedl Outshining all, the ascendant star of the night was
from a fashionable and distinguished admirer, she coldly | Genevieve Alden, conspicuous no less for her own daz-
laid his simple offering aside, and as coldly left the room. ' zling presence than for her place as the object by whom
He looked after her shocked and motionless, for he felt was engrossed the envied attentions of the observed of
a presentiment that his cherished dream was lost for all observers, him for whom all bad been assembled.
ever.
| Dancing, conversing, and promenading, when wearied of
Maurice Alden heard the griffins of the gay noble, the
the glare and stir of the pavillion, she sought the air, he
lord of the festival fly from the door, and full of over- !
was by her side, whispering in tones too soft and earnest
flowing thoughts, he threw himself into a seat. On this to have been called forth by aught around them, and her
triumphant restlessness of manner showed too plainly
very spot he had said to himself, “ This, this is Happi-
ness!" as he placed his sylph-like bride beside him, and
how she prized such distinction. Scandal could not un-
with his hand resting among her soft curls, called up
hecdingly pass food so tempting. Many significant
visions of future hours as vague and bright as those of a
glances were exchanged, and when the closely watched
pair, as if forgetful or regardless of aught beside them-
child rejoicing in a fairy's proffer. “She shall be ever
near me," he had thought, “till I have seen her inno-
selves, went circling round each other in the bewildering
cent eyes become richer and softer, and her pure cheek
waltz, a thing before then unknown among our cis-atlan-
tic elite, except as having filled a page in a traveller's
glow warmer and brighter through the influence of my
tale; the matrons curled their lips and frowned, and
love. I will minister to the desire for knowledge which
their daughters who now accustomed to the accomplish-
is already kindled in her young mind, strengthening its
ment, complaisantly criticised the comparative skill of
ardor by the food I shall offer, and still supplying it from
the belles they chaperoned, half afraid to gratify their
the stores, which fortune and nature have placed in my
curiosity, and blushed while they looked on. And
power, and I will teach her to cherish and understand
her own beautiful and luxuriant fancies, till she shall
soon these glances were changed to whispers by no
sway as much by the majesty of her intellect as by the
means equivocal.
loveliness of the shrine by which it is enclosed.” Here
The night wore round. The streets were again undis.
he had told himself that all his past feelings had been
turbed by the roll of carriages which had borne to their
homes the exhausted revellers. The decks were chang-
but a dream of happiness compared with what he en-
ed with almost the quickness of enchantment to their
joyed as he saw a living picture before him:-
wonted aspect, and when the sun arose above the waters,
A child, whose small and shining head
the sails of the stranger ship were faintly discerned glit-
Was lying on a lady's knee,
So young and bright you would have said
tering in his beams, and in a few moments they had
His sister only she could be."
Il faded in the distance.
Knowing that the child and the lady were treasures of Apparently unconscious of the light of day, which was
his own, and trusting that as many fond hopes as had streaming gloriously through the window, and of the
been fulfilled of the one, would of the other be as sweetly motion of the vessel which was gliding like a spirit across
realized. Might not a dread now come over him ? the the ripples, a lady reclined on a sofa in a splendid cabin,
child had been hushed to rest without having felt its the magnificent dress of the past night hanging careless-


THE ENTUSIAST'S HOPE.
125
ly around her, and the flowers falling withered from her and his father's wrongs, was not long withheld from him
neglected hair. Her eyes were strained fixedly with after he was old enough to comprehend it; he grew up
emotions that tears could not have had power to express, a child of fancy and feeling, such as not improbably the
and her face showed yet more ghastly pale from its con- guidance of minds like theirs would have made him.
trast with the rich cushions against which it leaned. Happily, poverty was not among his young sorrows.
That figure was Genevieve Alden.
His inheritance was ample. Accordingly his education
Her courtly tempter was by her side, clasping the was liberally conducted, and of this he availed himself
hand from which her marriage ring had not yet been with avidity. Every pleasure usually grateful to those
drawn, and endeavoring with impassioned sophistry to of his years, was also at his command, but in that he
silence the conscience, which too late, alas ! had awa- was careless of indulging. As his history was unlike
kened with its appalling whispers within her. He those of his young associates, so unlike theirs appeared
attempted not to depreciate the home she had forsaken, 1 to be his wishes and pursuits. The mementoes of
nor him whose noble affection had hallowed it, but he genius that his father had left behind, he had sought,
balanced what she was to gain against what she had lost; and it was his highest enjoyment though a sad one, at
the life that awaited her embellished with every thing the lowly road-side grave, the record of that father's fate,
alluring, by a love which would be ever seeking to make to study them, with resolves to act according to every
it still more worthy of her, against the comparatively sentiment they contained, and to seek to make himself
obscure destiny which her lofty spirit had so loathed not unworthy of the name of him who had conceived
when she had seemed fated to endure it. He painted | them.
gorgeous anticipations of when she would be followed by The years usually numbered as those of boyhood had
the great, honored by the proud, envied by the admired, scarcely passed over him, when his prescribed course of
where former events would be unknown, or even if study was completed, and like a young bird cager to
hinted at, would but throw an interest around her, the enjoy its new powers of flight, he hastened from bound
opposite of that which the narrow-minded, fastidious- to bound of his native land, feeding his passion for nature
ness of her own country would dictate; and where she and the love she supplies amidst scenes on which she
would every day be adding to her powers to secure the appears to have bestowed her best skill. Yet the
homage she would win.
memory of what he was went with him, and often as he
The gentle soothings of unhallowed love, the bland stood gazing on some forest-girt lake, or “sca-like river,"
reasonings of practised subtlety too welcome to her cor- he longed to have beside him one who could fill his
rupted feelings, at length attained their object, and mind with ideas on the things before him, beyond those
Genesieve thought upon what she had left, and the pros- of his own conception, and his heart sickened as he
pect before her, as upon the dim speck of land receding thought of that parent, who but for the crime of the other
from view, in comparison with the pride and glory of the || might now have supplied all that he wished. And then
burnished waters that floated her on.
when the eagerness of his curiosity had somewhat sub-
sided, he called up the plans he had formed over the
" Grief and shamo
Crushed out bis fiery nature, and his name
classic records of the past, when he had longed to climb
Died silently." - Mrs. Hemans.
the hills from which heroes had looked down on the
“ Away! away! o'er the foaming sea."
plains they were to win; to follow the streams which had
The vigor and bloom of Maurice Alden's mind were borne the reflection of ancient legions in all their glorious
gone. Overwhelmed by grief and withered by shame, it rageantry of war, and along which pocts and sages had
could never revive to astonish by its greatness, or charm walked, imagining the inspiration of their intrinsic beauty
by its beauty. He had been an er.thusiast, and when to be that of the deities fabled to haunt them; to muse
his sketch of happiness was drawn, had pressed on ar- among forests flourishing upon the ruins of cities, to pay
dently till the reality was obtained, and then as ardently tribute to the spots hallowed by the dust of those whose
he had enjoyed it. It had been torn from him, and the names are called immortal; these and a host of other
energies which had twined around it were destroyed for wishes dear to a school boy's heart he had indulged, and
ever. On the first shock of the change, he had wander- he now resolved that they should be gratified.
ed from the scenes familiar to him, and amidst new The close of his minority came, the time when this
haunts, became a new being. He seemed to have for- was to be accomplished. He knelt by his father's grave,
gotten that knowledge had ever opened its stores to him, and consecrated a stately monument over it with sad
and that there was a world that had echoed his name. I and fervent prayer, and departed ampilgrim to many
His world was now the things that chanced to meet his shrines; and soon the shores of the old world, with their
eye, and to them was his knowledge confined. With- | thousand associations of change, of rise and fall, of glory
out memory, without passion, without hope, he existed and humiliation, of triumph and misery, rose upon his
two melancholy years, and then was found a corpse, and sight. “ Italy! Italy!" was the charmed word that
consigned by careless hands to a grave by the road-side, hurried him past all, and at last he hailed from its
as an unknown, unfortunate, perhaps a suicide. guardian mountains the first glimpse of his imagination's
Thus orphaned by misfortune and infamy, Hugh Elysium. What was he first to seck amidst the things
Alden, the offspring of an ill-fated alliance, was left to whose names thronged upon his memory in such bewil-
the guardianship of strangers. Governed by a sense of dering abundance ? But he had time for all. He had de-
his peculiar situation, for the story of his mother's shamc termined not to mingle with the bevies, who, rather


126
THE ENTHUSIAST'S HOPE.
through the distates of fashion, than from impulses of that festooned the pavilion. The artist gazed and ex-
their own, were dallying among them—but to throw claimed with professional enthusiasm, and soon with
aside the hurry of a stranger, and make, wherever he utter amazement at an unexpected catastrophe of the
might fancy, a home. He spoke the language of the meeting. A hat was wafted from the hand of the object
country as a nation, and that he might better seem to of their attention, and cre its white plumes could have
have a right to use it, he adopted a new name, and sel had time to spread themselves on the water, the young
out on his luxurious campaign. Then every day was American had reached it, and sprang with it into the
not sending forth its descriptive catalogues of the wonders barge.
of art, and nature, and time, familiarizing with them. The gallantry of Alden, that of a momentary impulse
those who may never in reality behold them, and conse- was perhaps uncalled for, and so it first struck him, as
quently his pleasures were as much those of surprise as he presented himself before the commanding figure for
of gratified expectation. He moved through the rich whom it had arisen, but it was no feeling consequent on
panarama, studying as well as seeing-while indulging this that fixed him speechless before her. Never had he
his senses, storing his thoughts with the philosophy of felt beauty to call forth such overpowering admiration.
the past, and poetry of the present with which its trea- || Her person was large, but so exquisitely proportioned
sures are inscribed, and purifying his heart with the that the most fastidious connoisseur could not have
morals which are exhaled from them.
found fault with its fullness. Her features seemed at
the first glance to partake of the voluptuous character
“A lady, the wonder of her kind.”—Shelley. that distinguished her form, but the intellectual boldness
“When I said mother,
of the forehead, that gleamed from amidst locks of pur-
Mothought you saw a serpent." - Shakspcart.
ple blackness, redeemed them from it. They were per-
At the close of a festal day at Naples, just as the fectly regular, but relieved from the coldness of such
the setting sun was gleaming against the distant city, exact symmetry by the dazzling restlessness of the eyes,
two light crafts were lying side by side in the far-famed and the beautifully varying expression of the mouth.
bay, each containing a single rower, one of them Hugh The complexion was in harmonious keeping. It had
Alden, now“Seignior Marcelli," and the other a young not the transparent pearliness of a child's, nor the deli-
native artist. They had stopped to watch the approach cate rose tinge that marks and beautifies early youth,
of a beautiful barge, that amidst the sound of delicious but was of a soſt, rich white, overspread on the check
music came sweeping gracefully towards them. with a flush of warm vermillion. Such was the being
“It is the resplendent Marchesa de Cenci!” exclaim who stood before him, carelessly enjoying his evident
ed the Italian enthusiastically, spouting with his foreign wonder, for she was not unused to striking with such an
accent, a passage from England's immortal bard. effect, and herself not untouched with the grace of his
“And who is your Cleopatra ?" asked Alden, unable light yet manly form, which he had fully displayed as he
to suppress a smile at the ludicrous marring of the quo- | leaped so suddenly into her presence, and with his com-
tation.
tenance-such a one as is not often looked upon.
“Are you so new to Naples that you don't know He recovered himself, and with a bow turned to re-
her! her! the Marchesa Cenci?" and the painter stared gain his boat, when the marchesa came forward, and
and ejaculated with astonishment; “why she is more with a freedom of manner as fascinating as peculiar, bade
than the three Graces, she is Venus, Juno, and Minerva; him in the softest Italian, to consider himself her prison-
beauty, magnificence, and intellect in one. She has been er. "Ingratitude," she added, playfully, "is a crime
the grand dictatress for a season at every court on the so common in the world that it has almost ceased to be
continent, revolutionizing every heart in it from that of named as one; therefore, young seignior, I do not scruple
the monarch to that of the lowest galopin that beheld to repay your chivalrous service, by depriving you of the
her! Whole hordes from the North-Russians, Prussians, power of extending it to others. Resist not! I am a
English and Dutch have fondled at her feet; not a pirate as resolute as daring !-Row on!” And the oars
Frenchman but would have grown sentimental at her again struck the water, while the deserted artist, mutter-
sigh; not a German but would have rooted up his gene- ing half jocularly, half in earnest, sat gazing after the
alogical tree for her smiles; the Greeks have sought her glittering vessel as it floated with its music and streamers
as their own Aspasia transmigrated; the grand seignior towards the city.
himself has sent her presents and called her beautiful as This adventure was an era in the life of Hugh Alden.
Ayesha; she is accomplished in every thing; she knows The favor of the marchesa, capriciously bestowed, was
every language and every thing in it so well that it is annot as might have been expected, as hastily withdrawn.
enigma which she learned first; and withal, she is a very It was received with eagerness and gratitude, for an as-
Ninon for durability-she is said to become more daz-sociation with one so distinguished could not but be a
zlingly beautiful now than she was ten years ago, and passport to that of the great, as well in fame as in rank.
there,” he added, after gasping for breath, “there is The lady appeared to take pride in presenting a protége,
the glorious signora herself!”.
for so he considered himself, of accomplishments and
The barge was now within a few oar's lengths of the graces so various and winning. He became an almost
'shallops, so near that the majestic contour of the lady's constant guest at her palace, and at the ball, the conver-
figure was distinctly discernible as she stood leaning over sazione, or the museum, she rarely appeared out of his
the water from amidst the waving and glittering curtains escort. This in a land where gallantry is an important


THE ENTHUSIAST'S HOPE.
127
business of life, was not unnoticed, and conjectures and and scenery and music; each became the sole study and
predictions were circulated as annoying as unexpected the sole enjoyment of the other.
10 the sensitive feelings of the young wanderer. But! The attentions of the Marchesa became yet more
he could not now retreat from a notoriety, that he con- decidedly marked, and having now been initiated into
sidered so unenviable, without a painful sacrifice--that love's language, Alden thought he perceived at times in
of a new tie he had formed, which was only to be enjoy- her expression and manner what would seem to warrant
ed through a continuation of his intercourse with the the suspicions that had been excited in others, but he
Marchesa.
endeavored to banish the idea as one suggested by a
On the occasion of the introductory rencounter on the vanity that he would have been ashamed to indulge,
bay, he had first seen a young girl, who with her bright and as injurious to one who had a title to his gratitude
tresses, recalled his early visions of the golden-haired from the many advantages she had procured him.
beauties of old Rome, timidly shining behind the majes- ! One day, after a long and happy interview with Er-
tic form of the Marchesa, by whom she was named as mini, he had hastened from the palace without having
Ermini Cenei, and who called the stately lady “moth as usual paid his compliments to the Marchesa, when
er.” Occupied though he was by the brilliancies of the he was followed by a demand that he would attend her
latter, she had not been unmarked, perhaps the less 80 rooms in the evening. He was wearied of the crowds
from her contrast with her companion, which seemed to he had been wont to meet there, but as he had avoided
contradict all idea of their consanguinity. She had or escaped from them of late, so often as to cause dis-
been released from the seclusion of a religious house, satisfaction to their patroness, he could not now decline.
where, as is customary in her country, towards those Accordingly, when night came he hastened to obey the
of her sex and rank, she had been placed for edu summons, but, to his surprise, when he arrived he found
cation. So much he had learned from the Marchesa, none of the preparations by which her sumptuous fêtos
who, he thought, spoke rather more coldly of her Iban | had been preceded. He followed a servant towards a
affection might have sanctioned; and, perhaps, as he part of the mansion to which he had never before been
never met her in his new rounds she might have been introduced, and after having had an entrance pointed
forgotten ; but accident proved that they were destined out to him from an ante-room, he was left alone. He
to know each other better.
drew aside the drapery that covered it, and stopped in
The library of the Marchesa was celebrated for con- amazement before the scene that presented itself to his
taining all that was rare and valuable in the literature sight.
of every language, and much to the gratification of Al-| A spacious apartment spread out before him so tho-
den, he had been offered unlimited use of it. Hither roughly oriental in its effect, that he could scarcely bo-
at regular hours he resorted, and on one of his first visits, lieve it was not an illusive representative of the ima-
he unexpectedly surprised in an alcove which he had gined glories of an Eastern tale. There was nothing in
chosen for his studies, the gentle sigñora. Forced, as it its architecture nor its decorations that appeared allied
were, into a conversation with the young stranger, Er- to the clime in which it was reared. The marble floor
mini appeared in a new light. The world of beauty displayed in the centre a rich design in mosaic, and
in which she had been born, was as new to her as to around the sides was covered by small carpets with the
him, the convent wall having been a barrier to the one most exquisite skill, on which sofas were ranged, loaded
almost as impassable as the Atlantic to the other, and with cushions of richest velvet gorgeously embroidered
when it had been passed, her delight and admiration with gold. Lamps fashioned in beautiful though ſan-
had not been less enthusiastic than his. Wonders of tastic forms, hung glittering from the dome; rare and
art whose names she had never heard, beauties and sub- beautiful flowers in vases of singular style, mingled their
limities of nature of which she had not even the most odors with the perfumes that filled the atmosphere to a
vague conception. Knowledge of subjects interdicted in degree almost oppressive to the senses, and the low,
her prison, were now open to her senses and her mind, sweet gurgling of a fountain that gleamed in the per-
and in their unbounded enjoyment, what desire could spective, was faintly heard amidst the sound of lan-
she have for the idle though gorgeous displays amidst guishing music that arose from the gardens beneath.
which the Marchesa swayed? A very short commu- || Reclining in the most magnificent recess of this mag-
nion showed her new acquaintance to be far different nificent room, appeared the Marchesa. The costume
from the throng of worshipping youths who daily throng which she wore was in admirably tasteful keeping with
ed the palace with homage to its empress, and viewing all around her. Her form was divested of the trim
him as the first of his sex she had met, with tastes simi- confines of fashionable attire, and displayed itself in all
lar to her own, and one endowed with attractions of per- its superb symmetry through the flexible folds of the
son and manners superior to any she remembered, the thin, light drapery that enveloped it. Her dazzling neck
unsophisticated girl left his presence fascinated. Know- and arms were unadorned, and uncovered except by the
ing little of the frigid rules of etiquette, and nothing of rich black tresses, which, but slightly fastened behind,
coquetry, she acted according to the impulses of her fell gracefully over them, and as unclothed were her
warm, Southern heart, and met him again. The allot- beautifully shaped feet, save by small, dark slippers,
red hour was soon eagerly anticipated by both and for that heightened by contrasting with their whiteness.
getfully prolonged. Soon their books were left unopen- The wonted scarlet of her full, smiling lips was bright-
ed. They ceased to talk about painting, and sculpture ened to a yet warmer hue--her cheek glowed with a
16


128
THE ENTHUSIAST'S HOPE.
flush unusually vivid, and her fascinating eyes sparkled “You love her ?" deinanded the Marchesa, arousing
with a brilliancy so intense and eloquent, as to startle from her frenzy of wo and remorse.
the wondering youth who stood before her.
i “Mother! if you are my mother? I knew not this !"
What changes may the flight of a few moments bring “I understand! thank the God you have not forsaken
forth!
that, that curse is not upon you! Ho! Call hither Er-
The Marchesa had sprung from her luxurious seat, mini Cenei! You thought her my child! Ha! ha!
and now stood an appalling impersonation of uncontrol- You, boy, the offspring of my early innocence, are the
lable passion. Her feet were pressed convulsively to only one that owes me a child's duties: I have earned
the floor, her arms were stiffened with exertions to them nobly! The girl is his-that wretched imbecile's
clench her hands more and more firmly. Her lips were to whom I sold myself for the worldly toys I have en.
bloodless and writhing in revolting contortions, and her joyed! enjoyed! with reniorse gnawing at my heart!"
eyes started with a frightful glare from her livid and | And whilst she was thus giving vent to her distraction,
swollen face. Her companion had retreated a few Ermini entered. One glance sufficed to show her the
paces from her, and stood gazing upon her with a agitation of the Marchesa and of Alden. With an
countenance in which the expressions of pity and loath- | alarm that had no definite object, she gained the side of
ing were predominant, and both, for a moment were the latter, and he in the joy that was strong amidst his
speechless.
conflict of feeling, held her firmly there.
At length the Marchesa found utterance. “Ingrate! “Do you love this youth, Ermini ?" asked Genevieve
Reptile !" she exclaimed, " is the love which princes in a voice that startled her son by its calmness.
have sued for-which has been denied to the proudest,! “I do!" was Ermini's brief and quick reply.
to be thus spurned by a callous hearted boy? As strong “Bring the priest !" and the chaplain of the house-
as my love was, my hate is now, and my power is equal hold entered, and ere the astonished Ermini had reco-
to both!" she clapped her hands, muttering, as if un. 'vered from her wonder, she was the bride of Hugh
consciously, in English-" Insensible fool! he shall pay | Alden.
the penalty !" and quick as thought two muffled figures “Leave me now, all, save you, reverend father,"
appeared and with drawn stilettoes approached Alden, commanded the Marchesa, and there was a decision in
The words of his own language seemed to disenchant her manner that each felt must be obeyed, and as Alden
the bewildered youth, and he hurriedly said, “Do not looked back on retiring, so composed, so stately was
think, lady, that I decline your love through scorn of her demeanor, that he could scarcely believe the late
charms that have been offered to one unworthy of the scene of horror aught but a dream.
gift! My own life has been a warning by which I learn. In the morning the Marchesa was sought in vain.
ed to dread the thought of unhallowed love. Unde. Her directions for the disposal of her immense wealth,
signedly I have concealed my history from you. I be- nearly all of it to be bestowed upon Alden and Ermini,
long to a land which fosters not such passions as sway were in the hands of the priest, but she had left him no
in this, but, in which, to indulge them is utter ruin. intimation of an intended absence. Noted as a creaturo
Through their infuence my mother left her wedded of impulse and mystery, her disappearance was a day's
home-left my father to die of a broken heart and ruin- excitement among the circle that had courted her, and
od mind, and me to become, in consequence, a wander- then was forgotten.
er over the world without a tie to make any spot al
home !"
A year passed, and the fate of the Marchesa was still
“ The voice of the Marchoga was low and husky as unknown. The lovely and loving Ermini had, in a mes-
she demanded —"Tell me the name of that woman!" sure, soothed away from her husband the effects of the
She heard it, and stood as one transformed to marble. fearful scene that had preceded their union, and with
A horrible idea flashed across the mind of Alden, and her, who was becoming dearer to him every day, he was
be gazed breathlessly upon the being before him till she preparing to resume his travels, when, from the hand
broke the fearful stillness by whispering, with freezing of a stranger, he received a note which ran thus :
calmness, as she bent towards him: “ What think you!! “ If you would see the wronged avenged, be at the
now, boy, of your mother ?"
l chapel of St. - Convent to-morrow at an early
Hugh Alden shrunk from her pale face and stone-like hour.".
eyes, as if from a spectre, and fell senseless on the floor. An undefined foreboding crossed his mind, and, in the
The first impulse of Genevieve was to raise him in morning, prepared for whatever the day might bring
her arms, but as she touched him, she shivered hysteri. | forth, he was at the convent. The altar was newly de-
colly, and drawing away stood beside him till he revi.corated, but he saw no other preparation for any unu-
ved. His love for Ermini ! its memory came across sual ceremony. He paced through the vacant aisles
him with a feeling of torture as he awoke. Was it for an hour with the sensation described by the poet :
the affection he had cherished with a fond hope that it
"A kind of death comes p'er us all alone
would be a tic to bind him to life, now but to be remem.
Seeing what's meant for many, with but one."
bered as horrible, an unnatural sin? He grasped the But nothing to call up feelings of any other nature ap-
robes of the wretched being who bent over him, and peared.
murmured in agony-" There is yet more! Ermini!"! At length, as a sweet and solemn chaunt arose from
How was he to breathe the terrible secret ?
the gallery, a procession of nuns entered, and he saw


PARTING.'
129
Original.
PARTING
BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.
the form of the Marchesa in the midet-changed, strik- ||
ingly changed, but still surpassing aught else in grace
and beauty, and arrayed not less magnificently than he
had been wont to see it, for she had on the bridal habili-
ments of one about to wed herself to holiness. The
crown of flowers was removed from her brow, and the
soft, long tresses, which, the son shuddered to remem.
ber, had in that fearſul moment of blandishment, been
thrown around his neck, were severed from her neck.
A knell, that smote upon his heart, echoed through the
distant halls, the stately form was placed in a coffin,
and the sombre pall, the token of the barrier between
her and the world, was spread over it. Again the organ
pealed, and the pall was removed. A shriek arose
from the altar as the body was raised. It was a lifeless
corpse, and the crimson stream flowing through the
inowy garments told how the spirit had been liberated.
You've watched the lessening sail,
That bore the loved away,
Till but a misty speck it seemed
Upon the billowy bay,
The echoing wheel you've marked
In its receding flight,
Like victor vaunting, as it took
Your idol from your sight.
Original.
THE COUNTRY.SEAT.
A severed tress you've hid
Next to your bosom's core,
Some plant--the parling gift, have nursed,
Till all its bloom was o'er,
Or 'mid your choicest page,
A wither'd lowret prest,
That erst a prouder place maintained
Upon the dear one's broast.
BY MRS. JANE E. LOCKE.
You o'er the pencil'd brow
In solitude have hung,
And to the voiceless picture talked
With love's impassion'd tongue,
Or gought the favorite walk,
Green dell, or sounding shore,
And felt how deep the shade had fallen
On all that charmed before.
Or to your secret bower
In lonely sadness stole
To mune o'er hoarded smile and tone,
Those jewels of the soul--
And then a precious name
Before your own would steal,
And wing the fervant prayer to heaven
With undeclining zeal.
I KNEW a country seat,
The fairest site around,
Where creeping honeysuckle sweet,
And myrtle did abound;
And many a fragrant forest flower,
Sprang up amid that lovely bower.
Hill, dale and glen combined,
To blend their loveliness ;
And tree and shrub of every kind,
Clustered that spot to bless ;
And a tall forest near the scene,
lis foliage spread of varied greon.
And from its branches high,
Long wreaths of ivy bung;
As 'cwere a drapery from the sky,
Some angel hand had flung,
While wood-nymphs tried their art to twine
In rich festoons the pendant vine,
And near a murmuring brook,
In gentle ripples lay;
The aspen round its borders shook,
And mint grew there alway,
In golden groups its course to bound,
The seedy primrose bloomed around.
Starwort and violet grew,
Down by that broad stream's edge;
And the mottled frog in evening's dew,
Lurked in its tall moist sedge,
And its still sparkling fountain's dress,
Was lotus' leaf and water-cress.
Yet that old country-seat,
Full oft I've longed to see ;
And that bright Naiad once to greet,
Beneath its osier tree,
For ne'er a spot I've viewed, so fair,
And ne'er a maid so free from care.
Lorell, Mass
The parting pang you've felt,
The parting tear supprest,
And shut the bitter anguish close,
Within your faithful breast,
And worn the outward smile,
The hollow greeting said,
Till keenly on the springs of life
The smothered sorrow fed.
To meet, to part, to smile--
To shed the frequent tear-
The hope to win the joy to love-
This is our history here:
To find the rose, whose bloom
By no dark blight is riven-
To meet and never more to part,
Is not of earth, but heaven.
j Hartford, Ct.


130
EMBROIDERY.

ANNA
milli
millal


THE OLD O A KEN CHAIR.
131
elf.
Original,
pressed. I can trace its pedigree no farther back than
THE OLD OA KEN CHAIR. to that era, neither do I know, positively, if it were not
formerly the property of some belted knight or haughty
“The firm oak, of which the frame was formed." baron.
I have a particular fancy for antiquated pieces of
But I am digressing. My business is with something
furniture. There is a certain something in the ap-
Il connected with the chair rather than with the chair it.
pearance of an old side board or sofa that seldom fails
lo awaken, in my breast, emotions of a peculiarly inte-
neil
A short time since I resol
A short time since I resolved to study the anatomy
resting character. I know not why this is. It seems of my prize, and
It seeme of my prize, and, for the furtherance of my purpose, di-
to have been something inherent in my nature, for, i veste
sure for vested the seat of its outer covering. Judge my sur-
even when I was but a child, I was notorious through prise, when, in the very centre of the cushion, I discov-
Out our little village for treasuring up old. muery books ered a small packet, carefully sealed, but without a gu-
and coins whose figures were nearly effaced, and arti. perscription. Hastily opening it I perceived a manu-
cles of dress whose wearers lived, perhaps, at a period script written i
period script written in a delicate, female hand, and apparent-
as far back as the erection of the Temple of Solomon, ly by a person in a state of high nervous excitement, the
Whether this be a laudable employment or not, I must!"
or nor I must! which I now present to my readers. The Orthography
say that I am very much attached to it; and when I siti
was after the manner of the English at that day, and I
down in the midst of my collection my mind invariably have therefore corrected it; otherwise, the following is
wanders back to ages past, and, for a while, I absolutely a
ile Labeolutely a faithful copy of the original. What could have in-
forget that I am living in the nineteenth century.
ntury.
It is
It is duced the authoress to pursue such a course in regard
profitable thus to review the fluctuating nature of our
to the mavuscript I am unable to say. My readers
existence. Here, in my library, I am surrounded by
must draw such inferences as they please. It would
the visible emblems of a dozen past centuries : in these
seem, however, that the perusal of such a tale of suffer-
emblems, without the least stretch of fancy, I can read ||
ing could not fail to elicit the sympathy of all; and, with
the rise and downfal of empires, the crowning and de.
this expression I present to you
throning of kings, the demolition of Babel structures, THE MANUSCRIPT FOUND IN THE OLD OAKEN CHAIR.
and, in fact, all the various confusions and tremblings by
• * * * * * Yes, I am dying! Already has the cold
which our world has been shocked. And is not this hand of the grim monster fastened its grasp upon ny
profitable? I can also read moral and political les vitals, and I feel that I am gradually sinking in his em.
song. There, suspended upon the wall, is the identical || brace. My friends whicper in soft accents that Con-
axe which was exercised in the decapitation of one of sumption is fast preying upon me, and so it is, but it is
the most flourishing kings that ever existed. By that I the consumption of the heart, and not of the body.
learn that even kings must not hold the reins of govern- Who can live when his heart is decayed? And is not
ment with too firm a grasp, nor abuse the power confi. mine wasting away by degrees ? But Death has no
ded to their trust. In the various articles of dress I can terrors for me. With the consciousness of a life unspor-
read the History of Fashion. There is a lesson for all ted by vice or passion I can die in calmness and quietude.
classes. The immense quantity of relics speaks so! This day I complete my twentieth year. Eighteen
strongly the fickleness of that gay goddess, that, in the years of my life rolled away and thut numeric anniver-
midst of my reveries, my faint spirit involuntarily grounssary found me a huppy, joyous being One short week
out' quantum sufficit.'
passed and I was transported from that high station to
But I am not writing a dissertation upon Antiquity.one of infinite despair. But one being upon this wide
I have in my possession an immense and aged piece of earth, save myself, could or can divine the cause ; and
furniture, ycleped 'easy chair.'
i hemy brother--Oh! where is he? Dead, perhaps
* And thereby hangs a tale.'
perhaps the boiling waves of the Atlantic may have
The wood of which this article is composed was origi-rolled their requiem over his head for months! Per-
nally plain oak, highly polished, but time and deeds of haps the remembrance of -may have haunted his
darkness have tinged its surface with a coloring of deep visions till he was no longer able to bear it, and he has
black, so that it now wears an appearance of the finest! s01ght refuge in suicide!
ebony. It is covered with a fine chintz, which is so This long.cherished and horrific secret must be di-
much faded that its original colors are hardly distin- vulged, but it shall not be until I am in my grave, and
guishable. Its capacity is such that two persons may perhaps years will elapse ere the dark record be brought
be easily seated at once. Two high arms are attached to light. I will be a faithful transcriber of the history,
to the sides, and to the posts rockers of unconscionable for who so well qualified as myself? and then I will en-
length. Added to these appendages is a kind of stool close it in the very centre of the chair in which the prin-
allached to the front, above the rockers, as a support cipal scene was enacied.
for the feet. In short, it is one of the most singular as i My name--but no matter. I was the child of titled
well as useful articles that I ever met with. It came parents who have long slept in the tomb. I was reared
hereditably into my possession, that is, it was my moth-in competency and happiness. Every thing for which I
er's and my grandmother's before me. My great grand-wished was at my disposal. I grew up the pet of the
parent brought it from England soon after this country' whole family, but, strange to say, I was not spoiled.
began to be a rendezvous for the persecuted and op. My friends say that I was beautiful, and often have the


132
THE OLD O A KEN CHAIR.
cold adulations of my admirers fallen upon my ears in state of excitement. As yet, Sir William had made no
the same strain. But even that did not overthrow my direct proposals, but I felt assured that he would, and I
better judgment. I knew that I was beautiful, but this had allowed my feelings to have their full sway too long
knowledge did not make me vain; and now what mat- to be able to control them now. It is needless to say
ters it whether beauty is mine or not? I had one broth- that my dreams that night were fancifully chequered by
er to whom I was accustomed to look as my protector, the introduction of his resemblance.
and whom I loved with my whole heart. George was ! I awoke the next morning to view the sun shining
five years my senior, rash, and high-spirited, but pos-, brightly in at my window, and to see preparations ma-
sessed of a soul of uncommon mould. He doated upon king in reference to the excursion. Breakfast was hard-
me, and when, after the demise of our parents, we were i ly over ere Sir William and his cousins appeared, fol-
removed to this place he assumed the position of a father, lowed by a servant leading a beautiful white pony, which
yea, and of a mother too. Our fortune was sufficient was designed for me. Sir William rode by my side and
for our support in ease and even luxury, and under the never left me during the whole day. Sometimes we
care of a kind guardian we spent months of unalloyed were side by side with the rest of the party, but, gene-
happiness.
rally, we were cantering at some distance beyond or
The eighteenth anniversary of my birthday drew nigh, trotting slowly behind. Our conversation was general,
and brilliant preparations were making by my guardian and extended to almost every subject, and I fancied that
and my brother, for its celebration. All my friends Sir William was endeavoring to draw out from me all
were to be present, and several distinguished strangers that I knew. I found him to be possessed of an unfail.
visiting in the neighborhood had been invited. One of ing fund of knowledge, and able to converse freely upon
them I had often seen before, and had then in my pos- any subject. His sentiments were generally in unison
session many little articles of value, valued ten times with mine, and, in short, the proceedings of that day
more highly on account of the giver.
11 tended to bind more firmly the chain woven around my
Sir William Rosenvelt was the descendant of one of heart.
the noblest families in England. Beauty of person, ele i Sir William called daily after this occurred, never
gance of address, nobleness of mind, and abundant failing to bring some trilling token of regard, which was
wealth were admirably united in him, and he was uni. treasured up by me with a fondness akin to passionate
versally beloved. He had been spending a few weeks' idolatry. As yet, he had said nothing about Love,
with a family relation, and I had met him at their man. but I knew that his heart was not untouched - I knew
sion. Again, while making an excursion into the coun. that I was not to remain long thus, and this assurance
try with my brother, we met his travelling carriage,' warranted me in bestowing upon him silently and secret-
from which it was evident that he was about to leave ly my whole heart. Love would be too cold a word to
his relatives. He saluted us from his seat and entered express my emotions--I adored--yea, I idolized him.-
into conversation with my brother, bestowing occasional Such was the state of affairs when I reached my eigh-
glances upon me. As we separated he took from his teenth year.
bosom an elegant primrose, pressed it to his lips, and It was a beautiful day, and all nature seemed to smile
losked it to me, bowed politoly and passed on. I felt upon me. Every thing had been in an exact state of
the blood rush to my face, and for a moment was in preparation--visitors were punctual-friends were ca-
doubt as to my course, but I at length determined to ressing me and strangers desiring my acquaintance.
• keep it for his sake.” This little adventure occurred Sir William seemed unusually elated, and his brilliant
two or three months before my birthday, and, when that jests and witty repartees kept the whole house in good
anniversary arrived, the primrose was still in my bosom, humor. Towards the close of the evening a stranger
although its petals were withered.
was introduced bearing messages for my brother. Upon
Sir William was not absent long, for, ere a week had reading one of the letters his face turned deadly pale,
elapsed, I saw him leap from his carriage and enter but recovering himself, he approached me and stated
the court of his relative. Trunks and boxes followed, briefly that he must be absent for a week. He then
and I was sure that he had resolved upon a long visit.' whispered to Sir William, requesting him to excuse his
My heart beat high as I fancied that I might be the at-i absence, and hurriedly left the house ere I could ask the
Traction that caused his return. I took my primrose reason or inquire his destination. This event disturbed
from its hiding place and pressed it to my lips. “I' me, but my apprehensions were speedily removed when
have remembered him," I said, "and shall soon know' Sir William gently told me that it was an affair of love.
if he has not forgotten me."
|| The company retired early, but not until Sir William
I was not disappointed. Sir William called on the had informed me that he would act the part of a brother
following day and invited me to an excursion on horse-towards me unul George should return. He accord-
back. His cousins were to be accompanied by my ingly called the next day, and the next, and the two fol-
brother, with whom he had become intimately acquaint-'lowing, but spake not a word of Lone. My heart began
ed. I conversed for a long lime with George that eve- to sink, while doubts and apprehensions usurped the
ning, and was gratified to find that he seemed pleased place of hope. The seventh day came. The family
with Sir William's attentions. Gratified, I say, because were gone out, and the servants were occupied upon a
I must confess that they were by no means displeasing distant part of the domain. I was left alone. Sir Wil-
to me. I retired to my chamber that night in a high liam, however, was soon at my side. We occupied the


THE OLD OAK EN CHAIR.
133
same chair as we were wont to do while reading togeth-|| by his deadliest enemy and kindest friend, he was laid
er. His arm was thrown carelessly over the chair, while in his strange tomb. The strictest silence was main-
with the other hand he supported a volume of Dryden, tained, and we appeared as though nothing had trans-
our favorite poet. We were reading his “Palamon pired.
and Arcite," and had come to the closing scene in the Two days elapsed. The relatives of Sir William had
life of the latter. We had read the following lines, become alarmed at his absence and were making inqui-
"No language can express the smallest part
ries about him. My brother was absent when they ar-
Of what I feel and suffer in my heart
rived, and I was obliged to meet them. As they di-
For you whom best I love and value most"
vulged their fears that he had met with an untimely fate,
when Sir William laid his hand upon the page, and said,
I could bear it no longer and gwooned before them. I
“ Let us stop here." I trembled but it was with the agi.
recovered only to be attacked with a burning fever ac-
tation of joyful expectations. He read the lines slowly
companied by high delirium. Strange to say, I never
and distinculy, emphasizing stror.gly the monosyllable
breathed a word relative to the matter, and my situa-
you. He looked inquiringly into my face, threw his
tion was attributed to excessive grief. Even to this
arm around me, and imprinted a kiss upon my brow.
day, my friends say that Sir William's death broke my
My fate was sealed, and, ere he unclosed his clasp, we
heart and produced consumption.
had bound ourselves to each other by irrevocable vows.
Several months elapsed and no news was heard of Sir
Ob, how swiftly did those moments fly away! We sat
William, until one day the body of a man was found in
locked in each other's arms, recapitulating our journey
the lake so horribly mangled that all attempts at recog-
of love from the starting-point to our present station.
nition were unsuccessful. It was of course pronounced
The evening shadows began to appear. I heard a
to be that of Sir William, and was buried by his rela-
hasty step upon the stairs. I arose and at the same in
il lives in great pomp and splendor. But the real body
stant my brother rushed into the room. His dress was
still Blumbered in the secret vault.
disordered by rapid travelling, his hair was dishevelled,
All fear of suspicion on the part of my brother being
and he was the picture of perfect madness. Ere Sir
now over, he determined to travel. Taking leave of his
William could rise, George had drawn a pistol from his
friends, he left me a twelvemonth since, during which
bosom and presented it to his heart.
time I have not received from him a word of informa-
“Villain!" shouted he, and the word had bardly
tion. He is undoubtedly dead, and but a few days will
escaped his lips ere a bullet was deep in his brain.
elapse ere I shall also lie down in the cold grave, and
Sir William was dead!
meet the murdered and the murderer in another world."
Shall I go on? Yes, for I cannot leave my husband's Reader, the tale is ended. I can obtain no informa-
character involved in mystery. “My husband," I say, tion in regard to the authoress, but, if you will examine
-was he not so? Would the breathing of a few words || the annals of the year one thousand six hundred and
bind us more firmly together?
Il sixty, you will there find recorded the melancholy death
George had met in his absence, with a young man-a of Sir William Rosenvelt. It is stated that his body
deadly enemy to Sir William- who had filled his head was found in a small lake where it was supposed to have
with reports derogatory to his character. Always has been cast by his murderers. It says farther that one
ty in his decisions, without stopping to inquire the char- "fayre girle," was made to mourn, but her name is not
acter of his informer, he had hastened home with the recorded.
J. L, C.
intention to prevent any farther intercourse between us. Ballston Spa., May, 1838.
Finding Sir William in the situation I have described,
his hasty spirit decided and performed upon the impulse
Original.
of a glance.
SONNET.
I swooned upon the spot. When I recovered, my
brother was bending over me, with anguish depicted in
BY THE REV. J. H. CLINCH.
his countenance. I loved him too much to bid him
leave me, but I could not speak. He at length told me We know not what we ask :-our fondest prayer,
his reasons, and that he feared that he had acted hasti If granted, brings not all the bliss we sought ;-
ly. What was to be done. There, in the chair, sat Oft in the flow'r with hot impatience caught
Sir William-m corpse. My brother, my only brother Lies in the sharp thorn the eager hand to tear;
was before me-a murderer. Could I give him up to Oft in the cloudless sky and balmy air
die on a scaffold ? No: much as I had loved Sir Wil. Infection lurks,--and in the halls of joy
liam, and much as I felt at his death, I loved my broth. Flit shadowy forms our pleasures to destroy,
er still. My brother must not die. And how was he And airy swords poised on a single hair :-
to remain unsuspected ? It all depended upon me. The rod of empire to a serpent turns
Could I hesitate? The servants were yet absent the In monarchs' hands, and 'neath the regal vest
report of the pistol was unheard or unnoticed. I Rise oft with bitter force and power unblest
thought of a secret vault, known only to myself. There The fear that freezes, and the hate that burns.
was the dead body of Sir William placed. I supported Be thou content-the grateful and resigned
his head while George carried his body, and thus, borne In e
all find.
odwin 6


134
MARY DERWENT.
$ 2 0 0 PRIZE ARTICLE.purity of Jehovali endangered by the petition of the
sinful or the penitent, that you offer to mediate between
Original.
me and my Creator? No, man! if I have sinned, the
MARY DERWENT.*
penalty has been dearly paid. If I have sorrowed, the
tears shed in solitude and in secret, have fallen back or
A LALE OF THE EARLY SETILERI.
my own heart, and have frozen there! I ask no inter-
BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
cession with the being of your worship ; and I myself
lack the faith which might avail me were I weakly to
CHAPTER V.
repine over the irredeemable past. I have no hope, no
"Alas! thought he, how changed that mien,
God-wherefore should I pray?".
How changed those timid looks have been,
“This hardiness and impiety is unreal. There is a
Since vears of guilt and of disguise
Have steeled her brow and armed her eyes.
God, and, despite of your haughty will and daring intel-
Ah, why should man's success remova
lect, you believe in him ; ay, at this moment when there
The vory charm that makes his love?"
is denial on your lips !".
CATHARINE MONTOUR was too deeply engrossed by! “ Believe-ay, as the devils, perchance; but I do not
her own feelings to observe the strange agitation of the tremble !" replied the daring woman, with an air and
missionary. She seated herself on the stool, and, with voice of defiance.
her face buried in her robe, remained minute after min / The missionary fixed his eyes with a stern and repro-
ute in deep silence, as if gathering strength to unlock ving steadiness on the impious woman. She did not
che tumultuous fountains of her heart once more to a shrink from his glance, but stood before him, her eyes
mortal's knowledge. When she, at length, raised her braving his with a forced determination, her brow fixed
face there was nothing in the appearance of her auditor in defiance beneath its gorgeous coronet, and a smile of
to excite attention. He still leaned against the rude scornful bitterness writhing her small mouth. Her
wall, a little paler than before, but otherwise betraying arms were folded over her bosom, flushed by the reflec-
no emotion, save that which a good man might be sup-tion of her robe, and the jewelled serpent glittered just
posed to feel in the presence of a sinful and highly upon her heart, as if to guard it from all good influences.
gifted fellow-creature. She caught his pitying and She seemed like a beautiful and rebellious spirit thrust
mournful look, fixed so earnestly upon her face, as she out from the sanctuary of heaven. A man less deeply
raised it from the folds of her robe, and her eyes waver-read in the intricacies of the human heart, or less perse-
ed and sunk beneath its sorrowful intensity. There was vering in his Christian charities, would have turned
a yearning sympathy in his glance which fell upon her away and left her as one utterly irreclaimable. But the
heart like sunshine on the icy fetters of a rivulet; it missionary was both too wise and too good thus to re-
awed her proud spirit, and yet encouraged confidence; linquish the influence he had gained. There was some-
but it was not till after his mild voice had repeated the thing artificial in the daring front and reckless impiety
question of-“ Lady, confide in me--who and what you l of the being before him, which betrayed a strange but
are ?" that she spoke, and when she did find voice, it not uncommon desire to be supposed even worse than
was sharp. and thrilled painfully on the ear of the listen- she really was. With the ready lack of a man who bad
er. The question had aroused a thousand recollections made character a study, he saw that words of reproof
that had long slumbered in the bosom of the wretched or authority were unlikely to soften a heart so stern in
woman. She writhed under it as if a knot of scorpions lits mental pride, and his own kind feelings taught him
had suddenly began to uncoil in her heart.
the method of reaching her. His anxiety to learn some-
“What am I? It is a useless question. Who on thing of her secret history would have been surprising
earth can tell what he is, or what a moment may make in a man of less comprehensive benevolence, and even
him? I am that which fate has made me, Catharine in him there was a restless anxiety of manner but little
Montour, the wife of the Mohawk chief. If at any in accordance with his usual quiet leachings. His voice
Lime I have known another character, it matters little. was like the breaking up of a fountain when he spoke
Why should you arouse remembrances which may not be again.
forced back to their lethargy again? I ask no sympa- “Catharine,” he said.
thy, nor geek counsel: let me depart in peace ?" And She started at the name-her arms dropped, she
with a sorrowful and deliberate motion she arose, and looked wildly in his eyes: “Oh, I mentioned the
would have left the cabin, but the missionary laid his name," she muttered, refolding her arms and drawing a
her hack
hand gently on her arm and drew her back.
deep breath
"We cannot part thus," he said. “The sinful have “Catharine Montour, this hardihood is unreal; you are
need of counsel, the sorrowing of sympathy. The heart not thus unbelieving. Has the sweet trustfulness of your
which has been long astray requires an intercessor with childhood departed for ever? Have you no thought of
the Most High."
those hours when the young heart is made up of faith
" And does the God whom you serve suffer any human and dependence--when prayer and helpless love breaks
heart to become so depraved that it may not approach up from the soul as naturally as perfume from the urn
his footstool in its own behalf? Is the immaculate of a flower ? Nay,” he continued, with more touch-
Ying earnestness, as he saw her eyes waver and grow dim
* Continued from page 95.
1) beneath the influence of his voice, “resist not the good


MARY DERWENT.
135
spirit, which even now is hovering about your heart, | heart in the deathly suillness of the grave-yard, with its
as the ring-dove broods over its desolated nest. Hoar- slones slanting away among the rank grass beneath the
ded thoughts of evil beget evil. Open your heart to dark, solemn drooping of the yew trees. Artists came
confidence and counsel. Confide in one who never yet from a distance to sketch that church; and never did
betrayed trust-one who is no stranger to sorrow, and there pass a summer-day in which that grave-yard was
who is too frail himself to lack charity for the sins of not haunted by some stranger detained in the village by
others. I beseech you tell me, are you not of English its exceeding loveliness. Back from the church, stood
birth ?”
the parsonage-house; an irregular old building, sur-
Tears, large and mournful tears, stood in Catharine rounded by a grove of m:ignificent oaks, through which
Montour's eyes. She was once more subdued and hum- its pointed roof and tall chimnieg alone could be seen
ble as an infant. A golden chord had been touched in from the village. Around the narrow lattices, and up
her memory, and every heart-string vibrated to the to the pointed gables, a rich, viny foliage had been allow
music of other years. Thoughts of her innocent child-ed to blossom and luxuriate year after year, unpruned
hood, of the time when her heart was full of affection and abandoned to its own profuse leafiness, lill only here
end kindness, when hopes were springing up and blos- and there a sharp angle or a rude stone balcony broke
soming with each new day-when the whole earth was out from the drapery of leaves and flowers that clung
pleasant and beautiful to her young mind-all the recol. around the old building, wherever a lendril could en-
lections of her youth came thronging to her bosom, like weave itself or a bud find room for blossoming. A
a host of gentle spirits to their desolated haunts. She tribe of rooks dwelt in the oaks, and a whole bevy of
sat down and opened her history to that strange man wrens came and built their nests in the vines. With my
abruptly, and as one under the influence of a dream. earliest recollection comes the soft chirrupping of the
The large tears rolled slowly one after another down nestlings under my window-and the carrolling song
her cheeks, and fell to her robe as she spoke; but she which broke up from the larks when they left the long
appeared unconscious that she was weeping, and sat grass in the grave-yard, where they nestled during the
with her hands locked in her lap and her face raised to summer nights. I remember one little limid hare which
that of the missionary, with the humility of a penitent haunted the violet banks, that sloped down from behind
child confessing its faults to some indulgent parent. It the grove, from season to season, unmolested and in
was a beautiful contrast with her late bold and unfemi- safety, so tranquil and quiet was every thing around
nine assumption of superiority. Her voice was broken that dwelling: and yet that was my birth-place.
and changeful as she spoke, now sinking to the deepest il “My father was rector of the parish, the younger son
pathos, and again raising in passionate appcal, or con- of a noble family. He had a small independent fortune
centrating in accents of bitterness and reproach, some which allowed him to distribute the income from his
times applied to herself, and at others to persons who
living among the poor of the village. He was a man of
had been linked with her remarkable destiny.
simple habits, quiet and unostentatious in his benevo-
“Yes, I was born in England," she said ; " born in a lence, and dwelling among his books, with his wife and
place so beautiful that the heart grew happy from the child, without a thought of ambition, or a desire bo.
mere influence of its verdant and tranquil scenery. Iyond his own pleasant hearth-stone. He was a fine
have stood in the heart of an American forest, where scholar, deeply read in ancient lore, and familiar with
civilized foot had never trod, surrounded by the so every branch of modern belles-letters. From the rich
lemn gloom of the vast wilderness and overshadowed stores of his own mind, he delighted in cultivating
by massive branches, which had been outspread centu- | mine ; but he was too mild and contemplative in his
ries and centuries before my insignificant existence. I nature to hold a sufficient restraint over a will like
have felt my blood creep through my veins when stand-
ing thus alone, encompassed by the stirless solitude of "My mother was a gentle creature of refined and
nature, and when a deer has bounded through the thick- delicate, but not comprehensive mind. She loved my
ets, or a serpent glided across my path, breaking with father, and next to him, or rather as a portion of him-
a sound of life the deep hush of the forest, I have star. ' self, me, her only child. Years passed on, and I grew
ted with a feeling of awe, as if I had unwittingly trod- in culture and beauty. I remember my own looks as
den upon the confines of a darker world. There is, i reflected in the mirror when my mother caressed me in
indeed, something awful in the wild, majestic scenery her little boudoir-and I was indeed very beautiful, but
of this new world ; I have seen all that is savage and it was the wild and graceful loveliness of a spoiled
grand in it--all that is rich and beautiful in my own child, petted and caressed as an idol, or a spirited play-
land; but never yet have I seen a spot of such quiet thing, rather than as a being endowed, as my father
loveliness as my own birth-place. No traveller ever believed me to be, with an imperishable soul. As a
passed through that village without stopping to admire child I was passionate and wayward, but warm of heart,
its verdant and secluded tranquillity. There was some- forgiving and generous. My spirit brooked no control;
thing picturesque and holy in the little stone church, but my indulgent father and sweet mother could see
with its porch overrun with ivy, and its narrow, gothic nothing more dangerous than a quick intellect and over-
windows half obscured by the soft moss and creeping abundant healthfulness in the childish tyranny of my
plants which had gathered about them from age to age disposition. Though even as a child, I had strong feel-
something that hushed the pulsations of the gayestings of dislike toward some distasteful individuals; my
mine. or even to understand it.
17


136
MAR Y DER WENT.
nature was very affectionate, and I loved every thing iſ the balcony, and winding my arm around one of its rude
appertaining to my home, with a fervor seldom expe- pillars, pushed back the clustering passion-flowers, and
rienced at my early years. The wealth of my affections bent eagerly over to obtain a perfect view of our visitor.
seemed inexhaustible. It was lavished without stint on Heedless that my arm was crushing the delicate flowers
every thing about me, from the parents who took me which clung around the pillar, and that my canaries
nightly to their bosoms with kisses and blessings, to the were fluttering in affright from my sudden approach, I
gentle flowers tha: clung around my nursery window, fixed my eyes with a deeper feeling than that of mere
and the sweet birds that haunted them with melody. I curiosity on my father and his companion. The latter
was passionately fond of my mother, and when she was a slight, aristocratic youth, with an air of fashion
would steal to my bed and lull me to sleep with her soft and manliness beyond his years, not the manliness to be
kisses and pleasant voico, I would promise in my inner- acquired in society alone; but a dignity orignaling in
most heart never to grieve her again; and yet the next deep and correct habits of thought, seemed natural to
day I would feel a kind of pleasure in bringing the him. He was very handsome, almost too much so for
tears to her gentle eyes, by some wayward expression a man. The symmetry and calm repose of his features
of obstinacy or dislike. It is strange that we often take were not sufficiently marked for changeful expression;
pleasure in leasing and tormenting those whom we most yet their usual tone was singularly blended with sweet-
love. There is a feeling of selfish power in it by no ness and dignity. I have never seen a face so strongly
means confined to the thoughtlessness of childhood, characterized by intellect and benevolence. He was
and often acted upon by those who would despise the speaking as he advanced up the serpentine walk which
feeling could they trace it to its unworthy source. At led to the balcony, and seemed to be making some ob-
len years of age I was absoluto in my father's house, servation on the wild beauty of the garden. Once he
and tyrannized over the hearts of both my parents stooped to put back a tuft of carnations which fell over
with an innate thirst for ascendency; yet I loved them the path, and again he paused to admire a large white-
very, very dearly!
rose tree, which half concealed the flight of steps lead-
“When I was fifteen, an old college associate died ing to the balcony on which I stood. There was some-
and left my father guardian to his son and heir. The thing in the tones of his rich voice, a quiet dignity in
young gentleman's arrival at the parsonage was an his manner that awed me. I shrunk back into the room
epoch in my life. A timid and feminine anxiety to where my mother was sitting, and placed myself by her
please took possession of my heart. I gave up my own side. My cheek burned and my heart beat rapidly when
little sitting-room, opening upon a wilderness of roses he entered. But my confusion passed unnoticed, or if
and tangled honeysuckles which had once been a gar. remarked, was attributed to the bashſulness of extreme
den, but which I had delighted to see run wild in un. youth. Varnham was my senior by four years, and he
checked luxuriance, till it had become as fragrant and evidently considered me as a child, for after a courtly
rife with blossoms as an East India jungle. It was the bow on my introduction, he turned to my mother and
first act of self-denial I had ever submitted to, and I began to speak of the village and its remarkable quie-
found a pleasure in it which more than compensated for tude. He even seemed surprised when I joined fa.
the pain I felt in removing my music and books, with miliarly in conversation during the evening; and more
the easel which I had taken such pains to place in its than once he looked in my face with an air of concern
proper light, to a small chamber above. It was not in and disapproval when I answered either of my parents
my nature to do things by halves. With my favorite in the careless and abrupt manner which their excessiva
room I resigned to our expected guest all the ornaments indulgence bad made habitual to me. I returned 10 my
that had become most endeared to me. The drawings,' room out of humor with myself, and somewhat in awe
over which I had lingered day after day, were left upon of our guest. I had evidently rendered myself an ob.
the wall. My pet canary was allowed to remain arnong i ject of dislike to him whom I had been most anxious to
the passion-flowers which draped the balcony. The please. The consciousness originated a feeling of self
most treasured of my Italian poets still encumbered the distrust, and I was both hurt and offended that he did
little rose-wood table; and I ransacked the garden and not look on me with the blind partiality of my parents.
little green-house again and again for choice fowers to . For the first time in my life I went to the mirror any-
fill the vases of antique china, which had been handed ious about my personal appearance. I had been taught
down an heir-loom in my mother's family. My father to believe myself beautiful; but it rather displeased me
went to meet his ward at the last stage, and I shall) than otherwise. There was something in my heart of
never forget the girlish impatience with which I waited contempt for mere personal loveliness, which rendered
his return; but it was ant till after the canaries had nes its possession a matter of slight importance. I had an
tled down on their perches in the evening twilight, and
innate longing to be loved for something more lofty than
the little room which I had prepared for his guest was mere symmetry of person or features an ambition to
misty with the perfume shed from the numerous vases
be distinguished for the qualities and accomplishments
and wafted in from the flowering thickets beneath the
which I could myself acquire, rather than by those be-
windows that we saw them slowly picking their way
stowed by nature. But this evening I loosened the blue
through the tangled luxuriance of my garden. Heed. ribbon which bound my hair, and shook the mass of
less of my mother's entreaty, that I would remain quiet long silken ringlets over my shoulders with a feeling of
and receive our guest in due form, I sprang out upon anxiety which I had never before experienced. I con-


MARY DERWENT.
137
trasted the rich bloom on my cheek with the pale and parsonage. The loneliness which followed his depar-
graceful loveliness of my mother, and I felt how infi- ture, never gave place to cheerfulness aguin. In four
nitely I fell beneath her in that exquisite refinement of weeks from that day, my father was laid in the vault of
look and manner which characterized ber above all wo- his own loved church. My gentle mother neither went
men I had ever seen. I was diagusted with the rich vor moaned when she saw the beloved of her youth
ness and exuberance of my own healthful beauty, and laid beside the gorgeous coffins of his lordly ancestors.
felt almost jealous of the gentle attractions of my sweet But in three days after, I was alone in the wide world;
parent.
'for she was dead also. Two lone, sad nights, I sat be-
“The disapproving look with which young Varnham side that beautiful corpse, still and tearless as one in a
had regarded me, haunted my slumbers. It was the waking dream. I remember that kind voices were
first token of disapprobation that had reached my heart, around me, and that more than once pitying faces bent
and I was filled with strange hesitation and self distrust. | over me, and strove to persuade me from my melancholy
I could not bring myself to wish our new inmate away, i vigils. But I neither answered nor moved ; they sighed
and yet I felt under restraint in my father's house. as they spoke, and passed in and out, like the actors of
* The history of the next two years would be one of a tragedy in which I liad no part. I was stupified by
the heart alone-a narrative of unfolding genius and the first great trouble of my life! The third night,
refining feelings. It was impossible that two persons, li came strange men into the room, bearing a coffin cover-
however dissimilar in taste and disposition, should be ed with crimson velvet and glittering with silver. My
long domesticated in the same dwelling without gradu. heart had been very cold, but it lay within me like mar-
ully assimilating in some degree. Perhaps two beings ble when those large men reverently lified the body of
more decidedly unlike never met thar. Varnham and my beautiful mother, and laid it upon the pillow which
myself, but after the first restraint which followed our bad been placed for her last rest. Had they spoken a
introduction wore off, he became to me a preceptor and word I think my heart would have broken ; but they
a most valuable friend. Hitherto my reading had been passed out with a low, solemn tread, bearing the coffin
desultory, and my studies interrupted. I had become between them. I arose and followed to the liitle room
accomplished almost without effort, deeply read with in which I had first seen Varnham. A thrill of pain,
out method, and conversant even with many of the ab- like the quick rush of an arrow, shot through my heart
struse sciences by constant intercourse with my father. | as I entered. It was the first keen anguish I had felt
I bad little application, and yet accomplished much by since the burial of my father. The men set down the
mere force of character. My whole energies were coffin, and again I was alone with my dead-alone in
flung into the occupation of the moment, and almost the dear sanctuary of our domestic affections.
instinctively I had accumulated a rich store of mental | “As I looked around the apartment, gentle associa-
wealth; but my mind lacked method. I had extensive tions crowded on my heart, and partially aroused it to a
general, but little minute knowledge. Except in the com- 1 sense of its bereavement. The scent of withered flow-
mon run of feminine accomplishments, I had submitted ers was shed from the neglected vases, and a soft night
lo but imperfect discipline. Among these, painting and wind came through the sash-doors, wafting in a cloud
music were my peculiar delight; a travelling artist had of perfume from the garden. The balmy air came re-
given me lessons in the first, and my own sweet mother freshingly to my temples, and aroused my heart from
tunght me the last-to her gentle heart, music was al- the torpid lethargy which had bound it down in the
most as necessary as the air she breathed. I inherited gloomy and suffocating chamber above; but even yet, I
all her love and all her talent for it; but with her it could not fully comprehend the extent of my desola-
was a sweet necessity; with me a passion. I revelled tion. Around me were a thousand dear and cherished
in the luxury of sound; she only delighted in it. Not things, connected with my mother; and before me lay
even Varnham-and his power with me was great the gorgeous coffin in which she was sleeping her last,
could induce me to undertake a course of regular study; / long death sleep. There was something horrible in a
bot, after bis residence with us, my mind gradually yiel- sense of the stifling closeness of that silken lined coffin.
ded to the influence of his teaching-became stronger, I raised the lid, and it was a relief to me when the cool
more methodical, and far more capable of reasoning. I air stole over the beautiful face beneath ; it seemed as
But, as I more nearly approached the standard of his lif my mother must bless me that I had released her onco
intellect, my reverence for him decreased. The awe in more from the terrible closeness of the grave--that I
which he first held me gradually died away, and that had given her back to life and the pure air of heaven.
feeling which had been almost love, settled down to A silver lamp stood on the mantle-piece, shedding a
strong sisterly affection-deeper and more lasting, per- sad, funereal light through the room and revealing the
haps, than a more passionate attachment might have sweet, pale face of the dead with the shadowy indis-
been. I could no longer look up to him as a being of tinctness of moonlight. But, though she lay there so
superior strength and energy to myself; but next to my still and cold, I could not, even yet, feel that she was
parents he was the dearest object to me in existence. truly and for ever departed. The fountains of my heart
" Two years brought Varnham to his majority. His were still locked, and as one in a dream I turned away
fortune, though limited, was equal to his wants ; and he and stepped out upon the balcony. The passion-flower
resolved to travel, and then make choice of a profes- was in bloom, and hung in festoons of starry blossoms
sion. It was a sorrowful day to us when he left the from the balustrades. That solitary white-rose treo


138
MARY DERWENT.
was standing by the steps as it had two years before; } were gliding softly about the room, and every thing was
but its branches had spread and shot upwards over the hush as death around me. I was very faint and weak;
front of the balcony in profuse leafiness. A host of but I remembered that my mother was dead, and that I
pearly blossoms intermingled with the passion-flowers, had fainted; I whispered a request to see her once
and hung in clustering beauty around the pillars and more-she had been buried three weeks.
rude stone work. The steps were white with a shower “ Varnham had heard of my father's death in Paris,
of leaves which the breeze had shaken from the over- and hastened home to find me an orphan doubly berea-
ripe roses, and their breath was shed around with a | ved, to become my nurse and my counsellor-my all.
soft steady sweetness. The holy moonlight was around Most tenderly did he watch over me during my hours
me, bathing the flower beds at my feet and trembling of convalescence. And I returned his love with a grati.
over the dewy thickets-beyond, lay the grave-yard, tude as fervent as ever warmed the heart of woman. I
half veiled by the shadow of the liule church. Where knew nothing of business, scarcely that money was ne-
the light fell upon it, a fow marble slabs gleamed up cessary to secure the elegances I enjoyed. I bad not
from the rank grass, and the yew trees swayed gently even dreamed of a change of residence, and when
in the wind with a soft dirge-like melody. The agoni- information reached us that a curate had been eng ged
zing conviction of my loss struck upon my heart like to supply my father's place; that a rector was soon to
the toll of a bell-1 felt it all! My father was dead- be appointed, and that Lord Gordon, the elder and only
buried-that humble church shut him out from my sight brother of my lamented parent, had consented to re-
for ever! My mother was there--I did not weep nor ceive me as an inmate of his own house, I sunk beneath
moan; my heart seemed silently breaking. While the the blow as if a second and terrible misfortune had be-
pang was keenest, I gathered a handful of roses from fallen me. The thoughts of being dragged from my
the tree which my mother had planted ; carefully select-home--from the sweet haunts which contained the pre-
ing the half-blown and most delicate Aowers, such as cious remembrances of my parents--and of being con-
she had most loved, and scattered them, heavy with veyed to the cold, lordly halls of my aristocratic uncle,
dew as they were, over the pillow and the velvet of my nearly Aung me back to a state of delirium. There
mother's coffin. There was one bud but half unfolded, was but one being on earth to whom I could turn for
and with a soft blush slumbering within its core-such protection, and to him my heart appealed with the trust
as she had always worn in her bosom on my father's and confidence of a sister's love. I pleaded with him to
birth-day. That germ brought the date of the month intercede with my uncle that I might be permitted still
to my mind. That should have been an annual day of to reside at the parsonagechat I might not be taken
rejoicing, and they were both gone forth to keep it in from all my love could ever cling to. Varnham spoke
another world : I was alone-alone! I took the bud, kindly and gently to me; he explained the impropriety,
carefully that the dew might not fall away from its heart, if not the impossibility of Lord Gordon's granting my
and removing the grave-clothes, laid it on the marble | desire, and besought me to be resigned to a fate, which
bosom of my mother. I was about to draw the shroud many in my forlorn orphanage might justly covet. He
over it, that it might go down to the grave with the spoke of the gaieties and distinction which my residence
sweet memorial blooming within her bosom, when the with Lord Gordon would open to me, and used every
leaves trembled beneath my gaze as if stirred by the argument to reconcile me to my destiny. But my heart
pulsations of the heart beneath. A cry, half of joy, clung tenaciously to its old idols, and refused to be com-
half of fear, burst from my lips: I pressed my shiver- forted. Had I been flung on the world to earn my
ing hand down upon her heart-it was still-oh, how bread by daily toil, there was enough of energy in my
still! The night winds had mocked me. Then, the nature to have met difficulties and to have struggled
passion of grief burst over me, I fell to the floor, and successfully with them; but to become a hanger on in
my very life seemed ebbing away in tears and lamenta- | the halls of my ancestorsa humble companion to my
tions. Hour after hour passed by, and I remained as fashionable and supercilious cousin - the heiress of
I had fallen in an agony of sorrow. I know not how it Lord Gordon's title and wealth-subject to her surveil-
was, but toward morning I sunk into a heavy slumber. lance, and submissive to her caprices, was a life which
" When I awoke, the dawn was trembling through my heart revolted at; it spurned the splendid slavery
the heavy foliage of the balcony, and I observed, with which was to compromise its independence and humble
out thinking how it had happened, that in my death-like its pride. Had Varnham counselled action instead of
slumber I had been lifted from the carpet and laid upon patience and submission, had he bade me to go forth in
& sofa. My head was dizzy, and acute pain shot through the world, to deperd on my own energies, and win for
my temples; but I arose and staggered to the coffin. It myself a station highest among women, my own spirit
was closed, but the roses which I had scattered over it, would have seconded his council. The ambition, which
lay still fresh and dewy upon the glowing velvet. I from my childhood had slumbered an inherent but unde-
made a feeble attempt to unclose the lid, but my head veloped principle in my heart, might have sprung up
reeled, and I feel to the floor. A step was on the bal. || from the ashes of my affections, and the wild dreams of
cony, the sash-door was carefully opened, and some one struggle and distinction, which had haunted my earliest
raised me tenderly in his arms and bore me away. years, might have lured me from the sweet home I had
“When I again returned to consciousness, Varnham so loved, and from the resting places of those who bad
was sitting beside my bed; physicians and attendants so loved me. But I was now called upon to give up all


MARY DERWENT.
139
hope.
for a distinction which had nothing in it to satisfy a freell might not concentrate its whole being on one object, for
heart like mine; I had no desire for mere notoriety my own nature was a sealed book to me then I had
nothing of the weak contemptible wish to shine as a not learned that it could be made a study, and that I
beauiy or a belle-esprit among a crowd of superficial, might tremble in the reading.
heartless creatures of fashion. Ambition was with me “Our united fortunes were sufficient for our wants,
then but the aspirations of a proud and loving nature and Varnham relinquished all thoughts of a profession.
a dream of power indistinct, and as yet, never brought we determined to live a quiet life of seclusion and stu-
into action, but closely linked with the affections. In dy, such as had made the happiness of my parents, and
intellect I was, perhaps, too independent-in feeling the I again took possession of my old home a cheerful and
most fervent and clinging of human beings a desire to contented wife. We saw but little company, but my
be loved predominated over every other wish of my household duties, my music, painting, and needlework
mind; and yet my best friend counselled me to yield up gave me constant and cheerful occupation, and iwo years
all, and to content myeelf with cold, hollow grandeur. of almost thorough contentment passed by without
I strove to obey him, but I looked forward with no bringing a wish beyond my own home.
“ The third year after my marriage, another coffin
“ It was deep in the morning-my uncle's coroneted was placed in the family vault beside my parents; that
chariot was drawn up before my quiet home. The sun of Lord Viscount Gordon. My cousin, Georgiana,
flashed brightly over the richly studded harnesses of scarcely outlived the period of her mourning ; and at
four superb horses which tossed their heads and pawed the age of twenty-one I, who had never dreamed of
the earth impatient for the road. A footman, in splen worldly aggrandizement, suddenly found myself a peeress
did livery, lounged upon the door steps, and the super-) in my own right and possessor of one of the finest es.
cilious coachman stood beside his horses, dangling his tates in England. At first I was almost bewildered by
silken reins, and now and then casting an expectant the suddenness of my exaltation; then, as if this burst
look into the hall-door. It was natural that he should of sunshine was only necessary to ripen the dormant
be impatient, for they had been kept waiting more than ambition of my heart, a change came over my whole
an hour. I thought that I had nerved myself to depart; being. A Rew and brilliant career was opened to me;
but when I descended from my chamber, and saw that visions of power, and greatness, and excitement floated
gorgeous carriage with its silken cushions and gilded through my imagination. The pleasant contentment of
panels, ready to convey me to the cold hospitality of one my-Hife was broken up for ever. Varnham took no share
who was to me almost a stranger, my heart died within in my restless delight--his nature was quiet and con-
me, and turning into the little room in which I had spent templative-his taste refined and essentially domestic.
that night of sorrow, by my mother's corpse, I flung What happiness could he look for in the brilliant desti-
myself on the sofa, and burying my face in the pillows, il ny prepared for us? From that time there was a sha-
sobbed aloud in the wretchedness of a heart about to be dow as of evil forboding in his eye, and his manner be-
sundered from all it had ever loved. Varnham was
came restrained and regretful. Pernaps with his better
standing over me, pale and agitated. Hestrove to comfort knowledge of the world, he trembled for me in that
me-was prodigal in words of soothing and endearment, vortex of artificial life into which I was eager to plungo
and at length of passionate supplication. I was led to myself. He made no opposition to my hasty plans
the carriage his affianced wife !
nay, admitted the necessity of a change in our mode of
“My year of mourning was indeed one of sorrow and living; but that sad expression never for a moment left
loneliness of heart; I was a stranger in the home of my his eyes. He seemed rather a victim than a partaker
ancestors, and I looked forward to the period of my lin my promised greatness. From that time our pursuits
marriage with an impatience which would have satisfied took different directions. I had thoughts and feelings
the most exacting love. It was a cheap mode of obli | with which he had no sympathy. When an estrange-
ging his orphan niece, and Lord Gordon consented to ment of the mind commences, that of the heart soon
retain the curate who officiated in my father's pulpit, || follows--in a degree at least.
and offered me the parsonage-house as a residence. “Again that splendid carriage stood before my homo,
Had he lavished his whole fortune on me, I should not ready to convey us to the pillared halls of my inheri.
have been more grateful! My capacities for enjoyment tance. There were few, and those few transient re-
were chilled by the cold formal dullness of his dwelling, II gres, in my heart when, with a haughty consciousness
I panted for the dear, holy solitude of my old haunts, ll of power and station, I sunk to the cushioned seat, and
as the prisoned bird for his sweet home in the green swept proudly around that stone church and away from
leaves. We were married before the altar over which the sweet leafy Lower in which I had known so much of
my father had presided, and where I had received the happiness.
sacrament of baptism. The register which had recor- “ There was nothing of awkwardness or constraint
ded my birth, bore witness to my union with Varnham, || in my feelings when I entered the domain which was
the only true friend my solitary destiny had left to me. henceforth to own me its mistress. My pride, not my
The love which I felt for him was of a tranquil and vanity, was gratified by the manifestations of respect
trustful nature; a commingling of gratitude and affec- which met us at every step, often passing its broad
tion. I did not question if my heart were capable of a boundaries. If I did not feel all the stern responsi-
deeper, more passionate and fervent attachment-if it bilities which fate had heaped upon me with the prince-


140
MARY DERWENT.
ly fortune, I was about to pogsess myself of, ihere was then starting away again, scarcely breaking the hash of
nothing of levity mingled with the stronger sensations the wood in its soft and pleasant progress. Onr road
of my heart. The predominating feeling was a deeplay through the outskirts of the park, and the half-tamed
and almost masculine consciousness of power, a sense deer leaped through the trees and gazed on us as we
of personal dominion. Whilst in the possession of an- passed by, with their dark intelligent eyes, and then
other I had viewed the appendages of greatness, the bounded away through the firm old oaks, as if they, 100,
pomp and state affected by the aristocrat, with careless would hold some share in the ger.eral rejoicing. I shall
if not contemptuous indifference. I had reverence for never forget the strong and thrilling delight of that bour.
them only when connected with high intellect or pure “The first night spent beneath the roof of my inheri.
virtue ; but when I found myself possessed of these tance was one of restlessness and inquietude. My
hitherto despised attributes-when I saw them centered brain was thronged with shifting and brilliant visions,
around my own person, and found that there was do- and I lay with sleepless eyes and aching temples, ex•
minion in them-how proudly my heart exulied beneath tended on my silken bed, exhausted and weary with
its burthen of external greatness! There is a secret pleasurable excitement. I shall never forget the de-
love of power in every heart. In mine that love had light with which I half rose in the morning and looked
become a passion, from the day such abundant means about my sumptuous apartment, while Varubam was
had been opened for its gratification.
quietly sleeping, unmoved by the change which had
"The house in which I had spent my year of mourn- made me almost forgetful of him. The sun was steal.
ing, though belonging to the Gordon property, was loca- ing through rose-colored curtains of the richest silk,
led in a distant county, and I had never seen Ashton which fell heavily over the windows, and shed a mel.
till a sudden turn in the road brought us in full view of low and blooming light through the room. Crimson
it. With a sudden impulse of admiration I checked i drapery, lined with the same soft rose-tint, looped and
the carriage. Before me was the seat of my ancestors, fringed with gold, fell from the canopy above my couch,
and around on either hand as far as the eye could reach, and swept the Persian carpet which spread away in a
lay my domains. The village lay in the undulating dis- succession of brilliant and yet subdued colors over the
Lance, amid fields of waving grain and rich pasture- floor. The foot sunk deep into its silken and moss-liko
lands that swelled greenly up to the horizon. The texture when it was trod upon, and it seemed bursting
groves of heavy timber through which we passed, the into bloom beneath me, so naturally did the gorgeous
venerable residence of my forefathers, which had never Powers glow up in the tinted light. Two exquisito
for an hour been out of the direct line of my race-all cabinet pictures hung before me, and my recumbent
lay within my gaze, and all were mine--mine! How form was reflected back by a call mirror as I half lean-
proudly the consciousness of possession throbbed at my ed out of bed, that I might comprehend in one view all
heart!
che luxurious arrangement of my chamber. There was
“An ancient and imposing pile was the house of my a charm flung over every thing; for all was enjoyed for
ancestors! In its construction the architecture of two the first time, and all was mine. My own beauty never
distinct ages was blended, without in any way destroy before seemed so rich as it was revealed to me in that
ing the harmony and grandeur of the whole. The lofty broad mirror, and after I had become satisfied with
and turreted building which formed the central front, dwelling on the splendor which surrounded me, I turned
towered upward in dusky and gothic magnificence. The with newly aroused vanily to gaze upon myself-upon
impress of by-gone centuries was graven upon it like fur- I the long and beautiful hair which in my resilessnes had
rows on the brow of an aged man. The wings which , broken loose over my shoulders, -upon-but my hus-
spread out on either side behind the tall old trees that band awoke and I sunk to my pillow, blushing and
flung a cheerful drapery around them, were of more ashamed of my overweening selfishness; for in all that I
recent creation by three centuries, yet they were built had looked upon, he was forgotten. I had in my heart
of the same dark, ponderous stone, and the heavy and I given him no share, and when he arose and kissed my
massive strength was in excellent keeping with the cheek and spoke in his old familiar voice, it seemed as
original building. The breeze which swept by us was if a strange spirit had Aung coldness upon my aspiring
heavy with fragrance, and the glow of an extensive wishes.
flower-garden broke up from the shadow of the building, ll “All of the rich and the beautiful had been lavished
and could be seen at intervals through the intervening by my predecessor in the adornment of Ashton. Paint-
shrubbery, even from the distance at which we halted. Wings of priceless worth lined its galleries, and sculptured
A lawn of the richest sward fell with a long, gradual marble started up at every turn to charm me with the
slope froin the mansion, till it was lost in the deep leafy pure and classic loveliness of statuary. Tables of raro
shadows of a park, which was almost a forest in extent | mosaic work-ancient tapestry and curiosities, gathered
and dengeness of foliage. Some of the finest old oaks from all quarters of the globe were collected theremy
in the kingdom grew thick and untrimmed within it, taste for the arts--my love of the beautiful mado it al.
overshadowing a hundred winding paths, and intersect- most a paradise, and it was long before I wearied of the
ed by a bright stream, which wound capriciously almost regal magnificence which surrounded me, but
through the knotted roots, now flashing across a vista, after a time these things became familiar; excitement
and again leaping off in a foaming cascade, --sending gradually wore away, and my now restless spirit pant-
out a clear bell-like music from the green depths, and led for change--for a deeper draught from the spark.


MAR Y DERWENT.
141
ling cup, which I had found so pleasant in the tasting. terly affection which I had ever felt for him—the esteem
As the season advanced I proposed going up to London; and even tenderness with which I had met him on the
Varnbam consented, but reluctantly; I saw that he did first day of our union, returned wholly to my heart, but
so, but the time had passed when his wishes predomi- 'that was not love, at least not the love of a soul like
nated over mine. I had become selfish and unyieldy in mine.
my aggrandizement. I wished him to fling aside the!“ The living which my father had occupied belonged
dignified and anostentatious contentment of a heart to the Gordon property, and was now in my gift, but I
which found sufficient resources for happiness in its own retained the curate that the house which I had so loved
exceeding purity and cultivation, and to tread hand in might be at my command, and though I had never visit.
hand with me the dazzling path through which I had be- ed it, it was a pleasure to know that the haunts of my
gun to lead so proudly. But it was not in his nature; | early love were still kept sacred to me. When the sea-
there was too much of calmness and quiet--too little of son broke up I had invited a party to Ashton, and Varn-
aspiring energy in his disposition to assimilate with ham persuaded me to spend the month which would in-
mine. In short, he was too good-had too much of lervene before its arrival, at the parvonage. I was
real loftiness of mind to sacrifice his intellectual ease 10 weary with the rush and bustle of my town life, and wil.
the idols which I was so ready to bow before. He was lingly consented to his plan. Our house was shut up,
not ambitious, but he was essentially a proud man. He the servants went down to Ashton, and Varnham, one
sought not and cared not for station and renown, but he friend and myself, settled quietly in our own former
guarded well the dignity of his own upright heart-the verdant home. The leafy repose of that still and beau-
treasure of his firm self esteem. I was not then capa ful valley had something heavenly in it, after the tur-
ble of appreciating the rare combinations of a character moil of London. Old associations came up to soften
like his, and took that for weakness which was in truth the heart, and I was happier than I had been since
the highest degree of moral and mental strength. There coming in possession of my inheritance.
was a disparity in our condition which must have pained “The friend whom Varnham invited to share the
him inly, though he gave no outward demonstrations of quiet of the parsonage with us, had made himself con-
it. He was not master of his own dwelling. It was spicuous as a young man of great talent in the lower
his wife's house which he inhabited, not his own. In house; yet I knew less of him than of almost any dis-
all things a secondary object, his position was a false linguished person in society. We had met often for
one, and there could be no happiness in it. But I was weeks, but a few passing words and cold compliments
young then-young and full of bright, vague projects, alone marked our intercourse. There was something
and did not dream that, in my thoughtless pride, I was of reserve and stiffness in his manner, by no means flat-
pulling down the pillars of my own safety. That intering to my self-love, and I was rather prejudiced
thus planting myself in front of my husband before the against him than otherwise from his extreme populari-
world I was degrading him in its estimation, and from ty. There was ever something in my nature which
his station in my own heart.
refused to glide lamely down the current of other peo-
“I am certain that Varnham doubted my strength to ple's opinions, and the sudden rise of young Murray with
resist the temptations of a season in town. He need his political party, the adulation lavished upon him by
not; there was nothing in the heartless supercilious i the lion loving women of fashion, only served to excite
people of fashion whom I met to captivate a heart like my contempt for them, and to make me withhold from
mine. I was young, beautiful and new, and soon be- him the high opinion justly earned by talents of no or-
came the fashion-the envy of women, and the worship- dinary character. When he took his seat in our travel-
ped idol of men. I was not for a moment deluded by ling carriage, it was with his usual cold and almost
the homage lavished upon me. I received the worship, uncourteous manner: but by degrees all restraint wore
but in my heart dispised the worshippers. No! I off, his conversational powers became aroused, and I
passed through the whirl and brilliant bustle of a Lon- found myself listening with a degree of admiration sel-
don season unscathed in heart and mind. My conquest dom aroused in my bosom, to his careless and off-hand
over the circle of fashion had been too easily obtained. eloquence. Varnham seemed pleased that my for-
There was nothing to gratify a higher feeling than van-mer unreasonable prejudices were yielding to the charm
ity in it, and from the impulses of vanity, alone, I was of his friend's genius—and our ride was one of the
in no danger. One advantage was gained to Varnham | pleasantest of my then pleasant life.
which was little to be expected. I had ever cherished “It was not till after we had been at the parsonage
& beau ideal in my mind which he failed to reach. Un- ) several days, that the speech which had so suddenly
til my residence in London, I had never had an oppor-lifted our guest into notice, came under my observation.
tunity to contrast him with the great mass of men. I was astonished at its depth and soundness. There
But when this opportunity was given me, how infinitely was a brilliancy, and now and then flashes of rich, strong
did he rise above the throng of lordly exquisites, the poetry, mingled with the argument, a vivid, quick elo-
literary pretenders and cold blooded politicians, who quence in the style, that stirred my heart like a well-
surrounded me with their homage. I felt that I had executed piece of martial music. By degrees the great
truly estimated the calm dignity of his mind be wealth of Murray's intellect—he manly strength and
fore. It was very strange, but even then I did not love tenderness of his nature were unfolded to me. A love
him as I felt myself capable of loving. The deep, sis of intellectual greatness, a worship of mind, had ever
neve


142
THE MAIDEN’S GR AVE.
IV.
been a leading trait in my character, and in that man I In death's unseen realities should lie;
found more than mind. There was feeling--deep and Yet shuddered whilst he thought, and aye would start
honorable feeling. I believed it then, and I believe it. When the cold night-wind near her shroud passed by,
now, though I stand here before you a branded and har | As if he saw the spirit then depart,
dened woman, a being flung out from the sympathies of Where slept the last young hope of a lone mother's
her race, and all through the instrumentality of that heart.
man! He loved me--yes, spite of all, he loved me-
and I him: not madly, no! but devotedly-with a love
A month had passed, and then a foreign wild,
that would have changed my whole being to gentleness,
That mother hailed as a kind spot to rest
had I been free. Deep, resolute and fervent was the
love I felt for him--partaking of every passion of my
The soulless tenement of her only child ;
soutlasting as the soul itself. My heart has been
It was an isle, a fairy isle and blest,
crushed, broken, trampled upon--but the love of that
Meet to receive so precious a bequest;
man is there yet!
Where Nature aye had held untroubled sway,
“Yet we were both proud and strong to endure. No
And sweet birds loved to build the sheltering nest:
word of explanation passed between us. We meditated
They made her there a grave, and then away
no wrong-but-"
That sorrowing mother went from where her loved one
A deep crimson spread up to Catharine Montour's
lay.
face, and then her brow, and cheek, and lips grew white
with a withering sense of shame; her head drooped
And oft they say from that green isle, her tomb,
slowly forward, and her voice was emothered in her!
The voice of sighing comes upon the wind,
locked hands
From that deserted grave, where 'tis her doom
It would have made a sublime picture, that rude hue ! To sleep afar from friends long-left behind;
and those two persons thrown so strangely together. i And oft th’unwary watcher starts to find
She cowering to her seat, broken down with a sense of That voice close on his ear, whose plaintive strain
her humiliation; and he, that calm, good missionary, Would call the tear from where it sleeps confined,
shaking like some condemned criminal, with his hand Saying in words that tell the spirit's pain
pressed to his eyes, and the face beneath paler even “ Mother, oh, mother come, come back to me again."
than the being he commisserated. Yes, it was a strong
c. H. A. B.
picture of human passion and human grief.
To be continued.
Original.
THE NOON OF NIGHT.
Original.
THE ISLE OF THE MAIDEN'S GRAVE.
Ou, beauteous night, serene and fair,
Unruffled breeze, still fragrant air,
How tranquil sleeps the midnight hour,
They gathered round a couch within that bark
How cool and soft the shaded bower.
Where lay in life's near end the young and fair,
And sadly wept when they would slowly mark
What joy to earth calm nature gives
That maiden in her bloom then dying there,
In bilent hours when darkness lives,
Ere yet the world had lured her with its glare.
No sounds of mirth, no heartfelt glee
And fresh gushed forth their tears when faintly came | Reigns triumphant, now, with thee.
From her pale lips this anxious, hopeful prayer:
“Mother, oh, mother, let not the sea's domain
The azure sky, the glittering stars,
Be my dark grave, but let me sleep on earth again." The bright pale moon, the planet Mars,
The living streams, the running brooks,
With Ocean's waste, bespeak thy looke.
“My beautiful child! there thou shalt never dwell,
But earth whence thou cam’st shall say, 'thou'rt mine!' The stillness of surrounding night
Thou shalt not sleep in Ocean's coral cell,
Affords a richness pure and bright,
But woods for theo their branches shall entwine,
The Eastern world at midnight reigns
And near thy grave shall creep the clustering vine." In quiet sleep or restless pains.
Her word was kept, and that fair corpse was laid
Embalmed upon the deck, as 'twere a shrine
The peace of guilty souls has fied,
Where that sad parent then her visits made,
They rest not still, they live in dread;
To kiss the brow where ray of life no longer played.
But conscience sleeps in tranquil bliss,
And wakes beholding scenes like this.
III.
And there amid the watches of the night,
Oh, beauteous night, delightful shade,
The weary mariner turned his quivering eye,
That dwells around on every glade
And wept to think that aught so pure and bright,
Thy charms are dwindling fast away,
More like some beauteous offspring of the sky,
The approaching light betokens day. E. J. B.
II.


A NEW - ENGLAND WINTER-SCENE.
143
Y WILLIAM CUTTER.
Original
If that is all around us. Oh! how it kindles me to look
A NEW-ENGLAND WINTER-SCENE.! at it! how it maddens me that I have no language to
tell it to you! Do but imagine- The fields blazing out,
LITRACT FROM A LETTER TO A FRIEND IN ONE
like oceans of molten silver!-every tree and shrub, as
OF THE WEST INDIA ISLANDS.
far as the eye can reach, of pure transparent glass-a
perfect garden of moving, waving breathing chrystals,
lighted into unearthly splendor by a full, unclouded moon,
and scattering undimmed, in every direction, the beams
I HAVE sometimes almost envied you the perpetual iſ that are poured upon them. The air, all around, seems
Summer you enjoy. You have none of the bleak, dark alive with illuminated gems. Every tree is a diamond
wastes of Winter around you, and have never to look, chandelier, with a whole constellation of stars clustering
with aching heart, upon all fair, bright, beautiful things, to every socket-and, as they wave and tremble in the
witbering before your eyes, in the severe frown of frosty light breeze that is passing, I think of the dance of the
Autumn. It is always green, and fresh, and fragrant, morning stars, while they sang together on the birth-
in your Islands of eternal June. Your gardens are al- dav of creation. Earth is a mirror of heaven. I can
ways gardens, gay and redolent with sweet blossoms, I almost imagine myself borne up among the spheres, and
and rich with ripe fruits, mingling like youth and man- || looking through their vast theatre of lights. There are
hood vying with each other, “ from laughing morning stars of every magnitude--from the humble twig, that
up to sober prime," pursuing, without blight or dim-glows and sparkles on the very bosom of the glassy
ness, the same gay round-blooming and ripening earth, and the delicate thorn that points its glittering
npening and blooming, but never falling, through all needle to the light, to the gorgeous, stately tree, that
generations. Through all seasons, you have only to lifts loftily its crowned bead and stretches its gemmed
rench forth your hands, and there are bright boquets, and almost overborne arms, proudly and gloriously to
and mellow, delicious fruits, ready to fill them. Your the heavens--all glowing--glittering-Aashing-blazing
trees have always a shade to spread over you ; and they like-but why do I attempt it? As well might I be-
cast off their gorgeous blossoms, and their luxuriant gin to paint the noon-day sun. Give a loose to your
load, as if they were conscious of immortal youth and imagination. Think of gardens and forests, hung with
energy-as if they knew they should never fade, be- / myriads of diamonds--pay, every tree, every branch,
come fruitless, or die. There is no frail, bending, with every stem and twig, a perfect, polished chrystal, and
ering age, in any thing of nature you look upon-no the full, glorious moon, and all the host of evening,
blasting of the unripened bud by untimely frosts- no down in the very midst of them and you will know
falling prematurely of all that is beautiful and rare, to what I am looking at. I am all eye and thought, but
remind you daily that Time is on his flight, and that have no voice, no words to convey to you an impression
you will not always be young. I wonder you do not of what I see and feel.--No, I'll not envy you again!
think yourselves immortal in those everlasting gardens !! What a picture for mortal eyes to look on undimmed!
Ob! that perpetual youth and maturity of every thing | The eagle, that goes up at noon-day to the sun, would
lovely!-how I have sometimes envied you the posses- be amazed in its effulgence. It is the coronation-eve of
sion!
Winter-and nature has opened her casket, and pour-
But I shall never envy you again. No-delightful as ed out every dazzling gem, and brilliant in her keeping,
Summer is, soft as its breezes, and sweet as its music, and hung out all her rainbow drops, and lighted up
I would not lose the unutterable glory of this scene, that every lamp, and they are all glowing, twinkling, spark-
is now before me, for all the riches of your Islands,-its ling, flashing together, like legions of spiritual eyes,
unfading Summer, and everlasting sweets. I wish I glancing from world to world, in such unearthly rivalry
could describe it to you-could give you some faint idea that the eye, even of the mind, turns away from it, pain-
of its celestial splendor. But to do it any justice, I led and weary with beholding. There-look-but I
should have travelled through the fields of those glitter. I can say no more, my words are consumed, drunk up in
ing constellations above me, to borrow images from the this unutterable glory, like morning mist when the sun
bost of heaven. The attempt will be vain-presumptu- looks on it!
ous-but I will try to tell you as much of it as I can.
The day has been dark, cold, and stormy. The snow
OLD LETTERS.
has been falling lightly, mingled with rain, which free For a moment I meditated on the melANCHOLY
zing as it fell, has formed a perfect covering of ice upon which attaches itself to old letters; they live, and
every object. The trees and shrubbery, even to their speak of the living, with all the freshness and vivacity
minutest branches, are all perfectly encased in this of feeling which existed at the instant they were
transparent drapery. Nothing could look more bleak | penned; when, alas! those to whom they may so vj-
and melancholy while the storm continued. But just | vidly refer, are, perhape, numbered with the dead. I
as evening closed in, the storm ceased, and the clouds repeat it, old letters are the most painful in the world;
rolled swiftly away. Never was a clearer, a more for they cancel in a moment all the settled calm, all the
spotless sky. The moon is in the zenith of her march, ll subdued recollections with which time may have invest-
with ber multitude of bright attendants, pouring their ed the past; they make the dead alive again; we feel
Inild radiance, like living light, upon the sea of glass their presence, and shudder.-Mrs. Bray.
18


144
IRISH LEGEND.
Original.
I was dressed so funny for a Giniral. He had a face on
IRISH LEGEND.
him as long as my arm, and as sour as some of his own
“The curse of Cromwell light upon you, you owld beer, for he was a brewer, and sure the wonder is, that
Pelican o' the wilderness! Isn't it a burning shame the smell o' the liquor didn't make a dacenter man of
for a chap like you, to be murtherin' the Lord's gift after him than he was. There was a thing hanging at his
that fashion? Twisting your voice, for all the world, | side more, like a spit, than a weapon to kill Christians
into the sound of a joecorn, 'stead of singing out like a
with, 'twas so long and thin. Oh! but there was one
man. There's Tead O'Shaunessy, now, I'll go bail, good thing about him. He was smoking a piece of
could raise you a lilt would rejoice the sowl in your
that blessed weed which was brought to England not
body!"
very long before by Sir Walter Raleigh, God be merci-
"Gently, gently, Phelim, fair and aisy goes a long
ful to his sowl! Crass yourselves, boys, when you
ways on a summer's day,—but I'll put up with all your
hear his name mentioned, for it was he first brought the
bantherin', if you will only give us the rale maning of
praties to Ireland from that tearing spot-Ameriky.
them four words · The curse of Cromwell. May I
Well, as I was saying, there was Cromwell, and of all
never die aisy, if I was ever able to larn the rale Eng.
the chaps to spake, he was the foremost; he could talk
lish of 'em from aither young or owld. But, Phelim,
you out of your sivin senses in less than no time, and, by
you are the boy that has the ins and outs of sich things,
Gor! 'tis said he once even bothered the Pope discoors-
and give us but the twist of this one, and as long as I'm ing scripture; but then, 'twas like the devil, the Lord
able to raise my elbow I'll dhrink to the health of the save us, who can quote the Bible for his own use as
lad that licked the Conaught man!”
well as the best of us. When he came forenent the
"Ah, Michael, it's aisy seen you've been up to Cork gate, you'd think butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, he
to kiss the “ Blarney stone.” But if it'll plaze ye, boys, spoke 'em so dacent and genteelly, but it wouldn't do ;
I'll give ye a twist of it, as Mick calls it. So fill up they told th' owld 'crop-eard 'villain to mind his own
your glasses all round;-Oh, by my sowkins, there's | business, and not to come bothering them with his pa-
Do occasion to tell Reddy, there in the corner to do laver. So, old Noll, finding they were making game of
that; he has been playing 'Sargent Scully'all night, him, got raging mad, and jumping upon a big rock, and
dhrinking two glasses for his neighbor's one; but I opening out his long arms, he began to lay his curse on
want to give one toast before I begin, “ here's that we 'em. “Verily, verily, and by the Piper that played be-
may all live to see owld Ireland a Republic yet.' Hip,
fore Moses,' he shouted, “I will be unto the people of
hip, hip, hurra! Rise it, your sowls to glory! Well
Droheda, even as Sampson and the three hundred wild
done ; now then, here goes for the story.”
foxes were with their fiery tails among the grain of the
“'Twas long time ago, as the song says, when there Philistines! (Yes, answered one fellow from the
wasn't a man, woman or child left living in Conaught. battlements, but now you are trying to conquer us with
All killed in the civil wars; though, by my troth, it is
the ass' jaw!') At this the owld sinner began to
the dhrollest name to give to them wars seeing they are
foam at the mouth with passion, and forgetting the lin-
the most uncivil things under heaven, barring a guager! go of the saints, as they called themselves, he shook his
Well, as I was saying, there wasn't one alive, and to
tist wildly at the man who had interrupted him, and not
break Ireland's heart outright, who should come over minding the other people around, he spoke to him in
the sae, but the curse o' God’show bimself, the Par. particular. “Man,' said he, ‘may I swallow my owld
liament Giniral, as he was called. (That manes that brogues, nails and all, if you aren't the biggest villain
he was licensed by Government, the same as the Parlia- || under the sun! and that you may remember this day as
ment whiskey.) Having gathered an army of ten thou- || long as you live, I lay my heaviest curse on you. May
sand men in the North, by my sowl, they took it so || you never be able to taste another dhrop of spirits to the
aisy, that, they say, they all sat down under the walls of last day of your life!' He returned to his camp, and
Droheda! The town was garrisoned by the Irish Roy- sure enough the town was taken three days after, and
alists, fighting for one of them ungrateful reprobates, for three more they kept slaughtering and butchering
“the Stewarts." Maybee you remember hear tell of the poor people without marcy, and on the fourth day,
the battle of the Boyne, when James II ran away and when there was hardly one alive in the city, they found
left his Irish army without a Giniral. When they had the poor divil who had spoken to Cromwell, and they
surrendered to the British, do you remember the offer | brought him up to the Giniral. 'Man of sin, and wor-
the Irish made 'em? Why, to change Ginirals, and shipper of the harlot of Babylon, have you tasted a drop
fight it all over again to be sure! Who, in the wide since I laid my blast on you?' said owld Noll. “No,
world, would have thought of the like o' that but the plaze your honor's worship, not a taste stronger than
boys of our own three Emerald Isle. Well, it wasn't milk has passed my two lips since, and I have not bad
far from where the battle of the Boyne was fought years even a dhrop of water these three days to wet them with.'
afterwards that Cromwell sat down, and, faith, the peo He mentioned that, thinking to soften th’owld soldier's
ple inside had determined that 'tis tired of sitting he heart, that he might forgive him, but he might as well
should be before they'd open their gates to let him into have whistled jigs to a milestone in a gale of wind.
the town. As he walked out of his tent to summons | The hypercritical vagabond up with his sword, and as
the place to surrender, the people wouldn't believe their the man lay bound before him, he sent it through his
eyes that it was the famous Cromwell they saw; he body. There,' said the thief'take that for fear if


LO SCONOSCIUTO.
145
you lived the words of God's saint might not come to |
pase!'
"Now in future, boys, ye'll know the maning of them
four words, for “ that you may never be able to taste
another dhrop of spirits to the last day of your life" is
• The curse of Cromwell.'”
F. P. M.
Oh love, surpassing woman's love!
None other e'er can be,
In shame, in sorrow, guilt, and pain,
As thou hast been to me!
Original.
LO SCONOSCIUTO.
“I will not stand beside thy grave-
I could not see thy head
Laid on its last dark pillow, there,
Among the stranger dead ;-
And stranger hands, as thou hast willed,
Shall o'er thee press the sod-
None by to weep, or pray, save one,
The servant of thy God.
“ Requiescat in Pace."
'Twas a lone and lofty chamber-
A strange and fitful glare
Of tapers, round the silent bier,
Was dimly gleaming there ;-
A velvet pall swept lowly down-
A golden scutcheon said,
Earth's last and solemn mockery,
Vain honors to the dead.
“The dawn is near-this sickly gleam
Is fading into gloom.-
The morn is up-that cannot wake
Thee, with her fragrant bloom!
Rest, rest in peace-one last, long kiss,
To thy cold brow is given :-
My young life's ruined hope lies here-
My love-with thee, in Heaven!”
LESLIE.
Original.
THE NEGLECTED.
Calm, pallid, stern, the slee per lay,
Close knit the marble brow,
Still, darkly bright, the raven curls-
What hand shall stir them now?-
Long rest hath sealed those heavy lids-
Deep agony, the breath-
Wrapt is that rigid form, within
The cold white robe of death.
None of his blood-none of his race,
Are bending o'er him there
None of his early known--with one,
That dreary vigil share-
That one-(nor of his kin, nor clime)
Clings loving to the last,
And wildly from bis burning heart,
Come wailings of the past.
I stood alone in the “illumined hall,"
Where joyously sped the “ banquet and the ball,"
As lively music of enlivened grove,
Made gladness buoyant by the chirping songster-
The gay and noisy warbling of maiden tongues,
Passed by me idly. Of that fluttering train,
The glow of admiration's embers within,
None could wake. Absorbed, in thoughts unkindred,
In the bounding circle for intellect's proud brow,
In vain I looked. I beheld, and sighed,
As I saw Nature's creatures veiled in sophistry
That hid beneath the dark and vulgar feelings,
Receive proud genius' attentive, wooing smile.
“And is it thus-all desolate-
Thus fearfully alone? -
Thou hearest not-thou answerest not
My best, my loved, my own !--
That pale firm lip—the dull closed eye,
My warm tears bathe in vain-
Starting, I shrink, then turn to thee,
And hopeless gaze again.
“ But why gaze on the passionless,
The chill, forsaken clay?-
Why sorrow for the noble life,
The spirit passed away ? -
How could I vainly seek to bind
On earth the pure and high ?-
The solitary angel sent
To teach me how to die !
A maiden, graceful as Asphidias' genius
Imaged, or Fancy in its golden romance
E'er beheld, joined that gay and thoughtless throng-
Her face, nor envy, nor jealousy distained,
The witching, winning smile played not thereon-
'Twas artless-yet it was beautiful to scan;
Her cheeks, by affectation unbedimmed,
With glowing innocence were suffused
Mild benevolence throned her graceful brows,
Its impress, pensive thought to the forehead gave;
Sincerity, in happiest radiance,
That told of unsinned virtue within,
Over her features spread. Those dark speaking eyes,
You would have thought Love's torch flamed therein,
With such soft and liquid lustre did they beam.
Among that blithe assemblage, were none so fair,
None o'er whose features' expanse, so genial blaz'd
Intellect's fire or virtue's rays-I mark'd her well-
Among that silly crowd, none so neglected.
| Niles, Mich.
“Now, in this bleak world, thou hast left
My promise, soiled in dust;
Why hast thou gone my guiding light,
My counsellor, my trust ?


146
MORNING ITS SWEETS IS FLINGING.
MORNING ITS SWEETS IS FLINGING.
Arranged for the Guitar.

ANDANTE CRAZIOSO.
Morning its sweets is fling - ing
C. TORO. . .
Over each bower and
spray; ......
Flowers to life are
springing,
To
greet the opening
day,
.
.
Soft
floats
around
The
water's
murm'ring
.
sound;
Zephyr is gently
winging
round
its
sportive


MORNING ITS SWEETS IS FLINGING.
147
way;
Birds on each branch are
singing, While
echo
repeats
their
While
echo
repeats
their
While
Echo
repeats
their
F
'Tis an enchanted
grove,
Sacred to
peace and love.
TIL
LET'S
.
12th Fret.
131 203
HARM.


148
THEATRICALS.
Original.
11 who receive probably a diminished salary in expectation of a
THEATRICALS.
profitable benefit, should be so shamefully neglected. Why is
it, that Mrs. Wheatley and Mrs. Vernon and Mrs. Richardson,
PARK THEATRE. The new opera. -- The taste of the New | who have no superiors here or elsewhere,-that Placide and
York public for music, however some illiberal foreigners may Fisher, Chippendale and Richings, cannot secure, except by
affect to despise it, is as genuine as that of any people under
the aid of stars," ought but a beggarly account of empty box-
the sun, and although it may have been improperly educated, es? It is as disgraceful to us, as it must be mortifying to them.
we will venture to assert that there is no excellence in harmo-
We sincerely trust that Mr. Blake, the treasurer of the Park,
ny or melody it is incapable of properly appreciating, when whose benefit will take place in the early part of the present
fairly brought under its attention. The present number and month, will not be so scurvily treated. In every relation of life
variety of musical performances which are continually attract Mr. Blake is worthy of that most honorable of all titles-GEN.
ing audiences in this country, and the rapidity with which any TLEMAN. Let our citizens endorse our opinion on the evening
opera of merit becomes generally popular amongst us proves
the existence of a particular and powerful love of the musical
NATIONAL.-The Belle's Stratagem was played at this theatre
art. It is ridiculous to assert, as has been done, that such en-
for the purpose of introducing the audience to Mr. George Bar-
tertainments are patronised because they are fashionable ; for
rett and his beautiful and accomplished Jady. They were cor
fashion does not possess an influence of such duration as is here
dially welcomed, and played the two principal characters very
ascribed to it. True it is, however, that we have not always
agreeably.
been allowed to hear the choicest compositions, nor has their
Mr. Browne's Tangent, on the night of his benefit, showed
performance upon every occasion been as perfect as was desi-
the versatility of that gentleman's powers to great advantage.
rable. There has been mismanagement, no doubt. Considering
His performance was spirited and effective; and the manner in
the sums we pay for the amusement, it certainly ought to be se-
which it was received must have been highly flattering to him.
cured to us in as perfect a state as may be attainable ; but as
Mr. Matthews and Mr. Stanley, too, are deserving of especial
there seems to be a disposition on the part of Mr. Simpson, at
praise. The former gentleman is the best reader on the stage
least, to do all that may be required of him, we need make no
-an unassuming but meritorious actor; and the latter is pos-
farther allusion to past abuses.
sessed of as much talent as any individual in the National The-
A new opora, (by Donisetti, the author of Anna Bolena,) enti-
atre. The audience, to be sure, have not discovered it; for the
tled the “Elixir of Love," has been produced since our last
simple reason, that he has not yet appeared in the line of cha-
number. The music, though somewhat deficient in originality,
racters for which he is peculiarly fitted, and in which be bas
is light, graceful, and agreeable, and certainly nothing could be
heretofore been eminently successful.
more charming than the natural acting and graceful execution
The dramatic spectacle of Blue Beard has been revived, and
of Madame Caradori. We have seldom heard her when her
with the assistance of Mr. Van Amburgh, and an enormous ele-
voice was more pure, clear and flexible than on the last represen-
I phant and dromedary, has proved highly attractive. The abso
tation of the opera, Her cadences were very often intricate
Jute control which this person exercises over lions, tigers, and
and chromatic, now venturing upon a series of ascending semi-
"such small deer," is truly wonderful.
tones, and presently indulging in a labarynthine passage still
Mr. H. Wallack goes to England shortly, on account, as it is
less easy of performance; but all were intonated with a neat-
said, of Mrs. W's continued ill health: his brother will return
ness and delicacy that won for her the enthusiastic approbation
in August, with a new array of pieces and actors, and with all
of her auditors. In fact, her voice might be very appropriately
appliances and means to boot" for ensuring a successful season.
coropared to similar notes produced by a good violin, from a
Maestro in one of his happiest moments, so sweetly and so
Original.
gracefully did her cadences fall upon the ear. There was some-
LITERARY REVIEW.
thing so exquisitely natural, too, in her performance.
Of Mr. Morley, we would rather defer speaking till we can TURNER's Sacred History: Harper & Brothers.-This is the
have a more favorable opportunity of judging of his merits. I concluding volume of the “Sacred History of the World."
We must say, bowever, that he possesses an excellent voice, of It is number LXXXIV of the Family Library. Mr. Sharon T'ur-
good compass, and that, despite a faulty intonation, he employed ner, has attempted, in the present work, to consider the world
it in an effective and agreeable manner.
in a philosophical light. We have not leisure to investigato
• The music entrusted to Placide suited him admirably, and how far he has succeeded, but we incline to the opinion that he
the manner in wbich he gave it added considerably to the suc- ilhas done so to the utmost of his wish. The volume is divided
cess of the opera,
into forty-two letters-each embracing a distinct subject.
Mr. Jones deserves great credit both for his singing and act-
CALDERON, THE COUrtier: Harper of Brothers.-Mr. E L
ing. Rarely, if ever, has he appeared to such advantage. We
Bulwer seems determined that the public shall not think he is
were much pleased with the unassuming, graceful, and perfectly
idle, which impression would, certainly, be rank calumpy
correct style with which he gave the charming ballad in the
against a man who is as industrious as E. L. Bulwer in stripe-
second act. Sadly deficient in gallantry sbould we be did we
ing sentences together. Here we have a volume, something
omit to mention Mrs. Hughes-a sweet singer and a very pre-
less in the number of pages than “ Falkland," bis first effort.
possessing lady both in face and person.
We cannot close this sketch without adverting to the impro-
Whether Mr. E. L. Bulwer is the legitimate parent of this off-
spring, is not for us to decide. Calderon, the Courtier, would
ved state of the chorus-a department which used to be singu-
have been a capital tale for a magazine, (and we would bare
larly deficient. Still something remains to be done. These
given Mr. Bulwer $100 for it) but the permitting of such sheer
people ought to be made to act as well as to sing. Concerted
improbabilities to go forth to the world, as a work emanating
music, in many parts, loses half its effect, if its dramatic nature
from the pen of the author of Rienzi, Pelham, etc., is injurious
is not borne out by appropriate action; and the spectacle of
the finale is nothing, upless all concerned in it act up to a natu-
to his reputation. The tale, for it is only such, is well written,
and will assist in the whiling away of a warm afternoon.
ral personation of their peculiar character.
The benefits at this house have been “benefits forgot.' Nei. Mrs. Sherwood's Works: Harper & Brothers. This is the
ther Placide, Chippendale nor Richings had a house at all com only uniform edition of the works of this popular author ever
mensurate with their meríts--though the latter introduced a published in the United States. The present volume finishes
gentleman by the name of Porter, as Shylock, who certainly suc the series, which embraces all she has written up to this period
ceeded in striking out many beauties in the trial scene." The The history of Henry Milnor is now brought to a close-al-
audience seemed to consider him pricked Porter. By the way, though it is intimated by the author, that other works may
it speaks little for the liberality of the theatrical public, that hereaſter appear, in which some of the characters, and per-
moritorious actors, who labor vightly for their amusement, and haps, Hepry Milnor himself may again be introduced. The


- LITERARY REVIEW.
149
“ Sabbath on the Continent" is a paper of great interest | OLIVER Twist, as published by William Lewer, of this city,
and should be extensively perused. Mrs. Sherwood says, "at U is far inferior to the same work now in course of publication by
a period when the subject of the Sabbath is discussed, both in Carey, Lea & Blanchard. We heartily recommend the genu-
the private circle and the senate, it may not be thought im-line
ine " Oliver Twist," issued by the Philadelphia publishers to
proper to present to the reader the scenes exhibited on that ho-
the attention of the public, as a work superior in every particu-
ly day in the principal cities on the continent. If the reader be
lar to that hailing from New York. It is for sale at the book-
the subject of proper feeling, such a review will inspire him
stores of the Messrs. Carvills', and Wiley & Putnam.
with gratitude for the privileges be enjoys, and will lead him
to promote, by his example, his influence, and his prayers, a JANE LOMAX; OR A Mother's CRIME: Carey, Lea o Blan-
more consistent observance of that holy day, which Jehovah has chard, Philadelphia.-The title of this book is sufficient to con-
set apart for his own service, and which presents a type of the vince every one of its interesting nature. It pictures to an
rest which remaineth for the people of God.” The “Idler," in || alarming degree the effects produced by a mother's crime. Wi-
the same volume, is a beautiful story. We cannot, in justice to ley & Putnam.
our own feelings, close this brief notice, without first endeavor-
BURTON; OR THE Sieges: Harper & Brothers. This admi-
ing to impress on the mind of every parent, the necessity of
rable story by Professor Ingraham will increase that gentle-
baving a copy of Mrs. Sherwood's works for the use of their
man's already enviable reputation. The incidents are varied
children. When the young mind is beginning to yearn for
and natural; the characters finely drawn, and the interest
food, no works better calculated to appease that desire can be
continues "faithful to the end." We have rarely laid down a
ministered than those of Mrs. Sherwood's.
novel from which we have received more pleasure.
FIELDING; OR SOCIETY: E. L. Carey & A. Hart, Philadel-
phia.-These publishers have issued this admirable work in a
Original.
neat volume of 650 pages, at the very low price of siz shil-
EDITORS'T ABLE.
lings. It was originally published in London in three volumes,
but it now appears compressed into one. It is from the pen We have no reason, perhaps, to complain of the encourage.
of R. P. Ward, author of Tremaine' and. De Vere.' Fielding, ment which our periodical has received from its early rise even
as is well known, was a great observer of mankind, and pene-
to the fulness of stature which it has now attained. We are
trated the inmost recesses of the heart. The material of this
not dissatisfied with the result of our labors, and we are ready
production is gathered from manuscripts and private journals
to carry them on with cheerfulness, even at a considerable ex-
which came into the possession of Mr. Ward, after his death,
penditure of our private resources. The“ Ladies' Companion"
as one of the executors. It will be read with much interest,
was established out of zeal for the improvement of our fair rea-
by both old and young.
ders, and with a not unreasonable desire of benefitting ourselves.
Nicholas NickLEBY, No. II : Carey Lea & Blanchard, of Abundant testimonials have been borne to its efficacy and use-
Philadelphia, have issued the second part of this work, edited fulness. It may be productive of still greater good. Let the
by the famous “Boz." It is an amusing story, well illustrated exertions of our female friends in the behalf of their own peri-
with engravings, characteristic of each subject.
odical, be characterised by more of energy. Let each one send,
SKETCHES, BY “Boz.'—The same publishers have, also, sent
-as she may do if she chooses-one or more subscribers, and
us the first three parts of another new work, now in course of they shall have a “Companion” after their own heart's desire.
We have begun a good work for their benefit, and with a little
publication, by the notorious author of the Pickwick Papers, hu-
morously illustrated by George Cruikshanks. The infinite hu-
assistance, we will persevere in the cause, and make good every
mor embodied in the pages of these works will insure for them
reasonable expectation any one may have entertained.
an extensive and rapid sale. Both may be examined at the
Catherwood's PANORAMAS.-Niagara Falls, Jerusalem and
bookstore of the Messrs. Carvills'.
the surrounding landscape. These are surprising works of the
THE SQUIRE : Carey, Lea & Blanchard, Philadelphia. The
Thell genius of Catherwood. They are full of grandeur and simpli-
plot of this work is well managed, and the interest sustained | city. The first is perfectly true to nature, and you may repeat
throughout. The characters are drawn with a free and noble I your vist to it time and again without fatigue. Brilliancy of
air-that of the Squire is delineated to life, while that of Mabel
light and soberness of shade are brought wonderfully together ;
Coogers and Dunsford are sustained with unusual ability to the
it is as rich as color can make it, and as sombre in its depth
end of the story, which speaks highly in favor of tbe author's as poetry can desire. The effect is very powerful. Like Ae-
discrimination, and his peculiar talents. The striking traits in
neas in the picture gallery of Dido, we could have stood and
the life of Edward Elton, who, by the way, is the hero, are de-
wept (“constitis; et lacrymans ") before the Holy City. It is
veloped with great sincerity. "The Squire" is one of the best
beautiful, magnficent, sublime; and awakens a thousand hal-
romances the reading community have been furnished with
| lowed thoughts of the time when our Saviour
during the present year. It is a work that will always be pe-
“ Bore his cross up rueful Calvary."
rused with the most absorbing attention ;- from its commence-
ment the mind yearps for a breathing-place.-In this glorious
Nothing can be finer or more natural than the grouping of the
figures in this picture; or more admirable in coin position, tone
state of anxiety, the reader is carried through two volumes, un-
certain as to its termination, until he throws down the book
and color. The public have welcomed these productions of Mr
completely elated with the denouement, but deeply regretting
Catherwood with a truly liberal and praiseworthy spirit. They
that it is finished.
are now exhibiting at the new Rotundo, corner of Broadway and
Prince Streets.
GLEANINGS IN EUROPE: Carey, Lea & Blanchard, Philadel.
phia. This is a work possessing more than ordinary claims | We return our sincere thanks to the Editor of the Cincinnati
upon the American public,both from its intrinsic merit and Gazette for the facorable notice of the Ladies' Companion,
the name of its talented author, J. Fennimore Cooper. We which appeared in his paper of June 20th. It is an old saying that
have perused it with so much attention that we have become a kick from some persons is invariably of more advantage than
deeply imbued with the author's independence of feelings, and a smile. We are compelled, in self defence, to make public the
his rich and glowing descriptions of scenery and incidents. | names of delinquents. It has had, in many instances, a salutary
Mr. Cooper has exercised great discrimination in the formation effect, as there are thousands in the United States who prido
of his present production; eschewing the tiresome routine and themselves upon the chance of imposing on a publisher. We
worn-out sketches of every day life, and confining himself only would, also, assure the Editor of the Gazette, that we are our-
to that which is interesting and necessary. It is rich in language selves as much mortified, and perhaps, more so, than the indi-
-brilliant in delineation--graphic and interesting in descrip- vidual advertised, when we have to resort to the alternative re-
tion.
ferred to by him.


150
LECTURE ON A NATOMY.
PORTRAIT PAINTING.–We have examined often rich and rare ||
paintings-those too, by artists of acknowledged superior-but
none have, in our humble estimation, surpassed those which are
now open for inspection at the rooms of Mr. David R. Barker.
243 Broadway. We are not exactly connoiseurs in the art-
still we know, however, sufficient to judge whether a painting is
executed with the least talent, or no. The drapery of those
painted by Mr. Barker, are remarkable for their richness of col-
oring and gracefulness of disposition. There is no ornament
that sets a portrait off to greater advantage thau a luxuriant
velvet drapery, beautifully festooned, with tassels and cords of
the same. In this, Mr. Barker excels.
NIBLO'R GARDEN.-This, the elysium of our beautiful city, has
commenced its season with a brilliancy of patronage, commen-
surate with the brilliance of its attractions. In the energetic
taste of Niblo, displayed in the transformation of a few square
feet of ground, chalked out originally into building lots, void of
form and feature, distinguishable only by their flat and level
surface, into splendid walks, lit by sparkling gems of all the va-
ried colors of the rainbow-promenades, such as the orientalist
might boast of, and a Temple devoted to the elegant arts such as
have been derived from Pieria, we are left nothing to regret in
the absence of the Tivoli of the Parisian Capitol, or the Vaux-
hall of the British Metropolis. We claim to be their equal in
our elegant arrangements, and far exceed them in the Houri-
like form and angelic graces of our beautiful women who flock
to this intellectual scene of enchantment, themselves the most
powerful enchanters. At Niblo's, we realize the Eastern won-
ders in their tales of fancy. We live over the Arabian nights,
and in our day-dreams-dream of nights at Niblo's. In short,
we could almost become Mabomedan in faith, if these scenes are
to be the rewards of our prosylitism. But in simple parlance
we profess ourselves to be great admirers of that elegant vari.
ety of entertainments which characterize the public garden we
have already alluded to. We enjoy them with a freedom and
ease not to be met with in our theatres and concert-rooms-
we have a freedom of limbs--we enjoy the pure air, and at |
a season, too, when the great heat of a midday sun has left us
relaxed, feeble in mind and body. It is the evening air which
braces us up again-expanding our lungs and yielding elasticity
to our limbs. In our next number we shall enter into a critical
inquiry of the talents of the various professors distinguishing
this resort of the public by their excellence or their failure in
the departments allotted to them.
Ladies' WRITING FLUID.-L. Francis & Co., 110 Fulton street,
have desired us to call the attention of the ladies to the new
writing fluid just invented by them. It is, indeed, an article
well deserving of the countenance of every lady, possessed of
the least penchant for writing.
Reason, perception, hope and light,
In glory side by side.
Here gather too, in crowded thrall,
Of agile grace and hue,
Imagination's thousand forms
Fast thronging on the view.
Here Reason reigns--here Genius dwells,
And here Ambition lives,
And proudest midst that mighty throng
The soul celestial thrives.
Here too Imperial Will resides,
In regal state enshrin'd,
In stern dominion over all,
With majesty combin'd;
Mark this ! it is his messenger,
That like electric fire,
Swift wing'd the mandate beareth forth,
Of reason or desire.
This filament, this seeming thread,
Hath power to shake the frame,
That, whispering to the heart's warm core,
To light Love's genial flame.
And this, or this—to sense inclin'd,
Hath magic in its spell,
To waken pleasure, pain and hope,
And rapture's story tell.
And this frail cord, sent to the eye,
Can comprehend the whole,
The limitless, the vast profound,
Where worlds unnumbered roil!
That--to the tongue can captivate,
Thismepicures enslave,
That! to the same, make slander rife;
And this, perchance, a knave.
That! to the ear oft makes the soul
Quake 'neath the thunder's peal,
Or to the heart with genius warm'd
A dream's low tones reveal.
Concenter'd in one mass, the brain-
These make man what he is,
The offspring of yon world of light,
The life and soul of this !
W. J. Y.
Original.
LECTURE ON ANATOMY.
Original.
SONNET.
BY THE AUTHOR OF “WILDERINGHAM."
Suggested while attending a course of demonstrative Anato-
my by the talented Professor Armsby, of Albany. The
lecturer is represented holding up to the view of the class
the open human skull, with the brain and its appendages and
the nerves carefully developed for inspection, while with sus-
cintness, apostrophic eye and attitude he rapidly announces
their distribution and various functions in the animal econo-
my. He proceeds:
This is the tenement of thought,
The mansion of the mind,
Whose empire, as the Universe,
Is boundless—undefined !
'Tis vaulted like the evening sky,
In star-wrought grace unfurld,
And like that very firmament,
Hangs o'er a breathing world.
A world of thought, a world of sense,
A world of passion--pride,
Would I were with the dead! if with the dead
The weary spirit may indeed find rest.
And, when the earth on her maternal breast
Hath kindly pillowed aching heart and head,
Not only shall our tears no more be shed
In bitterness o'er all that made us blest,
Nor shall the vulture passions moro molest
The hearts which 'neath their talons long have bled,
But even the memories of our hopes and fears-
Our guilty joys, with their unhallowed train-
The wild desires that maddened heart and brain-
Remorse's bitter pangs and scalding tears
Be buried with us in the peaceful grave,
Death were the greatest boon I now from Heaven would
crave!






CE
EUR
F
HE
25
SF


19





THE LADIES' COMPANION.
NEW-YORK, AUGUST, 1838.
Original.
THE GLADIATOR'S DREAM.
He slept, as sleeps the wronged and proud,
Pale, cold, and firm, and breathing low,
That even in slumber, scorns the loud
And vulgar plaint of common wo.
But o'er that brow, so calm, so fair,
Had passed the finger of despair.
He dreamed—not of his conquered soil,
Nor pure chill breeze of Northern clime,
Nor forest hut, nor' hunter's toil,
Nor aught he loved in happier time.
With him such visions could not dwell
In bondage in a marble cell.
He dreamed-and years had rolled away,
The victor, and the vanquished came
In shadowy battle's dim array,
With fainting moan, and stern acclaim.
Banner, and corse, steed, helm, and shield,
In dark heaps strewn on war's broad field.
THE BANYAN TREE.
The tree, of which the accompanying engraving is a ||
faithful representation, is a rare specimen of this extra-
ordinary production of the vegetable kingdom. These
trees grow mostly on the shores of the Ganges. The one
pictured in the engraving, is situate about twonty miles
from Mozapoor, and it has two stems nearly equal in
circumference, forming a junction at the root; from
these stems, there branches off two large arms, from
which numerous strong fibres depend; these two arms
throw out horizontal shoots in every direction, and cover
a prodigious space with thick and verdant foliage. This
tree is of such an enormous size that it affords daily
shelter to men and cattle; to pilgrims and travellers,
who, at times, have been known to congregate in great
numbers, beneath its branches. It was, when the sketch
was pencilled, in full vigor, and no portion of it had be-
gun to decay. We are indebted for the original design,
to the “ Oriental Annual" of 1834. The plate was
engraved under the direction of Mr. A. Dick, of this i
city, at a heavy expense.
As the Banyan Tree has always been an object of
much interest, we have, after considerable research,
succeeded in compiling a brief description of it. The
boughs grow horizontally from the stem, and extend
so far, that in the ordinary process of nature they
would be unable to support themselves. To supply
this support, small fibrous shoots fall perpendicular-
ly from them, and take root as soon as they reach
the ground, thus propping the parent bough, while the
lateral branches continue to throw out new sprouts,
from which other fibres drop, until, in the course of
years, one tree forms a little forest. The perpendicu-
lar stems put forth no shoots, and vary in circumference
from a few inches to eight or ten feet. Before they
reach the ground they are very flexible, and seem to
dangle from the parent boughs like short thick thongs.
The leaves of the banyan tree are of an elliptical shape,
smooth, crisp, and glossy. They are about the size of
a lettuce-leaf, and grow in regular alternations on each
side of the branch. The fruit, which adheres to the
smaller twigs, has no stem; it is about the size of a ha-
zel-nut, and its color a deep bright red. It is eaten by ||
monkeys, paroquets and other birds, but is insipid, and
therefore seldom made use of by natives, and never by
Europeans, as an article of food. The seeds are said
to pass through birds upinjured ; on the contrary, their
germinating propensities are improved by the process.
They are thus deposited in various parts of the country,
and frequently on buildings, where they take root, and
by these means the tree becomes extensively propaga-
ted. It is held in great veneration by the Hindoos, and
has been in consequence, confounded with the“ ficus reli-
giosa," a tree altogether different in its growth and pro-
perties.
w. w. s.
He saw wild myriads rushing by
The dread aver.ger's lightning path,
And stained and trampled Eagles lio
Beneath the fair-haired stranger's wrath.
Then leaped his heart, -the work was done,
Brave justice by the Goth and Hurn.
He waked-his hour of bitter pain
Still to be passed-yet free and bold
His step, as if a servile chain
Ne'er touched those limbs of graceful mould.
He smiled, -as rose the sullen hum
Of crowds--and said " a time will come."
One glance, one cold, keen glance around,
His high prophetic spirit cast
One sigh, that vast arena's bound
Re-echoed-'twas the first, the last.
He knew that fate had marked each dome
With, Vengeance on Imperial Rome.
LESLIE.
INNOCENCE.
On thy pure cheek health's mantling glow
Flits like a sun-blush o'er the snow;
And the soft shade of thy raven hair
Rests on a brow so passing fair,
I dare not think, thou lovely maid,
Thy soul-lit beauty e'er can fade.-Mrs. Child.


154
A WOMAN'S JEALOUSY.
Original.
li know you. To be brief - you quitted the paternal
A WOMAN'S JEALOUSY. mansion in Perigord a short time ago with six louis in
A TALE OF 1726.
your purse, a letter to the Duke de Noailles, who will
not even see you, and a quantity of benedictions, which
Translated from the French.
in truth are not worth as much as a company in the Royal
At the commencement of the weak and languid min. | Dragoons, which your good father purchased for your
istry of the Cardinal de Fleury, a young Abbé, rather elder brother. I know you are reduced to making por.
poorly apparelled, was strolling in the garden of the traits for a living whilst waiting the investiture of a
Tuileries, which were not then finished. It was eve- benefice, the incumbent of which is in good health and
ning, the promenaders were becoming scarco in the will probably keep you waiting a long time yet. In a
alleys of young trees, newly planted. The Abbé having word-I know you are the younger son of a provincial
cast the glance of a connoiseur on the statues which | family, an Abbé without income, and a painter unknown
adorned the grass plots, gazed at the sun setting behind 'to the public."
the hotels of the faubourg St. Germain, seated himself “If I were an enchanter," said the Abbé, gaily to
on a stone bench in one of the most sheltered spots, conceal the uneasiness he felt to find himself so well
and began tracing abstractedly several figures on the known to the wily stranger, “I would soon send you
sand with the end of his cane, as if to employ his idle back to your bottle, Mr. Devil.”
ness. There was something in his shabby exterior “You would do wrong,” replied the stranger, "for I
which betrayed the poor provincial gentleman. His wish your welfare; but listen once more-I am not ig.
band and his mantle had not all the freshness desirable, norant that you are to be presented 20 Mademoiselle Lo
and his small clothes of black silk appeared threadbare Convreur, to paint her portrait, and you rely on the
in several places. Notwithstanding the scarcely dis-generosity of the beautiful actress, or of her lover, the
guised misery of his appearance, there was something Count de Saxe-for the proprietor of your furnished
in his easy and graceful air which betrayed the man of hotel begins to be pressing in his demands."
reflection and resolution. His face expressed mild dig- il “Faith," said the Abbé, answering gaily to conceal
nity and the individual did not seem to be debased by his surprise, “ you are so very kind in occupying your-
the bad condition of his breeches and doublet.
self with my affairs, that I should not be sorry to know
He was quietly humming an air from Bellérophon, some of yours. Let me, at least, know the name of so
which was then all the rage, when two men who obser- / warm a friend."
ved him for some moments came and seated themselves | “My affairs and my name do not concern you,” he
on the same stone bench in silence like two friends who replied; “let us speak of yours only. Confess frank-
were fatigued with their walk and had exhausted all ly, Abbé, that the means you resort to to lessen your em-
subjects of conversation. The Abbé politely made a barrassments are very uncertain and not fitted for a gen.
a slight movement when they seated themselves beside tleman? Do you believe that in painting portraits you
him, and without appearing to mind tho interruption, he can make a fortune, even if you were to surpass Coypel
continued his reflections. One of the strangers, how and Vanloo ?”
ever, kept regarding him from time to time with a side. “Enigmas and riddles," exclaimed the bewildered
ways glance, and seemed to be waiting an opportunity Abbé. “If I understand a word of your discourse may
to speak to him. The Abbé, however, seemed com. I be hung like a Normand. Speak on, perhaps I may
pletely absorbed in his own reflections. “I bet," said guess something at last."
he at last, with a soft voice, “I could guess what occu- “Well, let us leave the garden," said the unknown,
pies so intently Monsieur Rancourt."
" whilst we talk.".
The young man started at bearing his name pronoun- ! The adventure seemed amusing to Rancourt, and he
cod, and quickly raised his head to survey the person determined, at whatever price, to know from whence
who had spoken. He was a man of a slight form, came the strange personage who accosted him. He
dressed simply, without display, whose subdued tone followed where they led, and when they arrived on a
strongly contrasted with the expression of his crafty deserted quay it was quite dark. The two strangers
features. This first view did not prove favorable to the had each taken an arm of the Abbé.
new comer, for the Abbé contented himself with saying, “What is necessary for your happiness ?” at length
“ Ah!" in a careless tone, and turned away as if to demanded this mysterious speaker.
avoid all conversation with this personage. He was!! The young Abbé was quite astounded at this close
not deterred, however.
l question. “Faith," said he, “ I have thought very little
“Yes, Abbé," said he familiarly, “I can read your about it, I only know that many things are necessary
soul more easily than you can your breviary. I entreat which you cannot give me."
you to prove my science.”
“I can aid you,” replied the unknown. “As a gen-
"'Zounds! this is drull enough!" said the Abbé blunt. || tleman, you wish fortune ; as an Abbé, a benefice; as
ly; "but I don't know you, nor you me, unless you an artist, reputation.”
may be Asmodeus, the curious, who can see through “Good Mr. Sorcerer,” cried the Abbé, “ you have
walls."
1) meditated more than I have on my wishes. Suppose
“All devils are not called Asmodeus," replied the that you have guessed right, go on."
stranger, jokingly. “You know me not, it is true, but I" "You can have all that if you wish it."


A WOMAN'S JEALOUSY.
155
“ Bah!" said he, shaking his head with a doubtful hotel. The guide made his prisoner mount several
look.
vast marble stair-cases, dimly lighted, traverse magnifi.
“ You can have all that," repeated the stranger. cent apartments, and at length introduced him into a
“Once for all," cried the Abbé,“ who the devil are saloon dazzling with lights and mirrors, where he desir-
you to make such great promises ?”
1 ed him to be seated.
"Me,” he replied: "I am but an instrument in the "Be prepared said he to receive a great and noble
hands of another; but that hand is generous and pow-lady-and remember, if you forget for one moment the
erful-it can give much. With iwo hundred livres i respect due to her, I shall be at hand to recall you to
income and a benefice of three thousand, do you think your duty."
you might maintain the rank of a younger son in the He then disappeared behind a velvet hanging without
world? And if a great lady who has influence at courl waiting a reply. When Rancourt was alone he beheld
should take you under her protection, should bring at one glance the whole truth: without fortune, without
your works into fashion, estol your merit, would not a protector, he had been accidentally discovered in the
that be better for your reputation than running about crowd by some great personage, and chosen as the agent
on foot seeking patronage from tradesmen and insignifi- of a shameful intrigue, or, perhaps, a crime. They
cant people."
intended to make use of him, as one of no importance,
The tone with which he now spoke banished all idea; whom they could put out of the way when no longer
of pleasantry. The Abbé was still walking between necessary. He comprehended in a moment that it was
his two companions, and they took the least frequented expedient to comply for a while, bend to circumstances
roads in order to approach St. Germain. All at once and watch an occasion to escape as soon as possible.
he stopped, and said with firmness-"You promise me His plan being arranged, he commenced examining the
Loo much to have a good action to propose.”
apartment where he had been placed. All was gilt and
The stranger smiled with an air which seemed to say marble, the furniture was of the most expensive kinds
-"That shows no fool.” But he replied with a com- of wood, and loaded with costly vases. The silver
posed tone: “Nonsense, Abbé, it is only a woman's candelabras of wonderful workmanship were dazzling
caprice, a love intrigue."
with wax lights — throughout were Persian carpeis,
“I am not in the habit of meddling in those sort of satin curtains, sofas embroidered with gold, every thing
affairs," replied the Abbé, proudly.
was adorned with armorial bearings. It was in vain he
“ Here is all that is asked of you-you are to be pre-pondered over a cushion surmounted with a Duke's
sented to Le Convreur to paint her portrait."
cresimin vain he resorted to memory to find a namo
"Well, yes."
for all those strange figures, the only crest he know
"A box of pastilles will be sent you, and whilst she was the litile tui reited tower D'Argent which belonged
is sitting to you, it will be very easy for you to offer her to his provincial nobility, in vain he endeavored to dis-
some. That is all."
cover these arms-d'or chequered, fesse, d'argent and
"Wretches !" cried the Abbé, struggling to disen- gules.
gage himself. He began to foresee something horrible! Whilst employed in this examination, he was sudden.
in this adventure.
ly aroused by a voice speaking in the next apartment:
“Silence," said the unknown. “You cannot refuse. “I am very much displeaset, Lebon," it said; “very
You have been chosen for this mission, and you must much indeed you have behaved like a simpleton-I
fulfil ic in spite of yourself. A cry will cost you your I must endeavor to remedy your folly." Another person
life-walk on in silence."
| replied with a humble submissive tone, at that moment
Several men who had followed them at a short dis- the door opened, a lady entered the room where Ran-
tance, approached them at a signal, and the Abbé be-court waited. As prejudicell as he was, he could not
held himself surrounded on all sides; no possible suc- ! help bowing with politeness to the young and beautiful
cor near him, the streets were deserted, and their hands | lady who entered, splendidly attired and sparkling with
were ready to stop his mouth if he attempted to call diamonds. She approached with ease and dignity,
any one to his aid. Rancourt quickly repressed all slightly flurtering her fan, whilst on her lips sat a jesting
signs of indignation. He perceived that dissimulation and mocking smile. She threw herself carelessly on a
was now necessary.
i couch, whilst pointing to a chair near her for the Abbé.
"We shall see," said he, coldly.
“Confess, my dear Abbé," said she," you think they
“You are soon calmed down,” remarked his guide have acted in a very singular manner with you, and after
with a sarcastic tone. “Beware, Abbé, those for whom having been entrapped here in such an alarming way,
I act are sufficiently exalted not to be injured by your you little expected it would merely result in a téte-á-téte
betrayal, and powerful enough to enforce a terrible re- with a woman whom flatterers say is pretty ?"
venge."
“Madame," replied the Abbé, with embarrassment;
They arrived at a small door, concealed in the rear “ I acknowledge"
of a very large edifice. He who appeared the chief of “You know who I am, I suppose," the crest must
this nocturnal expedition, knocked lightly and it was have told you, I am the Duchess de Bouillon."
immediately opened. He entered alone with the Abbé, ll The Abbé bowed profoundly, quite overcome by this
whilst the others appeared to separate without. A illustrious name.
profound silence reigned throughout this part of the "Ah! ah!" said the Duchess, laughing. “My poor


156
A WOMAN'S JEALOUSY.
Abbé, really this adventure has taken away his wits. I' me withont mercy for my superstition, but I cannot
Let me hear onco more all that happened that I may , free myself from it. Come, Abbé, you are too polite
laugh again. Lebon has played you a trick which I not to comply with the whim of a giddy woman; and I
shall never forget. What, carry you off, threaten you, am too generous to refuse to you those two hundred
perhaps frighten you. It is enough to make one die. I livres a year which that indiscreet Lebon spoke to you
Excuse me, Abbé, but I must laugh at the trick that about."
rascal has played you." And she threw herself on the Notwithstanding all the art, the coolness, the appa-
cushions of the couch, giving free way to her gaiety. rent trifling of the great lady, Rancourt could not belp
Rancourt was amazed, he could not reconcile this suspecting a crime at the bottom of it all. Not a crime
ease, this levity, this coquetry with the frightful suspi. with the rude aspect, the bold and naked expression of
cions he had conceived, and as his doubts vanished his a low ruffian, but veiled with the hypocritical language
embarrassment increased. At length he thought he of the world, he comprehended that Lebon and the
would get off by a common place compliment. | Duchess aimed at the same thing.
"I could not purchase too dearly, Madame," said he, "Who can refuse," said he, with an air of intelli-
"the pleasure "
gence, “the wish of a beautiful woman supported by a
“Enough, enough," said she interrupting him, ceas- | promise of gold ?"
ing all at once to laugh, and striking the floor with her. A look of triumph appeared on the flexible features
little foot, "let us say no more of this folly. Suppose of the Duchess. She drew from her pocket a magnifi-
it a misunderstanding of Monsieur Lebon. I told him cent bux, inlaid with pearls and presented it to the
your talent had been praised before me, and I intended Abbé. “Here are these poor little pastilles," said she,
to take charge of your fortune. I also told him, I was “ of which you formed such a bad idea ; you have pro-
going to send you a box of holy pastilles for you to pre-mised that she shall eat of them. It is useless to tell
sent to Le Convreur, who has bewitched by sorcery the you the box is yours."
Count de Saxe, and he by right belongs to me--for that “And I, Madame,” said Rancourt, with an air of
he thought it necessary to make promises to you, to simplicity, “may I taste of them ?"
ihreaten you, and finally to bring you into my hotel like il The Duchess regarded him with a sly smile, as if to
a criminal. Really, I would discharge all who assisted discover whether he spoke in malice or simplicy. “ Yes,
him, if it were not the best farce of the day. You were yes," said she, “ if there's any left, and if you wish to
really frightened, Abbé, really frightened ?"
chase a lady from your thoughts."
“Madame, I must confess," he replied, “that there “There are some ladies," said the Abbé, bowing,
was nothing very agreeable in the words and actions " who are not so easily dismissed from the recollection,
of those who brought me here, and I will acknowledge when one has once had the pleasure of seeing them."
I was far from supposing an hour ago, that"
"Not so bad," said the Duchese, tapping him with
“I will recompense you," replied tho Duchess, firm, her fan, “for a little provincial; but a truce to gallantry
ly, "for your fright; Lebon spoke of the little benefice I must send you away. This is the hour for the Mar-
of a thousand crowns, it shall be yours from this mo-l chioness' circle. Come to see me, I shall not forget
ment. La Sonqueville asked it of me for a protegée of your affairs. Here are the hundred louis," added she,
her husband's, but you shall have it, I owe it to you, presenting a rouleau, “when you come again you shall
my poor Rancourt, for your fright to-night."
have your credentials."
The Abbé murmured a few words of thanks. “What Rancourt took the money, thanked her again and
the devil does all this mean ?" thought he.
1) assured her she should be obeyed in her wishes.
“Apropos," said the Duchess, carelessly; “it is you | “One word more," said the Duchess, as he was about
who are to paint the portrait of La Convreur. Could to withdraw; “I trust to your discretion, you must con-
you not present her with my holy pastilles ? It is fool- ceive how painful it is to a woman to let the world know
ish I know-it is superstitious, but I cannot help it, she resorts to such means to attract a lover. Forget
and your compliance will make me quite happy." not too soon some of the things Lebon said to you, you
The voice of the Abbó became once more firm, as he must seo there is truth in his words."
said, fixing his eyes on her—“What are in these pas Rancourt took leave without replying. When he
tilles ?"
bent down to kiss the hand the Duchess presented him,
She sustained his gaze with an astonishing compo- she might have guessed by the convulsive motion of
sure : “Do you take me for a Voisin or a Brinvillers ?" | his lips, the horror which possessed him, but vanity made
she replied, laughing again. “How tragical you are, her attribute it to a different motive from the generous
The fact is, I am superstitious-yes, I confess emotion which he experienced. Lebon conducted the
it; I am told I am quite as handsome as Le Convreur Abbé in silence to the entrance of the hotel, he then
-and a magic philtre alone retains the Count to the whispered in his ear-"You will be watched-beware."
car of this creature. Therefore I have had these bon Rancourt said nothing, and hastened into the street.
bons blessed to contend with sorcery, and I have chosen He ran for a while as if he had been pursued. When
you to present them to this vile coquette. Do not laugh he was at some distance, he threw himself on a stone
at me, Abbé, it is a weakness, I know, but how can we seat, and gazing on the bonbonièrie of the Duchess,
help it, we poor women, we are created weak. The muttered with horror—" Poison !"
Archbishop of Paris, who is my director, reproaches


A WOMAN'S JEALOUSY.
157
Three months after, the Abbé was in the Bastille. || rageous scandal, and if you suppose the king will ever
Such an adventure could hardly terminate otherwise to permit it."
a young man, poor and unknown, who dared raise an “Would it then be the first time," said the Abbé,
accusation so terrible against a noble and powerful lady. | growing more heated, “that a great lady has appeared
It was in vain that M. Herault, lieutenant of the police, before a tribunal ? Were Madame de Brinvilliers and
had clearly proved the existence of poison in the pas- Madame de Soissons of such mean station? Is it so
tilles of the Duchess. It was in vain Mademoiselle Le long since another Duchess de Boillon was forced to
Convreur, who was indebted for her life to the informa- | appear before the gentlemen of the Arsenal for an af-
tion of Rancourt, had moved all her friends. The fami- fair of poison like this one of to-day? Ah, Mademoi-
ly of de Bouillon had no trouble to obtain a lettre de selle, what matters it the scandal, if justice is served ?"
cachet from the Cardinal. What was the innocence of “Your safety, Abbé, your safety," she replied, "and
an insignificant Abbé compared to the honor of a noble mine, since I am obliged to put my life in the scale.
family? The Bastille had contained many such vic- | Who will answer for us? Who will shelter us from
tims.
the vengeance of this family, if we push them to ex-
The prisoner was placed in the room formerly occu- | tremities ?"
pied by Madame de Stael, reader to the Duchess de “As for you, Mademoiselle,” said the Abbé, " you
Main. It was large, naked and dilapidated; the win- bave nothing to fear, you are before the eyes of the
dows broken, the walls whitewashed—a bad bed, two world, your life is public, and now whilst my accusa-
old chairs, a small leather trunk in one corner, compo- tions are known to all, they cannot injure you, without
sed all the furniture. It was, however, one of the most attracting such an universal indignation, as even the
habitable apartments of this immense and fearful pri- | king cannot resist doing justico. Your adversaries know
son. Mademoiselle Le Convreur had exerted all her it well, and their interest is at present to preserve your
power to prevail on M. D'Argenson, to grant it to her life. As for me, I am of no value, let them put a gag
protegóe, whilst many greater personages languished in in my mouth and no one will say a word, let them put
subterranean dungeons. The Abbé, at the time we find me out of the way without noise, ard no one will trou-
him again, seemed to be the prey of the greatest anxiety. | ble themselves about me. I am not ignorant of all that
He walked rapidly across bis apartment, listened to and you see I fear it not."
distant noises which were heard in the corridors, and “Do not say you are without friends and without pro-
when those sounds died away, he struck his foreheadtectors," said Le Convreur, “ungrateful man! Do you
with anguish. At length, however, he heard steps ap- not consider me, who owe you so much, and have you
proach the door of his prison; a key was soon heard not a father, who is now soliciting the Cardinal for
grating in the massy lock.
“Is it you, my father ?” said he.
"My father, Mademoiselle," answered the Abbé, "is
"No," replied a female voice. At that moment the an insignificant provincial gentleman, a stranger to the
door opened, and a lady entered the apartment. She ways of courts and ante-chambers, and whatever may
was no longer in the first bloom of youth, but she had be my fate, he cannot remain long here. Besides, I
lost nothing of her freshness and beauty. Though not willingly encountered the consequences of my past con-
tall, she had an air of dignity, and the sweet expression duct, and now I will not acknowledge myself a calum-
of her countenance prejudiced all in her favor.
niator nor attach to my name a blemish which it has not
"Is it you, my protectress, my guardian angel," said deserved. Can you, Madame, blame me for acting
the Abbé, conducting her to a seat.
ll thus?"
“Yes, my friend, it is Adrienna Le Convreur-whose The actress was silent, but tears of admiration glit-
life you have saved," she replied.”
tered in her eyes. “This, then, Abbé," said she at
"I only fulfilled the duty of every honest man, Ma- length, " is your last resolve."
demoiselle," said the Abbé.
“I will never retract," said the Abbé, with firmness.
“ Abbé, Abbé," said Le Convreur, sorrowfully, "there Scarcely had he finished speaking when the door
is more morit than you can believe in performing such opened again and his father, the Chevalier de Rancourt,
& duty in these times. But let us speak of your af- entered the apartment. He was an old man, stern and
fairs."
cold, with an immense wig, in the fashion of Louis XIV.,
“Well, Mademoiselle," he replied, “has my father a coat of an antique cut, a long rapier, in short--a true
obtained from the Cardinal the favor I solicited of a figure of a country gentleman of the old stock. He first
trial ? Am I permitted to maintain the accusation be- | made a profound salutation to the actress, then showed
fore the public?”
| his son a paper which he held in his hand.
"Ah! my poor Rancourt,” replied Mademoiselle; | “You are free,” said he, gravely. “My lord, the
“ every thing would go well if you would retract." Cardinal, has just signed this order for your enlarge-
"Is it you, Mademoiselle," he exclaimed, “who ment. I have merely promised in your name, that you
would propose such a thing, you, who know with what will never utter another word of this affair."
overwhelming proofs we are armed against the guilty ?" || “I cannot accept my freedom on this condition," he
" You are too fiery, Abbé,” said she; “solitude has exclaimed with vehemence. “I wish not for mercy. If
exalted your ideas. Come, come, let us converse tran I am guilty, let me be punished--if I am innocent, why
quilly, and tell me if such a case would not be an out- / prevent me from speaking the truth?".
you."


159
A WOMAN'S JEALOUSY,
me."
“Why, you are truly crazed," said Mademoiselle Le |rival of Le Convreur in tragedy, and surpassed her in
Convreur, “ you do not understand the times. What comedy. Every one rose at the entrance of the new
an exaggerated love of justice! You wish to be made comers, and felicitations were showered upon them at
a martyr, do you? I beg you, Rancourt, in the name of sight of the Abbé.
tho service you have done me, accept your pardon. | “My Lord, the Cardinal," said Le Convreur, jo-
Purchase it by silence. Will you wish to make me for kingly, "has forbidden any one to say the Abbé han-
ever feel that I have been the cause of your misfor- court has saved my life under penalty of high treason.
tune ?”
Abbè," said she turning towards him, I present you to
“And I, sir, I command you to respect the promise all my friends, who are now yours."
I have made in your name," added his father, in a tone D'Argental accordingly offered him his hand, the oth-
of severity.
ers followed his example.
It is probable that the entreaties of Mademoiselle Le “Would the Abbè be guilty," said one of them, con-
Convreur had more effect than the paternal authority; I, tinuing a discourse already commenced, “ if to preserve
whatever it was, the Abbé resisted no longer.
his right of existence he had obeyed the Duchess ?-
"Well then," said he, sorrowfully, “ I will be silent, I believe — Plato — has some where said-Aristotle
since my voice cannot reach my judges.".
thinks--"
“Well said," exclaimed the actress with joy; "and "Ah, gentlemen, let alone Aristotle and Plato for to-
now let us escape as soon as possible from this place : day," interrupted the mistress of the house, “let our
the air one breathes is more pernicious than all the friend be praised for his generosily, and do not let us
pastilles in the world. Chevalier, I will take care of trouble ourselves with his rights.”
your giddy son-I must have you come to dine with It was then, as one may perceire, that period car-
ries in the history of the eighteenth century, when the
All doors opened at the order from the Cardinal; the old French spirit of Madrigals was giving way 10 the
gratings slowly gave way as if they regretted to let out philosophy of the Encyclopedists. Pedantry still pre-
a prisoner; the guards cast suspicious glances at him. vailed in polite society-no longer the pedantry of wit,
At the end of the long and obscure galleries, gloomy but the pedantry of philosophy. The prèciuses gave
figures were perceived, which grew still darker on see way to the bas bleus, the little circles of fashionable
ing these three persons go out. The Bastille seemed to women became academissens. It was above all in the
groan like a ferocious beast whose prey has been ravish- drawing-room of Mademoiselle Le Convreur, where
ed from it. At length they reached the court-yard, Voltaire often resorted, that this tendency began to ap-
when the Abbé turned towards this gloomy and dark pear.
edifice, and murmured with bitterness:
The repast was quite gay. The Abbè regained his
“When will the reign of justice arrive ?”
spirits, and his thoughtlessness, one forgets cares so
: "These are not the thoughts which make a fortune easily at the age of twenty-five years. His father lost
here,” said Mademoiselle Le Convreur, getting into the some of his steronese, and proved i hat when at home
carriage which waited for her. “You have need of a in his province, in his own little circle, he could become
change of air, Abbé, and I must devise the means as a pleasant companion. Mademoiselle Le Convreur
soon as possible. Since you are so fond of philosophy, alone showed signs of uneasiness in the midst of her
you will find persons in my house with whom you can lively rallies.
converse."
“Tell me, Abbè," said she to him at length, "have
They soou arrived at the residence of the actress you a very decided vocation for your little Collar."
just as several magnificent pieces of furniture were The Abbè did not reply, but looked towards his
being carried from the door.
'father.
"The rascals," said Le Convreur, gaily, "could they “The truth is,” said the father, " that I was obliged
not choose the time whilst I was absent, to spare me lo exert all my authority to oblige him to take orders.
this trouble."
Before thinking of bim, it was necessary to take care of
“Is this furniture yours ?" asked the Abbé.
my oldest, who is to be the chief, the support, the honor
“It was mine," she replied, with simplicity; "but of the family—"
Count Maurice, who is with the army in Courlando, had “The oldest may possibly be an idiot,” said D'Ar-
need of forty thousand livres, and I was obliged to send gental, whispering to Le Convreur.
the sum to him."
"Hush, Philosopher," replied she, “ Voltaire spoils
The Abbé was silent, but he gazed at her with enthu- you with his new ideas. Well, then Abbè, if you agree
piasm. They entered a very small parlor, where they to it, I will send you to Courland, to the Count de Saxe.
found several persons of the actress' intimate acquain- When he knows what you have done for me, he will be-
tance. There was the Marquis D'Argental, her most come your most sincere friend. You will then be shel-
devoted friend, and several actors of the French theatre. tered from all attempts of our enemies here, and I hope
Amongst the women, Madame de Parabere, Madame to see you return at the head of a fine regiment, to serve
de Chatalet, who had not then written on the Newtonian as guard of honor to this dear Maurice."
philosophy, and contented herself with playing the part “Thanks, thanks, my benefactrice," cried the Abbe,
of an agreeable person ; Mademoiselle Lamothe, and wild with jov.
in short, the young Mademoiselle Duolos, who was the " It is becoming late," said the actress ; "D'Argental,


A WOMAN'S JEALOUSY.
159
will you convey these gentlemen to your hotel in met two journeymen carpenters who were returning to
your carriage, afterwards return hither. I have in their homes with their hatchets and tools on their shoul-
portant affairs to settle with you."
ders. Astonished at seeing such a mass of beings who
The chevalier and his son took leave. When D'Ar- mysteriously carried something of a suspicious appear.
gental returned, he found Le Convreur plunged in pro-ance, they stopped.
found melancholy.
“What are you carrying there,” they demanded.
“Well, Adrienne,” he asked, " what would you wish “A comrade who has drank 100 much,” replied the
to say to me."
chief of the assassins, directing his men to quicken their
“D'Argental,” she replied, “I wish to make my will." steps.
The workmen did not persevere, and went on their
The venerable chevalier departed the next day for
forway, when a sudden movement deranged the gag of the
Perigord. His son remained concealed in Paris until prisoner,
prisoner, who uttered a startling cry. The workmen
Mademoiselle Le Convreur could receive an answer
returned to them.
from the Count de Saxe. The most strict incognito “What is the matter with your drunkard there," said
sheltered him from all search, for thus his protrectress one of ihem. One of those who carried him, stuffed his
willed. She gave out that he had left Paris with his hand in the mouth of his victim, but he snatched it
father, and Argental alone was in the secret. D’Ar- away covered with blood.
gental served as messenger between the actress and “Help! help! they are going to assassinate me,"
Rancourt; he visited him occasionally in his obscure cried Rancourt with all his strength.
lodgings in a retired part of the city. At length, he in- Just then the cloak fell off, and the workmen per-
formed Rancourt, that he could depart the next day. (ceived the cords and gag. They raised their hatchets.
Mademoiselle Le Convreur, who knew that her hotel The frightened assassins dropped Rancourt on the pave-
was surrounded by spies, wrote to him to bid him adieu ment and fled with speed. The two workmen pursued
and give him every instruction necessary for his journey. i them, whilst one of them hid himself in the shade, and
The last arrangements being made, D'Argental took a remained near to the unfortunate young man. When
friendly leave of his young friend, and Kancourt com- the workmen returned, they found him pierced through
menced his preparations to depart. In the evening, the heart, with several strokes of a dagger.
fatigued by his long solitude, he determined, notwith-
standing the many earnest entreaties he had received
not to expose himself, to behold once more the great
once more the great!! It is thus Mademoiselle Aissè relates in her corres-
city he was so soon to leave for a long time. He took pondence the sequel of this story-
his sword, and covered himself with a large cloak: He From that time Lo Convreur was on her guard.
thought it impossible that any one could recognize him. Some time after she was taken suddenly ill in the midst
He was however discovered. He became bewildered of a piece which she could not finish. The unfortunato
in that inextricable labyrinth of houses, which are in the creature went home. Four days after, at one hour af-
neighborhood of Notre Dame. Though it was not more ter midnight she died in the most frightful convulsions,
than eight o'clock, yet it was late in the season, and the the cause of which, could only be suspected.
streets seemed to be already deserted. The silence
which reigned around him, allowed him to hear dis-
tinctly the sound of the footsteps of two men who seemed
Original.
to follow him. He was not alarmed at first, and took
SONNET
the right side of the street, to allow them free passage;
the two unknown also took the right side. The Abbè
BY THE REV. J. H. CLINCH.
quickened his steps; he perceived they also quickened
their steps. He was then convinced that he was their
object; he stopped suddenly and was drawing his sword,
BEAUTY stands not in varied ornament,
when all at once he found himself face to face with two
Or rich elaboration,-but in grace
other unknown men who were standing concealed and
Simply and chastely shown, like Nature's face
motionless on each side of the street. He was surroun-|| Lovely, but gaudy never. This hath lent
ded and seized before he could even attempt to defend
Its innate value to the yellow gold-
himself. They gagged him and firmly tied his hands
This, to the rose its loveliness-fair queen-
and feet with strong cords before he could even utter a
This, its perfection to the diamond's sheen,
cry. The poor young man made such desperate efforts
This gives the blue, bright heaven around us rolla
to free himself, that the four assassins could scarcely
Its never wearying, and the quiet moon
hold him. One of the men said in a low tone to him, Her never waning beauty.—When from thee
who appeared to direct them,
Farthest we fly, sweet Nature, we shall be
“What are we to do with him ?”
The farthest from the beautiful, and soon
“To the Seine,” he replied, “it is the easiest way.”
Learn that it rests not with the human mind,
They wrapped the prisoner in his cloak and carried |
Beyond what God has planned, new grace to find.
him towards the bank of the river. On their way, they | Boston, Mass.


160
MEMOIRS OF AN OFFICER.
Original.
3 ments, off we'd go, what was called "shooting the
MEMOIRS OF AN OFFICER. bridge," that is swimming down the rapids, at the riski,
“Gentle reader, have you ever been in Ireland ?" if we didn't steer a straight course, of being dashed
“ Ireland, methinks I hear you ask, where the devil is to pieces on either side. Next, we might be found on
that ? " excuse me, I mean, “Where can the place pos- the top of the immense rock called “the eagle's nest,"
sibly be ? " Good! Now, sweet one, I love you so striving who could pick berries off the trees which hung
well, I will spare you the relation of its latitude and the most over the precipice. Then down the hill we'd
longitude. There is an old song which might give you dart in search of some more danger or mischief, so that
a hint what it once was.
altogether, my life was a wild one. The play kept
“ Ireland as she used to be, great, glorious and free,
good, until one fine day I had a pitched battle with a
The first flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea!” || schoolfellow, which altered my fate considerably. My
“ Mais nous avous change tout cela !” Now since
father happened to be a rich landlord, and owned most
you have owned never having been there, I need not
of the farms round Killarney. Now my antagonist ac-
put the question “have you seen the Lake of Killarney?"|
cused him, before all the boys, of having sold his pow-
There, now, you have had a loss. It is without excep-
erful influence at a late election for an immense sum of
tion the loveliest place under the heavens! Imagine,
money. The first thing that he knew was, that my fist
for instance-my God, how I wish I were a poet, I'd was between his eyes, the next that he was on his back,
describe it in such splendid language that you would
the third, that I was on top of him. Like lightning I
not understand a word of it!-Still imagine a lake, from had struck him, and then in the height of my rage, I
the very shores of which the mountains rise all around. I stamped on his body. He was taken up insensible, and
You should vicw it by sunset. The hills all lined by I was taken from the school and sent to Cork to finish
the beautiful and rare arbutus tree, laden with its rich,
my education, as it is called. I thought at the time,
deep red berries which reflect the sun on the lake be-
that I knew more than any one could teach me; but it
low, and on the sprightly salmon as it leaps from the is only another proof how human nature can be mista-
water. And then but raise your voice in the least, and
ken. I remained four long years shut up in the board-
you are answered by a thousand echos. Oh, it is soll ing-school, leading a more wretched life than an enca-
wild and lovely it looks like fairy land, and in my mind
l in my mind ged eagle; for the bird, when deprived of its liberty,
it remains unrivalled, for it happens to be my native
would have died, but I, as the deuce would have it,
place. Ay, it was in that romantic spot that I first
grew tall and strong, and on attaining my sixteenth
popped my head into this wondrous place, the-world;
year, how I found it out, I know or care not, but the
fatal truth struck across my mind, that I was-hand-
and
“From all that ever I could read
some! I never was so astonished in my life, but so it
Could ever hear by tale or history"
was! To think that I, Henry Clanmorris, was a real
(for I don't remember it) I must have been most mighti- | and bona fide handsome man! 'Twould have aston-
ly scared thereat, for the loudest yell, ever heard in ished a North American Indian; it completely over-
"them parts” was sent forth, on his appearance, from powered me! I immediately bought a looking-glass,
the lungs of your humble servant. My christening, from and found out that I had a pair of eyes, that would look
the same accounts, was “the talk " of the country for through ten girls all in a row, much more than one at a
months after. There was more whiskey drank, and time. And then my hair, nose, teeth, and mouth-they
more heads broken at it, than if I was the son-and-heir | were incomparable. To be sure, my hair was not cut
of a lord at the least. And who could find fault with after the "most approved fashion.” It had what is
it? I was the fifteenth child that God, in his infinite technically termed a “curtain" behind, but then the
mercy, had bestowed upon my parents, and surely they curl that was in it was exquisite. Besides, I measured
had reason to be thankful. Ay, faith, and after the in height-but that's a secret-in fact, I was an Adonis.
priest had “put upon me" the cognomen of Henry | About a fortnight after, I received a letter from my
Clanmorris, as my mother led down the jig (though I father, stating that he had been made acquainted by my
was but a fortnight old) the least wished her was “that master, that my education (a very different word from
she might have fifteen more of them.” The blessing edification) was finished, and that he wished to know
might be doubtful, but the intention was good. Scared || whether I was willing to go to college or not? My
as I might have been myself in coming into the world, father left it completely to my own option what I should
I soon became the terror of all the old folks in the vil | do. And“ now that I was old enough to judge for my-
lage. I bewitched their children, they said, who were self” etcetera, he wished me to make up my mind as to
always quite and aisy until I came among them. Sure what profession I should follow. I was to write him
enough, when they spied me, neither threats or punish- | immediately what I was to become. I seized upon the
ments could keep them in, but they must go out to join largest sheet of paper in the school, and ruling two lines,
their captain, as I was called ; and then “follow the three inches apart, I printed the words “A soldier" as
leader” was the order, and I'd go climbing the moun. large as life upon it, and sent it off without another word,
tain with a whole troop of half naked ragamuffins after to my father. It rejoiced the old man's heart to find
me. The first place we'd make for was the “ Upper that I who had left him a mere little " hop-o'my-thumb"
Lake " which pours down the rapids under a bridge had now such big ideas in my head. He went off to
into the “Lower” one. Throwing off our scanty gar- Limerick immediately to see and consult his friends on


MEMOIRS OF AN OFFICER.
161
the subject, and their advice was, that instead of buying' whole speech again, so to quiet me, she gave the kiss,
a commission in the British army, he should procure me and we were immediately good friends. Rushing up
one in some foreign service, as the chance of promotion stairs, I extricated the old man and his wife from their
was very poor in England. At once, one of my father's dilemma, and the next day I started for home.
counsellors, wrote to a friend in Prussia, to get me a
commission; and in a very short while I received the Not long before the renowned “seven year war," on
pleasing intelligence, that in future I was to consider a lovely Summer's afternoon, the air was so still, you
myself no less a person than an ensign in Frederick, the might almost have heard old Phæbus crack his whip as
Great's renowned grenadiers ! On reading the delight-he encouraged the winged steeds that drew his sun-
ful news, to the horror of all the boys, I flew at the chariot down the steep of heaven. It was hard on to
neck of the master's wife, who chanced to be in the six bells" as the sailors called it, anglice three o'clock.
room, and nearly hugged and kissed her to death; then But here, reader, I must halt and ask you another
putting my arms round her daughter's pretty waist, I question. "Have you ever seen an English coachman,
carried her round the room half a dozen times at the when behind his time with the mail, send his four full-
least.
blooded horses springing along the road as he approach-
“ Mary," said I, “ I'm a grenadier!"
es London, may be, the awful space of time-five min-
"A what ?" said she.
utes too late. Then the fellow, with all his hurry, never
“A Prussian grenadier, to be sure !"
putting a second hand to the reins, but amusing him-
“For shame, sir, let me gomare you mad to be pull-, self tipping the flies off the spirited animal's cars with
ing me in that manner? Oh Lord ! you're choaking the lash of his four-in-hand whip?" You have seen
me!” At the moment the master's cane “fetched up” him. Then you know how his coach flashes by like a
with a tremendous bang on my back. “Old boy," said meteor with a long train of dust in its wake. A thou-
I, letting go his danghter, “you have struck a soldier!" sand thanks for your courteous answer! Well, on the
And immediately the old fellow measured his length on fine evening above mentioned, I was wbisked over the
the floor. Then began the greatest row ever heard in earth at somewhat the same rate. I was just entering
any school. Bedlam was a joke to it. Slates, rulers,' the Capitol of Prussia, the beautiful town of Berlin.
portable desks and all the other paraphernalia of school. As I was rolled along the avenue which lies between
boy warfare began to fly as thick as hail in a thunder. that town and Coln, I was almost dazzled by the splen-
squall. Down went“ Mother Birch," as she was called, did show which met my eyes. It was the place chosen
lumbled by an ink bottle, which hit her on the scull with by all the élite of the town, as a promenade. The
the report of a pistol, proving to every one's satisfaction, whole of Frederick of Prussia's Court was there on that
that the place it struck must have been quite hollow to memorable evening, and were I lo live a thousand
have made such a noise. Then in a minute we had a years, I shall never forget it. There might be seen all
beautiful illustration of the devoted Indian wives who the beauty of Berlin ; dressed in the gaudieet fashion
bury themselves alive on the death of their husbands.' but still so elegant, and intermingled with them, glitter-
The old lady was no sooner down alongside of her loved ! ing in a hundred places, the rich and costly uniform of
and lamented partner, than she was completely covered some of Frederick's splendid guardsmen. “Now, by
with chairs, tables, desks, etcetera, in the midst of the St. Patrick," said I, “ this is Paradise itself, and I shall
cries of her dear friends who were helping to immolate soon be one of the angels!” Springing out when ar-
ber. There was one circumstance, though, which les.rived at the hotel, I asked immediately where I could
sened her merit a good deal, in comparison to the In-see General O'Brien, to whom I had a letter of intro-
dian women, which was the slight fact, that it was entire il duction. Being told that he resided for the present at
ly against her will that she had been made a victim to the palace, I merely wrote him word that a young coun-
conjugal love. As soon as I had upset the master, I tryman of his, for whom he had some time before ob-
seized Mary in my arms, and hastening down stairs, Itained a commission in the army, had arrived, and wish-
placed her on a sofa and sat beside her to explain the led to know where he might have the pleasure of calling
cause of all the commotion. Having read her the let- on him. I received no answer; but a short while after,
ter which contained the good ridings---" There," said I, l setting lonesome enough in my room, some one knocked,
** what do you think of that?" She was thunderstruck, and on opening the door, in marched half a dozen fine
but at last came out with the words, “ Oh, Henry, you looking young men, all dressed in uniform, and an ele-
have struck my father!” “Mary,” said I, "I am a gant gray headed old fellow following them. I was as-
soldier, and you must know that a soldier's honor is tonished at such a posse taking possession of the pre-
far preferable to life, and," -- here I grew vehement- mises so easily, and, said I, “ Gentlemen, I imagine
** were a man now to knock against me, or tread upon you have made a mistake, this is my room.” “Sir,"
my toe, or even louk hard at me, I'd run bim through said one very sharply,“ did you speak to me?” “Yes,
the body with my sword "-here I was desperate "as sir, to you and all, you'll please to walk out!” “By
I would have killed a spider! I would, by Jove, I George, that's good," said another, “walk out, eh?"-
would ?-Mary, give me a kiss ?” “What, to you who and he immediately sat down. They all followed his
have just thrown down my father?” “Mary,” said I, example. “Now, by the God that made me," I bel-
“I am a soldier, and you must know that a soldier's lowed, “ this is too much! Villains, if you don't go of
konor "-here she was afraid that I was going over the your own accord, you shall be made to go!" "Sir, sir,
20


162
MEMOIRS OF AN OFFICER.
sir," they all shouted, " you have called us villains, you of all European Princes. Meeting the general at the
shall give us satisfaction for this!” “Satisfaction," I door, we were ushered into a large spacious hall, which
cried, “ay, to every one of you, one after the other; let was adorned in every part with silver ornaments most
us go out at once and settle this quarrel, for I am dam- beautifully wrought. The enormous chandelier which
nably insulted!" Out we went, and having walked a hung in the middle, and into the globe of which a child
little way from the town, one of them pulled a pair of eight years old might easily have crept, weighed alone,
pistols from his pocket, which it seemed they had all some thousands of pounds of that precious metal. The
prepared, and coming up to me, he proceeded to load musician's gallery and the frames of all the beautiful
them. At this time I began to cool down a little and paintings and pictures which were large as life, and also
to think that the remark I had made in coming into the those of the immense mirrors, which were twelve feet
town, “ that I should soon be one of the angels,” was high, were all of the finest and purest silver. In fact,
nearer its accomplishment than ever, for in a few min- the "tout ensemble" was magnificent. Never was
ules, seven men were to try their utmost to send my the like seen before or since. Making our way through
soul to Heaven, by putting a pistol-ball through my the crowd of nobles that filled the apartment, we ap-
body. “Sir," said one of them, “ as you are the chal. 'proached the king, who was the plainest dressed man
lenged party, you have a right to choose the distance. present. Requiring no aid from dress to exalt either
What shall it be? Four paces?” “Four paces,” | his virtues or fame, he always wore immense riding-
said I, in my anger, “hang such fighting as that! no, boots which reached above his knees-bis coat was of
no, sir, it shall be foot to foot, and pistol to pistol, and dark brown cloth without any ornament whatever, ex-
then God have mercy on our souls !” “ The distance cepting two coarse worsted epaulets, and a large star
is short,” he remarked, “but I suppose it must be so. with the black eagle of Prussia embroidered on the
Here, sir, is one of the pistols, but you inust not fire un- breast. · He held in his hand the eternal three cornered
til the signal “ one, two, three," is given; at “three," hat, consequently, his fine benevolent countenance was
you are to fire.” One of them seized the other pistol, entirely revealed. I was greatly amused on perceiving
and we stood within arm's length of each other. “One” that he was surrounded by two or three dozen small
was called, and my mind being made up to my fate, I dogs, of which he was very fond, and as I approached,
was firm; “(wo" was counted, and our pistols were at out jumped one from his hat, which he soon whistled
each other's heads. I was astonished at my own back by the name of Biche. (The same little animal
strength of nerve, for my hand never shook less in my was afterwards taken with the king's baggage at the
life. For five minutes we stood in that deadly position, battle of Soor. The General Nadasti gave it to his
when the old gray headed fellow that I before mentioned wife, who was very sorry when it was returned. When
sprung with a bound between us. “Love and cherish Biche was brought back, Frederick was occupied wri-
him, boys," he shouted, “ for he is one of us! The ling-being put quietly into the room, she jumped upon
true blood is in him, he is an Irishman to the core! the table and put her two fore paws round the king's
Henry, my brave fellow, forgive us; we only did it to neck, who actually shed tears at the proof of the littlo
prove your courage, and now we know you to be a man. creature's affection.) My name being mentioned by
Let us all shake hands, and in future you may always General O'Brien, I made my bow " Ah," said the king.
depend on having a true friend in old General O'Brier." “ Irish by the name; would to God there were more of
He introduced his companions as all my countrymen, them in my army! It is composed, sir, of men from
and having returned to the hotel, we had a roaring every nation under the sun, and yet there are none who
night of it. Such, I found, was the proof all young are braver, or whom I can trust more than the Irish."
Irish officers were put to on joining their regiments. (A fact.) I never felt more delighted than I did at that
Three mornings after, I was awoke by my servant, a splendid compliment paid to my countrymen by the first
young lad I had brought from Killarney, crying “Mas- general of the age. He then turned and introduced me
ter, master, get up! here they are; they are come.” to his sister, the Princess Sophia Wilhelmina Margra-
“What are come, you rascal ? ” “ The regimentals to rine de Bareith. I cleared my throat preparatory to
be sure, sir.” “Lord,” said I, springing out of bed, making a speech, when she addressed me. “Let us
“are they here, let's see them!” In about two hours I move back out of the crowd," she said, “ for I wish to
was rigged out in the full uniform of the first brigade of have some conversation with you. I love to hear Irish-
grenadiers. I was to be presented that morning at men repeat the tales of their wild country!” “Lady,"
court. What a terrible big looking fellow I was with said I, “ have pity on me! Since I have entered the
the inmense bear's skin hat on! And with it off-oh, I palace, not a word has struck my ear but was a compli-
ladies, sincerely do I bewail your sad lot; alas ! how ment to me or my countrymen. His Majesty bimself
you will weep when you come to reflect that you have has condescended to fatter me; but now my brain
never even had a glimpse of me. I had looked into the grows dizzy as I hear praise issue from your beautiful
loaded muzzle of a pistol when presented at me to take mouth. For mercy's sake, pity me!” Her eyes flashed
my life, without even winking, and yet now my heart fire. “Good, Harry, my old fellow," thought I, “ you
beats like that of a school-girl when tripping to meet | have not yet forgotten the blarney."" With a laugh of
her lover at their first assignation. At last the awful seeming indifference, she replied, “You are compli-
hour arrived, and I started for the palace, that splendid mentary—but tell me the cause of the quarrel you had
building, the superb decorations of which were the envy the other day, with some of your fellow officers? I


MEMOIRS OF AN OFFICER.
163
heard you were going to fight seven of them ; you must it had roamed o'er the whole globe in search of a some-
have been mad." "Pretty nearly the same thing, lady; 	hing, she knew not what. There was a want, a cra-
but you know, I guppose, the custom of my country is ving in her bosom for some one to rest her gentle affec-
never to sleep over a quarrel, but generally settle it lions upon; and that want was fast embittering her
across a table, if pistols can be had. I should have mild disposition. A few more years of such a life and
done so then, but we might have been disturbed in this Agnes de Villeneure's lot would have been the most
place, before either I or the others had been put hors de miserable under heaven, that of a disappointed and un-
combat. But will your Grace be kind enough to tell 'happy visionary. But a flourish of the wand of that
me who those two beautiful creatures are standing there blind lady-Fortune, saved her. Her father being pro-
close behind us ?” “They are the two wildest girls in scribed for political reasons, had to flee his country;
the palace. Let me introduce you ?” And immedi- and gathering an immense treasure of jewels and money
ately I was made acquainted with the Baronness de he escaped into Prussia. The atmosphere of the Court
Frauenfeld and Mademoiselle de Villeneure, the haugh- soon dispelled the gloom of Agnes’ mind. Her name,
tiest and most wealthy heiress of Frederick's Court. in a short while, became proverbial as the leader in all
They were both eminently handsome; but as unlike that was gay and wild, and I beheld her at the age of
each other as midnight and noon. The Baronness was eighteen, the loveliest “maid of honor" to the queen,
rather short, with the smallest and prettiest little hands, and the most courted belle in the country! The king
and feet in the world. Her hair was dark and glossy almost immediately retiring to review the troops, his
as the black-bird's wings, her countenance very pale, | daily occupation, the leveo was of course broken up.
but lit up by two of the most sparkling eyes under the
sun. She was beautiful, yet might by possibility be de- ! The memorable battles of Prague, Lignitz, Torgan
scribed : but her companion was lovely beyond all de- and Berlin, had been fought and won by Frederick's
scription' Somewhat taller than the other, no language troops. The soldiers of Prussia had conquered almost
can tell the effect of the noble proportions of her lovely every army in Europe. The famous “ seven year war"
form-slight, but still round and voluptuous; a man was ended, and I was Lieutenant General in the army,
might gaze at her for all eternity, and the joys of Para- though but twenty-five years of age. With irregular
dise would be a Purgatory compared to his happiness. steps I paced the marble pavement of one of the rooms
It were worth a lifetime to catch one look of her luxu-li in Frederick's palace of Sans-souci. The name of the
riantly braided brown hair, and large, dark blue eyes- place did not at all coincide with my state of mind, for
such feeling and expression, such soul beamed forth at my brain was racked by a thousand conflicting thoughts.
every glance, that the moment you beheld them your That morning, with difficulty, I prevailed on the king
peace of mind was gone for ever. The swan's down to accept the resignation of my commission; and now
attached to an Emperor's robe is not softer or of a purer that he had done so, I half regretted it. The last feel.
white than was her sweet face, and the bright tinting was gaining firm possession of my mind, when the
which mantled in her cheek, would have led you to door opened, and my eyes grew moiet, and my heart
think Aurora's self had breathed upon her at her na- bounced with joy at the sight of the lovely girl that en-
tivity, that she might always look young and fair. Such tered. The vision of the dying Mussulman when his
is no more than a feeble attempt at describing the be- soul is released from this world by the sword of an Infi-
ing who from that hour, became the point of attraction del, is not brighter than was that apparition to me! As
to which, all the aspirations and longings of my soul the heavens open to his view, the Turk, but imagines that
pointed steady and true as the compass to the pole. I he sees the Peris, with whom he is to dwell in future,
afterwards heard her early history, which can be told in congregated around the throne of God. But my vision
few words. Her mother dying when she was an infant, I was more than imagination-it was real-I both saw
her father, Count de Villeneure, for years after, never and felt my Peris, for Agnes de Villeneure was clasped
quilted his fine old Baronial Castle which was on the to my bosom! “Welcome, welcome, dearest Agnes, a
banks of the Loire, in the South of gunny France. The thousand welcomes !" “ Thank you, Henry,” she re-
education of his daughter being bis only care, he pro- plied, " what joy to see you again! But there ; let me
cured the first masters in the country to instruct her in go, now, you are always so furious ! Heavens, if my
all the various accomplishments which in those days it father were to see us in this situation, it would be our
was considered necessary for well educated females to ruin!” “Ay, would it! Curse him; forgive me, Ag-
be perfect mistresses of. But unfortunately, she had nes, but mention not his name again it drives me mad.
no companion of her own age or sex with whom she Listen; I have settled a plan for our happiness, and it
might converse familiarly or confidentially. Afraid to only requiros your consent to bring it to a successful
express her wild young thoughts before her strict old end. Your father, since our first acquaintance, has al-
masters, for fear of being ridiculed, she would roam soli- ways done bis utmost to prevent our meeting, conse-
tarily and alone through her wide paternal demesne, 1 quently he is opposed to the happiness of his child.
and under the shade of some venerable old oak, or by Now, darling, you must give me one more proof of that
the shore of the swift-flowing Loire, she would give free courage which it seems to me has never yet failed you.
ecope to her wild melancholy thoughts. Her young This very night you must leave your father, perhaps, for
imagination would, then, like some beautiful and gor- ever!” “Leave my father," cried the thunderstruck
geous butterfly, glide from one subject to another, until girl, “it is impossible!” “Agnes-then now we moet


164
MEMOIRS OF AN OFFICER.
for the last time! This morning I threw up my com- ! to view, what was supposed would be one of the finest
mission in the army, on purpose to be free to fly with deer hunts seen for years. In a short while a tremen-
you, and the guerdon I get, is to be told it is impossi- dous shout rung along the hilla. The deer had been
ble!' Fool, fool that I was! Yet it is the meet re driven down from the woods. Sure enough about half
ward worthy of the ambition of a soldier of fortune, who a mile ahead of the dogs out sprung a noble buck from
has dared to aspire to the hand of a Count's daughter! the thicket. Tossing his tall antlers high in the air,
But Agnes de Villeneure, you must know that in my for one second be snuffed the breeze in the direction of
country, the blood that Aows in the veins of a Clanmor his enemies, and then, with a bound, darted off at full
ris, is considered rich enough to mingle with that of speed in an opposite direction. It was hard for the
a Princess. But perhaps you consider my fortune as animal to escape, as the lake was completely surrounded
not sufficient," I observed with a sneer; “ by the libe- i by hills, and the tops of them being covered with men,
rality of Frederick, the Great, I am rendered perfectly who, when the deer attempted to climb over and fly
independent, so that can be no obstacle!” In the pas. ; through the country, drove him back ; of course he was
sion of the moment I did not perceive the agony expres- fi obliged to continue his course which lay winding around
sed on her countenance, as I uttered those rash and un- the foot of the mountain. The cry was given; the hunts.
feeling complaints. But at the last remark, she tot. man's horn sung loud and cheerily, and away went the
tered, and reeling half way across the apartment, fell hounds in full pursuit. The spurs were immediately
across a large fauteuile, nearly insensible. “God!” Irowel deep in the horses' sides, and with a wild " view-
exclaimed, “ I have ruined her!” Raving with fear, I hollo" the huntsmen started after. It was a grand
threw myself on my knees and begged, with tears and sight to behold from a boat on the lake. From the
a thousand expressions of repentance and grief, that she same place you might see the panting buck, his head
would forgive me. “Oh, Agnes, I conjure you," I thrown entirely back from the weight of his antlers and
cried, " by the love I have borne for you, and which is the speed at which he went. Then not far behind, the
lasting as eternity; I implore and beg, by all that you dogs following in full cry, who, as they “gave tongue"
care for in this world or the next, that you will speak in passing the rock named the “ Eagle's Nest "almost
one word lo me! Say you but forgive me, and as long “started at the sound themselves had made," the echo
as I have breath, I will bless you for it!” The sweet was so loud: 'twas as the baying of a thousand hounds.
girl, leaning forward, imprinted a long fervent kiss upon Then last, though not least, came the fifty huntsmen
my burning forehead, and immediately we were at peace. I dressed in full costume, their horses all covered with
That night she Aed with me from Sans-souci!
foam, for they had to ride at the hardest rate of that
proverbially hard hunting country. At length the wea-
A merrier or more sprightly note never resounded ried stag took to the lake, but that fatal deed was its
through Sherwood Forest from the celebrated bugle of ruin. As it passed one of the boats, a man cut its
Robin Hood, than was heard on a lovely September ( throat with a broad knife. It was immediately towed
morning to send its echo across the green glen of Kilo ashore, and its wide-spreading antlers being separated
larney. The reveillé sounded mellow and clear from from its head, were presented, as a mark of esteem, to-
the huntsman's horn, giving warning to all laggards that whom, think you, gentle reader? To your old friend,
the sun was showing his bonny face over the mountain Henry Clanmorris, who that day week had returned
topa. Directly the whole country seemed alive with with his young and lovely bride, Agnes, to reside for the
human beings. Countrymen might be seen in hundreds remainder of his days, in his native glen, the banks of
making their way up the steep until the tops of the hills the Lakes of Killarney.
F. P. N.
all around the lake were completely covered by them.
As yet, the night mist had not left the lake and foot of
Original.
the mountain ; all was fog below. But, soon, the sun
LINEA AT PARTING.
dissipating ine vapor which lay on the water, revealed
the gayest sight ever mortal beheld. In one place I may not sigh, I will not weep, I dare not talk of grief,
might be seen crowds of females dressed in their The pleasure was a moment's space, the pain shall be as brief.
I scorn myself, that I should think of all I hoped from thee,
best attire, with new caps, and bright colored rib- 1
The world hath brilliant promise yet, but no more friends for me.
bands and handkerchiefs flaunting gaily in the breeze,
"Tis true my life is like the stream that slowly wanders on,
they were all getting on board small boats and pushing
Above the broken monuments of peace, and beauty gone;
off from the shore of the lake. Then beyond, a number Another fragment, in the wave, thy fair, light hand hath cast,
of men were led on, shouting and hurraing, by about a "Tis not the first that moulders there, but it shall be the last.
dozen pipers, who had struck up in their loudest strains Away, away, I would not cloud, that clear and lofty brow,
the famous tune of “ Garry Owen.” Beyond them, With even a passing thought, of all, that I remember pow,
again, appeared about filty gentlemen, mounted on stout Still be to those, wbo know thee not, what thou canst brightly
Kerry hunters, and ali dressed in the sporting colors of seem.
in I've found a little certainty, and lost a pleasant dream.
red and green. Then came the huntsman himself at:
the head of at least sixty couple of stag-hounds who But fare thee well; the world is wide, our paths diverging far,
were kept in order by five or six “whippers in." In
And yet, I turn, to gaze on thee, as on a setting star,
That coldly, calmly, silently, in radiance love, will shine
fact, all people for miles round were fast assembling to on other lands, to other eyes, but nerer more to mine.
be present at the rejoicings going on at Killarney, and
NARY


THE GA MESTER.
165
Original.
fers but one word with you in the peace and solitude of
THE GA MESTER,
a scene like this, to the glitter of festivity, or the tumult
of the dance."
AT ALL.
“Seignior," said Isabel, “the resolution of a father
BY EDWARD MATURIN,
frequently decides the daughter's choice, you should
have recollected that that choice has been made, before
Few entered life with prospects more promising than your present importunity exposed you to the displeasure
Edwin Mortimer; and few have more fatally experien- of the one, or a second refusal from the other."
ced that delusive happiness arising from indulgence, “Am I then rejected !" cried Alessandro, the passion
and means to gratify it. Nobly descended-heir to all of his Southern race suffusing his countenance, and
large estate, he possessed every opportunity for good or flashing from his eyes; “is the humiliation of a lover
evil, and while his heart, naturally virtuous, inclined to to be met with contempt, and his entreaties to be repel-
the former, the misguided strength of his passions de- led as the wave by the rock, with sullenness and indif-
termined him to the latter. Scarcely emerged from ference? Woman, know that the sun of our South.
boyhood, his countenance possessed that vigorous bloom i while it kindles love, inflames our hatred. Away, then,
which seldom survives the vears of adolescence, and to your fair English stripling, wed him, hand and heart,
which the cares and difficulties of age, as easily efface, but my image shall haunt you at the altar, and my re-
as the finger brushes the down from the flower. Though venge mutter in the marriage benediction."
but twenty, having spent his years hitherto in the coun-! So unsuspected the event, and so confused her per-
try, his figure had acquired that manly developement ceptions, that the Italian's imprecation conveyed po
derived from the athletic eports of the field. How soon, immediate impression; and it was only reflection which
that nervous frame was to quiver with the nervousness of fully di
s of fully disclosed the ominous extent of revenge, and her
debauch, and the vivid glow of youth to fade as rapidly, incapability of averting
dly li incapability of averting it. The language was equivo-
as the healthy cone of body and mind which it indica-cal, and she
cal, and she shuddered when she thought that the mo-
ted,
ment of revenge involved equally the happiness of Ed-
During the college recess, with the permission of his win a
win and her own. Under the influence of this appre-
father, he came to London, on a visit to Sir Everard hension, pale and trembling, he met her returning
H- , a wealthy baronet. The latter had a lovely through the corridor, and to his repeated inquiries as
daughter, whose mind, and fascinating manner had, to the cause of
to the cause of her emotion, he only received the vague
upon a former occasion, 'made a deep impression upon and unsatisfactory replies of an excited mind. Upon
the memory of Edwin. Their temporary separation, her return to the ball-room, the warmth and gladness
with that perversity natural to young bearts, by the ex. | pervading the countenance of each, evinced the inter-
citement of hope, had increased their a:tachment, and ruption her momentary absence had occasioned. The
their anticipated union based upon a parity of rank and interview she determined to preserve a secret.
met with the approbation of their respective parents. A few evenings succeeding the above event, Edwin
Upon Edwin's arrival in the city, a brilliant fête was was returning from the theatre in company with young
given by the Baronet to welcome his intended son-in- Stanley, a college-chum, with whom he resided in the
law. It was summer, and a temporary addition had city. They were detained for a long time in the box-
been made to the house in the form of a grotto, in which lobby by the dense crowd, when they were joined by
flowers were so artfully disposed as to represent the sea- Alessandro, the Italian. The latter being intimate with
song. A beautiful statue of Egeria ornamented the Stanley, an introduction ensued, and during the ordina-
centre as the presiding deity, and the classic beauty of ry salutation, Edwin almost shrunk before the mingled
the spot might have betrayed the imagination into the expressions which kindled in the stranger's eye. As
idea that it was the place of meeting between that god- they proceeded, he was, however, fascinated by that
dessand the Roman monarch. A row of variegated lamps | graceful ease, amounting to dignity, which so eminently
twined with the leaves, diffused over the scene a soft marks the Continentalists of Europe. The topics turn-
and reposing light.
ed on various subjects, when the Italian proposed, with
The drawing room was crowded, and Isabel, oppres- an indifferent manner, a retreat to a well known house
sed by the heat, had withdrawn to the grotto; she was of gambling repute in the vicinity.
reclining against the pedestal of the statue, when she “You will excuse me," replied Stanley; "after Kean's
was startled by a footstep, whose slow and cautious Othello, the spirit seeks to recover its former tone by
tread announced it as that of one who desired conceal-l repose, rather than additional excitement."
ment. A man, whose bold and swarthy countenance “Your friend, Mr. Mortimer," rejoined Alessandro,
marked him an Italian approached, seized her hand “can have no objection to accompany me?"
passionately, and in tones of strong emotion besought “His movements," answered Stanley, "are at his
her to remain.
own disposal."
" Isabel,” he cried, “ hear memand but once. I have The proposition was one of novelty to Edwin, as well
loved you, and that love has met with coldness from you | as the scene it led him to anticipate. Reared in the
and discouragement from your father. By his command country, the desperate chances of the lable and its vicia-
you know I dare not mingle with these revellers to-night, |situdes, which, by a single card may lose or retrieve a
judge, then, of the strength of that passion which pre- fortune, were to him matters of speculation, wonder


166
THE GA MESTER.
and doubt. He felt conscious of error in complying with the impossibility of representing the struggles of pas.
the request, but that thirst for novelty common to youth i sion, the tears, the imprecations, the tones of recollec-
gratified too frequently at the expense of happiness and tive fondness, and the thrilling bursts of frenzied jealou-
judgment, induced him to consent and accompany the ey, which pervade the character with fearful rapidity,
Italian.
through the delicate and subdued medium of music.
They walked on, their silence interrupted only by He also alluded to the very bizarre idea of a man com-
casual remarks, till Alessandro stopped before a buil- | mitting suicide in the act of singing, whose very asso-
ding, whose extent and magnificence would justly mark ciations destroy the solemnity on the part of the actor,
it as the residence of nobilily, rather than the Hell and vraisemblance with the audience. He concluded
where Fraud held her midnight orgies, where the pangs" by observing that Otello was a mere burlesque of
of conscience, the groans of despair, the blasted in Othello.
youth and depraved in age, realized the "weeping and Mortimer's attention was particularly attracted by
wailing" of a future existence.
1 a very young man, whose youth and inexperience com-
The necessary sign demanded by the guard within, was ' peted successfully with the arts of more practised gam-
given by the Italian, the heavy iron bolt was withdrawn, blers. A trivial stake had been rewarded with very
and Alessandro entered, followed by his wretched and disproportioned gain, and the animated joy of the win.
unconscious victim. The interior fully corresponded 'ner's countenance, was strongly contrasted with the
with the outward aspect of the building, but the glitter disappointment of his unsuccessful antagonista. The
from the suspended chandeliers, reflecting and multiply- stake was a second time made, and with similar success.
ing every object in the surrounding mirrors-the rich | Mortimer, with that spirit of competition natural to
ness and luxury of the furniture, dazzling the eye and youth, longed to join the party; but as he reflected for
inviting the senses, yet in which taste seemed predomi- 'a moment on the revolutions of chance, and beheld the
nant over the mere prodigality of wealth; all combined i excited expressions of those engaged, he felt as though
formed a scene so brilliant and bewildering to the no- he were embarking on a stream deceptive in its tran-
vice, that, like the regal robe of Cleopatra, it concealed quillity, but concealing numberless eddies and whirl-
the viper whose poison was death.
pools. Conscious of his weakness, and anxious to re-
Yet, like many an "empty pageant" of earth, they sist the fascination, he turned from the table: the Ita-
who seemed to share the pride and glitter of conquest lian was by his side.
only filled the ranks of defeat, and were even now suf- i “The mind must seek, Mr. Mortimer," he observed,
fering the pangs of disgrace. As Mortimer carelessly in a careless manner,“ for excitement; the bright glance
sauntered from table to table, he felt, as he gazed upon of a woman may be forgotten in the brighter one which
the quick and startling eye, wandering from man to man, succeeds it; the wine-cup is bated for its degradation,
and recognizing opponents alike in all; the quivering and satiety; but the interest of the table never fags,
hand, scarce able to raise the card which bore fortune and failure forms only an additional incentive for repea.
or ruin, the fixed and ashy features, the swollen veins ofted effort."
the forehead, that bespoke the working of the brain, I “Your argument is granted,” rejoined Mortimer;
and palpitation of the temples; he felt with increased “the only danger is the excitement may be excessive,
delight the tranquillity of his own mind, for which even and, like the opium-eater who seeks for supernatural
the magnitude of the stake were an insufficient pur creations of the fancy, the habit may lead to stupidity
chase. The young and gay were already marked with and insensibility."
premature care, and the old by habit seemed reckless They separated upon that evening, and Mortimer
of their course, and determined on its pursuit either to slowly returned home, reflecting on the many melancho-
fortune or beggary.
ly examples of youth, who, relying on the instable
Alessandro sauntered round exchanging salutations chances of gaming, had sacrificed certainty to fortune,
and pleasantries with those who were disengaged in blighted their prospects, and disgraced their families.
play, and intent only on watching the despair and mise- “How many,” thought he, "has the accursed habit
ry of others. But however engaged in conversation bis irreparably ruined; how many a premature grave has it
eye seemed instinctively to wander towards Mortimer, dug, and dragged on by quick but irreparable steps from
who stood as unconscious of the expression of that vice to vice, those for whom lifo was happiness, and its
glance, as the bird hovering in the air is of the shaft career the path of honor. The gambler has become the
whose flight has marked it.
forger, and then follow the fetters, the prison, and the
"Is he rich ?” asked one, of the Italian, as the latter terrors of solitude, too soon to be exchanged for the
eyed him.
busy hum of the gazing and execrating mob. Hie sun
“So I understand," was the reply; “but for that I goes down while it is yet day, and not a tear laments
care not. It is not gold I want,” he continued, mut the cloud which dims its setting." But while he thos
tering, “should it fall thick as rain. It is " he endeavored to fortify himself by argument and example,
checked himself, and biting his lips with an effort to he felt himself irresistibly attracted by the hopes of suc-
subdue his passion, he changed the topic whose pre- cess, resembling the victim, who, fascinated by the
sence had excited it. He spoke in raptures of Kean's glare of the serpent's eye, forgets the venom and treach-
Othello, and though an Italian, whose national drama is ery which give it brightness. His thoughts then wah-
chiefly constituted by opera, he perfectly coincided with dered to Isabel, and he felt his resolution of resistance


THE GA MESTER.
167
confirmed, if not by the danger of indulgence, at least 1 others, in the lapse of a short period, became a princi-
by the love he bore her.
1 pal actor in the drama.
Alessandro frequently visited Mortimer and Stanley, I As their intimacy increased, and the fluctuations of
and the latter could not avoid observing his marked at- gambling made them partners in the hazardous pursuit,
tentions to his friend, which he mistook for that friend they became depositories of their mutual secrets and
ship so frequently contracted between similar disposi- feelings. There was however one circumstance which
tions, often as indissoluble as sudden. Their conversa , appeared unaccountable to Mortimer, namely, the un-
tion was various and desultory, enriched on the part of
art of willingness of the Italian to visit at his house, though
frequently invited. He was too proud to look on her
the Italian by many remarks on English literature, pro-
again who had rejected him, and his purpose was to
ving not only an extent of knowledge, but power and again who had reje
originality of mind. It was however with pain he re-
revenge on the wife through the husband.
marked the dexterity with which he uniformly introdu-
Two years had elapsed since the introduction of
ced the subject of gambling, the fictitious allurements
Alessandro to Mortimer, during which the former had
with which he invested it, and the manifest influence it
ceaselessly, and too successfully “plied the work," and
exercised on the young and unsuspecting Mortimer.
the latter had become bound to society, from which he
Night after night, he repaired to the favorite haunt, de.
was daily detaching himself, by the new tie of father.
riving an interest from the inexhaustible excitement of
Already had the ruddy glow of youth and health been
its chances, and disregarding the pale visage, the dim
effaced by the workings of care, and the firmness of the
and glassy eye, and all those warnings and indications
hand been anticipated by the premature infirmities of
of an abandoned fate, with the same indifference with
dissipation. As his heart was gradually absorbed in
which we regard the contemplation of danger when in
the vortex, it became alienated from the lies and duties
the enjoyment of safety. Mortimer was independent
of home, and the affections of a wife were lavished on
and liberal, he regarded gambling not as a means for
one whose heart was never more to respond to them.
increasing his wealth, but a fashionable pursuit, but
While these secrets were passing, Isabel received the
with the sanguine temperament of youth, the fairer side
following letter from an anonymous source :--
alone presented itself, while loss, its despair, destitution
"Your husband is lost to society-yourself and child, but
and crime, lay concealed, like the serpent's folds coiled
you can save him. He is a reputed gambler, daring in his
one within the other. Alessandro, the tempter, was
stakes, and as unfortunate in losing them. It is not
constantly by his side, while his attentions, accomplished
merely that his fortune is gone, but his name is tarnished,
manners, and the rich versatility of his conversation co-
and his credit irretrievable. Ruir does not merely over
operated in leading him to that precipice where reason
shadow him, but yourself; yes yourself; whatever be
abandoned him, and invisible hands were ready to plunge
his fate, should it be the dungeon or the scaffold, if you
him headlong.
feel as a wife, there you must follow him. Oh! it will
be a glorious place for a couple, young and beautiful as
The wedding day was at length appointed, and Isabel
e ye are, to interchange those sentiments stronger in the
was a bride. As the priest pronounced the blessing, hour of adversity, like flowers in a sandy soil, to feel their
and denounced the attempt of man to separate those
growth checked and blighted by the icy atmosphere of
whom God unites, a thrill shot through her frame, and
a prison, and to hear the shouts and innocent gambols
her mind became a prey to dark and desperate omens, of your boy, the only reply to your own tears, and your
as she recalled the mysterious words of the Italian, ma-hu
husband's curses. Choose, now, save him if you please
king the marriage-blessing a mockery and a curse.
from all this, from my grasp, for you can.” It concluded
The bridal party were retiring to the carriage in wait-
with fictitious initials, and stating time and place for
ing, but amid the crowd which surrounded them, con-
a meeting.
spicuous alike by his figure, and his nobility of bearing,
Though Isabel observed a strong change in the man-
she observed the Italian, his cold salute mocked the
ner and appearance of her husband, and discovered in
congratulations it was intended to convey, and his eyes
the letter a reference to its cause, she disregarded it,
flashed with a sinister light, which plainly said that he
trusting to the candor of domestic intercourse for its 80-
had neither forgotten his words, nor relinquished his in-
lution. “Will you not tell me, dear Edwin,” she said,
tention of fulfilling them.
as he had one evening returned late from his resort,
The intimacy between Mortimer and the Italian in- ' will you not tell me what has changed you ; your eyes
creased, they became inseparable, and the interest of
are wild and fixed, your voice hollow, and your hands
the gaming table was the chain he was Alinging around tremble; do tell me," she continued, twining her arms
his unconscious victim.
round his neck.
As they were loitering around the tables one evening, | “Do not ask me. Nothing," he muttered indis-
the Italian with that indifference which baffled all suspi- tinctly. Had he then made a faithful wife participant
cion, challenged Edwin to the table; and, well prac- in the secret, he would have been saved from ruin,
tised in the snares with which novices are entrapped, and the honor of his house unimpaired.
permitted him to rise a winner to a considerable amount. I It were tedious as uninteresting to recapitulate the
Repeated success only increased the fascinations of the nightly details of a gambler's life, the desperation of the
pursuit, and the unfortunate Mortimer who had entered stake, perhaps his all, the agony of hope with which he
merely as a spectator of the chances and passions of I watches the turn of a card which gives him wealth or


168
TIE GA MESTER.
ruin, the desire to live, or the shame which seeks to || dilated, their eyes swollen and fiery, and their attitudes
bury itself in the self-sought grave of the suicide. Suf- those of indignation and defiance, they aptly personated
fice it for the interest of the narrative if it passes on to fiends who knew the eternal retribution which awaited
that last tremendous "hazard of the die” when the them after the ghastly strife they mutually defied. They
gaunt form of beggary stalks like the guardian deity of separated; Alessandro triumphant; he already saw
the gambler's "hell," and his wife and children rise in Isabel at his feet imploring for her husband; and Morti-
indistinctness before him, imploring rescue from a fate mer a beggar, his wife and child degraded, the bright
his rashness weaves for them.
visions of youth for ever dimmed, and its green and flow-
Such were the images which flashed on Mortimer's ery path trodden, withered, and blasted.
mind, as with a pale and haggard brow, and hand con- Mortimer did not return home that night; with the
vulsively clenched, whose tremor mocked the artificial humiliation of conscious disgrace he wandered from
strength it exhibited; he sate watching the Italian deal. etreet to street, and sate down for rest on the cold stone.
ing the cards. His fortune had been won, and Ales. What were his thoughts? Who can paint them? Years
sandro, with the courtesy of a gambler, and to make his of suffering, penury, perhaps famine, for which even
revenge more sure, proposed he should play on credit, | Eternity itself seemed a preferable exchange. And there
and had already received some I. 0, U's from Mortimer. the dark and fathomless eternity, like a mighty ocean
The wretched man started from his seat, and with diffi- canopied with the thunder-cloud, spread itself before
culty tottering to a splendid sideboard laden with every him; and ever and anon in the stillness of that night
sort of intoxicating stimulus, filled a cup of wine, and “curses not loud but deep” rose from its mysterious
druined it to the bottom. The dark eye of the Italian womb with the sudden dash of the waves that fling
Bashed with malevolence as passing his eye from Morii- | fragments of the wreck on shore, and seem to say, “ this
mer to his hand, he remarked the ghastliness of the one, is all our rapacity has spared;" and forms rising from
and the success awaiting him in the other.
its mysterious darkness singled him alone from thou-
“Come, Mr. Mortimer," he said hypocritically, " the sands of the trembling and the guilty for their frown and
cards wait us; such moments as these are precious; I reproach, but louder far “than this, than these, than
swear they might give or lose us fortune."
all" rose the deep unbending voice of conscience, whose
“Stay yet a moment,” rejoined Mortimer, as he warnings pealed on him like the last trump upon the
grasped for support the sideboard, and passed his hand
guilty, and whose dusky images of horror seemed to
across bis forehead, whence flowed the hot and clammy | clothe themselves in that " palpable darkness" which
drops of perspiration ; “stay but a moment”-and Omnipotence spread over the land of its denunciations.
dropping his voice" soon, too soon, I will be yours.” He felt himself a Cain, a wanderer, though his brow
He tottered toward the table, seizing his cards, read his shrunk not with the brand of murderer; universal law of
fate. They dropped from his hands, and clasping them outlawry was realized in the shame which prevented him
to his face, he muttered “ruin-disgrace for ever. seeking the shelter even of his own walls. And then
"It is but chance," exclaimed Alessandro.
his wife and child. How could he meet in the anguish
" It is a damned conspiracy,” roared Edwin, start- of his disgrace and abasement her whom he had sworn
ing to his feet, his eyes flashing preternatural glare, || before his God to cherish in honor and obedience, her
his whole frame distended, and his arm raised me whom the familiarity and intercourse enjoined by the
nacingly at the Italian--"it is a damned conspiracy, | nuptial tie should have made participant of his joys and
and you the traitor; you, whose words have seduced me sorrows? How could he look on her whom he had
to this, have blasted and beggared me for ever; you known ministered to by wealth and luxury now penni-
you-damned villain "--and as he spoke, clenching his less, perhaps houseless, and worse-degraded ; and as
hand across the table, he felled the Italian to the ground. Conscience plied her task, his mind rapidly passed from
The latter was up on the instant, and with his hand on Isabel to that innocent and young existence whoso ir-
his sword, had it half-drawn to avenge the blow, when, fant lips could scarcely falter“ father," whose stream of
parties from the other tables attracted by the violence life rising in sunshine and tranquillity, was so soon to be
of Mortimer, rushing forward, interposed.
darkened by the clouds, and swept by the tempest.
"It is needless now, sir,” said Alessandro, to demand These-these were the images which goaded him, and
explanation for this. If you were not content to lose, as the icy thought of suicide shot through his mind, and
you should not have exposed yourself to the chances of the thrilled to his very core, clasping his hands, and kneel-
game. I have won, and by the heaven above us, the debting on the cold damp stone, he prayed to that power
shall be paid, or "-he checked himself. The crafty man which seeeth in secret, that if he must drain this cup of
sought rot the life of Mortimer, for through its bags| misery and bitterness, the penalty might lie with him in
gard continuance could he hope to avenge the wrong he his grave, and not extend itself to his wife and child
had sustained from Isabel, and assert the power suc- As he was rising from his knees, trembling and infirm,
cessful vengeance gave him. “Do you dispute the one of the patroles of the night approached him. The
debt," exclaimed the Italian, fixing his keen eye on Mor-wretched man could but uiter-"Water-one drop, for
timer, and his hand resting on his half-drawn sword. God's sake. I'm famishing - famishing." It was
“ Devil--devil, I will pay thee all, retorted Mortimer, I brought to him, he drained it. His burning fever was
were it with my blood. But I will have drop for drop." || abated, but cold leaden drops stood on his brow. That
And as they guzed menacingly at each other, their forms brow! how changed. That high intellectual front now


THE GA MESTER.
169
a prey to the debasing thoughts of disgrace and self- | To this she clung with the ardor of a wife. What
ruin, the veins swollen like cords, and the palpitation of will not woman dare in the hour of danger? With the
fever throbbing in his temples; that face whose fea- desperation of the sinking crew she will cling to the
tures once wore the noble impress of thought and refine-shattered raft, till the tempest whelms, or steers it into
ment, haggard and furrowed with the finger of despairi port. Already had that once happy fireside been devo-
and all the work of a temptation which resolution could ted, the young and beautiful mother marked for the
have resisted, and a moment's better judgment conquer- stripes of affliction, and that sleeping infant thoughtless
ed and despised.
and innocent, doomed to orphanage, ere yet it could
But all the horrors of his situation seemed insignifi-| well pronounce the author of its existence.
cant to his honorable and sensitive mind, when he re- | We return to Mortimer. The shades of night wore
collected that he was in the power of a remorseless ene- rapidly passing away, and the cold and dewy dawn suc-
my, and worse, that though he had lost all his fortune, ceeded. A wanderer indeed; he had an home, but ho
he was still his debtor to a large amount. Whence was dared not look on it again, and he felt its doors doubly
be to derive the means of this liquidation. He was barred against him, from the fearful resolution of crime
asbamed to demand assistance from his family, as such he had adopted. This day wus to decide his fate, and
an event would avow the course he had pursued. He the morning-sun which seemed to gladden those he met,
bad pledged himself to liquidate that obligation, and recalled to him only the dark and dismal images of de-
thoogh a challenge should succeed, he was determined spair and crime. With a mind sensitive and honorable,
as a man of honor to observe it. Yet means could be ob he felt he could not challenge the Italian till the liqui-
tained but from one source. Oh! how imperceptible dution of the debt, and this he was determined on ac-
the gradations of vice. That source was-Forgery. complishing.,
Yes, Edwin Mortimer, the proud, the high-born, the As the day advanced, he retired to an hotel, and
wealthy, was now approaching the goal of crime. | drew the check for the required amount. It was drawn
He saw the terrors of the prison, the grim and in the name of a wealthy merchant, with whose signa-
spectral forms of incarcerated crime, he heard the ture, from the associations of business, he was well, too
midnight moan of remorse, the vain and futile prayer well acquainted. It was honored, and the proceeds
that the bonds might be loosed, and the criminal libe-transmitted to the Italian with the accompanying lines :
rated to light and life ; but all were inadequate to deter U “Had I demanded satisfaction for the irreparable
him from his resolution as long as the Italian was his wrong you have done me, before I had discharged the
enemy, and debt, galling debt, left him in his power, 1 debt, a paltry and malignant mind might have charged
and at the hazard of crime and the exposure of the pri me with a desire to evade the latter. Enclosed you
son, he determined to liberate himself from those bonds will find the amount of my losses (I cannot term them
whose "iron had already entered his soul."
debts of honor) and deeming myself relieved from any
That long and sleepless night, as the young mother feelings of conventional delicacy, demand that meeting
hung over her innocent babe, whose peaceful dreams which is due to me as a ruined man, husband, and fa-
fearfully contrasted with her own fears and bodings, ther. Deny me a fair and open encounter, and you may
who can portray the agony with which the straining ear yet fall by the assassin; for, by the world, my ruin shall
through the grave-like silence of the night, hung on every be answered by your blood."
MORTIMER.
sound, endeavoring to construe it into the footsteps of The billet was despatched, and his feelings were
the ill-fated and expected Mortimer? Who can speak comparatively lightened; he was determined to abide
the yearning of that mother's breast as she watched her the probable discovery and exposure of his crime, but
bahe, pondering on its embryo fate whether for good or cared not, if first, the Italian (the instigator of it) fell
ill, and longed to disenthrall her own mind among those by his hand.
fair and ideal regions whither it was borne on the wings. But the Italian was too subtle for the honorable, high-
of its own innocent dreamings ? And as she turned minded Mortimer; when he received the money and the
from the fairy speculations which beguiled her infant's challenge, he guessed the criminal source from which
sleeping moments to the destiny of gloom and danger the former was derived; and anticipating the course of
which she presaged for her husband, she felt the exqui- the law, felt that the apprehension of Mortimer would
site truth of the psalmist's exclamation amid the cares prevent their meeting.
and fever of life, “ Oh! that I had wings like a dove, for After an absence of įwo days, the wretched man
then would I flee away and be at rest.”
sought his home. But "the wretched have no home."
Long and sleepless was that night to Isabel, while The tender caresses of a wife are vainly lavished on one
her anxious mind revolved a thousand excuses for his whose heart has forgotten the throb of domestic associa-
absence, which fear, and the recollection of his demea. tions, her voice that once was music, falls with a dull
nor disenchanted as soon as they were formed. Could and listless sound on the blunt and deafened ear, and
he have forgotten her, or exchanged her for the arms of the sportive gambols of the thoughtless babe are grace-
another? Her own innocence and fidelity spurned the less and unnatural to him whose retrospections turn not
suggestion. Could he have been snared in the threats to the innocence of his early days, but the guilt of his
which were denounced in the anonymous letter! He more advanced years.
might. But how to discover the agent, or the extent of Such were the feelings with which he entered that
the injury baffled her ingenuity. He might yet be saved. || home! Isabel, weak with anxiety and watching, shriek.
21


170
THE GA MESTER.
ed as she gazed on the wreck which a few short hours been staked, and lost-lost-lost. Not a penny to buy
had made of him, whose presence was once light and this infant's meal, or shield his mother from want."
happiness to her. “My wife,” he cried, as she clung! The fearful disclosure was made, and only seemed to
to him, his utterance choked, and his breast heaving develope one still more fatal. The letter flashed on Isa-
with violence ;-"I am a wretch, no more worthy of bel's mind. That letter which she had slighted, and
your care. I have ruined you-and-that-child." He whose disclosure, had it been earlier made, might have
sank upon the sofa, and buried his face in his hands. developed the whole conspiracy. Slie ran to her escri-
“Tell me that you love me still,” rejoined Isabel," and toire, and taking out the letter handed it to Edwin.
I forgive you all. Whatever be your lot, I will sharel “Forgive me, my husband," she said. " that I have
it; labor-shame."
| not shown it before, my love, to you, and sense of my
“No-no-not that," exclaimed Mortimer, convuls- own honor have hitherto slighted it."
edly starting from his seat; I could bear any doom He read it-looked on it minutely, read it again.
save that. - Wretch that I am, I have dug my own His frame trembled with rage, and his eyes glowed
grave, there let me lie; I will not drag thee down with with a wild unnatural light. He stamped, gnashed his
me; I would not have thee, Isabel, shed one tear upon teeth, and was about to trample on it.
my cold and withered sod."
“No, no,” he said. “It is too precious to be torn.
“Talk not of death,” cried the fond wife, clinging to
I will keep it as a witness to his face. Confront him
with his d- d and treacherous offspring. Oh! that
him more earnestly, “ you are young--you have ties to
live for you are a husband--a father.” As she spoke
the tortures of Eternity were in my power, he should feel
them."
she raised her infant to him. The wretched man looked
"Is it then true?" asked Isabel, her fears almost
on it for a moment, and snatching it from her, kissed
proving the futility of the question.
and wept upon it.
“Blood-blood," was the only answer she received,
“ Yes," he said, after a pause, looking on it fond-
as with clenched hands, and rolling eyes, his imagina.
ly, and speaking with difficulty through his tears; “I
tion revelled in revenge on his enemy. “Ruined in for-
must shortly leave thee-leave thee, my child-even
tune, and the honor of my wife attempted at the same
now when thy tender years demand my care. But thy
blow," he muttered to himself; “ Mortimer-Mortimer,
mother will be good and kind to thee--she will watch |
the scaffold were a relief to this."
over, and pray for thee-pray--that thou mayest not re-
As he paced the room with hurried steps, the last
semble thy sire. Oh! God," he continued wildly,“that
sentence fell on Isabel with a distinct and paralyzing
my curse should blight thee also, and that men should
power. “Oh! Edwin,' she cried, “for the sake of
point at thee as the son of " His voice “stuck in
that God, who afflicts, and who in his own good time
his throat' as he mused on the epithet which public opin-
will relieve, yield not to these horrid thoughts. If you
ion might award him. He tottered to the wall for sup-
| have been unfortunate, you are not yet a criminal."
port, his arms still clasping the boy, and his lips fondly
Alas! he was. His crime had been forgotten in the
pressed to his cheek. “Beggary--beggary," muttered
agony of this domestic scene; but that one word vibra-
the wretched father as he buried his face in the clothing
ted on the sleeping chord of memory.
of the child.
“Ha! he exclaimed wildly, his blood-shot eyes fierce-
" Then all can be retrieved," said the affection ly turned on Isabel; “My wife-my wife an accuser too.
ale wife; “what is love, if its light shine not as a
not as God-oh! God. This is too much.” Mortimer fell
sleadily on sorrow and suffering, as on the treacherous consele
ing, as on the treacherous | senseless to the ground.
and gilded scenes of its festivity and happiness? Alli Alessandro, as we have said, allowed the challenge to
is not lost," she continued, her tears vanishing in the slumber, in the anticipation of the prevention of the
smiling expression of a virtuous mind; “It is but a law. His malignant hopes were soon to be grati-
change of fortune. The education which was given me fied, the husband was to be in his power, and he
to please and adorn, will answer a nobler end if it can regarded with certainty the submission of the wife
be made useful, Edwin," she continued, approaching to his abandoned will. One morning his eye casually
him, and embracing father and child; "we cannot glanced at the following paragraph in the public paper.
want; it is but a few privations; we must live more
live more “ We understand that the discharge of a heavy gambling
humbly, and trust to our own exertions. The God who
debt, has urged a gentleman of high birth and standing
left not the widow's cruet of oil empty, will not desert
to the crime of Forgery. As the matter is in course of
us in the hour of want, if, like her, we trust in Him."
investigation, we forbear mentioning the object of gene-
How strongly contrasted are the characters of the sex- ral suspicion, as well from fear of wounding the feel-
es in the hour of affliction! How true, though paradoxi- ings of those connected with him, as from unwillingness
cal it may appear, that the stronger turns for support to to prejudice the public mind.”
the weaker, and that the fears and apprehensions of “Lost! lost!" exclaimed the Italian, as he dashed
man seek relief in the composure and firmness of woman. away the paper with a malignant smile; “now she
So.was it now.,
must be mine!"
“No-no, it cannot be," he murmured. Isabel, hear) But “there's a Divinity which shapes our onds, rough
me. I am a gambler-aye, a high and desperate gam- hew them as we will." The blow which he had medi-
bler. Yours, mine, and this child's fortunes have all tated for others, was to recoil on himseif, and, like the


THE GAMESTER,
171
wicked in Scripture," he fell into the snare he had laid ever-living protecting parent, watching and regarding
for others.”
him. As he gazed on him, it was this sensation, which,
So great the paroxysm of excitement under which like a ray through mist, even gladdened his sorrow; he
Mortimer labored during the scene we have endeavored felt that he could not long survive these accumulated
to describe, that it required fully the interval of a day struggles, and that when gone he might claim for his
to restore the equilibrium of his mind. He gradually child as a parent, that power which said—“Suffer little
revived, as from a hideous dream, in which the recol. | children to come unto me."
lections of the past, and fears of the future moulded As he was fondling his child, his eye casually rosted
themselves into distorted shapes. He lay still extended on the sunset. The image bore a melancholy analogy
on the sofa, to which his affectionate wife removed, and to himself, drawing toward the West of his own life in
by which she ceaselessly watched him, while the gay | the vigor and promise of his youth.
and thoughtless child was playing with the tangled locks
locks || “Look on that glorious orb,” he cried with a holy
of that father's hair. Little did it think what a tever- l enthusiasm : "ineffably bright even in its decline. Looks
ish brow they covered!
it not rather like a giant ready to run his course,' than
She had with difficulty prevailed on him to lenve the
one whose career is past, and whose light and warmth
sofa, and draw nearer to the window, in hopes the
have, as it were, girded the world? How like a god it
breeze of a summer-eve might revive his debilitated
looks, clothed in its drapery of heaven-dyed clouds, the
frame. His face was pale and languid, his hair, once
vast expanse of its illuminated sphere for its throne, che
elastic and curly, hung upon that ashy brow like the
mountain-top for its footstool, and the blended hues of
willow branch entwining the stem, and there was a wild,
its own declining light the gems which glitter in its
unsteady gaze, whose fitful light, like the expiring flame
crown."
in the socket, shot fortb, as it were, for the moment to
illume the darkness of the shattered and declining mind.
He paused, steadfastly gazing on the object which
He spoke, but it was incoherently, and like one who
excited his admiration, the tears started from his eyes,
seemed to exhaust in vain all his mental efforts in the
and rapidly covrsed down his cheek, he raised his hand
recollection of some past misfortune, and expedients for
to dash them aside, it was palsied and tremulous. Ho
the resistance of a future one.
turned to his wife, she was in tears, he seized her hand
The affectionate wife removed the tea-equipage to the
and pressing it in his, said:
window, which commanded an expansive prospect of ll “I cannot long be with you, Isabel, I feel a heavy
the glories of the expiring day, and her mind, like that boding of the mind which warns me I shall not long
of her sex, fruitful in the resources of its love, was as. | look here below on the light of that sun. God in Hea-
saying every topic which might divert his mind from ven bless you and our child, and give you forgiveness
the thoughts which oppressed it. His child was at his for my crimes."
feet: he seized it, and ardently pressing it to his heart, The sentence was scarcely uttered, when the door
“ lifted up his voice and wept." The load was removed, I was hastily opened. and two men entered. “Ha! they
nature had relieved herself.
come-they come !" cried Mortimer, as he heard the
“God bless thee, child-uvhappy child! Thy Father scream of his wife ; and starting from his seat with a
in Heaven will bless thee, for he on earth is unworthy, momentary paroxysm of strength, and raising his hand
of thee."
as though to strike at some invisible object, dashed him-
The effort, though it partially restored his mind, yet self aguinst the wall. There was a long pause. The
weakened the physical, and his voice died on the in- men hesitated what to do, and with that instinctive deli.
fant's bosom broken and faltering. He raised his head cacy demanded by the presence of a woman, forbore the
again; there was oomething in that child which seemed exercise of that violence authorized by their calling.
10 re-unite the broken chain which had bound him to Isabel had sunk upon her chair, faint and exhausted;
external objects. It was the instinct of a parent's heart, and the child, using various epithets of endearment, ran
whose feelings expand with the stream of life which from one parent to the other, alternately caressing them,
emanates from it, which rejoices in the prospect of its and weeping, when with the instinct of a child, it ap-
honors and success, or weeps in silence over the guilt prehended danger to those it loved.
and temptations to which it exposes innocence. There | “You will excuse os, sir," said one of the men, en-
was one other thought which made his heart still more deavoring to soften a voice naturally coarse, and render-
closely yearn to that child, and which added a linge of ed more so by habits of association; “but the duty en-
melancholy pleasure to his feelings. It was this : it had joined in this paper must be fulfilled;" at the same time
been bis custom, when his own heart was innocent as the he exhibited the authority by which he acted.
babe be clasped, to inculcate those general principles of “I am at your mercy—unguarded-weaponless. Ye
a superior and parental power, through the intelligible are men, perhaps, husbands," continued Mortimer, as
ralation of father, which in the vicissitudes and cares of his eyes alternately passed from his senseless wife to
after-life, are the only true source of comfort and sup. i the unconscious child, which looked round in vacancy
port. He had watched with pleasure the expanding on all. “But one moment, and I will follow ye;" and
intelligence of its mind, and the eagerness with which rushing to the feet of Isabel, he seized her hand and
the child grasped and embraced, that though death pressed it to his lips. “My wife, forgive me for the sake
might remove the visible ties of life, there was still one of that God whose pardon you hope for hereafter. I


172
THE GA MESTER.
have not told ye all. Let this last farewell be one of regards the humiliation of prayer, or the bitterness of
truth--I have made a beggar of you. That is not all- anguish.
I am-a-forger!"
" With one desperate effort, Mortimer was on his feet,
It was with difficulty that he pronounced the final and an expression of frenzy distorted his features as,
word, at which the servitors of the law mutually ex-' clasping his wife firmly to his breast, he looked alter-
changed significant glances.
nately from her to the Italian. The past rusbed on
“ Blot that word that hideous word!” faintly mur-, Mortimer with the strength and desolation of a torrent.
mured Isabel, as she started from a dream whose image The villain who had beggared him, who, perhaps, was
derived its hue and shape from that one word "Blot foremost in his present apprehension, and whose career
it out. Ho is not, cannot be—".
of guilt derived its climax from the rain attempt upon
"A forger-forger !” responded the husband, his Isabello honor; he-be was before him.
voice faintly escaping through his hands which covered i “Save me, dear Edwin, save me!" cried Isabel, as
his face, giving a dull and sullen echo.
! she recognized in the anonymous correspondent tbe lta-
" Who-what-are these ?” cried Isabel, as confu-' lian, and her mind in a moment swept through the cause
sedly she regarded the men. They were silent; they' and the progressive stages of revenge. "Save me, his
felt (lhe hardest must sometimes feel) the anguish of eye is on me
the scene, and that imperative duty would only dese." The Italian endeavored to approach to part them, but
crate the feelings it exbibited. The answered not. / a shriek from Isabel seemed to paralyze him.
and the wretched wife, confused amid the images which' “Ha! ha!” exclaimed Mortimer, with an hysteric
haunted her, could only lear from the prostrate form at
mar laugh, “The letter--the letter-my wife- her honor!"
her feet :
He muttered incoherently as endeavoring to single out
one thought from the mass which pressed on him. He
"My keepers--they have laid my straw in the prison.
1 thrust his hand into bis bosom, and tore it forth crusbed
Chaing-chains ! Oh! God-mercy!” he continued,
and mutilated. “Ha! 'tis here! a black and damning
starting to his feet, and kneeling, his hands firmly lock.
il witness. Traitor, look on this !"
ed in that agony of praver, when we feel our own infir-
As he spoke, one desperate spring brought him to the
mity and the want of the assistance we implore. Lolian and the latter was quivering in his locked grasp.
“ Mercy-but it is too late-my doom has gone forth.
From the sudden violence of the assault, Alessandro
The eleventh hour has come. Take me-bind me!"
'lost his balance and fell to the floor, from which he was
and he held forth his hands as in the imaginary process
partly raised by his own hand and the gripe of his ad-
of receiving manacles.
versary. His eyes were swollen from the tightness of
There are few hearis so callous, either by nature or Mortimer's grasp, and as they were turned toward him,
circumstance, as to disavow the appeal of feeling. My their natural brightness was dimmed with ſear.
thology has represented “ Iron tears," as standing on “Will ye not save me?" uttered the wretched man,
Pluto's cheek, when the scenes of guilt and agony, not as he writhed in the grasp of one rendered mad by rage
to be repented of, which he must have witnessed as and suffering.
monarch of those gloomy regions, might have dammed, “Save thee?" reiterated Mortimer, sternly gazing on
up every avenue to pity; and these men, whose vocation him. “Save thee! hast thou in thine hour spared
is proverbial for its indurating influence, stood motion. father, mother or child, and how can'st thou ask for
less and hesitating, as in silence they sympathized with 'mercr. I tell thee thou art in the grasp of a madman, and
the distress they came but to aggravate.
'thou hast made me so. Ruined-penniless-my wife
As they stood thus, a voice of thunder issued from the dishonored-my child a- Wretch! wretch! am I not
stair.case: “Why loiter ye ihus, ye knares? Seize" a father still. But now I will let thee linger-linger.
him!” and with the speed of lightning Alessandro rush. The tiger crouches ere he springs ;" and rajsing Ales-
ed into the room, his eyes glaring with malignity, and sandro with violence he dashed him to the ground, still
his finger sternly pointed to his victim. It was a group standing over bim.
for the pencil. The noble tigure of the Italian, proud The Italian quickly rose, and measuring him sternly
and erect in the consciousness of malignant triumph, from head to foot, drew his sword, and motioned the
indicating the victim whose prostration seemed a silent men to seize him. But they dared not approach ; they
acknowledgment of defeat, and the hue of his swarthy knew their danger-his mind was unstrung and the vie-
countenance, typical of the dark passions that beat with-i tim of a momentary madness.
in his breast; the writhing attitude of Mortimer, as!“Ha! weapons and have I pone?" shouted Morti-
with pale and severed lips he gazed witheringly on mer. “Now by Heaven your doom is fixed, if we both
Alessandro, struggling vainly with the weakness which die for it.”
chained him to the ground; and the frail form of the In a moment he closed with Alessardro, and, the
wife, as she recognized in the Italian the personation of fears of the latter operating in his favor, speedily dis-
revenge, and rushed for protection to the weak and armed him. It was but the work of a second, and the
trembling husband.
sword quivered in the bosom of the Italian. He fell
"Slaves !" reiterated the Italian, “ seize him!” As with a heavy crash-the sword dropped from Morti-
he spoke his full and piercing eye fell on the crouching mer's hand, his eyes became glassy as he sense-
Isabel, with that coldness with which a marble statue lessly gazed upon the corpse, his head sank upon his


AUTUMN RHAPSODIES.
173
breast, and his whole countenance relaxed into a gaze
Original.
of vacancy. He was unconscious of all around bim,
AUTUMN RHAPSODIES.
even of the voice of his wife, as she implored him to
kneel with her and ask forgiveness. He continued still There are times and seasons in this life of our's,
to look on the corpse, and with a laugh, painful from its | which dispose the mind to revive impressions of sad-
associations and vacancy, exclaimed:
ness. The hour of twilight brings with it a soothing
“Ha! ha! A forger! A murderer!"
and melancholy-the last fading ray of sunlight, the
The smile vanished; a cold shudder seemed to vibratedim
dim outline of surrounding objects, the gradual transi-
through his frame, and toars flowed plentifully. Mor-
tion from light to darkness, soien the heart, opening it
timer was an idiot!
to all sweet and tender emotions. Love and memory
summon up the spirits of hopes long faded; the sha-
dowy forms of the absent and the dead gather around
Original
us; familiar tones long hushed come mingling with the
THE SYBIL.
low voice of the wind to our ears. Then, 100, we dream
of the future—we sigh for immortality, and breathe
My brow is calm, and my heart is ohill,
forth aspirations for the arrival of that day which knows
And my spirit is far away-
no night.
Oh! that it swelled in brightness still,
The season of “the sear and yellow leaf" is fitted to
As in childhood's early day!
awaken thoughts of sorrow. Autumn is the twilight of
Oh, I would wish to sport again
the year; the rich glow of summer is mellowed into the
In the infant's world of flowers--
soft lint which betokens the dissolution of nature, and
And forget the lore that burns my brain,
her loveliest productions disappear from our view leav-
In life's first cloudless hours !
ing us to grieve, that objects round which the delicate
tendrils of affection have learned to twine, must fade
My faded brow, in the cool clear stream,
and wither and pass away to be forgotten. It is painful
My fevered lip I would lave, -
to be so reminded that within the bright forms wbich
And sleep in the light of the changeful gleam,
glide about our pathway, as well as in the flowers that
Where the deep green forest's wave;
A spring up beneath our footsteps, lie concealed the ele-
And wake to the fountain's silvery sound,
ments of decay. We shrink instinctively from looking
That forth from its dark cell played;
upon death, and Nature, as if to tempt us to see it with-
Oh, that my foot could press the ground
out a shudder, has ordered that all her fairest works
Where my joyful childhood strayed !
shall be loveliest in their dissolution. The rays of the
sun are never so rich and varied as when it is about to
But it may not be in the silent night,
leave the world shrouded in darkness and gloom. The
I have watched the stars alone,
forest puts off its modest drapery of green, and assumes
And rose, in my spirit of pride and might,
a robe of scarlet and gold, just as the principle of life
To world's of glory unknown;
begins to decline. Its brilliance dazzles for a while,
And never dared mortal mind betore
and then fading and falling away, it gives place to the
Even image where mine may roam,
pale shroud of winter.
Yet what have I won, but a burning lore,
There are diseases too, which, while they are sapping
A dark and a desolate home.
the foundations of life, give to the cheek a richer bloom,
and to the eye a brighter lustre. We watch with fond-
Yet quail not, my spirit, go forth, go forth-
ness the increasing beauty of the sufferer, and forget
'Tis a glorious thing to be
that it is nourished by the ministry of that tyrant who
As the viewless winds of the tameless North, adorns but to destroy.
Unbound for ever-and free;
Why is it that all the ties which hold the heart a pri-
To look on the awful page, that unfolds
soner to earth are so frail and perishable, if it be not to
The story of coming years
remind us that this world is not our home? Why is it
To gaze on the secret depth that holds
that we are endowed with such high hopes and glorious
The fountain of human tears.
aspirations after beauty that never fades, if it be not
that a brighter sphere awaits us, filled with glories
'Tis a glorious thing-though the earthly heart
whose lustre time may never dim and beings to whom
May shrink from its promised doom,
love may attach itself without one fear of separation ?
To say to the future-come forth--thou art
“It is well for us that our best pleasures have an
Before me in all thy gloom!
immortality like our own, that the unseen life is but a
My spirit can pierce through the veiling cloud glorification of the sun," that the fountains of sympathy
To space and to time unknown,
which are opened here, will gush forth unrestrained in
Away from me, children of earth! I am proud eternity.
To be thus and for ever alone.
s. 8. T.
LESLIE. Albany, 1838.


174
A SKETCH OF THE POETICAL CHARACTER,
"
Original.
charity; which to those engaged in such pursuils is found
A RAMBLING SKETCH or
needed much by almost every one. Jealousy and Rival.
THE POETICAL CHARACTER."
ry so assimilate, that I make use of the terms alter-
nately to express the same sense. Rivalry is the en.
deavor to kick away every obstacle which will retard
BY SAMUEL F. GLENN.
interest in a selfish heart. I have said that it existed
(ERRATTA.-The Latin scholar has himself, doubtless, supplied
nation against nation-I will illustrate this. The Edin.
the omission in the quotation from Horace, in Chapter 1. It
should read :
American Poetry, collected into book form by a Dublin
Ingenium cui sit, cui mens divinior, atque os
Magna sonaturum, des nominis hujus honorem.
publisher, ihus mentions our favorite poetess :
“Praise," in the poetical paragraph connected with it should
have been printed "phrase." There are several minor errors,
“ Passing over the poems of Lydia Sigourney, which,
which, very probably, the intelligent reador perceived and though pleasing and breathing a fine strain of devotion-
corrected as he proceeded.)
al feeling, are not peculiarly striking, we come to the
following," etc.
CHAPTER III.
Yet this article abounds in extracts and in praise of
"' 'Tis yours to climb the craggy steep
almost every other American poet!
Where learning's laurels bloom :
Your upward, onward, course to keep
| And why is this? Is the Reviewer candid? Or
And gild life's transient gloom!"
does he not wish to introduce a name commensurate in
“The fiddlers trembled as they looked around,
genius with their almost worshiped Mrs. Hemans !
For fear of some false notes detected flow."
BYRON'S BEPPO.
Depth of thought exists at leastin equal extent in Mrs. Si-
gourney's productions. Then why fill their periodicals
JEALOUSY among themselves is one of the great cha- with incessant praise of Mrs. Hemans, and express
racteristics of genus irritabile vatum. Who fails not themselves thus of Mrs. Sigourney? Were they fear-
sometimes in his purpose? One may be gifted with ful that equality, ave! superiority, might be discerned
strong intellect, yet, from want of polish, his produce over their own gified poetess? Perhaps the critic bas
tions exhibit a coarseness repugnant to the delicale sen- changed his opinion since he wrote, (1835.) In early boy-
sibilities of the fastidious; who themselves may place hood I read a piece from the pen of Mrs Sigourney, which
on paper all the graces of their language without one all the poetry of Mrs. Hemans', read long after, bas
striking thought. When these two requisites of thought | failed to erase from memory or to please me as much.
and language are combined, as they are in E. L. Bul. These ten or twelve lines will be impressed upon my mind
wer, they call forth that applause which, par exemple, when oblivion has buried all that Mre. Hemans has gra.
he now enjoys. Walter Scott's works, and especially tified me with, for Mrs. Sigourney delighted the imagi-
his letters, are much inferior to the elegant but some nation while she instructed the sense. I will be under-
times redundant paragraphs of Bulwer's writings. | stood and pardoned in this digression, I know by every
These remarks apply more to the prose department reader of this periodical. I cannot refrain from offer-
of literature than to the poetical; but I note them as ing this little tribute of gratitude to exalted genius, for
evincing proofs relative to both. But when the style of it was those few lines which imbued me with a taste for
an author cannot be well attacked, grammatical errors poetry-for that reading which has beguiled gloom of
are made the points. They have been shown occasionally her cloud for years. But to continue. This prejudice
in Bulwer's volumes, and who that writes fast and thinks ought to be crushed in the bud. It is the unnatural
more of the substance than the shadow, does not com- feeling which a grovelling mind maintains for superiori-
mit this fault? A Reviewer lately dissected an Essay, ty. There is no trace of nobility in it. How can the ad.
written by the leading Professor of one of our most vanced in literature expect to see perpetuated the lessons
distinguished Universities, and shewed the want of atten- which they have introduced if the productions of our
tion to the rules of grammar in severa! instances. These youthful writers are at the onset met with such opposition.
were in an abstruse Essay: penned, then publicly read and Absolutely the reader is sickened by the shafts of criti-
afterwards printed. I would not be thought advocating cism thrown remorseless in a thousand methods. Hard-
such transgressions by any means, and when criticised ac ly a primmer can be issued from the press, but will be
cording to their merit, no one will doubt the utility, but let attacked on some grounds in this age of critics. If
those who are ready to throw their lances on such oc- nothing else will avail, some untiring gentleman will sit
casions reflect first whether it is a matter worthy their down, take a new work, and if the plot is new therefore
occupation: whether the mountain is not a mole-hill. cannot be scotched: if originality is evident, and no
To be querulous about such trifling errors, betray charge of plagiarism can be made, why, forsovih. be
more of the pedant than the genius. Rivalry is a hard, copies a careless paragraph, sentence or word and gives
obstinate enemy to conquer. It exists in literature, the author notoriety through the columns of a nerspa-
nation against nation-state against state-city against per, if the review does not suit the dignity of a maga.
city and in corporate bodies. Jealousy is an evil zine. These things have been done lately. Was all
which often corrupts the social feelings and raises others perfect which was written by Shakspeare, Milton or the
obnoxious to generosity: devoid alike of dignity and of whole galaxy of talent which came after them? Esa.
mine their works as a whole! We know that it is difficult
- Continued from pago 123.
to distinguish motes in the sun, but then why so ready


A SKETCH OF THE POETICAL CHARACTER.
175
to perceive spots so soon in twinkling stars ? Away | ledge of its origin should lead us to contemn it. But
with such puerile susceptibility, and while medio- the missile used often assumes the form of ridicule.
crity and ripening genius are perceptible, culture it; Should any one surrender his own judgment in favor of
not by the blasting force of harsh criticism, which, like another as fallible as himself and the objects and mo-
a venomed dart, brought Shelley to an early grave, but tives of whom he cannot understand? They ridicule
by generously pointing out the defects and giving due who cannot reason. The panacea for this might be
justice to the aspirart, who should he have to encounter found in the French motto - Rira bien qui rira
it, would do well to study Crabbe's life, and also remem- ! le dernier."
ber as a salvo that
CHAPTER IV.
“He that writes,
Or makes a feast, more certainly intites
PLAGIARISM has always been, and is now, deemed
His judges than his friends; there's not a guest
But will find something wanting, or ill drest.”
by many the most obnoxious sin which an author, and
As a connective with this subject, I will quote the especially the poetical author, can be guilty of. I would
language of a foreign Review, included in a notice of not make the sweeping declaration that every poet is
Coleridge's Table Talk. It says: “It is remarkable more or less tinged with this act of commission, but I
that so many distinguished poets appear at an early | will make use of Byron's ideas to illustrate that it is so to
period of their lives, to have abandoned for a time the a high degree. Seeing in the Southern Literary Mes.
career into which their genius had led them; and that
genius had led them; and that senger for March, 1838, an article taxing that Poet
a long interval of silence has frequently elapsed between
Lord with this crime in literature, the writer of this
their youthful efforts and the production of their great sketch sent in answer a communication, a part of which
performances on which their fame chiefly rests. * * * he will extract, and which will explain itself. Before
Probably the truth is that a strong poetical tempera-
doing so, he hopes that the impression will not be upon
ment, after giving way at first to its own irresistible the reader's mind that he is one of the devotees to Lord
impulses, subsides often into languor and inactivity, Byron's poetry. Of the eight volumes which glitter
when the judgment, more tardy in its developement, lupon the shelf before him, time has not allowed him
whispers how far all that has already been done falls to read more than two; but who will read those two
short of that ideal model of excellence which early as- containing his “ Childe Harold ” and “ British Bards,"
pirations had framed. True genius is ever distinguish etc., and will rise from their perusal without the impres.
ed by this peculiar craving and seeking after something sion on his mind that the writer was more than ordina.
more elevated than it has been able to attain, or has rily gifted? But to my quotation. In the periodical
been attained by others. It is also too easily discour- mentioned for June, 1838, there appears the following:
aged by such dissappointment; and either falls into in- | “ Byron and Plagiarism."- A writer in the Messenger
activity or turns its energies into a new direction." for March last, quotes Byron and Madame de Stael, and
This reasoning appears to be good, but may we not | places the English bard in no very enviable light, in
add that when the buoyant heart of the aspirant leaps | making use of sentiments of others to attain that fame
within him under the impulse of the divine influence : for which he had an inordinate ambition. In my rea-
when he gives vent to the burden of his soul's treasures ding I have met with the following passages showing his
in the flow of written poetry: when his sensitive heart reasoning on the principle. I will introduce the quota.
is thrice joyed by the praise of the discerning, the kind tions by an extract from his life by Lake, in which it
but the injudicious, he “lisps in numbers” too fast. I will be perceived he takes a broad ground. “Byron
Humanity is not infallible, and all mankind are not his was a great admirer of the Waverly Novels, and never
welccmers into the bowers of poesy. The tender shoot travelled without them.” “They are," said he to Can-
is smitten, not bridled by the check string of advice tain Medwin, one day, “a library in themselves
arising from consonant feelings but with the lash of perfect literary treasure. I could read them once a
satire, and unless the young spirit has strength of mind year with new pleasure." During that morning he had
beyond his years, and like Byron turns and stings the been reading one of Sir Walter Scott's novels, and de-
offender, he falls like poor Shelley and others into the livered, according to Medwin, the following criticism :
abyss of his own wounded sensibility, or else shrinks · How difficult it is to say any thing new! * * *
within himself until maturity will give him that confi- Perhaps all nature and art could not supply a new
dence which to him is life. Walter Scott avers in one idea.'” And in the conversation of an American with
of his letters, that he made it a rule never to read an | Lord Byron," quoted into the London New Monthly
attack upon himself. And in another letter he says he Magazine,* it is said, “He (Byron) allowed frankiv
belongs to the“ black huzzars of literature, who neither that he was indebted to hints of others for some of his
give nor receive criticism.” How well might it be for most esteemed passages in his poetry. “I never," said
the aspirant if a similar resolution was made where the he, “considered myself interdicted from helping my.
source might be deemed malevolent. When a critique self to another man's stray ideas. I have Pope to
is just no one will be so foolish as to imagine that it countenance me in this : “ Solemque quis dicere fal.
will be without benefit; if not to the writer concerned, |sam audeat!” Pope was a great hunter up of grains
at least to the observant reader. But when we have rea- \ of wheat in bushels of chaff; but I have been no more
son to think that it does proceed from ill personal feel-
ing, arising from rivalry or any other cause, the know. See Littell's Museum for December, 1835.


176
WHERE IS THE MORN?
scrupulous than he in making use of whatever fell in my to those of him of Avon, and quotes many splendid pas-
way. Mankind has been writing books so long, that sages to prove it. I say that I should liked to have in-
an author may be excused for offering no thoughts abo Iroduced a plea in its behalf, but what avail would my
solutely new. We must select and call that invention. feeble pen be when it truly is as a popular writer as-
A writer of the present day has hardly any other re- serts, that “the age of the didactic in poetry has pass-
source than to take the thoughts of others and cast ed" passed for the imagery of a Byron-a Southey-
them into new forms of associations and contrast. Pla- a Moore, etc.
giarism, to be sure, is branded of old, but it is never Should any debuttante before the muse, have read
criminal except when done in a clumsy way, like steal me thus far, I would feel my plan accomplished if their
ing among the Spartans. A good thought is often far || resolution to persevere was “doubly resolved." There
better expressed at second hand than at the first utte are fewer incentives to virtue than your paintings, and
rance. If a rich material has fallen into incompetent there are fewer gratifications to be enjoyed than the
hands, it would be the height of injustice to debar pursuit (not paramount) of this Heaven-born taste.
a more skilful artist from taking possession of it and The quicksands on which many have been wrecked be-
working it up. Commend me to a good pilferer-you fore you are pointedly shown, and when you reflect on
may laugh at it as a paradox, but I assure you the most their fallen state, you can avoid it by following a diffe-
original writers are the greatest thieves.'".
rent path in life from theirs and Otway's, with whom
may you never exclaim :
." I submit these extracts without comment, not "I found too long I'd slept, and was too late awake;
I found m' ungrateful Muse, for whose false sake
doubting but that every intelligent reader will admit
I did myself undo
Byron's transcendent poetical genius, notwithstanding
Has robb'd me of my dearest store,
My precious time, my friends, and reputation too;
these frank admissions on his part."
And left me helpless, friendless, very proud, and poor."
But here, to prevent a false construction respecting his
Washington City.
reasons which may influence some readers, we have
Christopher North pleading in extenuation of the same
Original.
principles as Byron. “It is not always essential to WHERE IS THE MORN?
true poetry," he says, “ that it should be original; ge.
nius itself is privileged to draw light from golden urns, Where is the morn, the sunny morn,
which it knows how to make shine on spots that then
The bloom, the dew of earliest hours ?
are for the first time seen invested with a touching beau Where are the hopes, the wishes, born
ty; and a new coloring wheresoever drawn, given to
In Youth's sweet land of flowers ?
familiar thoughts or things, is itself creation.” These
quotations will be of more effect than a whole volume Where is the noon, the glorious noon,
of argument from myself; but I may be permitted to
More splendid from the passing cloud ?
add my own suggestions, and which opinions are simi. Where is Ambition's lofty boon,
lar to those expressed by Lady Blessington in respect
That fired the bold-eyed proud ?
to Byron, when she says he is not aware of the plagia-
ry he commits. This influence on the mind exists more Where is the eve, the gorgeous eve,
or less in every author who reads much. The senti-
Veiling in light its swift decay?
ments partaking with his fancy join the association so Where is the heart that sighed to leave
closely as to blind him to their originality. With the
Life's dear, though darkened way?
same result the musical composer writes his notes with
the sound of others music still ringing in his ear. By The night hath all-silent and calm,
ron, according to Lady Blessington, was a great de-
She gathered to her solemn breast,
vourer of books, and had read more than any man of Youth's faded Aowers, Hope's scentless balm,
his age at his day, and most probably his readings were
And wishes wild to rest.
of the same romantic character which distinguishes his
poetry; therefore his confessions and Lady Blessing. The night hath all-the joy, the lure,
ton's addena.
Ambition's dreams, and dreamers, lie
And now finishes my Ramble. I will let every rea On her cold bosom still secure-
der make his own moral. I may perhaps have omitted
In deep eternity.
many distinctions in the character Poetic, and the cause
for doing so will be seen at the commencement of chap The night hath all the thoughts of age,
ter I. I would liked much to have aided the very few
The wisdom of eve's bright decline,
who acknowledge the didactic feature in “ the art di The pure aspirings of the Sage,
vine"-to have given my little ability to point out the
Oh, night-oh, grave-are thine!
strength which exists in neglected poets and poetesses
forgotten amidst the tinkling of rhyme. Such are the For ever? No-those dull dark cells
works, more particularly of Joanna Bailie, whose talent
Have opened-from on High is given
is of that masculine strength and superiority that an Eng. The star--the holy star, that tells
lish critic pronounces some of her plays hardly inferior | Man's glorious Hope in Heaven !


THE INFIDEL.
177
Original.
the subject nearest to her heart, “can you see nothing
THE INFIDEL.
in the touching serenity and beauty of this Summer
night to awaken a doubt as to the correctness of your
BY $. B. BECKETT.
course. Look abroad!"--and her pale features glow-
ed with the enthusiasm which the sublimity of her sub-
* Alae, our young affections run to waste,
ject awakened, "look around you! Je it possible that
Or water but the desert, whence ariee
you can see nothing to shake that terrible belief! What
But weeds of dark luxuriance--tares of haste
Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyos
caused yonder tall pines to spring up, as it were, from
Flowers whose wild odors breathe but agouies,
nought, and darken the land with their presence?-
And trees whose gums are poison! Such the plants
That spring beneath her steps, as passion flies
Whence came the wind that breathes its wild, thrilling
O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants
For something unrenewed-forbidden to our wants!"
symphonies through their branches ? Who carpeted
CHILDE HAROLD. || the land with the velvet grass, and flung abroad, over
hill-side and valley, 'mid the wilderness and the solitary
"Tørs is like my own generous Bell, once more to place, by the high way and by the stream, the fairy
give me an opportunity of justifying myself,” said Mau- wild flowers, to gladúen us with their fragrance and
dant, advancing to meet her. “I anticipated the time, beauty? Who poured out the still-gliding waters to
and have waited, till in my impatience I almost thought meander through the vale and by the dark cliff? Look
you bad forgotten your promiso.”
above you, Charles, in the dim and majestic sky?
"Charles," said the beautiful girl, while the tears Who sustains those ponderous bodies now lighted up in
which she in vain endeavored to repress, glittered in the darkness-guides them and drives them onward, a
ber eye, "call me not by any endearing epithet --ad-countless number, through the illimitable wastes of
dress me as though we had never before met; for as space? Could all these won'lerſul objects have emana-
strangers, I fear, we must look upon each other in fu ted from nought? What answers your better judg-
ture. Our last unhappy interview, I meant should be inent? You must be convinced. I know that in your
our very last-and I have yielded again to your solici- | present state of belief you are far from being happy. It
tations only that I might have an opportunity of once is a gloomy creed. Return to your allegiance to the
more trying to prevail upon you to abandon those fear- Ruler of all things, and happiness will again smile on
ful sentiments, holding to which you impune the charac- l you-He will be to you as the shadow of a great rock
ter of the Omnipotent!"
in a weary land!'"
"Why will you, Bell, vex me by such idle talk?" | A moment Maudant remained silent, gazing with as-
replied Maudant. “I sought you not to discuss the tonishment on the impassioned and beautiful preacher.
merits of different creeds, but with the hope of inducing “Almost thou pursuadest me, Bell," he at length
you to fulfil your vows, long ago made on this fairy said. “I have listened 'til I was wearied, to the great
spor."
men of our land, on this subject,--those who bear away
" Relinquish infidelity,” said she, fixing her large the palm in the arena of public debate--who are styled
blue eyes upon him, "and I will follow you to the end, captains in the army of salvation, but they preach not
of the earth! But never--never! will I become the as you preach. Almost thou pursuadest me. But can
wife of an infidel!"
1, having once broken the yoke, bow my neck to it
A silence of a moment ensued, when she continued, | again? I might feign to believe, while in my heart I
“O, Maudant, why did you let your better reason abhorred the sophistry, and such a course, honor forbids
abandon its watch over the citadel of the heart, and me to adopt."
thus let in the enemy? Why did you listen to the Syren “It is even so, then; the wide world with all its
song of the destroyer, and by so doing involve the hap- beauty and sublimity, hath never a voice nor a feature
piness of one devoted heart at least, in your own ruin?" to awaken in your heart sentiments of adoration to
"You mistake me, Bell-you utterly misrepresent the Ruler of the universe. You were not wont to be
me," said he, impatiently, as he strode to and fro, as it so stern and unyielding in the days of your childhood
lo repress his injured feelings, crushing the snow-white in the early days of our intimacy. Then you loved the
wind-flowers that looked up from the green grass on hale oak, not merely because it was the emblem of
every side, under his feet. “You say I degrade myself! strength, the graceful elm, not merely because it was
On the contrary, I have but ennobled myself. I have the Sylph of the forest. Then the tinge of the Summer
broken the chain, and thrown off the trammels of su- bird's plumage, or the simplicity of a wild flower, called
perstition, which a priest-ridden world hath too long forth your raptures, not merely because of their bright-
submitted to ! But a truce to this banter! You wouldness and delicacy. There was a higher cause. You
win me back to a superstition which is degrading to could point me out a fashioning and protecting hand in
man-1 seek to place you on the throne of reason, and every thing. And even now, you would tell me that
show you the world in its simple and undisguised state. the belief which then bound our hearts together, so
Hours might be wasted in vain cavil. Let us drop the simple, so touching, and yet so ennobling and sublime,
subject, and dwell upon more endearing themes--themes can work us no ill."
which would seem to be more in consonance with the l “Urge me not thus," said Maudant, striving in vain
pensive loveliness of this tranquil eve."
to repress the emotions which the remembrance of the
“And can you, Maudant," said she, still adhering to happy days of youth and first love had called up.
111
22


198
THE INFIDEL.
“Those were the palmy days of my eventful life. Fain tears, and restored her mind, in some sort to serenity.
would I return to that fairy realm of inexperience-fain She had acted nobly thus to sacrifice her hopes, her af-
would I be the simple dreamer I then was. But I have fections-the garnered affections of years, on the altar
been abroad amid the stern realities of life-have looked of duty, and the knowledge of this was a solace to her
upon the wretchedness and folly of the great world, and wounded spirit.
the spell is broken never again to be resumed. Call Maudant was thunder struck at her determined man.
not to mind the happiness of past days, Bell, I conjure ner. He made no effort to detain her. He felt as if
you. I would not willingly in heart, commit a lie; yet the last link that bourd him to the earth had been ser-
have you sorely tempted me to do so."
ered, and in the bitterness of his spirit, he cursed the
“Then is it decreed that we part!" and save by her day when first he saw the light.
compressed lips, and pale brow, that fond girl evinced l Thus was a noble heart stricken down by the poison
no sign of the whirlwind of conflicting emotions that of infidelity. With talents to make him a leader among
was raging in her breast" that we part, once and mankind, and an indomitable perseverance to urge him
for ever! O, what a change a few months have wrought on in the race with the swift-with an exquisite taste
in you. You have truly said that you have been abroad for the beauties and marvels of nature to shed its sof-
amid the stern realities of life. Their austerity has en- tening influence o'er his heart, he had wandered away
tered into your heart. You have been lured aside into into an ideal world of reason, and, struggling long amid
the regions of the shadow of death. What would the its intricate mazes, had at length groped his way out by
wide world be, if all held to your cruel belief ?-did the door of infidelity.
dream that together we might brave the sorrows of the He looked upon the vaulted sky, with its thousands
rough world—that its green and flowery paths would of burning gems-he gazed upon the majestic forest,
at times be open to our wandering feet. But it was an and upon the shadowy beauty of upland and vale.
idle voyage, and I must atone for it by the disappoint sleeted, as they were, in the silvery moonlight, and
ment which the sundering of its ties has brought upon resting in slumberous calm, and his mind seemed for
me. It is ſated that our paths should lie opposite ; ! a moment to return to its wonted bias—"Can it be
farewell!" and she turned away.
that I err in my belief?” said he. “Whence come
“Bell! Bell! do not leave me thus !" cried Mau- these wild and mysterious warnings that at times thrill
dant. “Remember your promise that mine you would through my soul?” But a smile of bitter scorn spread
be whether fortune frowned upon or favored methat suddenly over his features.
you would never be the bride of another.'”.
“Hence! away! ye relicts of my early superstition.
“And I still can adhere, in part, to that vow-never I will not brook your trammels,” and in the tumultuous
will I become the bride of another! But duty to Heaven, state of his feelings, the better spirit was rejected. He
which is the first of all duties, compels me to break it I drew more closely around his heart the serpent that
in part. With you, lies the means of its fulfilment.” I was feeding on the remnants of his hopes and happiness,
" Isabel Wardlaw!” said he, sternly, laying his hand and the fearful thought of putting an end to his gloomy
upon her shoulder, and bending the fire of his dark eye surmizes by ending his life, obtruded itself upon him.
upon her, “recall those words, I conjure you, and sealHe drew a pistol from his vest, examined the priming
not the doom of a heart already overcome with misery. I and adjusted the flint. But a sudden thought seemed
Fulfil your engagement, and never more by look, word to strike him. “Not thus!” he ejaculated through
or sign, shall you know that I believe differently from his clenched teeth, and hastily thrusting the pistol
yourself.”
again into his vest, he strode over the uneven ground to-
"It cannot be! even did I know that it was possible wards the woods. The home of his betrothed lay in
for you to keep such a promise. To ensure happiness, his path. As he passed it by, he heard the low-breathed
a similarity of sentiment on so important a point melody of a female voice. He listened. It was the
might seem requisite. And how could either of us ex- || voice of Isabel Wardlaw. She was praying.
pect happiness with thoughts and feelings as far asun. The thought of what he had lost in her by his rash-
der as Heaven is from earth. Did poverty or sorrow ness and folly spurred him on to the desperate deed.
darken your path-did misery in its worst form frown He tore himself away, and in a few moments, his lall,
upon you, I might join my fortune with yours ; but graceful figure was lost in the shadow of the forest trees.
never while you prove a renegade to the faith of your After threading his way through the feen and tangled
fathers! We part now, and for ever, unless time and undergrowth, amid the intricate forest windings, be at
experience recalls you to the faith from which you have lengih emerged into an opening, deep amid the woods.
diverged. Again I repeat it, and I pray Heaven to i A round knoll or bluff was before him, surmounted by a
lend me aid in keeping the resolution-never will I be- broad-armed oak—"a hale green tree," standing alone
come the wife of an infidel!".
in solitary majesty. The declevity was of a gentle as-
She turned hastily away, the better to hide her injured i cent, on the side nearest him, but on the opposite side
feelings, and dreading the result of a further parley it fell off in a precipitous descent, almost perpendicu-
with one she so dearly loved. She hurried to her home, i lar, at the foot of which a small stream formed a deep,
and retiring to her chamber, gave herself up to the bit- silent tante, called the barn Pool. It was a spot en-
terness of her disappointment. However, a conscious- | deared to him by a thousand touching recollections.
ness of the rectitude of her course soon dispelled her Here he had spent many a happy hour in the days of


THE INFIDEL.
179
his childhood, and on the cliff he had gathered the clus! “Fire! and thus fill the measure of your wickedness.
tering wild-flowers to present to Isabel, when first the Fire! The dark pines cannot tell the tale, and thero
dream of love passed his heart. He strode up the hill are none here beside. Fire! I shall but receive my
and stood on the edge of the precipice. The scene just deserts," said the stern man, clapping his hand to
around was in consonance with the gloom of his mind. | his brow.
The sluggish midnight airs, poured a low, dull mono- Maudant was maddened to desperation. The report
tone through the foliage of the oak beneath where he of the pistol rang through the woods ; but the tall, dark
stood, which was answered by the black, forest-pines' man stood there, erect and uninjured. Maudant burled
that towered like an array of embattled giants on the the weapon from him far into the Barn Pool.
higher shore of the Barn Pool. But a strange fear was “ Charles," said the minister, calmly, “I have sinned
in his heart. He imagined he saw a dark object moving in thus chasing you-Heaven forgive me for it! I acted
among the trunks of the forest-trees. But he rejected
almost as foolishly as yourself.”
the idea with a bitter smile. Again he was started by “And who gave you a right thus to torment me ?
the boo-booing of an owl that sat on the decayed limb Am I no where secure from your intrusion ?" said Mau-
of a neighboring tree. He turned away, and on the op- dant. “Strange, implacable man! Tell me the secret
posite side of the water, there sat one of the wild ten- of your power over me. Are you sent as an evil genius
ants of the woods quietly squatted on his haunches, to dog me through the world ? for from the firet moment
gazing upwards at him with its great glowing blear eyes, I saw you, disappointments and sorrow have been my
and he trembled. He clenched his teeth together and portion. In the wilds of Mississippi, you have crossed
muttered an imprecation on his own cowardice. my path. On the borders of the great lakes, you have
Again he gave utterance to his thoughts in moody so- darkened me with your presence. I have looked upon
liloquy -“Whence these strange fears-these dark the crowds of the Atlantic cities, and you were of their
misgivings? Am I not a brother to the rock, the soil number. And now, at midnight, you come upon me in
and the wave? Shall I not lie down in their arms, and the untrodden haunts of the forest. Tell me, mysteri-
become as they, and thus help along the eternal round ous man, why is this, for surely it comes not of accident
of change which seems to be the only employ of the ele --what is the bond that connects our fates and interests
ments of this unaccountable world? Whence this fear together, and whether you follow me for good or for
of death? There is not among all mankind one with evil ?”
whom I can claim kindred! And she to whom I have l “The time is not come to answer all these questions,
looked so long through weal and wo, as my guiding star, To the last, I will reply, by asking your own heart
as my only source of happiness, she, too, has trampled whether for good or for evil I have once and again in-
on a heart that would have died for her had occasion terfered in your behalf.”
demanded. If I turn to the world, what does the world' A silence of a moinent ensued, when the minister
offer in exchange for its thousands of evilg--misery, pov. again spoke.
erty, disappointment, contention? What can I gleani“What was it, Maudant, that tempted the rash act
of happiness among those who cavil for the fading lau- you were about committing-why seek to shorten a life
rels of fame, for power, or grovel for wealth to lie down that, live as long as you may, would be too short for re-
and die after a life spent in its accumulation ? Away, pentance."
then, ye cowardly fears, away! I am alone in the “When I recognize your right to intrude your idle
world—a unit among the hosts of mankind--as a parti- counsel upon me, I will answer you," replied Maudant.
cle of sand on the face of the desert, and no more to be “Methinks that enough has passed between us, ere now,
missed than that particle when the simoon hath swept to satisfy you that you are engaged in a bootless om-
through the waste and borne it away to some distant ploy."
region!"
“Well, be it so! But I must have your promise on
He looked down upon the still, mirror-like pool, your sacred honor, that you will never again attempt
which lay in the shadow of the cliff, glittering to the your own liſe."
stars, soeming to woo him to its gentle embrace, and Maudant turned pale with rage.--" This is audacity
the next moment the solitude might have resounded to beyond endurance," said he. “A curse on yonder pis-
his plunge. But a form sprung forward from the neigh-tol for not doing its duty in ridding the world of such an
boring pines, and dragged him back with violence from arch miscreant as yourself.”
the dizzy verge of the precipice. It was the minister! “Do you promise ?" said the implacable man,calmly."
“Rash, unprincipled man,” said he, “dare you in “Will it rid me of your presence," queried Maudant.
the face of Heaven, commit so cowardly a crime ? “For a while, at least---perhaps, for ever!”.
Dare you thus wilſully mar the image of God, and seal! "Then is it a settled compact. I swear it by all
your own doom? Away!” and he spurned him down that the earth contains of wretchedness!”
the slope.
“I believe I may rely upon your word," said the
Maudant drew the pistol from his vest.
1 minister. And he walked leisurely down the bill, and
“Ha!” said the minister, “would you commit a was soon hid from view by the broad branches of the
double murder?"
pines.
“ By Heavens! I can bear it no longer! As you
value your life, begone!"
Time rolled on; a year had passed by, and the once


180
THE INFIDEL.
happy, innocent and generous Charles Maudant had the palate taste, or why the limbs should have the power
become a misanthropema wanderer, like the fabled of motion, unless it assigns a greut--an Omnipotent
Jew, on tho face of the earth. He had no home-alike first cause. For surely the frail tegument of man's
were all sections and places, all times and seasons to body which is but dust, abiding in life for a lime, but to
him. He had drark still deeper of the poisonous cup, I return to its kindred element, possesses not these quali-
and had now become a high priest in the creed of apos, lies in its simple state. Can reason assign a cause why
lacy.
the oak should burst from the acorn-should grow and
Dark is the prospect of the gambler---dreary is the thrive, lill in the lustihood of its strength, it towers
future of him who makes the wine-cup his idol-drear aluft, the king of the forest ? or why the simplo wild-
is the prospect of the destroyer of innocence-evil are Hower should spring up and plume itself by the still wa-
the latter days of him who robs the widow and the fath. ters? Whence in Autumn your golden harvests are
erless of their sustenance. But triply dark, triply dreary spread over hill and valley; can reason assign a cause
is the future prospect of him who has lost sight of the why they are so ? Ye sowed the seed, and, ye may say,
simple teachings of nature and the Bible, and wanders' the carth caused it to grow, but surely, the inert clud
without churt or compass on the fathomloss, tideless has no power of itself!"
sea of Infidelity. Such was the case with Maudant.' Thus the minister went on, growing more eloquent as
He had clung to the gloomy creed, till he had found a he advanced, and dashing to pieces the loose structura
sort of pleasure in disseminating its doctrines.
and ephemeral devices of Maudant, while every ear was
In a newly-tinished hall in one of the far settlements attentive, and every eye was upon him. He ceased at
of Kentucky, a large assemblage were congregated to length, and turned round for a reply from Maudant, but
hear the new doctrine, and he was there to harrangue the place where he had stood was vacant. The words
them. Long had he kept the attention of old and of the minister had brought conviction to his heart-
young fixed by his eloquence, and he was about closing had poured a flood of light on his mind by which he
“ Citizens," said he, “these are the simple teachings saw the hideousness of his own acts, and while all eyes
of reason, which are tho noblest of man's endowments were upon the old man, with the arrow quivering in his
They cannot be controverted! If there be the man heart, he had rushed out, overwhelmed with despair by
here who can answer me them, let him enter the lists, a sense of his own dark deeds.
and do battle manfully. A fair field is all that I ask all for three days Maudant wandered through the woods,
your hands. I stand ready for the combat."
ll shunning the dwellings of the inhabitants, and discarding
A voice was heard in one of the back seats---" I shrink ihe wants of nature. He was but little better than a
not from your haughty challenge, though but a weak maniac. Bui a sweet soothing calm at length settled on
and unworthy soldier in the armies of the living God!” his o'erwearied breast. Far in the woods he had sat
A veteran-looking man in black advanced up the aisle him down on the riven trunk of an uptorn tree. The
-it was the minister! Maudant quailed at the sight. || huge boughs of the plane trees, overhead, were so over.
“I come,” said he, “to do battle in behalf of the ruu with wild grape-vines, and so thick was the foliage,
great truths of the gospel. Rash man! Does not thy that although it was high noon, not a ray of the sun
conscience smite thee for thy haughty boasts?" penetrated the leafy canopy. It was intensely hot, and
He stood as it wailing of reply-a noble patriarchal a silence that might almost be heard reigned through
figure. On his brow, where time and care had left their the wide, reposing forest, save when broken by the soli-
traces in many a deep furrow, the “ beaded sweat "stood tary whistle of some unseen bird, or the rustle of the
for the day was sultry—and the long locks of his thin,
withered leaf, as spinning round, it fell to the earth.
silvery hair were stirred by the light airs that flowed The serenity and repose of the scene around him seemed
through the open windows, while with folded arms be at once to enter his heart. His brow relaxed from the
bent his keen gray eye as if in sorrow upon his adver sternness of despair, and a bland smile played over his
sary. He met his opponent with the strong language pallid features. He nrose and sought the house of a
of the Bible-
neighboring farmer. The hospitable man could hardly
"Who art thou, thus to darken counsel by words ' recognize in the wan figure before him the proud and
without knowledge ? Knowest thou not that in Jehovah's | daring young man to whose eloquence he had listened
eye thou art but as a moth which the slightest of the but a few days before.
agents of bis power could crush, as the vile worm is! However, Maudant's wants were attended to, and a
crushed by the foot of the reckless school-boy? Atom substantial repast restored to him, in a measure, his
of the dust! where wast thou when Jehovah laid the foun-| strengih. In the mean time the generous Kentuckian
dations of the earth? Declare, if thou hast understand. I had sent to the minister, who appeared to be deeply in-
ing. Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou terested in Maudant's behalf, to inform him of his safety.
knowest, or who hath stretched the line upon it ? | The information brought the old man to the farm-house.
Whereupon are the foundations fastened, or who laid As he entered, Maudant advanced with extended hand
the corner stone thereof?
to meet him.
And what becomey of this wasted reason when we “[ owe you much," vaid he, emphatically. “Can
look at things in an abstract point of view ?" said he, you forgive my past insults and unkindness? Your
turning to the audience. “Can reagon assign a cause words were as the barbed arrow to my heart. I have
why the ear should hear, the eye see, the nostril smell," seen the folly of my blasphemous theory, and terribly


THE INFIDEL.
181
have I exhaled my errors. But the light of truth has who, for indignities heaped upon me by your father, lured
once more shed its serene influence upon me, and I am her away, and to deceive you, threw her hat and shawl
resolved henceforth to the end of my life-Heaven per into the sea. When I deemed he had secured his de-
miting-to devote myself to the building up ihat which serts at my hands, I wished to restore her to him to
in my blind zeal I sought to overturn!"
her standing in society. But I knew of no way in which
The old man regarded him with a look, in which as I could do so with safety to myself, until the packet
tonishment was blended with joy, till the tears sprang ship went to pieces on the breakers; when I seized the
to his eyes.
opportunity, went to the sea shore, and pretended to
"Now art thou my own dear boy!" said he. “Ay, have found her lied up in a cloak, as a relict of the wreck.
look upon me-look upon thy father, Charles, for indeed Now am I doubly revenged."
thou art my own, my only son! God be praised that in There were so many circumstances to corroborate
owning thee, I find a son worthy of being owned!” the truth of this story, that I could not but believe it.
"Maudant fixed his keen eye on the old man with a When I turned from listening to the mad woman's
look of incredulity, while the blood alternately flashed communication, I found that Mary had fainied. Long
over and receeded from his brow. But conviction did the fit continue upon her, and when at length she
eame at last; a deadly pale overspread his conunte. | began to show signs of returning animation, I bade her
nance, and he sank into a chair.
j adieu for ever, and wandered forth a wretched being.
" It is even so! I see it all! But why, oh why did I found a sort of solace in acts of good 10 others, and at
you not before inform me of this? I might have been length became a preacher.
& paracide!”
Mean time you were born, and subsequently were
“I cannot explain at present, Charles," said the put away with one of my distant relatives to be brought
minister. Thou art my son--let that suffice thee for up as his own child.
the present."
Although a wanderer from one exterior of our coun-
“And who and where in my mother?” exclaimed try to the other, I have never ceased to watch over you.
Maudant.
When you were far from suspecting it, I have influenced
" I know not," replied the old man; " when I last your movements. And often, when, in my journeyingi
heard of her, she was far away in New England.” to and fro, I have tarried under the roof where you re-
" Explain me this mystery! I must-I will have it | sided, for a night's rest, have I stolen to watch your
Death were preferable to suspense!" i slumbers and shed bitter tears over you. Such has
The minister stood a moment in deep thought.“ Per- been the course of my life till a few weeks since, when
haps it were as well,” said he, “but I had intended to duty called me to attend the dying bed of a poor woman.
have seen your mother first.
Upon entering the hovel, I found that it was Clara
Your mother, when but a mere babe, was saved--the Maxwell.
sole survivor of a ſearful shipwreck, which took place!
“God be praised!” she ejaculated, as I came near
during a Winter's tempest on the coast of New Eng. her. “I could not die with the weight of one sin upon
land. She was adopted by a gentleman who resided my heart. I have called you hither to mend, as far as
near the spot where the disaster happened, and educa- possible, a great injury perpetrated against you,"--and
ted by him as his own child. My father lived near, and she went on to tell me that she had fabricated, out of
of course, I was often thrown into company with the revenge, the story regarding my sister and my wife.
young orphan. As she ripened into womanhood, I lovedShe had hardly finished her story, ere she breathed her
her, and in due time was married to her. But I am | last!
anticipating my story.
i I should have proceeded immediately in search of
I must inform you that a young sister of mine, while my wife, but the extraordinary course you were taking,
yet I was but a child, suddenly disappeared; and al- demanded my attention in this quarter, so I forwarded
though every effort was made, nothing definite could be the joyful news in a letter.”
learned of ber. It was concluded, and in all probability. The next day Maudant and his father started for New
correctly, that she had fallen from the rocks into the England. A new and boundless source of happiness
sea, as her bonnet and a handkerchief which she seemed to be opened to his impetuous spirit, and he
wore at the time of her disappearance, were subse-could once more“ bend the quiet of a loving eye" upon
quently found on the shore. Thus the matter rested the beauties of the scenery through which they passed.
till a few months after I was married, when a poor de. And the father, too, relaxed from his stern bearing, and
luded wretch, by name, Clara Maxwell, who had threat-'I once more seemed to be imbued with the gentleness of
ened me with vengeance for having had her committed, disposition which characterized his youth, and which
on account of her follies, to the Poor House, having es- years of stoical suffering seemed to have wrested from
caped from durance, came suddenly into the room where him. At length the blue hills of their own New Eng-
I was sitting with my wife.
land rose to their view, and with them came a thousand
"Dastard, tremble!” said she, wildly. “I have endearing recollections.
sworn vengeance against you. I come to redeem my To be concise, the elder Maudant found a wife, and
pledge, by informing you of that which would otherwise Charles, a mother, ready to receive them with smiles.
have perished with me. You once lost a sister. Yon- and in the seclusion of a country life, the old folks spent
der she sits in the character of your wife! 1, it was, the remnant of their days in tranquillity and contentment.


182
ALMA MEN; OR, THE J È W OF GRENADA.
As soon as Charles Maudant could consistently leave! No change within her heart ;--she was the same.
the house of his parents, he sought the village where And of the glad home-faces, is there none
his betrothed resided. He demanded, and readily ob- That may not smile its welcome? There is hushed
tained an interview with Isabel, for the change in his. For aye one kindred voice, and the deep tone
sentiments had been noised abroad ere his arrival. Of anguish from a mother's heart hath gushed;
Her pale and emaciated features told how great a sac- | And though she grieved not, that bright one, nor wept,
rifice she had made in giving him up. Albeit a few'| Her hand the young flowers nursed where her dead sister
days of social intercourse with one in whom her affec- slept.
tions were concentered, restored the wonted bloom tolim
" Time passed, and many a suppliant knee was bent,
her cheek, and the fire to her eye, and again she was
I Love whisper'd in her ear its words of guile,
the smiling, lovely Bell Wardlaw, the delight of her ac.
And voices in her praige were eloquent,
quaintances. And when the joyous Autumn came with
And melting glances pleaded for a smile,
its ripened fruits and golder harvests, a bridal party had
And a smile answered them, cold-cold tho' sweet
assembled at the stately mansion of Mr. Wardlaw, and
his fair daughter became the wife of Charles Maudant."
As the faint morn-blush of an April sky,
Still was her heart unwon :-it could not beat
But in his happiness, Maudant forgot not the inten-
With the frail, fleeting hopes that bud and die ;-
tion he had formed of repairing so far as in him lay, the
She had no thoughts for earth,--to her 'was given
injury he had done by his infidelity. He embarked in
To“ dwell apart" below, and brightly dream of Heaven.
the missionary cause, and is now, with his beautiful,
affectionate and generous wife, toiling for the good of And such was she--the Coldly Beautiful,
strangers, under the burning suns of Hindostan.
And not less pure than beautiful: I have prayed
For hope and strength my weary thoughts to lull,
Original.
And like the spirit of that sinless maid,
THE COLDLY BEAUTIFUL.
To mock at passion's strife. It is not mine
Thus to subdue:--and oh, if e'er we feel
BY JOHN M. CASEY.
Aught of a Heaven in the heart's inmost shrine-
A witchery o'er its aching fibres steal;-
I met her in the spirit-stirring dance,
'Tis when a passion in the bosom stirs,
Where merry voices, and the subtle tone
Kindled by Heaven's torch in a pure heart like her's.
or music poured their wild and rich romance
And radiant faces beamed, and bright eyes shone-
Oswego, N. Y.
And merrily with the jest the glass went round,
Original.
And Beauty's cheek blushed in its deeper rose,
And the ear drank in thirstily each sound, -
SCENE FROM THE NEW TRAGIC DRAMA OF
But still her spirit, in its strange repose,
"ALMAMEN; OR, THE JEW OF GRENADA."
Seemed bound, as wont, with a mysterious thrall
To her 'twas but a dream-that gorgeous festival!
Founded on Bulwer's romance of Leila.
She bad seen eighteen Summers, and to her
Their lapse had been but an unchanging dream
Untinged by wild extremes of bliss or care-
Act Fourth, Scene last. Interior of a vist Gothic
Nor mellowed by young passion's earlier beam :-
Chapel-a flight of marble steps ascending to the
She was a strange, and yet a gentle thing,
altar which is brilliantly illuminated and decorated
Formed for each kindly impulse, and for thought
with all the grandeur of the Romish Church. Pro-
Fresh as the blossoms of her hope's Day-spring,
cession of Priests, Monks and Nuns. Tomas de
But in her cheek no kindred blush it wrought-
Torquemeda and other Monks of the Dominican or.
You'd deem her made to brighten, and to bless-
der. Leila, in the habit of a novice, supported be-
So beautiful, but ah, cold-cold, and passionless !
tween two Nuns, a third following with the veil.
And she went from her father-land away,
Hymn and chorus af Monks and Nuns, kneeling on
And breathed the soft air of a sunnier clime ;-
either side of the altar. Tomas De Torquemeda
Where ye may mark, in wild and proud array,
kneeling on the steps in front.
The classic relics of the Olden Time,
Holy Mother! Saint of Heaven!
Where looks and blushes eloquently speak,
To thy peaceful service given,
And Love reposes on each brow of snow,
Fair in form, and youthful beauty
And ye may feel the warm blood in your cheek
One to thee devotes her duty.
Burn with a brighter and intenser glow,
Let thy Grace upon her shine,
Or list the burning tale breathed out in song,
Virgin Mother! she is thine!
Of a fond, doating heart, by hopeless passion wrung,
Earth abjuring, humbly kneeling
And yet, of that fair clime her spirit caught
Thus her virgin vows revealing
No ray to give it radiance, and she came
World, and all its joys resign
Back to her father's halls. Long absence wrought
Take her Heaven! she is thine!
BY JONAS B. PHILLIPS.


ALMA MEN; OR, THE JEW OF GRE NA D A.
183
Music. Leila is led to the altar--as they reach the I will not breathe a vow, to taint my soul
steps of which, Almamen, with dagger in hand, rush. With perjury. Father! Muza! help me.
es wildly in, followed by Muza. Almamen seizes | They twine their arms around me, with brute force.-
Leila and drags her forward.
With cunning cruelty, they tear my heart-strings !
Tomas de Torquemeda.
Strange voices now, are hymning in mine ears,
| And they have thrown the veil across mine eyes ;
Avaunt, fell sorc'rer! release the maid.
Thy magic arts can here avail thee nought,
I can no longer see the forms I love.
She is devoted to the cause of Heaven!
Oh! tear it off the vow is not pronounc'd!
Almamen.
Muza! I can te thine-yes, I am thine ! thine! (Dies.
Tomas de Torquemeda.
Back! back, lying Priest! She is my daughter !
Her virgin soul bath fled! remove the corpse,
I claim her by a father's sacred right,
And seize the murderer-the Jew!
Demand her in the name, of the Great Sire
They rush to seize Almamen who, starting from his
Of all mankind!
Leila.
abstraction, he breaks wildly from them, and taking
the corpse from Muza, kneels with it in his arms, and
Oh! my father hear me,
gazes on it with an expression of tenderness and
And wrestle not 'gainst the decrees of Heav'n.
grief.
No force compels me to this sacred choice,
Almamen.
But now a willing convert to their Faith,
Who says 'twas murder ? 'was a sacrifice!
The only wish, I cherish upon earth,
Did I not love, I had not killed her else!
Is here to take, the consecrated vow.
It was a sacrifice which Heaven demanded! [up
Almamen.
Come! [kisses the corpse-lays it down-then starting
The veil is rent-and now the worst is known-
Which of ye dare seize the son of Isuchar!
Thy beauty is all--all, desecrated,
| Alarms without. A Monk rushes in alarmed.
And thy form, is but unhallow'd clay! [To Tomas.
Monk.
Dog of a Nazarene! this, is thy work!
Haste, holy Fathers—an angry crowd rush on,
Here, by thine own altars, I defy thee,
And cry for vengeance on the traitor Jew.
And spurn thee, 'mid the tortures of thy court!
Holy Mother! they are here.
Thus, thus, doth Almamen, the Jew, rescue
li Cries without of “ Vengeance! vengeance ! " and an
The last and fairest of his house, from shame!
armed crowd of Spaniards and Jews rush in, who
Slabs Leila. Muza, rushing through the crowd of
fall back as Almamen boldly advances in the centre
Monks and Nuns, exclaims, “ Hold! murderer!" |
of them.
and catches Leila as she is falling, in his arms.
Almamen.
Almamen drops the dagger, and stands apparently
Ha! I know ye, things of the market place!
unconscious of what passes.
Who traffic, and would sell your blood for gold,
Leila.
Christian and Moslem, were alike my foes,
Father, I thank thee-hou hast given me,
And tho' I am your victim, I'm your vanquisher!
The Peace I hop'd, the Freedom, that I sigh'd for. I am betray'd, even by those I toil'd for,
Muza.
For whom, I gave up ev'ry earthly peace,
Leila ! beloved Leila!
And dy'd my hands with my sweet daughter's blood.
Leila.
The curse of old, rest with ye evermore,
Ha! that voice!
I do defy and curse ye!
It calls me back to earth--brings to this flecting soul. They rush on him with cries of “ Cut down the trai-
The tide of Love, which once did overwhelm it. tor," “ down with the false Jew," and he falls pierced
Or was it, but some Heavenly angel's voice,
with several wounds.
So like to his, that I did deem it, Muza's !
Almamen.
Muza.
I triumph! Yes, I triumph even now!
It is thy Muza, live, oh! live for him.
Not one-not one, dar'd singlyto assail me,
- Leila.
It took a host to conquer Almamen!
It is his voice-these are his arms, that bear me. Where is my daughter-where's my genıle girl ?
I've had a fearful dream; the cowled Monk,
I will secure the safety of my child,
The veiled Sisters; they were all around me,
And then, we'll storm the Alhambra ;
And I did hear, methinks, the solemn strain,
We'll rush against the Heathen -but I bleed,
And thought I was a Christian, and devoted
And there's not one to stop the gushing blood.
Unto the holy service of the Church!
My child would staunch it with her raven hair,
Tomas de Torquemeda
But they withhold her from me- they would seok
Remove her.
To make a Christian of her! My child a Christian!
Let her not die, btain'd by the Moslem's touch.
Ha! ha! ha! ha! I'll snatch her from them yet.
Nuns approach to remove Leila-she clings to Muza. | Leila! I come to save thee, Leila! I come!
Leila.
Starts up with a powerful effort, and attempts to rush
I cling to earth again, for he is here!
| forward--falls dead by the side of Leils,


184
EMBROIDERY.

www
Www
AUTOR
MUSSON
Ww
WWW
www.

ww
w
SEN
BB


MA RY DERWENT.
185
$ 2 00 PRIZE AR TICLE. suspicion awoke in my bosom-a suspicion that he did
not love me with his whole heart as I loved him. The
Original.
scorpions, which my own act had engendered, were be-
ginning to quicken in the warm atmosphere of my heart.
MARY DERWENT.*
“I was not conscious of it, but tears gathered in my
A TALE OF THE EARLY SETTLERS.
eyes while they were yet sleadlastly fixed on Murray's,,
and when he looked up, the expression of my face must
BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
have told him something of what was passing in my
I'mind. He threw down his book, and by gentle acts
CHAPTER VI.
rather than explanatory words, sirove to win me again
" Alas! that man should over win
So sweet a shrine to shame and sin
to cheerfulness. He was half-lying on the sofa, with
As woman's heart, and deeper woo
my hand lucked in his, murmuring over soft fragments
For her fond weakness, not to know
That yielding all but breaks the chain
of the poem he had been reading, apparently abandoned
That never reunites again."
to the happiness of the moment, when there was a rust-
CATHARINE MONTOUR aroused herself from the load ling among the shrubbery beneath the window, and
of degradation which had weighed down her proud il quick footsteps smole along the gravel walk leading to
spirit, while her confession of guilt was yet to be made, the balcony. Every footfall jarred upon my ear like
and resumed her story with less of startling energy than the vibrations of a bell. The sudden recoil of my heart,
had hitherto churacterized her manner.
and then its deep, heavy throbbings were almost audi-
• Varnham had been absent more than a week, mak- ble as I listened. I felt the blood ebbing away from my
ing preparation for our reception at Ashton. We were face, and a faintness was upon me. Murray started
alone, Murray and myself, in the little boudoir which I and grasped my hand with a violence that pained me.
have mentioned so often. He was sitting on the sofa to Ic is strange how suddenly the weakest heart will gath-
which my husband had so tenderly lifted me on the night er up its energies, when flung back upon itself. “Do
befure my mother's funeral, reading one of my favorite not fear me,' I said with forced calmness, and drawing
Italian poets. I sat at his feet, listening to the deep, my hand from his grasp, I deliberately opened the sash-
rich melody of his voice, watching the alternate fire and door and went out to meet my husband. He was al-
shadow that played within the depths of his large eyes, ready upon the balcony, and sprang forward to greet
the clear, bold expresssion of his forehead, and the me with more eager affection than I had ever witnessed
smiling curve of his lips, which seemed imbued with in bim before. For ono moment I was drawn to his
the soft poetry that dropped in melody from them. I bosom unresistingly, for I was faint with agitation. Ho
was lost in the first wildering dream which follows, with must have felt me tremble, but evidently imputed the
its delicious quietude, the entire outpouring of the affec- emotion to joy at his sudden return, and with his arm
tions, when thought itself arises but as a sweet exhala- , about my waist, he drew me into the room. Oh, how
tion from the one grand passion which pervades the thoroughly I loathed the hypocrisy which my sin had im-
whole being; when even a sense of shame and guilt but posed on the future! Murray had nerved himself for
haunts the heart as the bee slumbers within the urn of the interview, and stood up, pale and collected, to re-
a flower, rendered inert and stingless by the wealth of
ceive his late friend. When he saw my position, a faint
honey which surrounds it.
Alush shot over his forehead, but his forced composure
" Murray had been bred in society, and could not so was in nothing else disturbed. I put away my hus-
readily fling off the consciousness of our position. A band's arm and sunk to a seat, overwhelmed with a
shadow, darker than the words of his author warranted. painful consciousness of the moral degradation I had
dow and then settled on his brow as he read, and more heaped upon my sprit.
than once he raised his eyes from the page in the middle “Murray went up to London the next day, and a fow
of a sentence, and fixed them with a serious and almost | brief words of farewell were all that could be granted to
melancholy earnestness on my face ; then, as I would me. I went away by myself and wept bitterly. In my
interrupt his thoughts with some of the pleasant words secret thoughts, I reproached him that he could leave
which love sends up from the full heart, as naturally as me to the bitter task of concealment and dissimu.
song gushes from the bosom of a nightingale, he would lation, without his support, burthened as he knew my
press my hand to his lips, and without speaking, resume heart must be with anxieties and feelings which I might
his hook again; for a while allowing his voice to revel reveal only to himself. From no other human being
in the sweet, rich melody of the language, and then hur-could I claim sympathy or council, and yet he left me.
rying on with a stern and abrupt emphasis, as one I felt the necessity of his absence, but was deeply pained
who strives by rapidity of utterance to conquer painful by it. Deceit was a hard burthen to impose on a heart
thoughts. My heart sunk within me as I witnessed singularly frank and confiding in its nature. I felt that
this strange mood, and with a quick transition of feeling | I had sacrificed ihe birthright of a free spirit for ever.-
I at first began to wonder that any but happy thoughts "One suspicion haunted me continually-a doubt of Mur-
could occupy him when I was by his side, and then to ray's love. Often did I ask myself if he were happy-
conjecture what those thoughts could be, till a terrible I if even then he did not in his secret heart regret the
sacrifice I had made to him, the voluntary bondage
* Continued from page 142.
which he had imposed on himself. There was misery
23


186
MARY DERWENT.
in the thought, but oh, many, many were the painful ap- || when I saw him day by day becoming more respectful,
prehensions which haunted my imagination. For two more gentle and compassionate in his manner toward
days I was tormented by shadowy evils. My mornings me, I knew that there would soon be no hope. It was
were full of inquietude, and my sleep was not rest. not in his nature to turn rudely and crush the being
Then came his first letter, 80 considerate and gentle, so full who had loved him so fatally; but what mattered it
of manly solicitude for my peace of mind. Happiness how the steel was tempered, so long as the blade was
sprang back to my heart like a glad infant to its moth-l' struck home? The blow fell at length; Murray was
er's bosom. The earth seemed bursting into blossom about to be married. He did not allow me to be tor-
around me. Again I flung away thoughi, and surren- tured by public rumor, but came and told me with his
dered my spirit to its first sweet dream of contentment. own lips. I had been very sad all the morning, and
“Murray joined us at Ashton. Among the guests when I heard his familiar knock at the street door, and
who spent Christmas with us, was a young lady of re- heard the footsteps to which my heart had never yet
fined and pleasant manners, the orphan of a noble fumi- failed to quicken its pulsations, approaching my tou-
ly, whose entailed property had fallen to a distant heir doir, a dark presentiment ſell upon me, and I trembled
on the death of her father, leaving her an almost pen- as if a death-watch were sounding in my ears. But I
niless dependant on a wealthy aunt, who seemed anxol had learned to conceal my feelings, and sal quietly in
ious to get rid of her trust with as little expense as pos- my cushioned chair, occupied with a piece of fine nee-
sible. My sympathy was excited in the young lady's idle-work when he entered. He was deeply agitated, and
behalf, for her coarse relative supplied her but sparingly his hand shook violently when I arose to receive him.
with the means of supporting her station in society, and Mine was steady. I was not about to heap misery on
in her vulgar eagerness to have the poor girl settled and the heart that had clung to me. He tried to break the
off her hands, was continually compromising her deli- subject gently to me, and by reasoning and expressions
cacy and wounding her pride. Louisa was reserved, of respect, to reconcile me to the step he wished to take.
and somewhat cold in her disposition, but my feelings with a calmness which startled even myself, I inquired
had been enlisted in her behalf, and I contrived by every the name of my rival. It was Louisa Jameson, the
liulo stratagem in my power to supply her want of creature whom I had cherished even as a sister. No
wealth, and to shield her from the match-making matter, I had nerved myself to bear all. If my heart
schemes of her aunt. Being much in my society, she treinbled, no emotion stirred my face. He had not yet
was thrown into constant companionship with Murray. proposed, but he knew that she loved him, and her po-
He did not at first seem much interested in her, for she sition with her aunt pained him. Still he would not
was retiring and not really beautiful, but by degrees the propose unless I consented. He had come to throw
gentle sweetness of her character won its way to his himself on my generosity. I did consent. Measuredly
heart, and he seemed pleased with her society, but there and coldly the words were spoken, but they did not sat-
was nothing in the intiinacy to alarm me. I was rather isfy him. He would have me feel willing-his happi
gratified than otherwise that he should be interested in ness should not be secured at the expense of mine-if
my protegè. When we again took up our residence in i from my whole heart I could not resign him. No ad-
town, I occasionally acted as chaperon to Miss Jameson, vantage should be taken of a freedom rendered only
but as my hopes centered more trustfully around one ob- from the lips. There was bitterness in my heart that
ject, my taste for general society diminished, and I sur kept up its strength, for his words seemed like mock.
rounded myself with a small circle of distinguished in- ery. He had flung me to the dust ard asked me 10
dividuals, and mingled but little in the dissipations of smile, while his foot was grinding me there. I tried
the world where her aunt was constantly forcing her to to dissemble, for why should I show him the ruin he
exhibit herself. I was still interested in her, but the was making ? would it take back the words he had spo-
repulsive coarsness of her relative prevented a thorough ken? would he love me again? Could I love him!-
renewal of the intimacy which had existed while she Never, as I had done! There was nothing of hale or
was my guest.
dislike-not one wish for vengeance in my heart; but I
"A year passed by, in which had been crowded a would have been torn to atoms by wild horses, rather
whole life of mingled happiness and misery. My love than have been to him what I had been, even for a mo-
for Murray was in no way diminished, but its character: ment. Yet I could have died for him; nay, did I not
had changed. The first sweet hope of happiness which suffer a keener pang ihan death, even then ; and did I not
came with the early outpouring of my heart had departed' sternly force it back that he might not be made unhappy
for ever. A settled foreboding of separation and evil by the knowledge ? Oh, how stone-like and calm I was
had chastened my expectations, and instead of looking after he had left me. I took up that piece of fine nee-
forward with hope, my spirit gradually gathered up its dle work and finished the pattern neatly, very nearly,
strength to meet its destined fate whenever it might for my fingers never quivered for an instant. I believe
come. Love is almost intuitive in its perceptions. that I went through the routine of the day-that I geve
Long before I had any proof, I felt that Murray was orders to servants and received company, but I cannot
changed. He strove to deceive me, strove to deceive remember distinctly. I had been in my dressing-room
himself, but the very means which he took to delude many hours, when my maid came to remind me of a
away the reason of both, but served to fasten the truth ball and supper to which I was engaged. I started up
upon my heart. I had made his nature a study, and and bade her array me in my guyest apparel. Never


MAR Y DERWENT.
187
do I remember myself so beautiful as on that night. I ficient to endow my rival, and thus indirectly secure a
There was fever in my cheek, and the fire of a wounded sufficient competence to him. I gave orders to my agent
spirit in my eyes—a wild, sparkling wit Nashed from that thirty thousand pounds should be immediately raised
iny lips, and among the gay and the lovely I was most for me, and when the sum was secured, I went pri-
gay and most recklessly brilliant. I was among the vately to the house of my rival, and with little persua-
last of the revelers, and when I sprang to my carriage, sion induced her parsimonious relative to present it to
waving kisses to my noble attendant, and was whirled Miss Jameson, as from her own coffers. I knew that
away amid the light of attendant flambeau, there was my secret was safe, for she was a worldly woman and
many a heart that envied the beautiful and happy Lady was not likely to deprive herself of the eclat of a gene-
Gordon. Why should they not? They could not see rons deed by exposing my share in it.
the sudden recoil of that overtasked spirit. They did “ There was something in the performance of this act
not follow me home to witness the dark shadows gather which softened my feelings, and as I left the old lady's
around the eyes they had admired, nor the hollow white apartment and descended the stairs, it was with a gentler
ness of my cheek when the glittering raiment had been and more resigned sensation than I had known for days.
removed from my form, and the flowers unwreathed The sound of horse's hoofs upon the pavement made
from my hair. They could not feel the sharp pain that me start back like a guilty thing. The drawing-room
shot through my side, nor mark the red blood-drops door was ojar, and I saw Louisa Jameson rise from
springing to my lips as I lay trembling and exhausted her seat and glide to a window with sparkling eyes,
on the floor of my dressing room, while my frightened and cheeks flushed with expectation. A quick, double
attendant was bathing my temples and weeping over knock, and Murray entered. He gave his hat carelessly
me. All were deceived except that poor girl and my- to a servant, as one who had a right to claim instant al-
self, and perhaps one other, for Murray was at the ball. tendance, and then I saw his eyes kindle, and an answer-
Varnham was down at Ashton, and the relief of solitude ing smile greet her's, when he saw his affianced bride
at least was at my command.
coming forward to meet him. I drew back upon the
" Murray called in the morning, for we were to be stairs, faint with the heavy throbbing of my heart, and
friends still. I had suffered much during the night, then I heard their low voicos mingle, saw their hands
but I put rouge on my pallid cheeks, and with forced clasp and their lips meet. I saw him draw ber gently
cheerfulness went down to receive him. He appeared to a sofa, and then my eyes grew dina. I fell that I
ill at ease. Perhaps he feared reproaches after I had was fainting, but my mind had yet power over the body.
recovered from the first effect of his desertion. He need I was obliged to support myself by the bannister, yet I
not. The ruin it had wrought was 100 deep for tears made iny way unobserved into the street; thoy were
or weak complaints; when the death blow comes we too happily occupied to notice the wretched woman
cease to struggle.. Men are willing to believe that wbich who had thus exposed her heart to another blow, that
they most desire, and Murray readily persuaded him- | she might do them a service. His saddle-horse, the
self that my outward appearance of contentment was same that had borne him to my door almost every morn-
real; that wounded pride was all that he had to reproach ing for a year, stood upon the pavement. It was a no-
himself with inflicting. He seemed relieved and really ble beast, and had been the companion of our rides at
grateful; we should yet be very happy -- innocently Ashton. My own favorite horse had been purchased to
happy, he said, and that we never could have been match him. I was on foot, without attendant, and had
while breaking a moral and conventional rule for which worn a large, close bonnet, that none might recognize me
society extorted such penalties from the woman. The near the house of my rival, but the sagacious creature
fortitude with which I had listened to a separation, had knew me spite of my disguise. He began to paw the
secured bis respect for ever. I should henceforth be to stones, and curved his head round with a low, whim-
him as a very dear sister; to Louisa, a generous friend. 'pering neigh, as I passed by. How soothingly any to-
“Murray was sincere in all this, for he resolutely ken of attachment, even from the lowliest animal, goes
deceived himself into a belief of his own wishes. Ito a deserted heart. I could not resist the impulse, but
went through the scene bravely; no word nor look be- turned back and patted the beautiful animal's neck as I
trayed the agony forced back to the solitude of my own had been wont to do in happier days.
bosom. I had no weak, feminine wish, that he should Have a care, miss,' said the man who held him,
be appalled by the wreck he had made.
he is apt to be skittish with strangers. I never saw
“I ascertained that Miss Jameson's aunt had refused but one lady that was not afraid of him.'
to bestow any fortune with her niece, and I knew that I “And who was that?' I inquired, gathering the
Murray was far, far from wealthy enough to meet the thick veil more closely over my face.
expenses of an establishment befitting his rank. I could “Oh, the Lady Gordon, God bless her; I should like
not bear that he should have his fine mind cramped to see the horse she could not manage. Bluebuck was
down to the petty annoyances of a limited income, nor always like a lamb when she was near, and would snuff
that she should be for ever crushed beneath the humilia-round and eat bread from her little white hand as dain-
ting consciousness of poverty. Varnham never allowed Lily as a lap dog. Why?-
himself to exceed his own little income, and the reve- I John,' said a voice from the window, you may
nues of our estates far exceeded our general expendi- || take Bluebuck away. I shall walk home.'
cure. It was therefore easy for me to raise a suin suf- “I grasped my veil still lighter, and hurried forward


188
MAR Y DERWENT.
as if caught in some disgracefulact. A moment after, the fung it carelessly aside to make room for the magnifi-
groom galloped by me, nodding and smiling with a free- cent bracelet which she had drawn from its casket. I
dom which my own familiarity had warranted. The dashed the glittering bauble from her hold, and with a
act, in itself, was sufficient proof that I was unknown, shaking hand reclasped the precious circler. It was
but the proud blood mounted to my cheek, and I felt as his giſt, and had never left my arm since the time his
if his servant had offered me an indignity-as if I was hands had placed it there. It maddened me that its clasp
never to bo respected or loved again.
should have been undone by a menial, and on that day.
“ I entered that house once again, to see the man for “I gave one glance at the mirror before I went out.
whom I had sacrificed the innocence and hope of a life Excitement had begun its work of beauty; a vivid, start-
wedded to another. It was a strange wish, but I felt a ling brilliancy was in my eyes, and a feverish red bloomed
kind of gladiator's pleasure in goading my heart on toll in either cheek. My terrified French woman had per.
madness- stern, unrelenting love of self torture. I formed her rask bravely. Jowels flashed in my curls,
resolved to be present at the marriage.
and shed a starry brightness over my arms and neck,
“I strove to rest, but could not. In vain I loosened and my poor heart trembled like a wounded bird beneath
the golden cords and darkened my sumptuous couch I a girdle that might have won a prince's ransom. Oh,
with its wealth of drapery. In vain I heaped its pil. it was all a sad, sad mockery!
lows of down, and drew the sheets of fine linen over my ii “Like the stricken deer which still bounds on and on
head. The pain rankling in my heart would not be ap- though the arrow is rankling in his side, I mingled among
peased. Still I sought for rest. Should I go with my the crowd of high-born guests invited 10 Murray's wed-
sunken eyes and pallid looks to his wedding festival- ding. Ob, how strangely every thing seemed! the mur-
and that come on the morrow. Sleep-sleep, I must muring sound of happy and pleasant voices was in my
have sleep, for smiles and bloom would be wanted on ears, feathers and diamonds and glittering satins floated
the coming day; after that, I cared not; for it seemed confusedly before me, and it all nppeared like a phan-
as if my destiny would be consummated then. I went tasmigoria. Then my sight cleared, and my hearing
to my dressing table and poured out laudanum, a large became keen, for there was a hush in the throng, and a
quantity, but some was shed over the table, for my hand | stately noble came forth with the young bride leaning on
shook as I emptied the vial, else I cared not if the sleep his arm. I saw the changing of her soft cheek beneath
it brought should be eternal. The cup was of gold the bridal veil, and the happy light of her eye as they
from which I drank the potion, and its jewelled rim led her before the bishop. A moment, and he stood by
sparkled to the flame of my night-lamp, as I raised it to her side. The hurried words of his response came dis-
my lips. I would have given it with all the vast wealth tinctly to myear, and the voice was that which had won
from which it had been purchased, for one hour of sweet, me lo sin and wretchedness.
calm slumber. But it could not be; a heavy sense of “That man had loved me, and yet I stood within a
suffering setiled upon my frame, and that was all. My few paces of him, ill with griel, and so wretched, that
body became stupid. but there was no oblivion to the the very beggars in the streel might have pitied me; yet
intense workings of the mind. The morning found me he made his solemn vows to another, and did not feel
in my dressing room, buried in the velvet depths of an my presence. The guests gathered about the newly-
easy-chair, with my eyes wide open, as they had been wedded pair, and the sound of their congratulations
the whole night. A dressing-mirror swung on its stand came mockingly to me, where I sat alone in a distant
before me, and an image, which I shuddered to recoge part of the room. Sorrow had now nearly bereft
nize as the reflection of myself, seemed watching my i me of all my strength, and I could not arise, though I
wretchedness with sad, heavy eyes, that would not close. felt that curious eyes might speculate upon me, sitting
I buried my face in my dress, that I might not be haunted thus apart and agitated. I struggled for a moment's
by the picture of my own misery, for I had no strength energy and penetrated the crowd. The moment my
to wheel the chair away, or to remove the mirror. I eyes resicd on his face, and marked his proud, happy
must have slept awhile, for when I raised my face again, I smile and kindling eye, I became calm, very calm, and
a broad sunshine was shed through the window-dra- should have remained so, for I had yet pride enough to
pery, and a clock on the mantlepiece beat nino. In one nerve me, had that triumphant smile lingered one mo-
hour he was to be married. I rang the bell and ordered mentor: his lips after he saw me; but it did not, for when
that my dress should be as splendid as possible, and he turned from the greeting of a fair girl by his side,
ther. I took no farther note of the costly robes which myi and saw me standing before him, his brow and lip be-
bewildered maid brought out for my choice, nor gave came colorless, and he recoiled a step as if a spirit had
farther directions, but abandoned myself wholly to her | started up in his path. One glance bad revealed the
tuste, not caring that the splendor in which she arrayed | ruin he had made, for with all my mastery over the ag-
me was little befitting the early hour, so long as it shed ony struggling within, it must have forced its impress
life over the deathly hue of my features. She had spo- on the lineaments of my face. It was a dangerous mo-
ken to me more than once, with no other answer than I'ment for us both, for many curious eyes were upon us.
a faint desire that she should hasten, for my attention | I heeded it not, for what was life or good name to me
was fixed on the clock, whose pointer had crept round then? But he grasped the hand which I had extended
the dial, and almost touched the hour. Then she un- with a warning energy that thrilled back to my heart,
locked a slender band of chased gold from my arm, and and when he saw that my lips moved without syllabling


MARY DER WENT..
189
a word, he answered with a graceful ease, as if the || I had done that man. He was at Ashton, and I ro-
usual congratulations had been spoken. I addressed a solved to go to him, but with no definite aim, for I was in-
few words to his bride. What they were, I do not re- capable of any fixed plan. But he was my only friend,
member, but she smiled and raised her eyes wonderingly and my poor heart turned back to him in its emergency
to my face, and asked if I had been ill.
of sorrow, with the trust of former years, and forgot
"I would have left the house, for my unnatural that it had by one sinful act locked up the only well-
strength was giving way, but the bridal equipage was i spring of sympathy left to it.
drawn up before the door, and mine could not be called i “I flung a large cloak over my splendid attire, and
till it had driven off. I shrunk away to a window and while my carriage was yet at the door, entered it and
drew the heavy curtains over the recess, for there was ordered them to proceed to Ashton. We travelled all
that stirring within my heart which would not longer day, and I did not once leave my seat, but remained
brook the gaze of a crowd. I stood behind the silken muffed in my cloak with the hood drawn over my head,
drapery with my throbbing forehead pressed against the lost in the misty half-consciousness of partial insanity.
casement and my hands clasped hard over my heart, I believe that the carriage stopped more than once, and
when the curtain was suddenly liſted and Murray stood that food and rest were urged on me by my servants; but
by my side. He was pale as death, and there was an-|| I took no heed, only ordering them to drive forward,
guish, such as I had never before witnessed, in his eyes. for the rapid motion relieved me.
A moment he pored over my face, while his own worked “It was deep in the night when we reached Ashton.
with strong emotion; then grasping my hands in both Every thing was dark and gloomy; but one steady lamp
his, he said in a half whisper of thrilling reproach, ‘Oh glimmered from the library window, and I knew that
my God! Caroline, why bave you deceived me thus ? || Varnham was up, and there. The library was in the
Why did you lead me to believe that you had freely back part of the house, and the sound of the carriage
consented to this ?
had not reached it. I made my way through the dark-
"I did not speak. I could not; but my face was ened hall, and entered my husband's presence. For
lifted to his, and he must have read there all the misery | one moment the ſeverish beatings of my heart were
he had heaped upon me. I did not then strive to con- hushed by the holy tranquillity of that solitary student,
ceal it, for my pride was utterly crushed, and I had no and by the gloomy magnificence of the room. The no
strength left. Footsteps approached the window ble painted window seemed thick and impervious in the
Murray started--the grasp of his cold hand tightened dim light. The rich book-cases were in shadow, and
on mine for a moment, and I was alone!
cold marble statues looked down from their pedestals
“There was a bustle on the steps. A white veil gleam- with a pale, grave-like beauty, as I entered. Varnham
ed before my aching eyes. Then the form of the bride was reading. One small lamp alone shed its lustre on
groom appeared. His pale, anxious face was raised to the rare Mosaic table over which he bent, and threw a
the window where I stood for one instant, and then my broad light across the pale, calm forebead which had
brain grew giddy, and I remembered nothing more, something heavenly in its tranquil smoothness. I was by
eave a flash of white ribands, and the whirl of a chariot his side, and yet he did not see me. - The solemn still-
passing before my eyes, then the trams of many horses ness of the room had cleared away my brain, and
seemed smiting me to the earth. I did not faint, for for a moment I felt the madress of my intended confi-
there was fever in my veins, and that gave me strength dence. I staggered, and should have fallen but for the
to endure. When my own carriage was drawn to the edge of the table, which I grasped with a force that
door, I went again through the crowd; a hand was ex- | made the lamp tremble. Varnham started up astonished
tended; I smiled and accepted it; but to this day do at my sudden presence; but when he saw me standing
not know who led me from the room. I entered my before him, with the fire of excitement beaming in my
house. Desolate and very melancholy it seemed. eyes and crimsoning my cheeks, with jewels twinkling
There was none to feel for me-no kind voice to ask in my hair and blazing on my girdle, where it flashed
why I was so wretched. Had my mother been alive, I out from the cloak which my trembling hand had be-
could have crept to her bosom, and pure as she was, come powerless to hold, he seemed intuitively to feel
bave told her all, and with her sweet voice in my ear, the evil destiny that I had wrought for myself. His
and my arms about her neck, could have melted to face become pale, and it was a minute before he could
tears; for she would have pitied and comforted me, i speak. Then he came to me, drew me kindly to his
sunken as I was. But she was in her cold green grave, li bosom and kissed my forehead with a tranquil tender-
and even the memory of that brought no moisture to my iness that went to my heart like the hushings of my
eyes. I could not weep, for no where could I turn for mother's voice. I flung myself upon his bosom, and
sympathy. I had no mother, no sister nor friend. My wept with a burst of passionate grief which startled him.
pride was crushed, and I had no strength left; yet my He scated himself and drew me closer to his heart,
heart would not break. Then I thought of Varnham and besought me to tell him the cause of my sorrow. I
for the first time in many days, not as the husband I had did tell him—and then he flung me from his bosom as if
so deeply injured, but as the kind, good friend who had I had been a reptile, and a curse-a bitter curse burned
watched beside me, and loved me amid all my sorrows. on the lips that had never till then known ought but
I was not wholly in my right mind, and I bethought me blessings--not against me-no, he could never have
but imperfectly of my sin, and how deadly was the wrong cursed membut on Murray. Then I bethought me of


190
MRS. FRY --- AND A QU A KER MARRIAGE.
the evil that might follow, of bloodshed and murder, and I would be lifted up with a serene joy and a holy pride,
I arose from the floor and fell before him, where he though her lip might quiver when she breathed, and
stood, and tried to plead and to call back all I had her voice falter when she spoke.
said. He lifted me again in his arms, though I felt a The bridegroom, though a Quaker, and the child of
shudder run through his whole frame as he did so; and Elizabeth Fry-I believe her name is Elizabeth-was
he told me to be comforted, and said many soothing fashionably dressed, as if he, too, was ashamed of the
words, and promised never to expose me or put me to faith which had made his mother so celebrated. And
shame, but he said nothing of him, and when I againyet there was a something stiff, Quakerish, and prig.
strove to plead for his life, he put me sternly away, and gish in his air; he was evidently not at his ease; pot
then I went wholly mad."
half so well satisfied with himself, or with his coat, as
To be continued.
he would have us believe. -And how should it be other-
i wise ? Both were hypocrites-both deceivers.
Original.
But I have not half done yet. The bride was followed
MRS. FRY-AND A QUAKER MARRIAGE.
up to the place by three or four young women, rigged
BY JOHN NEAL.
out as bride maids, after the vulgar fashion of the day;
a creature that glories in notoriety, while she pretends
I HAD often heard of the eloquence of the celebrated to be afraid of her own shadow-covering her face with
Mrs. Fry, in prayer; and after a while had an opportu-a veil, and looking as if butter would not melt in her
nity of hearing her to great advantage. Her son was mouth, at the very moment she is parading the high-
to be married to a Quakeress. The name of the youth way, with a retinue of girls after her, so clothed as to
was John Gunn Fry; that of the maiden, Rachael Rey-proclaim what is about to be done, as with a trumpet
nolds--a portentous name, by the way, for a wife: Ra- from the house-tops. One of these Quaker bride-maids
chaels are sure to be widows if they marry. The Qua- wore a wreath of flowers in her bonnet ; another had
kers, or Neighbors, as they are called in a part of Eng.. a wreath about her waist; and all wore sarsnet slips
land, or properly, the Friends, marry in what is called | with musling trimmings, and fashionable bonnets. And
a church, over sea, a meeting-house here. Among other they carried it off well, too. Observe it where you-
celebrated characters who were invited to witness the may, the women get over these things much more grace-
ceremony, was Mr. John Dunn Hunter, (the white fully than we do. In the same rank in society, they are
savage) whose name, I dare say, may be found at the not a fortieth part so awkward, or shy. or one.
top, or near the top of the signatures. He was a favorite left-legged. Go into a country ball-room, and compare
with Mrs. Fry and her family, and would have made the women you see there with the men you see there.
me acquainted with her, if I had not been too much oc- The difference between the former, and the best educa-
cupied.
ted and most accomplished girls of the day, is not near
About half an hour after I arrived, the parties came so decidedly marked, as the difference between the lat-
in ; with as little of the primitive simplicity of George i ter and the third or fourth rate gentlemen of the town.
Fox's immediate followers, however, as one would ever So here—the Quaker-girls were easy in their finery-
desire to see any where. The bride was equipped in but the Quaker-boys, who played the part of grooms-
white muslin and white sarsnet, like the rest of the men, looked as if they had all been furnished with new
world; a fashionable bonnet and a white veil-yes, a coats for the occasion. They wore their bats a little o'
veil, and the first I had ever seen about the smooth hair, one side, to be sure; they unbuttoned their substitutes
and modest eyes of a Quaker-girl. I could not see her for a lappel, and their velvet collars were dogs-eared at
face, contrary to what I should have expected ; for if one end, to look free and easy ; but all to no purpose ;
marriage is a thing to be ashamed of, why do people they were still Quakers, and every thing they did was
marry ? and if not a thing to be ashamed of, why do i Quakerish.
they cover their faces, or jump into a carriage the mo. At last a woman dropped upon her knees, and prayed
ment they are tied together, and hurry away, and hide awhile to a tune I never heart before, though I bare
themselves a month or two, nobody knows where, as if heard some fifty or sixty Orthodox variations of the
they were running away with other people's husbands whine—as if the Deity were to be sung to, like a sick
or wives? So the fashion is ; and whatever may be the child. This over, the parties to be married arose, and
folly or wickedness of a fashion, how are we to help the youth went through his declaration, as if he bad
ourselves? Here now, was a pretty Quaker girl, I am been practising it for many a day before his grandmother.
sure she was pretty-whose real face I would have“ Friends," said he, with a free, loud, school-boyish air,
given the world to see; and yet, in obedience to a silly“ I take this my Friend, Rachael Reynolds, to be my
fashion, I had no opportunity of getting so much as a wife, and promise through Divine assistance, to be unto
single peep at her, from the first to the last of the beau- her a faithful and affectionate husband, till it shall please
tiful ceremony, which made her and another, one for the Lord by death to separate us"-language worthy of
ever and ever. Shame on such mock-modesty. The all acceptation by the way. The woman followed, re-
truly modest woman, if she reflected for herself at such peating the same words, with a little variation, grasping
a time, would never hide her face, lest it should be his hand convulsively the while, and, moving her lips in
thought she was ashamed of her husband, or thinking such a way, that if she said any thing, it was entirely un-
of what was improper. No, indeed—but her meek eyes heard.
ind


MY FRIEND.
191
That over, Mrs. Fry, the mother, fell upon her knees, 1 lure to himself scenes of future enjoyment. I often as-
and prayed to the Father of Spirits for a blessing on the sisted him in building his dizzy structures, but we could
pair who had just entered the trying and perilous path never superadd any thing to a solitary room, lined with
of matrimony. The prayer was good, the language shelves, with a cat and dog for his sole companions. In
natural and proper, and her voice rather sweet, though fact, he never allowed the idea of connubial felicity to
she, too, had that miserable whine which so takes away enter his mind, being firmly persuaded that “celibacy"
from the dignity of prayer, and which, unless people was synonymous with “happiness." This was not
have grown up to it from their birth, must appear to from any feeling of dislike to the gentler sex; he did
them like the whining of a whipped school-boy, or the not dislike them, and yet he was sure that there was
mockery of what prayer should be—an affectionate and nothing like lovo existing in his breast. I often thought
earnest outbreaking of the soul; a thanksgiving, not an that the being who could win his heart, would secure a
ex postulation; a grateful and profound acknowledge treasure pure as it was noble.
ment for the past, not an importunity for the future !! I had a cousin, young, gentle, and confiding-a be-
leaving the Father of men to look after his work here- ing around whom the spirit of love might flutter, hardly
after, as he has heretofore, in his own way. Her chant l' daring to alight, so pure, so holy was her heart. She
reminded me strongly of the chant of Pistruccio, the Ita- had resided for some time in my father's family, and I
lian improvisatore; of the song with two notes on a gui- loved her with all the fondness of a brother. She often
lar with four strings, by a Chinese girl that I knew, and distinguished me by that endearing appellation, and, at
of some readers of poetry I have had the misfortune to length, transferred the more distant sobriquet to my
meet with. Mrs. Fry was followed by William Allen, friend. During his numerous visits, we daily rambled
a celebrated member of the society, formerly known together, and, almost invariably, the two beings dearest
throughout the world, as the friend of the Emperor to me, found themselves in solitary intimacy. And yet,
Alexander, now the husband of a rich widow, whom he he told me that he did not love her that the feeling ho
married in her old age, about three years ago. After cherished toward her was only brotherly-and, strange
Friend Allen had got through with a pretty fair speech, to say, he really believed that it was so. She, likewise,
another woman spoke, who whined much less, and be was perfectly contiding, and thought that it was not
trayed a great deal of downright cleverness. I do not wrong to give him a place in her affections.
know her name, but she was far superior to the celebra-i “Is he not my brother's friend ?" said she.
red Mrs. Fry. That over, the parties signed ; their i The question was conclusive, the argument irresistible.
friends on both sides ; and then such of the society and Yes, those tender words that he spoke came from a
spectators as chose—the more the merrier.
brother's heart—that little kiss, as they parted, was but
Take the whole ceremony together, it was affecting the visible emblem of brotherly love. My friend did not
and impressive to me; perhaps from early education-
s from early education know his own heart.
perhaps not. The severe and beautiful decorum that I A month elapsed. My cousin was taken dangerously
was observed by the middle aged, the neat, cleanly air ill. A raging fever seemed burning up her vitals, and
of the young women, and the real dignity of the aged, death appeared to be written upon her brow. Silence
were what I love to see. But of the boys I cannot say
reigned throughout the house. We were all mourners.
much. They were indeed boys.
| We looked upon the awful ravages of the disease, and
Mrs. Pry would pass for a Yankee: she said jest feared the result. The countenance of the physician ex-
for just, sperrit for spirit, provdunce for providence;
pressed doubt if not despair. At length, he plainly told
and Friend Allen talked about ransackin', pretty much
us that we must give her up. I wrote to my friend for
as we do here.
sympathy.
The next day, instead of receiving a letter, I clasped
him to my breast. His first question “is she living ?"
Original.
was asked in a lone of ulter despair. The affirmative
MY FRIEND.
answer seemed to cheer him, but the additional tidings
of hopelessness renewed his agitation. His appearance
A SKETCH.
indicated mental torture. His eye was wild, his dress
THERE are often deep and strange feelings imbed- disordered, and his speech faltering. We entered the
ded in the human heart, called out only by some strange house. He could hardly walk. He sank into a chair
event. A man may hate or love without for once sus- and gasped" My friend, she must not die-she is too
pecting that these passions are raging within him. The lovely to die !" The fountain of feeling was broken up
truth is, they are dormant, and unless some extraor- ' and he wept like a child. A shriek burst upon our
dinary circumstance arouse them, they will slumber for ears. My cousin was in the highest state of delirium.
ever.
It was too much. My friend burst from me, and would
I have a friend whose history exemplifies this posi- ; have entered the room, had not the precaution of its
tion. He was my bosom companion. We read, talked, inmates prevented him. I spent the night in his room.
ate, and slept together. He was my junior by a few Very frequently did the cries of the poor sufferer reach
months, and this led him to look to me as to an elder our ears, and every one was answered by a sympathetic
brother. His temperament was one that led him always groan.
lo look at the bright side of things and he loved to pic- Morning came. The delirium had passed away-the


192
SKETCHES AND A NECDOTES.
NUMBER V.
red flush had faded from the cheek, but the paleness of|
Original.
those lips-the fearful dulness of those eyes, proclaimed
SKETCHES AND ANECDOTES
that a dreadful change had taken place. We were per-
ILLUSTRATIVE OF
mitted to enter. A sweet but gentle smile—a momen FEMALE CHARACTER.
tary rush of blood to the cheeks, and an attempt to press BY THE AUTHOR OF “LETTERS ABOUT THE HUDSON."
our hands, welcomed us. We were yet known, yet
loved. We stood around her bed momentarily expec-
ting to witness the last gasp, and to know ihat the soul
"Mark her majestic fabric! She's a temple
of that fair being had arisen 10 a brighter world. Few
Sacred by birth, and built by hands divine:
Her soul's the deity that lodges there;
minutes elapsed-respiration grew more imperceptible;
Nor is the pile unworthy of the god."-DRYDEN.
the lips became compressed-the eyelids closed gently,
and she slept. It was not the sleep of death.
MARIA DE SOUZA AND HER Sons. When the Dutch
Another half hour passed away. In breathless anxi-West India Company attempted to gain a footing in the
ety we stood around the couch. At length, those beau- Brazils, they committed all those cruelties which have
tiful eyes peeped forth froin between their lids more ever marked their progress when they have commenced
brightly than before-those lips parted gently and a a new colony. Among those who opposed them, Maria
sweet smile rested upon the cheek. There was a word de Souza, one of the noblest women of the province,
spoken by the same musical voice we had often heard, distinguished herself. In the action before Nazareth,
and a hand fair and soft, pressed mine to the heart of her son, Esteram Velho, fell. Already in this war sho
its owner. “She will live !" shouted my friend, and a had lost two other sons, and her daughter's husband ;
burst of joyful tears followed this exclamation.
when the lidings of the fresh calamity arrived, she called
She did live and in a few weeks became the happy her two remaining sons, one of whom was fourteen years
bride of my happier friend.
J. L. c. of age, the other a year younger, and said to them,
Ballston Spa., July 2d, 1838.
“ Your brother Esteram has been killed by the Dutch
to-day; you must now, in your turn, do what is the duty
Original.
of honorable men in a war wherein they are required to
TO FANCY.
serve God, and their king, and their country. Gird on
your swords, and when you remember the sad day in
Maid of the changeful brow, and light'ning glance,
which you girt them on, let it not be for sorrow, but for
Come with thy pencil dip't in rainbow hues,
vengeance; and whether you revenge your brethren, or
Come with thy handmaid, Hope, a lovelier pair
fall like them, you will not degenerate from them, nor
In youth's glad morn, ne'er brushed the glittering |
from your mother."-"Give us our swords," exclaimed
dews
the heroic youths, “we will revenge the death of our
From life's fresh flow'rets, come again to me
brothers, or perish like them.” Maria de Souza then
And set the weuried, care-worn spirit free.
sent her sons to Mathias, the governor of the fort, re-
Come as thou camest of old
questing that he would rate them as soldiers. The
Ere life's fair colors caught the shades of earth, children of such a stock could not degenerate, and they
Touched by thy magic pencil, pleasure, joy
lived to prove themselves the worthy inheritors of its
Upon the breathing canvass springs to birth, heroism and renown.
O, come again bright Fancy, come and bring
ChristinA, QUEEN OF SWEDEX.-Christina, daugh-
Childhood's pure feelings on thy viewless wing. ter of the great Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden,
O, come again and let me picture now,
and of Maria Elenora of Bradenburg, was born on the
As I once pictured, thornless, fadeless flowers,
19th of December, 1626. During the pregnancy of the
When hope expectant stood with ready hand
queen, her mother, it was predicted by the astrologers,
To crown with bliss the gay and laughing hours,
whose pretensions were at that time held in high esti-
In vain I call thee, for the woes that cling
mation, that to Gustavus a son was about to be born,
To all of earth, have bound thy soaring wing
destined to maintain the glory of his father. This pre-
diction, added to some other circumstances, misled the
But yet, Oh, leave me not, I linger still
women who attended the queen on her delivery, to mis-
'Mongst thy lov'd haunts, fair are thy visions, yet
represent the sex of the child. Gustavus, on being in-
In vain, stern truth her mirror holds to view,
formed of the mistake by Catharine, his sister, smilingly
My waking heart cannot thy dreams forget,
replied, “Let us, however, thank God; this girl, I trust,
I see thee as thou wert when life was new
will prove not less valuable than a boy. She has already,
I know thee false, yet welcome thee as true.
by deceiving us, given a presage of her ingenuity."
I welcome thee, and thou dost lead me far
Gustavus attached himself to the child, which he car-
A meteor light, not reason's steady ray,
ried about with him in all his journies. Christina,
A coruscation bright, that gilds my path
when about two years of age, was taken by her father lo
Throwing a glory o'er life's darksome way,
Calmar, the governor of which hesitated whether to
Once more youth's golden visions radiant beam give the king the usual salute, lest the infant should be
I follow on, and find but Fancy's gleam.
terrified by the noise of the cannon. Gustavus being
Brooklyn City, July 1838.
il consulted, exclaimed, after a moment's pause, “ Fire !
EDITH


194
EXCURSION TO THE DEISTER.
The Poor GOVERNESS.—The widow of a clergyman of General Frazer accompanied her, and with one female
who kept the Grammar School at Plympton, on the servant, and the Major's valet, who had then, in bis
decease of her husband, opened a boarding-school for shoulder, a ball, received in the late action, she rowed
young ladies; but having few friends, was unable to down the river to meet the enemy."
make a sufficiently reputable appearance at their accus- EMILY GEIGER.--At the time General Greene retrea-
tomed balls. The daughter of a neighbor, an only child, l'ted before Lord Rawdon from Ninety-six, when he had
and then a very young girl, felt for the poor governess' passed Broad River, he was very desirous to send an
pitiable insufficiency in the article of finery; and being order to General Sumter, who was on the Wateree, to
unable to help her from her own resources, devised the join him, that they might attack Rawdon, who had
means with which it might be done. Having heard of divided his force. But the General could find no man
the great fame of Sir Joshua Reynolds, his character for in that part of the state, who was bold enough to under-
generosity and charity, and recollecting that he had take so dangerous a mission. The country to be passed
formerly belonged to the Plympton school, she, without through, for many miles, was full of blood-thirsty Tories,
mentioning it to her companions, addressed a letter to who, on every occasion that offered, imbrued their hands
Sir Joshua, whom she had never seen, stating the forlorn in the blood of the Whigs. At length Emily Geiger pre-
condition of the poor governess' wardrobe, and begged sented herself to General Greene, and proposed to act
the gift of a silk gown for her. Very shortly after, silks as his messenger; and the General, both surprised and
of different patterns, sufficient for two dresses, reached delighted, closed with her proposal. He accordingly
the astonished governees, who was wholly unacquainted wrote a letter and delivered it, and at the same time
with the compassionate means that had procured her communicated the contents of it verbally, to be told to
so welcome a present.
Sumter in case of accidents. Emily was young, but as
CALCULATING GIRL.-In the Spring of 1819, a little to her person or adventures on the way, we have no fur-
girl, about eleven years old, appeared at the Royal 'ther information, except that she was mounted on horse-
Exchange, and made some very extraordinary calcula- back, upon a side-saddle, and on the second day of her
lions. Several gentlemen asked her some intricate journey, she was intercepted by Lord Raudon's scouts.
questions, and while they were calculating it, she gave Coming from the direction of Greene's army, and not be-
a correct answer. She was asked to multiply 525,600 ing able to tell an untruth without blushing, Emily was
by 250, which she answered in one minute, 131,4000 suspected, and confined to a room; and as the officer in
000. A second question was, how many minutes there command had the modesty not to search her at the time,
are in forty-two years ? Answer, 22,075,200. She was he sent for an old Tory matron as more fitting for that
next desired to multiply 525,000 by 450; answer, 236, purpose. Emily was not wanting in expedient, and as
250,000. Several other questions equally difficult were soon as the door was closed, and the bustle a little sub-
put, all of which she answered very correctly. It is sided, she ate up the letter piece by piece. After a
remarkable, that the girl can neither read nor write. while, the matron arrived, and upon searchi
while, the matron arrived, and upon searching carefully,
She stated herself to be the daughter of a weaver, living nothing was to be found of a suspicious nature about
in Mile End New Town, of the name of Heywood. the prisoner, and she would disclose nothing. Suspi-
cion being thus allayed, the officer commanding the
Harriet Ackland.—“During a halt of the army, 1.
:scouts, suffered Emily to depart for where she said she
in their retreat on the Sth of October," says General
was bound; but she look a route somewhat circuitous
Burgoyne, “ I received a message from Lady Harriet
to avoid further detention, and soon after, struck in the
Ackland, submitting to my decision, a proposal of
road to Sumier's camp, where she arrived in safety.
passing to the American camp, and requesting Gene- Emily told her adventure, and delivered Greene's ver-
rul Gates' permission to attend her husband, who, bal message to Sumter, who, in consequence, soon after
wounded, was a prisoner. Though I was ready to joined the main army at Orangeburgh. Emily Geiger
believe, for I had experienced that patience and fortitude afterwards married Mr. Therwits, a rich planter on the
in a supreme degree were to be found, as well as every
well as every Congaree.
on
other virtue, under the most lender forms, I was aston-
ished at this proposal. After so long an agitation of
Original.
spirits, exhausted not only from want of rest, but want
THE EXCURSION TO THE DEISTER.*
of food, drenched in rains for twelve hours together,
that a woman should be capable of such an undertaking
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF STURZ.
as delivering herself to the enemy, probably in the night, 11 “Lam determined to be master in my own house,
and uncertain what hands she might fall into, appeared Arist,” said my friend Simon, the other day; " not
an effort above human nature.
i from mere obstinacy, for I am the easiest disposition in
“ The assistance I was enabled to give, was small in the world, but from the principle of the thing. Believe
deed ; I had not even a cup of wine to offer her; but I me, the best wife on earth has odd caprices and is driven
was told that she had found, through some kind hand, a hither and thither by whims and follies, if not well dril-
little rum and dirty water. All I could furnish to her, led to obedience.”
was an open boat, and a few lines, written on dirty, wet
paper, to General Gates, recommending her to his pro-
* A mountain in Hanover in the neighborhood of the Haller-
brunnen. The beautiful environs of the spring are a favorite
tection. The chaplain who had officiated at the funeral resort for parties of pleasure from the surrounding country.


EXCURSION TO TIE DE ISTER.
195
“But is that so easy, Herr Simon ?”.
splendid weather to some better account, and I can at
“Every thing is in the method, my dear sir. If a hus- length do to-morrow what I have so long intended. Your
band never refuses or demands any thing except from library here shall be well scrubbed and cleaned. Every
good reasons, which you know, he can always find, the thing must be turned out and put into a reasonable de-
wife learns to regard her husband's will as the wiscst, greo of order. It will dry quickly now, and you will be
and follows it without resistance."
rid of all that abominable rubbish."
I was silent with surprise ; for, in confidence be it “No, no-not there in Heaven's name! that shall not
said, the domestic disposition of this honest man was be. Your hubbub and bustle, you well know, are my
not duly comprehended in the town. On the contrary, greatest aversion. Let that rest until another time; I
every one believed that he was led by his wife in firm,!! must work to-morrow.”
though silken fetters. It would be a sin, thought I, to
" But, dear husband, can you not sit in the little front
destroy such a comfortable illusion, such a confidence of
parlor for two or three days? The children are not
power: vet I ventured to remark, that the Sultan ofien' reru troublesome. I am really ashamed when a stran.
mistook the fancies of his favorite slave for his own free
ger comes in here ; for you know the mistress of the
will, and that every woman was born a domestic politi-,
house bears all the reproach. It must really be done at
cian.
once."
“All nonsense,” cried Simon. “Possibly, one who
"Yes, and it shall be done, but when I am not at
does not comprehend the female mind, may be deluded
by its arts; but whoever is skilled in the windings of
home.”
their cunning, in the labyrinth of their wiles, may de-
“You have put me off so several times. Do not be
lect their most secret and skilful approaches."
angry, my dear husband, this disorder is lille credit to
"Friend Simor," said I, “dear friend Simon, there
either of uz. Is it healthy, is it agreeable to live in
are yet numerous arts upon which you cannot calcu-
such a kennel? Is it proper to bring any person in
late."
here? And I am sure you like a clean room. How
Some days after this, I called upon my friend's wife, plea:
friend's wife pleasant it will be for you when your library is thorough-
a friendly, pleasant woman, whose conversation and I ly aired and purified by the sweet breath of spring!"
actions were the mirror of nature.
“ Listen-I have an idea. Since Arist has set his
“What glorious weather!" she exclaimed. “This mind upon it-let us drive to the Deister. In the mean-
is the very time to visit the Hallerbrunnen. They say while, let them flourish their brooms and suds."
it is a most charming spot: will you join my party ?” i “Dear, good man! Go with him then, and enjoy
“If it can be to-morrow-willingly."
yourself as much as you can; I will attend to every
“To-morrow? Well! its settled then; the sooner thing here."
the better: this fine weather may change."
“No, wife; that was not my meaning. I should lose
"If Mr. Simon agrees,”
half the pleasure--without thee I do not stir a step."
"Oh, you know," said she, with a peculiar smile,
"my husband is an excellent creature, and never refuses
“Cannot the clerk take care that no one touches the
me an innocent pleasure. Only make your prepara-li par
papers, and attend to the removal and replacing of the
tions; we will set off at six precisely."
books? Is your presence absolutely necessary for
At this moment she was called away, and I seated this
myself in my friend's library. Soon after, Simon enter. “No, child : but Madam Simon, I desire that you
ed the adjoining apartment in animated conversation will accompany us, if you please."
with his wife, and, as I heard the word Deister, curiosi- “Dear husband !"
iy tempted me to listen how the affair would be negotia-| “Once for all--one good turn deserves another; and
ied. I caught the following part of their discourse: as I have consented to the turning up of my room, you
“Thou art right, my dear, it is a tiresome thing--to'must go with me to the Deister."
go rolling over the bare causeway, eat and drink some “Well, well, dear husband, thy wishes are commands
wretched stuff, fatigue and heat one's self, and all this for me. I will make preparations immediately."
merely to behold a few trees, which one may see at They embraced each other affectionately, and I stole
home every day. Arist is possessed with the idea of through the back door and down the steps.
this drive."
We drove to the Deister. As we entered the car.
“I would willingly serve my friends; but they must riage, Herr Simon warmly pressed my hand, and whis-
not expect me to weary myself on their account. At pered :
all events it cannot be to-morrow, for I have urgent |"I owe this pleasure to you; my wife was much
business to attend to, and I scarcely know how I shall opposed to it, but she knows how to obey."
get through it. Besides, I dislike all such parties, where | Why cannot every sensible wife conduct her husband
pleasure is so methodically pursued, and only found to the Deister as often as she desires ?
when all is over. Ah, then we wearily exclaim: How
glad I am to get home again! Why then do you ladies
ever desire to go out ?”'
Is it not better that your friends should tell you of
“ That is just my opinion, and there's an end to it. l your faults, than that your enemies should talk of them
Arist may seek other companions. No! I will turn this publicly?
is?”


196
CONTENT.
CONTENT.
Arranged for two voices.
LARGHETTO

Say, smiling
nymph, where
is
thy blest
a
- - bode?

what kind
cli . mate is thy happy
reign, Or where thy pleas
.

ing
in - fluence
is
poured ?
For
long


TOPSFIELD WALTZ.
197

sought
But
have sought
in
vain.
3
Where'er thou art, 'tis thine to soften woes;
On thee alone may happiness depend;
Without thee, earthly riches are but foes;
"Tis thou, and only thou, can be our friend.
if thou art present, every thing is good :
The meanest cottage or the coarsest fare
May vie with palaces or dainty food,
Or all the honors that e'er wealth can bear.
Then, gracious Heaven, vouchsafe to hear my prayer,
That whatsoever good to me thou'st lent,
Or whatsoever be the ills I bear,
I learn in every state to be content.
TOPSFIELD WALTZ.
Composed for the Flute.
ALLEGRO.
1
Da Capo-Senza Réplica.


198
STRINGS OF PARAGRAPHS.
STRINGS OF PARAGRAPHS. I instance a la Murray--' you are an ignoramus." Re-
NUMBER 1.
tort the compliment, reader, and we are square. Bene-
To Fighting Men.-Sterne, I think--and if it is fices, now ineaning ecclesiastical wings, meant, origi-
not Sterne it is somebody else-tells a good story of a nally, bounty to soldiers. “Chance-Medley," in
soldier, whose practice it was to consider himself dead law, 18
mself dend law, is “the accidental killing of any one, not allo-
at the first fire. All the life-blood-and bones which gett
be which gether without the fault of the offender, but without
he carried off the field with him, he reckoned clear gain.,
malice prepense.” In newspaporial, it is such a batch
During the engagement he fought like a desperado, be- /
of paragraphs as you have here presented-killing the
ing dead, he had no life to lose. This is a timely hint,
time and patience-perhaps--of the reader, without
in anticipation of war-turn it over in your minds,
fault of the writer, and with malice prepense.
gentlemen expectants of military glory.
DREAMS.-One of the most curious features of life
ANOTHER-to the ladies. During the last war, when
asleep, is the utter disregard of the measure of time.
landings, and rumors of landings of the British, kept
Albercrombie quotes some instances. A person dreamed
he went to America-from England-spent a fortnight,
every man's boots and spurs on, and evey lady'e plate,
and came near drowning on his homeward passage.
silver spoons, ect., done up in napkins, in the seaboard:
lowns, the alarm flew in a town in Essex County, that
The fright awoke him, and he found he had been asleep
the British were disembarking. All was hurry, confu-
ten minutes. Dreams in which an actual noise bear a
part, take place after the alarm, though that is, appa-
sion, ard flight. Militia colonels, captains, and corpo-
rently, the end of the dream-as thus: if a person dream
rals wore looks of awful responsibility, and militia pri-
vates wished themselves more decidedly and une-
of an earthquake, and waking, find the noise has actu-
lally occurred-as is always the case ;-it is satisfacto-
quivocally private, making up the same time demon-
rily proved, that the whole story of the earthquake takes
stration of intention to become so. In the heat of the
place in the mind after hearing the noise, though that
bustle, one notable housewife immediately heated her
appears the catastrophe of the dream, and is the last
Rumford range, placed all the provisions in the house
| thing remembered in reviewing it.
in a cooking position, and set a table for forty. Just as
her arrangements were completed, in came her husband
AwpUL RESPONSIBILITY.-I laugh heartily, often-
in a perturbation. “What are you doing?” “Get-
times, at the salutatories of new editors. One would
ting ready to dine the British officers, to be sure." think, from reading, that they had taken a weight on
“Madam, you are crazy!” “Not a whit-a good din-their shoulders to which the back load of Atlas was a
ner begets good humor, and I am sure the enemy will mere box of waſers—that the stunted goose-quill, in
be in appetite, after meeting the valiant resistance they
their hands, would be more potent than the wand of
will.” The husband looked a little ashamed of his Prospero, and that the sheets issued by them, enlight-
hasty preparations for flight-walked out of the house
ened the world from the two capes, Horn and Hope, lo
rallied his neighbors--and it was unaniinously resolved
lved the extreme footprints of Cape Ross, Northward, to say
that the town's people should take one glimpse at the l' nothing of New Holland, and the islands in the South-
foe before they showed them their backs. So dow'n ern Archipelago. But alas! proofs of their conse-
they marched, in martial pomp, to the point of danger, quence do not come back to them always in legal ten-
and surprised- a fishing-boat, taking in water!
in water! er. It is an ungrateful world.
London THEATRES AND HOLIDAYS-Lieutenant Sli- I TO BE WELL BRED.-Never be astonished, except at
dell's book, “ The American in England," presents a a prodigy of a child who mistakes X for a saw-horse,
picture of holiday audiences at Covent Garden and and makes turkey-tracks on paper for the alphaber.
Drury Lane, to which Mrs. Trollone's American Sketch. Abound in sympathy-except for your wife. Cut her
es are not a circumstance. Bottles passing from mouth dead, if you meet her in mixed company. Be accus.
to mouth-coats off-shouts-groans-groups of ruf- tomed to every thing about you. Fabricius in pants,
fans with their sweethearts provided with gin-bottles and a dress coat, would be a model for a fine gentleman.
and glasses, etc. etc. Portions of the account are too He was not astonished at first sight of an elephant
bad to transcribe. The gin palaces on the corners of though removing a screen revealed the monster directly
the streets were brilliant with light, almost realizing at his back.
the fable of Aladin's palace and among the group Secrer of AVOIDING BOMBAST.-Never fancy a sub-
who hurried through the thoroughfares to distruction, "ject too lofty for language-and never have two styles
were mothers, with infant children in their arms-young of conversation, one for the eye, and another for the ear.
married couples-aged poverty-and youthful guilt.-- | Do not attempt to describe what you do not feel-ard
Horrid !
if you feel what you cannot describe, say nothing about it.
ORIGIN OF WORDS AND THEIR APPLICATION.-It is NEWSPAPER NAMES.-All sorts of them, and gene-
amusing and more profitable than idleness to chase words rally about as appropriate as Damon and Pythias for a
now in common use, back to their first application. Take cat and dog-or the Herald of Peace for an army and
the origin of ignoramus for instance. Signifying “ we navy magazine. If I were to establish one I would
are ignorant," it was formerly written on a bill of in- call it The Index. What is a newspaper but an index
dictment, when the jury found the evidence too weak to of the sentiments of its subscribers-a follower, not a
put the prisoner on trial. Now it is a singular noun- leader, of public opinion ?


LITERARY REVIEW,-- THEATRICALS.
199
Original.
won; that liberty, which by their virtue, they bequeathed ;
and those institutions which, in their wisdom, they framed. In
LITERARY REVIEW.
one word, and in the language of John Neal, let them “be in
AN ORATION, delivered by Edwin Forrest.--Mr. Forrest is earnest," as the men of the Revolution were.
a practised and consummate declaimer. With him delivery is; LIFE OF BRANT, we have not as yet received-but a friend,
the first, second and third excellence in the scale of rhetorical on whose judgment we can rely, informs us that the work is pot
perfection. He is undoubtedly highly gifted and accomplished what it is "cracked up" to be. Public opinion had been so
for the purpose of raising the emotions, and impressing the forestalled, that a work every way superior was anticipated. In
convictions which come by hearing, and not by the slower pro- this, however, all have been sadly disappointed.
gress of mental application. That is to say, his oration, aided | THE TOURIST, 1838: Harper & Brothers.--This little pocket
by a sonorous voice and graceful action, was well enough to manual is an invaluable companion to all who travel at this
listen to, though, by no means, good enough to read. Its style season of the year. It gives information and guides the wap-
18 singularly faulty, and there are occasionally errors which derer on the Hudson river, the Western and Northern Canals
show Mr. Forrest to be somewhat impatient of the rules of
and Rail Roads, the stage routes to the Falls of Niagara, and
grammatical construction. We should scarcely think of put down Lake Ontario and the St. Lawrence river to Montreal and
ting this production in the hands of a student either as a model Quebec; also detailing the routes to Saratoga, Ballston and Le-
of composition, or as a work of political authority and value. ibanon Springs. The Map of the Hudson river which accompa-
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF Irish Life, by Mrs. Hall: Carey, nies it seems to be more than usually accurate.
Lea & Blanchard, Philadelphia.-A series of spirited and in-
genious tales, exhibiting the character and illustrating the pe-
Original.
culiarities of the Irish peasantry. They are very creditable to
the writer, and both old and young may read them with plea-
THEATRICALS.
sure and profit.-The Carvills.
Park.--Mr. Conner, from the Philadelphia theatres, a young
SKETCHES or Young Ladies and Young GENTLEMEN, by
gentleman of considerable promise in his profession, has just
Qui:: Carey, Lea Blanchard, Philadelphia.-We commend
concluded an engagement at this house, and Miss Davenport
these Sketches to the notice of all who are fond of light, easy and Mr. Marble are now its principal attractions. The Yankee
and playful literature. The author has rendered his fair rea- i characters of this gentleman are highly ludicrous. He has
ders a service which we have no doubt they will properly ap- drawn respectable and contented houses-at least contented, if
preciate; and no young gentleman, who has sense enough to unceasing laughter is any evidence of content. Next month
last him over night, can peruse this amusing work of Quizour report of the doings at the Park will be far more interest-
without advantage.- The Carvills.
ing; though we are sorry to learn that neither Mrs. Wood nor
RELIGION AT HOME, by Mrs. Williams.—There is a beauti- Charles Kean will cross the Atlantic. The boards will be gra-
ful simplicity, and a real intrinsic worth about this story which ced, however, by Vestris, Poroer, the Keeleys, Charles Ma-
attracts the attention and enlists the feelings. The fair author thews, the Bedouin Arabs, etc., etc.
has been peculiarly successful in showing how Religion makes NATIONAL.- This theatre has been closed for some time; but
home the abode of nappiness, and how it assists in elevating its success when open was such as to rescue the public from
and nurifying the pleasures and intercourse of social life. She the hackneyed imputation of indifference to the drama when
introduces us to Christianity in its simplicity and purity, not presented as it should be. The company under Wallack was
wishing us to approach her in a formal manner, upon particular an admirable one; and some of Broune's performances will
days and in set places, but to take her familiarly by the hand, dwell in the recollection of those who were fortunate enough
making her the companion of our lives and the friend of our to witness them, long after he shall have ceased to play his bu-
hearts.--Providence, R. I. .
sy part on the great stage of the world. Mr. Wallack has se-
Nicholas NICKLEBY, No. III.: Carey, Lea & Blanchard, cured since he reached England a great variety of attractive
Philadelphia.-The number before us maintains the well earned talent; and has also added a new feature to his establishment,
reputation of the two preceding ones. It is distinguished by in the shape of a graceful and efficient French corps de ballet. Ho
the same originality of thought and expression--at one moment was about to sail for this country in the Great Western with
causing " Laughter to hold his sides." and at the next, stirring Mrs. Honey, Warde, Har
t. stirring Mrs. Honey, Warde, Harley, etc. So says rumor.
the “ source of sympathetic tears."— The Carvills.
OLYMPIC --The engagement of the accomplished Mrs. Mac-
SKETCHES, by Boz: Carey, Lea & Blanchard, Philadelphia, der looks well for this little theatre, particularly when taken in
These Sketches are alternately grave, gay, lively and severe; conjunction with the well filled houses which ni
and are in all respects worthy of the general notice and com eyes of the actors. Mr. Thorne is excellent in his way, and his
mendation they have received. No writer of the present time pretty wife possesses talents both varied and attractive. The
has taken such a hold upon the popular mind of England and
st perfect order is preserved in every department of this
America as Boz, and day after day the interest felt for him and house. We sincerely hope the management may command the
his works seems to grow upon society.-The Carvills.
success which they undoubtedly deserve.
AN ORATION, delivered at Portland, Me., by John Neal.- FRANKLIN.–This improving place of amusement has opened
We have read this Oration with unmingled satisfaction. Star- under a new management. The performance of the “ Lady of
some peculiarity of thought or Lyons" was creditable to the company and gratifying to the
style, you cannot but feel that you are listening throughout to audience. The play unquestionably possesses power and pa-
a prophet and a patriot. All who are not bound by the miscra- ''thos of no ordinary degree; its poetic beauty is, perhaps, its
ble shakles of party to the chariot wheels of some political least merit, though it is full of poetical passages, but, very cor-
leader, may read it with advantage, for its sentiments are cal- rectly, they are made incidental and not prominent. Its dra-
culated to re-kindle that pure and high-minded patriotism matic consistency-the knowledge it displays of true and natu-
which the safety of prosperity, and the habits of private pur- ral effects-its simp
suit, are but too apt to lessen and impair. Let old and young mendations. Mrs. Barret in the part of Pauline, was almost
take heed of the eloquent counsels of Mr. Neal. In reviewing every thing we could wish. She successfully represented that
the character and conduct of the pilgrims, let them look out lovely personification of the beautiful.
with the eyes of men upon their own conduct and character. Niblo's GARDEN.--Perhaps the best hit that has been made
Let them make the Fourth of July, in time to come, a day, not for many a year was the production of the Italian opera, by
for boasting of their privileges, but for remembering their obli- William, the Conqueror, at his Garden. I Barbiere di Sivig-
gations. Let them strive, as best they may, to maintain' lia, with Fornasari, Ferrero, Casolani, Horncastle and Mrs. H.
that rank among nations which, by their valor, their fathers Wallack, in the principal characters, has been performed there


200
EDITORS'TABLE.
in fine style. The voice of Fornasari has suffered nothing !! Mr. Cathers ood, assuring our readers that we have bestowed
from the effects of time. It is still beautiful and effective--at upon these productions of his pencil no indiscreet praise.
Limes absolutely startling. Mrs. Wallack, as Rosina, though The following is an extract of a letter which we received from
auffering from indisposition, looked winning and lovely. She a lady who forwarded us a list of subscribers. We are the last
is altogether a lady of great taste and feeling, and, added to
person in the world to call in question the taste of the writer-
this, she has the pleasing, though inferior merit, of distinctly
though we certainly wish she was added to the number of our
articulating and pronouncing a foreign language. Mr. Watson
personal friends: “Your most excelleut periodical is but too
is entitled to the thanks of the public in general and ourselves
little known among the 'gude people' who inhabit this hill.
in particular, for the express and admirable manner in which
country 'away down cast,' though the banks of our pure rivu.
he brought out the Barber. There was no share about it.
lets, and the sides of the mountains that overlook some of our
The Garden is, at the present time, the most attractive of any beautiful sheets of water would be glorious places to enjoy the
species of public amusement, and exceeds, in the talent em-
perusal of its romantic pages. And even among us down-easters
ployed, and in the beauty and variety of its entertainments, you may depend there is mapy a red-cheeked, laughing girl
any previous season. The audiences have been crowded and whose taste would justly appreciate a lady's companion-and
brilliant, and we presume well-mannered also, though in our its fair pages would receive no dishonor from being scanned by
poor opinion, the custom of going in bonnets is one more hon-their bright eyes."
ored in the breach than the observance. It is certainly un- !
graceful-it must be uncomfortable--and we are half inclined
MR. HAMBLIN.-Circumstances have lately transpired which
have placed this individual in rather a peculiar and unpleasant
to join with an old lady who called it-" Such an outrage upon
position before the public. We see nothing strange in the
decency and dear Mr. Niblo.” But we won't.
death of a too sensitive female, goarded hourly on to an untime-
ly grave by a set of mercenary persecutors, destitute of the
least particle of honor-family respect, or individual love.
Original.
That Mr. Hamblin has been made purposely the scapegoat of a
EDITORS' TABLE.
clique of abandoned profligates, we fully believe, and so will
every unprejudiced person upon reviewing, dispassionately, the
• A gentleman of high literary attainments, and a successful
events which have given rise to this disagreeable affair. We
American dramatist, will shortly become connected with the
coincide with the sentiments expressed in the following article
Ladies' Companion, in conjunction with the present editors. III
copied from the Courier and Enquirer of July 20th :
health prevents his assuming at this time the duties of the sta-
“The primary purpose of these publications, appears to be,
tion assingned him-although, in our next number we anticipate
to extort money from Mr. Hamblin, under the impression that
the extreme gratification of introducing him to our readers. he would pay for the suppression of such infamous libels, rath-
er than submit to statements and insinuations calculated to drive
We have received the conclusion of the tale, entitled "The Poi-bim from the field of theatrical competition, and thwart him in
soned Jelly; or, the Court Lady's Revenge," the first part of his plans of rebuilding the Bowery. Insinuations the most
which appeared in the May number--it will be continued in gross, assertions the most audacious and abominable, have been
made with a reckless disregard of truth, decency, and the pub-
our next.
lic peace. Attempts have been made to excite, not merely pop-
SIMPSON'S COMPLIMENTARY BENEFIT.-The leading men of
ular indignation, but popular violence, against him; and he is
menaced with the vengeance of a mob if he undertakes to ap-
our city propose a benefit for Mr. Simpson, the well known and
pear again upon the boards. It was by such menaces, and a
universally esteemed manager of the Park. He is entitled to knowledge of the facility with which they can be executed
such a compliment not less by his private virtues than his pro against a man, whom circumstances have exposed to collisions
fessional exertions.
and enmities, that Mr. Hamblin was compelled to abandon tho
plan which he had announced of opening the National theatre
ATHENIA, OF DAMASCUS, is the title of a new tragedy by Ru during the summer recess.
fus Dawes, Esq. It possesses power, pathos, poetic beauty and
1 “On the source of these attacks, we cannot condescend to
comment. If common fame fix their origin truly, it cannot
dramatic tact; but unfortunately it has become the property of
claim for itself any love of morality, or any regard for the de.
" the American tragedian." With a judicious distribution of cencies or properties of life. Such motives do not generally
the parts, its success would have been certain; but any thing govern the conduct of graduates from seminaries of penal jus-
which excites in the mind of an auditor a feeling of the ridi-
tice. Of the merits of the recent affair, which has led to the
profligate persecutions and threats of mob violence, to which
culous is but too often fatal to a play; and certainly we know
we refer, we know nothing beyond the public record, which is
of nothing more ridiculous, either on or off the stage, than as open to every one as to us. We have no connection or inte-
" That nightmare on thy breast, Melpomene!"--Mister George
rest in any wise with any of the parties. But forming our
judgment solely upon the facts as they have been developed
Jones.
under oath, we see nothing that at all implicates Mr. Hamblin, or
Catherwood's PAINTINGS.- We are happy to know that Mr.
Ir that will justify or countenance the attacks that have been made
upon him.
Catherwood receives his full share of public attention. Of all
“Mr. Hamblin has been an enterprising and prosperous man-
the most pleasing and instructive methods of conveying know-
cthods or conveying know-ager, and during a long career of such theatrical cannection has
ledge to the mind of youths, paintings such as these are proba-l exposed himself to much animosity. This vents itself in ex-
bly the best. Nothing can be finer than the representation of pressions of general denunciation and Mr. Hamblin is assailed
as an unprincipled and profligate adventurer, under the cover
Niagara. The descending sheet of chrysolis-the wide waste
of vague generalities, which specify nothing, and therefore can-
of sweeping water--the savage surge beneath the fall-the
not be refuted. It is not our object to become the apologist of
rainbow above,
Mr. Hamblin. If he has committed wrongs against society, or
individuals, there are tribunals at which those wrongs can be
“ Hope watching madness with unalter'd mien;"
proved and punished and this is well known to his libellers.
Meanwhile the laws must be sustained. Threats of violence,
the beautiful verdure of the neighboring romantic country-the as well as acts of violence, must be promptly discountenanced
presence of the matter-of-fact inhabitant accompanied by the by public opinion, as well as by the civil authorities. Other-
wondering traveller, all contribute to render this attempt most
wise every citizen will be at the mercy of any licentious press,
which may see fit from mercenary motives to select him as the
pleasing and perfectly successful. Still Jerusalem is the most
object of its persecution."
interesting and most faithful of the two. And for a sufficient
reason. To represent, with truth, mountain, hill and valley, is Mr. Alexander Means is now upon a collecting tour through
something beyond the powers of an accurate copyist. Colors, the state of New York for the Ladies' Companion, and we sin-
clouds and foliage are of too evanescent a nature to be trans- cerely hope every subscriber indebted will discharge, with punc.
ferred to the canvass by the same hand that, with unerring cor- tuality, the amount of the bill presented by him. Subscribers
rectness, traces the dimensions of architecture. Were this the will also bear in mind that our terms are, three dollars a year,
place for an essay, we could give reasons and many facts: but if paid in advance, or when called upon-otherroise four dollars
as it is, we most content ourselves by recommending a visit to are charged.






SITI DICT
LA
VER
ins
TO
GUYEN
G
13
unter
AL
RE
til
VE
BV


THE LADIES' COMPANION.

to death. It has, ever since, lost its reputation and
Its course natu rua,. .
magnificence, and has groaned under the dominion of Be thy departing words—"My God, thy will be done."
VOL. IX.-25


完
​-
量
​-


THE LADIES' COMPANION.
NEW-YORK, SEPTEMBER, 183 8.
ANTIOCH IN SYRIA. || the Turk. Antioch abounded with great men, and the
Christian church in this city was long governed by il-
There are several cities in the East which bear the
lustrious prelates; but it suffered much on several occa-
name of Antioch; but only two are mentioned in Scrip-
ture, viz. Antioch in Pisidia ; and Antioch in Syria-
sions, sometimes being exposed to the violence of here-
sies, and at other times being rent by deplorable schisms.
once the capital of the Syro-Macedonian empire, of
Modern Antioch and its vicinity were devastated by a
which a view is given in our engraving.
Formerly, this “ Queen of the East" was called Rib-
tremendous earthquake in the autumn of 1822. In its
lath, but it was not known under the name of Antioch
neighborhood, at the passage of Bylan Boghaz, the
until the reign of Seleucus Nicanor, who built it, and
Turkish army was defeated by the Egyptians under
Ibrahim Pasha, in 1832.
called it Antioch from respect to his father, Antiochus, il
B.C. 301. For several hundred years it was the regio
dence of the Macedonian kings of Syria, and afterwards THE POET TO HIS CHILD.
of the Roman governors of that province. This city is
frequently mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles; and
WELCOME! blossom fair,
here “the disciples" of Christ“ were" by divine ap-
Affection's dear reward ;
pointment “ first called Christians." (Acts, xi. 26.)
Oh! welcome to thy father's sight,
This city, which was anciently so beautiful, so four-
Whose heart o'erflows with new delight
ishing and illustrious, is at present scarcely any thing
And tenderest regard,
but a heap of ruins, by the Arabs called Antakia. The
While on thine eyes
walls are still standing ; but within the city, which is
Soft slumber lies,
approached by an old bridge over the river Orontes, there! As, bending o'er thy face, I feel thy breath arise.
is nothing to be seen but ruins, gardens, the minarets of
Upon thy mother's cheek
the inosques, and some wretched houses. The bishop
Are trembling tears of joy ;
of Antioch has the title of patriarch, and has constantly
We have no thought of worldly pain,
had a great share in the affairs of the Eastern church. R
Past hours of bliss are felt again,
Antioch was almost square, having many gates; and
Unmingled with alloy.
much of it on the north side stood on a high mountain.
May Heavan hear
It was adorned with galleries and fine fountains. Ves!
The prayer sincere,
pasian, Titus, and other emperors granted very greut Which, for thy earthly weal, a father offers here!
privileges to this city ; but it has likewise been exposed
May death's relentless hand
to great vicissitudes. It was almost demolished by
Some kind protector spare,
earthquakes, A.D. 340, 294, 336, 458, 526, and 528.
To guide thy steps through childhood's day,
The emperor Justinian repaired it, A.D. 529 : in his
To turn thee in religion's way,
time it was called Theopolis, or the City of God, on ac- !
By teaching early prayer;
count, it is said, of its inhabitants being mostly Chris-
In every hour
tians. A.D. 548 it was taken by Chosroos, king of Per-
Check evil's power,
sia, who massacred the inhabitants and reduced it to And in thy guileless heart plant virtue's fadeless fower.
ashes. Four years afterwards it was rebuilt by Justi-
nian : and in the year 574 Chosroes took it a second time,
Youth hath a thousand dreams
Ag false as they are fair;
and destroyed its walls. A.D. 588 it suffered a dread-
And womanhood's sad season brings
ful earthquake, by which upwards of sixty thousand
The stern reality of things,
persons perished. It was again rebuilt, and again was
Too oft the blight of care,
exposed to new calamities. In the year 637 or 638 the
For man deceives
Saracens took it: in 966 it was re-taken by Nicephorus
And woman grieves,
Phocas : four years afterwards an army of one hundred
When passion plucks th' How'r, and scatters all its leaves.
thousand Saracens besieged it without success; but af-
terwards they subdued it, arded new fortifications, and
May no such lot be thine,
made it almost impregnable. This city was the first
My loved and only child ;
object to which the crusaders directed their efforts.
Nor guili's remorse, nor sorrow's ruth,
They held it from A.D. 1098, till it was taken and de-
But wedded love and holy truth
stroyed in 1263 by the sultan of Egypt, who demolished
Preserve thee undefiled ;
its splendid churches, and put most of the inhabitants
And when life's sun
to death. It has, ever since, lost its reputation and
Its course hath run,
magnificence, and has groaned under the dominion of Be thy departing words--"My God, thy will be done."
vol. IX.-25


204
THE DEMON'S CAVE.
Original
| such was their terror of this cave, that none could be
THE DEMON'S CAVE.
induced to pass through the valley after sunset, without
company; hence it was shunned by young and old, and
The following tale is verbatim, as it was written by Miss called the “Demon's Cave," where they believed de.
GEORGE ANN HUMPHREY SHERBURNE, aged fifteen years, and mons held their nichily revels. I was on an excur-
daugbter of Col. JOHN SHERBURNE of Washington City. The
ision to this cave that Clara proposed they should pro-
production will compare, in the eye of the discerning reader,
with many compositions of maturer writers. There is little liceed, accompanied by Charles Wilmore, who was
pleasure equal to that of introducing youthful genius before an a young man of superior mercantile talents, whose
intelligent public, and we deem ourselves flattered by being | father, a gentleman of easy fortune, had some years be-
made the medium of communicating this, which is only one of fore, mysteriously and suddenly disappeared, and hav.
several similar traits of precocious talent exbibited by Miss Sher-
burpe.
Ting always with him considerable sums of money and
w. w. s.
valuables, it was generally supposed and believed was
"AND do you really think so, Frances," inquired robbed, murdered, and his body secreted, as no account
Clara Barton, looking up from a piece of embroidery to had ever been heard of him, and Charles, his only son,
her sister who was reclining on a couch, gazing out on was acknowledged as heir to all his estate bordering on
the long avenue leading to the mansion, as expecting that of Lord Barton, who soon after left the country on
some one's arrival"do you really think so ?”
important business, and was now daily expected, bar-
"Yes, most assuredly I do, Clara, and I have a pre- ing made a large fortune. As Frances predicted, Charles
sentiment that this much talked of excursion of yours, arrived, and brought with him George Clifford, an old
forbodes no good."
friend and school-maie, whom he accidentally met in
Clara Barton was the eldest of ewo daughters of Lord New York, and persuaded to return with him, for a
Stanley Barton, who married early in life a lady of short time, on a visit to the country where they had
superior accomplishments and great beauty. After her passed so many hours in boyhood, and whose estates,
death, which took place about two years from giving formerly, were not far distant from each other. George
birth to Frances, he emigrated to this country, fiveClifford was about the same age as his friend Charles,
years previous to the American Revolution. His large of manly and gallant bearing-of high sense of honor--
and spacious mansion was situated on a declivity which rare talents, but with modest pretensions. His father-
overlooked the noble Hudson, with a view of the dis- supposed to be dead—was once a wealthy merchant,
tant Catskill Mountains, and about a day's ride from but had retired on a beautiful estate near the Highlands,
West Point. His extensive grounds and parks were often visited the father of Charles, and were on very
well stocked with game, and his greatest delight was, intimate terms, but unfortunately, a few years back, was
when following his hounds in the chase, accompanied induced to buy largely on speculation, with a friend in
by a few choice table friends, who were always wel- | New York, which failed, and consequently became a
come to his known hospitality Clara Barton, the ruined man. Soon after this, he was suddenly missed.
eldest daughter, was one who could justly be called which, together with the mysterious absence of Mr. Wil-
beautiful, both in figure and face. She was gay and more, a short time previous, caused very great excite-
volatile in her disposition, and if any project entered mert through the country, and as nothing could be
her head, however difficult, she immediately set about heard from them, it was supposed that Mr. Wilmore
accomplishing it, without considering the consequences was drowned in coming up the Hudson from New York
which might arise from so doing; while her younger in a pleasure-boat, which was rumored he had pur-
sister, Frances, who had just arrived at the age of eigh- chased, and it was stated by one individual who
teen, might be taken for the eldest, as a deep melan- could not be found afterwards, that he saw him
choly had, for eighteen months past, settled on her leave the wharf on a certain morning, in a new boat.
sweet countonance, caused by the protracted absence of Although rewards were offered, Mr. Wilmore was never
Charles Wilmore, who, on leaving the country, expected heard from. George Clifford supposed, and many were
to return in six short months, and had now been absent induced to believe it, that his father, in consequence of
two years, but was expected home that evening, as a his unfortunate speculation and ruin, had, through mor-
letter from him indicated, which she still held open in tification and pride, left the country—then on the eve
her hand, while the short dialogue mentioned above was of a disturbance with England and gone to Canada,
going on, relative to an excursion which the active and where he formerly resided. Under this impression,
romantic mind of Clara had projected, and who only George visited the provinces-was absent some monibs,
waited the arrival of Charles Wilmore to put in execu- and not hearing any tidings of hirn, returned and pub-
tion. About three miles from the mansion of Lord lished an advertisement in New York, stating his fath-
Barton, there was a valley, surmounted on either side er's sudden and mysterious absence, and offering a libe-
by mountainous cliffs. At the termination of this val- 'ral reward to any one who could give him any informa-
ley, there was an extensive pool of water, deep and tion, either if alive or dead; then giving up all the
dark in appearance, which had an outlet under one of estate and effects of his father to his creditors--
the cliffs, to a place yet undiscovered. Immediately which he was permitted to hold for a time--and re-
over the pool, a cave appeared hollowed by nature, in ceiving from them a small sum of money as a balance
the rock, and was supposed by the country-people to due his father, retired into a neighboring state and
have been a place, in former times, of dark deeds, and commenced the practice of the law with great success;


THE DEMON'S CAVE.
205
so much so, that when Charles Wilmore met him in New full eighteen months longer than I had promised you at
York, he was then on his way lo his native Highlands parting, I must confess I had doubts, if I should again
for the purpose of making arrangements with the then be received as your acknowledged lover, and future hus-
owner of his late father's estate, for the purchase, but band."
was induced by the strong arguments of Charles, to Frances leaned her head upon his shoulder and
make him a short visit, and he would then accompany wept. Charles supported her to a rustic seat, but soon
him and use all his influence, with that of Lord Barton, recovering from her happy feelings, reminded him of
to effect the praiseworthy object of buying the paternal the heavy dew that was falling, and her wish to return
estate, and settling once more on the noble Hudson, on to the house. On entering the parlor, they found Lord
whose waters they had both, from boyhood up, made Barton had retired, and Clara and Clifford engaged in
so many pleasant excursions. On their arrival at Lord an animated conversation on knight-errantry and Ama-
Barton's splendid mansion---to which Charles insisted zonian exploits which bud occurred centuries Ago.
on going, before he visited his own estate--such was "Come, come, my runaways," exclaimed Clara, "[
Charles' great anxiety to see his betrothed Frances, cannot have you wandering about the old grove like two
that, George--who followed in silence to the drawing. evil spirits in a haunted castle, at this time of night,
room and witnessed the happy meeting between Charles and you, Charles, have not spoken scarcely two words
and Frances--would not have been introduced, or even to me since your return, and for such want of gallantry,
thought of, for some time, so engrossed were all his il I shall sentence you to pass one whole hour in my com-
feelings, had not the eye of Frances, and the blushing rany, to hear what you have to say for causing Frances
cheek, made him turn to gee the cause, when, after a so many sleepless nights of late."
hearly laugh and many apologies, Charles, in bis usual “That sentence is as easily endured as inflicted."
easy manner, formally introduced his friend to Frances replied Charles, laughing and bowing; then taking her
and Clara, who just at that moment came tripping in hand, he led her to the window-seat where Frances was
to welcome Charles, and such was the gaiety of Clara, already seated. “Now mistress Judge, I will begin."
and the thousand questions put to Charles and his "Stop, stop," said Clara, playfully putting her hand
friend, that George soon felt himself quite as easy as if | over Charles' mouth---"wait till you have heard what
be were once more in his own halls. In the evening, a romantic excursion I have projected, and only waited
Lord Barton joined them, and though advanced in for two such gallant knights as you and your friend, to
years, still retained his upright, stately walk, and with act as my aids in putting it in execution. I intend 10
his usual smile and graceful manners, warmly welcomed visit and explore the far-celebrated Demon's Cave'
Charles-thanked him for the compliment of first visit-force an entrance, and take peaceable possession of all
ing Barton Park ere he had seen the suurdy oaks of his we find, and on our return, divide equally the spoils
own delightful residence---was doubly obligated for in- which may be found secreted there; what say you,
troducing his friend without any formality, and hoped Chailes, will you go as my shield-bearers
they would endeavor to kill time as well as they could “With all my heart; it will be an honor which I can-
while remaining at the Park, and not depend on him not too highly appreciate, but I do think, Clara. Clifford
altogether for amusement, especially while he had two will fill that enviable situation with moro knightly bear-
such gay young substitutes, bowing to his daughters. ing, and I resign, therefore, the appointment to him,
Soon after, Clara being called from the room, and as while Frances and myself will be the humble followers,
Lord Barton was pointing out to Clifford the distant and act as a reserve, in time of need. What say you,
scenery from the window--the advantage of good eye.' Frances ?".
sight, and the pleasure of sporting, etc. etc., Frances! “Oh, I have not so much curiosity, I confess, as
and Charles stole out by an opposite glass door that Clara, in hunting demons, Charles, but-"
opened into an extensive garden, where all was silent, ll “No buts about it," exclaimed Clara, " it is all set.
save the murmuring of the evening breeze through the tled, and go you must, and I promise you the first de-
lofty pine, in whose branches were heard the cooing of mon we capture, to make him your slave for life. So,
the fond turtle doves, and the plaintive song of the on to-morrow we set out, and as it's growing late, our
whippoor-will, calling to his absent mate. Charles was guests will be shown their rooms. John," said Clara,
the first to break the protracted silence, by asking as the servant appeared, "conduct these gentlemen to
Frances if she remembered the conversation which their chambers; so good night, good night. Come
passed between them the last time they were in the Frances,”-and away she went, dancing to her room,
grove.
singing, "good night, good night, my dearest,” little
“Yes, Charles, well do I remember it; but why do imagining the horrors which the coming morning would
you ask ?"
unfold.
“To learn, after so long and unexpected absence, if The Sun rose in cloudless majesty, and his rays shone
your heart still beats the same, Frances."
| brightly in Clara's chamber. She was up, looking
"Is it possible, Charles, you can for one moment anxiously at the beautiful prospect which caught her
doubt, or harbor a thought to the contrary, after your raptured gaze. The foliage sparkled with the dew-drops
warm welcome this evening ?”
like diamonds; the lark was soaring aloft ; the lambs
“Oh, pardon me, dear Frances, pardon me for thus were skipping about on the distant hills, and the milk-
wounding your feelings, but remaining away so long, Il maids were wending their way through the meadow,


206
THE DEMON'S CAVE.
following the tinkling of the cow-bell, and all naturel ah, the bell summons us to breakfast, so let us be in,
appeared happy. Clara left the window, knelt down and not keep our dear father waiting for us."
by the bed-side and prayed inwardly. She arose ; a “Well, Clara, it shall be just as you say; we are un-
heavy and decp sigh escaped her as she took the hand der your command for this day, at least," said Charles,
of the yet slumbering Frances, but arousing herself bowing and smiling at Frances--who with tears in her
from this momentary fit of sadness, she awoke her sis. eyes looked another way—"and at what time will vour
ter, saying with a smile,
dear ladyship set off.”
“Come, come, Frances, jump up; this is no time to “At ten o'clock, precisely, we leave the Park," an-
be sleeping; remember your presentiment is to come to swered Clara.
pass to-day, or we shall set you down as no prophetess. The breakfast passed without one word being said,
Come, come, only see what a beautiful day we shall alluding to the excursion, for Clara with uncommon buor-
have for our long-contemplated excursion to the cave.", ant spirits kept up a lively conversation with Clifford,
Al that word, Frances shuddered and buried her face while Lord Barton and Frances were listening to
in her hands, but recovering herself before Clara ob.' Charles' past adventures. As soon as breakfast was
served her, said, " True, Clara, I had forgotten it, and over they separated to make the necessary preparation,
have a great mind now to remain at home.”
bave Lord Barton, who retired to his library to read his
"No, no, Frances, that must not be; you have already
letters and papers just received that morning from Eng-
promised Charles, so do not, at this time, appear so
land. Wilmore and Clifford being soon equipped, took
whimsical in his eyes."
a stroll in the garden.
"Well, let it be so, then. I'll go, let what will hap.
“Charles," said Clifford, “ I have been thinking seri-
pen-and again a slight shudder of sadness passed over ||
ously of our excursion to this 'cave,' and almost came
her face--as Charles is to be my protector.'
to the conclusion not to go; it is not fear, but something
inwardly tells me not to go. When it was first men-
Their toilet by this time being finished, they left their
tioned, last evening, by Miss Barton, an inward shud-
chamber, and descending the broad stair-way arm in
der seemed to come over me; it haunted me in my
arm, to the breakfast-room, Frances looked inquiringly
dreams, and you know me too well, Charles, to think
around, and seeing no one but her father, ran, and put- !
I put any faith in dreams, but I dreamt I was in this
ling her arms around his neck, kissed him and wept. |
! very cave, and wandering abour, ſell over something; ou
“Why, why, what is all this about?" said Lord Bar- touching it, I found I had a skeleton hand in my grasp ;
ton;" what-only last night as sprightly as a young I dropped it instantly, when the cave, suddenly be
fawn, and now weeping like a love-sick maid ; fie, fie, 1 came illuminated, and the skeleton arose with a dag-
Frances; come, come, you know you are for an excurger in its side; a wild shriek was heard at a distance,
sion this morning, with your mad-cap sister, and God
accompanied with a noise like the falling of heavy rocks ;
only knows what will be the end of it. Demon's Caves'il a pale cha
| a pale, ghastly figure rushed to the place where I was
indeed, for young ladies; well, well, you all have my standing, face to face with the skeleton, and cried, I am
consent, so amuse yourselves as you can, and I'll keep his murderer!" At that moment the cave seemed to
house till you return."
shake to its foundations, and loud yells, and hissing
• Oh! Pa," said Frances, “I do noi"
noises were heard all around; my senses were near
Here she was stopped by Clara, who, running up to failing me, and my eyes became dim, but of a sudden,
her, took her by the arm, saying, “Come to the garden new life seemed to stir within me, and throwing off the
and let us find our young keights ;" and while walking heavy weight which seemed for a moment so oppressing,
fast up the alley, they, on turning some thick shrubbery, | I looked up, and, oh gracious God, Charles, I thought
ail suddenly met, face to face. “Good morning, good I beheld my own father standing at a distance, bleeding,
morning," were the quick salutations of each.
and pointing to the ghastly figure, who immediately
"A fine day this for hunting demors," said Charles, rushed out of the cave, crying, “I am his murderer-
laughing, “is it not, Frances ?".
save, save me.' Again the cave seemed to shake with
“Why should we wish to hunt demons," said Clif- a noise like distant thunder, which awoke me, with
ford, "on so fine a morning, when we are already in all these horrors on my mind."
Paradise, listening to the sweel voices of Angels ?” “Pho! nonsense, my dear fellow ; dreams always go
“ Well done, George, at your old school compliments contrary; if it should so happen that you found a beau-
again, I see. Ladies, you owe him one, so suppose we ciful girl-captive placed there by some Captain Kidd of
postpone our excursion to day, and put it off till George modern times, instead of skeletons and murderers, how
and myself shall first pay a visit to our own ancient we should laugh, especially if you should make her
elms, to see if they stand in the saine old place as form- Mrs. Clifford,' of Clifford manor, to which place,
erly."
George, you know we intend to be, the day after to
"Oh, yes," said Frances, and then-".
morrow, then, after the business is all settled and over,
"Come, come, my gallant knights," said Clara, quick- a boule of old port to seal the contract of purchase, rre
ly, “so you would prefer charging with lance at rest will drink success to dreams and the Demon's Cave.'"
among old elms and milk-maids, than show your gallanti George sighed, and was about to reply, when a sweet,
bearing in storming a citadel to please your Lady-Love, \ silvery voice was heard, “Come, come, what gallant
and coming off victors with spoils to lay at her feet;- knights indeed, to keep ladies waiting; to horse, to


THE DEMON'S CA V E.
207
horse, for time is on the wing, and we have much on' ing their approach ere descending the rugged and cir-
hand ere yon Sun passes the meridian to his bed in the cuitous road leading to the valley.
Western ocean."
“ Why, we were about giving you up," exclaimed
Charles and Clifford on turning, were, for a moment, Clara. “Why such a snail's pace when we are about
riveted to the spot on seeing Clara standing on the piazza, to immortalize our names in future history. My steed
ready equipped, her Sylph-like figure habited in a black | took the impatience of its rider, and poor Mr. Clifford
riding-dress, a small velvet hat of the same color looped was so much exhausted in trying to keep up, that ), out
on one side with a costly diamond, which shone brilliant- of sheer mercy, came to a halt to allow him to recruit a
ly in the sun's rays, formed a beautiful contrast to her little-is it not so, Mr. Clifford ?"
high, and pure-white forehead, and the clear red and “I own for once, that Miss Barton has no superior
white of her cheek, with eyes that seemed to look into either in managing, riding or sitting a horse," said
the inmost soul, and now sparkling with uncommon Clifford, smiling and bowing down to his horse's neck.
lustre, as she, with one ungloved hand playfully flour. “Well, Clifford, now Miss Clara owes you three,"
ished a small riding-whip at Charles, who approaching,' said Charles. “But look yonder, over yon cliff, Clara,
cried out, “Well, Clara, you now look so enchanting,' see, a gust is rising, and we must seek shelter some-
that even demons will bow to your shrine, and where where."
you go, I will follow like a true knight.”
“Then that shelter must be the Demon's Cave,'
“Aye,” said Clifford, quickly, “so will I, even unto which is near at hand,” said Clara ; " for yonder is the
death."
dreaded pool spoken of by the peasants, on whose drea-
"Upon my word, gentlemen, observed Clara, "you ded bosom, demons, 'tis said, hold their nightly revels,
are really knightly in your compliments, this morning, and as we can only approach on foot, we will leave car-
I must confess, but as none of us expect much to see riage and horses in charge of the servant, and hasten
Death, or follow him to-day, Mr. Clifford will be let off for shelter. John-(calling the servant)-obtain the
quite easy, and as for you, Charles, to follow where I best shelter you can find for the horses, and be on the
sball go, I much doubt it, and here comes one who will lookout for us, as I intend to take the reins on our re-
not gainsay it," as Frances-who had just left her turn, and let Mr. Clifford see the spirit and speed of
tather-approached, dressed as her sister, excepting a your greys, for they were really almost asleep when they
long black plume which waved gracefully over her shoul- came up."
der, and with a solemn air, asked Clara“ if she did not' By this time all were ready, and by quick walking
intend to see her father ere she departed.”
soon came to the pool whose bosom began to feel the
“Nonsense, Frances; we shall only be gone a few coming gust by its dashing against the rugged rocks
hours on a frolic, and you look as solemn as if you were which bound it on every side. The loud thunder and
about attending a funeral ; so come, cheer up, and let quick flash that followed, with an occasional drop of
us be moving."
1 rain, hurried them on to within sight of the longdrea-
Clifford assisted Clara 10 mount her palfrey, when, ded cave, on seeing which, caused not only Frances, but
with one spring he vaulted on his own good steed, and Clara to shudder, for around its dark, deep and dreary
both were soon out of sight. A handsome phæton now looking entrance appeared footsteps, as if yet inhabited,
drew up into which Charles handed Frances, saying and the dismal, hollow sound of the waters breaking at
“Since it must be so, let us speed on to this 'Cave the foot of the cliffs, with the loud thunder, caused the
of Demons,' and as speedily return and have the laugh party to step back a pace in silent dread. But another
on Clara."
clap more loud than the first, rattling over the dismal
"Charles, I still have a presentiment that this excur- scene accompanied with heavy rain compelled them to
sion, so much talked of by Clara, will turn out no laugh- enter the mouth of the cave for shelter from the fury of
ing matter; but my mind is made up, and I feel prepa- the storm : even Clara shrunk instinctively closer to the
red to meet any thing that may come to pass.”
side of Clifford as the thunder reverberated through the
Charles turned the conversation by extolling the rocky cliffs, and the maddening torrents came rolling
beauty of the scenery, and the pleasant road they were down their rugged sides. A noise like something heavy
on, admiring the sweet scented hawthorn hedge, which falling within the cave, and a human groan, as they
run for miles along the road, and the lofty pines, as they il thought, coming from a great distance, caused them
appeared gracefully towering above the dwarf hemlock.' again to retreat a step. George here gave Charles &
“Charles, do you really mean to enter this frightful look which was well understood. Frances all this time
cave ?”
stood leaning her whole weight on Charles, almost to
"Surely not, Frances, if you do not wish it; but I falling. Clara, observing it, said-
thought your mind was made up-still, since we have' “Come, Frances, cheer up--cheer up, the storm will
gone so far, they will laugh at us if we refuse now; and soon be over. Sce, the sun is out again, and I assure
I must confess I have some little curiosity to see the you none of your evil predictions will be fulfilled, so
place, and have a little sport with Clara, whose brain cheer up, cheer up, and do let us see what's here." On
seems turned to see its inhabitants."
saying which, she went in a few feet farther, calling on
A short turn in the road brought them within sight them to come if Frances was able to follow.
of the valley and its precipitous cliffs, also, of Clifford “I am ready," replied Frances, “and you may de-
and Clara, who had drew up their panting steeds wait-il pend on my not leaving you now.”


203
THE DEMON'S CAVE.
A. D. MAY NINETEENTH, 17,"
“Well said, Frances, that's my heroine," exclaimed" Charles to follow, for he discovered a light a-head.
Clara ; "now my spirits are up for any adventure--80, They all followed, Charles in the rear to protect the
on we'll go."
ladies, and coming up, Clifford pushed on, and just as
Again a faint noise was heard at some distance within, he with the party were about entering to the light, a
and as Clifford observed it was a fine place for murder- sudden rustling noise was heard, and the large aperture
ers as well as demons, a long deep groan was heard which admitted the light was darkened for a moment,
close to his ear, and all once more became, as it were,' which caused a shriek from Frances and a shudder
rooted to the spot.
from Clara; neither of whom spoke, but stood like sla-
"For the love of Heaven, Clara, let us leave thistues, supporting each other.
dreadful place," whispered Frances, at the same time Clifford, being convinced it was something human
taking her by the arm.
that darted through the aperture, rushed fearlessly on
“Not yet, not yet. We shall make some discovery and found himself in another irregular room. Imme-
yet, I am sure, for it seems fixed on my mind that some-l diately a loud cry of horror was heard from him, which
thing human is here," said Clara.
soon brought them hurriedly to his side. They found
“If so," quickly replied Charles, “ we'll soon hunt him leaning with his head against the rough wall, pale
them out.”
and speechless, but all were occupied around him as
"I have found a prize, at all events," exclaimed Chil. not to discover any thing which the room contained that
ford, who was a few feet in advance, holding up a pen-caused his death-like appearance, till, on inquiry by
knife ; " look, Charles, your eyes are better than mine: 'Charles, Clifford fell on his knees and wept, pointing at
it has a pearl handle with some engraving on it." the same time to a recess opposite--they turned and
Charles, taking it, moved toward the light to ex- saw plainly written in large legible letters on the dark
amine it, cried out,“ God of Heaven! it was my father's colored wall:
knife-and his name is here engraved.” Another long! "GEORGE CLIFFORD; THE MURDERER OF CHARLES WILMORE,
and deep groan was heard which appeared to come from
a greater distance than the last. “By Heaven I will! Words cannot express the feelings of the party, as they
find out this mystery, or perish in the attempt," cried stood in speechless agony reading the writing on the
Charles; and turning to Clifford, whispered-“Your 'wall, which was suddenly broken by the report of a pis.
dream may not prove a mere phantom of the brain,- tol, followed by a decp and agonized groan; they all
and this mystery we will and must golve."
started--Charles rushed to the aperture in the wall,
“What say you, ladies," said Clifford, "sball we and cried, “God preserve us !" and immediately sprang
conduct you back to the carriage and return home, or out--and whai a scene met his gaze! On the ground
will you remain with us in our further search ?" lay an aged man in tattered garments with his grey
"I have no woman's fear," observed Clara, “my locks dyed in gore: a pistol was grassed firmly in his
mind was made up ere I left home, and it is as yet un- right-hand while his left was thrust in his bosom. The
changed. Frances can return if she is so disposed, as ball had done its bidding, for he was a corpse: his long
her nerves may fail her."
beard, bushy eyebrows and emaciated features could
"No," said Frances, “I have said I would not leave not be recognized. When Charles, taking the hand
you, and with you I will remain till we are once more from his bosom, a paper was found in its grasp, which
seated by our dear father.”
was opened and read as follows:
“ Well, as our minds are made up, we will lose no il “George Clifford was not the murderer of Charles
time but make another move," kaid Clifford to Charles, Wilmore ; I murdered both in cold blood which I have
who was still intent on examining the penknife. deeply repented of, being the tool of a villian, and I
“I am ready, and may God guide us,” said Charles, hope God will forgive me for all I have suffered since in
" that some further token of my departed father may this cave. My employer who paid me for the two deeds
be found."
of horror, was present, and now lives in - "
They had now proceeded about fifty yards from the ! The above was written with a pencil, which was found
entrance, and found themselves in a large and irregular in his pocket, on the spare leaf of a book, and no doubt
room : in the centre stood a table of rough stone, on it written in haste on first hearing a noise within the cave,
was a bottle which had been used for a candlestick; on and probably intended finishing it, by giving the name
the floor were broken bottles, a rusty knife-blade, a of his employer, had not Clifford, coming so suddenly
broken conch shell, a small powder-horn and a pistoli prevented, and fearing probably they were officers of
ramrod, with a few broken clay pipes; from the roof, justice, chose to take his own life rather than suffer a
which was about twelve feet high, wag suspended, by a public execution. Charles, on further search, found on
rusty chain, a ship's lamp covered with dust and cob- him an old worn pencil-case, on the end of which was
webs, a small crevice made for some purpose near the engraved lettere “ J. c.;" he immediately exclaimed:
top of the cave admitted sufficient light to examine it “It must be 80-here has been most foul murder ! -
fully, and they all concluded it must have been formerly Yes, both murdered! Oh! would I had never consen-
a resort for smugglers and pirates. A narrow dark ted to have come, for my mind will never rest till the
passage led from this room which would only admit of destroyer has been found.”
one passing at a time, Clifford was the first to go for- ! Clara and Frances looking from the aperture and see-
ward, and, after a little absence, was heard calling for ing Charles reading a paper, thinking it too true what


THE DEMON'S CAVE.
209
they had read on the wall, and they both wept in silence | Charles, who was now standing looking down on the
till Charles joined them, and handed them the paper remains of his father, and Clifford, and said on taking
and pencil-case, requesting Clara to give them to George each by the hands :
who was still on his knees weeping. On receiving the “My young friends, this is the will of God, and whilo
paper and pencil-case, and examining them, he held up bowing beneath the blow, remember that the hand that
both hands, exclaiming, with tears running down his inflicts is all merciful, and that it is God who hath laid
cheeks: “Thank God, my father was not a murderer! | this rod of bitterness upon you, and by his help we may
but has been basely murdered, for this is indeed the yet discover all."
pencil-case I have seen him often use.” And rising They both pressed his hands in silence, their hearts
went up to Charles, who was with Frances, and giving being too full to speak their feelings, on seeing which,
back the important paper, said, calmly but sorrowfully, Lord Barton informed them-“That as it was then late
“Come, we have seen and learnt enough for one day, I measures should be taken for the removal of the re-
thank God, now let us return to Lord Barton to ask his mains then before them, and also for the interment of
advice how to-"
the body without the cave."
Here he was interrupted by Clara, who called to him | Calling in the servants, the remains of the father of
to see what was rolled up in the recess. Clifford im- Charles were placed upon an old oak table, standing
mediately obeyed, and found under the writing on the against the wall, on which was a jug of water, a piece
wall, in a deep recess, something tied up in an old blan-! of dry bread, a crucifix and an old bible, open and
ket. It was dragged to the light, and the old rope giv- turned downwards; which, on Clara taking up, found
ing way, out rolled a ghastly skeleton, from one of whose
part of the 12th verse, of the 14th chapter of Genesis;**
fingers fell a glittering diamond ring, and between his
marked round with a pencil. In one corner was a heap
left ribs remained a dagger, causing no doubt his death. of straw, supposed to be the bed of the wretched man,
On the handle was the letter “L."
who had, unbidden, rushed into the presence of the
Clara gave a loud shriek, and would have fallen had
Almighty, and was buried on the spot where he fell,
Dot Clifford caught her. Frances, holding fast to the
two large stones being placed to mark the murderer's
arm of Charles was drawn, more dead than alive, to
grave.
the spot. Clifford pointed to the ring, which Charles
During this time a servant had been sent to tho
look up, and found on the inside" Charles Wilmore,
nore, nearest tenant of Lord Barton's for a conveyance for the
1760.'
removal of the remains now lying out on the table,
“Good God, my father's ring! and this is my mur-
which soon arriving, they were placed on a bed
dered father!" and falling on his knees, wept long and
brought for that purpose and all proceeded to Bar-
audibly over his remains.
ton Park. The next morning they were taken to the
All were deeply affected to tears. Clifford stood with
residence of Charles, followed by a large number of
his face buried in his hands, against the damp wall,
friends and neighbors, and interred in the old family
weeping as if his heart were breaking on this second
vault. The following day, hand-bills were issued,
discovery of blood. Clara was at his side endeavoring
stating the particulars and offering a large reward
to soothe him, while the gentle and timid Frances, on
for the discovery of the abettor in the horrid crimes,
bended knee, was weeping at the side of the afflicted
which caused very great excitement throughout the
Charles, who, with unlift streaming eyes, and lips mov-
country at that time; but no discovery was made, and it
ing seemed to be invoking heaven's vengeance on the
was supposed he was dead, or had fied from the
unknown abettor in the awful crime. While all was
country.
thus still, save the heavy sighs escaping from some one
Clifford, who had now been in possession of his late
of the mournful party, they were suddenly aroused by
father's beautiful estate on the Hudson, nearly six months
the deep baying of hounds near the front entrance to
which he had purchased at a small advance, through
the cave, which was immediately answered by the long
the kind aid and influence of Lord Barton, and made
winding of the mellow horn, which came sounding wild-
many improvements thereon, had, at the polite request
ly from a distance through the cave, and echoing and
re-echoing among the rugged cliffs. Again was heard
of Lord Barton, continued his visits to Barton Park,
the baying of the hounds, now within the cave, and
and was always cordially received, more especially
quickly answered by the approaching horn; then voices
by Clara, who, since the excursion to the cave, wore a
were heard hallooing, and in rushed two old panting
melancholy look, and was seldom seen to smile, except
hounds followed by Lord Barton and servants, all well
when Clifford was visiting the Park. She had a warm,
armed, who on seeing his daughters safe, exclaimed
devoted heart, but that heart was now another's, though
“God be praised !” and opening his arms they both
the great secret was closely locked up in her own pure
rushed towards him, and falling on his neck, kissed
bosom; but Clifford being a good judge of human nature,
him, and for a moment were speechless : when Clara,
believed Clara loved him, and had more than once,
when alone with her, determined to disclose his pas-
recovering and whispering to her father, led him to the
farther side of the room, Frances still retaining his arm,
sion, but the awful oath which Charles and himself had
where she related to him briefly all the particulars since
solemnly taken, “ never to change their situations till
they left home. He in a low tone bade his servants to
retire, but be within call, and walking calmly up to * A fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth.


210
THE DEMON'S CAVE.
the abettors of their parents' murderer was discovered,"|| beaming on his countenance, and after a few remarks,
made him relinquish the thought, till God, in his infi- asking after Lord Barton and his family, and his friend
nite wisdom should see fit to clear up the horrid mystery. Wilmore, he communicated to him all the particulars-
One rainy morning while Clifford was sitting alone in harded him an order for the stocks and money then in
his study, pondering on the past events of his life, and the hands of a banker, and hoped the packet, which he
gazing with intense interest on the miniature of Clara, gave him, would develope all he wished, which he
which she had privately presented him in exchange for' was requested not to open till his arrival home-Clif-
his own, and thinking if ever the time would arrive ford, after handing Mr. B. a handsome present for his
when he could call the original his own, the sound of trouble and kindness, with a wish that their acquaintance
the postman's horn under his window aroused him from would not end there, and after the purchase of a hand-
his deep reverie, and ere he had time to place the dear some present for Clara and Frances, set out for home,
resemblance of all his thoughts in his bosom, the ser- where he arrived late the next evening after leaving the
vant entered with a letter for him, post marked, “ New city, determined, fatigued as he was, to breakfast next
York "_" with haste," sealed with black. On peru- morning at Barton Park, and there read the contents of
sal, he found it was from the celebrated lawyer, Mr. the important packet, which he, for safety, on retiring
B., giving him the important information that Mr. L., to rest, placed under his pillow. The sun had not
formerly a merchant, and some years ago connected kissed the sparkling waves of the noble Hudson, or
with his late father in a great speculation, had suddenly gilded the peak of the distant Catskill the next morning.
died, leaving him a large property in stocks and money, ere Clifford was mounted, and far on his way to Barton
and from his retired way of living, and having no rela- ' Park. On arriving there, he found the family just sit-
tions, and avoiding all kind of intercourse with his for- (ling down to breakfast, with Charles for their guest.
mer friends for years past, it was strongly suspected He was warmly received; Charles congratulated him
that his death was caused by his own hand. He had on his good fortune, and hoped he would not be induced
also left a sealed packet, with directions to deliver to to leave the old mansion for a city residence.
him in person, and concluded by requesting him to “Never, sighed George; the mines of Peru would
come immediately to New York on the receipt of the have no effect to induce me to leave the home of my
letter.
boyhood ; here will I remain among those I so dearly
Clifford ordered his favorite hunter, and with a small appreciate,” glancing at Clara, who was about to speak,
valise, mounted, and galloped through the rain to Bar- when Lord Barton rising, said
ton Park, and without waiting the usual summons, went “Ladies, I must be so ungallant in my old age as to
into the parlor, and only seeing Lord Barton engaged deprive you of the society of our guests for a little while,"
in reading a newspaper, walked hastily up to him, and and asking George and Charles to follow him to the
begged he would read the letter, giving him in brief library, they, bowing, left the room. Clifford soon sla-
terms, the contents. Lord Barton, seeing the great ex- ted all that had passed since his short absence, and
citement of his young friend, pointed to a chair, request-il gravely handed the packet to Lord Barton, requesting
ed him to be seated till he retired to peruse the letter, he would read aloud the contents, be they ever so try-
and would return in a few minutes. Clara, who, from ing to the feelings.
her window had seen Clifford riding in great haste to With some reluctance he broke the seal and read with
the Park, and with woman's curiosity, wished to know audible voice the confession of a penitent whose con-
what could have brought him in such a rain, descended science allowing him no rest, sought to find it in a prema-
to the parlor as if in search for something, and only seeture grave. It was a long statement of crime, but only
ing Clifford, who was now standing looking at her por wishing to give that part which relates to this story, it
trait, exclaimed, “Why George, what could have is given as briefly as possible. It went on to inform
brought you over in all this rain ?--to look at my por- ' Clifford that his father and himself were formerly in
trait?”
il partnership in business, in New York, and after a few
“Oh, no, Clara ; but to see the original”-kissing' years, having made sufficient for all their worldly wants,
her hand-and to tell her that there is now some ray of by consent, dissolved; his father purchased an estate
hope of calling her mine for ever."
near the Highlands, and put the residue of his money in
“Upon my word, George, you certainly have a good stocks. Some few years after, meeting his father,
slock of assurance left, but do tell me what—"
he induced him to join in a very large speculation,
Here she was interrupted by Lord Barton coming in, which involved all he had ; in a few months he wrote
and going up to George, warmly pressed his hand, wish- his father that it had failed, and both were ruined men ;
ing him joy, and hoped now, all the mystery would be Mr. Clifford believing it, and without making any inquiry.
brought to light, and then informing Clara of the par- gave up all his property to pretended creditors, who
ticulars, requested some refreshments to be brought, were his partner's creatures, and were to share a certain
for there was no time to lose, for George must set off part of the booty, etc. Mr. Wilmore, a neighbor and
immediately for New York. An hour after, he was friend of Mr. Clifford, once a wealthy merchant, and a
again mounted and advancing with rapidity for the city, very shrewd man in business, hearing of the calamity
at which place, after a hard ride and changing horses which had befallen Mr. Clifford, called to see him--
half-way, he safely arrived, and immediately waited on doubted the truth of what had been communicated,
Mr. B., who received him with much satisfaction and offered to go to New York to make an investiga-


THE FOUNTAIN.
211
tion; he did 30, and, as he suspected, discovered fraud mind was too much excited, but, at Lord Barton's ea r
and forgery, and immediately wrote and informed Mr. I nest wish, he set out with them, and arriving at the cave,
Clifford of the fact, saying, that he would return in a all appeared as they had left it in their last melancholy
few days in order to have it all brought to light. As visit. The cedar-tree was seen as described, the place
Mr. Wilmore had made this threat to the individuals found, the stones removed, and the remains of the un-
cor.cerned, as well as writing the facts to his friend, it fortunate parent of Clifford found; round his neck was
was at once determined, to save fortune and reputation, a chain, to which was suspended a miniature in a gold
that he should not again see Mr. Clifford, and on his case, on opening which, George identified the pale and
leaving New York, was followed within a mile of the almost extinct features of his late mother. Clifford
“ Demon's Cave," and there, about sunset, was attacked could not retain his feelings, and wept long over the re-
and stabbed by an accomplice, already deep in crime ; mains of his murdered father, which were placed in a
the body was taken to the farther end of the cave, and conveyance, and the next day, without any parade, laid
there left. Now as one mouth had been for ever closed, ' in the family tomb.
it was an object to make all safe, to obtain possession One year from the excursion to the“ Demon's Cave,"
of the letter in the hands of Mr. Clifford, and also to Charles Wilmore received the hand of Frances, and
silence him as they had his friend; to do this, the same George Clifford the hand of Clara Barton at the altar of
persons rode in haste from the city, to within two miles the village church at — , in the presence of a few select
of the residence of Mr. Clifford, and the hireling sent friends. After the ceremony, they each took their pri.
to inform that Mr. Wilmore, on his way home from vate carriage for their future happy homes, Lord Barton
New York, had, by his horse slipping, fallen to the promising to make each of them a visit once a month,
ground, and was so much injured, as to be unable to and making them promise in return, to pass the Christ.
move, and requested he would come to him immedi. mas holidays at the Park. He lived to see his adopted
ately, and also bring with him the letter he wrote from country free from the yoke of England, but took no part
New York. Mr. Clifford, without any suspicion, and in the troubles that filled the country; he was respected
without saying a word to any one, accompanied the by both parties, and his grounds never suffered by the
man, taking with him the letter, and as he was told it 'approach of either, although Clifford and Wilmore both
was at the house of one of his tenants, at no great dis-'fought gallantly for the cause of freedom, and were pro-
tance, he concluded to walk. On coming to a dark moted by the “father of his country," under whose com-
grove through which passed a running stream, and as mand they were at all times, till the peace; soon after
Mr. Clifford was stepping over, he was felled to the which, Lord Barton was taken to that "home from
earth by a blow on the head, which only stunned bim; / which no traveller returns," in a ripe old age, mourned
a handkerchief was placed round his throat and stran- by all the surrounding neighbors, and whose charitable
gled; his body was then taken to a cavity in the cliffs, donations were long remembered by them.
near the cave, and put in after securing the letter, stop-
ping up the place by large stones, but easily found by a
Original.
small cedar in front in an Easterly direction from the
THE FOUNTAIN.
mouth of the “ Demon's Cave," about one hundred feet.
They immediately, on depositing the body, went to the
BY THE REV. J. 4. CLINCH.
city in all haste, and soon after read the advertisement
offering a reward for the body of Mr. Clifford. The A weary wanderer, faint and frail,
accomplice who committed both deeds of horror called
With faltering footsteps sought the shade ;
and pointed out to Mr. L. the reward; money double
No freshness of the Western gale
the amount was paid him for his silence, and he com-
Around his feverish temples played ;
pelled 10 swear, and sign a most solemn oath that he
No trace of man however rude,
was the murderer, and also to visit the cave with Mr.! Appeared to break the solitude.
L., which they did, and there wrote on the wall that
With impious curses, on the ground
“ George Clifford was the murderer of Charles Wil-
He sank to die-but aid was near
more," to mislead any one whose curiosity hereafter
might carry them there; also, that the accomplice was
A simple, but a joyous sound
a few years afterwards suddenly missed by Mr. L, who
Fell in rich music on his ear-
supposed he had returned to his own country, as noth-
A fountain's soft and bubbling tone
ing had been heard of him; also, that as the property
Answered the outcast's guilty moan.
of Mr. Clifford had been fraudulently taken from him, Eager he rose, and to his lip,
together with his life-in atonement, all the estate so
Fevered and dry, the gift applied,
taken, likewise a large property in stocks and money And as he paused the stream to sip,
bad been left by Mr. L. to his only son, etc. etc. Af-
Came better thoughts with softening tide-
ter finishing reading much more than is here given, E'en as he drank a grateful tear
of Mr. L's former life, Lord Barton proposed that Mixed with the fountain's waters clear,
they all should immediately set out for the cave, with And where an infidel he lay
attendants to recover the body of Clifford's father. With humble heart he knelt to pray.
George at first declined going till the next day, as his Boston.
26


212
THE DIAMOND NECKLACE.
THE DIAMOND NECKLACE.* ' repeated, half burying her face in the swell of her arm,
and closing her eyes as if weary with excitement. But
BY MRS. ANN 3. STEPHENS.
she was not alone, for scarcely had she entered the pa-
vilion when a while but masculine band cautiously par.
It was the third night after the removal of the French
'ted the passion flowers allowed 10 trail over the sash
court to Versailles, that the receiving rooms were thrown
opposite; and a pair of dark eyes gazed in upon her
open in all the magnificence of regal splendor. Music!
with a passionate earnestness, as an enthusiastic con-
breathed low and sweet from numerous galleries, and
roiseur might dwell on a favorite painting knowing it
illuminated chandeliers showered light over a throng of
to be his, or being certain of the power to obtain it.
courtiers glittering with orders, and ladies resplendent
“She is a superb creature," mutiered the intruder,
with ornaments. One, a creature of surprising beauty,
Sy glancing at her half concealed head, and then at the
stole quietly through the brilliant crowd, exchanging a
3° little silken-clad foot hanging in fine relief against the
smile with one, a bon-mot with another, and a courteous
crimson cushions, while its fellow lay buried in the fulds
glance with a third, almost imperceptibly nearing a pri-
of her white satin dress, “and game that loses no charms
vate door, through which she glided with the bright
in the pursuit,” he added, leaving the window noiseless-
smile still playing like sunlight about her mouth. But
ly. The next moment he was kneeling at her side.
the instant she was alone it passed away. She drew a ""
"1“Why do you seek solitude, ma belle reine ?” he said
long breath as if relieved from acting a part, and hurry-1:
in a low insinuating voice, sicaling his hand under her
ing down a flight of steps entered the palace gardens.
forehead, and attempting to raise her head from its
Never was there a more splendid scene than here pre-
beautiful resting-place.
sented itself. Thousands of lamps appeared amid the
The lady sprung up, and her eyes dwelt indignantly
deep green foliage of the orangery, flashing over the
on the intruder; but he fixed his look on her with a cool,
rich fruit, where it hung like globes of burnished gold
unabashed steadiness, that acted as a spell. The flush
gathering and throwing off brightness. Thousands more
of anger-nay, almost of loathing--passed away like
glimmered thickly along the native branches, lighting
the rose-tints from a summer cloud, and again the sweet
up the dewy leaver till every shrub and tree seemed
li practised smile revelled on her beautiful features.
drooping with fruitage of stars. Here and there an
illuminated branch shot a prismatic light athwart the
"Is it only you ?" she said, dropping to her pile of
showering drops of a fountain, or Aung a soft brilliancy
cushions with the grace of that most graceful of all
creatures, a practised Frenchwoman, “ Is it only you?
over the statues peopling the flowering thickets, or
crouching their snowy limbs amid the grass. In one
I thought it had been—"
direction the eye might rest on a hanlet of rustic cotta-
“ His Majesty, you would say," interrupted her audi-
1 tor in a quite jeering tone-"he could not have noticed
ges nestled into a sheltering nook, and half hidden by
your departure-age produces blindness-ibis is his only
dimly lighted trees; while, scattered in various direc-
excuse, for we cannot suppose even His Highness will
tions, light pavilions upreared themselves, their graceful
indulge in another six years of indifference so soon."
columns wreathed by rare exotics, shaking their cups to
Marie Antvinette--for it is of her we write-half
the night air and making it almost voluptuous with odor.
sprung from her recumbent position as if a serpent had
The lady of our story hurried through this wilderness
stung her. Now the scornful flash shot to her eye, and
of light and flowers, till she reached one of the most
then away again. She moved one of the cushions, as if
secluded of these fairy temples! After looking anxious-
for her better accommodation, and resumed her position
ly abuut for a moment, she opened the door and entered
with a composure that might have rivalled his own, but
a small hexagonal room furnished in a style of oriental
that a slight, very slight quivering of the voice, told that
magnificence. The ceiling and miniature dome was of
it came from the seat of struggling anger, as she said
most exquisite basso relievo, while in every second di-
"Monsieur de Gouvion forgets that he speaks of my
vision a sash, set with crystalline transparency, opened
husband and his king, when he mentions Louis of France
to the ground, draped without by a profusion of breath-
with contempt!"
ing flowers. Suspended from the dome by a heavy
"No,” he exclaimed, with more feeling than he had
chain of linked gold, an alabaster lamp shed its light
yet evinced, “No, I can never forget that he is both, so
over a small table of Italian marble, white as snow,
long as an improvident and ill-regulated government
and almost imperceptibly veined by a soft rose color.
reminds me of the one, and I see the smiles, once mine,
The lady cast a hurried glance about the room, and
lavished on him as the other. How can I forget," he
then threw herself, with graceful abandonment, on a
a continued passionately, “ when I see him in the careless
pile of silken cushions heaped on the carpet.
possession of a love once confessedly my own ?"
"Thank heaven, I am alone,” she exclaimed, throw-
ing a superb arm across the cushion and pressing her
"It is false! false as your own heart!" exclaimed
the queen, rising slowly to her feet, and speaking in
Alushed cheek upon it, regardless that she had shaken a
cluster of Bourbon lilies, formed of gems, from her lem-
that low distinct tone which expresses the concentration
ple, and that the Ostrich feather attached to it lay bro.
of deep passion; “I never loved you. If for a mo-
ken, and like a handful of newly drifted snow-flakes, on
ment my heart debased itself in listening to you passion,
her crimson couch. “ Thank heaven, I am alone," she
your insidious serpent-like breathings, it was but for a
moment; Marie of Austria could not so forget herself
A Altered and revised for the Ladies' Companion by the author. li long.”


THE DIAMOND NECKLACE.
213
“ Marie of Austria must be strangely forgetful, or she she was far from being a weak-minded woman. In a
would bear in mind that certain billets d'amour have moment she comprehended the danger of her position.
passed from her fair hand to my unworthy self; of course Those little playful note, written in the gaiety of her
every line was too precious not to be treasured as the heart, still redolent with her favorite perfume, and look-
life-pulse of her slave," and with a triumphant smile iing as if manufactured from rose-leaves-those notes
curling his hanghty lip, he drew a handful of perfumed she saw might be made the instruments of incalculable
notes from his bosom; and glancing a half mocking look mischief, if left in the possession of an enemy such
at the queen, as he unfastened a braid of her long brown as she knew the man before her would become,
hair wbich bound them together, he selected one and if allowed to leave her presence unconciliated, with the
extended it toward her.
| dangerous proofs of her imprudence at his mercy. She
The queen took the little rose-tinged note with evie was more than right in her fears. Billets d'amour from
dent perturbation, and the blood rushed over her face the queen of France to a member of her court, wore
and neck like a flash of sunlight on an alabaster vase, unsafe documents to be abroad, when the nation was
as its seal-a winged cupid---met her eye. But this swiftly verging toward that revolution, which, like the
gave place to an expression of intense self-loathing as curse on Cain, has left a stain of blackness affixed to
she proceeded to read the delicately traced lines; her her history which will darken and deepen there, so long
eyes drooped, and a crimson spot lay burning into each as her name is heard among the nations of the earth.
cheek, while her figure, but a moment before so upright! The virtues of a thousand Lafayettes could not bleach
and proud in its bearing, seemed to bend and become it a shade whiter; the devastations and boasted glory of
less tall under the load of self-contempt pressing down a
down a Bonaparte but serve to furnish another broad leaf to
her haughty spirit. After she had learned the contents
the sanguinary record. The greatness of her illustri-
of the note, she stood for the space of a moment in this
ous line of monarchs is overshadowed and rendered
attitude of self-abasement, unmindful that his exulting
dim, by the hideous monster of anarchy, that swept its
eye was reading her changing countenance, and that the
dark garment over the whole country, breathing athe-
thoughts thronging within might not be such as befitted
'ism upon her altars-blasting her vineyards—tearing
her to reveal. Al length he spoke, and the sound of his down her wine-presses, and setting up in their empty
voice aroused her to a sense of her situation; but in places guillotines, reeking with the innocent blood it
stant self-possession was beyond her power.
thirsted for. France may become more prosperous,
“The queen of France," he said, “cannot be igno-
greater and better, than her sister kingdoms; yet pos-
rant that this little bundle of papers places her entirely
terity, when they read her history, will shudder as they
in my power."
turn to that page which tells of the time when she lay,
“ Your power!” she murmured, as if unconscious of
like an unnatural monster, satiated and drunken with
what she was saying.
the blood of her own children of the innocent, the
De Gouvion seemed touched by her state of resistless
beautiful, the young and the helpless-when her temples
humiliation. In a softened and almost tender voice, he
were turned into monuments of shame-when liberty
said—“Why do you by such scorn, force me to prove
became a base mockery--when the delicate ties of so-
my power thus against my wishes ? Return the note,
ciety were rent and crushed with a fearful hand, and
and let it be forgotten that I have been compelled to
indecencies were perpetrated boldly in the high places
make this unworthy use of it.” He extended his hand
of the nation. At the time of our story the thunder of
to receive the paper still open in her's; but as if sud-
this moral earthquake was beginning to be heard louder
denly restored to her proud self by the motion, she
and louder each day; but still the court lived on, as if
crushed it together, and with a gesture of contempt,
ignorant of the warning. Hisses and groans mingled
dashed it down and trampled it into the Persian car-
with the shouts of the people whenever the queen went
abroad, and execrations were heaped upon her by the
canaille of the metropolis. Her extravagances were
“ Thus," she said, vehemently, “I spurn and defy
ery | openly complained of. Grieved and amazed at her
your power."
waning popularity, she had made an effort to regain it
“ Beware," he retorted, turning pale with anger, “be before her departure for her palace of Versailles. Find-
ware, or I may be tempted to prove my power by making but partial success she naturally drew about her the
ing enese public;" and with a pale compressed lip, he'.
aristocrats of the court; and by the entertainments and
touched the packet with his finger.
profuse expense by which she bound them to her, still
“You dare not!" she replied, “and even if you did, farther exasperated the greater portion of the nation.
Louis would believe them forgeries."
The knowledge she had gained of the reigning discon-
“I have not to learn how easily the weak king may tent had been gathered from observation, and was ne-
be duped; but happily for me, the public is neither so cessarily imperfect. As yet none of those about her
blind, nor so complaisant, nor is Marie Antoinette so had ventured to hint at her unpopularity; but now,
great a favorite among the secret democrats of France,' when suddenly told that secret meetings were held by
that this precious little bundle would not be gladly re- her enemies, and menaced by one of her own subjects
ceived on their private council tables.”
bold enough to break in upon her retirement, she felt that
The queen shrunk back, evidently startled by his her danger must be imminent, and for a moment shrunk
threat. Though imprudent and volatile in the extreme, i astounded from the conviction.
pet.


214
THE DIAMOND NECKLACE.
In seasons of danger and difficulty, Marie Antoinette and with his mind entirely engrossed by the refractory
was a truly great woman, quick to resolve and strong to ring, he hastily twisted the braid of hair about them,
execute. Since the last unmanly threat of her persecu- and laid them on his knee. Quick as lightning the
tor, she had been standing with one white hand resting queen caught them up, and durting to the lamp held
on the marble table, and her eyes bent to the floor. She them in the blaze. Almost as quickly he sprang to his
felt that she had given an imprudent liberty to her feel. | feet, and with an execration, caught her almost rudely
ings, and collected all her womanly powers to charm | about the waist, attempting to wrest the burning potes
away the evil. Raising her fine blue eyes from the sha- from her; but it was too late. She held them on high
dow of their drooping lashes, she met the earnest gaze till the blaze enveloped her hand, and as he caught her
he had been silently fixing upon her, with one of those wrist to force them from her, they fell in a shower of
soft, soul-subduing glances that had so enthralled his blackened fragments over the snowy table.
heart in past years, and a smile, arch and playful, layil For the space of a minute after this bold act, the
- upon her rich lips, like light upon a ripening pomegra- queen and her baffled lover stood face to face; she trem-
nate.
bled with over excitement, triumphant, yet half fright.
"So you will expose all my old follies unless I go on ened at what she had done ; and he, pale with a terrible
committing new ones. Well, whether I will or not, we | anger, his lips bloodless, and a dusky flame seeming to
must be friends;" and she gracefully extended one of glow through the blackness of his eye. The poor queen
the most beautiful hands in France.
cowered and shrunk from that malignant look; she felt
De Gouvion hesitated and looked searchingly in her that she had made a deadly, unrelenting enemy, and she
face for a moment; but her dissembling was perfection; was right. A proud man never forgives the woman who
not a shadow darkened her beautiful features, and a has deliberately exerted the winning powers of her sex
bright smile of apparent frankness and gaiety lighted to deceive him. Wound his tenderness, arouse his jea-
them into transcendent loveliness of expressions. Con. | lousy, overwhelm him with reproaches and he may
vinced of her sincerity, or rather bewildered by the fas- overlook and excuse all. But make him the dupe of
cination of her look and manner, he took the extended any desiga, let him feel that you have coldly spread out
hand and pressed it fervently to his lips.
your fascinations for a selfish purpose, and he is lost to
“And so, mon ami, you really thought me seriously you for ever; even if his heart could return to its alle-
angry," she said, with a rich laugh, that filled the little giance, it would scarcely be worth the having. But a
room like the murmur of waters through a bed of vio- | villian--meet his plot with a counterplot--match him in
lets; "ma foi ! what a bravo you have become.” finesse-baffle his evil designs, and he is the most mali-
"Forgive me,” he answered in some confusion," the cious of all bitter enemies. Marie Antoinette knew
thoughts of your displeasure drove me to desperation."' this to be true, and she quailed under the influence of
She gaily interrupted him, and glancing at the notes that serpent-like eye. Not a word had been spoken;
in his hand, exclaimed, “How you did threaten me but that look was enough. She turned her eyes from
about them; but n'importe, Je vous pardonne. Voila!” his, and throwing herself on the cushions, buried her
she added, with another sweet laugh, pointing 10 the face in her hands and wept passionately. He looked
crushed note on the carpet as she glided to her former on her as she lay, smiled a bitter malignant smile, pick-
seat, and throwing one of the silken cushions to her ed up the crumbled note which she had forgotten on the
feet, playfully commanded him to occupy it. He smiled carpet, and left the pavilion without speaking a word.
and was about to seat himself by her side ; but with an- For some time the queen of France indulged freely in
other musical laugh she cried
her tears; then suddenly recollecting that her absence
“Kneel, kneel, you are a rebel and must take a new from the palace might be observed, she sprang up, has-
oath of allegiance."
tily arranged the cluster of Bourbon lilies in her hair,
Evidently delighted beyond measure, the young cour-threw the broken feather away, and left the pavilion.
tier gracefully bent his knee to the cushion, and pressed Passing by one of the fountains, she caught some of its
his lips with mock reverence to her extended hand. li falling drops in her litele palm; and after bathing her
“A tribute for your sovereign! a tribute !"
eyes returned to the palace, smiling, self-possessed and
“ What can I offer ? 'he gallantly answered, again graceful as she had left it. Among all who filled those
touching her hand. “My heart? but you have rejected gorgeous apartments not one appeared so gay as the
that so often!"
queen. They little thought that a new and trembling
“Any thing—those billet-doux, if you will." fear lay on her heart like a coiled serpent, yet it was
In spite of her efforts to prevent it, a slight tone of even so.
anxiety affected her voice, as she made this careless de. It was eleven in the morning, and yet the aristocratic
mand. He looked in her face, and a suspicious cloud and regal inmates of Versailles were buried in sleep.
darkened his brow. She saw it and hastily added - The palace gardens lay bathed in a flood of light, bro-
“No, no, I had forgotten they are your last hope~ ken, under the trees and about the thickets, into irregu-
but the diamond on your little finger, lhat will do ;' and lar patches of cool shadowing, while here and there
she held out a taper finger to be circled by the ring. amid the green branches, burthened with its extinguished
He attempted to take off the gem she had demanded, companions, a lamp still flickering on, or a withered
but it was small and came over the joint with difficulty.garland trailing across the terrace, told of the last
The package of notes prevented a free use of his hand ; night's festival. All was lone and deserted, except the


THE DLA MOND NECKLACE.
215
little pavilion we have already mentioned. There,'| the favorite waiting-maid of the queen-one whom he
seated on the cushions, still heaped as the queen had had torn from the innocent places of her childhood, and
left them, was De Gouvion; and by his side, with her whose pure spring of affections he had sullied in its first
slender hand in his, sat a dark-eyed melancholy girl, Il gushings. At the time of his first acquaintance with
with a soft madonna cast of features, and an expression | Adeline, he was in high favor with the queen ; and it
upon them, as she bent her classical head toward him, I was that he might place an unconscious spy over her
which could not be mistaken. The young girl had actions, rather than from any pity for the deluded girl,
poured her heart's love out recklessly to the man by her which induced him to interest Marie Antoinette in her
side. He was talking in a low, persuasive tone, which behalf, as the daughter of a deceased friend of his own.
had a kind of enıbralling music in its whisperings; still Thus, for several years he had, by a series of trifling at-
he did not look in her face as he spoke; but his eye' tentions to the lost girl, excited a constant hope that his
glanced restlessly about the room, or were fastened on heart would again return to her, while he had easily
the marble table, still soiled with fragments of black- gleaned from her conversation and letters, all the infor-
ened paper. He talked long and earnestly, and closed | mation he wished with regard to the royal household.
by saying, “You promised, Adeline, to let no opportu- But to induce her to become an active agent in betray-
nity escape you, to be ever on the alerı."
ing the secrets of her royal mistress, he found more dif-
She made no answer, but sat with her hands clasped ficult than he had anticipated. However, he did suc
in her lap, and tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. ceed, as our reader is aware; and well satisfied with
“Why do you not answer, Adeline,” he exclaimed, his success, left the royal gardens to prosecute his trai-
impatiently,“ have I not promised to make you my wife torous plans elsewhere.
whenever this great object is accomplished ?"
After her interview with De Gourion, Adeline let
"But you have promised so often before;” she an- herself into the palace by a private entrance, and has-
swered, timidly, raising her swimming eyes to his. tened through several luxurious anterooms to the queen's
“But I will gwear now-that must satisfy you;” and bed-chamber. She listened a moment, then gently
he raised a little crucifix hanging about her neck to his opening the door, stole softly through the rich artificial
lips.
twilight, created and mellowed by the heavy purple dra-
Adeline's eye brightened for an instant; then burst-
pery sweeping over the windows. Casting a wistful
ing into fresh tears, she exclaimed, “ Indeed, indeed, I glance toward the royal couch, she breathed more freely,
cannot injure her-she is so hind, so good !"
on seeing, through an opening in the curtain, the beau-
"I do not ask you to injure her-have I not told you tiful head of the queen, half buried in the frilled pillow,
that she will return to her own country, and live hap-with a hand thrust under her damask cheek, and her
pily at her brother's court ?"
neck-ruffles heaving with the respirations of a quiet
“ Are you certain this is all they intend ?"
sleeper. Adeline glided noiselessly to a talle covered
* Most certain."
with ornaments hastily cast from the wearer, and thrown
" And will you forsake that odious Madam Lamothe?”in brilliant confusion among unread petitions, perfumed
“When this object is accomplished--until then I sonnets, and empty jewel-boxes. She was carefully
shall need her services."
searching among the papers, when the rose-colored dra-
“Swear that you will leave her.” 1
pery was flung suddenly from before the bed, and look-
“See, I do;" and again he kissed the crucifix; then! ing hastily up, she saw with terror that the queen was
holding it to her lips, he said, “Now it is your turn- leaning on her pillow in a half sitting posture, and look-
promise, upon this, to observe my directions." liing with astonishment upon her. Before she could
The poor girl made a motion as if to obey him, and speak the queen exclaimed, more hastily than was her
then shrunk back irresolute.
wont "Mademoiselle Adeline, why do you visit my bed-
" Farewell, then," he exclaimed, dropping the cruci-chamber without a summons ?”
fix in her lap and rising coldiy—“Madam Lamothe pur- Quick as thought the waiting-woman was ready with
an excuse. Taking an ivory casket from the table, she
"Stop-oh do not go to her-see, I swear,” she held it up, saying, “The jeweller from Paris wished me
cried, bending eagerly forward and pressing the cross to to submit this for your majesty's inspection; it is a
her lips with both hands.
necklace of rare diamonds, very beautiful and he sup-
“ Promised like my own brave girl," he cried, return-posed your highness might wish for the first refusal of
ing, “ now go to the palace, and remember to bring me it."
intelligence this evening," and hurrying her to the door, “Bring my dressing-gown !" exclaimed the queen,
he pressed her hand and returned into the pavilion. eagerly throwing back the silken quilt, and thrusting
He had left it on the previous night for the secret haunts her feet into the slippers of the previous night-"draw
of such jacobins as were gathered in the neighborhood. up that curtain and give me the jewels !"
There he had forced back the pride of his aristocratic Adeline obeyed, and with almost childlike impatience,
habit, and entered into all their debasing plans, adopt-| the queen, being hastily robed, gathered her dressing,
ing their detestable measures with the avidity of a gown about her, and running to the unveiled window,
scorned man thirsting for vengeance. All the night through which the sunbeams were pouring, held the
long he had been thus employed, and the morning found | magnificent diamonds in their full blaze.
him as we have related, tempting with empty promises ' “ Beautiful beautiful!" she exclaimed, eagerly sha-
poses -"


216
THE DIAMOND NECKLACE.
king them about, and the sunlight flashed and sparkled “No, no," interrupted the other, eagerly, “ we'll carry
over them like a shower of prismatic fire_" They are grapes on our heads in a pretty basket, just as the little
absolutely dazzling-but the price, Adeline-at how" peasant-boys do, Monsieur de Gouvion told me all
much does Bossanges value them ?”
about it.”
“At sixteen hundred thousand francs," was the reply. I Louis hastily arose, and commanded Adeline to con-
" It is too much-quite ruinous, yet I must have 'duct the children from the room. He was no sooner
them. Who is that at the private door? Go and see,' obeyed than, turning abruptly to the queen, and taking
Adeline."
a crumpled paper from his pocket, he demanded if that
The attendant obeyed, and returned, saying that the was her hand-writing and seal. She glanced at both,
king wished to be admitted.
and instantly recognised the note she had trampled in
“Certainly,” replied the queen, hastily twisting her the pavilion the preceding night. The color forsook
long, brown hair into a kind of turban round her head, her cheeks, but she did not attempt a denial.
and gathering her dressing-gown in graceful drapery: “They are both mine," she faltered out.
over her neck-“ tell his majesty I wait his presence, “It is enough,” replied the king, turning away in
and then bring the young princes bither-their smiles stern anger; but she caught his hand, exclaiming in an
must help to purchase the diamonds for me.”
agitated voice-
Adeline admitted ihe king, and then went to perforın “ Louis, do not leave me with this odious note unex-
the queen's last command.
plained-though it makes me appear guilty, I am not
Louis had just returned from a meeting with his coun- soindeed I am not listen, and I will tell you all, as
cil, where the discontent of his subjects had been laid if to my father confessor!”.
before him in a host of petitions, which he had no means | The king looked incredulous, but suffered her to con-
of granting, yet which were couched in terms of com-' duct him to a seat. She saw that his suspicions outran
plaint almost insulting. His brow was wrinkled, his the truth, and this emboldened and gave her eloquence.
eye dim, and his whole person careworn and dejected, She began with the time when she had come to his
as he entered the queen's apartment. He returned her father's court, a girl and a stranger, seeking the pro-
greeting somewhat stiflly as she advanced to receive tection of a husband, and spoke of her disappointment
him, and sighing heavily, threw himself into a chair. when cold indifference met her in the place of affection;
The queen felt, instinctively, that his mood was unpro." she passed rapidly over her first acquaintance with the
pitious for her wishes; and closing the casket on the Marquis de Gouvion; told how he first ingratiated him-
diamonds, she bent over his chair and sought to charm self into her favor, by the respectful reverence of his
away his dejection; but for once she was unsuccessful. manner; how that reverence mellowed imperce pribly
The gloom darkened on his brow, and shaking off the into pity for her loneliness, and then by insidious de-
hand which she had laid on his shoulder, he left his seat grees verged into the forbidden sentiments of love, love
and walked the room in evident perturbation. The under the guise of Platonic friendship; then she had
queen's fears were awakened by his strange manner. been led to answer his letters; and when he supposed
The scene of the previous night flashed to her mind; her sufficiently entangled, his falsehood, his villany
and with a sinking dread of some new evil, she demand had appeared, and she hated him for his baseness. She
ed of the agitated monarch the cause of his disorder. i begged the king to remember how sincerely she had
Before he could answer, Adeline returned with two of met his own affections as soon as they were offered.
the young princes. Casting off a portion of his gloom, She spoke of her children-her passionate love for
Louis resumed his seat; and lifting the younger of the them—with deep and touching eloquence. She be-
beautiful children to his knee, circled the other with sought him to bear in mind that she had constantly
his arm. The queen drew an ottoman to his feet, and avoided De Gouvion, since the first few years of her
passing an arm also round the young boy, pressed his residence in France. Through her intercessions he had
round cheek to her's with the affectionate grace which been gent as minister abroad; and when at court, all
was so becoming in her.
the forms of ceremony had been constantly observed by
“Now," she said, smoothing the little ſellow's hair her; this had excited his anger, and he had more than
with her hand, and raising her bright face to the king's, once threatened to expose her letter; thus forcing ber
"' now, if we were a peasant family, living in a snug to dissemble her dislike as much as possible. She fin-
little cot at the foot of a hill, draped by the vineyards ished by saying, that on the previous evening he had so
which supported us, with a few goats and a garden, how persecuted her with solicitations and threats, that weary
happy we could be.”
and disgusted she had sought solitude in the garden pa-
“ Would to Heaven we were in so safe a shelter,"vilion, whither he followed her, bold in the power ber
said the king, fervently, "for then I might gather my letters gave him. The scene in the pavilion was related,
family about my humble hearthstone, without a fear of and every word given with such sincerity and genuine
finding deceit and treachery in its bosom ;” and the un truth, that the king could not but believe. The letter
happy monarch bowed his face to his son's head, and in his hand was a corroboration of her narrative ; and
a hot tear dropped among his sunny curls.
he felt that her imprudence had originated in his own
“But, papa," said the elder boy, raising his face early neglect, which had thrown her into the vortex of
anxiously, “ if you work in a vineyard like the men I saw | a voluptuous court, without the strong deſence of a hus-
once, shall I be king then ?”
band's love. His heart was relieved from suspicions


THE DIAMOND NECKLACE.
217
that had eaten into his domestic happiness for years; royal livery gained him instant admission; and follow-
and when the queen stopped speaking, and remained ing a servant up a wide flight of steps, he was ushered,
with her supplicating face raised to his, wet with tears unannounced, into the presence of the cardinal, a man
and pale with anxiety-for in the eagerness of her vindi- about forty, heavy in person, with a countenance be-
cation she had fallen on her knees before him-he drew speaking high living and good nature, rather than in-
her to his bosom, and pressed a kiss on her forehead tellectual superiority. He was in earnest conversation
more full of affectionate confidence than had ever rested with a muffled female, and did not observe the royal
there before.
i'messenger till he advanced almost to his elbow, and
What a moment is that when the mind is relieved of with painful embarrassment of manner presented a let-
suspicion, when confidence springs into the heart with ''ter. The cardinal broke the seal, and his dull features
its gush of love, and the soul is tender as if departing instanıly lighted up as he turned to the lady, exclaim-
to a new state of existence.
ing, “I can no longer refuse you, madam; here is a
For two hours the royal pair remained together, he request from our gracious queen herself; I will go to
sharing his thoughts and cares with her as he had ever Bossanges directly;" and he jumped up, rubbing his
done before, and she offering to make any sacrifice that hands, and bustled by the royal page, exclaiming, “my
promised to win back the confidence of the nation. humble duty to her majesty, and tell her she shall be
"I will do all, yield all,” she exclaimed with enthu- obeyed. Madam Lamothe, you shall hear from me;"
siasm, "and they must love me, they shall." Alas, and he hurried out of the room with most undiguitied
Marie Antoinette had no just knowledge of the French. haste.
Louis left his queen's chamber, looking younger and The boy started and turned pale on hearing the name
happier than he had done for years. His domestic quiet of the lady. He cast a quick penetrating glance at her,
was restored; the queen was willing, nay, eager to con- as she sat motionless in the corner of a sofa ; but his
ciliate the people, and all must go well. He reasoned curiosity was only gratified by a pretty foot peeping
thus and was happy. Marie Antoinette felt as if the from under the folds of a velvet cloak, and a white hand
light-heartedness of her childhood had returned; the gathering the thick veil more closely over her face. She
confidence of her husband was her's, and what had she ,sat still, and was evidently waiting for him to depart
to fear from enemies? Her eyes fell on the forgotten first. He did so, and met the Marquis de Gouvion a
casket of diamonds and filled with tears, not of regret few paces from the door. His inquiring glance was
that they could not be her's, but of a touched and swell. ; answered by a bow, and the page steppped into a dili-
ing heart, too contented in itself not to wonder that gence just starting for Versailles.
they had appeared so desirable a few hours since. Early the next morning the same page was closeted
Summoning Adeline, she gave her the jewels, ordering with the cardinal: the ivory casket before mentioned,
her to tell Bossanges that she should prefer that the together with a pile of bills bearing the queen's signa-
king should spend sixteen hundred thousand francs for ture, lay on a table; and the prelate was reading a let-
a ship. Adeline was not surprised at the sudden change ter which the boy had just brought him. His face was
in her mistress, for she had contrived to become a lis- , flushed to a deep red, and the paper in his hand trem-
tener to the late royal interview. Her naturally kind bled with the delight which was shaking his nerves.
heart had been touched, and she resolved to take no Hastily interrupting himself, he took up the casket;
further part in De Gouvion's plans; but evening came and shuffling it into the boy's hand, bade him hasten
-the temptation to see him was great--her appoint- i with it 10 the queen. The boy thrust it into his bosom
ment was met, and need I say how the remainder of her and instantly departed, leaving the cardinal to peruse
resolve was kept?
his letter, and to wonder how it could happen that the
Three days passed away. De Gouvion had returned queen should, unsought, make an appointment with him,
to his hotel in Paris, not daring i* appear before the whom she had always hated; but that she had done so
king after the intelligence Adeline had brought him. was certain; the proofs were in his hand; and with
Among the throng which crowded the gardens of the boyish delight be summoned his valet, and prepared to
Tuilleries he was sauntering away the morning, as if give the appointed interview.
only intent on passing the time, when his arm was Meanwhile, the page had entered a hotel in a neigh-
touched by a slender and delicate boy wearing the king's boring street, and hurriedly demanded of an attendant
livery.
if the Marquis de Gouvion was within. He was an-
“ I am ready," he said in a low voice,“ where is the swered in the affirmative; and without waiting to be
letter ?"
announced, rushed up a flight of stairs to that noble-
De Gouvion hastily placed a note in his hand. “Pull man's room, and throwing down the casket, exclaimed,
the hat more over your forehead, and walk less timidly,"'\' “Here are the jewels-now my oath is accomplished."
he said in a low, hurried voice, and then turned away | “Not quite,” replied the nobleman, drawing the
as if afraid of being observed.
panting boy towards him; “ but what a pretty boy she
The boy gave a startled look about; then pulling the makes,” he added, laughing and removing bis hat from
hat over his eyes, hurried through the crowd out of the 'a mass of glossy black braids which it concealed.
gardens, and turning down the Rue St. Honnore, stop- A half suppressed smile dimpled the mouth of the
ped at the hotel occupied by the Cardinal de Rohan, a , blushing counterfeit; and nestling closer to the noble-
prelate, at that time in disgrace with the queen. The man's side, she laid her cheek on his arm and mur-


218
THE DIAMOND NECKLACE.
f
It was.
mured, “Oh, De Gouvion, why do you strive to make her hand in his as she was about to pass in, “remem-
me more wicked ?-I shall never be happy again.” ber all depends on your self-possession."
“Nonsense, nonsense, girl," he exclaimed, playfully I She made an effort to gather courage. “Where shall
shaking her head from his arm, “but come, and let me I find you after this meeting with the cardinal ?" she
see if my Adeline can play the queen as bravely as she whispered. He mentioned the place.
does the page ;-in that room you will find every thing: “And there you will peform your promise ?" she ad-
necessary for the disguise."
i ded, almost gasping for breath, so intense was her
"But, De Gouvion, I dare not--remember, my hair anxiety.
is black, and I am less tall than the queen,” said the “Have I not sworn ?”.
disguised girl, pleadingly.
“Yes, yes, I am, I will be satisfied ; and drawing
"No matter-put on false hair. dress it high on the her hand from his, she entered the garden, and hurried
head, and the difference will never be observed by that up a br
et up a broad walk, called the Queen's Avenue.
blind beetle of a cardinal."
It was a beautiful starlight night, and before she had
walked many paces, she plainly discerned the outline
Adeline reluctantly withdrew, and in about half an
of a man, whom she knew must be the cardinal, lean-
hour returned completely metamorphosed, in a full dress
ing against a tulip-tree, the spot appointed in the forged
of amber satin, looped up from her rounded arms by
letter; and punctual to the appointment he supposed
strings of gems, and falling from her graceful shoulders
himself to have made with the queen. Adeline was
in capes of wrought lace. Over her borrowed ringlets
hastening to join him, when the voice of Marie Antoi-
of dark brown hair, a bird-of-paradise feather swept its
nette arrested her. She crouched, trembling, behind a
magnificent plumage; and a superb veil, of the finest
statue, till the queen, who with her sister-in-law, was
Brussel's lace, fell like a mist about her person. De
taking her usual walk before retiring, had passed off in
Gouvion met her with a feeling of genuine admiration as
another direction; then she started up and hurried toward
she threw the veil back from her face, now surprisingly
1998 the tree, against which the cardinal was leaning. He
lovely. The exquisite fairness of her complexion har-
also had heard the voice of the queen; and as the forged
monized finely with the bright ringlets of her disguise ; ;
letter had said, that she would leave her companions a
while a soft color, like that in the heart of the almond-
moment and render him her thanks for the purchase of
flower, broke the whiteness of her cheek; and the tri-,
the diamonds, he supposed it to be her when he saw a
umph of vanity threw a lively sparkle into her usually"
splendidly dressed female approach with the usual air
melancholy eye.
and gait of Marie Antoinette, wearing her perfume, and
“ By Heavens! you are scarcely surpassed by the sparkling with gems. He dropped on his knees, and
woman you represent, though not at all like her," exo! lost in delight, kissed the hand of the disguised Ade-
claimed De Gouvion, exultingly," and the diamonds, line, and received, with an elated heart, the few words
you have won and shall wear them."
of graceful acknowledgment she whispered, and then
She bent her head, and he clasped the sparkling neck she darted off as if afraid of being observed. Lost in
lace round her throat; then drawing down her veil he an ecstacy of vanity, he remained kneeling in the grass,
led her to a carriage waiting in the street below. As with his eyes following her receding figure, till the flut-
the carriage rolled along toward Versailles, the mis-' ter of her dress was lost in the shrubbery; then he left
guided girl resolutely cast away all thoughts of her er- the garden without one suspicion that he had not been
rand, and drawing near to her companion, nestled her 'honored with an interview by the queen of France.
little hand timidly into his, and indulged in the deliri- Immediately after leaving the duped cardinal, Ade-
ous happiness which his presence created. And should line hastened to the house where De Gouvion had
she remair with him thus for life, live with him, ever promised to meet her. The street door was ajar, and
have him thus by her side ? Her breath came gasp- pushing it open, she entered a lighted room on the
ingly as she thought of it. She could scarcely realize ground floor. There was a slight bustle at her approach,
that it was not a dream; and yet he had promised and she caught a glinpse of female drapery, as it dis-
nay, sworn to make her his wife that very night. She appeared through an opposite door. De Gouvion ad-
was going then to commit a crime of base ingratitude vanced eagerly to meet her, and seizing both her hands,
against her benefactress; to dip her soul still deeper in exclaimed,
evil; and yet, such was her infatuation, that she thought “Bravely done my girl;but was he deceived ? —
the sacrifice too small to purchase the delight of sitting how did the old fool act ?"
by his side, there alone, with her hand in his, and noth: The panting girl could only answer, “ It is over, De
ing but the pure stars looking down upon them. Alas, Gouvion, and now your promise—why are you alone-
for the woman whose soul has so lost its anchorage, where is the priest ?”
that it turns to an earthly object as to an idol; and doubly | “Why, how impatient you are,” he answered, smiling,
alas, when she trusty to find happiness when virtue and "talk no more of it to-night-you are too much agita-
principle are overwhelmed by the rush of human pas. ted.”
sion.
! As De Gouvion replied, the girl turned very pale, and
It was near midnight when De Gouvion conducted drawing her hands from his clasp, exclaimed, “ Did
Adeline to a private gate of the palace gardens. “Com- you not swear to make me your wife this night ?".
pose yourself-do not tremble thus," he said, pressing “ Even so,” he replied carelessly.


THE DIAMOND NECKLACE.
219
“Then why do you speak of delay ?"
“ Patriotism-republicanism-lhe cause of liberty
“Because it happens to suit my convenience.” which you have been blindly aiding in procuring these
" And it may suit your convenience to break a solemn diamonds, every one of which shall go to promote the
oath altogether," she exclaimed indignanıly.
Il glorious emancipation of our country--the downfall of
“ Perhaps so, and what then, my pretty termagani?"| a race of tyrants.
Suddenly the young girl became calm, a cool, deter-|| “Alas, my royal mistress, what has she done? ex-
mined expression shot into her eye, and the little re- claimed Adeline,“ but I will warn her-I will confess--"
maining color vanished from her lips. Deliberately I " And by so doing, destroy your own sister !" said
unclasping the necklace, she gathered it tightly in her Madam Lamothe.
hand; and then looking the nobleman steadily in the Adeline stopped-her face changed-her fingere re-
face, said, in the quiet, deep tone of resolution, laxed their hold on the diamonds, and they fell, a glit-
“De Gouvion, redeem your oath now-this hour-or, tering mass, to her feet. “I am every way bound," she
as I live, this string of diamonds, together with all the exclaimed in agony of feeling, “ every way forced to do
particulars appertaining, shall be in the possession of wrong;" then placing her hands against Madam La-
King Louis, before to-morrow's sun!"
mothe, she held her back at arm's length, and fixing
De Gouvion was evidently surprised and alarmed. He her eyes searchingly, on her immoveable features, said,
at first attempted to pacify her with promises ; but was 1“ Louisa, as you shall hope for mercy, answer me truly
only answered by the little hand clenched over the jew-1, -do you now, or have you ever loved the Marquis do
els and uplifted threateningly, and that one expression Gouvion ?"
-"your oath-your oath.” Then he boldly acknowl- | “As I hope for mercy hereafter, no !!!
edged, that only such ties as existed could ever bind. “And this bond, which you call republicanism, is the
them. No religious vow was recognized by him. He only tie between you ?"
mocked at her faith in an oath, taken in the face of the
It is."
Most High, and boldly proclaimed himself one of the “Were you acquainted with the false promises by
class of atheists, that like a poisonous plant has spread which I was won to the obtaining of these ?” Adeline
its roots from the bosom of France into our beloved again inquired, spurning the pile of gems with her foot.
land, withering and blasting whatever it entwines. “I was—and did the glorious cause, in which we are
This blasphemy only served to strengthen biz victim'engaged, require the spilling of my own blood, or even
in her purpose. She was turning away to put her threat that of my parents, instead of your weak tears, it should
in execution, when the door behind her was softly open- be cheerfully poured forth.”
ed, and a female, the matured counterpart of hersell,! The mention of her parents turned the channel of the
crossed the room, laid her hand on the retiring girl's oppressed girl's thoughts. Her heart, her cherished
shoulder, and leaning her head, whispered—“Adeline!" hopes, had been wantonly crushed, and her spirit yearn-
That voice! it thrilled through her heart like the burst ed toward the home of her innocence as to a haven of
of a dream-like melody, bringing in its tones—the cot rest. Her resolution was instantly taken. Without
on the hill-side the burthened vineyard- the fountain speaking, or even looking at her sister, or the astonished
by the rock-the quiet hearthstone-her gray-haired De Gouvion, she turned and left the house, found her
parents, and all that had made the sweet vision of her way to her apartment in the palace, and throwing off
childhood. It seemed as if a part of her innocence had her splendid apparel, dressed herself in a humble suit,
been returned to her, as she wound her arms convul- which she had preserved as a relic of home. When
sively round the stranger, and clung to her bosom sob- equipped in her plain attire, che noiselessly left the
bing like a sick infant, on the relurn of its mother. Thus room, and returned in a few minutes much agilated and
she lay for a few moments, and then raising her wet bathed in tears. She gathered up the robe, the veil,
face, murmured, in a voice of touching earnestness, and the paradise feather, and cast them, a brilliant
** Our parents, Louisa, are they alive? have they for- mass, in a corner of the room; then taking a little bun-
gotten me ?"
dle of linen in her hand she departed.
“They are both alive," replied the stranger, slightly Marie Antoinette had missed her favorite attendant,
moved.
at her hour of disrobing that night ; and had been asleep
“Tell me, Louisa, tell me truly—do they never speak about an hour, when a slight noise, as if of the closing
of me?-oh, sister! sister! if I could once more sleep of a door, awoke her. She thought she had been dream-
in our little chamber-in our own bed, with your arms ing—that her protege came softly to her bed-side, habit-
about me!-But why are you here ?” she exclaimed, ed as a peasant--that she had wept bitterly, and cover-
wildly springing from her sister's bosom; “have you, ed one of her hands with tears and passionate kisses.
too, deserted our parents in their old age ?-why are The queen rose up and looked about-the room was
you here in De Gouvion's lodgings ?”.
empty-but the hand which had been hanging over the
“ You are mistaken, Adeline," said the person inter-side of the bed, was wet, as if indeed it had been wept
rogated. “I am married—I am the Madam Lamothe upon. The next morning Adeline came not as usual,
you have so hated.”
to the summons of her royal mistress.
“And what have you in common with him ?" repliedIt was the third night after her departure from Ver-
Adeline, pointing sternly to De Gouvion, who sat coldly sailles, when the returned penitent stood, weary and
observing the scene.
faint, at her father's door-stone. All was dark in the
27


220
THE POISONED JELLY.
cottage, for it was near midnight; the stars gathered
Original.
thickly in the heavens, and shed a cold light on the THE POISONED JELLY;
vine which crept over the thatched roof; and the music OR, THE COURT LADY'S REVENGE."
of the passing brook fell soothingly on the wanderer's
Translated from the Spanish.
ear. Thrice she raised her hand to knock at the rude
door, but each time her courage failed her. She had
Charter I.
eaten nothing that day; and her heart thrilled with a The queen sat surrounded by her court expecting the
strange pleasure, as she groped amid the dark leaves arrival of Ricaredo. Beside her stood Isabella, who,
of the vine she had plucked fruit from in childhood, and from the moment she heard of the return of the ship,
satisfied her hunger with one of its purple clusters. had been agitated with many conflicting emotions. Ri-
With her heart full, almost to bursting, she laid her lit- caredo was a tall and well proportioned man, and now,
tle bundle down for a pillow; and stretching herself on clad in a superb Milan armor of steel wrought with
the door-stone, slept calmly and sweetly, as she had not gold, a hat looped up with plumes of various col-
done for years, dreaming that the murmur of the rivu- ors, and costly arms suspended to a richly embroider
let, as it gurgled by, was the hushing of her mother's l'ed belt: he was compared by all who looked upon him
voice.
to Mars, the war god, returning from victory. Isabella
Early in the morning there was a stir in the cottage. saw not his glittering armor; she looked into his face,
The old peasant had arisen to his daily labor, and his and to her he seemed more as Venus clad in the habili-
wife, an aged woman, broken down with grief and in- ments of her war-like lover. The hero advanced and
firmity, was preparing the morning meal. It was a knelt before the queen.
griovous sight--that old couple sharing the labors of “Behold me before you, noble lady," he said, " re-
their deserted home, and consoling each other for the turned from that cruise undertaken by your will and my
ingratitude of their children-children who had forsa- desire. Upon the death of, General Lausac, I, by your
ken them in their old age; the one for ambition, the royal will, succeeded to his command. Soon after, fate
other for the arms of a stranger. The old man opened threw into my power two Turkish vessels, which towed
the door to go out, and there, upon the rough stepping behind them a large ship just conquered. These bea-
stone, lay his last born, asleep. The rising sunbeams '; ven gave to our hands, for your soldiers fought with
were streaming over her in a sheet of brilliancy, bright- their usual intrepidity. Lady, in your royal name, I
ening her features and drowning the change years had sent the Christian prisoners to Spain in one of our barks
made upon them; her dark lashes lay soſtly on her —the other I have brought safely to your shores, and
cheek, and a sweet, contented smile, like that of her with it the conquered ship, which is a Portuguese bark,
infancy, was about her mouth. The joyful old man returning from India, bringing millions in gold, in rare
grew suddenly strong, and lifting her in his withered spices and in jewels. All this, my royal mistress, I lay
arms bore her to her mother's bed. When the poor at your feet, asking only from you one jewel, which I
wanderer awoke, her hand was in that of her father; the left in your care, and which was promised to me on my
tears of her mother were raining over her face, and her return. Think not, lady, I imagine the little I have
cheeks were warm with kisses.
1'done an equivalent for this treasure-the services of my
Who will dare to say that there is no happiness for life I offer in exchange for this so dearly prized |
the penitent female ?
i “Rise, Ricaredo," said the queen, “believe me, if
Isabella could be bought, neither this richly laden bark,
nor all the Indias could equal her merit, so highly do I
When Marie Antoinette was brought to her shame-
value her; but I give her to you because I have promis-
ful trial, among other charges, that of having artfully
ed her to you, and because you are worthy of her. Your
prevailed upon the Cardinal de Rohan to purchase an
valor has won her. As you have kept your riches for
expensive necklace of diamonds, was brought against
me, I have also reserved this priceless gem for you.
her. It was stated, that she had paid the cardinal in
Isabella is yours. Here she is, and when you wish to
bills, bearing her signature, which she afterwards pro-
take entire possession of her, she will, no doubt, show
nounced forgeries, and had prevailed on Louis to ban-
you mercy-I should rather say kindness, for mercy
ish the prelate for his share in the transaction. Mad-
should be the queen's attribute alone. Now go and rest
ame Lamothe bent over from the galleries and listened
yourself. To-morrow I would again see you to hear
to this base charge with an unmoved countenance ;
more of your adventures, and see the two Spaniards
while the Marquis de Gouvion sat calmly among her
who I hear have returned with you."
self-constituted judges, secure in his villany; for Ade-
Ricaredo kissed the queen's hand, who then retired
line, the only witness of their guilt, and the queen's in- from the saloon. The ladies now surrounded Ricaredo,
nocence, slept in an early grave, by the side of her pa- | asking him numerous questions and examining his arms.
rents.
Among them was Leñora Tausi, the intimate friend of
Isabella.
It is easier for large masses to grow worse, than bet- “How is it, Señor, you come armed among us? Did
ter; war, piracy, slavery, party zeal, infect a thousand you expect to meet an enemy? I believe we are here
hearts at once ; virtue, like angels, accompanies indi-
viduals only.
Continued from page 5.


THE POISONED JELLY.
221
all your friends, except Señora Isabella, who being Spa- 1 me to bring them to England. They are from Cadiz,
nish, is, of course, obliged to hate you."
and are people of rank."
“Entreat her, Señora, to be kind to me; for surely | Hearing they were Spaniards from Cadiz, Isabella
with such beauty and wit cruelly should not dwell." looked at them and longed to ask them if they knew
“I must be yours, Señor, for it is the queen's de- auglit of her parents. The queen commanded them to
cree," said Isabella, “and you can then take revenge approach, and as they drew near the eyes of the lady
for all the trouble these compliments cost you."
fell upon Isabella. She started, trembled and stopped
Ricaredo replied in the same spirit, and the lovers before her. Her father also gazed intently upon her,
felt repaid by the interview for all they had suffered. A while images of past joy and sorrow thronged through
young girl of the court had amused herself much look. bie brain. Confused memories pressed upon Isabella,
ing at herself in the polished armor of Ricaredo, liſting and scenes of other daye, in which were mixed the
up the shoulder pieces, and unsheathing the sword, al forms before her, now crowded to her mind. While
last she said to the Señora Tausi" War must be a these three were thus gazing upon each other, perplex-
very beautiful thing to look at, since armed men appear ed with doubts and clouded memories, Ricaredo stood
well even in the presence of richly dressed and pretty watching them eagerly while the tears were falling over
ladies."
his war stained cheek. The queen observed them with
"You say true,” replied Tausi; "and as for Señor surprise, nor could she divine what new emotion agita-
Ricaredo, one would think him to be the sun come down ted her favorite Isabella. Earnestly gazing upon the
to take a walk in the streets."
strangers, she stood, her bosom heaving with her power-
The young ladies laughed at this, and cast their merry | ful feelings, while her hand was often raised to toss back
darts at the hero from many directions, at his imperti the ringlets which fell over her face and impeded her
nence in daring to appear in their presence armed. Soon | vision.
after, Ricaredo took leave of Isabella and her friends “ Isabella, you can speak to these strangers in their
and sought her parents. He was received with open language," said the queen, “demand of them why they
arms by them and his friends, while all London was il- | refused the liberty offered them by Ricaredo, since
laminated on account of his valorous exploits. The liberty is equally desired by men and the beasts of the
parents of Isabella were carried to the house of Clotal- forest and field.”
do, who was made acquainted with their relationship, Isabella, desirous to hear the voices of the strangers,
but charged to keep it secret from Isabella. The next to add the testimony of her ears to that of her eye, re-
day the ship was unloaded, and it was eight days before peated the queen's words in Spanish. The foreign lady
all its rich freight was taken out.
scarcely waiting for her to finish—forgetful of the queen
That morning Ricaredo went, according to appoint- and the court around her, rushed up to Isabella, exa-
ment, to the palace, with his parents and those of Isa- mined her neck, where she found a mole by which she
bella. The queen sat, surrounded with her ladies, ex. recognized her daughter, and exclaiming—"Child of
pecting him, and, to please him, requested Isabella to my heart! daughter of my soul!" fell insensible in Isa-
attire herself in her Spanish dress. The parents of | bella's arms. Her husband ran to support her, tears of
Isabella, gazed upon all the splendor which surrounded joy and happiness falling down his venerable face and
them with much astonishment. Isabella they did not bathing his beard, while Isabella, distracted with vari.
recognize, although when they looked upon her, their ous emotions, gazed upon her father almost wild with
hearts bounded with an unknown feeling, a mixture of happiness.
sorrow and joy, for which they could no way account. The queen, surprised, turned to Ricaredo. “ To you
The queen would not permit Ricaredo to kneel, but we owe this interesting meeting,” she said ; “but re-
bade him seat himself upon a chair covered with satin, member, joy will kill as well as grief."
which she had caused to be placed for him. This unu- | Advancing to Isabella, she separated her from her
sual courtesy in their haughty queen, caused surprise in mother, and endeavored to compose her. Water was
her courtiers, and they began to envy bim this high dis- thrown in the face of the lady, who soon recovered, and
tinction. The favor of princes is frequently a dart that kneeling before the queen, besought her pardon for all
pierces the heart of the envious.
that had happened.
"I have often heard it said," whispered one, " that i “Pardon my boldness, royal lady," she said, “ but at
gifts soften stones.”
lehe sight of my long lost daughter, all remembrance of
“Yes, yes," said another, “ Ricaredo has ridden into your royal presence left me."
royal favor upon a bag of spices."
Isabella was interpreter to her mother, and conveyed
" True, his seat is made of cinnamon and gold.” to her the queen's reply, who freely forgave her and con-
According to the queen's request, Ricaredo related gratulated her upon the restoration of her beloved
the particulars of his cruise, and of the battle, pointing daughter. She also gave her permission to take up her
out the valorous actions of several of his soldiers, whom abode in the palace, where she might always have ac-
in consequence she promised to reward. He then spoke cess to Isabella. Ricaredo anew begged of the queen
of the captives in the Portuguese ship, and presented permission immediately to wed Isabella if he were
before her the parents of Isabella. "These are the two worthy of her, and if not to mark out something more
natives of Spain, my generous lady," he said, “who for him to do whereby he might merit her. The queen
anxious to behold your greatness, so earnestly entreated | replied, she was satisfied with him and his exploits, and


222
THE POISONED JELLY.
CHAPTER V.
required no new proofs of his valor. In four days from the queen would grant her request. Willing to gratify
thence the wedding, she said, should take place with l! so ancient a friend, and curious to know what had thus
all the honor due to them both. Ricaredo retired well ilagilated her, the queen consented to put off the bridal
pleased with the hope of coon seeing his Isabella be- two days. The lady then declared the ardent love which
yond the power of fate to separate them. Time new her son felt for Isabella, which, if the queen refused her
on. Not with the swiftness Ricaredo wished, for to to him, would lead him to kill himself or commit some
those who live upon the hope of promised pleasure, desperate deed. She had asked those two days to do.
never think time fies, but rather blame him for his slow vise sorne means to alleviate her son's condition. The
and lazy pace. The day arrived when the lovers were queen replied-if she had not pledged her royal word
to be united; but in that short time, when he imagined to give Isabella to Ricaredo, she would give her to
the bark of his prosperous fortune was running for the Count Arnesto ; but now it was too late, and she would
port with a favorable wind, there come a rushing tem- not break it for all the world could bring her. This
pest which made a shipwreck of all his hopes, and over- reply the lady carried to her son. Raging with love
whelmed him in a sea of despair.
|| and jealousy, he armed himself, and springing upon a
large and handsome horse, rode up to the house of Clo-
taldo, and loudly called for Ricaredo. The gay bride-
The first lady of the bedchamber, in whose care Isa-, groom arrayed for his nuptials, and, surrounded by
bella had remained, had one son almost twenty-two his friends, was on the point of setting out for the pa-
years of age, called Count Arnesto. Possessed of vast lace, when he heard himself called. He ran to a win-
wealth, of high rank, and son of the queen's favorite dow and beheld Count Arnesto.
lady, he was haughty and arrogant. The tire of Isa. “Come hither, Ricaredo!" said the Count, “ I hava
bella's beauteous eyes kindled a flame in the young something for your ear."
man's soul, and he became desperately enamored with “I listen-say on," replied the surprised bridegroom.
her. During Ricaredo's absence, he had tried every i "The queen, my lady, required of you somo noble
means to attach Isabella to him, but had entirely failed. exploit to win the peerless Isabella. You went and re-
Disdain and repulse, instead of inducing Arnesto to turned with ship loads of gold, with which you thought
desist, only excited liis obstinate disposition, and deter 1 to merit her; and the queen decreed there was none in
mined him to persevere in the pursuit of Isabella. The' the court who was more worthy of her than you. But
return of Ricaredo, and the queen's consent to his mar- in that she has deceived herself. I come to tell you,
riage, awoke all his jealous and angry feelings, and you are not worthy of Isabella, and if you deny this,
almost plunged him into despair. He ran to his mother defy you to mortal combat. Come out-I await you
and conjured her, if she wished to save his life, to exert here.”
her influence over the queen to break the marriage of'i “I canrot accept your challenge, my lord,” said Ri-
Isabella, and join her to hin, for if he were not possess-'' caredo, “on that account for I own I am not worthy
ed of her he would certainly kill himself. The mother of Isabella, nor indeed is any on earth: but for your
was distressed beyond measure at this declaration, for boldness in daring to defy me, I will meet you where
she dared not ask the queen, and she feared for her son, 'you will."
knowing his desperate character and determined spirit. Il Ricaredo flew for his arms, and left the house accom-
After a struggle with herself she promised to intercede panied by all his surprized and sorrowing friends. Some
with the queen for him; not that she expected her one more prudent than the rest, ran to acquaint the
majesty would break her word to Ricaredo, but that her queen of the intemperate conduct of the Count; and
son should not reproach her with leaving any means un her majesty immediately commanded the guards to ar-
tried to soften the rigor of his lot.
rest him. The captain of the guards made such expe-
That morning Isabella was brought before the queen dition that he arrived just as Ricaredo, completely arm-
in her bridal robes, which she had ordered to be made ed, was mounting his horse to meet Count Arnesto. As
of the richest stuffs. She was then presented with a soon as the latter beheld the guards, he knew they
necklace of pearls, the purest the sea could give, valued cought him, and raising his voice, he cried:
at twenty thousand ducats; the queen at the same time' “You see, Ricaredo, the impediment which will se-
placing on her finger a diamond ring, valued at six thou-''parate us. If you wish to fight, you can in future find
sand escudos. Every one was gaily dressed and happy an opportunity-believe me, I shall seek for one, and
in expectation of the approaching marriage feast. In we shall no doubt obtain the object of our present
the midst of this joyous bustle, the lady of the bed.' wishes."
chamber entered, and threw herself upon her knees be- 1 “'Tis well,” replied Ricaredo. “I will meet you
fore the queen. With tears and carnest entreaties, she some more fitting time."
conjured the queen, as a reward for all her long and i The captain of the guards advanced and arrested
faithful service, to put off the marriage of Isabella for Arnesto in the queen's name.
two days.
“I will go with you," replied the Count, “ on con-
The queen, surprised at such a request, demanded dition you take me into the queen's presence."
why she asked this which would force her to break her' The captain agreed to this, and, surrounded with
solemn promiso to Isabella and her lover. The lady, soldiers, the Count entered the queen's saloon. His
however, persisted in refusing to give her motive, unless mother, in the meanwhile, had with tears and prayers,


THE POISONED JELLY.
223
implored the queen to have mercy upon her son, and ter such remedies, that with the help of God, Isabella
attribute his folly to the ardor of his passion and his was soon out of immediate danger. The countess was
extreme youth. Arnesto hoped to plead his cause, but placed in confinement in order to undergo her trial.
without permitting him to speak a word, the queen' When asked her motives for the detestable crime, sho
commanded him to give up his sword, and then sent, replied she thought to do God a service to rid the
him a prisoner to the tower. All was now in confu- ! earth of so rigid a Catholic as Isabella, and at the same
sion. Ricaredo was vesed that his marriage was put time it would deliver her son from the presence of one
off-Isabella was troubled, and her parents sighed to who had caused him such disgrace and trouble.
see their new-found happiness thus sullied.
The news of this sorrowful event was carried 10 Rica-
“If my royal mistress would hear any council," said redo, who almost lost his senses with grief and rage.
the artful lady of the bed chamber, I would advise her to He flew to her immediately, but was not able to see her
put an end to all this distress and confusion, by sending for some days. At thai time, Isabella was pronounced
the Spanish girl and her parents off, again, to Spain. out of danger, but the poisonous effects of the venom
Isabella is a Catholic,” she added, “and none of my' had deprived her of her eyebrows, eyelashes, and all her
persuasions have been alike to swerve her in the least glossy hair; her soft and brilliant complexion had also
from her religion."
departed, giving place to a rough, dark, and spotted
"I esteem her for this the more," replied the queen. 'skin. In short, she became so completely changed,
" It is right she should not forget the faith of her fath- that from being a miracle of beauty, she was now deci-
ers. Nor will I send her away, for her grace and beauty dedly ugly. This, however, made no change in the af-
and goodness have endeared her to all of us. In two days' fections of her betrothed. He conjured the queen to
she marries Ricaredo."
permit her to be removed to his house, where he and
The mother of Arnesto was disconsolable. She saw his parents might watch over her.
no means to alleviate her son's destiny. He was lost " Isabella has lost her beauty," he said, “but is not
to her for ever. For while Isabella remained in the the less dear to me. I loved her for her goodness, which
court, he would do something outrageous and anger the will ever remain."
queen, and if she married Ricaredo, Arnesto would either! “You say true, Ricaredo," replied the queen. “A
kill himself or Ricaredo, or fall in combat with him. jewel loses not its value although imbedded in rough
She turned the subject every way in her head, and there stones and earth. Take her there, Ricaredo-and be-
seemed no way to save her son except in the removal lieve me, I sincerely regret I cannot deliver this gem to
of the cause of all this disturbance. Could Isabella be' you as bright and unharmed as when I received her.
sent from London, her son might recover; this would. If, in revenge, you find any alleviation of your suffering,
not be. There was one other method, and the mother' I promise you the perpetrator of this base crime shall
of Arnesto determined to commit one of the most atro- be severely punished.”
cious, as well as the most dastardly crimes which could. In the generous breast of Ricaredo, this feeling had
ever enter the heart of a woman—a woman, too, of no place, and he conjured the queen to pardon the
rank, educated with care and tenderness.-She resolved countess. The disgrace into which she had plunged
to poison Isabella. When a woman oace determines herself, was reparation enough, he thought, for her sin.
to enter the court of crime, she never lingers upon the Isabella was carried by her parents and Ricaredo to the
threshold. That very evening she mixed a subtle poi. house of Clotaldo; loaded, at her departure by the queen,
son in a glass of jelly-carried it to Isabella, pressing with new raiment and jewels, as a small testimony
her with warmth and kindness to take it as a strength of the love she bore her, and pity for her suffering state.
ener in her present weak and sorrowful state. The
CHAPTER VI.
guileless girl took the glass with many thanks, and to
oblige her, ate a little. The countess left the room, and Two months passed over, and Isabella remained the
soon after, the throat of Isabella began to swell, her lips same. At the end of that time, she became stronger,
turned black, her eyes dim, her voice hoarse, and her the skin came off in patches, and Ricaredo hoped she
breast became oppressed; in fact, she exhibited all would once more recover her delicate complexion. A
signs of having taken some powerful venom. The la change, however, had come over the minds of Clotaldo
dies who were present immediately ran to the queen, I and his wife. They regretted they had ever consented
certifying it their opinion the jelly given by Arnesto's to the union of their son with one who seemed born to
mother, had produced these effects. The queen was bring trouble upon all who loved her. They also repent-
easily convinced of this, and returned with them to the ed having broken faith with the Scotch lady and her
hapless Isabella, who was almost expiring. The royal friends, and finding Isabella gave no signs of recovery,
physicians were bastily sent for, and in the meantime the 'they determined to do their utmost to break the match
queen gave her unicorn powder, and other rare medic and marry Ricaredo to Clistena, the Scotch girl. Judge
cines which princes always keep near them as antidotes' ing Ricaredo by other young men, they supposed the
lo poison. The physicians arrived, and requested the beauty of Isabella had attached him to her, and now
queen to inquire of the countess what kind of poison she that she had lost this charm, they imagined her ugli-
had given. Overcome with terror and remorse, she con- 'ness and her long illness, had abated the fervor of his
fessed her crime, and acquainted them with the name love. Clistena, in loveliness, was equalled by none
of the poison, which enabled the physicians to adminis- but Isabella, and now that she was no longer beautiful,


224
THE POISONED JELLY.
they were sure she would rival the Spanish girl in Ri-| were jealous Catholics, and even she agreed to re-
caredo's heart.
main at his house until he returned. That day Clotaldo
In a few weeks Clistena arrived at the house of Clo- repaired to the palace to obtain the queen's permission
taldo, accompanied by a large train of servants and for the departure of Isabella for Spain, for the purpose
friends, and radiant with youth and beauty. The heart of trying the effect of her native air. Al the same time,
of Ricaredo sank within him when he saw Clistena ar- her majesty gave him ten thousand escudos of gold for
rive. He knew, at once, the machinations of his pa- her favorite, and told him she had punished her wicked
rents, and feared a separation from Isabella. Most of enemy by depriving her of her place at the palace, and
all, he dreaded the effect of her arrival upon Isabella, | forbidding her to appear before her, while Count Arnesto,
in whose weak state the shock might be fatal. He in- for his intemperate conduct, was sentenced to two years
stantly flew to her room, and found her still in bed, her banishment from England. To make her voyage as
parents sitting by her.
pleasant as possible, the queen sent for the captain of
“Isabella! beloved of my soul!” he said, earnestly, I a Flemish bark, about to sail for Spain, to whose care
“ listen to me, dearest. My parents, led no doubt, byl she confided Isabella and her parents, charging him to
a mistaken wish for my welfare, have invited here that see they possessed every accommodation possible. The
Scotch girl to whom I was once affianced. She is here ; | next day the Spanish strangers called to take their leave
and they think by her beauty to efface thy image from of the queen, and to thank her for all her gracious kind-
my heart. It is too strongly stamped there, Isabella.'ness to their daughter. She dismissed them with gold
Not the impression of thy charms, for my love was and jewels, and other indications of her good will-ex-
never of that sensual kind which worships a lovely ex- pressing her sorrow at the departure of Isabella, in
terior. No, Isabella! I loved thee for thy many vir- | which she was joined by the court-ladies, who now
tues—thy gentleness-thy goodness. Wert thou ten feared no rival in the altered beauty. .
times more ugly than this poison has left thee, I still That evening, the unfortunate Isabella was taken on
should worship-adore thee. Give me then thy hand.” board of the ship with her parents. Clotaldo and all
Receiving the thin, trembling hand which was placed his family really loved the gentle girl, and shed many
wondering and sorrowing in his, he pressed it, continu- | tears at her departure. Clistena almost repented the
ing" by the Catholic faith taught me by my fathers, selfish step she had taken in proposing to send her
and enjoined by our Holy Pontiff, which faith I profess away, and to make every reparation in her power, loaded
and sincerely believe !-by that true God who hears and the party with comforts for their voyage, with embraces
sees us now, I promise, oh Isabella, my beloved, never and kisses, and many charges to write often. Ricaredo,
to wed any but thee, and to take thee now for my spouse, | fearful of betraying his feelings, and thus leading his
and finish the ceremony when and where I most conve- / parents to discover his duplicity, had left she ci
on
niently can. Thou art my wife, now, Isabella, and death pretense of joining a hunting-party, and was thus spared
alone can part us.”
the pain of seeing his beloved depart. The Flemish
The parents of Isabella looked on in astonishment, bark set sail with a fair wind, and soon was out of
while the unfortunate bride, too much affected to speak, sight of that soil where they had been so loved and so
covered Ricaredo's hand with kisses, and with tears injured.
E. R. S.
and broken words, promised to be his, and to consider
To be continued.
him as her husband. Ricaredo sealed his faith with a
kiss upon that discolored forehead, which he had never
Original.
touched when it shone in its unsullied whiteness. The
SCENES FROM A NEW PLAY, ENTITLED
parents of the bride, with tears and words of gratitude,
MARIAN.
pressed together the hands of the new married pair, ad-1
ding a fervid blessing for their future happiness.
BY HENRY F. HARRINGTON.
Ricaredo could not endure the thoughts of a violent
opposition to his parents, but had recourse to strata- ! Ellen. Come, Marian, this sunset is most fair-
cem. When they offered to send Isabella and her pa- | Come, let us wander in the garden walks,
rents to Spain, he advised them to go, and he would | And end our converse there.
follow them as soon as he could, possibly.
Marian. (Without.) I come, dear girl.
“Wait for me in Cadiz or Seville," he said, "and if
(Enter MARIAN.
I am not there before two years pass away, think meil El. Of what was our discourse ?
dead, for nothing else would keep me from you."
Mar.
Of those odd things,
" Isabella replied, “ I will not only wait two years, Whom fickle maids, they say, do sigh for, try for,
Ricaredo, but my whole life, for I am thine, and shall | Yet when secured, do grievously abuse.
only live in expectation of seeing thee.”
Of husbands, spoke we.
According to his plan, Ricaredo informed his parents El.
Yes: and, Marian,
he could not in conscience break his troth with Isabella, ! Believe me, there's no jesting in my thought,
until he had obtained the Pope's absolution of his vows. When I do tell thee I would never love.
With much difficulty Ricaredo gained permission to For where's the end of loving? It were well,
depart. This plea of religious scruples at last had | Indeed, to love, were love to be returned
their weight with his and Clistena's friends, who With love and constancy; but never yet


SCENES FROM A NEW PLAY.
225
Saw I the man I'd trust beyond my sight,
With dazzling mines and jewels hid within
Nor loug within it.
| And purest fountains bubbling from its breast,
Mar.
Ah, fair man-hater!
To scatter blessings on the plains beneath-
I'll pledge a penny now, thy little heart
Points in its desolation heavenwards,
Doth knock against thy conscience, that cries 'shame,'Snow capt for ever! We were born to love;
At such a story. If thou never yet
Man to love woman, and that weaker one,
Hast seen the man to trust beyond thy sight,
To lean for all of happiness, on man;
Ne'er have I seen the woman, who did rail
Such love is half our being !
At man, who did not man devoutly love,
El.
Wealth hath power
Or stood not on the border of love's sea,
To purchase joys-
O'erjoyed to leap at slightest beckoning.
Mar.
It camot purchase aught
Of which art thou ?
To fill the void, where love abideth not.
El.
Of neither, pesterer.
Gold hath been curse to woman. O, how oft,
Mar. Well, let us end not here our argument. Have sire and mother gazed upon the dross,
If thou would'st never love, what would'st thou do? Till it hath charmed their senses, and hath turned
Would'st never marry ?
The genial stream of nature into ice;
El.
Would I marry? Yes:
And they have sold their children for its sake-
Be sure I'd marry; but no jot of love
Ay, there's no softer word befits to use ;
Should urge me to the act. 'Twill be my care, Sold them to earthly misery! How oft
When cringing lovers press their lying suits,
Has the fond husband folded to his heart,
To mark me well, who hath, to back his cause,
The wife his gold has purchased. And that wife-
The heaviest purse and proudest title too.
Doomed by a parent's hand, that should have been
These are a husband's chiefest attributes
A shield about her, and a guide to good-
In my esteem. Be sure, some small account
With spirit broken, and with hope destroyed,
I'd take of person, carriage and of parts-
How pines she mid the trappings of her state ;
That it might shame me not, when he should cry Or madly nurses the expanding germ,
“ My lady!" But for love-ne'er have I seen
For holy purpose planted in her breast,
The man I'd trust my heart with!
Till it doth shoot in dark and hideous crime!
Mar.
Little worth
I tell a common story!
Were such a heart, I ween. So thou dost deem
El.
Thou dost seem
All tales of holy and confiding love-
To know the tale by heart.
El. But phantasies!
Mar.
I do I do;
Mar.
And placid, sweet content-
I've conned it well; experience taught it me.
Offspring of fond affection-
Sit here and listen to me. Thou dost know,
El.
But a dream!
Twice have I wedded-though but once, I've lov'd.
Why, what art gazing at so earnestly ?
My former husband was my father's choice;
Is aught about me strange or wonderful ?
And for his gold was I betrothed to him.
Mar. I seek to read thy spirit in thy face,
Mine was the spirit's desolation then,
And find if in thy merriment alone
For could I love him not, though he was kind.
Thy tongue doth wag thus idly, or if thought
Two years we dwelt together; then he left me,
Be pictured in thy words. Ere this, dear Ellen,
And died, abroad in France. I mourned him long,
I have heard others of our sex complain
As one doth mourn a friend ; and when again
Of man's deceit and treachery. Alas!
I stood before the altar, then were heart,
The wounded spirit blazons not its wo;
And hand, and all bestowed, and it was rapture
And those of womankind who most bewail,
To wear the chain of bondage; for I loved. (they rise.
Are oft most cruel; in their very plaint,
But night is hast’ning. See, the sun is down.
Themselves condemning. Wherefore dost thou droop? '; Go in, dear Ellen; I will come, ere long.
I did not thee accuse.
I will but look a moment, down the lawn
El.
Go on! go on!
For my long truant husband, and be with you.
Mar. And dost thou dream, dear Ellen, thou could'st
win
Mar.
What is this?
A lot of happiness in wedded life,
The postmark's foreign-Gratz, Vienna, Hamburg-
With thy lone heart uncherished and unclasped, “ To Mistress Branford.”
By the fond tendrils of confiding love?
(Shrieks and lets the letter fall.
Never, oh, never would'st thou grasp the prize!
Ah! it cannot be;
Though treasures were around thee and were thine Reflection tells me, that it cannot be
Though thou did'st set thy foot in palaces-
From him ; but oh, the thought was agony !
Though thousands came and parted at thy beck-
No-no; kind Heaven hath not in store for me
And wishes, half conceived, were realized,
Despair so dread and terrible! (Picks up the letter.
Ere breathed in words—still would'st thou sit in gloomi And yet-
Amidst thy riches, as the mountain peak-
I have no friend abroad should write me thus-


226
SCENES FROM A NEW PLAY.
“ To Mistress Branford”—There's a death-like chill | I see her, sad and lonely, her young heart,
Steals through my frame, and I grow weak and faint; | Chilled by the careless jeers of thoughtless mates,
And here I gaze upon this folded scroll,
Already taught, in life's unclouded dawn,
In fear to open it. Oh, fool am I,
The cold world's siern injustice. Now she blooms
To let conjecture bow my spirit thus!
In ripened womanhood! She will be fair,
I'll sit and read it. 'Tis his hand-his hand!
Most fair-with spirit plumed for lofty flight;
Word-letter-line! I know them they are his, For do her mild blue eye and open brow,
And they do sear mine eyeballs as with flame! Give glorious promise to a mother's hope !
I'll think no more-I'll not conjecture more-
But, oh! more dread will be the blight of shame,
But I will know my fate, and read the letter!
When with the pointed finger, and the look
There's date but three months back (Reads from the Of curious pity, shall the whisper run:
closing part of the letter.) “This is from him, “See where she goes, whose mother was no wife !"
Who will soon clasp again his Marian-
Oh, Heaven, the pang of this!
Branford—your own for ever." He's alive!
Elton.
It shall not be.
He will be here-to tear me from my home!
Weep not for her, my Marian; no blight
And he my husband! All my brain is fire-
Shall wilt her guileless nature. Not for me,
Yet not a tear will start! Oh, mercy-mercy! Nor for our child be mourner; 'tis for thee,
Let it not drive me into madness. Heaven!
The bitter tear should fall; it is for thee
My lip will quiver, and my choking voice,
Elton. My Marian, I cannot bear this more! Almost deny its office! The foul tongue
Mar. (Starting up.) It is a dream-a strange and Of slander will assail thee—and thy name--
horrid dream!
Thy spotless name be sullied by the tale,
There is no letter; and I have not lain
Of busy falsehood. They will say of thee,
And moaned and wept, till my poor brain hath ached, That thou hast lived in sin! 'Twill weigh thee down,
Almost to bursting! It is all a dream !
| To earth, my Marian.
Speak, Elton-husband; say, 'tis all a dream!
Mar.
Of what to me,
Elton. My Marian!
Is all the world, that it should have a voice
Mar.
That tone-that tearful tone! To bid me sigh? I never loved it yet,
That sad, wan look; and dimmed and tearful eye! Nor feared it ever. It hath passed me by,
Oh! evermore at mention of that name,
With its oft change of sunshine and of storm,
In by-gone days of hallowed happiness,
| And I have gazed as one with naught at stake,
Thine eye hath kindled with a brighter ray-
Doth from afar behold the wav'ring fight.
A gladsome smile hath mantled on thy cheek-
It cannot wound me now! The look of scorn
And the dear word soft stole upon my ear,
Will have no dagger, and contempt, in vain,
Like thrilling note of gentle melody!
May hold her poisoned chalice to my lips,
And now thou had'st as well said “misery!"
So thou, dear Elton, to my soul more dear,
That tone-that altered tone!
Than earth's best treasures, dost approve me yet,
Elton.
Oh, weep no more!
And he accuse not, there!
With strong resolve oppose o'erwhelming wo;
Elton. My wife-my wife!
For we have need of calmness. Marian,
Mar. Thy wife-oh, music! music! Would my soul
I've read the letter.
Might part from earth, while thrills my raptured sense,
Mar.
And I'm not thy wife!
At that loved, hallowed name! I am thy wife!
Such is thy thought! Thou hast no need of words-
Say yet again,“ my wife!"
Thine eye, cheek, action, all proclaim it so!
Elton. Oh, Heaven !-my wife! (He sits.
No more—no more thy wife!
Mar. Would death might mark me for his victim
Elton.
My Marian,
now!
A blessed thought has come-a thought from Heaven! Now, while my head is pillowed on thy breast;
Whence is this letter? Why so long preserved That breast, so long its sweetest resting-place!
Unbroken silence, if yet Branford live?
Now, while thine arm doth clasp me, and I feel
It is-it is a forgery!
The beating of thy heart; ere yet hath come
Mar. (Grasping at the letter.) Oh, hope ! The pang of parting!
No, no--it is the fiat of our doom.
Elton.
Part-we cannot part !
It was his hand, if ever hand has writ,
Mar. (Starting up.) No-no! We stood beside
Did trace these characters of death to love,
the altar's foot-
To happiness, to life!
The holy priest was there-and as we took
Elton.
And our poor child
The vow upon our lips, there came no voice
Mar, Ay, our poor child ; that pure, bright inno To tear us sunder! Who shall break the peace
cent.
That should not break for ever? I am thine-
I see her now, ere have departed yet,
I am thy wife!
The sunny days of childhood, when her smile
Elton. Thou art--thou shalt be mine!
Should be the echo of unclouded joy-
Beyond the waters there are happy shores,


MATRIMONY AND LETTER-WRITING.
227
ful."
Where none can come between us and our love;
Original.
And days of joy shall dawn upon us yet.
MATRIMONY AND LETTER-WRITING.
Come-let us fly together!
Mar.
Tempt me not :
BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.
Oh, tempt me not! The love I bear to thee,
A Man of the world, and a close observer, once said:
Is all surpassing—but thou know'st 'twere sin
“When a lady is married, she seems in haste to dismiss
To longer hold companionship with thee.
whatever had rendered her attractive. If she had
Better to part, and love to perish now,
spent ever so much time in learning music, she shuts
Than thou should'st scorn or pity me!
up her piano. If she excelled in painting, she throws
Elton.
My love aside her pencil. If she had fine manners, she forgets
Can know no ceasing. Think, my Marian,
them. She forsakes society. She puts an end to her
How dread the pain of parting. And our child early friendships. She has no time to write a letter.
Say, which shall yield her, should'st thou leave me now? Ten to one, she grows careless in her dress, and scarce-
Come with our child, and fly!
ly reserves even neatness, to comfort her husband. I
Mar. (Struggling with herself.) Oh, Elton! am myself too sincere an admirer of the sex, to lend a
Elton.
Come!
hand in the demolition of all that makes them beauti-
The waters wait us, and the sweeping breeze,
Will bear us onward to some distant shore,
| Thus far, the observing gentleman. Now, is his opi-
Where life shall glide unruffled to its end.
nion truth or satire ? Doubtless, a mixture of both.
The hours are speeding-Come!
Still, a moiety of the censure, may be resolved into
Mar.
Away-away-
praise. That new cares, and new affections, clustering
And leave me, Elton! Love, o’ermastering love-
around a home, should turn the heart from lighter pur-
The heart's strong yearning, wrestle fearfully,
suits, and extrinsic pleasures, is natural if not unavoid-
With the decrees of Heaven! With thee is sin; alle.
Without thee, death to joy. Oh, leave me-leave me! But, this point must be guarded. Nothing, that is
Go, ere the sin be on me!
really valuable, ought to escape. The attractions which
Elton.
Thou shalt fly!
first won the love of a busband, should be preserved,
Nor laws divine nor human-
were it only for that tender remembrance.
Mar.
Leave me-go!
Friendships ought not to be neglected. Correspon
Nay, speak not, for my heart is iron now,
dences need not be renounced. Why should our sex,
And Heaven be blessed for the strength it gives !
by carelessness, or lassitude throw reproach on a slate,
Farewell, farewell, dear Elton! [BRANFORD enters.
for which Heaven has formed them?
Elton. Then, farewell!
Do I hear some young matron exclaim, “How can I
Now doubly dear, that thou hast proved thyself
write letters? It is impossible that I should find time
All pure and stainless. I will urge no more.
to copy them. Besides, I never considered myself an
One look-one kiss-my wife!
adept in the rules of letter-writing.”
Mar.
My husband !
“ Time to copy letters ?” Who would think of such
(They rush together-BRANFORD comes between.) | a thing? A copied letter is like a transplanted wild-
Branford.
Back!
flower, or a caged bird. Let the writers of formal
She is my wife.
treatises copy them as often as they will-let poets dip
and re-dip their poems, in the fountain of their brain,
Could we but have the heart of the wicked laid as deep as Achilles was plunged by his mother-but
open before us; could we but see how it is torn and leave that one little “folio of four pages," free from
wrung by the evil passions that harbor within it; could the “wimples and crisping-pins" of criticism. Shut
we but mark how, even in the strongest and most deter- iſ out, if you will, every star in your literary firmament,
mined breast; when bent upon evil purposes or enga-!
les or enca that Nature and Simplicity have enkindled, and tole-
ged in wicked acts, fear and apprehension go hand in
rate nothing there, but right fashionable drawing-room
hand with every deed of evil, while repentance, remorse,
lamps, yet leave, I pray you, one single arrow-slit,
through which the eye of honest feeling may look un-
and punishment follow more slowly, though not less
blamed, and let that be the letter which friend writeth
slowly, in the distance ; what an instinctive, what an
awful lesson it would be, and how fearfully we should
to friend.
shrink back from the commission of the first crime, as
“Rules for letter-writing!” What rules can it
from the brink of a precipice, which once overleapt,
possibly require ? We learn to talk without rules and
what is letter-writing but a talk upon paper? It seems
dashes down over a thousand pointed rocks, even into
the gulf of hell itself!-James' Robber.
one of the natural vocations of our sex, for it comes
within the province of the heart. It has been some-
where said, that with women, the heart is the citadeland
THERE is such an inherent injustice and self-interest all beside, the suburbs; but that with men, the heart is
in the passions, that it is dangerous to follow them and only an outwork, whose welfare does not materially af-
they are most to be distrusted, even when they appearfect the principal fortress. According to the anatomy
to be most reasonable.
U of Fontenelle, the weaker sex have one fabric more, in
28


228
THE LOVE R’s REPROACH.
Because of that strife to-day,
Shall we doubt of to-morrow's shine ?
If Falsehood dulls the hope to clay,
Is the spirit less divine ?
And, because of thy heart's and lip's untruth,
Must I lose my faith in Love and Youth?
the heart, and one less in the brain, than the other sex. 1)
Possibly, he might have excelled in dissections of the
heart-from the circumstance, that he was believed by !
his contemporaries to have none of his own.
“Rules for letter-writing!” Set up the note-book be-
fore your piano or harpsichord-but insult not the Æolian
harp with the spectre of a gamut-and leave the rebeck
as free as the dancer's heel. The especial excellence of
the epistolary art, is, that as "face answereth to face in
water," so it causes heart to answer to heart. Let the am- |
bitious author wrestle as he is able, with the visions of
frowning readers that besethis dreams, or shrink beneath
the mace of criticism, suspended over him, like the
sword of Damocles—but permit us women, now and
then, to escape to some quiet nook, and hold sweet con-
verse with a distant friend. Amid the many tavern-
meals, which the mind is constrained to make-allow
it now and then, one solitary repast, upon the simple,
sugared viands that it loved in childhood. Pouring out
the thoughts, in the epistolary style, has such power to
confer pleasure, to kindle sympathy, to comfort afflic-
tion, to counsel inexperience, and to strengthen piety,
that is lo be regretted when ladies make the cares of
matrimony an excuse, for neglecting or laying it aside.
I think of all thou wert
When I saw thee, smiling, first-
When, like a sunbreak, on my heart
Thy dazzling beauty burst-
Thy sinless smiles, thy words of worth,
Thine eyes, like star-gleams, bright,
The lustre which they scattered forth-
A very shower of light,
The spells—now impotent and lost-
By which my soul was passion-lost.
If thou had'st died-but no!
It is a gleam of bliss,
To think, amid my bitter wo,
I do not mourn for this!
Perhaps I might have borne to ser
Thy beauties fade away-
As leaf by leaf falls from the tree
In the Autumn's golden day-
And as they faded, one by one,
Prove how my love could still live on
Original.
THE LOVER'S REPROACH.
BY R. SHELTON MACKENZIE, LL. D.
« Nay, if she love me not, I care not for her.
Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms?
Or sigh because she smiles, and siniles on others?
Not I, by Heaven! I hold my peace too dear
To let it, like the plume upon her cap,
Shake at each that her caprice shall dictate."
SCOTT'S ANTIQUARY.
Oli, ever more must be
A gulf between us twain!
Far let me fly, nor ever see
Those fatal charms again.
For if, against thy heart's deceit,
My cautious soul were set,
Truth's seeming in thy glance so sweet
Might tempt me to forget-
Though fainly would I curb the will
Which, 'spite the past, might love thee still.
Thine eyes are very bright,
Thy cheek is very fair,
Thy brow like ivory, white,
And like night, thy raven hair.
But oh, my false, false tongue,
And thy yet falser heart,
With many a pang my soul has wrung!
Ianthe, here we part.
Thus to the winds of heaven I fling,
All love for such a fair, false thing.
Had'st thou but held thy faith,
Whispered, with hearted will,
By lips which swore to love to death,
Mine own thou would'st be, still.
But now—to lean on such a reed,
For succor and for stay-
Ha !-'tis her own white hand indeed,
Which beckons me away!
All, all are mine-heart, smile and kiss ?
'Tis so, dear love, hy this--and this!
Liverpool, June 20th, 1838.
I break the spell :-be free!
As the wild bird in the air,
As the billows of the sea,
The lion in his lair.
This heart, although its hope be gone,
It cannot quite forget;
For Memory sadly lingers on
Where its treasures once were set:
And, 'spite the peril, 'spite the pain,
Ianthe, it must love again!
Bright is the Summer sky,
With its gorgeous isles of cloud;
But the storm bursts from on high,
And the thunder peals aloud:
HOW TO WEEP.
For the moving of pity, our principal machine is the
handkerchief ; and indeed, in our common tragedies
we should not know very often that the persons are in
distress by any thing they say, if they did not from time
to time apply their handkerchiefs to their eyes.-Ad-
dison.


NE W STATE HALL, ALBANY, N. Y.
229

k
BE
Go Go
BLOG
NEW STATE HALL, ALBANY, N. Y. ported by antæ. A neat cornice terminates the at-
TAE new State Hall covers an area of one hundred tic story, surmounted by the parapet, which is intended
concealt
and thirty-eight by eighty-eight feet; and contains four to conc
stories. The longest side running nearly North and
A hemispherical dome, of sixty feet diameter, con-
South, the principal front facing West, towards the
the taining the sash through which the light passes to the
Academy Park, and separated from it by Eagle Street. rotunda,
ireet rotunda, terminates the upper part of the building.
The materials with which the building is construct. The basement story contains six rooms of twenty-
ed, are brick and stone, and the exterior is faced two by thirty-three feet, and two dark rooms of the
with cut stone from Mount Pleasant. The ceilings same dimensions, suitable for wood and coal; also,
are arched with brick, which arches support the two halls of twenty-two by thirty-three feet, and two of
the floors of several stories, rendering the whole ten by forty-five feet, and an area under the rolunda, in
fire proof. The roof is covered with copper. The the centre of the building, of thirty-three feet diameter.
walls are made unusually thick, in order to resist pres. The basement story is fourteen feet high, including the
sure of the internal arches and floors; and additional arches and floors. The principal story contains six
strength is gained by strong iron anchors at each floor, rooms of twenty-two by thirty-three feet, one room thirty-
running longitudinally and transversely, and firmly lead three by forty-seven feet, two rooms thirteen by twenty-
ed into the external walls.
two feet, two halls ten by forty-five feet, and one hall
The principal ard second stories are ornamented, ex- of twenty-two by thirty-three feet, which latter is at the
ternally, with Grecian antæ, which rest upon the pro- principal entrance, and contains the stair-cases; and
jecting die of the building, and extend upwards to the the rotunda, which is thirty three-feet in diameter.
astic story, and which support the entablature extend. The second and third stories each contain nine rooms
ing round the building at the upper termination of the of twenty-two by thirty-three feet, a hall of twenty-two
two principal stories. The West front is ornament- by thirty-three feet, and two halls of ten by forty-five
ed by a well proportioned portico, comprising six feet, and the rolunda of thirty-three feet diameter.
Grecian Ionic columns, supported by the steps and plat- The principal and second stories, including the floors
forms at the principal entrance, and surmounted by and arches, occupy twenty-two feet each in height;
suitable-proportioned entablature and pediment. The the attic story is fourteen feet in the clear. The whole
East side is ornamented by a similar pediment, sup- height of the building, above the side-walk, at the


230
GERTRUDE VON DER WART.
BY THE LATE MRS. HEMANS.
West front, is about sixty-five feet; the declivity of
But oh! with such a freezing eye,
the ground Eastward, increases the height of the With such a curdling cheek-
East side to about seventy-four feet. We are not aware Love, love! of mortal agony
that any appropriation of the rooms has been made, as' Thou, only thou, shouldst speak!
regards the different public offices; it is probable, how-
ever, that the large room, and two of those twenty-two by
The winds rose high-but with them rose
thirty-three, will be required by the comptroller, for the
Her voice, that he might hear;-
business connected with his office; two will be required
Perchance that dark hour brought repose
by the secretary: the attorney-general, the treasurer,
To happy bosoms near;
surveyor-general, the adjutant-general, register in chan-
While she sat striving with despair
cery, and the clerk of the supreme court, will each re-
Beside his tortured form,
quire one; leaving four for future exigencies of the And pouring her deep soul in prayer
state. The interior will be furnished in a plain style, Forth on the rushing storm.
in all respects suited to the purpose of public offices. She wiped the death-damps from his brow
The rotunda has an estrade or gallery extending With her pale hand and soft,
round it at the second and third story foors, which
Whose touch, upon the lute cord low,
is supported by eight stone columns in each story, and
Had stilled his heart so oft.
inclosed by iron railings, to afford the necessary com-
She spread her mantle o'er his breast,
munications between the halls which centre at that
She bathed his lips with dew,
point.
And on his cheek such kisses pressed
GERTRUDE VON DER WART.
As Joy and Hope ne'er knew.
Oh! lovely are ye, Love and Faith,
Enduring to the last!
THE Barou Von der Wart, accused, though it is believed un. - She had her meed-one smile in Death-
justly, as an accomplice in the assassination of the Eniperor
And his worn spirit pass'd,
Albert, was bound alive on the wheel, and attended by his
While even as o'er a martyr's grave,
wife Gertrude, throughout his last agonising moments, with
She knelt on that sad spot,
the most heroic fidelity. Her own sufferings, and those of her
unfortunate husband, are most affectionately described in a
And weeping bless'd the God who gave
letter which she afterwards addressed to a female friend, and
Strength to forsake it not!
which was published, some years ago, at Haarlem, in a book
entitled “Gertrude Von der Wart, or Fidelity unto Death."
OUR SAXON FATHERS.
Her hands were clasp’d, her durk cyes raised, The Saxons came into England about the middle of
The breeze threw back her hair;
the fifth century. They were pagans; they were a wild
Up to the fearful wheel she gazed,
and war-like people; brave, rejoicing in sea-storms, and
All that she loved was there.
beautiful in person, with blue eyes, and long flowing
The night was round her clear and cold,
hair. Their warriors wore their shields suspended
The holy heaven above;
from their necks by chains. Their horsemen were arm-
Its pale stars watching to behold
ed with iron sledge-hammers. Their priests rode upon
The night of earthly love.
mares, and carried into the battle field an image of the
“ And bid me not depart," she cried,
god Irminsula; in figure like an armed man; his belmet
“My Rudolph! say not so!
crested with a cock; in his right-hand a banner embla-
This is no time to quit thy side,
zoned with a red rose; a bear carved upon his breast;
Peace, peace! I cannot go.
and hanging from his shoulders, a shield on which was
Hath the world aught for me to fear
a lion in a field of flowers.
When death is on thy brow ?
The world !- what means it ?-mine is here--
I will not leave thee now!
WISDOM AND EXPERIENCE.
“When I was a young man,” says John Wesley, "I
“I have been with thee in thine hour
was sure of every thing ; but in a few years, finding my-
Of glory and of bliss,
self mistaken in a thousand instances, I became not
Doubt not its memory's living power
half so sure of most things as before." A process
To strengthen me through this !
something like this operates upon every rational being;
And thou, mine honor'd love and true,
and hence it is, that as a man grow's older he becomes
Bear on, bear nobly on!
less violent and dogmatical in politics, and every thing
We have the blessed Heaven in view,
else ; not that he is less ardently attached to the cause
Whose rest shall soon be won."
of truth, but because he has discovered that he has
And were not these high words to flow
often mistaken falsehood for truth, and because he has
From woman's breaking heart?--
learned to be more moderate in his expectations of un-
Through all that night of bitterest woe
attainable perfection than he was in the enthusiasm of
She bore her lofty part;
1 youth.


ESSAY -- SPRING.
231
-
---->
Original.
eyes and our hearts, and refuse so to do. It is certainly
ESSAY - SPRING.
true that a portion of mankind are continually indulg-
ing in melancholy forebodings, and searching the beau-
BY CHIEF JUSTICE MELLEN.
tiful map of human life to find something wrong, and, if
nothing worse, to discover soine stains which depre-
Spring always presents itself to my eye and my 'ciate its value. In fact, there are some who can never
heart as the most delightful season of the year. It is be happy, unless they have some trouble or other on
the season of hope and joy : of smiles and promise: of which to brood. Such thankless and inconsistent crea-
opening beauty, and the melody of the groves. It at tures are a pestilence in society, and should be avoided.
once reminds us of the spring of life and its thousands | They are clouds, intercepting the cheering light of
of those sensations which no language can adequately Heaven. What is more sweet than the flowers of Spring!
describe. I do not mean the Spring as poets describe and yet they seem not to be necessary in the produc-
it, which is generally in too vivid colors, but as it is in ' tion and preservation of the seed; but, if they are, it is
fact, when it has fairly commenced its reign of sun- not necessary that they should display such rich variety
shine and showers and breezes. At this period, if the of colors and wonderful fragrance. They seem to have
heart does not dance to the joy of gladness, or, at least, been prepared by nature, as we express it, merely to
awake from its accustomed repose, and join in the gene-, dill'use their perfuine and charm the eye and multiply
ral congratulation, something must be wrong: some our sources of enjoyment. What mercy and benevo-
feeling must have a home there which ought to be ban- lence are here displayed! Again, how balmy is the
ished, or some passion have too much influence, in no air! constantly changing to render it more pure and
respect in harmony with the benign operations of Provi. healthy ;-useful in sustaining the clouds that send down
dence. I have no very favorable opinion of that man upon us showers of blessing, and, in its motions, waſt-
or that woman who can look around on the wide-extending the sweets ascending from the fields, and the blog-
ed arrangements of our Heavenly Father, displaying so soms of the garden, in all possible directions, and thus
many benevolent provisions for the comfort and happi- regaling the senses. Why these provisions, except to
ness of all living beings, without manifesting gratitude gladden our hearts, and teach them to diffuse pleasure
and cheerfulness. It is true that we live in a world and sweetness all around them. Again, if we look to
where there is much misery, and where crimes abound. the carpet of green which, in the vernal season, is spread
These we have abundant reason to lament; but the over the face of the earth, we may well be thankful
great Dispenser of blessings has not, by any of His that so soft a color is every where displayed, so accep-
laws, caused these moral deformities in the world. table to the human eye. What a funeral gloom would
For my part, I am disposed to speak in kind and re- have surrounded us, had the grass of the fields been
speciful language of the world we live in, to aid in les- black instead of green. Again, what music is sweeter
sening its evils and multiplying its comforts. The vio-than that which is furnished us by the songsters of the
lation of known duty tarnished the loveliness of Eden, Spring! and how welcome is it, after a long Winter
and blighted the hopes and happiness of its unthankful of storms and the contest of the elements. Is this the
inhabitants. But this is the way we slight our mercies language of birds, in which they communicate their
and destroy our own peace of mind. In this random i ideas to each other? Do they make this variety of
manner thousands are employed in the midst of gloomy sound to express their wants, or their fears, or their
thoughts and unsatisfied desires, in trying to make im- joys, or their sorrows ? Or do they pour forth their
provements in the arrangements and management of notes in the joy of their hearts, and thus teach us to be
this world ;-making changes here and trying experi- as happy as they are? They have no discords in their
ments there, and rendering things worse everywhere. songs-none of your German excentricities in their
I wish people would learn wisdom-enjoy their bles- strains. Their music comes from their hearts and
sings, and be thankful, instead of wearing solemn faces, reaches ours. They welcome the early dawn with their
and indulging themselves, the year round, in complaints invitations to us to leave our pillows and join in joyful
and self mortification, upon the presumption that their thanksgiving for the new-born day. Spring is the youth
Heavenly Father can never be pleased with seeing them of the year-its employment is to prepare the way for
unless in tears and sackcloth. If our world is not a the approaching Summer and its busy scenes and ma-
good one, man has made it otherwise, and man should turing influences. Both conduct us to the rich ban-
bear the blame.
quet of Autumn, and the sober repose of Winter. Let
“God never made his work for man to mend"--
us all imitate the arrangement of the seasons, and make
But I am not going to turn preacher; I would merely each of the successive periods of life preparatory to
ask all to look around them and see how many delights that which immediately succeeds, so that the close may
ful feelings Spring awakens; what pictures it draws for ' be peace.
us to see and admire; to notice the wonderful machi- Portland, Maixe.
nery of Nature, employed in carrying on her peaceful
and benevolent labors for our substantial good, and, at. One of the amusements of idleness is reading without
the same time, for our delight. Every thing is so pre- the fatigue of close attention, and the world, therefore,
pared as to administer to our pleasure as well as profit. ' swarms with writers whose wish is not to be studied,
This we may enjoy if we please, or we may close our but to be read. --Johnson.


232
FEMAL E EDUCATION.
BY HENRY F. HARRINGTON,
Original.
I was first aroused from the moral and intellectual obli-
FEMALE EDUCATION. vion of the dark ages, at the first dawning of the new
and blessed light, we find him booted and spurred, with
lance in rest, and sword on thigh, valuing his knight-
hood as nothing, save in so much as it signalized
. NUMBER 1.
him to be the champion of woman, whose glove he
· METHINK I hear it uttered it may be with a pee-proudly wore in his glittering casque, instead of the
vish accent-as some one of the many fair readers of flaunting plume, and at whose shrine he paid an almost
this magazine, turns over the leaves of the present num- idolatrous worship. As the light became more and
ber, and her eye falls on the title of this essay;-"No more diffused, so woman more and more emerged from
thanks to Mr. Snowden for enlisting his services ! Here, the degradation to which she had been subjected.
in his very first efforts, does he betray his lack of inven- A demand is now made for a further advance, if it be
tion; and intrudes upon us a prosing array of time-worn worthy of the name. A jealousy is exhibited of man's
apothegms, stalo advice, and propositions and conclu- assumption and appropriation to himself, of the conduct
sions, as ancient as one's great grandmother! Enough of the machinery of society. Woman demands full
of him!”
Il participation in all political action, and an adniission,
Stop! sweet lady! Though that lip be parted with that whatever incapacity she may have heretofore ex-
disdain, and that finger be already beneath the corner of hibited for such action, is attributable to defective edu-
the leąf 10 turn it over, pause, I pray you, until the ac- cation.
cused has an opportunity to plead his cause. Let me Agreeably to our premises that the sphere of woman's
give an account of myself.
action must first be ascertained before any available dis-
Au essay on female education, at the present day, iscussion can be maintained upon her education, we shall
not so easy u task as may be imagined. There are not proceed calmly and seriously to a consideration of the
old, established landmarks to direct the essayist on his merits of this question. We have been eager for some
dubious path; for all landmarks are broken up. It is time-ever since the publication of Miss Martineau's
not to sail on a smooth and pleasant stream, where first work; which was at once assumed as their text-
buoys declare the windings of the current, and from cook, by the advocates of womun's full political exis-
every dangerous headland, the light-houso sends its tence-to say a few worils on this subject to our coun-
warning gleam to the eye of the watchful mariner; but trywomen, should a fit instrument of communication
there are forious rapids and foaming whirlpools and offer. That instrument is offered now, in the shape of
jutting promontories, without buoy or light-house to this magazine-devoted to the instruction and amuse-
guard and guide. An essay on female education is a ment, or in one word, the cause of woman; and with a
work to arm for, cap-à-pié. It calls for combat--for i deep, nye, a glowing sense of the great and glorious
valor-prodigious valor! Not that bodily prowess," and solemn duties of woman; with the conviction press-
which whilom the gallant knight was prone to exercise ing upon us that she has been misunderstood, and un-
for bis larlye's charms and his ladye's favor; but that apprecinted, and therefore mis-educated ; but equally,
better part of valor-discretion. There are mighty con- painfully sensible that there are self-styled reformers
tending parties to be overcomo or conciliated. There abrond, who, under cover of redressing her wrongs,
are the New Lights--clamorous for equal rights, high would reach her to war with her own nature, and would
prerogative, and an erasure of “10 obey " from the mar-blind her eyes to the perceprion of the highest objects
riage covenant; the Old Lights--willing to abide by of her existence, so far as they have to do with earıh-
the past, and make what has been, the rule of what is, we petition for a hearing from woman herself.
and shall be ; and the Moderates--who occupy all in- l It was too long a practice, even after the recognition
termediate grades of opinion between these iwo ex- of woman's capacity to be something more than the
tremes. Who shall sny that the battle is to be won slave of man's pleasures and will, to treat every claim
without strife ?
for further privileges, set up by herself or ber advocates,
To abandon our simile; this great question is now with contempt and ridicule. It is related that the
seriously agitating the community ; “ What is the ap- women of one of the small republics of Italy, some few
propriate sphere of woman's action ?” This affects the centuries ago, indignant at their political nonentity, and
very ground work of all discussion upon female educa. clamorous for a declaration of rights that should pro-
Lion : for, since means must ever be meted to definite nounce it to be “self evident that all men and women
ends, to produce any valuable results, until it be satis- are created free and equal," assembled with one accord,
factorily ascertained what education is to effect; all in- and having organized themselves and set forth their
struction beyond a certain point, must be vague, uncer- grievances, proceeded in a body to the Chambers, where
tain, and to a degree, useless. Expense sheds but a their husbands, fathers and brothers were deliberating
misty gleam upon our researches to attain this truth. upon the public weal, and demanded to sit and counse!
It thus far illumines our path. It assures us, that and vote with them. This demonstration of rebellion
wherever civilization is most advanced, there woman is against the fiat of custom. public opinion, and the law,
most honored and elevated; but whether honor to was at first treated with laughter and slight; but when
woman was the harbinger or the consequent of civili-, the “ liege lords " of creation in general, and their ribs
zation, is a problem yet to be solved. When man in particular, found that public and domestic peace was


FEMALE EDUCATION,
233
broken up; that all was anarchy and confusion; that the floor of Congress as the chainpion of woman-and
their houses were neglected; their children's faces and serious argument alone is beftling and available.
hands were unwashed, and their victuals uncooked, they | Miss Martineau, in her “ Society in Americn," has
gathered together in undisguised alarm, and sat with devoted one chapter to the especial consideration of
closed doors to consider of the matter. Many propo- “ the political non-existence of women;" and as she has
sitions were made to effect a restoration of the former / set forth the most of the arguments pro and con, we
quiet, but none seemed tenable. To wage war against will quote a portion of the chapter, as a kind of text to
their own wives and daughters and sisters, had been to our disquisition. She says:
leap out of the frying-pan into the fire; and the blood “The question has been asked from time to time, in
less warfare of argument had already been valorously more countries than one, huw obedience to the laws can
waged, without enforcing a surrender. What was to be be required of women, when no woman bas, either actu-
done? While the silence of perplexity and dismay | ally or virtually given any assent to any law. No plau-
reigned throughout the assembly, a sage, grave council-sible answer has, as far as I can discover, been offered;
lor made a suggestion, the purport of which, did not for the good reason, that no plausible answer can be de-
then transpire, but which was received with loud accla- vised. The most principled democratic writers on gov-
mations, and was straightway acted upon. All things ernment, have, on this subject, sunk into fallacies as
being ready, the doors were thrown open, the women disgraceful as any advocate of despotism has adduced.
were called in, and a declaration was made that if the Jefferson, in America, and James Mill, at home, sub-
casket then and there delivered to them, with the key | side for the occasion, to the level of the author of the
thereof, should be returned in a stated period, unopened Emperor of Russia's Catechism for the young Poles."
and undisturbed, the laws should be renovated, and the “Jefferson says, Were our State a pure democracy in
women admitted to a full participation in the adminis- | which all the inhabitants should meet together to trans-
tration of public affairs. The women received this con- act all their business, there would yet be excluded from
cession with gladness, and having formally subscribed their deliberations-infants-slaves--women, who, to
to the conditions, bore away the casket in triumph. A prevent depravation of morals and ambiguity of issue,
responsible committee was appointed to maintain a could not mix promiscuously in the public meetings of
careful watch over this seal of their disenthralment, and men.''
its forbidden contents. Placed in a conspicuous posi- “As if there could be no means of conducting public
tion in the midst of the committee, it was regarded ever affairs but by promiscuous meetings! As if there would
and anon with curious and scrutinizing glances. At be more danger in promiscuous meetings for political
length one good dame found courage to breathe in a business, than in such meetings for worship, for oratory.
whisper to her nearest neighbor, “What can be ir- for music, for dramatic entertainments for any of the
side !”—and the whisper went round the circle. Grow-thousand transactions of civilized life! The plea is not
ing bolder, a second exclaimed in bated breath,“ I wish worth another word."
I knew what was inside !”—and the wish went round “Mill says, with regard to representation, in his es.
the circle. Then the key was examined by one, and say on Government, ‘One thing is pretty clear; that all
another, and another; and finally by the whole circle. those individuals whose interests are involved in those
" I wonder if it will fit !" was the third ejaculation-and of other individuals, may be struck off without incon-
the wonder went round the circle. “I've a good mind venience. In this light women may be regarded, the
to just turn the lock !" said one-and meeting no re- l interest of almost all of whom is involved either in that
monstrance from the words or looks of her companions, of their fathers or that of their husbands.'".
the lock was turned. Thus much was accomplished, “ The word ' almost,' in Mr. Mill's second sentence,
and all drew a long breath!
rescues women from the exclusion he proposes. As
Curiosity soon became intensely excited. It was but long as there are women who have neither husbands
to lift the lid and take one little look ! one rose on tip- nor fathers, his proposition remains an absurdity."
toe, and another rose on tiptoe, and all rose on tiptoe,
“Some who desire that there should be an equality
and stole noiselessly forward, until all were closely as- of property between men and women, oppose represen-
sembled about the mysterious charge. But there was i tation, on the ground that political duties would be in-
an irresistible impulse in each one to obtain the first compatible with the other duties which women have to
look; and the advancement of a single hand was the discharge. The reply to this, is, that women are the
signal for a general grasp. The casket was seized by best judges here. God has given time and power for
all at once, and snatched this way and back again, and the discharge of all duties, and if He had not, it would
the cover being wrested from its hinges in the meleé, be for women to decide which they would take, and
lo! a bird sprung forth, and soared aloft to the skies. which they would leave.”
Alas, alas! It was irrecoverable, and thus woman lost “I cannot enter upon the commonest order of pleas
by her indomitable curiosity, an opportunity to break of all those which relate to the virtual influence of
her chains.
| woman; her swaying the judgment and will of man
Though this anecdote is related as a veritable matter through the heart, and so forth. One might as well try
of history, we shall throw it aside as a malicious inven- to dissect the morning mist.”
tion for slander's sake. Ridicule is no longer a becom- “The truth is, that while there is much said about the
ing weapon. A great statesman has girded himself on sphere of woman, two widely different notions are en-


234
FEMALE EDUCATION.
tertained of what is meant by the phrase. The nar. years, when mental philosophy was sadly in the dark,
row, and the ruling party the more convenient notion, and the mind was believed by the great majority, to be
is that sphere appointed by men, and bounded by their the virgin sheet on which outward influences were to
ideas of propriety; a notion from which any and every' inscribe the intellectual power and the character of the
woman may fairly dissent. The broad and true con-': man. But so soon as the manifestations of the mind
ception, is of the sphere appointed by God, and bound-, were properly examined and investigated, the convic-
ed by the powers which he has bestowed.”
tion was readily impressed that experience sustains the
“ That woman has power to represent her own inte analogies of nature ; that the varieties of man's mental,
rests, no one can dery till she has been tried.”-Socie- are co-extensive with the varieties of his physical struc-
ty in America-vol. i. chap. iii. sec. vii.
ture; and that as the bodily developements and energies
The sphere appointed by God, and bounded by the are in no two of the same extent and vigor, so the men-
powers which he has bestowed, is indeed the proper tal developements in one and another are more or less
sphere of woman. What are those powers ? What is extended, and stronger or weaker. In pursuing the
that appointed sphere?
glorious march of discovery thus entered upon, it was
It will not be maintained hy any, we presume, that perceived that this diversity was not confined to indi-
woman possesses the physical ability to cope with man. vidual cases, but embraced whole classes and nations.
Anatomy places the evidence on this point, on the firm The fur-clad Laplander of the frozen North, drags out
basis of demonstration; rendering all argument supe- a degraded existence, with mental powers as stinted as
rogatory. The structure of her frame is distinguished is the growth of his puny body, and sensibilities, torpid
by a delicacy of organization, which incapacitates her as his gelid streams. In the well-developed, powerful
from attaining, even by means of the severest exercise, and active habitant of those happier climes, where boary
the strength and power of endurance of man's hardier' Winter and smiling Summer “alternate rule the year,"
nature. Since Nature, in her wonderful handiwork has do we find the mind in its god-like majesty ; passion
indulged in no vain discriminations, the inevitable con- subdued by gentle sentiment, and reason dominant over
clusion is, then, that nature has set a limit to woman's' all; bold, impetuous, and wide-reaching in the Eng-
physical action, within the limit of that of man; and lishman and his outshools; calm, deep and majestic in
that when she is compelled to partake with man of his its flow in the phlegmatic German; and divided irto
sterner labors, violence is done to her nature; and the two streams in the bosom of the Frenchman ; the one, a
“sphere" of her duties is wilfully or thoughtlessly in- light cascade of gaity and wit; leaping in sportiveness
fringed. Since Miss Martineau preserves a profound from rock to rock, curtained with spray, and dashing
silence upon this point, and does not clamor for the forth in pearly drops that glitter in the sunshine-ibe
equal rights of women, to exercise the various occupa- other, rolling in resistless currents between jagged
tions which sustain the human race; to wielu the sledge-rocks and overhanging trees, that enclose it round about,
hammer of the blacksmith, direct the plough, load ves- and cast a shade upon its still, yet deeper-rolling wa-
sels, furl sails, blow glass, dig canals, blast rocks, cast ters, black and terrible as death! Yet farther South-
iron, or aught else of the kind, we may take for granted | ward, nearer to the sun's burning eye, is reason strong,
her acquicscence in our proposition; and we have pro- but passion stronger; and yet farther still, beneath the
ceeded thus far. It is determined, nemine contradi- fiercest lustre of ils scorching glance, is reason parched
cente, that there are some duties which do not come and passion burning; and the tawny savage roams the
within the “sphere of woman." This class includes wild, as untameable as the beasts that suck the hot
the most of those occupations by which society is sup- blood of their prey, and roar in its tangled forest!
ported. There remain that class which calls for men- ! Let us now open the book of this experience, where
tal rather than bodily prowess, in which political action it teaches us the peculiarities of the sexes. Miss Mar-
is to be ranked, and that which has been deemed lineau declares, that no one can deny woman's power to
woman's peculiar province--the arrangement of home represent her own interests till she has been tried.
and its attributes.
This is true enough, in a literal sense. No one can
We have said that Nature indulges in no capricious deny that the rope he holds in his hands will suspend a
discriminations ; so is she consistent in her analogies ; ' certain weight; but if reason teaches him that he can-
and we should be in nothing illogical, did we assume not trust such a weight lo such a rope, he is justified in
and support the ground, that, as man is possessed of refusing to make the attempt to suspend it. We cannot
physical energies superior to those of woman, the action indeed deny woman's power to represent her own inte-
of his mind will ever be distinguished by superior rests without a trial; but we may draw safe conclu-
strength and boldness. But we are willing to abandon sions what would be the result of the trial. We have
even this tenable ground for positions yet more impreg. said that education does not create the character; it
nable.
I can do no more than mould inherent faculties. It can-
There can be no assumption more fallacious, than not always accomplish this. It cannot curb intensity of
the application to man of the expression of the poet- passion, nor can it so guide striking intellectual pecu-
" Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined.” The liarities in a beaten track, that they will not sometimes
sentiment, that the human race are the creatures of break away from constraint and roam in unregulated
education, was embodied in this concise parable, at a freedom. Were the mind of woman similarly construct-
period, and that a no very distant one in the lapse of ed with that of man, the latter could never have main-


MA RY DERWENT.
235
BY MRS. ANN 3. STEPHENS.
tained the paramount authority which he has exercised $ 200 PRIZE ARTICLE.
to the present moment. It has not been secured to him
by the influence or exercise of physical superiority, but
by the silent operation of nature. Had not woman a
Original.
sphere of duty incompatible with political action, and a
MARY DERWENT..
constitution of mind rendering the chicanery and tur-
A TALE OF THE EARLY SETTLERS.
moil of public life abhorrent to her, nothing could have
repressed those energies of soul, that will soar to their
appropriate level. Woman has not the vigor and depth
of thought, the accuracy of analysis, and the fidelity of
“We are taught to look with pity and dread on the
judgment which are characteristic of man; and which
insane, and when the mind takes a malignant or melan-
seem to indicate his peculiar fitness to direct the helm
of society. Is woman then, inferior to man—a lower
choly character, perhaps there is no greater object of
grade in creation? Oh, no! no! Let it not for a mo-
compassion than a person bereft of reasoning faculties,
yet subject still to the torment which caused his mis-
ment be said or thought! She hath, in an eminent de-
fortune. But with me madness took a strange and
gree, intenser affections, loftier sentiments, a deeper
pleasant form. It was but ihe loss of reason and acute-
love of the pure and the gentle and the virtuous; a
ness of feeling, while the fancy was left unbridled to
keener appreciation of Virtue herself, and a closer in-
tercourse with the source of the Pure and the Virtuous
revel at will among the high and beautiful things of its
own wild creation. The realities which had tortured
and the Good—the Maker of Man and of Woman! Nor
do theree xist in her character, the malignant and tu-
me to madness, entirely departed from my memory: I
multuous passions that jar harsh discord in the charac-
turned again to the soft fancies and pleasant feelings of
ter of man. Miss Martineau has virtually said that it
childhood, mingled with dreams of such fantastic and
is only education which has set a mark of distinction
wild loveliness, that the year of my mental bereavement
between the minds of man and woman; and sneers at
seemed rather spent in some higher and happier world,
the influence of woman's enduring affections and sur-
than in the confines of my own domain. Almost every
passing virtue. How sadly does she evince in this, that
day I took to myself some new form. Sometimes I fan.
her mind is of masculine composition ; that she hath
cied myself a nightingale, cradling my nest in the
not in herself those graces that are the glory of woman!
boughs of an acacia that grew beneath my window.
Were woman to be endued with the qualities of man-
When such phantasies held possession of my shattered
his grasp of reason, aye, and its fearful concomitant, his
mind, I would fold my arms on my bosom, and strains of
fire of passion, she would cease to be herself; the har-
the richest and most thrilling melody would steal from
mony of society would be broken up; and a social chaos,
my lips, hour after hour, such as would have exhausted
gloomy and frightful, would brood above its upheaved
the heart of any sane being. When a wandering bird
foundations!
came fluttering about the casement, I would chirp and
And wherefore this superior virtuethis finer sensi-
let my notes fall to a soft liquid flow in imitation of his,
bility—this purity from debasing passion-this intensity
that I might win the companionship of a creature which
of affection? For this for this !-on which the ora
I believed to be of like attributes with myself. Even
beli
cle, Miss Martineau is silent as the grave-that woman's
now I can remember how my heart swelled and how my
loftiest duty is the instruction and guidance of her
voice quivered with disappointment, when the bird
children!
looked shily about and Ruttered away to some distant
We comprehend much in this expression; but must
tree, startled and yel half allured by my effort to detain
defer an exposition of its bounds and contents to the
him. At such times I would hush my voice to a low,
coming month.
mournful strain, and weep and sing with a child-like
sorrow, till Varnham came and persuaded me away to
CLASSES OF MEN.
rest—such rest, sweet and quiet, as I had never known
since my infancy.
There are four classes of men in the world: first, || “Another time I would dream myself a seraph up
those whom every one would wish to talk to, and whom
among the clouds, floating away with wavy and plea-
every body does talk of;—these are that small minori-
sant motion through the sky, and waiting with tranquilli-
ty, that constitute the great. Secondly, those whom no
ty for the evening to come, that I might wander among
one wishes to talk to, and whom no one does talk of;
the planets and bathe my wings in the moonlight. There
these are the vast majority, that constitute the little.
was one large, bright star which shone nighe after night
The third class is made up of those whom every body with a clear gem-like brilliancy through the leaves of
talks of, but nobody talks to ;-these constitute the
my acacia. The moment it appeared, I plumed my
knaves. And the fourth is composed of those whom fancied wings, and shot away through its dazzling walls
every body talks to, but whom nobody talks of; and '' to a world of such happiness as my perfect mind had
these constitute the fools.
never imagined. I peopled the world with shapes of
ærial beauty-with such pure epiritualcreatures as haunt
Vice we can learn of ourselves, but virtue and wis- |
dom require a tutor.
Il Continued from page 190
29


236
MAR Y DERWENT.
the brain of the poet, till he turns away from earth and if some cruel spirit were gradually tightening the bonds
dwells for ever with the children of his own mind. With of earth about me, and were ruthlessly dragging me
these I found companionship, and in my wild concep-| back to the real, while my spirit clung with intense
tion grew ethereal and lovely in form and mind, even longing to its own wild ideal. It was a sad, sad night
as they were. Nightly I went to my ideal world, and to me when that star arose in the sky, and sent its pure
we sported together-my sister spirits and I-in groves beams down to the bosom of my acacia, and when I
where the trees were transparent and water-like in their felt that the clear orb would henceforth be to me but a
clearness--every trunk a column of clouded agate star. That the high realm which I had located in its
spreading out to a canopy of thick leaves-each leaf a distant bosom, was but the dream of a diseased fancy,
broad emerald, which struck against its fellow with a which would return no more with its beautiful and vivid
soft bell-like chime, making the air melodious as with a' faith, which had no power to reason or doubt. But we
thousand fairy harps set in motion by the breeze. We can force the phantasies no more than affections of the
wandered together, to and fro beneath the emerald mind. My disease left me, and then the passions and
shade, where columns of heavenly sculpture shot their aspirations of my old nature started up in my heart,
snowy shafts up from among the trees, and where tem-one after another, like marble statues over which a thick
ples, pillared with jasper and domed with Auted pearl drapery had been flung for a season. And there in the
and burning opal stone, stood in clouds of soft light, midst, more firmly established than ever, his image re-
which curled upward for ever, with a continued silvery' mained-his name, his being and the sad history of my
smoke emitted from their own exhaustless censors. Or own sinfulness had for one whole year been to me but
we would soar upward and away, shaking the rosy light as an indefinite and painful dream. But sorrow and
from our wings as we flew, now up high in the mellow sin and insanity itself had failed to uproot the love
atmosphere, and again just skimming the earth; or, which had led to so much misery. Can I be blamed
perchance, we might stop to rest on the crystal basin that I prayed for insanity again, when in my madness
of a fountain, where our forms were Aung back with a there were none but innocent thoughts to haunt my bo-
thousand rainbow beauties, as we hovered among the som ?
thick vines which drooped to the margin, heavy with “Varnham had watched me for one year, as a mother
emerald leaves and with clusters of blood-red rubies! over a wayward child ; but a few days before my mind
and purple amethysts, each gem shedding a light from began to resume its vigor, the illness of a near relative
its own burning core upon the pelucid water, that spar- || forced him from his guardianship. In my wildest mo-
kled and laughed in their basin, and then flowed awayments I had always been gentle and submissive, but I
in soft liquid murmurs toward the groves we had left was told that he left me with much reluctance to the
behind. The laws which regulate earth were unknown care of my own maid, and the housekeeper. Both lov-
in this world of my wild creation. There was neithered me, and he knew that with them I should be safe.
sun, por moon, nor stars, to shed down their light. But When I began to question my attendants of what had
an atmosphere as soft and bland as the perfume of a passed during my confinement, they appeared surprised
bed of water-lilies, when they unfold their pearly hearts with the quietness and regularity of my speech, but
to the evening breeze, received a rainbow light from the were ready to convince themselves that it was only one
glowing trees, and the delicate flowers that burst to of the fitful appearances of sanity which had often de-
blossom every where, around the leaping cascades, ceived them during my illness. They, however, ap-
among the transparent rocks and high up on the distants wered me frankly, and with the respect which Varn-
mountains that bounded the sight with their faint gold ham had ever enjoined upon them, even when he suppo-
and billowy purple. Oh! how happy I fancied myself sed that I could neither understand nor resent indig.
in this ideal region ! How I loved to interlace my nity.
wings with the bright beings I have but faintly described, “They told me, that on the night of my arrival at
and while we nestled together among the vines, or lay: Ashton they were all summoned from their beds by a
on the odorous flowers, to whisper to them of the things violent ringing of the library bell, and that when they
I had seen on earth, of the sorrows which had crushed entered my husband was holding me forcibly in his arms,
my heart, and of the tears I had shed: I fancied that though he was so deadly pale, and trembled so violently,
they gathered around me with expressions of wonder that the effort seemed too much for bis strength. At
at the name of sorrow, like innocent children when the first they dared not attempt to arrest him ; there was
cold drear grave and the unfuthomable mysteries of something so terrible in my shrieks and wild efforts to
eternity are first opened to their young minds. They- free myself that they were appalled. It was not till I
the sweet seraphs of my imagination--could not under had exhausted my strength, and lay breathless and
stand how affection for any thing might be wrong, their faintly struggling on his bosom, that they ventured to
very being was love, and they could comprehend nothing approach. I must have been a fearful sight, as they
of ein, nothing which was not as spiritual and as holy i described me, with the white foam welling to my lips-
as then selves.
| my face flushed-my eyes vivid with ſever, and my hands
"I can never describe the cold, hopeless struggle of clenched wildly in the long hair which fell over my hus-
my heart to retain this last and brightest of all the de- band's arms and bosom, matted with the jewels which I
losions which haunted my insane moments, when my had worn at Murray's wedding. At every fresh effort I
intellect began to resume its functions. It seemed as if made to extricate myself some of these gems broke


MAR Y DERWENT.
237
loose and flashed to the floor, to be trampled beneath the las marble. He made a movement as if to go away;
feet of my servants; for every thing was unheeded in but just then you raised your arms, and winding them
the panic which my sudden phrenzy had created about his neck said: “Nay, Varnham, you will not
“Oh, it was an awful scene!' exclaimed the old leave me to die here. Let us go to our own old home.
housekeeper, breaking off in her description, and remo I will be very quiet and will not try to live-only pro-
ving the glasses from her tearful eyes as she spoke. “I mise me this: bury me beneath the balcony, and let
was frightened when I looked at you, but when my mas-that lone white-rose tree blossom over me for ever and
ter lifted his face, and the light lay full upon it, my heart ever. I cannot exactly tell why, but they will not let
swelled and I began to cry like a child. There was me be laid beside my mother, so my spirit shall rest
something in bis look-I cannot tell what it was, some among those pure flowers in patient bondage, till all
thing that made me hold my breath with awe, and yet shall say that it is purified and stainless enough to go
sent the tears to my eyes. I forgot you when I looked and dwell with her. Kiss me once more, and say that
at him. We carried you away to this chamber, and you will go.' My master could but feebly resist the
when we laid you on the bed you laughed and sung in a effort with which his face was drawn to yours; but
wild, shrill voice, that made the blood grow cold in my when your lips met his, he began to tremble again, and
veins. I have never heard a sound so painful and thril-strove to unwind your arms from his neck ; but you laid
ling as your cries were that night. For many hours I' your head on his bosom, and that low, sad melody again
you raved about some terrible deed which was to be broke from your lips, and your arms still wound more
done, and wildly begged that there might be no murder. clingingly about him, at every effort to undo their clusp.
Then you would start up and extend your arms in a He looked down upon the face which would not be re-
pleading, earnest way to my master, and would entreat | moved from its rest; his bosom heaved, he wound his arnas
him, with wild and touching eloquence, to let you die-iconvulsively about your form for a moment, then forced
to imprison you in some cold, drear place where you you back to the pillow and fell upon his knees by the
would never sin again; but to commit no bloodshed. I 'bedside. His face was buried in the counterpane, but
knew that all this was but the effect of a brain fever the sound of his half stifled sobs grew audible through-
that there could be no meaning in your words. Yet I out the room, and the bed shook beneath the violent
thought that my master should have striven to tranquil trembling of his form. I beckoned the maid, and we
ize you more than he did. Had he promised all you stole from his presence, for it seemed wrong to stand
required, it might have had a soothing influence: for by and gaze upon such grief.
you were strangely anxious that he should give al “When we returned, you were silent, and apparently
pledge that he would seek no vengeance on some person asleep. He was sitting by the bed, and his eyes were
who was not named. Yet, though you would at mo- | fixed on your face with the same mournful, forgiving
ments plead for mercy and protection with a piteous look with which I have seer him regard you a thousand
helplessness that must have won the heart of an enemy times since. He spoke in his usual gentle way,
to compassion, he stood over you unchanged in that and told us to tread lightly that we might not disturb
look of stern, immoveable agony, which had struck me you. It was many hours before you awoke. My mas-
so forcibly in the library. He scarcely seemed to com- ter was concealed by the drapery; you started up with
prehend the wild pathos of your words, but his composure a wild cry, and asked if he had gone to do murder. Ho
was stern and painful to look upon. At last you ap- caught you in his arms as you were about to spring from
peared to become more quiet, but still kept your eyes the bed, and with gentle violence forced you back to
fixed pleadingly on his face, and a wild, sweet strain the pillows again. Then he waved his hand for us to
breathed from your lips, with a rise and fall so sad and draw back, and spoke to you in a solemn and impres-
plaintive, that it seemed as if half your voice must have sive voice ; but the last words only reached me. They
dissolved to tears, and a broken heart, was flowing were, 'I have promised, solemnly promised, Caroline
away in its own low melody. While the music yet lin. now try to comprehend me and be at rest.' Your fever
gered about your lips, you began to talk of your mother, i raged many days after that, and you were constantly
of a stone church where she had first taught you to delirious, but never violent, and that frightful dread of
pray-of a coffin and a large white-rose tree, that grew some impending evil seemed to have left you entirely.
beneath a window, which you had loved because Your disease at length abated, and the bloom gradually
her dear hand had planted it, and then you besought returned to your cheeks, but every new mark of conva-
that some one would bring some of those roses--white, lescence, but seemed to deepen the melancholy which
and pure they were, you said that they might be laid had settled on my master. He was restless, and some-
upon your heart to take the stain away, and then none times almost irritable when we pointed out proofs of re-
need be ashamed to weep when you died, and, perhaps, 1 turning health and reason. But when day after day
then they might bury you by your mother. It was passed by, and your mind still continued its child-like
enough to break one's heart to hear you plead in that gentleness and its fanciful wanderings, when you would
sad, earnest way, and I saw, through the tears which smile upon him so sweetly, and talk of the beautiful
almost blinded me, that my master was losing his self- ' things you had seen, of strange worlds and flowers and
command. The veins began to swell on his forehead, birds, with an enthusiasm which combined the wildness
and a tremulous motion became visible about his mouth, of insanity with the gentle simplicity of childhood, he
which had till then remained as firm and almost as white seemed to love you more fondly than ever. He would


238
MARY DERWENT.
sell.
sit and talk to you of these sweet themes, and listen to shipped on when worship was double guilt and double
your singing which never seemed so full of the heart as shame. No, I resolved to leave all, to break every tie
then, and encourage all your childish wishes with the which bound me to civilized man, and to fling myself
indulgence of an anxious parent. When I saw you into a new state of existence. I thought, and still think,
both so contented and so constantly together, I thought that it was the only way by which I could secure any
of those times when we had so much company at Asho | portion of tranquillity to my husband. It would pain
ton, of the hours which my good master would spend him to believe that I had died by my own hands, but
alone in the library, when every body else was so gay. I much more terrible would it have been had he returned
And as I compared your soft voice and submissive man- | to the mindless being who had become so utterly help.
ners with the imperious and lofty air of those times, less, so completely the object of his compassion that she
it did not seem so strange that my master should con- had wound herself around his heart with a thousand
tent himself with the mental alienation which never links more tender than those of equal love; and have
took a more lovely form than was displayed in your found in her place the woman who had wronged him,
fully conscious of her fault, shrinking beneath her degra-
“When the physicians decided that your mind would dation, and yet without the humility and penitence
never regain its former strength, but that it would ever which should have followed his generous forbearance.
remain wandering and gentle and full of beautiful ima There was too much of the pride of my old nature left.
ges as the fever had left it, still, my master became almost I could not have lived in the same house with the man
cheerful. He would allow no restraint to be placed I had so injured.
upon you, and gave orders that you should be attended “ The Gordon property was unentailed, with the ex-
with all the respect and deference that had ever been | ception of one small estate, which went with the title.
rendered to your station. He never seemed more happy Immediately on coming in possession of the estates, I
than while wandering with you about the gardens and had made a will, bequeathing the whole vast property
in the park, and yet there were times when he would to my husband. He knew nothing of this, but the
sit and gaze on your face as you slept, with a sad, re- will was consigned to the hands of trustees, and I was
gretful look, that betrayed how truly he must have sor- certain that it would be legally acted upon. In raising
rowed over your misfortune. There was a yearning the sum which I had devoted to Murray, my agent had
tenderness in his eyes at such times, more touching far sold stocks to more than quadruble the amount; the
than tears. I could see that he struggled against these money bad been paid to me, but in the excitement of
feelings, as if there had been something to be ashamed of my feeling®, I had neglected to place it with my banker,
in them, but they would return again.'"
and had left it in my private escritoire, at our town
“All this and much more my good housekeeper said house, where was also deposited the most valuable por-
in answer to the questions which I put to her, as my tion of my jewels. I had no arrangements to make
reason began to connect the present with the past. She which could in any way reveal the course I had deter-
did not hesitate to inform me of any thing that I might || mined to pursue.
wish to know, for she had no belief in my power to un. “There was one subject which I had not yet ventured
derstand and connect her narrative. I had often questo mention. My cheek burned, and my heart beat
tioned her before, and invariably forgot her answers as quick, when I at last brought myself to inquire about
they fell from her lips; but every word of this was | Murray. He was living a secluded life at a small cot-
graven on my memory, and if I have not repeated her tage near Richmond. It was all I cared to learn.
exact language, the spirit and detail of her information “The second night after the conversation with my
is preserved.
housekeeper, I stole softly to the room of a sleeping
"I pondered on all that had been told to me, and I housemaid, and dressed myself in a suit of cast-off cloth-
folt how bitter must be the news of my returning rea- ing which was not likely to be missed, and then with a
son to the man who had forgiven the sins of my real few guineas which I had found in my desk, I went cau-
character, because it had been so painfully lost in a | tiously out, and left my house for ever. About a mile
visionary one, which disarmed resentment only from its from there ran a stream, of small magnitude, but
very helplessness. I understood all Varnham's gene- remarkable for its depth in many places. On the brink
rosity, all his extraordinary forbearance, but I felt that of this stream I left a portion of the garments I had
it was impossible for me ever to see him again. My worn, and then departed on foot for the nearest post
plan, for the future, was soon formed. I resolved to town, where I procured a passage to London. I found
leave England for ever. My heart sickened when I my house closed, but entered it with a private key, and
thought of mingling in society, of meeting with people took from my escritoire the money and jewels which had
who might talk to me of things which would rend my || been left there more than a year before.
heurt continually with recollections of the past. The “The third evening after leaving Ashton, I stood in
love which had been my ruin, still held possession of front of a beautiful cottage, out from ibe thickly
my heart with a strength which would not be conquered. inbabited portion of Richmond. A light broke softly
Could I go forth then into the world? or could I live in through the wreathing foliage which draped the win-
my own house where every thing was associated with dows of a lower room, and I could distinguish the shadow
the memory of that love, where every bush and flower of a man walking to and fro within. I knew that it
would breathe a reproach to the heart which still wor- I was Murray, and that I should see him once more that


MARY DERWENT.
239
night, yet my heart beat slow and regularly, without a | was bending over the book. It was only the night wind
throb to warn me of the deep feeling which still lived sweeping through an open casement, and sending the
there in its undying strength. I had no hope, and en-curtain which had dropped over it, streaming out like
tire hopelessness is rest. I inquired for the houskeeper, a banner into the room. I stood upright, silent and
and told her that I had been informed that she wished breathless, for on a low couch, which the window-dra-
to hire a housemaid, and that I was without a place, | pery had half concealed till now, lay Grenville Murray.
and had come all the way from the city to secure one | The lamp shone full upon his face, and even from the
with her. I knew that she could not find it in her heart distance I could mark the change which a year of men-
lo send me back to London late at night and alone. I tal agitation had made in it. I went softly to the couch
was invited to stay till morning.
and knelt down, and gazed upon him with a hushed and
“When the kind housekeeper was asleep, I stole
calm feeling like that which a mother might know while
from her room and sought the apartment where I had
bending over the corpse of a beloved but wayward child.
seen the light. It was a small room, partly fitted up as Twice the clock chimed the hour, and still I knelt by
a study, and partly as a parlor. Books and musical in- | that couch and gazed on that pale, sleeping face, with
struments lay scattered about; a few cabinet pictures a cold, hopeless sorrow that had no voice for lamenta-
hung upon the walls, and a portrait of Murray looked' tion. A third time the clock beat. I bent forward and
down upon me from over the mantlepiece as I entered. I pressed my lips to his with a feeling as full of grief, yet
A lamp was still burning, and an open work-box seemed as free from earthly passion as ever sprung from the
to have been pushed from its station on the table, di- heart of a human being. My lips were cold and tremu-
rectly beneath it, to make room for a small book of || lous, but he did not awake beneath the pressure, and
closely-filled manuscript which lay open, as if it had I did not repeat it or look on him again, though I knew
just been written in. A pen lay by, and the ink was that we were parting for ever. I passed from the
yet damp on the untinished page. Even across the house slowly and with a solemn feeling of desolation,
room I knew the handwriting; the impulse to read was as one might tread through a grave-yard alone and at
unconquerable. I held my breath as I bent over the midnight. .
page, for the stillness around was like the hush of a “In the disguise which had served me so well, I
tomb, and the characters seemed to start up like living sailed for America. I had no wish to mingle with my
witnesses beneath my eye. Thus the page read. race, but took my way from New York, to the valley of
"* They tell me she is mad—that her fine mind is the Mohawk, and sought the presence of Sir William
broken, and her warm heart unstrung for ever. They Johnson. To him I revealed myself and as much of my
say this, and comment and speculate upon causes in my history as was necessary to ensure his co-operation in
presence as if I could not feel. I sit with apparent calm-i my plan for the future. Under a solemn promise of se-
ness and listen to things which would break a common crecy, which has never been broken, I entrusted my
heart. The soft smile of my wife is ever upon me, and wealth to his agency and procured an escort to the tribo
the cheek of my boy will dimple beneath my glance if of Mohawk Indians, then located in his neighborhood.
I but raise my eyes to his innocent face, and yet there | It was my determination to throw off my old habits, to
are times when I cannot look upon them. The image force all thoughts of what I had been from my heart,
of that noble and ruined being is for ever starting up and to become one of them.
between me and them. I did not intend this when I “I was among the children of nature in the broad,
took upon myself to regulate the destiny of a fellow be- deep forests of a new world. I had broken every tie
ing-madness—no, no, I never thought of that! I did which had bound me to my kind, and was free. For
not dream that my own heart-but why should I write the first time in my life, I felt the force of liberty and
this? Yet I cannot keep these feelings for ever pent the wild, sublime pleasure of an unshackled spirit.
up in my heart. It was terrible news when they told Every new thought which awoke my heart in that deep
me that there was no hope that she could not recover;l wilderness, was full of sublimity and wild poetic strength.
just then she must come, my wife, with her innocent and There was something of stern, inborn greatness in the
loving voice, to give me the good night kiss before she savage tribe which had adopted me-something pictu-
left me. Poor thing, she little dreamed of the melan resque in their raiment, and majestic in their wild, un-
choly feelings which caused me to return her caress so taught eloquence, that aroused all the new and stern
coldly. I will try and seek rest, but not with them; properties of my nature, till my very being seemed
sometimes I wish that I might never see them again. changed. The wish to be loved and cherished forsook
I must be alone to-night!
me for ever. New energies started to life, and I almost
" It was but the fulfilment of my own prophecy. I scorned my heart that it could ever have bowed to the
knew that he could not be happy; that he never would weakness of affection. What was dominion over one
be again; never even tranquil till he believed me in my heart compared to the knowledge that the wild, fierce
grave. My resolution was more firmly established. I spirits of a thousand savage beings were quelled by the
would not live a continual cause of torment to him. 1 very sound of my footsteps ? not with a physical and
had no desire that he should be unhappy; in my most cowardly fear, but with an awe which was of the spirit
wretched moments the feeling had never for a moment -a superstitious dread which was to them a religion.
entered my heart.
Without any effort of my own, I became a being of fear
“ The rustle of silk caused me to start from where I and wonder to the whole Mohawk nation. They looked
.


240
MAR Y DERWENT.
upon me as a spirit from the great hunting-ground, sent their release, nor even offer to purchase their freedom
to them by Maneto, endowed with beauty and super- with gold. His disappointment had rendered him al-
natural powers, which demanded all their rude wor most morose, and I shuddered to think of the reward
ship, and fixed me among them as a deity. I encour.' he might require for the liberation of his prisoners. I
aged this belief, for a ibirst for rule and ascendency had full cause for apprehension.
was strong upon me. I became a despot and yet a “I shudder even now, when I think of the horrible
beneſactrese in the exercise of my power and the dis- sensation which crept over me as the warriors went
tribution of my wealth. Did one of those strong, sav- forth from the camp, file after file, painted and plumed
age creatures dare to offend me, I had but to lift my with gorgeous feathers, each with his war-club and toma-
finger and he was stripped of his ornaments and scourged hawk, to put three beings of my own blood and nation
forth from his nation, a disgraced and abandoned to a death of torture. I dared not plead for their re-
alien, without home or people or friends. On the other" lease in person, but sent to offer ranson, earnestly ap-
hand, did they wish for trinkets, or beads, or powder pealing to the generosity of the Mohawk chief in my
for the rifles which I had presented to many of them, message. He returned me no answer. I could do
they had but to bend low to their “ White Queen" as nothing more, but as the hours crept by, my heart was
she passed, to weave her lodge with flowers, and line it very, very heavy; it seemed as if the sin of blood were
with rich furs ; to bring her a singing bird, or to carry about to be heaped upon it. The night came on dark
her litter through the rough passes of the mountains, and gloomy as the grave. The whole tribe, even to the
and a piece of smooth bark covered with signs which women and children, had gone into the forest, and I
they knew nothing of, was sent to Sir William Johnson, was alone in my lodge. There was something more
and lo, their wants were supplied.
appalling than I can describe in the dense gloom which
had settled on the wilderness, in the whoop and fierce
"This was power, such as my changed heart panted
cries of the revelling savages, which surged up from the
for. I grew stern, selfish and despotic among these
dark trees like the roar and rant of a herd of wild
rude savages, but never cruel. Your people wrong me
beasts wrangling over their prey. Not a star was in
there ; no drop of blood has ever been shed by me or
the sky, not a sound stirred abroad-noubing save the
through my instrumentality; but my gold las bought
black night and the horrid din of those blood-thirsty
many poor victims from the stake who falsely believe
savages met my senses. Suddenly, a sharp yell cut
that my vindictive power had sent them there; my en-
treaties have saved many a village from the flames, and
through the airlike the cry of a thousand famished hyenas
many a hearth from desolation where my name is spo-
and then a spire of flame darted up from the murky
forest, and shot into the darkness with a clear, lurid
ken as a word of fear. The chief of the Mohawks had
mingled much with the whites, and had become some.'
brightness, like the flaming tongue of a dragon, quiver-
what familiarized with their habits.
ing and afire with its own venom. Again that yell
Independent of
this superior knowledge, his mind was naturally too ma-
rang out-again and again, till the very air seemed alive
with savage tongues. I could bear no more; my nerves
jestic and penetrating to yield me the homage which was
so readily rendered by the more ignorant of his tribe.
had been too madly excited. I sprang forward with a
cry almost as wild as theirs, and rushed into the forest.
It were painful to dwell on this period of my life. Suf-!
fice it; again I heard the pleadings of love from the
They were congregated there, in the light of that lurid
rude, untutored lips of a savage chief. I, who had fled
fire, dancing and yelling like a troop of carousing de-
mons; their tomahawks and scalping-knives flashed
from the very name of affection as from a pestilence-
before me, and their fierce eyes glared more fiercely as I
who had given up country and home, and the semblance
of existence that my heart might be at rest, was forced
rushed through them to the presence of their chief.
to listen to the pleadings of love from a savage, in the
li The dance was stopped by a motion of his war-club, and
heart of an American wilderness. A being who had
he listened with grave attention to my frantic offer of
scarcely dreamed even of the rudiments of civilization,
beads or blankets or gold to any amount, in ransom for
came with a lordly confidence and fierce brow, to woo
his prisoners. He refused all; but one ransom could
purchase the lives of those three human beings, and
me as his wife. My heart recoiled at the unnatural
suggestion, but I had no scorn for the free firm Mohawk
that I could not pay. It was far better that blood
should be shed than that I should force my heart to
who made it. If his mode of wooing was rough and
consummate a union so horrible, as mine with a savage.
untaught, it was also eloquent, sincere and manly, and
I turned from the relentless Mohawk sorrowing and
those were properties which my spirit had ever answer-
heart-stricken. The blood of the poor victims seemed
ed to. No, I had nothing of scorn for the red warrior,
but I rebuked him for his boldness, and threatened to :
clogging my feet as I made my way through the crowd
forsake his tribe for ever, should he dare to renew the
i of savage forms that bu: waited my disappearance to
drag them forth to death. Even while I passed the
subject.
death-fire, fresh pine was heaped upon it, and a smoth-
• Three weeks after the Mohawk had declared his ered cry burst forth from the dusky crowd, as a volume
bold wishes, a hunting-party returned to the encamp- of smoke rolled up and revealed the victims. They
ment, bringing with them three prisoners, a white were bound to the trunk of a large pine, which towered
man, his wife and child. My heart ached when I heard within the glare of the death-fire, its heavy limbs red-
of this, for I dared not, as usual, entreat the chief for" dening and drooping in the cloud of smoke and embers


MA R Y DERWENT.
241
that surged through them to the sky, and its slender |
CHAPTER VII.
leaves falling in scorched and burning showers to the
earth, whenever a gust of wind sent the flames directly
“I know myself now; and I feel within me
among them. The prisoners were almost entirely strip-
A peace above all earthly digoities-
A still and quiet conscience."
ped of clothing, and the lurid brightness shed over the
pine revealed their pale forms with terrible distinctness.
The frightened child crouched upon the ground, cling-
TOWARD sunset, on the same day that witnessed
ing to the knees of his mother, and quaking in every
Catharine Montour's interview with the missionary,
slight limb as the flames swept their reeking breath more
Mary Derwent wandered alone into the forest, for her
and more hotly upon them. The long, black hair of the
! spirit, more than ever, felt the need of solitude. With
mother fell over her bent face; her arms were extended
downward toward the boy, and she struggled weakly
strengthened in her young heart during her daily com-
munion with the high things in nature, she had wres-
against the thongs that bound her waist, at every fresh
tled with her love for a human being, which, in its pu-
effort which the poor thing made to find shelter in her
rity and strength had almost become a portion of that
bosom. There was one other face, pale and stern as
religion, till her resolute spirit had conquered its weak-
marble, yet full of a fixed agony which spoke of human
ness. For hours and hours since the previous evening,
suffering, frightful to behold. That face was Grenville
Murray's. My feelings had been excited almost to the
she had prayed earnestly to that God whom she had
learned to love through his own beautiful works, for
verge of renewed insanity, but now they became calm,
strength to endure and power to conquer. She took
calm from the force of astonishment and from the strong
her heart, with all its pure and affectionate impulses,
resolve of self-sacrifice which settled upon them. I
and laid it at the feet of Jehovah, with the beautiful
tarned and forced my way through the crowd of savage
and unquestioning trustfulness which sends an infant to
forms, rushing toward that hapless group and again stood
its mother's bosom, and with the eloquence of a poetic
before their chief. I pointed toward the prisoners now
and exalted faith, she had won power to regulate her
concealed by the smoke and eddying fames. “Call
own nature. The spiritual and subdued loveliness of a
away those fiends,' I said. "Give back all that has
conscience at rest with itself, shed its sofiness about her,
been taken from the prisoner3. Send them to the next
as dews linger among the petals of a snow-drop. She
settlement with a guard of fifty warriors, and I will be-
wandered through the forest, indulging in a tranquil
come your wife.'
happiness which had never visited her before. The
"• The white queen has spoken well; her brethren
flowers seemed smiling with a new beauty as she turned
shall go.' This was the only reply of the chief, but the
aside, lhat they might not be trodden into the moss by
exultation of his wild spirit could not be concealed. I
her footsteps; the birds seemed vocal with a sweeter
saw the heaving of his chest, and the fierce joy that
music, and the air came balmly to her lips; yet the
flashed from his eyes, but in that moment of stern re-
day, in reality, was no finer than a hundred others had
solve, my heart would not have shrunk from its purpose
been. The religious quietude of her spirit shed its own
though the fang of an adder had been fixed within it. The
brightness over the face of nature. Her heart had ac-
chief lifted his war-club and uttered a loud, peculiar cry.
quired a first great conquest over itself, and there can
Instantly, the savages that were rushing like so many
be no happiness like a consciousness of moral right.
demons toward their prey, fell back and ranged them-
selves in a broad circle around the Mohawk. He spoke
Mary lingered awhile on the shelf of rocks which we
a few sentences in the Indian tongue. Words of ener-
have described in a former chapter, as overhanging the
getic eloquence they must have been to have torn that
Susquehanna, nearly opposite Monockonock Island,
savage hoard from their destined victims, for, like wild
before she went down to the canoe which she had moor-
beasts they seemed athirst for blood. When the chief
ed at its base. It seemed as if this spot was henceforth
ceased speaking, the tribe arose with a morose gravity
to be a scene of adventure to her, for scarcely had she
that concealed their disappointment and dispersed among
been there a moment, when the copsewood above her
the trees; the mellow tramp of their moccasins died'
head was agitated as it had been on the previous day,
away, and fifty warriors alone stood around their chief. and a young man, of two or three and twenty, stepped
ready to escort the prisoners to a place of safety. I drew cautiously out upon the platform which shot far above
back beneath the concealment of a tree, and secure in
the shelf on which she stood, and where the Indian girl
my changed dress, saw them lead forth the prisoners.
soners had previously appeared. Mary shrank back to the
I heard the sobs of the happy mother as the boy clung,
birch where she could command a full view of his per-
half in joy and half in affright, to her bosom. I saw
osom. I sawson without being herself seen. He was scarcely above
tears stand on the pale and quivering cheek of the father the middle height, and of slight person, but muscular,
as he strove to utter his gratitude to the Mohawk. I and giving in every firmly-knitted limb indications of
heard the tramp of the horses, and the measured tread strength greater than his size would have warranted.
of the fifty warriors come faintly from the distance;. The face was one which might have been pronounced
then the fire which was to have been the death-Aame of as intellectual and striking, rather than as strictly clas-
Grenville Murray and his household, streamed up into sical in its proportions. His forehead high and pale,
the solitude, and in its red glare I stood before the was shaded by hair of the deepest brown; the nose, a
Savage whose slave I had become."
| little too prominent for beauty, was thin and finely cut,


242
MAR Y DERWENT.
and the large black eyes full of brilliancy, which was a | affrontery, and said—"Well, Madam, if Tahmeroo has
part of themselves rather than a light from the soul, chosen to confide in her mother, I do not see any thing
gave a masculine spirit to his head, which redeemed the remarkable in it, except that I should be sought out as
more earthly and coarser mould of the mouth and chin. ' a party in the affair."
He was expensively dressed for the period and condi- 11 “Young man,' exclaimed the unhappy mother, in a
tion of our country, but his neckcloth of rich silk was voice of bitter anguish, which made even his heart re-
loosened at the throat, as if to refresh himself with air coil with a sense of the evil he had wrought, “ you
after some severe physical exertion, and his richly-laced know not what you have done-you cannot dream of the
hand-ruffles hung dripping with water over a pair of wretchedness which you have heaped on a being who
hands which were by far too slenderand white ever to have has never injured you. I can find no words to tell how
submitted to much labor. His garments throughout dear that child was to me, how completely every thought
were dashed with water-drops, and he had evidently and wish was centered in her pure existence. I had
been rowing hard :pon the river. He wiped away the guarded her as the strings of my own heart-every
perspiration which stood in large drops on his forehead, thought of her young mind was pure—every impulse an
and then looked cautiously about, till his eyes settled in affectionate one, till-I will not reproach you, man! I
a long, anxious gaze up the stream. In its side posi- | will try not to hate you, though, heaven is my judge, I
tion Mary obtained a more perfect view of his face, have just cause for hate. Listen to me-I did not come
and her heart throbbed with a painful feeling of sur- here to heap invectives on you–".
prise, for she recognized the matured lineaments of “May I be permitted to ask what you did come for ?"
Walter Butler, the boy who had so cruelly insulted her interrupted Butler with a cool affrontery, which was
deformity when both were school-children. The poor now real, for his awe of Catharine Montour abated
girl shrunk timidly behind the birch, for she was terri- when he saw her sternness giving way to the grief and
fied and afraid of being discovered, but she did not with indignation of a wronged mother, and the compunctious
draw so far as to prevent herself watching his move- visitings of his conscience were but instantaneously
ments. After waiting a few moments he bent down so awakened by her grief. “I really am at a loss to know
as to preclude all possibility of being observed from the why you should address me in this strange manner. I
island, and uttered the same sharp whistle that had an- have not stolen the girl from your wigwam, nor have I
swered the Indian girl's summons on the previous day. the least intention of doing so foolish a thing. You
Mary almost started from her concealment with surprise, have your daughter, what more would you ?"
when the brushwood was again torn back and a strangei Catharine Montour sat her lips hard together, and
woman, singularly attired, stepped down on the platform her frame shook with a stern effort to preserve her com-
and stood directly before the young man as he arose posure. “I would have justice done my child," she
from his stooping position. Butler started back almost said, in a voice so low and calm, yet with such iron de-
to the verge of the precipice when he found himself thus termination in its tone, that the young man grew pale
unexpectedly confronted. His face became crimson to as it fell upon his ear; and though his words continued
the temples, and he looked with an air of extreme em- bold, the voice in which they were uttered was that of
barrassment, now on the strange woman and then on a man determined to keep his position, though he be-
the path which led from the precipice, as if meditating gins to feel the ground giving way beneath his feet.
an escape. The stranger kept her eyes fixed keenly “This demand, in the parlance of our nation, would
upon his movements, and when he stepped a pace for- mean that I should submit to a marriage with the girl,"
ward, as if about to leave her presence, she made a de- he said ; “but even her mother cannot suppose that I,
taining motion with her hand, and said,
a descendant of one of England's proudest families,
"You were expecting Tahmeroo, the Mohawk's daugh. I should marry with a Mohawk maiden, bred in the ha-
ter. I am Catharine Montour, her mother."
bits of a wild race, and with Indian blood circulating
in her veins. You cannot expect this of me, yet in what
The blood suddenly left the young man's face. He
other form this strange demand is to be shaped, I can-
bit his lips impatiently, and a half checked oath trem-
not imagine."
bled upon them; but his confusion was too overwhelm-
Catharine Montour forced herself to hear him out,
ing for any attempt at an answer. After a moment's
though a scornful cloud gathered on her forehead. Her
pause, Catharine, who had kept her piercing gaze
lips writhed and eyes flashed with the anger and con-
steadily fixed on his face, drew forth the string of red
tempt, which she could not but feel for the arrogance
coral which had been given to her daughter, and said:
// and selfishness betrayed in the being before her.
“ Last night I persuaded my child's secret from her.
“It is a legal marriage, nevertheless, which I require
Every thing has been told to me, from your first meet-1)
at meets of you,” she said. “Listen before you reply-I bare
ing on the banks of the Delaware, down to the giving that to offer which may reconcile you even to an union
of this worthless pledge.”
with the daughter of a Mohawk chief. You but now.
The crimson flush aguin spread over the young man's boasted of Englith birth and of noble lineage. You are
face, his eyes sunk beneath the scrutiny fixed upon him, | young, and one's native land is very dear; you should
and he turned his head aside, muttering—"The beauti wish to dwell in it. Make my daughter your wife-take
ful witch has exposed me at last," then he looked Catha- her to your own country, where her Indian blood will
rine Montour in the face with an affectation of cool be unsuspected, or if known, will be no reproach to her,


MARY DERWENT.
243
and I pledge myself, within one week after your mar- behind the shattered rocks and stunted trees tbat low-
riage, to put you in possession of seventy thousand ered back from the precipice on which they stood, each
pounds as her dowry-to relinquish her for ever," here arrned with a rifle and with a tomahawk gleaming at his
Catharine's voice trembled in spite of her effort to speak girdlę.
firmly," and only to hold communication with her on “Were compulsion intended you see I am not with-
such terms as you may yourself direct. Nay, do not speak out the power; were I but to lift my finger, the next
but hear me out before you answer! I make this moment you would be in eternity; but fear nothing;
offer because the happiness of my child is dearer go with me to the encampment, and on the honor of an
to me than my own life. I cannot crush her young English-woman, you shall be free to go should I fail 10
hopes by separating her from you for ever; better far make good my promise, or should you resolve against
that I should become childless and desolate again. || the union."
Take her to your own land, be a kind, generous protec “You give me excellent proofs of freedom," said the
tor to her, and there is one in England who will double | young man, glancing bitterly at the dusky faces lower-
the income of the money I have mentioned to you, li ing on him from the shrubbery on every side.
yearly; who will be a father and a benefactor to you) Catharine stepped forward and said a few words in
both. But if you dare to treat her with a shadow of the Indian tongue. Directly, each swarthy form left its
unkindness or disrespect after she is taken from the station, and the whole force departed in a body over
shelter of my love, the vengeance of a wronged parent the back part of the precipice toward the Mohawk
shall follow you to the grave. Give me no answer yet, camping-ground. When the tramp of their receding
but think well of what I have said. Reflect on the alter- feet had died away in the forest, Catharine returned to
native should you refuse one who has but to speak her the young man. “You must be convinced now, that no
will and a thousand fierce savages are on your track by treachery is intended-that you are free to make a de-
day and by night, till your heart is haunted to death by cision," she said.
its own fears, or is crushed beneath the blows which “I do not exactly fancy the idea of being forced to
sooner or later some dark hand will deal in stern requi- take a wiſe, whether I will or not, and at the best, all
tal of the disgrace which you have put upon the daugh- this looks marvellously like it. But without farther
ter of the Mohawk."
words, I accept your proposal, on condition, however,
Before Butler could recover from his nstonishment at that Talmeroo is suffered to remain with her people
her extraordinary proposal, Catharine had disappeared till I may wish to retire to England. There is an aris-
among the brushwood. He stood as if lost in deep tocratic old gentleman in the valley of the Mohawk,
thought for several minutes after her departure, and who calls himself my father, and who might not fancy
then walked the platform to and fro with an air of inde- the arrangement, were I to introduce my Indian bride
cision and excitement, which was more than once to the companionship of my mother and sisters. Ar-
denoted by a low laugh, evidently at the sicgular posi- range it that she remains with the tribe for the present,
tion in which he found himself placed. Ouce he mut- and settle the rest as you will. Now, madam, I entreat
tered a few indistinct words, and looked towards the you to return to the camp. I give you my honor that I
Island with a smile which Mary was at a loss to under will follow in a half hour's time, but in mercy grant me
stand. There was something of the plotting demon in a few minutes breathing-space. The thoughts of this
it, which made her tremble as if some harm had been sudden marriage affects me like a shower-bath; it is
intended to herself.
like forcing a man to be happy at the point of the bay.
When Catharine Montour returned, Butler was the onet. Think of having half a dozen of those save
first to speak. “Should I be inclined to accept your age-looking rascals for groomsmen-rifles, scalping-
proposal,” he said, “and to speak candidly your daugh- knives and all. I wish my dear, stern old father were
ter is beautiful enough to tempt a man to commit much here to give the bride away; the thoughts of his fury
greater folly-how can I be certain of your power to half reconciles me to the thing, independent of the sev.
endow her as you but now promised ?"
enty thousand pounds. Who under heavens would
Catharine drew up her heavy sleeve and displayed have thought of seeking an heiress among a nest of
the jewelled serpent coiled around her arm. “This is Mohawk squaws ?"
some proof of my power to command wealth-at the The latter part of this speech was spoken in solilo-
encampment you shall be convinced beyond the possi- quy, for Catharine had departed at his first request with-
bility of a doubt."
out any apparent suspicion of his good faith. The con-
"But how am I to be secure of personal safety should cealed girl was both surprised and touched to observe that
the proof be insufficient to satisfy me, or should I see tears were streaming down the face that had appeared
other reasons to decline this strange contract, Once in so stern ard calm but a moment before ; “She is left to
the power of your savage tribe, I shall have but little me a little longer-I could have blessed him when he
chance of independent choice."
said it." Mary heard these words as the extraordinary
Catharine made no reply, but a smile of peculiar woman passed her, and her pure heart ached for the
meaning passed over her face. She took a small silver unhappy mother.
whistle from her bosom, blew a shrill, sharp call, and | Butler remained on the rock till Catharine Montour
then stood quietly enjoying the surprise of her companhad entirely disappeared; then he darted down the hill,
ion, as some fifty or sixty red warriors started up from and before Mary dared to venture forth from her con-
30


244
M A RY DERWENT.
cealment, his canoe was cuuing across the river toward the missionary who sat in a rude arm chair opposite,
Monockonock Island. Mary stood almost petrified with with his face shaded by his hand and his lips moving
astonishment when she saw the direction he was taking. slightly as in prayer, and then on her own strange dress;
“What had Walter Butler to do in the vicinity of her for her Indian costume had been replaced by a robe of
home ?" Her heart throbbed painfully as she asked the gold-colored satin, of an obsolite but graceful fashion,
qnestion and connected it with the conversation which which had prevailed twenty years before, in England.
she had overheard between her sister and Edward | A chain of massive gold was interwoven among the
Clark, on the previous day. She stood motionless till braids of long hair, for the first time enwreathed about
his canoe shot into the little cove where her own was her beautiful head, after the fashion of the whites, and
always moored, and when a sharp whistle sounded from a pair of long filagree ear-rings broke the exquisite out-
that direction, she bent breathlessly forward with her line of her throat on either side. There was some-
cyes fixed in intense anxiety on the door of her own thing a little stiff and awkward in the solemn stillness
dwelling. It opened, and her sister Jane came forth of those around her, and in the strange feeling of
with her sun-bonnet in her hand, and walked swiftly her dress, which rendered her position one of surprise
toward the cove. The poor deformed girl pressed her almost as much as of pleasure, still, her mouth dimpled
hands hard upon her heart and groaned aloud, when with smiles, and her eyes Aashed with eager delight
her suspicions were thus painfully confirmed, then she when ever, like her mother, she mistook the rustling
sunk upon the ground, and burying her face in her sound of the vines about the lodge for advancing foot-
hands prayed ſervently and with an earnestness of pur- steps. The Mohawk chief sat apart from tbe rest,
pose that brought something of relief to her bosom. For with his council robe gathered in cumhrous drapery
half an hour she sat upon the rock with her pale face about his imposing person, and his high, dusky brow
turned toward the island, watching the cove through crowned with a coronet of scarlet feathers, whence a fuft
the tears which almost blinded her eyes, with a silent, i of raven's plumes shot up from the left side of his head.
anxious sorrow more like that of an angel grieving over He was entirely unarmed, and his calumet lay upon the
the apostacy of a sister spirit, than of a mortal, suffer- stool which contained the missionary's books. His de-
ing under the conviction of moral wrong in a beloved meanor was grave, even beyond the usual saturino
object. She saw her sister slowly return to the house, habit of his race.
and she remarked that she stopped more than once to l While the inmates of the lodge remained in silent
look after Walter Butler, as he urged his canoo toward ! anxiety waiting the appearance of the bridegroom, a
the precipice again; and then she buried her face in shadow fell acrove the opening, and Butler appeared
her hands and held her breath, as his footsteps smote before them with his clothes in much disorder, and evi-
along the neighboring path and were lost in the direc- dently fatigued from his long walk through the forest.
tion of the Mohawk encampment. Poor Mary Derwent | Tahmeroo sprang impulsively to meet him, and the
-it seemed as if a stain had been cast upon the purity wild joy of her Indian blood revelled in her cheek and
of her own heart. She went home reluctantly, for she sparkled in her dark eyes, till they met her mother's
felt that the firm confidence which had rendered their reproving look, and felt the pitying gazo of the missionary
humble bearth-stone a happy one, had departed for ever. fixed upon her. Then she shrunk back to her seat,
Oh, what a sad thing is suspicion of the moral worth of blushing and trembling as if her natural joy at seeing
beloved object. If seraphs could be unhapry, this the man she loved were something to be reproached for.
might make them so.
“Ha, my jewel of a red skin, have they made you
An imposing group was gathered in Catharine Mon- afraid of me already ?” said Butler, approaching her
tour's lodge that night, as the harvest-moon rose full with a reckless kind of gaiety in his demeanor, and
and clear on the green hollow which had formed the without appearing to observe the presence of any one ex-
Mohawk camping.ground, but which now lay quietly cept herself" but why the deuce did you allow them
sleeping in the moonlight, unbroken by a savage fool- to tuck you out in this manner? You were a thousand
step, for the whole tribe had been directed to encamp times more piquant in the old Mohawk dress. Come,
some distance off in the forest, that the rites which were don't look frightened, you are beautiful enough in any
to unite their chief's daughter with one of another race, thing. Pray, what are these good people waiting for?”
might be sulemnized without interruption. All was Then turning to Catharine Montour, who had arisen at
ready for the ceremony, but the bridegroom had not his bold approach, he said, “thank you, my stately
yet arrived, though more than an hour had passed since madam, for sending away your nest of Mohawk friends,
Catharine Montour's return to the lodge. That strange though you have made me expend a great deal of berce
woman sat on the couch which we have before described courage for nothing. I had prepared myself to run the
as belonging to her daughter, robed in the same dress gauntlet bravely among the red devils. Thank you,
which she had worn in the morning. Her arms were again but I hope my solemn father-in-law, there, un-
folded on her bosom, and her eyes dwelt sadly on the derstands no English. I shall be in bad repute with him
ground, though at every sound from without they were if he does.”
directed with a sharp, anxious look toward the door, i Catharine listened with a frowning brow to this flip-
betraying the impatience of one used to obedience in pant speech, and without deigning to answer it, she
all about her. Tahmeroo nestled to her mother's side, went to the head of the couch and took from thence a
and looked wonderingly around the lodge, now upon small ebony box inlaid with silver, and proceeded to


MARY DERWENT.
245
unlock it. Butler kept his eyes fixed on her move- Il pressive solemnity of the missionary, and when he sunk
mənts while he continued his unbecoming freedom of to his knees and uttered in a low, clear voice, “Let us
spcech-" upon my honor," he whispered, glancing at pray,” every knce bent and each heart was hushed by
the happy face of Tahmeroo and drawing her toward the low, solemn earnesiness of his petition, or kindled
him—" that smile is refreshing after the gloomy brow afresh as his soul burst forth in all the eloquence of
of your august mother and of majestic old papn, yonder. strong and fervent supplication. It was a strange sound
Pray, my dear- "he broke off suddenly, for, as his -the pleadings of religion going up from beneath the
eyes wandered from Tahmeroo to her mother, they en-roof of an Indian wigwam, and a stranger sight-that
countered the stern, reproving gaze of the missionary stern Mohawk chief-the White Queen, and that newly-
fixed steadily upon him, and there was a power in it! plighted pair all bowed to the dust and impressed with
which awed him to silence. Catharine Montour ap- a solemn awe by the voice of that eloquent prayer.
proached and placed several papers in his hand which The missionary arose from his knees, placed the cas-
she had taken from the box, while she touched the ket in his bosom, and departed while the sound of his
spring of a casket, also taken from the same repository, benediction still thrilled within the hearts of his audi-
and stood with it open in her hand. After he had tors.
examined the papers, slie raised a necklace of diamonds Builer lingered a few moments by his bride, then
and a magnificent bracelet from among the gems which! pleading the presence of some friends in Wilksbarro
it contained, and held them out for his inspection. and tho suddenness of the whole affair as an excuse for
“Make yourself certain of their value," she said, in a leaving the encampment, he departed, also promising
dry, business-like tone, which had something of sarcasm to return within the week, or as soon as he could get
in it, “ or they are the security that I am about to released from his friends.
offer, that my draft on Sir William Johnson shall be While this scene was going on at the Mohawk en-
honorably met one week from this date."
campment, Mary Derwent had returned home with a
“I see that you intend to make a business transac- mournful determination to seek the confidence of her
tion of the affair," replied Butler, carelessly receiving sister, to inform her of the scene which she had just
the jewels, which, however, he scrutinized with a close- |witnessed, and if possible, to save her from the conne-
ness which betrayed a rapacious interest in their worth. quences of her unprincipled encourngement of Walter
“ Allow me to examine the casket; the design on the Butler, when her faith was pledged to another. On
lid is exquisite."
entering her dwelling, she found Edward Clark and her
Catharine placed it in his hands with a smile of con- sister seated by the only glazed window, conversing
surmate scorn. “After yon are fully satisfied of the with as much apparent frankness as ever; but as the
contents, this reverend man will receive them in trust. | time wore on, sho observed that Jane became petulent
He has my full sanction to deliver them to you seven and restless-that she often went to the door and
days from this, should the draft which you hold in your returned again without any evident reasonand that
hand, for seventy thousand pounds be unpaid at that whenever Clark addressed her, she answered impa-
time; are you content with this arrangement ?" tiently as if his society had become irksomo. Once,
“I know little of the value of jewels," replied Butler, when Edward made some allusion to a farm which his
hesitating, and slowly closing the casket, “but should rather had promised to give him, Jane said abruptly
suppose that these might be sufficient security for the that she was tired of farming and hard work, and that
money."
she hoped the time might yet come when she need not
"Perhaps this gentleman's opinion will satisfy your be obliged to live in a log house and wash dishes from
doubts, and taking the casket from Buller's hand, morning till night. Mary was at no loss to conjecture
Catharine again touched the spring and held it before what agent hud agitated this train of discontent in her
the missionary.
sister's mind, but she had scarcely time to dwell on the
“No, no, I cannot !" exclaimed the holy man, sinking painful suspicions which were thus confirmed, when
back in his chair, and pressing one hand over his eyes Clark observed that he had seen Walter Butler on the
while he pushed away the casket with the other. But river that afternoon, and he asked Jane, with some ap-
when he felt that all eyes were fixed in astonishment on pearance of uneasiness, if he had been on the island.
his agitation, he looked up more composedly and said, Mary observed that her sister's face became crimson to
“excuse me, lady, I need not examine the jewels ; from the temples, but she answered that he had not. The
what I saw of them in the young gentleman's hand, I poor deformed was grieved to the heart with this direct
am certain that they are worth more than the sum falsehood in the being she had so cherished. She felt the
named."
tears stealing to her eyes as they dwelt on that beauti-
“ Are you convinced ?" said Catharine, again turning ful face which had learned to clothe itself with deceit,
to Butler.
and which she might never love again in confidence, as
u Perfectly let the ceremony proceed.” he replied, she had loved. Filled with these unquiet thoughts, she
reaching forth his hand and drawing Tahmeroo to his went to her little bed-room that she might weep and
side.
pray alone. As she closed the door, her sister was
Catharine drew back to where he Mohawk stood in asking Clark how far England was from Wyoming, and
silent dignity, and the marriage rites were pronounced. if all the handsome women there wore silk dresses, and
Even Butler's reckless spirits were subdued by the im- had hired folks to wait on them. Mary closed the


246
· MARY DERWENT.
door and went to bed but she could not sleep; for thelling of poor old grandma--and dear, dear Mary; what
first time, the sweet voice of her sister brought disquiet will they do when I am gone-what will Edward Clark
As it sounded through the thin partition. She heard think of me?".
Edward Clark leave the house about eleven o'clock, but “Edward Clark, again! and that old woman and
it was more than an hour before Jane came to bed. selfish girl who have even made you a slave. Will you
When at length she felt the familiar touch of her cheek, never stop harping about them ? have I not promised
it was heated as with feverish thought. The poor de that you shall send them money?".
formed lay within her sister's arms, apparently asleep, 1 “Yes, yes, but I cannot help feeling bad when I think
but deliberating on the most effectual method of open- of leaving them in this manner. I will try not to think
ing the subject which lay so heavily on her heart, when of it. When we are married you will bring me back,
that whistle which had haunted her footsteps con- sometimes, wont you ?"
tinually since last evening, again sounded from the “Yes, when we are married I will certainly bring you
cove with a shrillness that cut to her ear with startling to see them, but we will settle all this hereafter. It is
ucuteness. Jane seemed scarcely to breathe for a mo-' now past twelve, and we must be many miles hence be-
ment, then creeping softly from the bed, she put on her | fore the dawn. Come, dry these tears and go with me
clothes and stole from the house, leaving her compan-' to the canoe ; nay, do not shrink back in this manner-
ion so confounded, that it was several minutes before she come, I beseech you!"
could collect her thoughts sufficiently to decide what | As Butler spoke, he placed his arm round the weep-
course to pursue. She arose, and after hastily dressing ing girl and drew her with gentle violence along the
herself, ran down to the cove. The trees hung in their foot path, but they had scarcely reached the bend
leafy quiet over the greensward, and the moonbeams which led into the open moonlight, when Mary Der.
shed their light on the waters as they rippled into the went stood in the way.
cove, but no human being was in sight, yet a strange “The little bunchback, by all the furies !" exclaimed
eanoe lay rocking in its mooring by the side of her own, Butler, grasping the waist of his companion and at-
and the murier of distant voices came faintly from the tempting to drug her forward, though she struggled in
direction of a spring which supplied the household with his embrace, and with tears and sobs entrealed him to
water. It was a fairy nook, the spring to which Mary free her.
bent her steps; rocks covered with velvet mons were “Jane, my own sister, you will not gowith this wicked
piled about it, and a clump of crab-apple and wild cher-' man; oh, listen to me before you take this dreadful
ry-trees interlaid their boughs, and co-mingling their step! Ask him where he obtained the money which he
white and rose-colored blossoms in the Spring season, li but now boasted of. Jane, I have never, in the whole
or, as the Summer advanced, the black clusters and the course of my life deceived you, or told you a falsehood.
green applos hung in their ripening beauty over the You will believe me now, and this wicked man dare not
creeping plants and modest wild flowers that concealed, deny what I say. This night I heard him promise to
the moss and fringed the little rivulet which stole from marry another-gaw him on his way to perform that
the rocky basin of the spring with a cool, murmuring i promise! Jane, it is a married man for whom you were
sound. The moonlight lay full on the overhanging trees about to forsake us and all that would ever make you
as Mary approached, and the voices became each mo- good and happy."
ment more distinct in the stillness. She paused in the “Out of my path, lying imp, beforo I spurn your
shadow which fell across the footpath where it curved shapeless carcass with my foot," muttered Butler fiercely,
down into the little hollow. Her sister Jane was sit through his shut teeth.
ting on a rock just within the moonlight which flickered But the undaunted girl firmly kept her station, and
through the boughs above, and by her side, with her her steady voice told how little effect his taunt on her
hand in his, was Walter Butler. He was speaking, deformity had made upon her well-regulated mind. “I
and Mary's heart swelled with indignation as she lis- have said no lie," she exclaimed, boldly, “and you
tened to his words-“Take your choice," he said, “re- dare not accuse me of it, for last evening I heard all
main here and become the wife, or in other words, the that passed belween you and the strange while woman,
drudge of Edward Clark-condemn these beautiful hands ) who lives among the Mohawks. Jane, look in that
to perpetual toil; milk his cows, cook for his workmen, i face. Is there not guilt in it?"
and be content with the reward of a homespun dress' “You do not believe this,” said Butler, still detaining
now and then to set off this form which a king might her.
look upon with admiration, or share all that I have told “I do," replied Jane with sudden vehemence, and
you of, with one who knows how to estimate your beauty leaping from his grasp, she flung her arms around Mary
-who will deck it with gold and robe it in silks—who where she stood, and then urged his departure with a
will provide servants to do your bidding, and surround degree of energy that he felt it would be useless to con-
you with such luxuries as you never dreamed of. I can teod against. Baffled, and full of rage, he turned to
do all this, Jane, for I have become rich, very rich, in-depart, and hastening to the canoe, he pushed out into
dependent of my father ; in one week we must be on the stream, leaving the sisters locked in each other's
our way to England. What are you crying for; can I arms, the one sbedding tears of penitence and shame,
offer more than I have done ?"
the other full of gratitude and thanksgiving.
" Oh no," replied the infatuated girl, “ I was think-
To be concluded in our next.


THEATRICALS.'
247
THEATRICALS.
NATIONAL.-Nothing behind its competitor in the vigor of its
arrangements, boldly enters into the arena, disputing the palm
PARK.—This is the decided resort of the fashion of the city, of victory with its rival. James Wallack deserves every thing
and the magaate of attraction of all play-goers from every section which a play-going public can bestow upon honorable enter-
of the union. A successful debût at the Park is the criterion by prise, judicious management and unremitting zeal. He has
which success is estimated and talent admitted-fashion has done more for the cause of legitimate drama in New York than
her laws which it would be the very height of folly to oppose any of his predecessors. He has transplanted legitimate coma-
we live indulging in the full persuasion of our freedom, but we dy on the stage of the National, in the vigor of its bloom, from
doubt much whether we are admitted to any thing like freedom old Drury in the flower of its days. He has, in the season
in matters of taste--folly with her cap and bells presides over which expired on the fourth of July last, presented us with a
all of fashion, and submission to her decrees must be volunta- company of comedians never equalled in the union, and aroused
ry, rendered in passive obedience, or we must henceforth cease a taste for genteel comedy which had long languished under
to be considered as veritable law givers or presidential judges the excitement which had been created by that abortion of the
in matters connected with the Arts. Fashion presides over the stage-melo-drama! that senseless ollapodrida of all that is
destinies of the Park theatre, Her boxes beam resplendent
extravagant and absurd.
with intelligent youth and beauty-when the evening star of If we look upon the past efforts of Mr. Wallack in the man-
Drama shines upon the stage, either in the person of an Ellen agement of the National, and accept them as an earnest of tho
Tree, a Forrest, or any other constellation of the theatrical
future, we may expect a vigorous and prosperous season at this
heaven; but when these have run their course and are no longer theatr
no longer theatre producing results which, in conjunction with the man-
to be seen the Park-the poor Park-sheds its stage lights to
agement of the Park, will drive from the stage the pretender
a "beggarly account of empty boxes," and a pit deserted. in his affrontery, and the wretched quack in his egotism. This
Fashion-every thing is in the fashion of the day-has de- is as it should be ; make the stage intellectual, sustain it with
cided that the stock company of the Park are not to be en- | talent, and its patrons will increase from among the better order
dured but when the brighter magnates beam among them, and
of society, and its patrons from the lower will be themselves
are only then to be tolerated as cup-bearers to the mighty ones. improved in habits and in manners. The stage, properly con-
There have been stars shining in the theatrical hemisphere ducted, is a fine school of elocution--of language-of morals,
ranting fustian at the minor establishments, who, strange as it and for the study of human nature.
may appear, are not considered worthy of a stock situation at
at Mr. Wallack, we understand, has succeeded in effecting seve-
the great legitimate-and yet are stars--at least, so say the bills | ral very excellent engagements in the old country, and particu-
of announcement, which pompously herald their several ap-larly in the operatic and ballet departments of the stage. In
pearances as though the seven wonders of the world were the former he has secured Mr. Wilson, a gentleman of distin-
concentrated in each one of them, and each in himself greater guished musical science, and a vocalist of extraordinary pow-
than the last! While we admit that these are not to our taste, ers. Also, Miss Sherriff, the favorite pupil of Thomas Welsh,
although we by no means intend to question the taste of their the preceptor of Miss Stephens, the most finislied singer of tho
several admirers, we hope Mr. Simpson will maintain the digni- day in which she figured. Welsh has pronounced Miss Sherriff
ty of the Park, by avoiding every thing that might be construed to be equalled only by Miss Stephens in her zenith--this is
into imitation of minor managers, and of never obtruding upon saying a great deal. We remember Miss Stephens, and we
the public, actors of inferior qualifications to his own stock com have never met with any thing like her. She was admitted by
pany, and holding them forth as stars. It is a system which all admirers of opera to be the enchanting, the unequalled Ste-
has ever proved destructive-it is a system which will draw phens--the queen of song. Miss Paton, now Mrs. Wood, could
down censure on the management of the Park if persevered in. never enter the lists opposed to her, and the lovers of opera
The prospects of the future season are most flattering. Powo-may be assured if Miss Sherriff can sustain the reputation of a
er commenced the campaign with the opening of the theatre, Stephens, the performances at the National of this season will
as a star of the first order, and has continued his perfect be the most brilliant of the order ever offered in this country.
representations of the eccentric Irishman. He appears to re-Mr. Wilson, speaking by comparison, is incomparably a better
tain the full vigor of his genius, and has been received with a singer than Wood. Mr. Wallack appears to have paid great
quantum of applause fully equal to his merits. Ho will be fol- attention to the filling up of his operatic corps.
lowed by the inimitable Vestris, who will make her curtsey But Mr. Wallack commands another great and powerful for-
before our next number goes to press, and whose performances ! ture of attraction, in the engagement of a regular French corps
we intend most copiously to review, With her appearance, de ballet-new to the country an exhibition we may safely
and that of her husband, Charles Mathews, the season will pronounce perfectly new to an American audience, and which
vigorously proceed. Madame Vestris is admitted to be the cannot fail in unbounded popularity. The classic ballet of the
best actress, in her extensive and varied line of business, French stage--the delightful mythologies of the earlier poets
that ever appeared on the boards of a London theatre. She is told, as it were, in speaking action-action graceful and outri-
the female Crichton-the most elegant dancer-delightful sin valling clocution--interest, and that of the deepest nature, sus-
ger-accomplished musician and finished lady in her perfor tained by the power of the eye-by gesture-the flexibility of
mances--in her, nothing is strained, while there is nothing of the countenance-the elastic limb, the graceful form, which can
affectation about her. The rich vein of her comic and playful throw itself into a speaking action-telling the poet's tale to the
humor flows Daturally, with ease and playfulness. She is no eye, and in its dumbness speaking it to the sense. These are
monodramatist. She does not require, like Power, that all the novelties, in their newness commanding--and in their power
dramas in which she appears, should be rendered mere autom unequalled. Mr. Wallack's ballet corps will, if complete and
atons to set off her own. On the contrary, she never appears composed of the proper materials, be one of the most attractive
to greater advautage than when she is surrounded and sustain exhibitions ever brought to the country. Celeste and Vanden-
ed by the best professors of the stage she shines with more hoif and his daughter are also engaged, and the theatre com
Justre-beams with more brilliance in the cluster of dramatic mences its campaign immediately.
excellence. The great artiste of the vaudeville drama of the
FRANKLIN.- Blake and Dinneford, the managers of this thea-
English stage, she is its enchantress-while she retains in a
tre, have produced a variety of novelties the past month, which
surprising degree her youth and loveliness, although in the
the patrons of the Franklin have not been backward in acknow-
wano of life when its tresses are wont to fall. Madame Vestris
| ledging—as the houses have been good.
has never been equalled, and ages may pass away ere she will
be excelled. Charles Mathers, the son of that inimitable
OLYMPIC.--Mr. Finn with Mr. and Mrs. Hield, have conclu.
comedian, whose excellence is still fresh in the memory of anded star engagements at this house. Vaudevilles are, however.
American audience. will lead the light comedy business with more in character with the size of the place than heavy tra-
his lady, and we may expect at the Park a stirring season. gedios.


I NEVER CAN FORGET.
ALLEGRETTO MODERATO.

Adieu! Adieu !
A-
.
THAITI

dieu for -
ev
Our dream
love
is
dien!
a - las! we
sever,
To
meet
again
JEIRO QUE

more.
Though
thus
that
dreg
EES-
He


I NEVER CAN FORGET.
249

broken,
Though thus with wild regret I wake, yet vows once spoken
DIM.

never
can
forget.
I
never
never
can
for-

get.
PP
100/
PPP
Forget? ah, no! ah, no! though parted,
Thy image dwells with me;
Though lost, though broken-hearted,
I still must think of thee.
My heart is torn with anguish;
My cheek with tears is wet;
But, though from thee I languish,
I never can forget. I never can forget.


250
LITE RAR Y REVIEW: -- EDITORS'TA BL E.
LITERARY REVIEW.
EDITOR'S TABLE.
OF ARTHUR JORDON PYM: Harper & Brothers. In our last number we stated that a gentleman of considera.
There seems to be some diversity of opinion as to the real au- ble literary attainments would shortly become connected with
thorship of this work. It should be a matter of perfect indiffe the Ladies' Companion, in conjunction with the present edi.
rence to the public, who the author is; the book has been writ- tors. In conformity with that statement we have now the
ten and is published, and thal, certainly, is knowledge enough. extreme pleasure of announcing HENRY F. HARRINGTON, Esq.,
It shows but poor taste that the writer of a book must be known as the gentleman to whom we referred. In associating himself
before it can be appreciated. Pym's narrative is peculiarly with the magazine, sometime will necessarily elapse before be
amusing, although it borders greatly on the marvellous. The can assume an active part in the conduct of the work, as ill
work comprises the details of a mutiny and atrocious butchery health compels him to exile hinself for a few months from the
on board the American brig Grampus, on her way to the South sea-board. In the meantime, however, Mr. Harrington will
Soas, with an account of the re-capture of the vessel by the contribute largely to the pages of the magazine, to a far greater
Burvivors- their shipwreck and subsequent horrible sufferings extent, perhaps, then if he was located in the city.
from famine-their deliverance by means of a British schooner
-the brief cruise of the latter vessel in the Antarctic ocean-
We are daily saluted with inquiries--“When will the prize
her capture and the massacre of her crew among a group of
tale be finished ?" To answer all such rebellious readers at
once it will be concluded in the October pumber.
islands, together with the increditable adventures and discove-
ries to which that distressing calamity gave rise, From the
NIBLO's. The season of this delightful scene of a summer's
above synopsis it will be perceived that the work bears some-
evening recreation is waning to its close--while it is still put-
what of a questionable character, but notwithstanding it is most
ting forth new blossoms of enchanting beauty and surpassing
interesting.
vigor: like summer itself, where all is gay, and decrepitude is
INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL: Harper & Brothers.--Mr. Stephens,
unknown, unfelt, while it expires. Niblo has reaped no ordi-
the accomplished writer of these volumes is too well known as
pary harvest from bis labors, and it will be difficult to determine
an accurate and instructive delineator of the peculiarities of the
whether he has proved himself more indefatigable in his efforts
countries and people he has had the good fortune to visit, to
to please than the public in its liberal efforts to patronize.
need any eulogium from us. The work is an admirable one
The Ravels have carried all before them in their surprising
throughout, and fully sustains that high reputation attained by
evolutions and can never be seen to greater advantage than at
the author on the production of his first book of travels. Du-
ring Mr. Stephens' progress through Greece, Turkey, Russia
this garden. They have drawn crowds on the nights of their
performance; but we have not discovered a serious diminition
and Poland, many things fell under his observation which are
described in the present volumes with great fidelity and gra-
of visitors on the pighis devoted to Vaudevilles. The fact is,
phic beauty-although we do not pretend to say that the work
Niblo has succeeded in rendering his garden fashionable. W
1$ as full of interest or stirring incidents as his first, but the must on no account omit a favorable mention of a young debú-
scenes are new to our country people, generally speaking, and
tante for public favor, in the person of Miss Clarence Wells,
therefore will prove a necessary work to be preserved in con- , who has recently made her first curtsey to a New-York audi-
junction with Mr. Stephens' “ Travels in the Holy Land." lence in the character of Margaretta, in the fine old English
Book of POETRY: Otis, Broaders of Co., Boston.-This is',
opera of No Song, No Supper. This opera was written and
the title of a neat volume lately issued by our indefatigable
performed upon the stage of Drury-lane expressly as an intro-
duction to the justly celebrated Signora Storace. The music,
agents, at Boston. The collection of poems which it contains
entirely new, was composed by her brother, Stephen Storace,
reflects the highest credit on the compiler. It would require
whose works will rank by the side of Mozart, Horn, etc., so
many such volumes to embrace one half of the Asierican pro-
long as a taste for harmony shall exist.
ductions in verse, which are worthy of being included in such
Miss Wells acquitted herself of the difficult music of Storace
a collection. The same publishers have also sent us the follow.!
and sustained the character with infinitely more judgment and
jpg works; “Woman as she should be," " Woman in her Social
effect than we had anticipated. Miss Wells possesses every
and Domestic character," " Devotional Exercises,” by Miss
i requisite for the stage-ia person, countenance and voice,
Harriet Martineau; and the “ Conspiracy of the Spaniards,
which will improve by practice, and we have no doubt will be-
against the Republic of Venice, in 1618." Upon the last named
come a great favorite.
the celebrated play of Venice Preserved is founded. Each of
these works is well written; and, from a casual glance, we VAUXHALL.--These Gardens, long the delight of the elité of
should pronounce them all readable. They are for sale at the Bowery, have passed into the hands of Messrs. Flyon and
Gould and Neroman's.
Maeder, under whose management a very late season has com-
Novels of Miss JANE AUSTEN: Carey, Lea & Blanchard, menced, but with an activity and a zeal which will prove a pro-
Philadelphia,- This is the first edition of the complete works fitable one. There is a richness in the humor of Flynn which
of this talented author ever published in a uniform style. It renders him a valuable acquisition to Vaudeville drama; and
embraces Pride and Prejudice; Mansfield Park; Persuasion; the great and varied talent of Mrs. Maeder is too well know
Sense and Sensibility ; Emma; Northanger Abby.--Carvills' and too highly appreciated to require the aid of panegyrie in
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY: Carey, Lea Blanchard, Philadel- its support.
phia.-The fourth part of the life and adventures of this unfor-
MEMOIRS OF MADAME VESTRIS.A supplementery Runder of
tunate individual has been issued by these publishers. The en-
the Ladies' Companion, containing the Life and theatrical me-
gravings are highly laughable.--Carvills'.
moirs of Madame Vestris Matheus, will be issued on the i
HOMEWARD BOUND: Carey, Lea & Blanchard, Philadelphia.
teenth of September from the office of publication, 107 Fulton
This tale of the sea, by the well known author of the Pilot,
street. In order to gratify the public with a biographical me-
Water Witch, etc., is one of the best works he has ever prepa-
moir of one of the most celebrated favorites of the British
red for the press. The earlier portions of the first volume may,
stage, and also of the most extraordinary woman distinguishing
perhaps, appear prosy to an impatient reader, but as the story
is developed, the interest becomes intense. The chase is de-
the present age in connection with the drama, the proprietor
scribed in Mr. Cooper's usually graphic manner.-Carvills has, at a very considerable expense, secured the copy-right of
this highly interesting work, written by an English gentleman
The following new works from E. L. Carey & A. Hart, Phil.
of great literary reputation and thoroughly acquainted with
adelphia, came to hand too late for the present number: "Out-
" the public and private life of the lady--the subject of his
ward Bound,” by the author of Ratlin, the Reefer; “ Sayings
biography.
and Doings of Sam Slick,” “ Damascus and Palmyra," a jour-
dey to the East, by C. G. Allison ; and the second part of " Oli- ! ERRATTA--Page 226 -twenty-seventh line, should read:
ver Twist." Wiley & Putnam.
" That tone--that fearful tone."






TELE
AK
SIPOCTIRES ME METSONS DE


THE LADIES' COMPANION.
. Uw weig , al . . r . . . -
There was no sign of bolt or fastening of any kind abouil upported, may be compared to an arch that is well
it. In several of these crypts were fragments of similar built-nothing can be taken away without endangering
doors."
the whole.


.....
.
.....
...
.
.
LC
193


THE LADIES' COMPANION...
OGAN
NEW-YORK, OCTOBER, 1838.
SEPULCHRES OF THE SONS OF DAVID, 11
Original.
NEARLY a mile from Jerusalem, on the North, lie the
THE TIME FOR PRA Y ER.
Tombs of the Kings as they are commonly termed,
though it is difficult to account for this appellation being
***"And he said, Father, instruct me, I beseech thee, in
the most fitting time for prayer.'"-The sage folded his with-
given to them; for it is certain that none, either of the ered hands, and meekly upraised his eyes to Heaven, as he an-
kings of Israel or Judah were buried here, as the Script- swered : “My son, pray continually! at the uprising of the
y sun; at the sultry noon; and in the still watches of the night."
ures assign other places for their sepulchres; unless,
perhaps, Hezekiah was here interred, and these were
Go when the day-god beameth
the “ sepulchres of the sons of David," mentioned in
His bright light from on high;
ii. Chron. xxxii. xxxiii. Whoever was buried here, it is
Go when the pole-star streameth
certain that the place itself discovers so great an ex-
Its rays athwart the sky;
pense both of labor and treasure, that we may well sup-
Go when the thunder crashes;
pose it to have been the work of kings. The approach
Go when fierce howls the wind ;
to these sepulchres is through a passage cut in the rock
Go when the lightning flashes,
into an open square having the appearance of a quarry,
And pray for all mankind !
whose Western side was quite smooth and perpendicu-
lar, in which is excavated a porch of about ten yards in
Go when the zephyr moaneth
length by four in depth. Over this porch are carved
Across the wind-harp's strings;
festoons of fruits and flowers, very beautifully executed,
Go when the spirit groaneth
exhibiting an advanced stage of art, though now very
Under affliction's stings;
much defaced. On the left is the entrance into the
Go when the heart is bounding,
sepulchral chambers, so filled with rubbish, that the
And buoyant as the air;
traveller is obliged to lie down, and creep in like a lizard,
Then let thy voice be sounding,
to gain admittance. Through this he is conducted into
And pour thy soul in prayer!
a square chamber, having three doorways, on three dif-
ferent sides, leading to other chumbers-in all, six or Go when thy frail bark urges
seven in number-cut with mathematical exactness, the
Its way amidst the storms,
walls being perfectly smooth. In these were hewn re-
As high old Ocean's surges
cesses, of different shapes, for the reception of bodies,
Heave up their angry forms:
some being oblong, and others the segment of a circle.
Go when the troubled ocean
In one of these apartments was a row of smaller niches,
Has lulled itself to rest-
in size and form resembling the columbaria of the Ro-
When not a ripple's motion
mans, and in the foor are sunk quadrangular recepta-
Ruffles its glassy breast.
cles of the size of a coffin. Strewed about, are frag.
Go with the mind's pure feeling;
ments of sarcophagi, covered with carvings of fruit,
flowers, and foliage, similar to that which ornamented
Go with a contrite heart,
And at his footstool kneeling,
the frieze of the portico.
Maundrell states, that he found one of the doors still
Pray for that “better part;"
upon its hinges : such is not now the case. But the in-
Invoke His pitying kindness
telligent author of “ Three Weeks in Palestine,” who
Who hath alone the might;
concurs in Maundrell's opinion that these tombs were
So shall the film of blindness
the sepulchres of Helena, Queen of Adiabene, and her
Pass from thy mental sight!
family-states that he "gaw one door still perfect, and
very singular and beautiful it was, hewn out of the same
ARGUMENTS.
compact limestone which forms the rock, half a foot in
thickness: the pannels were as nicely cut as the finest The Thermopylæ was defended by only three hun-
mahogany doors in this country, and the whole highly dred men; but they were all Spartans: and in advoca-
polished. It had originally turned upon tenons of one ting our own cause, we should trust rather to the force
piece with itself, resting on sockets in the solid rock; } ihan to the number of our arguments, and to care not
so that no extraneous matter was used for hinges, fitting | how few they be, should those few be incontrovertible.
most exactly in the door-frame, shutting apparently with | When we hear one argument refuted, we are apt to sus-
iis own weight, and requiring pressure to push it open. Il pect that the others are weak; and a cause that is well
There was no sign of bolt or fastening of any kind abouill upported, may be compared to an arch that is well
it. In several of these crypts were fragments of similar | built-nothing can be taken away without endangering
doors."
the whole.
31


254
THE FARMER AND THE SQUIRE.
Original.
|| started to her eyes, “but pray be careful. And what if
THE FARMER AND THE SQUIRE;
any thing should happen before you come back !".
“ We are all in the hands of God," was Simon's reve-
A DOMESTIC TALE.
rent answer. The very sentence was in his heart, a
prayer for protection ; and so saying, he left the little
BY HENRY F. HARRINGTON.
sitting-room, took down his broad-brimmed hat from
its peg in the entry, and his umbrella from its corner, and
CHAPTER I.
left the house.
A few moments brought him to the squire's. The
The foundation-stone of our story.
wailing grew louder and louder as he approached, and
It was a true New England thunder-storm; the rain began to take the form of distinguishable sounds;
fell in torrents; and it needed the vivid lightning, the “ Mercy, mercy, sir!-No, no, not again !-You will
fire-lamps of beaven, to pierce the fearful blackness of kill me, indeed you will kill me, sir! Mercy! mercy!"
the dark. By the startling light of each frequent flash, Simon quickened his pace, and knocked at the front
mountains of angry clouds could be discovered, heaped dvor, but though he saw lights in the parlor, and could
up from the horizon to the zenith; then all was black hear footsteps and whispering, his knock was unan-
again. As the fierce thurder-peals followed closer and swered. He knocked again and again, but with no bet-
closer upon the lighıning, intimating that the artillery iter effect. Unwilling to be baffed in his errand, he
of the sky was careering directly above, and that it opened for himself, and walked in. In the parlor was
was well for frail man to tremble in his habitations, old the family of the squire; his wife, sister, son and daugh-
Simon Walker rose from the chair on which he had ter; and they greeted him with a stare of mingled won-
been sitting by the open window, protected from the der, anxiety and consternation.
rain by the low stoop or piazza before his dwelling, and “Mrs. Thrasher,” said Simon, removing his hat, and
with strong anxiety on his features, rested his hands on bowing his gray hairs, “ I hope to be excused, but the
the window-sill, and by the gleam of that wonderful noise we hear now, I heard down the hill to my house,
lamp, glanced his eye along the heavens. There seemed | and I was afraid the lightning had done some dam-
no prospect of a near cessation of the storm, and an age.""
alleviation of the awful fears that harrassed him; but This half-explanation of his abrupt and evidently un-
he thought of the tall elm that peered above his roof, desired entrance, and half-query what the cry, (still con-
and partially confiding in its protection, he resumed his inued,)could portend, was received with perfect silence.
seat. His darling child, a sweet girl of twelve, had | While no one of those present seemed to be oppressed
left her mother's side, where she nad been cowering with the emotions which an unusual occurrence would
down and hiding her face in her lap, and as if to be surely have excited, all were pale and motionless.
more secure, now kneeled between her father's knees. Sinion thought he saw Mrs. Thrasher endeavor to speak,
Nor a word was spoken, and still the thunder rolled and but if so, the words would not come forth. As he stood
the lightning flashed, each the prelude to torrents of in amazement, looking from one to the other, the cry
rain. At length the vividness of a flash elicited a stifed changed from its agony of supplication to a low moan
shriek from Mrs. Walker, and a scream of terror from of exhaustion, and Simon heard the word, “There,
the shrinking Mary; while Simon covered his eyes and there's blood! Oh, there's blood! My poor mother!
pressed his teeth hard together. The thunder was I shall die and never see her again!"
almost consentaneous with the lightning; and as though “I must know what this means," exclaimed Simon,
the shock had benumbed the pulses and stified the utte- and if no one here will tell me, I will see for myself."
rance of nature, the rain suddenly ceased, and all was Silence still continued, and Simon approached the
still still as death. Just then, Simon lifted his head door that led to the back portion of the house, whence
and listened. He was sure he heard a cry, and ibat of the sounds proceeded. Upon this, Mrs. Thrasher
acony. He rose up again, and feeling that he was not sprung to him, and grasping the hand that i
sprung to him, and grasping the hand that he had ex-
deceived, he uttered his wife's name calling her to the tended to the latch, made a movement to restrain him,
window.
while the words that she now indeed essayed to utter,
“ Listen a moment, Susan," said he.
stopped with a choaking gasp in her throat. Pitying
“It's a boy screaming,"exclaimed Mrs. Walker after her evident misery, but convinced that the dread. of bis
a short pause, “and I verily believe it's in Squire i farther action betokened the existence of a sufficient ex-
Thrasher's house. But, Simon," she continued, in an cuse for it, he only said firmly, “I must go, ma'am ;"
anxious voice as he left the window and walked toward and gently putting her aside, passed on. Guided by
the door, “ you're not going out to-night! You'll not the now feeble moaning, and too, by the sound of blows
leave us-the child and me, alone in a time like this !" || powerfully administered, he ascended the stairs, and
" Susan," answered Simon, a little reproachfully, ar- attempted to enter the chamber, where the sad scene,
resting his steps, with his finger on the latch,“ would whatever it might be, was in progress. But the door
you have me afraid to risk my own comfort when a fel-
was locked. Hesitation had been foolishness, and with
low creature may need my services. I thought you a single effort of his muscular arm, he forced the lock ;
had known me too long for that."
the door flew open, and all was discovered.
“Go, Simon, go," said his wife, though the tears A boy, some fourteen years of age, stripped to his


THE FARMER AND THE SQUIRE.
255
skin, was hall kneeling, half reclining upon the floor, bis || deprived of a portion of his dress, through which the
eyes streaming tears, and his lacerated back bearing blood had already made its way. When Mrs. Walker
dreadful evidence that his cry" there's blood," was lite- saw the spectacle his back presented, she burst into
rally true. Squire Thrasher stood over him with a flexile lears, for she was a gentle, tender-hearted woman, and
cowhide in his hand, the evident instrument of torture. hastened to apply her remedies. Though her curiosity
Simons' violent and abrupt entrance arrested his action was immeasurably excited, she asked no questions, for
just as his arm was raised to strike, and he remained a word from Simon was law to her; and when she had
without change of position, as though frozen by an ice completed her applications, and bandages were secured
bolt, with set teeth, expanded nostrils, and glaring eyes, over the injured parts, she placed the sufferer in a little
brenthing hard with his demoniac exertion, while the chamber opening out of her own, that she might be near
boy sprang to Simon's feet and grasped his knees, with him should he require assistance in the night, and then
the harrowing cry of, “ Save me! save me !"
hastened to Simon for an unravelment of the mystery.
“Squire Thrasher," exclaimed Simon, when his won-Simon was a man of few words, and in a few words all
der permitted him to speak, and the falling of the l was told.
squire's arm betokened that he began to recover self When the family were all abed, Simon heard his
possession, “is it you-a man of your character for wife whisper to herself before she went to sleep, “What
piety and benevolence, that I find so cruelly beating a is to coine of it!"
helpless boy. What horrible thing has he done to de-
CHAPTER II.
serve this? See-his back is one gore of blood! Has
Characters of our story.
he robbed you, or tried to poison you, or cut your throat ?"
“No, no! I have done no such thing, Mr. Walker. Simon Walker was a happy inan, and he had been
I only~"a spasm of pain and exhaustion stopped the happy from his earliest childhood. When a very infant,
poor boy's utterance, and he clung closer to Simon's his nurse often exclaimed at the good disposition of the
knees.
darling, and as he grew up, he was the umpire among
Simon waited a few moments for an explanation from his playmates, for all loved him. He was an only child,
the squire, but he said not a word. A new expression and, with but little schooling, but strong natural powers,
had come over his face. Wonder had been exchanged he joined his father, when he arrived at man's estate.
for boiling rage and diabolical malice; and he stood in the cultivation of his snug and thrifty farm, that had
with corrugated brows, under which his full, hate-filled been owned and lived upon by the Walkers, for three
sensual eye glanced up and down as he surveyed Simon | generations. He comforted the declining years of his
from head to foot, while his hand that yet retained the il parents, and laid them down, side by side, in peaceful
cowhide, shook with the violence of his nervous agita- graves. In progress of time, he married a pretty, good-
tempered girl of his own village, and continued on the
“You are mad, I verily believe,” continued Simon, old homestead. The world went well with him-mind.
“ and I feel it to be my duty to remove this boy until ing his own business-a faithful husband-kind and
you are calmer. I will see you again in the morning.” | careful father, and good citizen; he had passed the me.
So saying, he assisted the boy, to whom the pro-pect ridian of life in placid contentment-loving and beloved
of escape had imparted vigor, lo clothe himself and led -and happy, as I have said.
him from the house. On his way, he passed through And now he was sixty years of age; and the hair was
the parlor, where the family yet remained, but was not white upon his brow. He was tall and of commanding
greeted by word or interruption. As he descended the aspect, with an almost stern expression of feature, that
hill to his own house, encouraging the lad al intervals seemed inconsistent with his proverbial kindness of
with cheering and soothing words, he often turned his heart. But Simon had the materials for stern action
eyes to the house he had left; and it was not until he within him. Fortune had so shaped it, that no circum-
was entering his door, that he saw a shadow cross one stances had occurred to give them scope for exercise.
of the windows of the chamber where he had inter He was always resolute, and it would have been said
supled Squire Thrasher in his cruel work, and the lamp by a close observer, often wilful; but the exhibition of
that had until now sent forth a steady gleam, was lifted his will was clothed in so fair a garb hy his strong be-
from the table and carried rapidly from the room. Thus nevolence, that it had ever been obeyed without resist-
long had it occupied the mind of the squire to frame, ance.
with deadly malignity, a purpose of enduring revenge.
pose of enduring revenge. Simon lived in one of the interior villages of Vermont.
No rain had fallen since Simon had left his own dwel! Hills were all around him, and a small stream leaped
ling, and the clouds were slowly breaking away. Mrs. from rock to rock near his dwelling, pealing the niusic
Walker was at the door the moment she heard her hus- of its merry dance ever in his ear. Imaginative, he
band's step, and seeing him accompanied, hand earing loved the sublimity and beauty in which his lot was cast,
the sobs of the boy, she cried out, “ What is the mat- and his home was his world.
ter, Simon? What have you found ?”.
Joel Thrasher Esq., was a short, thick.set, full-fea.
“Do not ask now, Susan," answered Simon, “but tured man. His forehead retreated rapidly from his
first take care of this boy. Get out your salve and eyebrows, and his head was immoderately broad between
plaster this hurt."
the ears. His eye had cunning and selfishness in its
Being led into the sitting-room, the boy was carefully deliberate stare. His nose was large, flat, and peaked,
tion.


256
THE FARMER AND THE SQUIRE.
CHAPTER III.
while his broad mouth, prominent lips, and massy cheeks ample: and I request you never to refer to the matter again
when in ny company. I forgive you for your interference in
conveyed the idea of strorg sensuality. And his looks my family affairs, as I hope God will forgive you for any hard
told a true story of his character. He was cruel, hard-thoughts you may have cutertained towards me.
hearted and avaricious. Who would have believed it,
JOEL THRASHER."
however, in the village ? He was a leading member of Simon perused this note again and again in painful
the church; a deacon; and he would have as soon irresolution and anxiety. He had been biassed in favor
starved as missed a prayer.meeting. His conversation of the boy by his open, artless manner, and consistent
was always seasoned with a profusion of sanctimonious story; but here was a note of so different a tenor from
ingredients; he prayed loud and often, and exhorted what he would have expected from a malevolent man,
his neighbors and town's people in season and out of that he was indicisive on which side to be swayed. He
season; and while they confessed that he was not a determined after some consideration, to seek out the
good-looking man, they one and all strenuously main- boy's mother, and harnessing his horse into his light
tained that appearances helied him. He had more law-wagon, he rede to the outskirts of the town to execute
business than any brother lawyer for miles about, and this purpose. He found the poor woman's hut where
grew richer and richer, and more and more selfish and her son had designated in a wild, lonely spot, on an un-
hypocritical, every day.
trodden bye-road. On entering the single apartment,
Bye and bye he thought it would better serve his ends the oid woman, who had been sewing by the window,
to inhabit a more stately mansion than the one he had welcomed him with native politeness, and set out ari sh-
been contented with for many years; and be erected a boutomed chair, requesting him to be seated. A glance
handsome house at the end of the village street, just showed him, that while all things wore the appearance
where the road turns to descend the steep hill right of extreme poverty, there was great neatness manifested
above Simon's patriarchal home. He had been there in every simple household arrangement. He soon open-
with his family but a few days, when the incidented his business, and related what was necessary of the
occurred which has been related, and now we may gol scene of the preceding night, concluding with
on with our story.
nication of the contents of Squire Thrasher's note. Mrs.
Lincoln heard him to the end without a word, only
ejaculating some expression of misery, and fairly shriek-
Some progress made in our tale.
ing when he narrated the scene of the whipping. Even
The morning found the boy recovered from his terror, when he had concluded, she said nothing for some time,
and much of his pain; and he told his story. The sav-but sat tilting backward and forward in her low rock-
age punishment he had received, had been inflicted, asing-chair, with her face covered by one hand, and her
he related, for some trivial offence, and Simon learned elbow supported by the other, while the tears ran fast
with wonder, that the squire was accustomed to bestow down between her fingers. At length she said with a
an extreme degree of cruel infiction, even on his own quivering voice,
daughter. Dread of his violence and threats, had hitha-1 “What shall I do! That letter is a lie, sir, I know
erto deterred both children and servants from a com- it is! He never could be so bad. He might be care-
munication of his cruelty, but now that the spell had less or idle, but never bad! He was always a good
been broken by Simon's interference, this poor boy, the child to his mother. What shall I do! What sball I
son of an old widow, named Lincoln, who had been re- ! do! He's the last of three dear boys; yes, the last.
joicing in the thought that her child had secured so John was cast away at sea, and Samuel went to Boston,
good a place, opened his heart and revealed the whole. I and the news came that he was dead of a fever. I'm
But for what he had witnessed the preceding night, il poor as death-hardly able to keep alive, and now they'll
Simon would have turned an incredulous ear to such a ruin Charles' character, and he was all my dependence.
revelation; but now he could not help believing that all Oh, dear, dear, dear me, what shall I do!" and wring-
Squire Thrasher's religion was hypocrisy; and the ing her hands, her sobs became almost hysteric. Si-
thought darted through his mind how terrible might be mon's heart was opened 10 suffering by the sight of the
the results of the anger and revenge of such a man, both widow's extreme sorrow.
of which he had probably turned upon himself. Simon, “Don't be cast down," said he, soothingly, "the
however, was not a man to be intimidated by such con- | boy shall be well taken care of, and shant suffer. Come,
siderations. Assuring the boy-who, when his relation get into my wagon, and let us go and see him."
was finished, begged with tears, that he might not be "The Lord will bless you for this goodness to the
sent back to his master that he would consult with widow and the fatherless," said Mrs. Lincoln, as Simon
his mother, and he should not go back against his will, helped her into the wagon.
he was about to make his way to the squire's, when a Arrived at Simon's house, the bearing of the boy
note was put into his hand by the squire's little son. It towards his mother was such as to convey the strongest
read as follows;
impression of a good heart, and i hat he had been mis.
“MR. Walker:-I am very much grieved, for your sake, that represented by his master. After Mrs. Walker had
you should have intruded upon me at a time when I was chas- conversed with, and somewhat soothed Mrs. Lincoln's
tising my servant-boy for a heinous offence, which I chose iu
pity to do, rather than to expose him to open shame. As he is anguish, which the sight of her son had renewed, Simon
an incorrigible youth, and has probably told some deceitful sto- || beckoned to his wife to follow him into the kitchen, and
ry to screen himself, I shall not permit him to enter iny house
again, for fear of his contaminating my children by his bad ex- / leave the mother and son alone au hile.


THE FARMER AND THE SQUIRE.
257
“I'm decided in mind, Susan," said Simon, when squire begged him to be seated for a few moments, as
the door had been shut," that this boy tells a true story, i he was under the necessity of writing a note to Simon
and Squire Thrasher's a hypocrite. Something must Walker. When the note had been penned, the squire
be done for him."
looked at it hesitatingly, and then said he would make
“That's just what I've been thinking. Simon. Butl bold 10 ask Mr. Clarke's advice respecting a very un-
what can be done ?"
pleasant matter which was the occasion of the note he
Simon drummed on the table, with his eye on the was about to send to Walker. So a well concocted
floor, while Mrs. Walker looked as though she longed tale was poured into Mr. Clarke's greedy ear of the
to say something she had hardly courage to speak oul. evil habits of a boy, the son of a widow Lincoln, whom
Simon broke the silence.
the squire had taken out of pity to the old woman.
“I'll tell you what, Susan. Peter's father has given For a late immorality, he had chosen to punish him se-
me notice that he shall want him at home in the Win- verely, rather than to appeal to the laws against him.
ter; suppose we take this lad ourselves and see what While engaged in bestowing this punishment, he had
he is. Two boys are more than I can support, but it'll been interrupted by Simon Walker, who assailed him
only be about four months before Peier'll go."
with provoking impertinence, and forcibly removed the
“Oh, Simon, that's just what I wanted to say," boy; and finally the contents of the note was made
cried Mrs. Walker, while the tears stood in her eyes. | known to Clarke, who wax, of course, profuse in his
“I knew you'd say something of the sort, Simon ;' and commendations of the squire's leniency and forbearance,
the kind woman gave her husband a look of love that and violent against Simon's scandalous behavior. Hav-
had ever been his best reward. So they returned 10 | ing accomplished all his purpose with Clarke, the squire
the widow, and Simon announced his plan for her an. | detained him a few moments for the cock and bull
probation, coupling his communication with such an | business for which apparently he had been summoned,
offer for the boy's services as would, in his view, best and then dismissed him, to tell the story to every man,
contribute to her benefit. Again the widow went, but woman and child he should meet. The whole inatter
the tears she now shed, were tears of joy; and when shaped to the squire's glorification and Simon's con-
Simon helped her from his wagon into her own door, demnation; it was known before sundown to every in-
slipping a dollar into her hand, the blessing she gave habitant within a mile of the meeting-house, Clarke
him from a grateful heart, was beller to him than silver having lost half a day's work in running about to com-
and gold, and his family gathering at evening, was a municate it to this neighbor and that.
happy one indeed. But gloom was in the future. What cannot hypocrisy, especially religious hypocrisy
accomplish? Squire Thrasher was a deacon-one of the
CHAPTER IV.
fathers of the parish; and Sinon perceived a change in
More of the boy, and something of the squire. the manners of many of his town's-people towards him;
Mr. and Mrs. Walker became, day by day, more and yet though he was self-conscious of the fountain head of
more interested in the addition to their family circle. the alteration, he could not trace any thing to the
His leisure nioments were not passed in idleness or squire's agency. It was certain, however, that favors
valueless amusement, but with predilections beyond began, in many quarters, to be hesitatingly extended to
his years, he sought the company of the elders of him; and his communications and advice on public af.
the family, taking great delight in their conversation ; | fairs, once gratefully received, were now listened to
or retiring to his little chamber when the warmth of the with suspicion and neglect. “Let it work to its end,"
weather permitted, or seated on a stool by the fireplace | said Simon to himself, firm as a rock in decision-"let
in the cold Winter night, he would devour every word of || it work to its end."
whatever book had offered itself to his perusal. But This growing coldness of his town's-people, breaking
with all this, he dearly loved to amuse and interest the out now and then into floating accusations of his pro-
pretty, laughing, fair-haired Mary. He sought such | bity, and exerting a very unfavorable effect upon his
books as would be attractive to her, and read them to prosperity, could not excite in him any dislike to the
her, explaining in his untutored manner whatever she innocent cause of his unhappy situation; and when a
did not comprehend. Then, again, he would roam cousin to Mrs. Walker, a lawyer of repute in a neigh-
with her through the fields, telling stories or plucking boring county, made Simon's house a balting-place on
lowers, or would clamber with her among the bis way to one of the cities on the sca-coast, Simon told
rocks that skirted the little waterfall, assisting her ten- bim the whole story, and expressed his resolve never to
derly over every difficult spot. Thus passed two years; || abandon the boy so long as he needed the care of others.
and he was verging to early manhood.
He enlarged upon the boy's capabilities, and lamented
But however advantageous the change in his situa- |his own increasing inability to place him in a way to
tion might be to himself, it boded no good to his gene- Il gratify his thirst for knowledge; "but at any rate,"
rous friend. Previous to the despatching of the note, concluded Simon, "in spite of hypocrites and enemies,
already noticed as having been received by Simon, l'll stick to him so long as there's a hair on my head !"
Squire Thrasher had requested one Thomas Clarke, a When the lawyer returned from his journey, he again
great babbler, and from some previous circumstances, partook of Simon's hospitality, and communicated a
no friend to Simon, to attend him at his office, as he plan which he had matured, to lake Charles Lincoln
had some little business with him. On his arrival, the into his own office and his own house; his services
wild.nl


258
THE FARMER AND THE SQUIRE,
therein and about, to be the recompense for his instruc- | undermining Simon's good name by a thousand arts which
tion and board. Simon perceived in an instant the bis eminent standing for piety enabled him the more
bright prospect this offer opened to the lad, and all readily to accomplish; he next contrived to involve him
selfish views being wholly subservient to his regard for iin perplexing law suits, until ruin stared him in the
the boy's interest, he exclaimed-
face. All this was slowly attained; for the squire pro-
“It's the very thing, Mr. Johnson. You wont repent gressed no faster in his purposes than was consistent
of it, and I shall live to see the lad honored yet!" with his own good name. He acted, moreover, in every
Charles went away with his new protector the very thing, as the agent or counsel of others; never appear-
next morning. Simon sat with him alone awhile before ing personally interested in the result. Simon bauled
he departed, and communicated to him as much of the manfully with his fate, but as bis affairs became more
effect upon himself, of the protection he had afforded and more desperate, his strong will, so long repressed
him, as he thought would be available to spur his ener-' for want of opportunity for exercise, and now strength-
gies to justify his patron's good opinion, and bade him ened by wrong and misery, broke out into a thousand
farewell.
extravagances that operated to his prejudice, and gave
“Good bye-good bye, Charles," cried Mrs Walker, him, at times, the bearing of a madman. He had gone
as the family gathered about the door, before which the so far as to assault the squire several times in public
wagon that was to convey him to new scenes was places and on public occasions, being prevented from
standing, and into the rear of which his little trunk had inflicting injury upon him only by the intervention of
been already placed ;="don't forget us-and remem- the bystanders. It consorted with the squire's maneu-
ber to thank a kind Overruler for all his goodness to you. vres to forgive " these sad outrages of a poor, mistaken
Good bye!"
man."
Mary wept violer.tly-and an echoing kiss—for their At last, execution on execution swallowed up all he
love was the love of childhood-was their parting. possessed in the world. He was turned away from the
Simon watched the wagon until it rounded the base homestead, a broken-hearted man, with scarce a cent
of the hill, and then whispered to himself, “That boy'll in his pocket, and a load of debt yet on his head. After
shake hands with the foremost, yet!”
a few wanderings with his wife and daughter, he found
a retreat in the hut that had been the widow's. Mary
CHAPTER v.
would willingly have labored in any vocation for the
The sky overcast.
support of her wretched parents, but it seemed to make
Five years have Aed away, and the scene is bitterly Simon beside himself when she was away from his side,
changed. We cannot introduce our readers to a happy and a scanty support was obtained by Simon's day la-
fireside at the pleasant farmhouse where Simon Walker bor, added to Mary's earnings as a seamstress.
was born and bred, but must lead them away to the Charles had corresponded with Mary during the first
miserable habitation where old Mrs. Lincoln-now year of his absence, acknowledging often his deep obli-
sleeping in death, was first discovered. There is pov- gation to her parents, and expressing his resolution to
erty still under the crazy roof; but it is borne by other || apply himself diligently to his studies. After two years
occupants. It is an afternoon in Summertime, and an had gone by, he had permission from Mr. Johnson to
aged female is weaving in the main apartment. She visit the scene of his happiest days. But he was no
labors slowly; for she seems bent and stiff with sorrow | longer a boy; and Mary was no longer "little" Mary.
as well as age. But now a pleasant-toned voice is At sixteen years of age, she had bloomed into the full-
heard from a little sleeping-room that has been added ness and graces of womanhood. They had longed to
since we saw the hut in the possession of Mrs. Lincoln. see each other, but when they met, one would have
By the one small window that gives light to this wretch sworn 'twas the most unpleasant thing that could have
ed apartment, a girl is sitting, whose looks betoken happened, so cold and distant were they. Charles was
her to be some twenty years of age. She wears a dress | abashed in the presence of the full-grown, blushing girl,
of the plainest calico, yet her appearance is neat and and Mary,into whose innocent head it had never clearly
attractive. She is steadily at work upon an article of entered that Charles would be any other than the light-
female dress, and has asked some question relating to it. hearted, communicative boy that she had known, shrunk
The elder female answered her briefly, and then ad- |back from the greeting of a coated young man, with a
ded, “ Mary, isn't it now five years come August, since keen black eye and an expanded forehead, and she
Charles first went away with Cousin Johnson ?”
could not articulate a word of welcome. But he staid
“Yes, mother," was heard in a low tone from the la fortnight, and before its close, this constraint wore off.
little room.
Wore off? How do you think they parted ? On the
“Then his time's out, and he'll be able to practice. I door-step as before ? Oh no!-bui away in the nook
Well, good luck go with him!” and Mrs. Walker ut- ll made by the jutting rocks, where he had loved in former
tered a sigh over her own fortunes that became half a | days to read to her and deck her with flowers; his adieu,
groan, and pursued her weaving.
while he pressed her to his bosom, was a kiss of pure
It has been already told that on the very night when I and enduring love! They had plighted their solemn
Simon Walker interrupted Squire Thrasher in his savage faith!
castigation of Charles Lincoln, the squire vowed a des- Alas! Charles could yield no aid to the sinking for-
perale revenge. He had steadily pursued it. First tunes of the man who was bending beneath the weight


THE FARMER AND THE SQUIR E.
259
of injustice and villany, induced by interference in his|Mary had bowed very coldly to Sophia, and reddened
behalf. He could only make Simon's suffering at the cruelty of her remark, awaiting in wonder to
which implied suffering in the bosom of his beloved learn what this strange visit purported. Sophia ad-
Mary, a spur to increasing exertion for the attainment dressed some lively questions to her, but received no
of that knowledge of bis profession, which should there-encouragement to freedom, and soon desisted, turning
after afford a sure, though it might be, a tardy relief. wholly to Mrs. Walker, who was fully satisfied that
It may be imagined how Mary feasted on his letters, Squire Thrasher had repented of his conduct, and sent
how little she regarded the four-miles' walk to the posti his daughter to smooth matters over, and she was cor-
office, when she knew one would come ;-and how respondingly elated, so that she replied to all Sophia's
proudly she looked forward to the future. To her, the queries with openness and alacrity.
present was as nothing, save when embittered by the “It's a nice piece of cloth you have there on the beam,
misery of her parents.
Mrs. Walker,” said Sophia.
But villany, " in the long run," seldom plasters upl “Oh, no, my dear. There's but little there. I have
every loophole of detection. Squire Thrasher had had to unroll it and cut it off for Mr. Walker's clothes
grown richer and richer, prouder and prouder, more as fast as it has been made. There's but little there."
and more avaricious, more and more ostentatious in his “Ah, there's a pig-stye !" cried Sophia, as she looked
show of religion, and more and more dishonest in all from the window. “Have you pigs ?”
transactions which seemed to afford an opportunity to “Yes, we've a fine fat hog, and a little pig. I don't
practice deceit with impunity. No one, even now, dured know what we should do without that hog. Winter is
to say any thing, and the squire led in prayer.meetings, coming, and Simon wont be able to get much work.
and was chosen chairman at town meetings as ever. | Poor old man, he can't do but little now, for he is old
But there were longues that longed to speak, and there and decrepit, and we depend upon that hog to get
were eyes that looked in compassion on the emaciated through the Winter with. Mr. Bellows, the black-
face of the aged and miserable, but once happy and smith, gave it to us last year, and a little thing it was.
hearty Simon Walker; and there were hearts that felt He gave us the pig, too. God will bless him for't!"
the sting of compunction for the injustice with which it “I love to look at pigs, dearly,” exclaimed Sophia.
was felt, but not yet acknowledged) he had been treated. May I go out and see them ?”
The afternoon in which I have opened the door of H “Oh, yes," answered Mrs. Walker, “ I'll shew 'em
Simon's hut, was of a Saturday, in the long days of | to you”-and she led the way to the pig-stye. Mary
July; and when it drew near to five o'clock, which I did not follow.
Mary could determine only by the position of the sun, il “Why, 'tis a nice great hog, indeed-fit to kill now,
she left the window of her room, laid by her work, and Swill wont fatten a hog like that, will it, Mrs. Walker?"
kindled the fire by which to prepare their frugal supper. “Oh, dear, no; we give it a liule corn. But it fats
As she was stooping by the hearth, her mother suddenly
very easy, though.”
exclaimed,
“Corn-have you got corn ?"
* There's a wagon in the valley, and only a woman Oy
“Yes, Mr. Bellows paid Simon for work, in corn, and
in it. It can't be coming here !"
brought it up when he brought up the pig. We've
Mary looked out in the direction of the winding road, ||
enough to last most a month."
from the patched window. It was a rare thing to see
“Well, really, I should like to see that corn," said
a vehicle on that unfrequented bye-road, and it excited!
curiosity. Sure enough, it came directly to the door, l
he door Sophia, gazing curiously about on all sides.
and who should alight but Sophia Thrasher, the daugh- “Should you,” answered Mrs. Walker, pleased at
ter of the squire. Mary was wonderstruck!
the interest she manifested in their humble arrange-
When Sophia entered the low doorway, smiling and
| ments. “That's very easy—it's in the garret. There,
nodding as though she had been an intimate friend, her
dear, step up that ladder, and you'll see it."
studiously rich apparel and costly ornaments strikingly il Sophia ascended a small ladder in the narrow entry,
contrasted with the humble array of her father's victimis.' until her head was sufficiently elevated to look into the
To Mrs. Walker's simple mind, this ominous appear-garret. These extraordinary pains-taking to inspect
ance portended a cessation of hostilities, and she set pigs and corn-heaps, would have excited the suspicions
forward a chair and desired the visitant to sit, apolo- of even the single-minded Mrs. Walker, had she not
gizing for the shabliness of the apartment and furni- been fully possessed with the idea that this was to be
ture.
the beginning of brightness. Mary was tremulous with
“ Why, Mary, how d'y'e do ?-Mrs. Walker I'm anxiety, and when the visitor bad taken her adieu, and
really glad to see you! I thought as I hadn't seen you driven from the door, she burst into tears, and said
for so long a time, I would just ride over and say all mournfully-
word to an old schoolmate. Why, what a sweet cot-
“Mother, there'll no good come of this. I feel that
tage you have here," was the exclamation of the girl,
the exclamation of the girl. there is more meant than there appears to be. Poor
as she accepted of the offered seat, casting a scrutinizing father! poor, poor father!”
glance around the room.
“Why, child,” cried Mrs. Walker, turning pale,
" It's dreadful cold in Winter, miss," said Mrs. “ you frighten me! What can put such an idea into
Walker, shaking her head.
l your head! I never dreampt of such a thing. It ap-


260
THE FAR MER AND THE SQUIRE.
peared to me that this visit was a sort of make-up-like. ll Mary had now a new turn given to her thoughts.
Mercy, mercy, don't look so sad!"
Could it be that Charles was thus fortunate. The
“ Time will show what it means," answered Mary, : :hought gave a brigbeness to her eye and a bloom to her
and with a foreboding sigh she hung on the tea-kettle. cheek that misery had frightened away. But why
Half convinced by her trust in Mary's judgment, that didn't he write? Perhaps he would come himself with
there was room for mistrust, and provoked with ber- the news and her eye grew brighter still.
self for the freedom with which she had communicated | The table was laid for supper, and only Simon was
with Sophia, Mrs. Walker continued her weaving, talk- / waited for before it should be served. Mary stationed
ing the matter over to herself in a low tone, wlule Mary herself at the window to catch the first glimpse of his
silently attended to her labors. Thus an hour or more approaching form, but soon became so absorbed in her
passed, when Mary's attention was attracted by the own reflections, that he had entered before she was
sound of wheels. After one anxious look from the aware. The old man, over whose head had passed now
window, she sunk into a chair, hardly able to articu-nearly seventy Winters, was not the hale, erect Simon,
late-
| whom we have before seen. His hair had becure
“Mother, mother, there's Mr. Hays. What shall blanched to extreme whiteness, and was scattered in
we do! What shall we do!"
thin locks over his head. His eye was sunken, and his
Mr. Hays was the deputy sheriff. He drove up, fas. face seamed by a thousand wrinkles. It had lost its
tened his horse, and came in, leaving a companion in bland, attractive gentleness, and yet firmness of expres-
the wagon. He was a kind man, and when he show- sion-the gentleness was gone, and the firmness had be-
ed himself in the doorway, Mary sprung to him, took come harshness. He was weary and downcast, and
his extended hand in both hers, and gazed into his face without a word, ne sunk into a chair. How could his
with open lips and repressed breathing, lo hear his er- wife and daughter give him cheering words of welcome!
rand.
1.Mis. Walker sat with her face buried in her handker-
“Good day, Miss Mary! Good day, Mrs. Walker! 'chief, and Mary silently wiped her father's face, kissed
I expect I ain one o' these visitors whose room's better his brow, and placed the lea upon the table. They drew
than their company. Don't look so cast down, Miss around it, and revived by the draught, Simon said
Mary. It's dreadful bad, I know, to be put to't as you, “Well, Mr. Crombie don't want me any longer. I
are, but I kinder concate it'll all come right afore long. |shall get but little more work this Summer, and unless
You've had the squire's darter to see ye, haint ye? A we kill the hog in September—".
pesky sight she wanted to see ye! It's a bad business!! “Oh, Simon, we've no hog-no corn! They're gone
I'm come on; however, it must be done, tho' I'd give a -all gone!" So exclaiming, Mrs. Walker burst into
five-dollar bill, I hadn't the doin' ont. I've got to take an ecstacy of weeping.
away that hog o' yourn, and the corn that's overhead. i Simon placed bis cup that he had lifted half way to
It's mortal discouragin' to be tagged about so, I know, his mouth, back in its saucer, and looked as one thun-
but don't think hard o' me, for doin' what the law obli- , der-struck, at Mary." With tearful eyes, she related
ges me to."
lithe events of the afternoon. Simon beard her to the
So Mr. Hays went out, and Mary, now that the worst end without uttering a sound, and when she had ended,
was known, summoned resolution and resignation, and suill sat with so strange and fearful an expression of
devoted herself to the relief and consolation of her mingled wildness and despair and agony, that the ter-
mother, who had nearly fainted, and now sat groaning rified girl sprung up, exclaiming,
in the depths of despair. The loud squealing of the “Faiber, dear father, what is it! what is it!"
hog as he was lifted into the wagon, made her almost
de her almost !! There was no answer. Simon's face grew paler and
beside herself. But it was soon over. Mr. Hays hur- paler, then flushed and swollen in every vein, while his
ried his operations out of compassion for the females,
ampassion for the females teethi were set firmly together, and his frame seemed to
and the bug and corn having been deposited in the ve- expand and straigbeen with the intensity of emotion.
hicle, he came in again.
At length he started up to his feet, brought his fist down
"'Twont do for me not to charge my fees on the co'rt, il upon the table with a blow that almost split it in twain,
Mrs. Walker, but as to making a cent out o' this ere
shook off his daughter who, shrieking, had grasped his
transaction, I'd sooner throw up my commission. Here, arm, seized his hat, and hurried away.
ma'am, here's the amount on't. I'll hand it to you
CHAPTER VI.
aforehand, and that'll make us square. Speakin' o'
A rencontre ensues.
that, Miss Mary, you didn't know Squire Johnson was
dead, did ye !"
There was a prayer-meeting in the village that Sat-
“Dead !” exclaimed Mary, earnestly,
urday evening. The minister had left town; and as he
“Yes-and considerin' what he's done for that bean was to preach the next day at some distance, and his
o'yourn, I'm a little surprised he haint writ an account | brother, who was to officiate in exchange with him, had
on't. I was there day afore yesterday, and I was give not arrived, so Squire Thrasher was in the desk at this
to understand that he'd gi’n every cent of his property i prayer-meeting. He was gifted in prayer, and he never
to Lincoln, only conditionin' that the wider should be prayed more ferven:ly than on this occasion. But Mr.
took care on, and Lincoln should go right on with his Hays and his companion in the hog expedition of the
business there. But good arternoon, good arternoon!" | afternoon, had taken good care to spread abroad &


THE FARMER AND THE SQUIRE.
261
knowledge of the transaction, and to the eyes of many, || her, but before they had time to offer assistance, a third
the veil was lifted from the hypocrite's brow, and he had entered the church and darted to her side. It was
was regarded with indignation, for no one, save a fiend, Charles Lincoln.
will take the bread from the mouth of the honest poor ! He liſted her and bore her to the nearest dwelling,
man. The services proceed, and the equire was in the where the sound of his voice, more effectual than the
midst of an explanation of that sublime sentiment of multiplied restoratives that were offered, recalled her to
scripture, “ Do unto other even as ye would that others herself. Mr. Bellows considerately and benevolently
should do unto you"-dwelling eloquently on the Chris- sent his son after Mrs. Walker, who had been left alono
tian graces of charity, forgiveness of injuries and long in the hut all this while, and led the passive Simon to
suffering, when Simon Walker stalked up the centre his own home, where he was put to bed, and the remain-
aisle. He did not remove his ragged straw hat, from der of the wretched family assembled together to dis-
under which his white hair hung down, dripping with cuss their strange situation.
sweat-he did not look to the right hand nor to the
CHAPTER VII.
left, but with an eye of fire, too bright for the sane ex-
ercise of reason, fixed on that of the squire, whose cheek
The climax.
blanched, and whose words stuck in his throat at the Squire Thrasher sued Simon for damages for the as-
sight of him—and an energy of step-for his foot came sault, in the sum of five thousand dollars; and though
like iron to the floor-100 firm in one of his age, for a high bail was required, as the magistrate before whom
aught but a diseased action of his nerves and muscles- he was examined was in close dealing with the squire,
and a deadly and dreadful paleness of face-he tramped to the boiling rage, not unmingled with apprehension of
up the aisle, amidst the bewildered silence of the gaping
the latter, twenty times the sum was, on every hand,
congregation, mounted the platform, and before the agi- | freely offered. Charles was admitted to practice before
tated squire could recover self-command, grasped him the term of the court at which the trial would come
by the collar and hair and pulled him headlong, by a on, and arranged it with Mr. Bellows that Simon and
single effort, to the floor. He then kneeled on his his wife and daughter, should remain at his house in
breast, and bestowed blow after blow upon his face with the mean time. Simon was resolute that Charles should
lightning rapidity, mastering him as though he had been appear unassisted in the defence, although it was to be
but a child.
his first effort at court.
Honest Mr. Bellows, the blacksmith, was the first to Perhaps no one was more anxiously interested in the
leave his pew and advance to Simon's side ; but he result, ihan Mary. Her father was the perilled defend-
did it with a deliberation which evinced no urgent im ant, and her lover, dearer to her than life, was to make
pulse to prevent the beating which the squire was so his first essay in his profession.
signally receiving. Simon operated with such activity, The court-house was filled to overflowing by the fel-
that before the blacksmith rescued the squire from his low citizens of the parties, when ihe day of trial came.
grasp, he had inflicted full six powerful blows. Of course the evidence of the assault was clear and ex-
" There, Simon," said the blacksmith “ you've given plicit, and it formed no part of Charles' object to
him enough. That'll do"--and he lifted him from off make any attempt to disprove or weaken it. He rested
the squire. The latter rose, a hideous spectacle, bat-
the defence on the provocation solely, for mitigation of
tered as he was, with the blood streaming from both damages. He called Mr. Hays and others, as witnesses
nostrils-and in a tone of extremest rage at the black to the unceasing severity with which Squire Thrasher
smith's calm demeanor, he cried out, wiping away the | had pursued the defendant until the last dollar of his
blood that filled his mouth,
property was gone. There was testimony to the pur-
“Why didn't you hurry to my rescue? I might have chase of demands against him that they might be put in
been killed by the ruffian!"
suit; and he exposed a system of hypocrisy and cun-
“Well, the fact is, squire, I've a sort of an opinion ning to conceal illegality and oppression, that made the
that a lickin' 'll do you good, and if he'd a' tackled you squire, who now found that “murder will out," turn
any where but here, I don't know as I should a' inter white as the sheet on which he was taking notes, and
fered at all!"
his hand to shake as though he were palsied. Again
The congregation had all been standing during this and again did his counsel endeavor to turn the strong
strange scene—men women and children, the former, setting tide by offering objection upon objection ; but
having by this time, gathered about the actors. Simon Charles had carefully calculated his ground, and all
leaned against a pew, exhausted, quivering, and almost were overruled by the court. A postponement of the
lifeless, and as the blacksmith concluded his answer, case was moved on various pleas, but they were declared
Mary Walker, who, frenzied with the conviction that insufficient, and Charles triumphantly proceeded in his
her father meditated self destruction, had followed him exposures. All this had come like a thunder-clap upon
from the cottage-tottered into the church; and when the squire. He had not estimated the diminution of his
she saw the squire's bloody countenance, and her gasp- | popularity and credit, and he found many whom he had
ing father, and the eager crowd, a vague sense of some- || thought secured to secrecy, making declarations of
thing dreadful, combining with previous terror, forced events that he would have given thousands to have
from her a heart-rending shriek, and she fell forward on sunk in oblivion. He looked about on the faces of his
her face, upon the floor. The women sprang towards town's-people, and he fancied he saw exultation in their
32


262
THE FAR MER AND THE SQUIRE.
countenances at the unravelment of his character. He him to be immediately levied. He further testified that
almost sunk down under the desk at which he was sit- he remonstrated with the squire, as being too hard, but
ting.
was silenced by the threat that any interference would
Mary was called to the stand; and her mild beauty cost him his commission. When he then asked where
and modesty, and yet calm self-possession as she told this property was to be found, he was answered that he
what she knew of the progress of events, interested must wait a few minutes. In the mean time, the squire
overy heart. She closed by a recital of Sophia Thrash- seemed uneasy, and often looked out, as though on the
er's visit to their house before the removal of the hog watch for some one-that soon the daughter of the
and corn; and as the turpitude of the daughter's agency, squire, the witness who had just testified, drove up to
by the probable direction of her father, struck the minds the door-that the squire immediately said on seeing
of the spectators, there was a looking from one to her, that he could now tell in a few moments where the
another, and a silence of astonishment. Squire Thrasher property was-that he then left witness alone, and wit-
hastily whispered to his counsel, and Sophia was called ness saw him-he having left the door ajar, whispering
to the stand. The squire had anticipated such evi- with his daughter in the entry-that soon he came back,
dence, and had extorted from Sophia, by promises and rubbing his hands in joy, and told him to take posses.
threats, a declaration that she would disguise the truth, sion of a hog and a few bushels of corn, describing where
and deny the object for which she had visited Simon's they were, and that he took them accordingly.
house. She was richly dressed-but how wide the Mary again testified more particularly to Sophia's
comparison between her appearance and the bearing of conduct and conversation while at the house, and not
Mary Walker! She could scarcely reach the stand- all the cunning and art of the squire's counsel could dis-
and after the oath had been administered, only prevented turb her calmness or betray her into one contradiction
herself from falling, by grasping the railing before her, or dilemma. There was a murmur of applause when
with both hands. Her farther's counsel encouraged her, she sat down, and it was agony to the trembling squire,
and after a pause, she related in a low tone, the story on whom every eye was turned. He covered his face
that her father had coined and put into her mouth. She with his handkerchief.
averred that she went simply to visit Mrs. Walker and Sophia had been sitting all this while like a statue of
Mary, whom she had once known; that this was with marble, scarcely seeming to breathe. Charles beckoned
out the desire or knowledge of her father, to gratify her her to the stand after the rustling in the excited crowd
own curiosity ;-that she did not remember to have said had subsided, and said solemnly-
a word about the hog and corn, and was reprimanded!“The inferences to be drawn from the testimony of
by her father on her return, for having made the visit. these two witnesses, are sadly against you. There is
She went safely through her testimony, and the squire, now an opportunity to explain this mystery; to relieve
who had been leaning forward while she gave it, in the yourself from the embarrassment of your position. I
intensest anxiety, now drew a long breath of relief, which pray you, for your own earthly and eternal good, if you
was heard through the whole court-house, and turned a have swerved in any thing from the truth, reveal it now!
look of malignant triumph upon Charles. It being sig. Fear not the anger of an earthly parent; from that, the
nified to him that he was at liberty to cross question laws can protect you ; but there is another parent whose
the witness if he desired, he said nothing to Sophia, but eye is upon you, whose car is open to hear you, and
with a solemn seriousness of manner, addressed the from His anger there is no escape! Earnestly I beseech
court. A breathless silence reigned throughout the you, do not think to deceive your God! Tell all, and
mass of bodies outside the bar and in the galleries, for truly, truly !"
there were these two young girls, whose evidence harshly Sophia sunk forward; her eyes closed; her lips grew
conflicted. The connection subsisting between Charles i livid, and she would have fallen, had not Mary, who
Lincoln and Mary, was also generally known, and this il sat near, supported her to a chair. Then she removed
circumstance added interest to the scene. “May it her bonnet, and with evident solicitude, moistened her
please your honors,” said Charles, “nothing but the brow with water from a pitcher that had been standing
most painful sense of duty could urge me to a step that on the table near. Again a murmur of applause was
may blast the character of an individual, it may be, for heard.
ever, and overshadow with wretchedness the passage of The miserable girl shortly recovered, and as she gave
a life. But that duty requires of me to beg permission signs of returning animation, her father rose from his
of the court to call forward other witnesses before cross chair to go to her; but Charles bastily said
questioning the one now on the stand, for the express | “May it please the court, since the witness stands in
and undisguised purpose of convincing the jury, that she no need of the assistance of the plaintiff, I request that
has stamped upon her young brow, the foul seal of per- the court will prevent any communication between
jury!"
them.” Pale, and with a quivering lip, Squire Thrash-
The desired permission being granted, Charles recall- er resumed his chair. Charles signified to Sophia to
ed Mr. Hays, the sheriff, who testified that he was sum- retain her seat, and then continued in a more gentle and
moned to Squire Thrasher's on the -- of July; and encouraging tone—"I know that by this time you have
that when he arrived there, he was informed by the reflected how infinitely better it is to adhere to the truth
squire, that he had got hold of some property of Simon even though the whole world should be offended. I
Walker's, and wished one of the exccutions out against know you are resolved to make yourself worthy of our


TO MY WIFE.
263
confidence. Tell us; were you not sent by your || thanks of his Mary, and hastened with her to relieve
father to examine the defendant's premises, and to re- | the anxiety of Simon and Mrs. Walker, who were still
port what you should find; and did you not convey to at the friendly blacksmith's. It had done one's heart
him his firet knowledge of the hog and the corn? Fear good to mark the sparkling eye and crimson cheek of
nothing. If you speak the truth, there is nothing to the happy Mary, when the chick-falling tears of her pa-
fear."
rents spoke their gratitude to the beloved of her heart.
The half-articulated “yes,” which was her answer, Simon had been too weak to attend the court, but with
was heard in the remotest corner of the court-room, in eager anxiety he questioned one and another of their
the death-like silence that prevailed. She could say no transactions, more interested in an account of Charles'
more, but with an hysteric sob, fainted, and was borne management than of any thing concerning himself and
from the court.
his joy at the result that restored to him his character,
Charles then commenced his argument. He admitted and opened a path of peace for his declining years, mado
the assault, and stated his intention to suffer the plain. him seem like himself again, and gave his face the good
tiff's counsel to make the most of its aggravated circum- old Simon Walker look. His town's-people flocked to
stances. But he hoped the jury had been convinced by congratulate him, uneasy until they had expressed sor-
the evidence he had presented, that the defendant had row for the manner in which they had treated him. He
labored under the most extraordinary provocation, and had a hearty shake from every one, and there was a
that from the character of the plaintiff, exposed in that pardonable triumph in his oft repeated boast—"Aha!
evidence, he could not have received any material injury! I told you so! he's just the boy I said he'd be !"
to his feelings, as he certainly had not to his person. What more have I to say? Shall I tell you that
He drew an affecting picture of the accumulation of dis- | Charles and Mary were soon married-that he fulfilled
tress under which the defendant had fallen; the tri- the requests of Mr. Johnson, and installed Mary the
umph of the plaintiff's revenge for a most laudable act mistress of his home—the dispenser of its joys ?—that
of the defendant. He adverted happily and eloquently he took Simon and Mrs. Walker under his roof, that he
to his own interest in the fortunes of the defendant, and might cheer their old age as they had cheered his youth
his belief, sustained as he was by the evidence, that he that the fame he acquired in the management of his
had been the innocent cause of that series of persecu- first cause established his reputation, and that he be-
tion which had finally driven the defendant to frenzy came eminent at the bar ?
and outrage. But when, in closing, he arranged the Shall I tell you that Squire Thrasher was speedily
circumstances of the taking away of his bread from the excommunicated from the church that he had so long
very mouth, as it were, of the poor man—of that tiend-secretly disgraced, and that as soon as possible, he re-
ish spirit which could make one's own child an instru- moved, bag and baggage, to the far West ? All these
ment to effect so base an end, and more than all, could valedictory matters will be left wholly to the imagina-
instigate that child to the commission of an infamous | tion of the reader, and I bid farewell.
crime--the sin of perjury—a father selling his offspring
.co the devil. His stirring and thrilling eloquence was
Original.
irresistible, and he sat down, triumphant in the impres-
sion he had conveyed, of the possession of brilliant tal-
TO MY WIFE.
ents and surpassing power.
My heart clings fondly unto thee,
The plaintiff's counsel said but little. He was con-||
My well-beloved wife;
scious of the bulwark reared against him, and of the
Without thy smiles, how could I bear
impotence of an attempt to overthrow it. After an
The checkered ills of life?
impartial charge, the jury retired, and Squire Thrasher,
Thou art my sun to cheer the way
whose iron nerves had thus far sustained him, but which
In disappointment's hour;
shrunk from the endurance of the suspense before the
My sweet support and gentle stay,
When storms of sorrow lower.
declaration of the verdict, left the court-house. A loud
and undisguised hiss greeted his departure, which hur-
The cares that sink my spirits low-
The gloomy fears that rise
ried his steps, and which the outcries of the officers for
Are all forgot amid the joys
order could not subdue.
Thy constant love supplies.
The jury were not long in consultation; and after the
usual forms of the reception of a verdict, it was declared
When other friends forsake, I know
There's confidence in one,
to be found for the plaintiff with one dollar's damages.
Whose true, unchanging, faithful heart
It was received with a shout that forty sheriffs could
I daily lean upon.
not have repressed or restrained.
If sickness come, thy constant watch
CHAPTER IX.
Will be around my bed-
And thy soft hands will gently wipe
Conclusion.
The cold drops from my head.
Mortified, enraged, and fearful of the future, Squire
Oh, who would pass this vale of tears
Thrasher returned home with his humiliated daughter.
Without a friend so dear!
Proud, elated, and confident in hope, Charles Lincoln
Whose presence every moment cheers-
received the congratulations of his friends and the dearer
Brings peace and eomfort near.


264
THB POISONED JELLY.
Original.
11 Month after month slowly wore away, and now a year
THE POISONED JELLY; and a half had passed, and still Ricaredo came pot.
Isabella, however, knew nothing but death would keep
OR, THE COURT LADY'S REVENGE."
him away longer than the two years he had specified,
Translated from the Spanish.
and now looked forward to the delightful surety of see-
ing him at the end of six months. She delivered her-
CHAPTER VII.
self up to happy anticipations and sweet musings. Now,
After a short and prosperous voyage, Isabella and
she imagined her beloved arrived—fancied the reigned
her parents once more beheld their native shores, and reproaches with which she would chide his prolonged
were soon landed at the city of Cadiz. They were re-
'absence-she listened to his excuses-and now pressed
ceived by their friends with great demonstrations of joy,
her pardoned lover to her bosom.
who congratulated them on their escape from two ene- Alas! fair girl-thy persecutions are not over. In
mies-lhe Moors and the English. Her native air, the midst of these sweet imaginings, a letter arrived
security from danger, and the hope of soon seeing Ri- from Catalina, the mother of Ricaredo, which had been
caredo, all joined to restore Isabella to her former | written several months since. It was as follows:
health, and after a time to her radiant beauty. After
recovering from the fatigues of a sea voyage, Isabella
“Soon after thy departure, dear daughter, Ricaredo set out
and her parents set out for Seville, where they had
for France, on his way to accomplish a vow of pilgrimage to
Rome. Guillarte, his page, accompanied him. Months passed
agreed to wait for Ricaredo. They hired a handsome
away, and we heard nothing of our son; when, lately, Guillarte
house opposite to the monastery of Santa Paula, in which returned with the sorrowful news, that our beloved Ricaredo
was a nun, cousin to Isabella, of whom Ricaredo was had been treacherously murdered in France by the Count Ar-
nesto! Think of the anguish of his father, myself and his
to inquire for them.
betrothed, at this news. Pray for our beloved son, dear Isabel-
Their great wealth and Isabella's peerless beauty,
la, he well merits thy intercession with Heaven, for he loved
soon rendered the family famous in Seville, and they thee well-and entreat of God that he give us all patience
found themselves in a large circle of admirers and piously to cndure our great affliction, and smooth our bed of
friends. After their arrival they wrote to the queen,
death. May our Lord give thee and thy parents a long and
peaceful life!
according to her request, informing her of their safe
return, and also to her parents, Clotaldo and Catalina,
CATALINA."
for Isabella still called them by that endearing epithet. Vainly did the wretched Isabella turn to every side
From the latter came an answer full of kindness, in-l of this letter and examine again the writing and sig-
forming them Ricaredo had set oul upon his pilgrimage nature, hoping there would be some mistake, and this
to Rome. Happy that her lover was on the road to disastrous tale would be untrue. But she could not
seek her, Isabella's spirits revived. She determined so doubt it. She well remembered Guillarte, the fa
to regulate her life and actions, that upon his entrance
attendant of her husband, who could have no induce-
into Seville, the fame of her virtue should reach him ment to forge this tale. Nor had his mother, for she
before the name of their residence. She seldom left believed them eternally separated. It was then true;
the house except to visit the monastery-altended no and she was wretched, hopeless for ever! She shed no
feasts except those of the church, and went from her tear-by no expression or sign could an observer have
oratory only to perform her prayers in the Cathedral on read the deep agony which was rending her desolate
fast days. There were many pleasures to invite her, l bosom.
and many places haunted by the fair and gay, but she
Calmly passing into her oratory, she knelt before her
never was seen on the river bank nor on the walk of
crucifix, and there vowed to become a nun as soon as
Triana, nor made she one in the vast crowd which met
the necessary forms would allow, and spend the remain-
at Xeres, or the field of Tahlada, or St. Sebastian day.
der of her days as a spouse of God. The parents of
Every one was loud in praise of her piety and prudence,
Isabella crushed in their bosoms the grief the events
and all the young cavaliers of the city sought to obtain
had caused them, and devoted themselves to their
the favor of one so good and so lovely. Serenades
daughter, in order to alleviate, if possible, the bitter-
were heard under her windows, tournaments were given
ness of her doom. The holy and Christian resolution
for her, and all her servants were bribed to speak in
which she had taken, tempered a little the force of her
favor of these enamore 1 young men. The houses of
fortune-tellers and dealers in magic arts were crowded
affliction, and induced her at last to listen to their en-
with those who placed credit in these imposters, to hire
treaties to wait until the two years were over which
Ricaredo had mentioned as the term of his absence.
them to exercise their power over the wealthy and beau-
tiful Isabella, so that her heart might be inclined in
This they did, not hoping or dreaming he was alive, but
trusting to time to weaken Isabella's affliction, and with
their favor. But Isabella, whose whole soul was filled
it her resolve to take the veil. The remaining six
with her absent husband, stood like a rock over which
months were passed by the sorrowing widow, as she
the waves dash, and the winds are howling in vain.-
termed herself, in the exercises of religion, and in pre- .
Secure in its own strength it defies their power.
parations for her entrance into the convent of Santa
Paula, which was the abode of her cousin.
*Concluded from pago 224
Two years had passed, and the day arrived which


TI E POISONEDJELLY.
265
was to see the beautiful Isabella quit that world which I “Yes, it is Ricaredo! my true spousc—the half of
had so harshly treated her and enter the peaceful sanc- | my soul! I have ever held you stamped in my memory
tuary of religion. The news of this event had created and guarded in my heart, and for you, Señor I must
great sensation in the city, and long before the hour, the abandon my pious determinations, which would have
church of the convent and the street through which the led me to a religious life when I received the news of
young novice was to pass, were tilled with curious and your death through your mother's letter. God has cho-
sympathising spectators.
sen to turn me from my resolves by this unexpected
A larger and more splendid procession than attended event, and I will not resist his decrees. Come with me
Isabella from her house to the convent, had not been then, to our father's house, and by the rites of our holy
seen before in Seville. Besides her own personal friends Catholic church I will be yours for ever."
and relatives, were all the persons of consequence in During this interruption of the procession, the Asis-
the city, with the chief justice, the archbishop, and the tente, the Vicar and Provisor of the Archbishop, were
vicar general. As is usual with those who go to take gazing upon the lovers with surprise, unable to imagine
the veil, Isabella wore the richest and most lasteful cos- to what it would lead. They were anxious for an ex-
tume. With a lingering feeling of the world left, she planation why the nun so suddenly changed her mind,
was attired in the bridal dress which was given her by and choose a marriage before the convent. The father
the queen of England-embroidered with pearls and of Isabella prayed their patience for a few moments,
glittering with diamonds. The procession was on foot, and entreated them to return to his house, where many
for so great was the general desire to gaze upon the wonderful things would be related to them.
famed Isabella, that even if wished, it could not have “Fellow-citizens!” now cried a voice from the crowd
been possible lo ride in carriages. Her loveliness, her around them, “ this redeemed captive is a great En-
rich attire, and her story moved every bosom in her glish admiral! Two years ago he rescued a rich Portu-
favor. Some blessed her others her parents—while guese ship from the Moorish corsairs. I know him
heaven was thanked that such beauty and goodness was well, for he rescued me from the corsairs also, and gave
given to the world.
me and three hundred other captives liberty and money
All pressed forward to see her, none more anxiously and sent us home to Spain !"
than a man in a dress worn by those captives who had Ricaredo now rose in the favor of every one, and this
been ransomed from the Moors. On his breast was al increased the general desire to learn his singular histo-
sign of the Trinity, token of their release by a charita- || ry. Isabella and her parents with Ricaredo, followed
ble Redeemer. The procession arrived in front of the by the principal people of the place and many ecclesi-
convent, from which was passing forth to meet it a train astics, returned to her home, leaving the procession of
of nuns, bearing the cross and various banners. Isabel nuns on the steps, to gaze after her and regret their
la placed one foot upon the step of the porch, when a convent should not contain the beauty of Seville.
voice sounded in her ears :
Seated in a large hall of the mansion of Isabella, her
“Stay! Isabella!" it cried, and she remained breath friends requested the promised history. Ricaredo was
less, motionless. “Stay! Isabella! while I live thou not expert in the Spanish tongue, and the task devolved
shalt not take the vows!"
upon Isabella. She began from the day when she was
Every eye was turned toward the speaker, who came carried away by Clotaldo, and told of the kindness of
plunging and crowding through the people, until he Ricaredo's parents towards her - enlarged upon the
stood before the novice. His round blue bonnet was English queen’s liberality-epoke of the naval fight
thrown off, displaying his golden hair, skin of snow and which had resulted in the liberty of the Spanish cap-
high colored cheeks, tokens of one from a Northern Lives, and declared the promise she had made to consi-
land. He seized the hand of Isabella. “Knowest me der herself as his wife, and in fact, related all that had
not, Isabella ?” he cried. “Look at me-I am thy Ri- occurred to her since her first arrival in England.
caredo-thy husband !"
Every one listened with interest to her narrative, and
“Yes, I know thee,” she said, slowly, seeking to dis- then begged Ricaredo to declare his adventures since
entangle her ideas from the confusion and perplexity | leaving England, and why he wore the dress of the
into which they were so suddenly plunged. “Thou art captive with the mark of being redeemed by charity.
a phantom come lo disturb my repose!"
"I left London with Guillarte, my page," said Rica-
The parents of Isabella seized the hands of the cap-| redo, “ to avoid a marriage with Clistena, the Scotch
tive, and fixed their eager examining eyes upon his face, girl, as Isabella has related. I crossed through France
and joyfully recognized their lost Ricaredo in the weary and arrived at Rome, at which my heart was rejoiced
pilgrim. He broke from their embraces, and throwing and my faith revived. I kissed the feet of the High
himself before the novice, entreated her to desist from Pontiff, confessed my sins, and received a certificate of
her pious resolves, to remember the faith that was my faith and confession in our holy catholic church. I
plighted between them, for in spite of his attire, she then visited all the holy places with which that city
beheld her true and loving Ricaredo before her. The abounds, and of the two thousand gold escudos which I
certainty of her husband's death was firmly fixed upon brought with me, I deposited sixteen hundred in the
the mind of Isabella, but this testimony gave way be charge of Roqui, the celebrated Florentine banker, and
fore that of her eyes, and falling in his arms, she ex- with four hundred in my pocket, set out for Genoa,
claimed:
where I learned some barks wore ready to sail for Spain,


266
THE POISONED JELLY.
On the road from Rome to Florence, we stopped at | captivity in order to purchase the freedom of their un-
Aquapendente, the last town in the Pope's dominions. happy countrymen. In addition to my liberty, I recei-
I alighted at an inn, where I discovered the Count Ar-i ved my precious box with the papers all safe. These I
nesto, my enemy, with four servants disguised in rather showed to the blessed Fathers, and promised to repay
a singular manner for good Catholics. I shut myself them all they had given for me, with five hundred more
up in a room with my servant, hoping they had not ob- ducats towards their charitable enterprise.
served me, and determined to leave the house at dusk, “A year passed ere the bark returned, during which
and lodge in another inn. This idea, however, I aban- : I encountered many strange adventures, which it would
doned, as the Count and his people did not seem to have take too much time to relate. I will, however, men-
recognised me; and, after having supped, I recommen- tion one: I met there one of the Turks from whom I
ded myself to God, and laid my sword by my side and had conquered the India ship. He was so grateful for
seated myself in a chair, as I did not care to go to bed. the liberty which I had given him, that he told no one
My servant was asleep, and I dozing, when I was awa- of this, or I should have lost liberty, if not life.
kened-merely, it would seem, to take an eternal sleep “At last the bark returned, and with five hundred
-by four pistol shots, which were fired at me by Count rescued captives, I arrived in Spain, under the charge
Arnesto and his servants. Leaving me for dead, they of one of the Fathers of Redemption. In Valencia,
mounted their horses and drove off, bidding the land- we all walked in procession to church, and there, after
lord give me Christian burial, as I was a man of rank. many ceremonies in gratitude to heaven, we parted,
Guillarte, as the landlord afterwards told me, suddenly each to seek his home, wearing the badge of ransom,
awakened by the noise, in a great fright threw himself which you see here. Eager to behold my loved Isabel-
from the window, exclaiming—' Oh, wretched me! they la once more, I directed my course to this city, and to
have murdered my master!' and mounting his horse the monastery of Santa Paula, where I was to hear
soon rode from the village. Doubtless he carried the news of my wife; and what there befell me, you already
account of my death to my mother. The people of the know.
inn came to my assistance, and found me pierced by il “My story is now told, my friends; and marvellous
four balls; but none of them mortal. I asked for a as it is, I vouch for its truth. These papers, however,
confessor and all the holy sacraments, as a good Catho- | will confirm all my words.”
lic should, which were soon procured me, and I par- Ricaredo drew forth his tin box and placed the certifi-
took of them.
cates in the hands of the Provisor, who examined them
“After two months I recovered, and set out for Ge- with the assistant bishop, and found they were all the
noa. Here I found two feluccas, which were hired by captive had declared them to be. To add to the won-
two Spanish gentlemen and myself, one to go in ad-ders of the day, the Florentine merchant happened to
vance as a scout, and the other for our accommodation. be present, who-added his testimony to that of Ricare-
Slowly we sailed along from point to point, until we do.
came opposite a place on the coast of France, called Surprise and joy now ran through all the assembly.
the Three Marias, when suddenly two Turkish galleys The assistant and all the fathers, embraced the lovers
shot out of a cove and attacked us. We were soon and their parents, congratulating them on their re-
captured, and the Turks coming on board stripped us union, entreating Isabella to write down all their mar-
of every thing.
vellous adventures, for the Archbishop's benefit, which
"Our barks were left on the shore to serve them | she promised to do. The company now broke up, and
some future day in removing their spoils. You will well the silence with which they had listened was succeeded
believe me, when I say I felt my captivity in my inner-i by compliments and rejoicings to the happy family
most soul. I also grieved at the loss of the papers group. The next week, our lovers were married by the
given me at Rome, and the draft on the Florentine mer- | Assistant bishop, and general joy filled the city.
chant for my sisteen hundred ducats. By good luck
I have now shown all that happened to the parents of
the box came into the hands of a Spanish captive, who Isabella and herself, from the time she was captured at
secreted it; for if the Turks had found it, they would Cadiz, until the day she married Ricaredo, who, with
have demanded all this money as my ransom.
his family, I believe, are still living in one of the houses
“We were carried into Argel, where I had the hap-l opposite the convent of Santa Paula, and which he pur-
piness of finding the good Fathers of the Holy Trinity, || chased from the heirs of a gentleman from Burgas, one
who came there to ransom captives. I spoke with Hernan de Cifuentes.
them, and told them who I was, and although not a
From this history may be learnt the power of beauty
Spaniard, they were so charitable as to ransom me.
when joined with goodness; and we may observe how
They gave for me three hundred ducats, one hundred
Providence often brings forth our greatest pleasures
on the spot, and the rest to be paid when their vessel
from seeming evils.
E. R. S.
returned from Spain with further supplies - for the
good Fathers had spent four thousand ducats more than
they had brought with them, leaving one of the Fathers | Our hope, heavenly and earthly, is poorly anchored, if
of Redemption in pawn until the money was repaid. the cable parts upon the stream. I believe in God, who
Generous and compassionate men! they had given their can change evil into good; and I am confident what be-
liberty for that of others, and submitted to an irksome falls us is always ultimately for the best.


SKETCH FROM AN IDLE R's PORT-FOLIO.
267
II.
Original.
'the untracked and pathless woods, which is not else-
SKETCH FROM AN IDLER'S PORT-FOLIO. where experienced, for the mind there properly esti-
mates the power of that Almighty architect who fash-
1.
ioned the world—who causes the changing of the sea-
Apart he stalk'd in joyless reverie.--Childe Harold. sons—who created man and implanted in his nature
The town of — is situated in the State of Michi. that supreme essence of mind, which renders him but
gan, on the banks of a beautiful and romantic stream, next
m. I next to a God-who rules with an invisible but all-pow-
whose current finds its way among broad, rich prairies erful hand over us, and who, as has been beautifully re-
and “ openings," until it mingles its waters with those marked, “ rides upon the whirlwind, and directeth the
of Lake Michigan. The place itself is small, and the storm.”
population but few in number, yet as the majority of As we wandered carelessly on, I reminded my com-
travellers are obliged to pass through it, on their way panion of his promise, and in a few moments he related
to the “far-far West," the stranger generally attaches what follows:-
more importance to it, than would otherwise fall to its
share.
THE STRANGER'S STORY.
During a short sojourn, it was my custom when not il
otherwise engaged, to sit at the door of the principal
“I am an artisan, which, together with my poverty,
hotel and study the physiognomies of the numerous
has ruined me; and that, by the way, is not unnatural;
travellers, which every stage-coach landed; some to
while the merchant, whose business requires no ex-
tarry, but more to continue their journey by water.
traordinary talent in its execution, generally holds an
Among the former who arrived one afternoon, was a
elevated rank in society; the artisan, whose produc-
young man of about two and twenty years, whose wild
tions require an education, united with genius and in-
and haggard appearance, not only attracted my atten-
dustry, passes his life "unknowing and unknown." As
tion, but excited my curiosity. His dress was newly
regards poverty, I need scarcely remind you of the de-
fashioned, but the method in which it was worn, be-
ference that is paid to riches. You must have seen that
trayed the carelessness or indifference of the wearer, as
while honesty in rags is slighted, villany in wealth com-
to his personal appearance. He was tall and well romands respect. Virtue, principle and integrity must
portioned. His countenance was open and manly, but
yield to it, for money is the “ white man's god," and
his dark and expressive eye glanced with a wildness al- ! he pours his offerings at its unhallowed shrine. And
together unnatural.
what may it not accomplish? It purchases the luxu-
Several months elapsed, during which time I had
ries of life-it humblech pride-it attracts beauty and
made his acquaintance, which gradually increased, un-
talent and any thing to its will—it opens the prison
til it warmed into familiarity and friendship. We were
doors of the captive and sets him free. How aptly has
often in each other's company, and although I often hinted
the poet remarked
at his melancholy and moroseness, I in vain endeavored
“Plate sin with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks ;
to ascertain the cause. At such times, his face became Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it."
paler than usual, his eye roved with more than its ac-
In short, as Hazlett says, “to be without it is to live
customed restlessness, and his frame trembled, until
out of the world, or to be despised if you come into it."
tears, warm, and I supposed, heartfelt, tricked down |
But I am wandering from my story. I will not enter
his cheek. I was not an unmoved spectator of such
into a detail of the manner in which I passed my youth-
scenes. I declared my interest in his welfare, and my
ful days. Let it suffice for me to say, that my parents
resolution to do any thing in my power, in his behalf,
and connections were among the most respectable of
and finally, when he seemed satisfied that I was urged
a the inhabitants of a small town at the East, and that my
so to do from purely benevolent motives, he agreed to
education was not neglected. Twenty years glided
communicate to me that which preyed so heavily on
his mind, and which I assured him would soon hasten
smoothly and happily away, and my entrance into man-
him to an untimely grave.
hood found me engaged at my profession, which though
sufficiently profitable to afford me a comfortable liveli-
hood, did not render me wealthy. My associates gene-
It was a beautiful evening in the month of October when rally, were young men of about my own age, and of the
we were sauntering along the banks of the river. The highest respectability. Our evenings were mostly spent
day had been very warm, but a gentle breeze had, at the lecture-room or library, and often at each other's
at eve, rendered the atmosphere delightfully pleasant. dwellings, where it was my lot, sometimes, to encounter
It was indeed a lovely night. The gentle moon shed those whose wealth allowed them to move in a higher
her rays of silvery light afar over the unruffled stream circle than myself; nor was I excluded altogether from
and the solitary forest, wbile myriads of stars looked the company of the softer sex; on the contrary, I re-
forth from their eternal hiding-place, in a heaven of ceived more attention from ladies of rank and fashion,
clear and cloudless blue. A solemn and holy stillness than I had any reason, from the humbleness of my vo-
reigned on that placid night, and all nature seemed cation, to expect. Notwithstanding the pleasure that I
hushed in a calm and serene repose.
enjoyed, and the information I received, I now curse
There is an indescribable fceling in wandering into the hour that I first became introduced into their sooi.


268
SKETCH FROM AN IDLER'S PORT-FOLIO.
III.
ety. But let me proceed. Among others whom we! It was in vain I reasoned with him, as to the proba-
visited, was a Mr. O— , whose success in obtaining a bility of the father's relenting-of the prospect of future
lucrative office under government, enabled him to enjoy success, or of his forgetting the object of his hopeless
a rank in life, which neither his talents nor his virtue (for love. It was in vain, and we retraced our steps to the
he was wanting in both) would otherwise have entitled hotel. From that night, his complaint assumed a more
him. He had an only child-a daughter, whose match-, alarming character, and I plainly perceived that unless
less beauty and accomplishments endeared her to all some unexpected cause should intervene, he would
who made her acquaintance. She was at that period, shortly cease to be.
about eighteen, the very picture of health and loveliness. il A few evenings afterwards, I was sitting in his room,
Oh! that I could properly describe her! It would re- conversing with him on ordinary topics, when he re-
quire the pencil of some eminent artist to picture her marked, that he had a favor to solicit from me. I
every grace-to trace the lineaments of her fair counte- ; offered to comply at once, but for some cause, which he
nance, where mind beamed forth so eloquently. Her did not explain, he deferred mentioning it, until the en-
eyes were dark and beautifully expressive, while the suing morning.
long dark lashes which fell over them—her regularly I had just finished my breakfast, the next day, and
chiselled features, and her tresses which flowed care was hastening to his room, when a friend grasped me
lessly on a neck, white as the Parian marble, were all by the arm and whispered, “ He's dead!" I opened
too beautiful for me to adequately describe. Her form the door, and there indeed lay the victim of a parent's
had attained that rounded fullness so essential to the tyranny stretched on his bed, in the icy embrace of
perfection of female loveliness, while her education and death.
polished manners gave her additional claims to homage
and love. Is it to be wondered at, that I became enam-
" To this we must come at last."
ored of her, and oh! how shall I express my feelings,
when after I told her the love I bore her, she joined her | It was in the Fall of the year. The golden Summer
vows with mine, and our hearts and souls mingled and with its warm sunshine and flowers had passed, and the
united into one! I loved her with all my young and Autumn followed with its melancholy wind, which, as
fond heart's idolatry. I lived but in her smiles, and my 'it sighed through the branches of the towering forest
thoughts by day and dreams by night, were of her, my trees, sounded mournfully and lone, while the trees
first and only love. I was then happy. I felt and en- themselves, leafless and in seeming decay, appeared to
joyed the poetry of existence. I revelled in the pure speak of the mutability of all things, and the uncertain
and holy feelings of a doating heart, until life appeared tenure of man's life.
to me a bewildering and extatic dream, redolent of all The coffin was placed in a wagon, while some six or
that was beautiful-of all that the most ardent fancy eight strangers from very compassion, followed the re-
could picture or desire.
mains to its last resting-place. It was a melancholy
“Months passed away; our secret became known to scene. The procession, if such it may be called, wound
her parents, and one evening I received a note from through the thick woods, until it reached a small open-
her father, intimating his displeasure in no measured ing which had already been used as the burial-place,
terms, and concluding by requesting me never to 'dar- and there-far from the busy haunts of men-in the si-
ken his doors' with my presence. You will readily lence and solitude of the lonely forest-beneath God's
believe that I adopted other methods of communica- | cloudless and beautiful sky, the solemn tones of the
tion with my beloved Amanda, but every precaution minister rose to Heaven. The body was deposited, the
was taken on the part of her parents to prevent it, and earth thrown upon the coffin, a board placed at each
alas ! but too successfully. My letters were intercepted, end of the grave, and the company departed. It was a
and two years have passed since I have heard from, or heart-rending spectacle. No eye mourned over the
seen her. Is not this enough to drive me mad? To'poor victim of a broken heart—no mother's tears
add to my misery, I have been afflicted with sickness, trickled down the cheek-no sister or brother followed
which is daily bringing me nearer to the grave. My the remains of the ill-fated man. His life had been a
poverty has been the curse which has followed and con- dreary one, and his death was not the less so. No mat-
tinues to follow me, for it has closed the door between ter-his spirit reposes " where the wicked cease from
me and the only being I ever really and truly loved. troubling, and the weary are at rest.”
“Oh! my friend, I cannot tell you with what feelings
of hate-of bitter, unmitigated hate I look upon her
father. Curses, deep, overwhelming curses follow him!
WHENEVER the affections, characters or actions of
May he rot piecemeal, until death removes him from men are concerned, and these certainly afford the no-
the world, and lingering tortures follow him hereafter!"
blest subjects to genius, there can be neither any just
or affecting description, without our possessing the
Here my companion discontinued his narrative. As
virtuous affections. He whose heart is indelicate or
he had proceeded, he gradually became more excited,
hard, he who has no admiration of what is truly noble
and finally when he dwelt on the obduracy of Mr. O- , or praiseworthy, nor the proper sympathetic sense of
his frame trembled, his eye glared furiously, and a de
what is tender, must have a very imperfect relish of the
moniacal expression dwelt upon his countenance.
highest beauties of poetry or eloquence.


THE SICK STUDENT'S DREAM.
269
Original.
THE SICK STUDENT'S DREAM
Slow, through the fields of Heaven, the silver queen
Trod her lone path, 'mid clouds of lucid sheen,
Softly and sweet, o'er the hushed earth she smiled,
As in that ancient time, when he, the child
or loving phantasy, in slumber still
Saw her descending to the Latmian hill,
Wrapt in her vapory veil, with care to dim
Immortal radiance, all too bright for him.
Far other thoughts float o'er the youthful brow
Of one, who gazes on her beauty now-
Far other visions shade his aching eyes,
The pale, sad watcher of the silent skies;
Not his the hope that charmed the shepherd boy,
Not his the bounding pulse of health and joy ;
No dews of night on those gold curls are shed,
Though fair as coronaled Endymion's hend;
No cooling breeze that panting lip can chill,
No whispered love his beating heart can still;
Low on his weary couch he seeks in vain
Rest, from the curse of fever's burning chain.
Sleep comes to all, even to the sufferer there,
Within that darkened chamber of despair;
And dreams, in strange imaginings, restore
The wilder treasures of his classic lore :
Sleep comes, but yet no soothing opiate brings,
In languid sweetness, on his downy wings;
And dreams-the half closed eye, the sullen start,
The long, deep moan from that o'erladen heart,
The frowning brow, the mutlered words, declare
What spectre visions haunt the sleeper there !
| Why haunted by the sins of olden time?
Alas, not mine the glorious Titan's crime!
No fire from Heaven my young ambition sought-
The Grecian's eloquence, the Roman's thought,
Sufficed my humble hope. Oh, cherished lore !
Within your sacred halls, shall I no more,
Drink at the holy fount of bard or sage,
Or trace, enrapt, the philosophic page ?
Must these dark shadows on my best years fall ?
Will Hope ne'er answer to my ardent call ?
For me, the winds of spring no promise bear,
For me, no bloom the flowers of summer wear,
Winter alone is mine—the cold, the stern,
From thee the lesson of my life I learn!
Go, thou fair moon-sink from my wearicd sight;
Leave me, my fate—the sable pall of night-
Go, breath of fragrant blossoms—to this brow
Why steal, with courteous scent, to mock me now?
Even thou, poor lamp, that with thy sickly gleam,
Through this lone chamber shed'st a struggling beam,
Out-out! why should thy feeble ray remind
My crushed and withered spirit, thou hast shined
To light old Learning's labors ? Hated glare!
Leave me my sleep of blackness and despair!'
The moon is set, and gently, one by one,
Her bright attendant stars have slowly gone :
A whispering wind hath waked the sleeping flowers,
The earth's fair breast is bathed with early showers;
Up roll the fleecy clouds from Eastern skies,
The blushing dawn hath ope'd her radiant eyes ;
Calmly and soft, the young, pale sleeper breathes
While morn's delicious airs, in gladness wreathes
Those tresses, rich and fair-rose-tinted still,
A faint, sweet smile hath touched his lips—the ill
Of night's unholy shapes, and phantoms drear,
With morning's balmy freshness comes not near:
The quiet limbs extend in tranquil rest-
The hands in graceful folding on his breast
The forehead smooth, hath lost the trace of care-
The angel of repose is bending there.-
Now, where the raving tempests fiercely sweep
The heaving bosom of the foaming deep,
Alone he wanders on the Phrygian shore-
Near, and more near, Cybele's lions roar
Phrenzied, he flies where gloomy pine trees cast
Their shadows-wild, he struggles with the blast,
Rushes despairing to the waves-in vain,
He wakes—to dream in agony again!
Bound on the barren rock, the victim lies,
There wide, o'er Caucasus, those leaden skies
Cloudy and cold, their misty curtains spread,
No genial ray of sunshine o'er him shed ;
Around him tower those rugged cliffs of snow,
And Caspian's stormy billows roll below
Writhing in lingering pain, while fetters cling,
He shuddering hears the vulture's flapping wing-
The red eye glares on him--the talons dart
Deep in his quivering flesh and tortured heart.
Waked from that sleep of horrors, wild the cry
or anguish bursting from his lips—"And why,"
He half unconscious murmurs, “is the gloom
Of fear and madness flung upon my doom?
What have I done, to pine thus, day by day,
Wasting the energies of life away?
What laws of justice, virtue, have I spurned,
What god offended, or what goddess scorned ?
Sleep on-oh, sweetly sleep! and when away
Thy slumber passes with advancing day-
Clear as the sunlight on thy waking cast,
May peace and health illume those eyes at last!
The veriest wretch who looks upon the sun
At eve, a better lot than thine had won-
At noon of night, no human thing would share
The fearful burthen thou wert doomed to bear.
At dawn, thy cup was full-solemn and strange
Swept over thy bound soul, a mighty change-
Whence was it--wither doth it tend-or how
The shadow passed from thee-we ask not now.
Again, again, to thee the stream of years
Far in its shining loveliness appears;
Once more bright forms with thrilling sounds of joy,
Shall hover o'er thy pillow, gentle boy;
But to thy memory, let this seal be given,
Forget r.ot, while on earth, the Hand of Heaven!
LESLIE.
33


270 :
THE ADOPTED.
THE ADOPTED.
It will be recollected that the Chapelgorries were
"Poor boy, the world hath much ill-used thee.” said to have pillaged a church and killed the priest;
The recent wars in Spain have brought all things
the priest was said to have been killed in fair and open
connected with that country most vividly before us, and fight as an enemy; that he was slain as the aggressor.
we have become accustomed to dwell with increased
Be this so or not, and we believe it was the truth, a ler.
interest on all circumstances relating thereto; the wild,
rible blow was to avenge this so called atrocity, and as
untameable dispositions of its mountain peasantry, the
none could point out which were the actual culprits on
war of extermination, and bitter and relentless cruelty
the occasion, it was determined by the general (and by
shewn to the unhappy prisoners, who have fallen into
none but a Spaniard could such an act of blood be per-
the power of either side, have made a deep and lasting
petrated) that the Chapelgorries should be decimated.
impression on all who have observed the progress of
| The unhappy men were ordered to march some dis-
events in Spain; and though we may look upon the tance beyond the town, and to pile their arms, ignorant
country as the region of romance, where the soft and of what was to be the result. This they did, unsus-
sunny landscape bears away the palm from all other | pectingly, and upon a given signal the other regiments
lands; where the orange-grove sheds its fragrant per-' closed and took charge of their arms. The Chapelgor-
fume around; and where the beautiful and grand blend i ries instantly perceived that they were betrayed, and
to render it the most lovely of all countries in the world, strove to regain their muskels, but it was too late ; they
yet has all this been thrown away upon its stern inhabi- then learnt to what they were doomed. Lots were or-
tants, who are only remarkable for their cruelty when dered to be drawn, and those who drew the unfortunate
any popular commotion stirs the angry blood of men numbers were to die.
into action, and all lies of humanity are forgotten. May! The lots were accordingly drawn in solemn silence,
we hope that a change may come o'er the spirit of the the betrayed Chapelgorries inwardly vowing vengeance
drama, and better and brighter days be in store for this against their betrayer. Among those whose evil chan-
unhappy land.
ces doomed them to die, was the general favorite of the
Our readers remember during the recent events in regiment, Pietro Rimez. His unhappy mother, who
Spain, that the decimation of the Chapelgorries excited I had, as usual, followed the regiment, soon learnt the
unusual attention; the cruelty and injustice of the act approaching fate of her son. The suddenness seemed
was so monstrous that men wondered such things could almost to bewilder her; she could scarce believe it was
pass in these days of improvement and civilization. It is not a dream. “ To die!" she exclaimed ; “so young, so
to this circumstance our story tends. We need scarcely 1 innocent! What! what had he done? Why was he
mention that the Chapelgorries were the elite of the to be a victim, who knew nothing of their misdeeds, if,
Spanish army; and after that sad event their spirits indeed there had been any? Had he been slain in the
were broken, and the corps were considered to be so strifo of war she would have grieved his loss, but it
changed in spirit as scarcely to be recognized as the would have been with honor; but, as a beast of prey, to
same.
be entrapped and slain!" A sudden thought, however,
Pietro Rimez was, of all the Chapelgorries, about the seemed to have come across her; the major of the Cha
most soldier-like and neatest in appearance that an offi- pelgorries was a stern man, but little known for mercy,
cer could have picked out as a model for his comrades; il of an abstract and gloomy disposition, he seemed to
he was scarce turned twenty, a very Spaniard in his avoid his brother officers; it was said something proyed
sun-burnt countenance and glossy hair, and though brave upon his mind, but whether of love or hate none ever
to desperation, yet to his comrades was he the greatest knew; whatever had been the circumstance, it had
favorite, from his mildness and kind good feeling, that, changed his disposition altogether, for there were those
ever prompted him to lend a helping hand to assist or who had known him in his youth, a man of different
relieve them in any emergency that the frequent chan character, even, as they said, to be mild and gentle.
ges of a campaign called forth.
The stern, unrelenting character of a strict disciplina-
There was one circumstance connected with him that rian was now the general name he bore in the regiment,
excited much attention in the corps ; throughout all the and none but the unhappy Paquita would have thought
campaigns he had been followed by a woman; gentle of bending to him for mercy.
reader, we tell no story of love, of no singleness of pur- She flew to him on the instant, and besought him to
pose that woman in her devotion leaves all the world listen to her. He acceded to her demand. She be-
to follow him she loves the best, and whether in sickness sought him that their interview might be in private.
or in sorrow, to be near and minister consolation and to this, also, he agreed; and they withdrew to some
comfort in the hour of trial and distress; for Pietro but distance.
called the Andalusian Paquita by the name of mother. No sooner were they out of hearing of the rest, than
There seemed something in her affection for her son she exclaimed with much eagerness, “Oh! spare my
more than even mothers show; or, perhaps, it requires i poor boy, he is doomed to die; spare him in Heaven's
the wild and stirring scenes of civil striſe and war to name, and I will wership thee; oh! spare him to me.”
call them forth in all their force. She was ever near “Woman, I cannot."
him in their long and tedious marches, to assist and en- “ You can; you can: a word from you would do it.
courage him; and her only comfort seemed to be when Oh! hear me. Do not let him die. One word, and his
with him.
V life is spared."


THE ADOPTED.
271
late."
“I cannot interfere; it is a stern duty, and it muell! “ Indeed, indeed, Paquita, I have not the power to do
be performed; why should I interfere for one more than it."
another ?"
"Man of blood, you have, I say; oh, God! he will
“He is innocent; he was not near the spot; do with die, and none will raise a hand to save him. Adorio,
him what you will, but spare his life, only spare his you must save him! nay, by Heaven, I swear you shall
life."
--for die he must not, he cannot die. I said," she con-
“I cannot !"
tinued speaking in a hurried manner, " that your wife
“Say rather you will not!"
died in these arms, bidding me, ere she died, to seek
" Then do I say I will not !"
you out, and tell you-look, look, they are closing in
“Spoken like yourself, Manuel Adorio,” exclaimed there is time--speak the word-quick, ere it is too
Paquita, with bitterness.
At the sound of this name, not the one he bore in the “I would save him if I had the power."
regiment, the major started, and every nerve seemed to “The gentle Lady Inez said not so when I left the
quiver with agony.
'convent. After death I bore what she had charged me
“How know you that name?" he demanded eagerly. with, unknown to all; for years, I sought you in vain,
“Ah, you seem now to listen more to reason; do you but you had changed your name ; and when I found you
remember something more than twenty years ago, you I could not part with my charge, it had so twined itself
were in Andalusia, young and handsome, and courted round my heart, I could not part with it. I loved it
by all! You see I do know you ; will you spare him more than all the world-more than I can tell you now;
now "
oh, look! it will be too late ; see-see, they have all
" It seems you know me; but I cannot spare him; I closed in- "
pity you, but duty must have its way."
| The major beckoned 10 one of the officers, and told
“Duty !" said the half-frantic woman, turning her him to bring Pietro Rimez before him.”
eyes with bitter agony towards the Chapelgorries, "you! The oflicer hastened towards them to execute the
call that duty ? there is no word for such an act, or I commands; but just as he arrived at the spot, the re-
know none; listen then further to me; you know that port of a volley of muskets told it was too late.
in Andalusia, the lordly family of Alvez had an only. The unhappy Paquita looked pointing in the air with
daughter-what can I call her-she was an angel if her finger but a few moments; the words could find no
ever woman was, and you know it; and more-for you utterance; after a time, however, she exclaimed, still
see I know you well, Manuel Adorio, at least you once pointing to the spot,“ Too late, too late-he is dead."
bore that name. Will you spare my poor boy?” She then turned towards Adorio; her countenance was
The major answered not, but his hand was pressed awful; a death-like paleness had come over it, whilst
upon his brow, some bitter recollections seeming to af- her dark eyes seemed almost starting from her head,
fect him deeply.
and with a sad, melancholy expression, she said “Man
Paquita proceeded. “Manuel, I will tell you more ; || uel Adorio, your wiſe bade me give you one last sad 10-
you wooed the gentle Inez in secret-and more will I ken of her love, and one you would dearly prize for her
tell you-you won her, for in private you married her- sake; poor thing, she little thought she was wrong, but
look at me, stern man. I say, look at me, and remember such as it now is, I give it to you; go, man of blood, and
who was present then, even the poor degraded being seek amongst the dead bodies of the Chapelgorries, un-
who is now before you; then your wife's maid--but now til you find one that was once called Pietro Rimez."
an humble suppliant for your mercy; then, you were l “Oh, God! what is it you mean? You will drive mo
the suppliant for stolen interviews; will you spare my mad.”
poor boy ?"
" Alas! I fear me much you have driven me so, al-
“Indeed I have not the power!"
ready—but let me tell you all; the poor boy is not my
“I say you have ; you are the general's favorite; he son; he is not born of such lowly blood as mine; he is
will do all you wish. Save him, I say, and you will of noble birth-I say of noble birth; the proudest in all
think it the happiest day you have known for many a proud Andalusia ; the noblest of all Spain's nobles-he
long year; you hesitate ; why, man, your heart has is an Alvez by his mother's side, his father is Don Man-
turned to iron that nothing can indent; listen to me, uel Adorio! Seek him, I say, and let my words ring
then, for if what I tell you now, will not, then there is in your ears by day or night, waking or sleeping. You
not feeling on earth. You know the Lord Alvez, on might have saved your son, and you would not; do you
discovering your secret visits, forced your wife into a hear me ?-you would not. I care not now what be-
convent, and you never saw her more, and there, like a comes of me; the world is all a blank, for I am like your-
sickly flower, she drooped and pined for him she loved ; | self, lone and desolate !"
for alas ! she loved you but too well; poor thing, she
suffered not many months, as you well know ; for she ! We are apt to complain that mankind advance but
died a victim of her father's cruelty, and I alone closed slowly in knowledge and happiness; just as, to a curso-
her eyes in death. Will you spare my boy ? Manuel ry glance, the firmament seems to have been immova-
Adorio, oh! spare him to me; think what you felt when ble the same now as ages ago. But when we look more
you heard of your wife's death, and think what I feel closely at it, we shall see that suns and systems are mov-
now "
ing onward in incessant progression; and so is mankind.


272
DESULTORY READING.
Original.
1 time of night-and who only go to bed at night in the
DESULTORY READING.
placid expectancy of the morning's sun, and next day's
round of similar praisworthy occupations! What a
monitor to all idlers of every description—aye, and to
THE SEASON.
all evil-doers, (and idlers and evil-doers are merely the
Reader, art thou discomfited by unwelcome truths positive and negative, the active and passive species of
and sad realities? Dost thou “relapse into cutting re- the same animal)—what a warning voice to them to
membrances ?” Are thy feelings kept raw by the edge begin to do otherwise! What a proof to the universe
of repetition? Is thy spirit discomposed by the rude that every thing is to be done, not by arranging or by
jostle of society? Dost thou loathe the cold glitter of wishing, or by hoping, or by resolving, but by begin-
false and fashionable life; the endless impertinences of ning. But more than all, what an admonition is this to
worldly-minded men ? Dost thou desire
the procrastinators-to the men who say they have done
" tranquil solitude,
enough to day-who measure out the time they are to
And such society
occupy in useful productions, as if they would shut up
As is quiet, wise and good,"
the remainder of the day as well as the remainder of
quit the cares of the world, and come with us for one of their labors; and as if time and they were to resume
these October days into the country-and thou wilt the jog-trot of their avocations at the same place, and
be the better for it, for all the year after. Suppose at each other's pleasure to the men who say “to-mor-
yourself there now, and tell us, do you not feel happier
now and tell 18. do you not feel happier | row will do,"—who continue daily to move onward the
than when you left town in the morning? Do you not | pegs in the cribbage board of time, till death,'who has
breathe more freely, and feel more cheerful, and wear moved them faster than they, cries, “I have won the
more of the herb called heart's ease in your bosom? game," and Eternity puts by the cards.
Do you not return with gentler and kinder feelings to-
SPINSTERS.
wards your fellow-creatures, and with an inclination to
look on the favorable aspect of things ! These relaxa- || AMONG our industrious and frugal ancestors, it was a
tions are green, sunny resting places in the journey of maxim, that a young woman should never be married
life" glimpses that make us less forlorn." But, per- until she had spun herself a set of body, table and bed
haps, it may be the long looking-forward, during the linen. From this custom, all unmarried women were
busy, anxious intervals between these refreshing walks, | termed spinsters—an appellation they still retain in all
that imparts exquisite delight to such holidays. Let law proceedings.
us, however, have as many of them as we can. Let us
cherish the social and benevolent affections, and be lov. We saw a charming girl at a dinner-party the other
ing of nature and one another; for
day. Her figure, face, mind and manners were equally
agreeable: and yet she half destroyed their effect by
"--Nature never did betray
the un-artist like manner in which she had sprinkled
The heart that loved her: 'tis her privelego,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
her neck and shoulders with pearl powder. Just listen
From joy to joy; for she can so inform
to us, ladies i don't use it at all. Cleanliness is the only
The mind that is within us; so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
true cosmetic. Wash yourselves; that is all. As soon
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
as that is done, you are as beautiful precisely as nature,
Shall e'er prevail against us; or disturb
and your sweet tempers choose, and all else is hopeless
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings."
toil; hopeless as bleaching a blackamoor, though you
were to labor on all the milk and powders and soaps
A SHORT SERMON.
that have been created from the days of Judith down to
those of Del Croix.
“In the beginning God created the Heaven and the Earth.”
These are sad, vulgar truths; yet, alas! no less true.
We question whether this, the very first yerse in the The thing is impossible. Be content! and as you can
Sacred Volume, has ever been chosen by any divine as as little add one tint to your complexion as one inch to
xt or title of a sermon or dissertation. Yet what your stature, without paint or without high heels, do
a moral it presents! What a lesson to those who lie what you can to apply cosmetics to your mind-as you
a-bed, like Thompson, the poet, under the idea that have often been told how. That is the true art of beau-
they have “no motive to rise." What a piece of advice ty. A gentle soul and a sweet temper-intellect and
to all who loiter between unimportant affairs when some virtue-these are the cosmetics that will take out all
business of consequence is to be transacted to all who your freckles and smooth all your wrinkles ; which will
sit an hour and a half at breakfast, who occupy the render you beautiful even above your beauty, and beau-
forenoon in dressing their heads--who take a lunch to tiful even above your plainness.
occupy the time till they resolve to walk out, and who
walk only to put off the time till dinner is waiting to be
THE COMING ON OF TIME.
devoured-who sit three hours after dinner at their | We are just old enough, yet still young enough to be
wine, and then take tea or coffee that the vacuum may l attended to, when we say, that age brings us more good
be filled between dinner and supper-who only sit down than it takes away-till it brings infirmities. If it de-
to supper as the duty of the evening, a marker of the atroys the dreamy part of our happiness, it heightens
the te


DESULTOR Y READING.
273
the reality-if it takes away " the glory from the grass, | Or to descend from works of so masculine a build, to
the splendor from the flower," it adds to the serene others of more delicate proportions, where is their fe-
green of the one, and the rich sweetness of the other. male Rape of the Lock? Men are shy of pressing too
If it stills the current of the blood, and forbids it to hard upon women. However much our sisters may be
run tickling up and down the veins like wine, it renders in the wrong, (and they generally are in the wrong,) in
it more equable, more fertilizing, and more controllable their disputes with us, they always take the benefit of
in its course.
the sex-which is a stronger privilege than benefit of
Above all, the coming on of time brings with it that clergy. But supposing them to waive that for a mo-
capacity for the love of external nature, which we are ment, and imagining this case-that the two sexes were
absolutely without in early life-I mean as a distinct to agree to part, and “pack up their alls," and each sex
and recognizable passion. The beauties of natural ob- to hoist on its back its valuable contributions to litera-
jects must and will have their effects upon us at all || ture, then I shall be ungallant enough to affirm, that the
times—and well it is for us that our minds are express- burthens would be pretty well adapted to the shoulders
ly adapted to receive and entertain those effects. There and physical powers which were to bear them; and for
is no holy calm, no Sabbath of the soul, no cessation of no department of literature would this hold more cer-
strife, in that vast arena of the passions where life is a tainly true, than for the imaginative and fanciful part.
ceasless struggle of money-getting and money-spend. | In mathematics there exist works composed by women,
ing; a contest of avarice and luxury; a delirium of the to reprieve which from destruction, men would glad-
senses or the soul. If we desire peace and repose, let | ly pay something or other, (let us not ask too curiously
us look out upon the variegated earth, ever new and
| how much :) but what poem is there in any language,
ever beautiful-upon the azure dome of heaven, hung
(always excepting those of our own day,) which any
round with painted clouds-upon the wide waters, dan- man would give u trifle to save? Would he give a shil-
cing and glittering in the sun, or lying in the stillness of
ling? If he would I should suspect the shilling exceed-
their crystal sleep. Gazing upon the face of nature we ingly, and would advise a vigorous inquiry into its cha-
shall encounter no human passions, no distrust, no jea-racter. I set aside Sappho, and a few other female
lousy, no intermission of friendship or affection : even lyric poets ; lor we have not suffie
lyric poets; for we have not sufficient samples of their
her frowns are beautiful, and we need not fear that death
poetry: and for modern literature, I set aside the wri-
shall tear her from us. We gaze upon an immortal
ters of short poems of no sweep or compass. But I
countenance !
ask with respect to poems solemnly planned, such as
keep the poet on the wing, and oblige him to sustain his
A STRANGER who wanders through the principal fight for a reasonable space, and with variety of course
streets in this city will see nothing, or very little of the
-where is there one which owes its existence to a wo-
manifold misery which exists in New-York. Only here
man? I ask of any man, who suffers his understanding
and there, at the entrance of a cross street, stands, si- to slumber so deeply, and to benefit so little by his ex-
lently, a worn-out female, with an infant at her agoni-
perience, as to allow credit to the doctrine that women
zed breast, begging with her eyes. Perhaps, if those eyes
have the advantage of men in imagination-what work
are yet beautiful, one looks for a moment into them, and
of imagination owing its birth to a woman can he lay
shrinks from the world of wo one sees there. Poverty,
his hand on-(I am a reasonable man, and do not ask
in the fellowship of vice and crime. creeps at nightfall. Il for a hundred, or a score, but will be content with one.)
from its lurking places. It shuns the light of day the | --which has exerted any memorable influence, such as
more anxiously, the more horridly its wretchedness con- history would notice, upon the mind of man? Who is
trasts with the arrogance of wealth which shows itself the female Æschylus, or Euripides, or Aristophanes ?
off every where. Only hunger drives it sometimes at Where is the female rival of Chaucer, of Cervantes, of
mid-day from its obscure dens, and then it stands with Calderon? Where is Mrs. Shakspeare ? Saying this,
dumb, yet speaking eyes, and supplicates the rich trades- however, I mean no disrespect to female pretensions :
man, who hastens past, gingling his gains, or the man
Even intellectually they have their peculiar and separate
of fashion, who turus an indifferent eye upon the poor
advantages, though no balance to ours: They have
beggar, as if he was an inferior creature, whose joy readier wits than man, because they are more easily
or wo had nothing in common with his feelings.
impressed and excited : and for moral greatness and
magnanimity, under the sharpest trials of danger, pain,
AN ERROR CORRECTED.
adversity or temptation—there is nothing so great that
It is a common remark that women have more ima-
I cannot believe of women. For their sakes I would
gination than men. The assertion is silly, and made in
be happy to tell or believe any reasonable falsehood in
contempt of all literature. A friend to whom I was
behalf of their sex: but I cannot and will not tell a
noticing this, suggested that by imaginalion was meant
falsehood, or believe one, in the face of all history and
simply the fancy in its lighter and more delicate move-
experience.
ments. But even this will not cure the proposition:
For not to be so hard upon the female sex as to ask
WOMAN'S LOVE.
where is their Paradise Lost! Where is their Lear It has long been a favorite opinion of mine that in
and Othello ? I will content myself with asking, where purity, (where love is the passion,) in tenderness of
is the female Hudibras ? or the female Dunciad? heart, and strength of attachment to the object prefer-


274
DESULTORY READING.
red, women are, generally speaking, far nobler beings | Ilad been incorporate. So we grew together,
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted;
than men. There is a spirit of peculiar devotedness to 'l
But yet a union in partition,
the object of her love in the breast of a woman-a cer Two lovely berries moulded on one stem."
tain fortitude of affection, which no changes or chances
of life can discourage--which increases with adversity,
Here is Shakspeare, who seems to have made für
---which unkindness itself cannot subdue, but which, himself a window in every human breast; here is the
like the April flower, seems to bloom most sweetly in i grand inquisitor, who penetrates, with an intuition al-
tears. To her Love is a second nature--the business of most supernatural, the mysteries of this " little world
her life-the motive of her actions the theme of her of man;" here is the infallable interpreter of nature.
waking thoughts--the shadow which her fancy pursues Shakspeare himself, delineating a picture of friendship
even in slumber; it is the innate principle of her con- the most perfect-and who compose the group on the
stitution; it is born with her, it grows with her heart- foreground? Women! Now we put it to the candor of
strings, and she rarely parts with it, but with her life. the reader, would Shakspeare have drawn such a vivid
l' picture of female friendship, had not the propriety of it
suggested itself to him from his previous observation of
The sight even of a felled tree is painful: still more human nature? Why did he never think of depicting
is that of the fallen forest, with all its green branches two boys in such an attitude ?
on the ground, withering, silent and at rest, where once
they glittered in the dew and the sun, and trembled in HISTORY has often been compared to an old almanac
the breeze. But there is even a worse image of vege--in my estimation it bears a greater resemblance to an
table death than this—the impression of which passes' old play-bill. The names of the actors are there, and
not away. It is the lofty trees of the forest still erect- the names of the performances; with a puff prelimina-
the speaking records of former life and of strength un-
..ry about unexampled success, and shouts of admiration;
subdued-stripped by the winds and scattered by the
by the but the life and lineaments are absent—the green cur-
lightning, and like gigantic skeletons, throwing far and tain down, the lights extinguished, and the audience
wide their white and bleached bones to the storms and imam
the rain, the whirlwinds and the winter.
A. A. L.
WOMAN'S FRIENDSHIP.
INFLUENCE OF A MOTHER.
It has been objected, that although friendships among' In what Christian country can we deny the influ
women are, from their spirit of constancy, more perma- which a mother exerts over the whole life of her chil-
nent when made, yet that there is no natural tendency dren? The roughest and hardest wanderer, while he
in that sex towards mutual friendship. This may be is tossed on the ocean, or while he scorches his feet on the
true, and when I see it proved, I shall believe it. To desert sands, recurs in his loneliness and suffering to the
say, however, that woman's love for the other sex in-, smiles which maternal affection shed over his infancy;
terferes with her love for her own, goes but a very little the reckless sinner, even in his hardened career, occa-
way in advancing this proof-for is not man in anexact- sionally hears the whisperings of those holy precepts
ly similar predicament? We are told, men after mar-instilled by a virtuous mother, and, although they may,
riage, frequently preserve their friendships close as in the fulness of guilt, be neglected, there are many in-
before; women generally after the same ceremony sa-l stances of their having so stung the conscience, that
crifice theirs. Granting the fact, what does it prove?', they have led to a deep and lasting repentance; the
That women are more inconstant than men? Certainly erring child of either sex will then if a mother yet ex-
not; but that their domestic duties prevent them from ists, turn to her for that consolation which the laws of
cultivating friendship as sedulously as before, and that society deny, and in the lasting purity of a mother's
this noble feeling declines, and, perhaps, gradually dies, love will find the way to heaven. How cheerfully does
-as all feelings will, which are thus cut off from exer- a virtuous son labor for a poverty-stricken mother!
cise. Besides, I have Shakspeare on my side, whose How alive is he to her honor and high standing in the
world! And should that mother be deserted—be left
" name is a tower of strength
in “worse than widowhood,” how proudly does he
Which they upon the adverse faction want."
stand forth her comfort and protector! Indeed, the
We cannot surely forget Helena's address to Hermia,
more we reflect upon the subject, the more entirely are
when Oberon had thrown his enchantments around
we convinced, that no influence is so lasting, or of such
wide extent, and the more intensely do we feel the ne-
them :
cessity of guiding this saered affection, and perfecting
" Is all the counsel that we two have shared,
that being from whom it emanates.
The sister's vows, the hours that we have spent,
“The future character of a child," said Napoleon,
When we have chid the hasty footed time
For parting us--oh, and is all forgot?
“is always the work of its mother," and he delighted
All school day's friendships, childhood's innocence ? in recollecting that to his parent did he owe much of
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,
Have with our neclds created both one flower,
the greatness of a mind, which probably grasped at too
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,
much, but which afterwards enabled him to bear years
Both warbling of one song, both in one key:
As if our bands, our sides, voices and minds,
of privation and exile with fortitude and dignity.


COT TIN, THE WANDERING II OMICIDE.
275
COTTIN, THE WANDERING HOMICIDE. | fashion, steered for the land. I was out three days, but
felt no more concerned about myself than if I had been
BY WILLIAM COMSTOCK.
lying snug in my hammock."
“ You looked pretty well fagged out, though, when
Some years ago, when one of the American frigates you came on board," replied the Indian. “You would
was lying at Callao, the port of Lima, she was visited not have stood it much longer.”
by a man whose presence created no little sensation on! " You're mistaken,” said Cottin; “I had half a bis-
board. It was Sunday. Divine service had just been cuit left, and—”
concluded, and the sailors were lounging about in dif- || “Is Coulin here?" cried a midshipman, coming brisk-
ferent parts of the vessel, reading, sewing, and convers- ly forward.
ing, when several canoes were observed paddling offli “Ay, there 'tis-I thought so!" answered Cotiin.
from the shore. This was nothing remarkable, as visi- ! “You must go ashore, Cottin," said the midshipman.
tors frequently came on board, after undergoing a search : “ The officer of the deck says you must not come on
by the Master at Arms, the object of which was to pre- board of the frigate any more."
vent the introduction of liquor to the crew. The ship's! The friendless man muttered to the Indian, “ Well,
coinpany, as is common in such cases, crowded around Charley, I'll see you again, sometime,” in a tone which
the gangway to see the men come on board. There "plainly said he did not believe his acquaintance would
were four in all, but not much notice was taken of any ever seek him, and then walked off to the gangway with
but the last. He was a man, apparently thirty-five an indifferent air that denoted he was accustomed to
years of age. His dress and general appearance were such treatment.
those of a “beach-ranger," a class of sailors who dwell | As soon as Cortin was gone, some of the young men
on shore, and earn a precarious livelihood by sometimes desired the Indian to tell them the story of the raft.
working on board the merchant vessels-pimping, gamb- He said that some years ago he was on the Brazil Banks,
ling, and stealing. But the crew of the frigate evinced when the man at mast head reported something on the
more dislike at his presence than could have been crea- water. They made all sail, and soon came up with it.
ted by an ordinary straggler. While they received the It proved to be this Cortin, afloat on a small raft, entire-
other visitors kindly and cordially, they made way for ly alone; he said he had escaped from a brig, on board
this man, and no one attempted to speak to him, until of which he had been ill-used. He appeared very much
he had reached the forecastle, where he stood looking exhausted, and was immediately taken on board. His
around upon the crowd like an object forsaken of God story appeared almost incredible, but as there was no
and man. Sailors are not fastidious, and there must proof to the contrary, he was believed. “And that,"
have been something extremely objectionable in this said the Indian, “is all I know about the matter."
man to induce them to lay aside their usual frankness The man-o-war's-men shook their heads as Charley
and hospitality. The green hands shuddered as they concluded, and more than one of them suspected that
surveyed him, and the old man-o-war's-men, familiar the Indian knew more about Cottin than he was willing
with crime from their infancy, and hardened by suffer to tell. It is high time the reader should know the
ing and danger, shrank from his side like innocent chil cause of these violent prejudices against Cottin. A
dren on the approach of a felon. He seemed, in part, few weeks before his visit to the ship, as just related,
to enjoy the fearful interest which he excited; but still one of the frigate's carpenters had been found dead on
the expression of his countenance was that of irremedia- the beach, so completely mangled and cut to pieces,
ble wo. His eyes were frequently cast down, and his that it was some time before he could be recognized.
under-lip slightly writhed, like a person suffering, but He was brought on board in the market boat, and sub-
en:leavoring to hide internal agonies. There was a cer- sequently buried on the Island of St. Lorenzo. The
tain abandonment in his manner of walking, in his look, majority of the crew very naturally laid the murder to
in his every motion. His swimming eye-balls were the Spaniards; but when, several days afterward, the
half curtained by the upper lids, which gave an easy, ship’s company “ went ashore on liberty," and talked
reckless cast to the eye, which was, however, overruled with the Peruvians about the affair, they protested their
by the gloominess of his other features.
innocence and declared that the white men who dwelt
“Cottin is on board !" was murmured in an under among them were much more addicted to mischievous
tone from stem to stern of the ship, and in a few mo- practices than the natives themselves. They also point-
ments he was surrounded by the whole of the crew. He led out this Cottin as a man of very suspicious charac-
made several attempts to speak, but whoever happened ter. They said that he came from beyond the moun-
to catch his eye, moved immediately away, and he be- tains; that no one knew him; that he never did any
came silent. At length, one of the hands, a tall Indian, work, and boarded no where. Yet the man always had
said to have once been a pirate, opened a conversation a little money, and was sometimes quite liberal in the
with him. They mutually boasted of the perilous scenes disposal of it. With the inconsideration common to most
which they had gone through, and as the listeners drew sailors, several of them at once went in search of Cottin.
nearer, Cottin became very communicative.
|| He was found in a pulpercé, drinking with one of the
“Don' you recollect,” said he, “ when you picked me frigate's boys. A tall, active seaman, from Kentucky,
up at sea on my little raft? I set out all alone, made collared him without preface, and dashed the liquor
a sail of my handkerchief, and in real dread-naught from his hands. A young sailor at the same moment


276
COTTIN, THE WANDERING HOMICIDE.
--
---
--
gave him a blow on the head with a slug shot, which" He was informed that a man had been in the Caliboose
brought him to the floor. The Kentuckian then seized some time, who answered the description of Coutin, in
the prostrate man with his teeth, and tore his flesh most most respects, but that he went by the name of Riley
cruelly. Cottin screamed in agony, and exclaimed, while there. He had been confined on suspicion of
“Oh! let me alone, and I will do no more murder!" ' murdering a young Spanish officer, on the road between
This was considered a confession of the alleged crime, Coquimbo and Valparaiso, but was discharged for want
and several of the frigate's men fell upon the wretched of sufficient evidence to convict him. On inquiring
sufferer, and would doubtless have despatched him, but which way the prisoner went after his release, he was
for the interference of others. The master of the house told that he started for Talcahuana.
drew a long sword, and assailed the man-o-war’s-men “Do you know anything of the man? Does he tell
so vigorously that they were obliged to leave Coutin in where he was born?” inquired the midshipman.
order to defend themselves. Coutin sprang on his feet, “No, sir," said the other; “but there lives a fellow
and escaped through a back window. He was seen down at the bottom of the Main Royal, who was with
running along the street with a stream of blood gushing him in prison a few weeks, and can no doubt give you a
from his principal wound. Of course, the authorities little information respecting him."
took the part of the rum-seller, and the seamen retired. The midshipman immedately set out for the house
Although thus baffled in their attempts to kill Cottin, were the individual was reported to be. He walked
the frigate's crew laid up malice against him, and hav. some distance before he came to it through the lowest
ing heard many additional reports of the wickedness of part of the town. Upon knocking at the door, a squallid
his character, they were much surprised at his audacity woman thrust her head out of the window, and asked,
in paying them a visit on board.
in Spanish, what he wanted.
After his visit to the frigate, Cottin was not seen by “Is John Roby here?”
any of the ship's company, while she lay at Callao; and “ No."
he was gradually forgotten. In a few months the frig-
ly forgotten. In a few months the frig. "Where is he?"
ate repaired to Valparaiso. Immediately on her arri-' “What do you want of him?"
vel at that place, the crew“ went ashore on liberty,” || "I am an old shipmate of his. Can you tell me where
and one of the hands took that opportunity to run away. he is to be found ?”.
In a few weeks afterwards, he was caught and brought! The woman looked scrutinizingly at the young officer
on board. After being confined in the “brig," tried by a moment, and then threw on a large shawl, and bade
a court martial, and whipped, he was turned loose and him follow her.
went to his duty. He said that he had been to the city When Mr. Blunt-which was the name of the mid-
of St. Jago; that while travelling thither in the night, shipman-first commenced his journey to the Main
he saw a light in the woods. Being very hungry, he Royal, he felt a little ashamed of the business he was
approached it, and found a small fire in a deep hollow, engaged in. He thought it would not redound much to
by which Coutin lay, entirely alone, fast asleep. The his credit to be hunting up the straggler whom he sought,
remains of a meal which he had been cooking lay near and holding familiar conversation with him. But the
him, and in his hand was a large knife crusted with manifest hesitancy of the woman, and a sort of wildness
blood ; but whether it was the blood of brutes or men, in her eyes when he first inquired for Roby, induced
he was unable to decide. “I was so horrified," said him to think there was something in the affair worth
the narrator, “ that I cut stick as fast as my legs would probing; and as she led him over the hills, and the eve-
carry me.” This story was not generally believed. It ning began to close in, giving a romantic character to
was supposed that the runaway, in his fright, mistook the wild scenery by which he was environed, he grusped
the man; for it was well known that no captain would his dagger energetically, and his bosom thrilled with
receive Cottin on board of his vessel. Therefore, it that stern pleasure which the brave always feel on the
was judged that he was still in the vicinity of Lima. approach of danger. At length the lights of the town
But, in a week or two subsequent to this tale, one of were shut out by the intervening hills; no habitation was
the officers on returning from Castle Blanco, asserted in sight, and still the woman led on. She spoke not a
that while riding along the road, he saw a man run out word to the young man, but occasionally looked behind
from a cluster of bushes, and passing near his horses' to see if he was following. He perceived that she
head enter a deep dell. He did not get a glimpse of mended her pace. The farther she went, the swifter
his countenance, but his form and dress were like those she walked. “Is she afraid of me?" said Blunt, in-
of Cottin. As will be supposed, these details, thus sup- wardly~" she takes great trouble to oblige me, surely."
porting each other, were not without their effect on the The woman at length quickened her pace nearly to a
ship's company. Some of them thought Cottin was ly-run, and then the young man demanded why she tra-
ing in wait for an opportunity to kill one of the crew, in velled so fast.
revenge for the assault made on him at Callao; while “Ha!" cried she, and her eyes seemed to flash with
others judged it most probable that he was living in triumph—"can't the Yankee walk so fast as a woman?”
Valparaiso when the ship arrived, and had retreated Then waving her arm authoritatively, she spoke in a
into the interior, in order to avoid the frigate's men. commanding tone, which the midshipman could hardly
One of the midshipmen was curious about the affair, I brook, “Come on! Come on!"
and took pains to make some close inquiries in town. “How much farther are you going?" said he.


COTTIN, TJIE WANDERING I OMICIDE.
277
No answer was returned this time, and the young || coming out of the bushes and placing himself in front of
man kept close to the heels of his swift conductor. The the youth.
trampling of horses' hoofs was heard, but at so great al “Put this dagger to the hilt in your cursed carcase!"
distance that he knew he was as much as a mile from exclaimed Blunt.
the highway. The town was full three times as dis- || “Was that what you came here for ?" said Roby.
tant. The woman now plunged down the side of all "No," returned the officer; "but time wears. Have
steep hill, and led the youth into a thick, dark wood. you grace enough in you to tell me where one Cottin is,
The thought of Cortin now forcibly obtruded itself upon who was your fellow-prisoner in the Calibouse ?".
his mind, and the gashed and bloody body of the car. “Well, I give you credit, young man," - said Roby,
penter rose vividly to his recollection. But Cottin was "I honor your spunk, if you have come out into these
a poor, miserable vagabond, and could not be acquaint-|| woods alone and single-handed, to look for Cottin!"
ed with this woman, or, if acquainted, could exercise no “Indeed !" said the youth; " you speak of this Cot-
influence over her. The walking became bad. The tin as if he was something. Pray is he omnipotent?
bushes and thorns caught in his clothes, and he began || I took him to be a poor, ignorant, miserable devil."
to fear he was taking unnecessary pains. . l “Miserable enough, I will admit," said the other,
“Tell me how much farther I must go!" exclaimed | looking down; "and poor enough, sometimes, too. Of
the midshipman impatiently, and jerking his poinard his ignorance I am not so well informed. “It takes &
from his bosom.
wise man to be a fool."
“Have you any money?" cried the woman abruptly,
“Ha! then you think his ignorance is assumed !"
and falling a little back until she came abreast of the
exclaimed Blunt. “But pray tell me all about the fel-
youth.
low."
“ Money!" cried he, lifting his dagger in a threat-
"If you will take the cath,” said Roby,“ to will ini-
cning manner; “have you brought me here to rob me?" || hate you.
“ No," said she, shrinking a little back; “ but you do
“We!" cried the surprised midshipman.
not intend to put me to all this trouble without paying
“ Yes, we!" exclaimed a tall sinewy man, coming
me ?"
swiftly out of the surrounding darkness, and laying his
This very natural and characteristic demand nearly
hand heavily on the midshipman's shoulder.
spoiled the romance of the adventure, in the eyes of the
| Mr. Blunt was brave, but the odds was too great, and
young man, and taking out a dollar, he presented it to
he quietly sheathed his dagger.
the woman, saying pettishly, “ Here is your pay. I
“Well," said he, “What am I to expect? Wo be-
suppose I've come for nothing after all. But where is
tide that cursed woman that led me into this scrape, if
this Roby!- I wish I was snug in my hammock."
ever I meet her again."
“ Is the Yankee blind ?" said the woman. Mr. Blunt
U A loud laugh from at least twenty throats, shook the
wood as he uttered this threat.
turned and saw a man at his elbow, peering through a
“A whole fleet!" said the midshipman, desponding-
clump of underwood, at him. The woman withdrew.
ly. “Well, what's to be done ?"
“So-is your name Roby ?" said the officer.
“Blood for blood !” exclaimed a voice from an un-
“What may please to be your business with me, sir?"
seen person behind him.
demanded the other.
| “Blood for blood !" was echoed in different parts of
« This is a strange place I find you in," returned the ll the wood.
midshipman, feeling rather unpleasantly. “I do not " You don't intend to murder me !" said the officer,
know what an honest man can be doing in this lonesome laving his hand on the hilt of his weapon.
and almost inaccessible place at this time of night.” 1
“I'll tell you what, young gentleman,” said Roby,
“Do you not ?" returned Roby; "then I much won- l“ it is very foolish for you to ask questions. You are
der at your being caught here, Mr. Blunt, since you in our power, and cannot help yourself. The virtue of
have heretofore enjoyed the reputation of being an hon-patience is on all such occasions profitable. In other
est man."
words, if you speak another syllable above your breath,
“You know my name ?" said the other, hastily.
this man behind you will rip you open like a codfish,
" Very probably,” said Roby; "and your father's with his long knife."
name, too. I have travelled in old Virginia, sir-I have The officer turned his head, and saw a man in his
seen slaves hung there, sir-and came very near being rear with a broad knife on a short pole, admirably cal-
hung by your father, myself, sir_-"
culated for performing the operation hinted at by Roby.
“ Is this Stewart ?” cried Blunt.
He accordingly remained silent, not doubting that Cot-
“That is one of the names that I go by, sir-there's | tin was one of the gang, and that his accomplices were
nothing in a name, sir. But, speaking of hanging, sir, | as blood-thirsty as himself.
I was actually one of the plotters of that insurrection, I "Forward-march!" cried the call man, and Blunt
and have left a train behind me, that will explode be- felt the point of the knife behind him, against his back.
fore you see Virginia again."
He walked slowly forward, and his captors kept as near
" Wretch!" cried Blunt, “ I wish I had you at home, I him as the bushes and stumps would admit.
“Quite a civilly-behaved young man," said Roby to
“ What would you do?" calmly inquired the other, Il che tall person on the other side of their prisoner.
now."
34


COTTIN, THE WANDERING HOMICIDE.
279
the nose was distinctly visible—then the mouth, which || his power of vision, something fell heavily upon the
appeared to be partly open, while the teeth were shut straw and boxes in his pen, and the trap-door was in-
closely together. He spoke, but no answer came. Un- i stantly closed.
able longer to endure the silence of the saturnine visitor, “Water' water !" cried the object, in a lamentable
he arose and approached him. The head was still im- | voice, who had thus been thrust into the cellar. These
moveable. He pushed his fettered hands against its words were spoken in Spanish, and the midshipman
face-it was cold. The truth flashed at once upon his replied in the game language.
mind. It was a human head, stuck on a spike-doubt-|| “Who are you, friend, and why have you been
less the head of a murdered man. The confidence shot ?"
which he had just felt in his own security, was a little “Ah!” cried the other, “is there another prisoner
shaken by this discovery, and he began to wish heartily | here? Do you know who these fellows are ? Ah, God!
that he was out of the clutches of the conspirators. I am so faint! Is there no water here?"
Just then he heard the company above him departing, il “Give me some water!" exclaimed Blunt, hearing
and the light from his knot-hole was darkened. He was the ruffians conversing overhead.
soon left in solitude and silence. The idea of endea-l “Wait till they are gone, and you shall have some,”
voring to effect his escape, now rushed forcibly into his whispered a voice, which appeared to be that of a young
mind. The handcuffs first engaged his attention ; they | female.
were rather large, and he was surprised at the ease “Is this place haunted ?" cried the midshipman,
with which he slipped them off—at least, so he thought starting. “Where are you, my lady-bird ?”
at the time, for it was not until some moments after. The question was not answered; but in a moment the
ward that he perceived he had left some of his skin on departing footsteps of the conspirators were heard.
the iron. His chains were not so easily removed, but | They had been gone about five minutes, before the voice
he could walk with them. He then clambered over the l of the female was again heard. A small trap-door,
side of his pen, and seized on several boxes which he which appeared to lead to an apartment which Blunt
found to be light, and threw them over the partition, had not yet seen, was gradually opened, and a fair, beau-
intending to build a scaffold with them, high enough to tifully-shaped arm was thrust down the aperture with a
enable him to reach the trap.door. As he was about gourd of water. Blunt remained quiet, as if he did not
returning to his pen, a ghastly human skull presented see it, in the hope that he should once more hear the
itself to his eyes. The mouth, eye-holes, and other musical voice of the female.
apertures, flashed out their light in every direction. He “Come," said she, “ here is some water for you.”
was soon enabled to comprehend the phenomenon, for!! This time she spoke in English. Blunt's astonish-
a candle was plainly discernible inside of the skull! ment was at its height. He could not doubt that she
“Who is there?" cried the midshipman, catching up spoke her native language. The accent was correct,
a bayonet from the ground.
and the complexion of her arm was not that of a Span-
No answer was returned, but the flaming skull was ish girl. He advanced hastily, and seized the gourd.
waved to and fro, directly before his eyes. He walked | The trap-door was immediately shut. The wounded
boldly up to the bony lantern, and perceived that it was man drank, and revived. He complained that he was
suspended by a cord from the upper floor.
weak from the loss of blood. Blunt improved upon the
“If there is but one man present !" thought he, and hint. Advancing directly under the trap-door, he called
he grasped more firmly the bayonet. He peered ans. out:
iously through the gloom, being delermined to strike the “There is a man with me who is bleeding to death.
first living thing which presented itself.
Let me have something to dress his wounds."
"Coward!” cried he, at length, “come forward !- He waited a moment, when the door again opened,
nay, if there are two of you, come on! Chained as I and the female with a lantern in one hand, and a bundle of
am, I defy you!"
lint and rags in the other, leaped fearlessly into the
A gay laugh, like that of an innocent, light-hearted cellar. Never before had the young officer looked upon
young girl, was heard at that moment a sound more such romantic and overpowering loveliness. She was
delicious to a sailor's ear than even the trumpet of vic- about the middle height. Her form was of the finest
tory. But from whence the sound proceeded, was diffi- proportions. Her step was as light as the falling of a
cult to determine. It seemed to be near him, and yet leaf, but her countenance was the reflection of a sun-
he could not point out where. His cheek burned with beam; it was all radiance and life. Her eyes were
miogled emotions. He hastily examined every part of large and dark, while her complexion was of the purest
the cellar. There was no outlet: no crook or closet in white, slightly tinged with red. Her lips were pouting,
which a human being could be concealed. He was and the rich blood seemed about to burst through the
about renewing his endeavors to escape, when the sharp skin which held it. Her thick black locks hung scarce-
report of a pistol near the cottage caused him to start. ly below her shoulders, but were strongly contrasted
A deep groan was heard-then the trampling of feet, with a neck of transparent whiteness. Her frock, which
and in a moment the heavy tread of men over his head, ' was shorter than usual, was of white muslin. Around
announced the return of some portion of his captors. her waist was a belt containing two pistols, which glit-
The trap-door was opened. A flood of light burst upon i tered in the light of her lamp. Her small feet were
the dazzled eyes of Blunt, ant before he could recover encased in mocasins. The handle of a dagger protru


280
COTTIN, THE WANDERING HOMICIDE.
ded from her snowy bosom. Tho midshipman looked | first originator of this conspiracy. He not only controls
on her martial equipments, and thought of Venus doing the whole affair, but demeans himself so much as to
battle on the field of Troy. He pointed out the woun-wander in the character of a spy, all over the great pen-
ded man to her, and then stood surveying the etherial | insula. He dresses in the shabbiest fashion, and as-
maiden with speechless admiration.
sumes gross ignorance on such errands. But he strikes
"Ah! he is a Spaniard !" cried she; “ I thought it the traitor to the heart. His steel is always ready for
was an Englishman. He is our enemy; ho is a dog of a Patriot, either on the highway or in his drawing-room.
a Patriot!"
His dagger is seldom bloodless. He onco embarked in
While uttering these words, her short upper lip curled a Patriot vessel, for the express purpose of killing all
with disdain, and her eyes flashed with fire. With the on board. He did so, and committed himself to the
quickness of lightning her dagger was unsheathed and deep on a slender stage. He was picked up by an
thrust into the throat of the sufferer.
|| American vessel. My hand is bloody, too. I can strike
“What are you doing?" cried Blunt, hastily seizing a Republican to the heart. You are very handsome,
her arm-but he saw it was all over. The man was and if you were not a Republican, I could love you-
dead-and he drew back to await her answer. She de- for oh, it is too bad that such a large heart as mine should
liberately severed the head of the corpse from the shoul- have to do so much hating and no loving. If you would
ders, and cast it from her with disdain, while the spout- join with us!”—and she placed her taper fingers on his
ing blood besprinkled her snowy robes.
shoulder, as gently as cloud meets cloud on a calm day.
" You ask what I have done?" cried she, replacing || “Would you adviso me to become a Royalist?" said
her dagger in her bosom, and confronting Blunt with a he.
smile which, in spite of her cruelty, made his heart leap ll “Or die!" cried the maiden ; for you cannot suppose
madly toward her_" I have killed the enemy of royal- that I would ever have revealed our secret to you, if I
ty and nobleness! I have slain a man who would kill thought it possible for you to escape from our hands."
my father, if he had him in his power."
“It is a mad enterprise !" cried he, with a little
“Can such loveliness delight in blood !” exclaimed haughtiness. “A few gloomy misanthropes, regardless
Blunt, completely bewildered. '
of the welfare of others, may sometimes lure the unsus-
“Why not ?" demanded she. “Do not beauty and pecting into their snares; but the end thereof is certain
violence go hand in hand? Does the peaceful, laboring || ruin to all concerned.”
swain wear a gilded coat like yours? What is more “In many houses,” said the inaiden, solemnly," the
beautiful than the deadly adder? what more poisonous image of Ferdinand is carefully secreted ; and in many
than the gay rattlesnake ? The destructive lightning is | loyal hearts is allegiance to our rightful lord buried, un-
brighter than the harmless cloud; and the pearly sea- til the trumpet which calls to arms will usher in the
wave that whelms the sailor's bark is fairer than the || resurrection morn of the royal standard, floating on the
placid ocean."
towers of St. Jago, Lima, and Conception. But why
“I acknowledge," said the young officer, " that there do I thus talk to you ? You are a Republican. The
is always danger where there is beauty."
splendor of a court would dazzle your boorish eyes, and
She smiled faintly, and resumed: “I am not cruel the crown of a king,"
I am only just. I am embarked, heart and soul, in the “Should go with his head to the devil!” cried the
cause of an injured prince. My father, who lived be- ll young American, indignantly.
yond the Andes, has also joined the insurgents, and | The maiden stood a moment, with her eyes cast down,
blood will flow before we surrender the object which we and then said, without looking up, “Suppose I should
have in vicw "
release you, would you betray our purpose ?"
“Can you tell me of one Cottin"
“I should think it my duty to expose a murderer,"
“He is my father," interrupted the maiden.
replied he. “According to your account, your father
“ Your father! What!-a murderer! a common is a dangerous person."
vagabond! a-"
The light was suddenly extinguished; and in the
The maiden drew out a pistol, and deliberately cock-twinkling of an eye, he heard the trap-door open and
ing it, said, “Another word, and you perish! You shut. The maiden was gone, and the midshipman was
shall hear me first, and then judge."
alone again.
“ To die by such fair hands would almost be bliss,” || "I shall see her no more," said he, and there was
said he gallantly.
sadness in the thought. He found it not so agreeable to
The maiden blushed, and did not look displeased. I be left with a bloody corpse for his sole companion, as to
Her hand trembled a little as she put up her weapon. I be standing face to face with a maiden whose loveliness
“ My father," said she, “is not a vagabond. He is an | surpassed that of a Houri. He stretched himself on the
English lord,"—Blunt started—"he was forced to flee straw, and fell asleep. He had slept about two hours,
his country for a crime which shall be nameless. He when he was awakened by the violent clashing of
took me with him. We came to Chili, and settled back || swords, the trampling of horses, the screams of the dy-
of the mountains. My father, expatriated and reduced ing, the incessant rattling of fire-arms, and the crack-
from his high estate, became a misanthrope. He de- ling of flames above him. He made a vigorous effort,
lighted in shedding the blood of his species--so do not burst through the trap-door, and found the house in
I, excepting in a worthy cause. My father was the flames. He gained the open air, considerably scorched.


THE PRAYER OF JEREMIA S.
281
Here a scene presented itself which cannot be described. || 'Neath the load of the stranger, our children have fainted-
From the gates have our ancients been driven afar ;-
The woods, and scraggy vallies, and rocks, were lit up
| They have spurned us as beggars with leprosy tainted-
as at noon-day. A melee of a thousand men, mostly on
From the choir of the singers, our youth they debar.
horseback, was seen on all sides of the cottage; one
The joy of our hearts is departed and vanished
scene of blood and confusion, glittering swords, man-
Our dancing is turned into weeping and woe.
gled men and horses, flame and smoke, comprised the The crown ofour kingdom they've crushed-they have banishod
ghastly spectacle. Yet through this dense mass of war ||
Our sages and chieftains--our princes they slew.
and murder, Blunt was obliged to force his way. His
Mount Sion is desolate-lonely and dreary-
chains were now a protection to him. Many a stout | The wolf and the fox prowl around it by day;
broadsword rang against his fetters, as he rushed under and at night, when with carnage the vulture is weary,
the very heels of prancing steeds, trampled over heaps She screams from its summit and flaps o'er her prey.
of the dead, and plunged into columns of lurid smoke. Our homes and our hearths, and our hills are forsaken,
He had nearly cleared the thickest part of the throng, And perished and gone is our glory and name;
But God of our fathers, thy might is unshaken,
when he beheld the warlike maiden on the ground,
Thy glory and power are for ever the same!
gashed by a dozen wounds; her dress completely plas-
tered with brains and clotted blood, her dark locks scat-
Then Father Almighty no longer reject us;
Remember thy mercy-thy justice forget;
tered in wild disorder over her marble face, and her
Convert us oh Lord !--mongst thy chosen elect us-
hand still grasping a falchion. He sunk down upon
Let the dews of thy tenderness fall 'round us yet! D, P. R.
her body, completely overpowered. When he came to
himself, he was alone on the bloody battle-field. Thus
Original.
ended this conspiracy. A faithless confederate had ex-
FARMER'S HYMN. .
posed the whole secret, and brought the soldiers upon
the Royalists at a time when they had met to concert
God of the hills and verdant plains,
their future schemes.
I bless thy ruling hand-
Cottin was not present at the battle. He has been
For drifting snows and gentle rains
since seen in the United States-a dismal, walking
Are sent by thy command.
corpse.
The opening Spring is decked by thee,
Original.
With each delightful flower,
THE PRAYER OF JEREMIAS.
And every leaf and bud I see,
Bear impress of thy power.
JEREMIAS was a priest-a native of Anathoth, a priestly city
in the tribe of Benjamin-was sanctified from his mother's
The riponing Summer's burning sun-
womb to be a prophet of God, which office he began to execute
whilst he was yet a child in age. He was, in his whole life, ac-
The Winter's piercing cold
cording to the signification of his name, great before the Lord.
The changing seasons as they run,
The“ Lamentations " pourtray in the most pathetic and beau-
tiful manner the miseries of the people of Israel, and the de-
Thy wisdom, Lord, unfold.
struction of Jerusalem and the Temple."And it came to pass
after Israel was carried into captivity, and Jerusalem was deso-
The joy that centres in my cot,
late-that Jeremias, the prophet sat weeping, and mourned with
lamentation over Jerusalem, and with a sorrowful mind sighing
No less thy wisdom owns ;-
and moaning."
With rural happiness my lot,
The“ Prayer" (the conclusion of the Book of Jeremias) is an
appeal to the Almighty to havo pity on tho persecuted peo-
I cannot envy thrones.
ple of Judah, and sets forth their sufferings touchingly. I havo
merely versified it, keeping to the literal text as much as I could.
Love dwells within my peaceful breast, ,
I fear, at best, it is but "gilding refined gold, or painting the
lilly " to attempt any version of this prayer, but still hope that
At every morning's dawn-
the intrinsic worth of the subject will be some atonement for the
And when the sun sinks in the West,
sins" of the poet.
My cares are all withdrawn.
Remember, oh Lord, all our suffering and sorrow,
Although secluded from the mart
Consider, oh God, and behold our reproach!--
Oh when shall the day dawn-that long-looked-for-morrow,
Where crowd the thoughtless way-
Whose light shall fore-herald our freedom's approach?
Where in the scenes that vex the heart,
Our fields and our hills are to the stranger given,
Men waste their lives away.
And the hearths of our fathers behold us no moro;
Beside the hill the purling brook
As outcasts we're hooted-as aliens driven
From our own native valleysmour fondly-loved shore.
Glad nature's fond retreat-
The servants of servants have lorded it o'er us,
With gratitude to Thee I look,
And spurned us as creatures too mean for their mirth:
And songs of joy repeat.
We had no one to comfort us-none to restore us
For lot so blest, my voice I raise,
To thee, oh! loved Judah!-green land of our birth.
'Neath the red, scorching rays of tho desert-sun-burning
Almighty God, to thee ;-
With thirst and with famine and shrieking with pain-
Thou needest not an angel's praise,
And fainting and famished and blinded with mourning
Much less such praise from me.
For the sins of our fathers wo've suffered in vain.
But I will bless thy bounteous hand,
In the cities of Judah our virgins are weeping-
By the Mountain of Sion the loved of our souls,
For all thy gifts bestowed ;-
In great fear-like to thieves-are now stealthily creeping
Before my heart could understand,
To sip of the stream-or lament-where it rolle.
Ten thousand thanks I owed.


282
MAR Y DERWENT.
0
A feu
eeks after Tabmeroo's
$ 200 PRIZE ARTICLE. I was seen to emerge from the shaded road which leads
across the Wilkesbarre mountains, a kind of timidity
seldom observed at private houses, except at the ap-
Original.
proach of a travelling minister or a schoolmaster who
MARY DERWENT. *
boards about. There was little of refinement, but every
thing essential to comfort, in the interior of aunt Pol-
A TALE OF THE EARLY SETTLERS.
ly's tavern, for so the log building with the sign was
denominated. A kitchen, and a small square room
BY MRS. ANN 3. STEPHENS.
which served the wayfarer as bedchamber, dining and
sitting-room, had the usual furniture of splint chairs, &
CHAPTER VIII.
small looking-glass, surmounted by a tufi of fresh aspa-
A YEAR teeming with events not only to the little val-
ragus-a fire-place filled with white-pine tops, and a bed
ley of Wyoming, but to all Colonial Anierica, had passoll decked with sheets of the whitest homespun, and a
ed since the closing of our last chapter. On that year I coverlid of blue and white yarn, wove in what aunt Pol-
the revolution which made us a nation broke over the ly called orange quarters, and doors and windows.
whole country. Wyoming had long been a scene of civil |
The night on which our story resumes its thread, a
commotion from disputed rights urged by the Connec-
gentleman in the regimentals of a British officer, was
ticut and Pennsylvania claimants for ils lands; now
impatiently pacing this little room, and more than once
these factions were again broken and more thoroughly
he opened the door which led to the kitchen to hurry
disunited by the political sides which each man suppo-
aupt Polly in her preparations for supper. This resi-
sed himself called upon to adopt in the approaching less impatience, in our traveller, put aunt Polly, good,
fat old soul, somewhat out of patience. “She was do-
young Butler, her tribe had removed their encampment
ing as fast as she could," she said, “and she did hate to
to the valley of the Mohawk, where they had remained
be driv;' but at each interruption of her guest, the good
inactive in the close neighborhood of Sir William John-
lady dipped an unfortunate chicken with more desperate
son. This gentleman lost no time in securing the co-
energy into the kettle of hot water which stood on the
operation of the Indian tribes which surrounded him
hearth before her, and tore away the dripping plumage
with the English troops then landing in great bodies
handful after handful, with a zeal that might have satis-
from the mother country. Catharine Montour, herself
fied the most hungry traveller that ever claimed hospi-
an English aristocrat, became a willing and powerful
tality at her door. An iron pot filled with potatoes, and
instrument to the political baroner, and through her vast
a tea-ketele, hung, like a brace of martyrs, in the bla-
influence with the savages, the tribes of the Six Nations
zing fire, and every thing was in fair progress for a com-
became auxiliary to the British. As the year advanced
fortable meal, when the young traveller entered the
hostile preparations were made not only along the At-
kitchen, as if weary of remaining alone, and began to
lantic shores, but in the hamlets and quiet valleys of the
chat with aunt Polly, while she dissected the unfortu-
interior. The revolutionists of Wyoming were among
nate fowl after it came out clean and featherless from
the first to make defensive preparations; a company
the hot bath with which she had indulged it.
was organized from the scattered farm-houses; a fort
“I see you keep every thing clean and snug as usual,
was built on the Kingston side of the Susquehannah ;
aunt Poll,” he said, looking about the apartment, where,
ammunition was procured, and every log hut along the
however, might be observed greater marks of confusion
river took the features of a little fortress, so active were
than was common with the thrifty old maid.
the preparations made for the coming struggle. In this!
"Nothing to brag of," replied Polly, shaking her head
warlike position we find the valley of Wyoming when
and looking at the loom which stood in one corner with
our narrative again continues.
a coarse linen web half drawn into the harness. A
A long wooden bridge at this time connects Wilkes-
quill-wheel and a rickety pair of swifts were crowded
barre with the Kingston side of the Susquehannah: a
against the heavy posts, the one unbanded, and the other
capacious and most excellent hotel stands on the sweep
with a few threads of tow-yarn tangled among the sticks.
of the road where it winds over from the former place,
“I don't know how it is, Captin Butler, but you al'es
and the stage horn may be heard sounding merrily up
make me fling every thing to sixes and sevens when you
the valley at almost every hour of the day, But at the
come. Now, I meant to have wove a yard on that are
time of our story, there was neither bridge nor hotel,
web afore night-anybody else would have took up with
unless a low log house, fronted by a magnificent elm,
a cold bite; but you're awful dainty about victuals, cap-
and made of consequence by a log stable, a huge hay.
tin, and al'es was."
stack and a shingle roof, might be called such. A pub.
“Well, never mind that, Polly; you know I am al-
lic house it certainly was intended to be, for a rudely
ways willing to pay for what I have. But, tell me, is
painted sign hung groaring and creaking among the
there no news stirring in the valley? I see you have
thick leaves of the elm, and the chickens which con-
got a fort over the river-who commands there?"
gregated about the haystack were always seen to flutter!
“Who but Edward Clark, your old schoolmate; but
and creep away into hiding-places whenever a traveller
I rather think that there won't be much watch kept up
there to-night, tho' the Mohawks are skulking in the hills
• Concluded from page 246.
- the captin's got better fish to fry. You haven't forgot


MARY DERWENT.
283
.
how reg'lar he went a sparking to old mother Derwent's, li table-cloth in the best room, she placed thereon the
have you ?" and aunt Polly busied herself with stirring nicely cooked fowl, the smoking potatoes, a plate of
up the simmering members of the fowl with a large wood bread and a ball of most exquisite butter, and gave the
en spoon, while her auditor began to pace the Poor with finishing touch to her table by a saucer of preserved
a brow that grew darker and a step that became heavier crab-apples and wild plums placed on each corner. After
each instant.
| all was ready, she placed herself by a little waiter
The landlady wiped the perspiration from her face, scarcely larger than a good sized snuffer-tray, and as
and then looked rather inquisitively at him. “Why, she placed and re-placed the milk-cup and sugar-bowl,
what has come over you ?” she said ; “you look as black muttered her impatience for the return of her guest. -
as a thunder-cloud all at once."
"I wonder what on arth keeps him so—I could a fod-
"To-night-did you say that Edward Clark and Jane dered my whole stock afore this. Walter Builer did'nt -
Derwent were to be married lo-night ?”
use to be so long tending his horse afore he eat him-
“Yes-they'll have a wedding on the Island to-night self. Dear me, the gravy is gitling cold and thick about
or I loose my guess."
the chicken—the tea 'll be drawn to death! I do wish-
“At what hour-do you know the hour?”.
oh, here he comes !"
“Why, no — I don't 'spose they're particular to a The old woman brightened up as she heard footsteps
minute."
coming through the kitchen, and snatching up the tea-
“So the rebel dog thinks to have Jane Derwent at pot, she began to pour out the half cold beverage into
last, does he !" exclaimed Butler, pausing angrily in his the little earthen cups which she only brought out to
walk and bending his flushed brow on the landlady, then regale the tory guests who graced her house.
turning away he muttered between his teeth: “ By the “Do come along, captin-your supper is gitting
Lord that made me, I will spoil his happiness this once!" stun cold," she said, without raising her eyes from
Then after walking moodily a moment, he inquired the tea-cups. “Come, set to, now, I've been awaiting
with abrupt energy, how long the Mohawks had been this ever so long."
encamped in the neighborhood.
“I hope that I have made no mistake, my good wo-
“About a week, I believe," was aunt Polly's reply. I man," replied a strange voice from the door in reply to
“That handsome little squaw, that came here after you her hospitable invitation; “I supposed this to be a pub-
once, was down here last night jist as I was getting into lic house."
bed, to know if I'd heard any thing about you. She Aunt Polly set down the tea-pot, and her hands drop-
had the cunningest little baby with her, almost as white ped to her lap, for to her astonishment a tall military
as I an, with curly brown hair and the beautifulest eyes I man stood in the door-way, arrayed in regimentals as
- I declare it did my heart good only jist to look at it: her younger guest had been; but he was evidently of
and somehow, I kinder suspected—”
higher rank and of far more dignified and lofty car-
“ Well, never mind-but, tell me, is the white queen riage. His cap was in his hand, and a few grey hairs
with the tribe ?"
silvered the dark locks about his high forehead. The
“ Well, now, how should I know, captin? I should expression of his face was that of sternness and deci-
not have known that they were there at all, if it had'nt sion; yet there was a softness in his smile as he obser-
been for that purty squaw. Nobody else dreams of their ved the astonished landlady, which made it almost win-
being so near; I guess there'd be a racket kicked up if ning ; he advanced into the room with a courteous
they did. Edward Clark would'nt dare to leave the lease, which aunt Polly could feel much better than she
fort if ’lwas, to get married, if he linew what a swarm || could understand.
of redskins lay about him. I hope they don't mean to “I hope that I am not mistaken—at least, you will
do any mischief, captin, do they ?"
not refuse me a portion of this tempting dish ?" he said,
Butler paid no attention to her question, nor even laying his cap and riding-whip on the bed.
smiled at the ludicrous comparison of his own beau- By this time, aunt Polly had recovered her speech.
tiful child with the fat unwieldy person and crimson “ There is no mistake in the affair," she said; “80 set
face of his good-hearted entertainer. He took out his by, and help yourself to such as there is. I've kept
watch, and hastily replacing it, muttered in an under lavern here these ten years. Don't stand to be axed, if
tone, and left the house, regardless of the supper which you want supper-it's all ready, and I began to think
he had been so impatient for a few minutes before that I had cooked it for nothing. You take tea I 'spose
“I wish to gracious John was here, for I ruther guess from the looks of your training coat."
my hay will suffer if the captin feeds his own horse,” | The stranger seated himself at the table, and took
said the old woman, as the door closed; "the feller the proffered cup. “You have prepared for other
thinks no more of a peck of oats than if it was cut guests ?" he observed, as she arose to get another cup
straw. I wish he'd make haste tho', the victuals is and sancer from the closet.
purty near done, and I begin to feel kinder hungry my, il “ Yes-Captin Butler will be in purty soon, I guess ;
self. Oh, I'd a'most forgotten these English all want but there's no calculating when.”
tea," and opening a rude closet, she took out a small! The stranger looked up with a degree of interest
tin cannister containing the unpopular herb, and filling when the name was pronounced. “Is it of Captain
the little round top, she smoothed it off with her finger, ! Walter Butler you speak ?” he inquired. "
and put the tea to drawing," then spreading a snowy il “Yes, his name's Walter, and an awful smart feller


284
MAR Y DERWENT.
'spose."
he is too, I tell you. Do you know him, if I may be so I pledged his tribe. He was in a most savage mood that
bold ?"
night, for one of his young men had been brought in a
“Can you tell me what business brought him to the corpse from the woods, and his death was imputed to
valley ?" inquired the stranger, without heeding her the whites who then held possession of the fort below.
question.
Catharine Montour sat apart with her eyes fixed in
Aunt Polly broke into a deep, hearty laugh-one of painful apprehension on the wrathful face of the chief.
those mellow, comfortable cachinations, which only || There was nothing of the fierce courage in her demea.
very fat people can indulge in to perfection.
nor that had formerly characterized it; a most asto-
“Business—why I rather guess the same that al'es | nishing change had been gradually wrought in her mind
brings him here when the Mohawks 'camp in the hills. I and person, since the day that witnessed her interview
Why, bless you, the captin's as good as married to one with the missionary. The healthful roundness of her
of the handsomest little squaws that ever you sot eyes | person had fallen away, and her features were sharpen-
on; some say that he is married in rale downright ar-ed and of a cold paleness. They seemed as if chissel.
nest; but I don't believe all I hear-its been a kind of led from marble. Her cheeks were hollow, and her
an Indian scrape—a jumping over the broomstick, I high forehead was changed in its lofty and daring ex-
pression, a calm and settled tranquillity had settled
A haughty frown shot over the forehead of the stran-| mildly upon it, and her eyes, formerly fierce and keen
ger, and he fixed his eyes sternly on the loquacious old almost as a wild eagle's, were full of resigned and gen-
maid for a moment. Then he said with perfect com- lle sadness, at that moment disturbed by apprehension
posure: “There probably is some mistake-village ru- || and fear, but by no sterner emotion.
mors are seldom to be depended upon. But, did I un-1 Never in the days of her loftiest pride had Catharine
stand you rightly, is the Mohawk chief in your direct Montour appeared so touchingly lovely, so gentle and
neighborhood ?"
so woman-like, as on that evening. She had been plea-
“I don't know any thing about it, only what the || ding for her people with the fierce chief-pleading that
young squaw told me last night; she said I must tell vengeance should not be sought on the inhabitants of
the captin that they were in the old camp ground; but the neighboring valley in retribution for the death of
she was mightily afeard that I should tell it to anybody i one single man. But the Mohawk had taken other
else."
counsellors to his bosom within the year. Since the
The traveller took a paper from his pocket on which | fierceness of Catharino's character had passed away,
was a chart, rudely drawn with a pen; after examining her influence over him had decreased, while that of But-
it a moment, he resumed his mcal, though more than ler, his white son-in-law, was more thoroughly establish-
once he laid down his fork and remained for several | ed, whenever he paid one of his hasty visits to the tribe.
minutes together lost in deep thought. When the sup- When almost as stern and unyielding as himself, Catha-
per was over, he laid a piece of gold on the table, andrine might command, now she could but supplicate.
went out as abruptly as he had entered, and in a little | The higher and better portion of her nature was as a
time aunt Polly heard the tramp of his horse as he rode sealed book to the rude savage; he could understand
in a brisk pace up the river road.
| and respect strong physical courage, but of the intel-
“Well, if this don't beat all creation," said the old lectual being, of the hidden springs which form the
maid, laying the guinea in her palm, and examining it fearful machinery of a cultivated mind, he had never
on both sides with delighted curiosity; “I wonder who dreamed. When moral goodness began to predominate
on arth he can be!" And then she put the cold supper in Catharine's character, he mistook its meek and gen-
on the hearth, that it might be in readiness for Butler tle manifestations for cowardice, and she became to hin
when he returned; but she saw no more of him that almost an object of contempt. There was no longer any
night.
power in her patient perseverance and persuasive voice
Again the green hollow which has been described as to win his nature to mercy, and the daring spirit which
the Mohawks usual camping ground on the banks of the had formerly awed and controlled his, had departed for
Susquehannah, was thronged with savage forms and il- ll ever beneath the gradual deepening of repentance in her
luminated with watch-fires. The lodge which Catha- heart.
rine Montour had previously occupied was enwoven || Tahmeroo had joined earnestly with her mother's
with fresh boughs, and while the fires gleamed brightly pleading; but he answered only with abrupt monosyl-
in the gathering darkness and red warriors moved about lables, and even while their voices were in his car, his
the enclosure with faces of sombre and savage meaning | sinewy fingers worked eagerly about the haft of his
a steady light twinkled through the crevices of the ill- knife, conveying an answer more appalling than the
fitted door, and the interior was silent as if unoccupied ; fiercest words would have been. There had been silence
yet within was the Mohawk chief, his white queen and for some time. Catharine Montour sat with her hand
Tahmeroo, the wife of Walter Butler. The stately I shading her troubled brow, pondering on some means of
form of the chief was still majestic and unchanged, but preventing the bloodshed which she had too much cause
his iron brow was knit gloomily over his fierce eyes, and to apprehend, and sorely repenting that she bad insti-
now and then his hand stole round to the hilt of his gated the Indians to take up arms in the dispute waged
scalping-knife with a fierce, eager gripe, as if he burned between England and her colonies. Tahmeroo stole
to begin the work of blood, to which he had partially il away to the couch and laid her cheek against that of


MAR Y DERWENT.
285
a beautiful infant that lay sleeping among its rich furs. || heart-sick for reply, she drew back to her daughter's
She took up its little hand and placed it in her bosom, I couch, and sat down faint and quite overcome. There
and nestled it closer and closer to her heart, as she had been something horrible in the feeling of that long,
thought of the mother and infants whom her stern father black hair, as it swept over her face; her nerves still
had already murdered, and whose scalps hung with their quivered even with the thought of it.
long and sunny hair streaming over the door of the lodge. “Mother," said Tahmeroo, rising from among the
“Oh, if his father were but here," she murmured, pres- furs where she had cast herself, and winding her arms
sing her lips down on the rosy mouth of the child, while around Catharine—“oh, mother, comfort me-do com-
tears started to her eyes, brought there by the thoughts fort me, or my heart will break !".
of his long absence" he can do any thing with the “Catharine pressed her lips upon the forehead of the
tribe.” As she spoke, the door was flung open, and young mother, and murmured, “Bless you, my dear
her husband stood before her. Tahmeroo sprang joy- one-bless you. What troubles you, my child ?” She
fully to his bosom and kissed his cheek and lips and looked fondly and affectionately on the grieved face
brow, in all the abandonment of a happy and most affcc-' which lay upon her bosom as she spoke, and her heart
tionate heart; nor did she mark the stern and malig.' was pained when she saw how disappointments, regrets
nant expression of the face she had been covering with and checked tenderness had worn on its former rich
kisses, till he hastily released himself from her arms, and beauty. The wrung heart had spread a sadness over
without returning her greeting advanced to the chief, those features, as the crushed bosom of a flower imparts
to whom he whispered for the space of a moment. A la bruised appearance to all its surrounding leaves.
fiendish light broke to the Mohawk's eye, and with a deep, il Tahmeroo burst into a passion of tears at her mother's
guttural humph, he arose, and taking his tomahawk and question. “Did you not see him, mother ?--how he
rifle from a corner of the lodge, went out. Butler was pushed his own sweet babe back upon my boom as it it
about to follow, but Tahmeroo again stood before him had been a wild animal-did you not see him thrust me
with the sleeping child in her arms.
on one side-me and the boy, without a kiss or one kind
“ You will not go away yet ?" she said. “You have word for either ? Oh, mother, my heart is growing hard.
not looked upon our boy. See-he is smiling on you!" I fear that I shall cease to love him."
The beautiful child awoke at the moment, and a smile. Catharine laid her hand on the throbbing forehead of her
indeed, dimpled his rosy mouth, though he clung to his daughter, and remained in solemn and serious thought.
mother's bosom and kept his eyes fixed half in fear on. At length she spoke in a voice deep and impressive as
the parent, whose face was yet unfamiliar to him.
the tones of a good man's prayer. “No, my child, I
“Take the brat away,” exclaimed the unfeeling man, did not see this rudeness, for my thoughts were on other
rudely pushing both his wife and child aside ; “I have things—but listen to me, Tahmeroo; since the day that
other matters to think of!"
you were first laid in my bosom, like a young bird in
The Indian blood flashed up to Tahmeroo's cheek, the nest of its mother,'my heart has hovered over yours,
her eye kindled, and her form was drawn to its even as that mother-bird over its youngling. I have
proudest height as she stood back, with the child press. i watched every new faculty as it sprung up and blossom-
ed to her bosom, that her husband might pass out. ed in your mind. I have striven to guide cach strong
Catharine had started to her feet when the Mohawk passion as it dawned in your heart; your nature has
went out, and now stood pale as death, with her eyes been to me as a blooming garden, which I could enter
fixed on the yet damp scalps which he had fastened | and cultivate and beautify, when disgusted with the
upon her lodge, so much agitated by her apprehensions, I weedy and poisonous growth of human nature as I have
that the rudeness offered to her daughter had escaped found it in the world; as I have found it in my own
her notice; but as Butler was hurrying through the door-heart; but there is one thing which I have not done.
way, she stepped forward and grasped his arm with an I have laid no strong foundation of religion and princi-
energy, that caused him to turn with something like an ple for my flowery superstructure. In my own heart, I
oach, at what he supposed to be the importunity of his had become an unbeliever in the faith of my fathers. I
wife. Catharine took no heed of his impatience. “But- acknowledged no God, and resolutely turned my thoughts
ler," she said, “I fear there will be more bloodshed, from a future. My spirit had erected to itself one idol
for sweet mercy's sake appease the chief; you can; oh, -an idol which it was sin to love, and double sin to
do not lose the opportunity. I think it would kill us worship as I worshipped. I will not show to you, my
all were another scalp to be brought in, reeking with child, the progress of a life, the whole wretched destiny
She broke off suddenly, and shrunk back with a sick of which was regulated by one sin; I will not show 10
shudder, for a gust of wind swept the long hair which you the working of that sin; it is the curse of evil that
streamed from a female scalp over the door, directly its consequences never cease, that thought is interlinked
across her face. Butler took advantage of her state with thought, event with event, and that the effects of
to make his escape.
ll one wrong act creep like serpents through the whole
“ Have no fear, madam," he said, freeing his arm chain of a human life, soiling the memory of the perpe-
from her grasp, and brushing the scalp carelessly backtrator even in the grave.
with his hand, as he went out, “ you shall have no “My own destiny would be a fearful illustration of
cause. I must hasten to the council.”
this truth-might be the salvation of many in its moral,
Catharine Montour comprehended him, but too but when did example save? When did the fall of one
35


286
MARY DERWENT.
human being prevent the fall of another? Why should! Catharine started up and went out into the enclosure.
I expose my own frailties in hopes to preserve you, my In a few minutes she returned, as pale as a corpse, but
child, from similar wrong? What you have just said, with something of former energy in her manner.
startles and pains me; I know your nature, and know “There is treachery intended the whites in the fort,"
that you will never cease to love the man whom you she said, “not an Indian is in the camp or near the
have married; indifferent you will never be-a sense of council fires. We must prevent this bloodshed, Tahme-
wrong indignation, if indulged in, may make the love roomtake up your child and come with me. We may
of your heart a pain-may sap away the good within reach the valley in time to give warning. Come !"
you, and engender bitterness which poisons the joy of Tahmeroo snatched her child from among the furs,
affection. Tahmeroo, struggle against this feeling; you and the two started through the forest together.
Jittle dream of the terrible misery which it will bring
to you. Bear every thing, abuse, insult, neglect every
CHAPTER ix.
thing, but cast not yourself loose from your only hope. The traveller whom we left riding from aunt Polly's
Your safety lies in the love you bear your husband. In tavern, kept the river road till he came in sight of Mon-
your own heart is the strength you must look for, not in ockonok Island. Here he left the highway, and turning
his. If he wrongs you, forget it if you can-excuse it his horse into a footpath rode down to the brink of the
if you cannot forget. Think not of your own rights, Susquehannah, where he drew up, at a loss how to pro-
but be humble : pride has nothing to do with affection.ceed. He was an officer of high rank in the British
I could say much more, for my heart is full of anxiety army, a friend of Sir William Johnson's, and for a long
and sorrow. I know not why, but my spirit droops as time a resident of the same valley with that gentleman.
if it felt that your head was on my bosom, and your He had diverged from the regular route of his travel, in
arms about me for the last time for ever. Weep on, my order to form a plan of military co-operation with the
child, I love to see you shed such tears, for there is no Mohawk chief, whose encampment lay among the op-
passion in them. I cannot tell you how dearly I love posite hills, but he had not taken into consideration the
and have ever loved you, for deep feeling has no words; breadth and depth of the Susquehannah, in his estimate
but we shall part soon, there is that in my heart which of its localities, and now stood on the majestic stream
tells me so-lhe grave will come between us, and you without boat or raft to convey him across, and with no
will be alone with no stronger guide than your own hopes of procuring either, for the only dwelling in sight
warm impulses. Kiss me once more and listen. Should was mother Derwent's house on the distant island,
we be parted by death, or should Butler claim my pro- whence a light of uncommon brilliancy twinkled down
mise to send you to England, go first to the missionary, upon the waters. The officer turned his horse, and was
and convey to him the little ebony box at the head of about to retrace the road back to Wilkesbarre, when the
your couch, tell him of all that I have said to you, and dash of oars and the sound of merry voices echoed up
ask him to become a protector and friend to Catharine the river, and in a few moments a boat filled with young
Gordon's child, even as he has been to her. Tell him, men and two or three girls from the village, came close
that since the night of her daughter's marriage, he has to the bank where he stood waiting their approach,
been known to her that the voice of his prayer that with his bridle slipped on his arm, and a travelling-cloak
night awoke memories which will never sleep again- flung hastily over his uniform. He was obliged to leave
awoke answering prayer in a bosom which had almost his horse behind, but the young men readily engaged to
forgotten its faith. He will love you, my child, and set him over to the opposite shore. Though ignorant of
when I am gone, you will find a safer and better protec- | the close neighborhood of the Mohawks, they marvelled
tor in him than I have been to you-he will teach you much what business could have brought him among the
how to regulate your too enthusiastic feelings. Pro- hills at that hour of the night. The boat landed him
mise that you will seek this good man when I ain taken at the foot of the precipice, which we have already so
away--do you promise, Tahmeroo ?"
often described, and then started for Monockonok Is-
“I will promise any thing—every thing, mother; but land, its inmates all in high spirits from anticipation of
do not talk so sadly-your voice seems as mournful as the wedding which they had come up from the fort and
the night wind among the pines.”
from Wilkesbarre to join.
Tahmeroo said no more, for her heart was full; but “You had better go back with us, sir," said a laugh.
she laid her cheek against her mother's and remained ing, rosy-cheeked girl to the stranger, as the boat start-
in her embrace silent and sorrowful.
ed from the bank; “ we shall have a capital frolic, bet-
For more than half an hour they sat together, the ter than ten apple bees, I can tell you. Granny Derwent
mother and daughter, and then, as their thoughts began has been baking pumpkin-pies and frying dough-nuts
to revert to surrounding objects, the entire stillness this ever so long. John, put back-I dare say the gentle-
reigning throughout the forest seemed to arouse them man will go," persisted the forward girl, catching bold
both with the same thought.
of her brother's oar and striving to turn the boat again.
“Mother, how is this, there is no sound abroad?" But the traveller thanked her, and slightly waving his
said Tahmeroo, starting from her mother's arms and hand disappeared in the foot path which led around the
looking apprehensively in her face, while she drew her precipice.
child nearer to her, as if some harm were about to befall! He had scarcely reached the summit, and penetrated
him.
into the forest, when the tramp of many feet came with


MARY DERWENT.
287
a hushed and stealthy sound up from the path he was || ed up the path and down through the brush-wood to
pursuing. He stepped behind the trunk of a pine, that the point they were making for, in hopes of intercept-
he might not be observed by the approaching party. I ing the rowers ; but much time was lost in the rugged
Scarcely had he concealed himself, when a band of In- descent, and when he reached the spot where he had
dians, headed by a tall chief and a man in British uni- seen them land, the boats were indeed there, but the
form, filed slowly one after another along the path to- || forest around was still as death-no human being was
ward the river. It was a dark night, so dark that the in sight.
face of one man could scarcely be distinguished from It was of but little use, that he now had command of a
that of another; but the glitter of a captain's epaulettes il boat, and could give the alarm to the happy beings re-
shone in the faint starlight, and a voice made the tra- velling within ear shot. They were probably unarmed,
veller slart as if a ball had struck him, when the
and withont means of defence, if apprised of their dan-
leaders passed by. It was the voice of Walter Butler,
ger, yet he cut one of the cables loose from the rope in
his own son, speaking in a low, stern tone to the war-
which the canoes were knotted and bound together
rior by his side.
around a young tree, and was about to spring into a ca-
“ First let us go over and secure the boats," it said ;
noe and make for the island, when he was startled by
“ when we have the churls prisoners on the island, well footsteps and the quick, heavy breathing of persons in
can send a force down to take the fort, and settle with
his close neighborhood. He peered among the thick
this wedding-party at our leisure. But remember your
trees and the rocks that lowered around him, but could
promise—not a scalp must be left in its place—and the
discern no one, though the sound of murmuring voices
bride and the bride's-groom, they must be given over to
came distinctly to his ear. “Thank God!" said a
my vengeance. They have wronged me, and my father
clear, female voice, in uccents of deep feeling, “thank
knows how sweet is the blood of an enemy."
God the horrid work has not commenced here; let us
“The white girl and the call man shall be given to
hasten to the fort!".
my son's hatchet. May their death cries be very loud
“No, mother, no," replied a voice of sweeter melody,
that his heart may be happy!" replied the chief.
" if there is wrong intended there, it will be done on
While the stranger stood confounded at what he had
that little island. If my husband has a part in this, tho
heard, the party verged off into another path, which
fair girl whom I have seen gliding among the trees
led more circuitously to the foot of the precipice. The
yonder, day after day, waiting his coming when I too
elder Butler was not a man to act rashly under any cir-
have been waiting as anxiously as she, that girl is the
cumstances. He remained behind the pine, astonished
cause; she must have angered him in some way. Do
and pained it is true, but nevertheless deliberating calm-
you see the lights yonder, and hear the music? That
ly on the course which he ought to adopt, till the party
beautiful girl is to be married to-night, mother. Can
had wholly disappeared. Then he retrod the foot path
you think why Butler should seek vengeance on her ?
with the resolution of going boldly among the Indians,
Oh, you do not know all! You have not heard him
of confronting his son, and of exerting his influence, as
whisper her name in his sleep, sometimes mingling it
an officer and an ally with the chief, to prevent the
with endearments and again with curses. You have
bloodshed which he had so much cause to apprehend.
not felt his heart beating beneath your arm, and known
But when he reached the place where he had landed,
that it was bearing for another; but why do we stand
Do vestige of the party remained. He looked around,
here? I do not wish her death. Let us go and give
to the right and to the left, with a feeling of almost
them warning; is there no boat-nothing that will take
superstitious astonishment; so large a party could not
us over ?"
have passed through the tangled forest without betray-
ing its course by the sound; he knew of no path, save
“Alas, no; I did not suppose they would attack the
the one laid down in the rude chart which had been fur-
| island till now; what can we do?"
nished him, and the sudden disappearance of so large a
"Take the babe, mother, and help me to pull off
body of men appeared almost superhuman. The lights
my robe; I can swim."
twinkled cheerfully on Monockonok Island, and the hum
“Father of Heaven! no; the distance is beyond your
of merry voices came faintly over the waters. The elder
strength-the water is very deep,” exclaimed the first
Butler was a brave and a stern man; but there was
voice in alarm.
something that made his heart recoil with horror in the
“Mother, he shall not kill that beautiful girl on her
thought that massacre and murder were about to be
wedding-night. I am very strong. I can swim to that
perpetrated on that beautiful and quiet island, and that island. See, now the lights stream upon the water; it
he had no power to stay the bloodshed. While his
does not look so dangerous. Let me try!"
eyes were fixed on the little cove where Mary Derwent
“Is there no other way ?" exclaimed the answering
always moored her canoe, the motion of some ohject || voice. “I cannot consent to this risk of death ?”
moving within the shadow of the island, drew his atten. As the last sentence was pronounced, the speaker
tion, and a moment had scarcely elapsed, when two stepped out from behind a rock against which the tra-
boats shot out from the cove, towing in their wake veller leaned, and stood within a few paces of him.
a shoal of the light canoes which had conveyed the
noes which had conveyed the “Ladies," he said, moving forward, for he too stood
weddingers to the island. They steered toward the in the shadow ; “I know what you apprehend. There
opposite side of the precipice, and our traveller hasten. || is harm intended the people on that island. Step into


288
MAR Y DERWENT.
this canoe, I pray you, and show me the nearest way to'l at Murray's feet, stunned, but not otherwise injured. A
the house-we may yet be in time. Hark!"
moment, and she lified her head.
A loud, deep howl, like the braying of a pack of “The cables—I have lost my hold. Where are the
hounds, sounded afar off in the forest from the direc- cables ?" she muttered, drawing her hand over her eyes,
tion of the fort. The traveller tore the canoe from and striving to sit upright.
its fastening, and sprang in, followed by Catharine Mon- il “ They are safe, mother," said Tahmeroo; “I caught
tour and her daughter; as she leaped forward, the them as they fell from your hand.”
heroic woman grasped the cables of the remaining il “Bless you, my brave girl! Grenville Murray, why
boats and canoes and, kept her hold resolutely, though' are we here? There is death all around us ! On, on!"
almost dragged into the water as they veered and sway Murray, or, to use his American title, Colonel Butler,
ed round with the current. Once the whole coil of had regained his self-command; he look up the oar
ropes had nearly broke from her hand, but Tahmeroo' which he had dropped on recognising his companion,
laid her child at the stranger's feet and came to her and urged the canoe forward with a steadiness that
mother's assistance.
belied his pale fuce and trembling hands. Bullet after
“ It was bravely thought of !” exclaimed the officer, i| bullet cut along their track before they reached the
when he saw what they were doing; "they must search
island; but the burning fort gave less of light, and the
for other boats, and this will give us time. Ha! they aim of their pursuers became uncertain. They reached
have begun their work. Sce!"
the little cove and sprang on shore. But they had
As he spoke, a volume of dusky light surged heavily!
scarcely touched the greensward, when the flames again
up from the river's bank far below them, and then a
arose from the burning pile in a bright, lurid column of
spire of flame shot fiercely upward, quivering and flash-
h fire, revealing the opposite shore and the forest far be-
ing and flinging off smoke and embers, till the forest, yo
yond, as if a volcano had burst among ihe mountains.
trees and the still waters gleamed red and duskily for
“Mother, look yonder!" said Tahmervo, in a voice
about the burning fort. The poetry of Catharinel of terror, which arose little above a husky whisper, and
Montour's nature was aroused by the fierce solemnity
she pointed 10 the opposite precipice, which, from its
of the scene.
projection, lay in the full glare of the burning fort. A
“See !" she cried, starting to her feet in the canoe,
swarm of red warriors were gathered upon the frown-
and pointing down the river, where the fire reflected it.
ing peaks and lay crouching along the brink of the
self like a vast banner of scarlet, torn and mangled and
river, like a nest of demons, basking in the fire-light;
weltering in the waters. “See! the very river seems
and there, on the very shelf where Tahmeroo had so
a-flame-the woods and the mountains, all are kindling
often awaited for her husband, she saw him standing
with light. Can a day of judgment be more terrible
with arms in his hands, stamping with rage at the delay
than that ?"
occasioned by the canoes which she had helped to se.
cure.
She stood upright as she spoke, grasping the cables
with one hand, and with the other pointing down the
“We have landed on the wrong side of the island,"
stream. Her crimson robe floated out on the wind, and
said Catharine Montour, after a hasty glance at the
the jewelled serpent about her brow gleamed like a living
precipice. “Tahmeroo, remain with this gentleman
thing in the red light which lay full upon her. As she
and warn the people at the house, while I take the boals
spoke, her extended arm was grasped till the gemmed
to the opposite side-there will be no escape within the
bracelet sunk into the flesh, and a face pale and convul-
range of their rifles."
sed, was bent to hers.
“Catharine, this must not be," said Murray, evident-
“Woman-Catharine-Lady Gordon! speak to me."
willy forgetting their relative positions in the deep interest
The words died on the officer's lips, and he remained
of the moment. “How are you to escape the rifle-
with his grasp still fixed on her arm, and his eyes bent
balls which that fiendish host will level at you? I will
on her face, but speechless as marble.
take the boats round while you and this young woman
A beautiful and thrilling expression of joy shot over
put the people up yonder on their defence.”
Catharine Montour's face; her heart leaped to the
The familiar name which Colonel Butler had uncon-
sound of her own name, and she started as if to fling sciously used, melted like dew over the heart of the
herself upon his bosom. The impulse was but momen-
woman he addressed; but she struggled against the
tary: her hand did not even lose its hold on the cables, feelings which almost made a child of her, even in that
and while his eyes were yet fixed on her face, it became
hour of danger. The thoughts of other years were
calm and tranquil as a child's. She released her arm | swelling in her bosom, but there was calmness and de-
gently from his grasp and sat down.
cision in her voice as she answered him.
“Grenville Murray," she said in a clear, steady voice; “The danger would be alike to either,” she said, -
“ for more than twenty years we have been dead to each “nor could one person row the canoe and secure the
other, we are so now. Let us not waste time here others at the same time. I will go with you. My child,
there are human lives at stake."
hasten to the house and warn them of their danger-
The words were yet on her lips when a bullet whis. keep within the bushes as you pass : send them down to
tled from the shore, and cut away the ruby crest of the the shore in small numbers; and, mark me, avoid bustle
serpent which lay upon her temple. She fell forward to appearance of alarm. Come yourself with the boy


MARY DER WENT.
289
with the first party do you understand—and have you | smile of soft (and gentle sadness; it was patient, and
courage to go alone ?”.
sweet as the breath of a flower.
The unhappy young woman stood with her face turn-
“Let me tie it for you,” she said, laying the dewy
ed toward the precipice, and tears rolled down her!
a down her i wreath on the pillow, and removing a handful of roses
cheek and dropped on the child which lay clasped on from her lar to a basket which stood on the rude window
her bosom, as her mother spoke. "Yes, mother, I un-
seat. “There, now sit down while I twist the wreath
derstand, and will save that poor girl-tho' he kill me
among your curls."
I will save her. I know the path, I have trodden it be- Jane crouched gracefully at her sister's feet, while
fore," she replied, in a sorrowful and abstracted voice. she performed her task. When she felt that the last
A low howl, like the prolonged cry of a wild animal, dewy blossom was entwined on her temple, the bride
started her. She looked wildly on her mother: “ They
raised her beautiful face to her sister's with an expres-
have found some means of crossing,” she said" they!
sion of touching love. “Oh, Mary, should I have been
will murder us; but I will do as you bid me-farewell!"' so happy as I am now, if it had not been for you? How
She clasped her child more closely to her bosom, and glad I am that you persuaded me to tell Edward about
dashed into the path with the bound of a wild deer.
that bad man.”
“We left no canoes behind,” said Catharine Mon.
Mary did not answer in words, but her eyes filled
with pleasant tears; she bent down and laid her cheek
tour, turning wildly to her companion. “That cry!-
against that of the bride, and they clung together in an
In--in!” she added more vehemently as she sprang
embrace full of love and sisterly affection; then the
back to the canoe. "They are upon the water; let
door opened, and Edward Clark led his betrothed to the
them fire upon us if they will. Give me an oar, I can
use one hand-Father of Heaven! did you hear that
outer room. Mary followed, and sadly, but with a
shout ?"
sweet tranquillity in her heart, she saw her sister mar-
ried to the man whom alone she had ever loved.
Murray saw that no time was to be lost, for at the
The Moravian Missionary had finished his benedic-
moment he remembered that two boats had towed ca-
tion, and the crowd of guests which filled the room and
noes from the island before Catharine came up; he
stood out upon the green-sward, were struggling for-
sprang to her side and steered round the island as ra-
ward with merry words and happy faces, each eager to
pidly as her impatient spirit could demand, though his
get a 'first kiss from the bride, when a strange light
superior coolness kept them from danger which she
broke upon them from the door and the open windows.
would have braved. By rowing close within the sha-
The maple trees and the grassy slope which fell to the
dow of the island, he escaped observation from the In-
river, was illuminated with a yellowish and dusky
dians; and those two persons who had been a destiny
gleam, and the waters beyond were tinged as with a
each to the other, sat alone, side by side, without speak-
gorgeous sunset. Edward Clark started from the side
ing a word and scarcely with a thought of themselves.
of his newly made wife, and rushed through the crowd
The lives of more than fifty persons lay in their power,
out upon the grass-plat. He returned in a moment with
and they felt it; but a deeper thought was in the bosom
a face as pale as death, and rushing into the door-way,
of both. Catharine's was full of the daughter whose
he flung his hand aloft and shouted :
fale she had helped to seal. Murray thought of the
"Neighbors, to your boats ! the fort is on fire?".
son who had become an alien from his house, and whom
Instantly there was a rush for the cove where the
he was about to save from the sin of treachery and mur-
canoes had been moored. Not one was there; but in
der; neither was yet aware that his son was the hus the centre of the steam lay a boat in which were three
band of her daughter.
persons. One stood up, and in the fire-light her dress
While the events which we have described transpired, was discernible.
Mary Derwent and her sister Jane were together in the “It is the Mohawk white queen — the savages
little bed-room which they had occupied since their are upon us," muttered a score of stern voices. A
childhood. The room was neatly arranged. Mother rifle shot came sharply from the precipice as they
Derwent's best blue worsted quilt, with the corners spoke.
neatly tucked in at the foot-posts, covered the “Neighbors,” cried the clear, bold voice of Edward
high bed, and the white linen pillows lay like snow Il Clark, as the bullet hissed along the waters ; "Neigh-
heaps upon it. The old lady's best patch-work cushion bors, our boats are stolen. Yonder precipice is alive
was placed in the arm-chair which stood in a corner, with Mohawk Indians. We are without arms, but let
and a garland of Princes' pine hung around the little us protect our women with the strength which God has
looking-glass, before which Jane Derwent stood, “with il given us--with our dead bodies if it must be !"
a blush on her cheek and a smile in her eye,” arranging As the body of men returned to the house, each pro-
the folds of her white muslin bridal-dress over a form vided himself with a club from the thickets, and thus
of most beautiful symmetry.
feebly armed, prepared himself to protect the females,
“Mary, shall I tie this on the side or behind ?" inqui-|| who rushed from the house to meet them, weeping and
red the blooming girl, holding up a sash of the most wringing their hands in mortal fear. The men formed
delicate blossom color. Mary lifted her face from the themselves into a firm phalanx in front of the room, and
wreath of wild-roses which she was forming for her the women crouched together in the farthest end; some
sister's hair, and smiled as she answered; but it was a quaking with terror, others standing up with a firm


290
M A RY DER WENT.
courage breaking over their pale faces, ready to second | The words were scarcely uttered, when a sharp,
the means which their husbands and brothers might | blood-thirsty yell broke up from the cove: there was a
adopt for defence.
l'rush of feet, followed by another and another cry—the
"You will not let them murder us?” gasped the pale war-whoop of the Mohawks.
bride, clinging to her newly made husband, as Mother “The boats are waiting—be quick! More can be
Derwent placed an old musket in his hand. The young done yet,” cried Catharine Montour, as ehe rushed up
man strained her to his bosom, pressed a fervent kiss from the river toward the house. “He is there and a
upon her cold lips, and strove to tear himself from her pale faced girl, with a hunch-back, depend on her!"
arms; but she clung the more wildly to him in her ler-; Oh, it was a horrid fight—that which raged around
ror, and he could not free himself.
Mother Derwent's dwelling the next moment. A swarm
" Jane,” said a low, calm voice from the inner room ; i of fiends seemed to have encompassed it, with shouts
"come and let us pray together. The great God of and yells and fierce blood-thirsty howling. The whis
heaven and of earth is above ug-He is powerful to of arrows-the crash of descending tomahawks, and
save!"
the sharp rifle-shot, mingled horrible with the groans,
Jane unwound her arms from her husband's neck, the cries and oaths of the murderers and the murdered.
and tottered away to the foot of the bed where her sis. The floor of that log house was heaped with the dying
ter was kneeling. There she buried her face in her and the dead; yet the fight raged on with a fiercer and
hands and remained motionless; and none would have more blood-thirsty violence, till the savages prowled
believed her alive, save that a slight shudder ran through among the slain like a host of incarnate fiends, slaking
her frame whenever a rifle-shot was heard from the their vengeance on the wounded and the dead for wars
river. There were a few moments of intense stillness; of other victims. Through all this carnage, the Mora-
then a loud, fierce howl rose up from the opposite shore, i vian Missionary passed unscathed. Many a fiery eye
and several rifles were discharged in quick succession. glared upon him; many a hatchet flashed over his head;
A paler hue fell on every stern face in that little pha but none descended. The Indians reverenced him, for
lanx ; but they were men of iron, and stood ready for he had been trusted by their queen and their chief. An-
the death, pale but resolute. The door was barricaded, other tall and lordly man there was, who rushed to the
and Edward Clark stationed himself at the window | midst of the savages, and strove in vain to put an end
with his musket, and kept his eye steadily fixed on the to the massacre. They turned in fury upon him, though
path which led to the cove. But with all their precau he wore the uniform of the British, their friends. He
tion, one means of entrance had been forgotten. The snatched arms from a dead Mohawk, and defended him-
window of Mary Derwent's bed-room remained open; self bravely against fearful odds. Savage after savage
and the basket of roses lay in it, shedding perfume rushed upon him, and he was nearly borne to the ground
abroad, sweetly as if human blood were not about to when Catharine Montour sprang in the midst with the
drench them.
bound of a wounded lioness, and flinging her arms about
The hush of expectation holding back the pulsations , him, shouted-
of so many brave hearts, caused the timed bride, para " Back, fiends ! back, I say! He is our brother!"
lized as she was with fear, to raise her face. Her eyes
The arm of the Mohawk chief was lifted, and his
fell on the window-a scream broke from her pale lips, knife fell; for he knew the face of the stranger. Cath-
and she grasped her sister's shoulder convulsively, while
ter's shoulder convulsively, while larine Montour's arms tightened spasmodically around
she pointed with her right-hand to a young Indian wo-
the form of the officer, and her head fell upon his
man who stood looking upon them, with an infant clasp- bosom. The chief snatched his kniſe from her side, and
ed to her bosom, and one hand resting on the window-again dealt a furious blow; but it met no opposition-
sill. When she saw herself observed, Tahmeroo bec Murray had cleared the door with one leap, and, as
koned with her finger; but Jane only shrieked the more
the dwelling burst into flames behind him, he rushed
wildly, and again buried her face in the bed-clothes. toward the spring with his bleeding burthen, nor slack-
Mary arose from her knees and walked firmly to the ed his speed till her arms relaxed their clasp, and her
window, for she recognized Tahmeroo. A few eager face fell forward on his breast. He felt the warm blood-
whispers passed between them, and then Mary went | drops ebbing from her lips upon his bosom, and pressed
into the next room. There was a stir-sobs and cries her closer to him, but with a shudder, as if they had been
of eager joy--and then that group of terrified women dropping upon his bare heart.
rushed into the bed-room. Tahmeroo had torn away |Meantime, Tahmeroo urged her companion forward
the sash and had leaped in, and now with her infant | with an impulse, sharpened each moment by the sounds
held to her bosom with one arm, was forcing the bewil- of conflict which followed them. Half mad with con-
dered bride through the opening with the other. When tending feeling, the poor bride struggled in her conduce
her charge was on the outer side, the young Indian tor's hold, and would have rushed back in search of her
cleared the window with the bound of an antelope, and husband, could she have freed herself. But the young
dragged her on.
Indian kept a firm grasp on her arm, and dragged her
“Let the fair girl keep a good heart, her husband resolutely toward the boats, regardless of her entreaties.
shall follow,” whispered the Indian, urging her coinpa- They were too late ; the last canoe had put off, and no
nion to swifter speed; "if we have a few moments more one but Mary Derwent was left upon the shore. Others
all will be saved.”
had rushed in before her, till but one vacant place re-


MAR Y DERWENT.
291
mained; she had forced her old grandmother into that, || cheek of the father. It was a touching contrast-the
and stood upon the brink, helpless and alone. Jane soft, rosy bloom and curly hair of the child, with the
sprang to her sister's arms, and began to plead in a voice pallid head, and the face of touching misery that droop-
of almost insane agony.
ed over it.
“Oh, Mary, let us go back and try to find him," she! The expression of pain gradually cleared from Cath-
said ; " we may as well all die together-for they will arine Montour's face, and at last her eyes unclosed and
murder us."
turned upon Murray. He grasped her cold hand and
Tahmeroo parted them abruptly, and forced her child bent his face till it almost touched her forehead.
ipto Mary's arms; then springing into the water, she “Lady Gordon, speak to me! In the name of God,
waded to a log which lay bedded among the rushes, and I pray you speak, before it is too late. Say that I am
rolled it out into the current. She had scarcely done forgiven ?"
so, when a party of Indians came in sight, and, with a There was a depth of agony in the wretched man's
fierce whoop, rushed toward the sisters. Tahmeroo voice that might have won forgiveness from the dead.
sprang back upon the bank, and, snatching her child, Catharine Montour strove to speak, her lips moved and
pointed to the log.
her eyes filled with a solemn, earnest expression. Mur-
" See, it floats! Fling yourselves upon it-I will ray fell back and groaned aloud; he knew that she
keep them away!"
would go into eternity and leave a doubt upon his soul.
She did not wait to see her directions obeyed, but “Catharine," said a low, broken voice, and a face
walked firmly toward the savages. In the darkness, full of the most touching anguish bent over the dying
they supposed it to be only the chief's daughter whom woman. “Catharine, look upon me once more-and,
they had seen, and as soon as she was known, they dar- oh, give me some sign that you die in hope-that you
ted off in search of other prey. Again, two men ap- trust in our blessed Lord, the Saviour."
proached, fighting with desperate fury. As Tahmerooi The hand which Varnham held was growing cold;
looked, one fell to the ground, and his vanquisher rush- but it moved with a faint clasp, and the eyes which had
ed by her toward the shore. She recognized him. opened again to Murray's groan of agony, turned with
“The white girl and her sister are safe,” she said; a confident and gentle expression upon the missionary's.
"see her dress on the water-follow, the Indians have A soft and almost holy smile, like that which slumbers
left canoes in the little cove!"
about the sweet lips of an infant, fell upon the dying
“God bless you !” exclaimed Edward Clark, as he woman's face, and a pleasant murmur dwelt upon her
turned and dashed through the thickets across the is-lips when she died.
land. Tahmeroo walked forward, and bent over the “Great God, I thank thee!" burst from the mission-
man whom she had seen fall. It was her husband. ary; his face fell forward upon the bosom of the corpse,
“I saved his wife," she murmured, as she lifted the and he wept aloud, as one who had found the great wish
senseless man's head to her bosom; “and now my boy of a lifetime.
has no father!"
| After a time boats came from the village, where two
The morning broke, with a quiet, holy light, through or three tory families had escaped the massacre. They
the thicket of crab-apple and wild-cherry trees, which dug Catharine Monour's grave within the shadow of
overlaced the spring in the centre of the island; and the thicket. They laid her in the cold, damp earth
there upon the blooming turf beneath, lay the form of with unuttered prayers and awful reverence. The sods
Catharine Montour. Her eyes were closed, and the with which they heaped the grave were green, and the
black shadow of death lay about them. The feathers night dew was still upon them. When all had left the
which composed her coronet, were crushed in a gorgeous grave, Grenville Murray tore a tuft of wild-flowers from
mass beneath her pale temple, and her forehead was the newly piled sods, and thrusting it in his bosom,
contracted with a slight frown, as if the serpent coiled walked hastily to the spot where his son was lying, gave
around it, were girding her brow too tightly. Ever and one fixed look on his deathly face, and then bent down
anon her pale hands clutched themselves deep into the and placed his hand over the heart.
moss, and her limbs writhed in the agony of her death. “He is not dead, my poor girl," he said, looking
struggle. The pale, haggard face of Grenville Murray kindly on Tahmeroo and her child. “ There is a small
bent over her, as it had done the whole night; and Varn- tavern below, we will take him there and he may reco-
ham, the Moravian Missionary, sat a little way off. ver."
There was a solemn and awful sorrow in his silence;ll Tahmeroo looked up with a bewildered expression,
yet something of cold sternness was there. He could then her lips parted, and she snatched the babe to her
not look on that pale, haughty man bending over his bosom and covered it with tears and passionate caresses.
wife-coming between him and her death-bed, as it Murray lifted his son from the ground and bore him to
were, without some thought of the evil that had been a boat. Tahmeroo followed, and her right to do so was
done him
unquestioned, for much had been told Murray by the
On the swell of the bank, a short distance from the dying lips of Catharine Montour.
spring, crouched another miserable group. Tahmeroo
sat upon the ground with the pallid head of her husband. We have two pictures to lay before the reader, and
resting on her lap; and her infant lay partly upon the then our long, and we fear, tedious story, has an end:
grass, with its beautiful face nestled close to the pale both existed ten years after the massacre on Monocko-


292
MARY DERWENT.
years ?”
nok Island." The one was an ancient stone church, covered || “Not now, dear," said Mary Derwent, kissing the
with ivy and located in a small green valley in our fa- bold, open brow of the supplicant ; " see, poor little
therland : a gorgeous coffin had just been placed in its sister is almost asleep. Run back to your work, and
vault, and two persons, a gentleman of thirty-two or when she is in the cradle I will come and help you.”
three, but appearing much older, and a lady of most “But will you tell about the massacre ?"
surpassing beauty, both in deep mourning, lingered near || “Yes, love."
the church after the long train of villagers had disper "About the Mohawk and the white queen-and how
sed.
you and mother sailed down the river on a log, till ſa-
“Why should you reproach yourself so bitterly, Wal-ther came and took you off-will you tell us the whole
ter ?" said the lady, soothingly. “Have you not been story from beginning to end ?"
a most dutiful son during the last ten years of his life “Yes, yes-now run to your work."
have you not deeply repented of the sins of other New-York, July, 1837.
(Copy-right secured.]
Walter Butler, or Walter Murray, as he was then
known, laid his hand on his wife's, and looked sorrow-
fully and tenderly in her face. “Tahmeroo,” he said;
FAREWELL.
“I have striven, God is my judge, how sincerely—to
atone to you and to my father, who lies dead in yonder FAREWELL, dearest! fare thee well!
vault, for the sins of my youth ; but you do not know May blessings with thee go-
the pang it brings, to feel that one you have pained is May sunshine stream upon thy path,
beyond the reach of your repentance, the heart grows And flowers around thee grow;
faint with a wish to humble itself once again to the Wilt thou be kind when all the world
dead."
Have from my fortune fell;
“Self-reproach is indeed dreadful,” said Tahmeroo, And wilt thou soothe my troubled heart-
thoughtfully; " but see, our boy is coming !"
Ah! dearest-fare thee well.
A beautiful lad, also in mourning, came toward them
with a letter in his hand. Walter Murray took it and
Farewell, dearest! may those smiles
broke the seal.
That o'er our hearts have shone,
“ It is from Mr. Varnham-he wishes us to reside
Now turn and throw their blessed power
constantly at the parsonage," said he, thoughtfully, re-
Like sunlight on thine own;
folding the letter.
And may the joy which thou hast given
“And you will go now," said his wife anxiously.
For ever with thee dwell-
“ The good old gentleman is so lonely-do let us go!"
Sweet thoughts and pleasing dreams be thine,
“Yes, we will go," replied Walter; and taking his
And, dearest, fare thee well.
son's hand, they left the churchyard.
Our other picture was a low red farm-house, in the
valley of Wyoming: fields of corn and grain, and a Farewell, dearest! still I stay,
few acres of green wood-land surrounded it. Well-
And yet I know not why-
filled barns, lofty haystacks and sleek cattle, gave an air
To hear the magic of thy voice,
of comfort, if not of wealth to the whole. Glimpses of
The murmur of thy sigh.
the Susquehannah could be seen from the front-door-
Once more thy lips are pressed to mine,
and Wilkeskarre, with its single spire and cluster of
Again I feel their spell-
houses, broke up from the foot of a green mountain, in
Give me once more that lovely smile,
the distance. It was a summer's day; the door which
Then, dearest, fare thee well.
led from the kitchen into the garden was open. Two
fine boys, who had been sent to weed the vegetables,
were racing through a patch of cabbages, and pelting TO THE NIGHTINGALE.
each other with green apples and handfuls of chickweed.
A bandsome, cheerful woman was working over butter Ah ! lovely songstress, ah! if e'er,
in the porch ; and just within the door, sat a stout, heal When wandering by the moonlit grove,
thy man fitting a hoe-handle.
When all is beautiful and fair,
“Father! father!" cried the boys, racing in from the You meet the lady of my love,
garden; “we've weeded the beet-beds—now won't you Tell her it is an hour more blest
tell us about the Ingen fight?”.
Than years of bright seraphic rest.
“Go to your aunt Mary," replied Edward Clark,
screwing the handle into the eye of his hoe; “she can And, should you sing my love to sleep.
tell it a great deal better than I can.”
That shuts the tear in sorrow's eye,
" Aunt Mary, will you ?" pleaded the elder boy, go Safe in that balmy slumber keep
ing up to a fair, blue eyed woman, with a hunch-back, The maiden till her swain draws nigh;
who sat nursing a sickly infant by the window, " and To taste, unseen, the greatest bliss
placing his arms coaxingly about her neck."
That lovers know-Affection's kiss.


FEMALE EDUCATION.
293
Original.
| motives and good ends are by no means the sole tests
FEMALE EDUCATION.
of virtuous, or what is equivalent in this connection, of
creditable action. Mr. Adams clearly places himself
BY HENRY F. HARRINGTON.
hors du combat; and he is yet more unfortunate in his
NUMBER II.
citation of examples to prove that whenever woman has
In our former essay, we adverted to the stand which I invaded man's territories, she has achieved the highest
that eminent statesman, Mr. J. Q. Adams has taken on
honor. Passing by the Roman heroines held up to our
the floor of Congress, as an advocate of woman's full
admiration, since we know little of them beyond their
political existence. His noted speech upon the subject,
concernment in the single acts on which their eulogium
commenced near the close of the last session of Con-
rests, and which is, in our view, but a fraction of just
gress, and not finally concluded, was called forth by the
inquiry, we have set before us the two Catharines of
course pursued by that body, in relation to the reception
Russia and revolutionary Deborah Gaunett. With
of petitions signed by women. Of that speech, declared || leave of the venerable Ex-president, where in the histo-
to have been eloquent in the highest degree, we have ry of the world can be singled out two more infamous
perused only a newspaper report; not perfectly pre-
and odious monsters of debauchery and vice than these
senting, it may be, its rhetorical beauties, but admitting |
two Empresses, whom we are enjoined to regard with
us to an insight into its frame and structure. It seems honor ? and Deborah, who donned the habiliments of
to have been prepared for the ear rather than the un-
the male, shouldered her musket, buckled her knapsack,
derstanding. Its venerable author has abandoned the
and fought and bled in the cause of freedom-far be it
philosophy of the sage, and assumed for the nonce the en-
from us to detract from the merits of revolutionary
thusiasm of youthful gallantry. From some glaring in-
Deborah! Far be it from us to abate one jot of the
consistencies and the very illogical tenor of much of the
admiration which Mr. Adams would enkindle for the
reasoning, we sincerely question whether Mr. Adams
wives and sisters of our grandfathers; the women of
entertains, to any extent, the doctrines he has thus pub-
the times that tried both men's and women's souls !
licly maintained. It would lead us far beyond the But we cannot refrain from the opinion, that Deborah's
bounds we have prescribed to ourself in this discussion, peculiar merits, like the malestrom of Norway, imparts
to attempt an analysis of the assumptions of this speech,
most satisfaction when contemplated from a distance ;
though, as it is germain to our inquiries, we have
and that an imitation of her example by our wives and
thought it proper to advert to it. We shall content
sisters, would be extremely undesirable by both our-
ourself with the presentation of a single and a short ex-
selves and them.
tract, which exemplifies in a very striking manner, the || We may counteract misapprehension, in this connec-
charge we have brought forward.
tion, by the remark, that we have not intended to amal-
Mr. Howard, Chairman of the Committee upon the gamate the original point of controversy between
petitions, had said in his report, that “ he felt sorrow Messrs. Adams and Howard that of the right of fe-
for their (the petitioners) departure from their proper males to petition Congress—with the question which
sphere, in which there was abundant room for the exer we are endeavoring to determine. We are at issue
cise of the most extensive philanthropy, because he with Mr. Adams only when he assumes the broad
considered it discreditable." Mr. Adams replies, ground of woman's capacity and fitness for all political
“ Agreeing with him entirely as to what are the most action. Neither are we biased in our views by a pros-
appropriate duties of the female sex, I differ from him pect of what has heretofore been allowed to woman;
as much, in what he infers from them; and I say that i nor do we entertain the narrow design to prove her in-
if they depart from their duties of a domestic character capable of greater latitude in the future. We object to
from pure motives, by appropriate means and for a || such action only, politicul or otherwise, as would dis-
good end, it is virtue, and the highest virtue.”
tract her time and attention from those duties for which
Mr. Adams here exhibits himself as a champion of li we deem her to be peculiarly fitted by nature, and to
Mr. Howard's position, in the very language employed l which she is therefore obligated to devote, in a pecu-
in opposition. Unwilling to suffer his gallantry to get || liar manner, her faculties and her energies.
the bits into his teeth, and run wholly away with him, ! We will now return to the main thread of our argu-
he is constrained to admit the premises of his opponent, \l ment, at the point to which we had arrived at the close
that domestic duties bound woman's proper sphere; or of our former essay; viz: that woman's being endowed
10 employ Mr. Adams' own language, her "appropri- with finer sensibilities, stronger affections, a nicer sense
ate sphere." After this admission, do either ethics or and appreciation of virtue than man, and lacking at the
dialectics allow of any other consequent than that de- same time his fire of passion and his depth of the rea-
duced by Mr. Howard, that a departure from such du soning power, finds her appropriate sphere in the in-
ties is discreditable? How can there be appropriate struction and guidance of her children.
means to depart from appropriate duties? How can I Having assumed Miss Martineau to be one of the
that be virtue, and still more, the highest virtue, which leaders of the party we are combatting, and quoted
is a departure from appropriate duties? We will say somewhat at large from her writings in point, we must
nothing of pure motives and good ends, since it will be attack and demolish one of her fortifications, before wo
readily granted to woman, that she is governed by such can make further advancement. This is easy of ac-
interests and purposes in all her endeavors ; but pure complishment.
36


294
FEMALE EDUCATION.
1
In reply to Mills' proposition, that “all those indivi- || that the arbitrary requirement of which they are vic-
duals, whose interests are involved in those of other tims, may speedily be abjured. Again, there is com-
individuals, may be struck off without inconvenience. I pulsion to celibacy, where the number of the sexes is
In this light woman, may be regarded the interest of disproportionate, as in New England, where the females
almost all of whom is involved either in that of their exceed the males by one third. Here is a just claim for
fathers or that of their huebands.” She says; “ As respectful consideration; but since this huge dispro-
long as there are women who have neither husbands portion is contrary to the usual course of nature, and a
por fathers, his proposition remains an absurdity.” In solution of the cause is to be found elsewhere than in
this summary disposal of the proposition of the writer the inevitable decree of fate, while we accord our con-
on Government, she seems to us to betray a woful lack dolence and sympathy, we can discover nothing in the
of that logical acumen which is attributed to her, and situation of those affected by it, to entitle them to dis-
which she sometimes exhibits. Before we attempt to tinctive social rights and privileges.
define her error, we will take the liberty to supply the It must be conceded that Miss Martineau's summary
proposition by one of kindred nature, more applicable disposal of Mills' proposition, singularly luminous as it
to the matter which we have immediately in hand, and is, derogates the more from the credit to be awarded to
admitting of the same reply. We will state it thus: her opinion. Having demolished her fortification which
Woman's highest duty is to guard and guide and she has seemed to consider so strong as to defy assault,
instruct her children; she is peculiarly fitted for it by and from within whose walls she has sneered in con-
nature; and it is so momentous, and when properly per- tempt of all adversaries, we will resume our progress.
formed, so engrossing as to exclude the possibility of We have declared woman to be physically and men-
the assumption of other duties of any magnitude. Totally fitted in an eminent degree for what we assign as
this we will suppose Miss Martineau to reply—“So her paramount duty, and in equal measure disqualified
long as there are women who have no children, the for other pursuits ; physically, because incapable of
proposition remains an absurdity."
that amount of exertion which is demanded by the most
One of the first great uses of the human race is, to of the productive labors of life ; and mentally, because
become the parents of the race to be. Every man is possessed of a subordinate extent of the reasoning pow.
intended by nature for a husband and a father; every | er—the analizing, comparing and judging faculties-and
woman for a wife and a mother. Mankind may with of the passions; while at the same time she is distin-
propriety, bo comprehended in the two classes of pa- guished by a superior endowment of virtue and affec-
rents and children; and whoever remains unmarried,- tion. Without pausing to attain a very methodical ar-
we will confine our arguments in future to woman alone rangement, we will adduce further arguments in sup.
-from will or misfortune, and becomes an exception to ſport, drawn from nature and experience.
the one great principle. These conditions of the ex- But, in the first place, do we need to argue that the
ception very properly prevent any cognizance of it by affection and solicitude of the mother far surpass those
the social compact; for a particular and especial con- of the father, for their children? It will not be for a
sideration of the circumstances of those who are not moment questioned. And what are the bounds of this
fulfilling the ends of their creation, and the enactment excess of love and carefulness in the female over the
of laws granting privileges to such, would tend to in- male? Do they begin with the birth of the infant, and
crease their number, and occasion a still broader viola- subside to the less fervent warmth in the father's breast,
tion of the decrees of nature. The truth of the posi- when infancy has passed, and the child no longer seeks
tion is, in a measure, corroborated by the stigma which the bosom of its mother for the genial nourishment of
is involuntarily attached, in a greater or less degree in its life? Look at those two children-that boy and
every quarter of the world, to those who have remained that girl. They are at that interesting age, when the
unmarried to an age which places them beyond the or-genus of the faculties are starting into rigorous growth.
dinary pale of matrimony. Let it not be imputed to us See him !-a paper cap on his head, and a strip of lath
that by such remarks we would cast reproach or con- at his shoulder, rub-a-dubing about the room, with head
tempt upon a considerable fraction of the females of our erect, stamping as he goes, in childish imitation of the
country. Many remain unmarried for reasons which soldier's warlike tread; or with tiny whip mounted
entitle them to much respect; and it can only be said upon a broom-handle, pouring out in quick succession,
to such, that the attainment of the ends for which they (the cries of the urging horseman. Now glance at her!
have devoted themselves to celibacy, must compensate She has heard the same drum that has fevered his lite
them for any injury they may suffer from the privation tle brain-she has seen the same glittering uniform-
of political recognition. Again, there is a large class | the same marshalled rank; and she hath gazed with
of females, whose unmarried state is the result of the him upon the prancing horse. Why is not she with cap
customs of society in relation to "marriage and giving and lath? What does she? Her doll is in her arms.
in marriage;" for as it rests wholly with the males to Mark you how she trots it on her knce, addressing it in
make advances, the female being compelled passively i endearing words, presses it to her bosom, sings it to
to await an opportunity of marriage, celibacy is hereby sleep, hushes it in repose? Is all this, every day be-
enforced without the operation of tho will. The suffer- fore your eyes, occurring everywhere, with the high and
ers under this unjust dictum of society, deserve our || lowly born, the laught and the unlaught, is this circum-
strongest respect and sympathy; and it is to be hoped stance, is this education ? No, no! There is the em-


FEMALE EDUCATION.
295
bryo mother! There is exemplified the glorious pro- || shroud in darkness half the radiance of her glory!
vision of nature! There is the instinct of the mother's Look you! Is it not with her to mould future states-
love-innate-all-powerful-starting thus early into ac-men, future men; the mothers of statesmen, the moth-
tivity-never to slumber-never to die, till death shall ers of men ?
take possession of the bosom that it pervades!
It would be interesting to witness the success of those
In tracing further this connection between mother clamorous for woman's full political existence, if it were
and child, nature-that nature which has done nothing only by way of experiment, to test the grand distin-
in vain-supplies us with an irresistible argument. No, ll guishing characteristics of woman and man. Had we
we will not say nature; that allwise Supreme, who a Government whose officers were women, most assu-
teaches us by the wonders of His almighty hand--in all redly a new order of things would be introduced. Ma-
things that we hear and sce, great and little, far and chianellian principles that have been the samplers of
near, obtained only by patient research, or visible at a the administrators of governments from time immemo-
glance, how much better he has provided for our wants rial, would be scorned and abjured as something infa-
chan we in our blindness and perversity, could and mous and unholy. Instead of the question now pro-
would provide for ourselves! We advance it in the posed, “What is policy ?" the query would be made,
conviction that it is founded upon a rock. Woman's “what is right?" and it would be pleasant to have triul
ability to become a mother ceases at about the age of made of such a creed, if it were only for its novelty.
forty-five; man may become a father to an indefinite It is certainly a curious circumstance, that the three
period of his life. Why is this ? Why—but that it is greatest advocates of her own sex, of woman's full po-
the mother who is pointed out by the hand of God him- | litical existence; her unfettered equality with man;
SELF as the peculiar guide and guardian of her chil- her freedom from any peculiarities of bodily or mental
dren. The father, whose rearing hand is not absolutely constitution, displaying her creation for peculiar duties
essential, may die while his child is an infant; but its -Wolstoncraft, Wright and Martineau, have evinced in
mother remains with it to the fullness of its earthly | their writings, a masculineness of mind and character
stature. Truly we feel, when entrenched behind this wholly at variance with what have been ever deemed
argument, as though we might be permitted to say with characteristic of woman; this singularity being enhanc-
reverence, “ If God be with us, who can be against us ?" ||ed by the fact, that all three were unmarried at the pe-
Is it still entertained that we would degrade woman, || riod of their most strenuous exertions in the causo.
would condemn her to a subordinate station in life ? Mary Wolstoncraft used to make it her boast, that she
Are not the digrity and honor of every station measura- could converse with men upon all subjects whatever,
ble by the degree of responsibleness attached to its du- l with the ease and openness with which man communi-
ties? And what can be more responsible, more mo- | cates with man. Fanny Wright's vagabondising hab-
mentous than the training up of children? Think of it! its of body and mind aro well known; and Harriet
How interesting yet how solemn! Here is the infant | Martineau, in those magazines which support the prin-
mind, a tender plant, just starting into growth. It is ciples of which she is a champion, approaches as near
to be watered, and fostered, and shielded from the to the ease and openness of her great prototype, Wol-
withering storms of Wintry circumstances, and the stoncraft, as she seems to dare to do, in oppositioæ lo
blighting mildew of passion, and exposed to the genial the social code. More than this, the two first men-
influence of virtuous sunshine! Woman is the culturess tioned' of the three, were acknowledged skeptics; and
lo nurse this plant, until it shall expand and strengthen the latter has exhibited in her remarks upon religion,
and shoot its branches, and cover itself with leaves, be- || a captious and criticising spirit as a substitution of her
yond the crushing of the storm, and the blight of the own views of religious duty for the plain teachings of
mildew, a sightly and goodly tree! Blessed, thrice Revelation, not many degrees removed in their demo-
honorable is the work! Blessed, thrice honorable is ralizing tendency, from an abjuration of Revelation alto-
the worker! And she is fitted t oher work. She need-gether. Shall these semi-women-these mental her.
eth not that far-reaching eye of reason, that discerns maphrodites, be admitted to the bar as witnesses in
the secrets of subtle casuistry, and unravels the meshy || this great cause ? No; they are incompetent, ulterly
entanglements of plausible sophistry; but of what she incompetent. But Miss Martineau has said that God
need she hath abundance. Her patience wearieth not, has given time for the performance of all duties, and if
her love hath neither change nor diminution, her virtue he had not, it would be for women to decide which they
shineth with a steady light, and truth is a deep well-would take and which they would reject. Agreed-
spring of her mental life. She is not angered at the agreed! From the core of our heart, agreed! We
often question, nor disheartened by obstinacy, nor es- bless her for the suggestion; but we turn not to her, nor
tranged by petulance; and when she hath clipped a to any like her. We appeal for a decision to the moth-
gem of passion in the bud, she rejoiceth with a fullerers of our land!
and sweeter joy, than he who hath slain his thousands | There are three mothers in the vicinity of where we
on the battle-field! This hath taken away the life that now are, at present writing. We have but to cross
God hath given ; she hath helped a soul on its way to the street to confer with them as they sit together.
Heaven; and her laurels are prouder than the wreath They shall be constituted a sub-committee upon the
of the blood-stained conqueror! Wouldst thou bid her question. It will not be a packed committee-for as in
80 walk in the paths of the statesman? It were to || Legislativo committees, men of diverse politics are as-


296
THE GRA VE-Y A RD.
sociated together, so here is diversity of age and taste |
Original.
and look and action. One has seen the Winters of
THE GRAVE-YARD.
half a century. She is a true woman-a right proper||
umpire. She hath reared a family of children to use The dreary mansion of the dead !-
fulness. Benevolence has been a polestar of her life ;/ What melancholy feelings swell,
beaming yet in her eye, and impressed on every action; As through these sombre walks I tread,
not measuring her character neither; for she knows how And breathe to noise and strife farewell.
to understand, to counsel, and to do. A second is ta!),|| Here sorrow finds an end, and grief,
with a mild blue eye, and a sweet smile; all gentleness; I
And pain, and life's perplexing cares ; .
and the third has & sparkling, laughing black eye, and
And here the mourner finds relief
a delicious play of a musical voice, light, brisk and airy
By pouring out to Heaven his prayers.
in every motion. We will ask no leading question; we
will simply read Miss Martineau's remarks upon the While reading on each crumbling tomb,
subject as quoted before, and their spontaneous reply The names of those who once were blest
shall be faithfully reported.
With life and bealth and beauty's bloom,
There, the sub-committee has been consulted. And What solemn feelings crowd my heart!
what think you was their decision ?—“Let the men
Ah! little thought they when the throng
take care of politics," said that elder mother, " we will
Poured fulsome praises in their ears,
stay at home !" “Let the men take care of politics,"si-
And life was like a pleasant song,
multaneously cried those younger mothers, glancing at
How brief were their delightful years!
their children, who were playing around them; “ roc
will take care of the children!" Encouraged by this
Beneath this polished marble lies
reply, we turn from the Sub-committee, to the Commit-
A youth to vice and folly given
tee of the Whole.
Whose talents would have made him wise,
Mothers of America, the question is before you, and
Had he but guidance sought from Heaven.
you are to decide for yourselves. Reflect dispassion-
But in the fascinating crowd,
ately before you decide. Be not misled by false teach-||
Where crime the midnight hours consume,
ing, and let not the specious glare of the untried path
His system to his vices bowed,
to which you are invited, allure your cyes, so that you
Ere youth gave place to manhood's bloom.
see not its thorns and rough stones, its weariness, and
vexation of spirit. Above all, think not that in giving
Beneath this monumental pile,
the answer we would have you give, you will be cling-
Which ages scarce can wear away,
ing to disgrace, or seck your own subserviency and de-
There sleeps the vilest of the vile,
gradation. Look upon your children, and then say,
As if his name would ne'er decay.
can there be aught degrading or subservient or dis Gold was his god, and he oppressed
graceful in devotion to these, your dear, your immortal The widow and the orphan child;
ones ? Are ye not rather chosen vessels, that ye may No sympathy was in his heart-
claim the duty to train their little feet to tread, in joy, On suffering man he never smiled.
earth's finite, Heaven's infinite hereafter ?
And now from the disputed territory of pine-clad
Bencath yon mound without a stone,
Maine, to the farthest bounds of Louisiana's farthest
Which men in thoughtless mood pass by,
bayou—from the peaks of the Rocky mountains to the
Sleeps one to honors here unknown,
shores of the Atlantic, comes the answer to our ears!
Who has a fadeless crown on high.
The question has been heard and pondered. Pride has
But in the grave, the rich, the poor,
urged, vanity has flattered, and the love of novelty has
The humble, proud, are equal made;
whispered its guile; but the mothers of America have
To endless life this is the door
looked upon their children, and pride and vanity and
Alike the path to endless shade.
restlessness have been stilled; and from ten thousand
thousand voices, joined in harmonious accord, is heard Ambition here must have an end-
the final, the glad reply, “Let the men take care oj || I read it in each crumbling tomb-
politics, we will fulfil our duty to our children !”
And haughty spirits here must bend,
Having thus elucidated our views of the sphere of || And hoary age and youthful bloom.
woman's earthly duties, we are prepared to discuss the
proprieties of her education.
OF method, this may be said, if we make it oar slave, is
is well, but it is bad if we are slaves to method. A ger-
Bowing is a science by itself; and must be closely || tleman once told us, that he made it a regular rule to
attended to by those who would, by turning and twist-read fifty pages every day of some author or other, and on
ing themselves, kcep in the sunshine of fashion. Bow no account to fall short of that number, or to exceed it.
very reverently to a million of dollars, most respect- He, certainly, was a man who might have had taste
fully to a hundred thousand, courteously to fifty thousand, | to read something worth writing, but never could have
coldly to five thousand, and never know poverty by sight. had genius himself, to write any thing worth reading.


GOOD NIGHT.
297
GOOD NIGHT.
ANDANTE
ALLEGRO.

Good night! good night! To the weary,
slumbers light. Day draws softly
to
its
MP
CRESD

close, Busy
hands now seek
re • pose,
Till
awakes the
morning
:

bright.
Good
night!
Good night!
Slumbers sweet!
Dreams of heaven around thee meot.
Him whom love torments by day,
Shall the dreams of night repay,
Him the loved one's voice shall greet;
Slumbers sweet! slumbers sweet!
Good night! good night!
Slumber till the day dawns bright,
Slumber till another morrow
Come with all its care and sorrow;
Our Father watches ; fear takes flight.
Good night! good night!


298
THEATRICALS.
THEATRICALS.
|| viously embarrassod-indeed, distressingly 80; but before the
end of the Interlude, she had acquired spirit and confidence,
In spite of the enmity of somo well meaning porsons, and tho and we doubt whether a more delightful impression was over
indifference of many, that beautiful art“ which poetry, music, left upon an audience, than was produced by this fascinating
and painting have vied to adorn,” seems likely once more to I woman as Julia, in tho“ Carnival," and Gertrude, in the "Loan
receive the share of public favor, its importance, as a powerfull of a Lover.” With a form and featuros as full of beauty as if
agent of moral improvement, demands. Its moral tendency Phidias had designed them in search of ideal perfection; with
may, indeed, be disputed (to use the langungo of Sir Walter la manner and expression sparkling with "nods and becks and
Scott)" by those who entertain a holy horror of the very name || wreathed smiles," yot marked by high culture and intelligence,
of a theatre, and who imagine impiety and blasphomy are in- i with a voice of the most delicious sweetnoss and purity, and a
separablo from the drama," We have no room to argue with conception which is delicacy itself, it is not sirango that she
such persons, or we might ondeavor to prove that tho dramatic should steal upon the sensibilities of the house with sure but
art is in itself as capable of being directed either to right or noiseless steps, and that, possessing all these qualities, the lis-
wrong purposes, as the art of printing. It is true, that even tener should be held in admiration, as much by their number as
after a play has been formed upon the most virtuous model, the their loveliness.
man who is engaged in the duties of religion will be botter em Her husband, though by no means a finished artiste, is a very
ployed, than he who is seated in a theatre and listening to its pleasant and accomplished actor. He sings well and dances
performances. To those abstracted and enwrapt spirits, who better; speaks French and Italian like a native; has the man-
foel, or suppose themselves capable of remaining constantly in ner and appearance of a gentleman, and the gay and mercurial
volved in heavenly thoughts, any sublunary amusement may temperament of one who, in amusing others, is evidently hav-
well be deemed frivolous. But the mass of mankind are not so ing “a jolly good time of it" himself. When he has gathered
framed. The Supreme Being, who claimed the seventh day as a little more wisdom from experience, he need not fear com-
his own, allotted the six days of the week to purposes merely parison with any light comedian that we know of. Mr. Swiftly
human. When the necessity of daily labor is removed, and the and Peter Spyke were played by him with great vivacity and
call of social duty fulfilled, that of moderate and timely amuse truth; and his dancing of the Tarentella was " applauded to
ment claims its place as a want inherent in our nature. To re the echo which should not have applauded again." The dance
liovo this want, and fill up the mental vacancy, games are de-il is a most fatiguing one, and the first performance of it should
vised, books are written, music is composed, spectacles and be tho"knee plus ultra " for that evening; at least, no man who
plays are invented and exhibited. And if theso last have a “stands upon trifles” should be required to repeat it.
moral and virtuous tendency; if the sentiments expressed tend
The American public are not generally aware that Madam
to rouse our love of what is noble, and our contempt of what is Vestris has been as successful in the regular opera as she has in
mean; if they unite hundreds in sympathetic admiration of
comedy and vaudeville. Her Captain Macheath, Artaseries,
virtue, abhorrence of vice, or derision of foliy, it will remain to
Count Belino, etc. etc., have never been surpassed on the Eng-
be shown how far the spectator is more criminally engaged
lish stage. There is, to be sure, no female vocalist at present
than if he had passed the evening in the idle gossip of society;
attached to the Park Theatre, of sufficient merit to justify the
in the ſeverish pursuits of ambition, or in the unsated and insa-
production of "Artaxerxes," "The Beggar's Opera," or the
tiable struggle after gain—" the graver employments of our
“Devil's Bridge;" but the services of Mrs. Watson might be
present life, but equally unconnected with our existence hereaf-
secured, and certainly the music of Mandane, Polly, and the
ter.” As we wish hereafter to direct the attention of our readers
Countess, would suffer nothing in the hands of that accon-
to the necessity which exists for some amendment in the regu-
plished lady.
lations of the stage, we have quoted the favorable opinion of its
The early day at which we are compelled to put our maga-
tendency held by one of the greatest and best of men;--such zine in press, precludes a more extended notice of their per-
testimony cannot fail to prove, even to the most rigid puritan,
formances. They are all, however, of the most innocent and
how worthy the subject is of serious consideration.
fascinating character; and we bespeak in our sister cities as
generous a reception for Mr. and Mrs. Matthews as they have
THE PARK THEATRE commenced its Winter campaign on the
received here. The gentleman deserves it, for that, he is a gen-
first of September, with the inimitable Poroer. In addition to the
tleman; and as for the lady
characters which he had previously played, and with which
our readers are familiar, he has appeared in several new pieces,
If to her share some female errors fall,
viz: The Irish Lion, Confounded Foreigners, Mc. Intosh & Co.,
Look in her face and you forget them all.
and Rory O'More. The three first are hardly deserving either
of praise or censure, being as Beatrice has it, too low for a high National. A variety of circumstances conspired to make
praise, and too high for a low praise. Rory O'More, on the the opening of the National this season, an event of more than
contrary, despite some improbability of incident, is a very ef- ordinary importance. In the first place. Mr. Fo
fectivo drama, and aided by the combined ability of Power,!the Park, probably never to return to it. “What private griefs
Placide, Richings, Gann, Mrs. Richardson, and Mrs. Hughes, l he had that made him do it,” we know not. We only know
had a very successful run. There is much of sameness in the that his services have been secured by the manager of the Na-
acting of Mr. Power, but let him go where he will, he is sure of l tional, and that he has been going through his round of charac-
the success to which his gentlemanly manners and peculiar tal-
ters at that house during the past month. His Hamlet, the
ent entitle him.
only one of his performances we have never before noticed, is
Power was succeeded by Mrs. Matthews (lato Madam Ves-
unequal and imperfect. It has some passages of extreme beauty,
tris) and her husband, Mr. C. Matthews. An attempt was but othors of dull mediocrity. Mr. Forrest seems to understand
made by one or two prints in this city, remarkablo only for the passion, but not the philosophy of the part. The scenes of
their ignorance and imbecility, to excito a prejudice against
strong emotion and excitement are given by him with much
these eminent performers. As we anticipated, it was promptly I force and truth ; but in the exquisite philosophical speeches and
and effectually suppressed by the good sense of the community, il
soliloquies in which the play abounds, Mr. Forrest most lamen-
and one of the most crowded houses over assembled within the
the tably fails. The fine soliloquy commencing
walls of a theatre awaited their appearance. The reception
given them was enthusiastic; and the waving of hats and hand-
"To be, or not to be, that's the question,"
kerchiefs, accompanied by the applauding welcome of a thou-
sund hands, proved suflicieutly that the malico of their ene- was an elaborate piece of studied acting, when it is clear that it
mies, and their own profossional excellenco were both fully should be delivered as a calm and subtle argument. Hamlet is
apprecinted.
overpowered with the weariness of life, and is debating the mo-
In tho opening piece, Thc Drama's Levee, the lady was ob- rality of suicido with his conscience, which, in the bitterness of


300
EDITORS' TABLE.
ROYston Guwer: Carey, Lea and Blanchard, Philadelphia. 1!
EDITORS' TABLE.
Thomas Miller, the celebrated author of “Rural Sketches, ap-
pears before his readers in a new form in this work. His sub In closing this, the niuth volume of the LADIES' COMPANION,
ject is the Ancient Norman Forest Laws; and he has contrived to llt
the proprietor ventures to express a hope that he has redeemed
weave them into a most exciting and interesting romance.-
the pledge which he gave at its commencement. The encour.
Wiloy & Putnam.
agement afforded by a largely increased subscription; the repu-
Nicholas NICKLEBY : Carey, Lea and Blanchard, Philadel. tation and talents of the writers who supply the original pá-
phia.-The fifth number of this work, embellished with two pers, aided by the favorable testimonies of the most respectable
humorous plates, has just been issued. It is sufficient to say 11
U portion of the public press, are strong evidences of the general
that it is edited by “Boz."-Carvills.
cxcellence of its contents, and of the various and superior cha-
Miss Austen's Novels: Carey, Lea and Blanchard, Phila-
racter of its embellishments. In return for the very liberal
delphia.-Miss Austen's novels are among the most original that
support and encouragement he has received, the proprietor
have appeared since the “ Amelia” of Fielding. We see in will spare no expense to improve the “ Ladies' Companion"
them no traces of thoughts, or incidents, or characters, sup-
still farther, that by so doing he may increase the sphere
plied by other writers; they are self-suggested throughout. As
of its circulation, and, it is hoped, of its combined usefulness
a picture of the habits of the provincial middle classes thirty and attraction also.
years ago, they are as true to life as the master-pieces of Gains Already exhibiting in its pages articles which entitle it to
borough, possessing all his exactness and literal fidelity, with | rank with the leading Monthly Magazines, it is intended to
out his coarse vigor. No one makes so much of a rustic pic Il place it hereafter upon the same level of general reading; and,
nic; imparts such a piquant flavor to the gossip of country as an earnest of this intention, arrangements have been made
cousins; or pourtrays a village “ Mrs. Candor” with such skill with many of the first writers of the day, so as to receive a con-
and whimsical effect, without verging on caricature, as Miestinuance of contributions of a high order of talents.
Austen. She makes as free of the old maid's tea table, and lets Among the contributors to the last volume will be found
us into all the secrets of the Lady of the Manor's coterie. She || the following eminent names:
has no heroes or heroines, in the ordinary acceptation of the
Mrs. L. H. Sigourney, Ann S. Stephens, Emma C, Embury.
term ; her dramatis persona are for the most part, of a homely, ll s. C. Hall. Miss A. D. Woodbridge. H. L. Beasley, John
quiescent, every-day caste; yet they uniformly interest us, be-
Howard Payne, Judge Mellen, Grenville Mellon, John Neal,
ing worked out with uncommon ingenuity, and their veriest
Henry F. Harrington, Edward Maturin, R. Shelton Mackenzie,
common-places turned to humorous account. Miss Austen | George P. Morris. James Brooks. Rev. J. H. Clinch, Robert
never affects the romantic or imaginative. She has no highly- | Hamilton, Rev. A. A. Lipscomb, William Cutter, Jonas B.
wrought scenes of passion or pathos; no startling surprises, or Phillips, S. E. Beckett, Horace Grecley, etc. etc.
melodramatic contrasts; but finishes up to nature, without once
The number for November forms the beginning of a new vol-
going beyond it. Her dialogues are remarkable for their ease, lume. A favorable opportunity is thus offered for commencing
and point, and archness, and so exquisitely characteristic as al- la subscription to the work, and those persons who may be de- ,
most to induce the conviction that they had been overheard by | sirous of doing so, are requested to forward their names with
the writer, and taken down in short-hand. Those who have as Mule
vellas Nttle delay as possible, to the office of publication, No. 107
road “Emma,” and more especially “Mansfield Park,” will Fulton Street.
have little hesitation in placing Miss Austen in the same rank
with Goldsmith; for, like him, she is the most social and unam- | Mrs. Grbes.--A concert was given at the City Hotel a few
bitious of novelists, and scatters over the homeliest subjects a wecks since, by Mrs. Gibbs, at the request of her many friends
thousand artless, inimitable graces. How perfect is her de land admirers, which, we are happy to say, was fully and fash-
scription of the gipsy-party on the village common; and of
&'psy-party on the village common; and of ionably attended. All her music was rendered with exquisite
the broad shady oak in Mansfield Park, under which the li taste and finish, and the applause at the end of each of her
youngfolks used to loiter away the Summer evening, till the graceful and flowing melodies was hearty and well deserved.
approach of the thrifty and prolix Mrs. Norris, who was much | She was called for at the end of the performances, and addres-
addicted to unseasonable lecturing, would compel them to a sed the audience very feelingly. We are glad to see the merits
precipitate departure! Wit without malice, humor without of this accomplished lady are properly appreciated.
grossness, refinement of touch without apparent effort, and re-
pose of manner without insipidity ;-these are the main charac ORATORIO AT ST. JOSEPH'S CHURCH.-An oratorio of sacred
teristics of Miss Austen's productions, who in her own circum- | music was given in aid of the funds of this church, on Sunday,
scribed sphere has never yet beon rivalled, and most likely | September 16th. The performances were generally excellent.
never will be so.
Mrs. Watson sang, “ Let the bright Seraphim," and Handel's
Sir Walter Scott, in spoaking of Miss Austen, says :-"She celebrated cantata, “Sweet Bird,” with great taste, feeling, and
is one of the first femalo novelists; and I find myself every effect: in the latter piece, the accompaniment of Mr. Watson on
now and then with one of her books in my hand. There's a l the organ, was “beautiful exceedingly.” The “Hallelujah
finishing off in some of her scenes that is really quite above Chorus” was admirably performed, but the prayer from “ Mo-
overy body else."-Carvills.
ses in Egypt” was a failure-owing, probably, to the want of
SEDGWICK'S PUBLIC AND Private ECONOMY: Harper and
rehearsals. There were three thousand people present.
Brothers.—The science of political and domestic economy has
Mr. J. Watson, the accomplished composer and musician,
usually been treated as if it were a great mystery. Mr. Sedg-
will hereafter reside permanently in New York, and has loca-
wick has, in the work before us, by perfect simplicity, both of
ted himself at 33 Bleeckor Street, for the purpose of teaching
thought and expression, made the subject intelligible to all.
that most delightful of all sciences-Music. From our own ex-
Every laboring man in the country ought to read, and inwardly
perience of Mr. Watson's abilities, we are well assured of his
digest the contents of this volume.
qualifications for the task, and would particularly invite atten-
THE RELIGIOUS SOUVENIR, FOR 1839. This deservedly popu- ll tion to his advertisement on the cover.
lar annual, heretofore under the editorial charge of the late
Rev. Dr. Bedell. will be edited in future by Mrs. L. H. Sigour-li Mr. Alexander Means is now upon a collecting tour through
ney. It will be published by Scofield and Voorhies of this city the state of New York for the Ladies' Companion, and we sin-
early in the season, embellished with eight superbly finished cerely hope every subscriber indebted will discharge, with punc.
engravings on steel, and filled with contributions from the first | tuality, the amount of the bill presented by him. Subscribers
authors in this country and England. The name of Mrs Sigour-1 will also bear in mind that our terms are, three dollars a year,
ney alone, is " a tower of strength," and will secure to the work || if paid in advance, or when called upon-otherwise four dollars
the continued patronago of the literary and religious community, lirill be ezacted.


THE
LADIES' COMPANION.
A MONTHLY
M A G A ZI NE,
EMBRACING
EVERY DEPARTMENT OF LITERATURE.
EMBELLISHED WITH
ORIGINAL ENGRAVINGS, AND MUSIC
ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO-FORTE, HARP, AND GUITAR,
VOLUMEN
enn-
NEW-YORK:
WILLIAM W. SNOWDEN,
1839.


INDEX TO VOLUME X.
INDEX
To the Tenth Volume.
FROM NOVEMBER 1838, TO APRIL, 1839.
Page.
270
B.
Hate.
1.
C.
45
Page.
Heroines of Sacred History-
A Tale without a Name, by H. F. Harrington,
Heroism of Esther.
20
10,82,140,165,219
Heroism of Ruth.
54
Ask not why it is I love thee-set to music. 96,97
Heroism of Judith.
180
A Wounded Spirit.
111
Heroism of Deborah.
233
A Day out of the City, by H. F. Harrington. 127
Heroism of Miriam.
Adventures of a Cloud.
246
37
Hetteore Fieramosca.
Agrippina, by Edward Maturin.
254
Honor, by H. F. Harrington.
138
Human Life, by H. B. Dennis.
179
192
Bunker Hill Monument, by H. F. Harrington. 41
Britannicus, by Edvard Maturin.
161
Indian Summer, by Frances S. Osgood.
129
J.
Cana of Gallilee, by Ann S. Stephens.
53 Jesus of Nazareth passeth by,
by Lydia H. Sigourney.
Jerusalem-illustrated.
233
Davie's Men, by J. M. Casey.
Did I Possess the Treasure-set to music.
46,47 | La Solitaire.
Destruction, by Isaac C. Pray.
232 Literary Review.
49,99,146,200,250,296
M.
Editors' Table.
50,100,150,200,250,296 Marian, by H. F. Harrington.
33
Epitaph, by S. F. Glenn
78
177 March of the Age, by J. J. Adams.
,
Ella, to
178 Mary's Request, by Lydia H. Sigourney.
Malaeska, by Ann S. Stephens.
188,239,258
F.
My First Play, by H. F. Harrington.
213
Friendship.
68 Monody, by S. F. Glenn.
214
Female Education, by H. F. Harrington. 89 | Mystery of Man, by Grenville Mellen.
229
My Child.
231
My Natal Bowers, by Ann S. Stephens.
Glimpses at Gotham, by Professor Ingraham. My own one! My own one !--set to music. 248,249
110,177,229,289 Ministry of Childhood, by Mrs. Seba Smith. 269
D.
441
L.
c.
Glenn
179
245






F
Rady Alk


THE LADIES' COMPANION.
DEL
over some with astonishing dexterity, and
.0 Un mor reuundant hair, and tossing the poor creature on a little embankment which
VOL. X-1.





THE LADIES' COMPANION.
NEW-YORK, NO V EMBER, 18 3 3.
A SKETCH.
Original.
Il with a light leap sprang from the veranda. A moment
THE TIGER HUNT.
after, she was wandering away up the blooming heart
of the valley.
An hour after, the Rajah's daughter ascended the hill
BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
which formed one wall of the eastern pass. Her dwel-
ling stood on the opposite precipice, and the sunlight
The day broke over a green and luxuriant valley of poured hotly through the gorge. The maiden was
Hindostan, with a sudden glory peculiar to the East. A scarcely weary with her walk, but she stopped in the
flood of gorgeous light flushed the sky and fell among shadow of a clump of thorns to brush away the dew
the wet flowers, the trees and the flowing vines, with which had sprinkled her silken slippers, and dimmed
that radiant and yet balmy influence, which makes the the golden border of her pearampoor. She had per-
beautiful contrast between morning and noon, in that formed her task and stood leaning against the trunk of
burning climate. Never did light dawn over a more a young tree, with her red lips parted in a smile of plea-
lovely spot than the valley we have mentioned. “The sant enjoyment, and her large black eyes fixed on the
Vale of Flowers," it might well be called. On either opposite hill-where the sunbeams were playing about
hand towered abrupt hills, loaded with leafy trees, and her dwelling and bathing the trees with a stream of sil-
broken here and there by a precipice, down whose sides very lighe-when the thicket above was agitated, and a
budding vines shed their rich, heavy foliage like a dra- || shower of snowy petals fell over her from the disturbed
pery. A forest of roses spread away, wave after wave, i branches. She started, gave a quick glance at the
down the heart of the valley, swelling at intervals up thicket, and fled from the spot with a wild cry of ter-
the sides to the rife green foliage on the acclivity, which ror. A huge tiger lay crouched among the matted
walled the blooming space with one vast leafy rampart. branches of the thorn, his eyes glaring upon her and his
Near the foot of the valley the hills were cut in twain, limbs gathered up for a spring. She had scarcely made
and two corresponding gorges led to the open country one desperate leap for safety, when her foot became en-
on the east and on the west, so that a man standing tangled in the long grass, and, with another wild cry for
within the jaw of the gorge, on either side, with his help, she fell forward upon her face. It was her salva-
face turned valleyward, might see only a high broken tion. The claws of the ferocious beast grazed her
pass, with a long strip of the adjacent country undula- garments as he shot over her with an impetuous spring,
ting away to a soft amber sky, without dreaming of the which carried him sheer over a precipice that walled a
beautiful nook to which they gave an outlet. On the ravine some thirty feet beneath the place where she had
brow of a steep hill, which formed one of these gorges, fallen. She heard the crash of his fall and the fierce,
stood a stately dwelling commanding a view of the pass, cat-like howl which followed; then the sharp cry of an
the valley and the surrounding country. It was inhabi- , elephant, the shout of many human voices, and the re-
ted by a native Rajah, who derived his revenues from port of a musket sounded in her ears, and she became
the oltar distilled from the valley of roses, which at : senseless.
once composed his wealth and made his home a para- The wounded tiger dragged himself along the bottom
dise.
1, of the ravine, leaving a trail of blood in his progress,
The morning breeze was sighing balmily through the and now and then uttering a low howl of pain, till he
open blinds and lattices of this dwelling, when the Ra- came to the open gap in which it terminated. Here,
jah's daughter left her perfumed mattrass, and stepped with brute instinct, he slunk together and crouched
out on the veranda which overlooked the valley. Beau- down in the rank grass, for a party of European hunts-
tiful was the flowery nook which lay, bathed in dew and men, with elephants and native attendants, had been
sunshine beneath her feet. Myriads of roses had burst arrested with his cries, and now halted in the gap.
to blossom during the night. Gem-like insects flashed The leading elephant, an old sagacious animal, stopped
among them in and out, now in the sunshine, again and drew slowly back when he entered the pass. Then
sending their soft hum from the clustering flowers, or curling his trunk and fixing his eyes on the mouth of the
fluttering high in the air like a cloud of “ winged buds", ravine, he rushed forward with a force that nearly dis-
floating away from the orerburthened thickets. Gorge-i lodged his riders, and uttering a cry that seemed almost
ous singing-birds ruffled their plumage in the warm sun. human, he plunged his tusks down into the long grass
shine, or sent out strains of melody from their nestling where the wounded tiger was striving to conceal him-
places in the green leaves. On every hand bright and self. A howl of terrible agony burst up the ravine, and
beautiful things presented themselves to the Hindoo the goaded beast leaped up into the open space with a
maiden. She girded the embroidered sash which con- desperate etiort at escape. But the elephant wheeled
fined her pearampoor more tightly about her slender' his ponderous frame with astonishing dexterity, and
waist, shook back the braids of her redundant hair, and lossing the poor creature on a little embankment which
VOL. X-1.


THE TIGER HUNT.
formed the lip of the ravine, he planted his heavy foot' scarlet cloths and other costly presents, which the young
on him, and deliberately gored him through the body governor of the province had sent to the Rajah in ex-
with both his tusks. The death bowl of the tortured change for his daughter; and in the shadow of the old
animal was horridly mingled with the sound of crashing man's dwelling, four slaves supported a gorgeous palan-
bones, and the low fierce cries of the victor. A native quin, ready to convey her from the home of her nativi-
rushed forward and fired upon him ; but it was a useless 'ty. Again the Hindoo maiden came out upon the
waste of powder: blood and foam were already oozing veranda. A brilliant expression of happiness sparkled
from his open jaws, and his limbs lay, with the life lite. in her dark eyes, and gave a richer beauty to the rare
rally trodden out of them, beneath the massive foot of loveliness of her features. Jewels glowed upon her
the elephant. The huge victor stood for a moment, his bosom, and shed their light around her arms and small
trunk rolled tightly under his nether jaw, his huge form naked ankles. She bowed herself a moment before the
swelling with rage, and his small eyes dilated and fixed, old Rajah, her father, and then entered the palanquin.
with sagacious fierceness on his crushed enemy, as if Smiling one more adieu, she sunk back to its cushions
deliberately enjoying the agony of his death throes.' of damask silk, drew its azure curtains about her, and
When no struggle or sign of life remained, he withdrew was conveyed away from the home which had in all
his foot, and, after elightly shaking himself, allowed his things been to her a “ Vale of Flowers."
riders to resume their equilibrium, without retaining any A feeling of bereavement was for a moment busy at
appearance of conflict, save the red stain which died the father's heart, as he caught a last glimpse of the
his tusks.
palanquin, when it was carried through the gorge; but
"There was a human voice—the cry of a woman in his eye fell on the sack of rupees and on the princely
fear, I am certain," said the leader of the party to his gifts for which he had sold his daughter, and his heart
companion, as they resumed their scats on the victori- was comforted.
ous elephant. “It came from above the ravine, yonder
-here, take my gun while I dismount."
Twice had the old Rajah's jars received their annual
“ You will find that it was but the moan of the tiger: 1 tribute of ottar from the valley, and its rose thickets
their cry is strongly human at times," replied his com- || were flushed with blossoms for the third season, when
panion.
a solitary woman entered the gorge and bent her way
“I will see, however; the poor beast there must up the path which led to the old man's dwelling. Her
have had a very musical voice, if that was his." features were youthful, but hardened with the impress
The speaker was a young English nobleman, who had of strong, severe and fully matured passions. There
just entered on his station as governor of the province. I was something heart-chilling in the stern, cold look of
He had brought all the fresh and vigorous feelings of resolute daring settled upon a face of such transcendent
his climate and age to India, and filled with the excite- beauty. She paused a moment at the scene of the
ment of his first hunt, was eager for any new adventure liger's death, and when she resumed her course, a smile
that might present itself. He dropped lightly down was on her lips, but it was one of those mocking smiles
the side of his elephant, and running up the brow of the which distill a bitterness over the whole face. It was
hill, disappeared among the trees on the summit. A fierce and painful to look upon. She reached the Ra-
few moments elapsed, and he re-appeared, bearing the jah's dwelling and entered his sleeping-room through
Rajah's daughter in his arms. She was still insensible. the veranda. With a quiet, stealthy tread she moved
One slender hand hung helplessly over bis shoulder, and across the room, and sat down by the divan where the
the braids of her long hair almost swept the grass as he old man lay asleep.
bore her rapidly down the hill.
“Father," she said, in a voice thrillingly sweet, yet
“Bring wine-wine-she has fainted from terror,” which had something in its tone that fell strangely on
exclaimed the young governor, as he came on a level the ear. “ Father, awake—thy child would speak with
with his party, and slood panting with his lovely bur- / thee."
then still in his arms.
The old man started from his repose and looked with
Wine was forced through the Hindoo maiden's lips, an expression of sleepy wonder upon his daughter. Be-
and at length she recovered sufficiently to point out the fore he had time to welcome her, she spoke again, as if
path which led up from the valley to her father's dwel-i careless what her reception might be.
ling.
“Thy child returns an outcast, old man-her lord
The sun was getting high; our party of huntsmen has thrust her forth from his heart, and another, a crea-
had secured the slain tiger to the back of an elephant, lure beautiful as the sunshine, one of his own people,
and remained in the gap, impatient for the appearance has taken her place. Shall she not have vengeance ?"
of their leader. They had watched the old Rajah's! The old musselman folded his arms on his bosom, and
dwelling a full hour, when a messenger was sent with with his eyes half closed, sat as if unconscious of her
word that the party might return home; and that the presence. “My lord, the governor, has been very boun-
governor would follow in the cool of the afternoon. ll tiful,” he at length mutlered, but without looking on the
A few days after the tiger hunt, the same old elephant pale stern creature by his side.
which had filled so prominent a part in it, knelt within “Has my father received his usual gifts since the En-
the gap which opened to the “Vale of Flowers.” Native glishman chose a wife at Calcutta ? Will the heart
servants were disencumbering him of a bale of rich continue bountiful which has wearied of that for which


THE TIGER HUNT.
it paid? See, I have brought thee gifts more precious || snowy matting to a large divan which stood in the cen-
than thou can’st ever hope from him; they were his- tre of the room. A cloud of silvery gauze fell from a
why should they not purchase rest to my coul?" canopy over it, and through its transparent folds, the
She removed the jewels from her head and bosom, outlines of two recumbent persons were discernible as
and unclasping the golden bracelets from her arms and in a mist. On a small table at the head of the divan,
ankles, laid them at her father's feet.
stood a cup of gilded crystal, containing a night draught
The old miser stooped down and clutched the glitter- for the sleepers. The midnight intruder drew back the
ing mass in his ony hand. “My daughter has but to curtain, and with her pale, steady hand emptied a small
speak, and her will shall be done,” he replied, thrusting vial into the goblet. She did not look upon the two
the jewels into his bosom, but without lifting his subtle persons whose mingled breath Roated over her hand,
eyes from the floor.
but a shiver ran through her frame as the drapery fell
“ There is a poison known to my father which is sud-back. The heavy golden fringe and bullion tassals
den and deadly; but which kills with little pain. I which weighed it to the floor, swept with a grating noise
would that in exchange for those gems he give me a over the matting. It was the only sound that had mark-
a flask of this poison.”
ed her deadly progress.
The Rajah went to a lattice and pointed to the ravine The murderess moved to a dark corner, and there, with
which we have spoken of as opening into the gap be- her pale lips motionless and partly open, and her hands
neath. " Thy father's limbs are getting old, and he clasped tightly in her lap, sat watching the divan. An
dare not trust his secret with a slave; in yonder hollow hou
slave: in vonder hollow hour of intense stillness reigned through the building;
his child will find small blue Bowers, with a drop of then a soft murmur stole from the divan. A delicate
gold color in the heart of each, on stalks which droop
form half rose from the pile of cushions-a little hand
to the earth with the slightest touch-let her bring me was extended, and the lifted goblet gleamed through
some of those flowers.”
the curtains. The Hindoo clasped her hands till the
The daughter turned away and went down to the blood started to the nails, and bent more earnestly for-
ravine. The flowers grew in small delicate tufts along
ward as the deadly draught was swallowed.
the crevices of the precipice. She gathered of them
“Will you not drink, love, the sherbet is very cool ?"
and returned to her father. He received the sweet bur- breathed a soft, sweet voice from beneath the drapery.
then at her hands and went out. In about an hour he
Another form started from the cushions, and the goblet
returned, bearing a small crystal flask filled with a pur- again flashed before the distended eyes of the wretched
plish liquid, and carefully sealed.
watcher. She started up, then sunk back with a faint
“ Put a few drops of this in his drink, and his death gasp, and all was still again.
sleep will soon follow," he whispered, placing it in her
A solemn hour swept on, and then a decp groan arose
hand.
from the couch. A faint, shuddering cry followed, as if
“ And is there not enough for more than one ?" she heart and limb were rent in twain by a fierce fang. The
inquired with stern impatience.
snowy covering was tossed about among the cushions,
“For more than one ? Allah be praised! there are
and the whole mass of drapery shivered, as in a high
twenty deaths in that little fask.”
wind, froin the convulsed writhings of a stout form in
" It is well.”
its death agony. The large black eyes of the Hindoo
The young Hindoo bowed her pale face for a moment
| dilated fearfully; her lips grew deathly pale, and her
and left the room with the vial grasped lightly in her face gleamed out in the dim light like the head of a
small hand.
judith. She neither moved nor seemed to breathe.
Another moment of intense stillness, and then death
All was silent in the dwelling occupied by the provin.' again began its ravages. A small hand clutched the
cial governor. Master and slave were asleep, when a curtain-its fingers worked among the gauzy folds a
female form might have been seen stealing cautiously i moment, and then fell heavily down. A sob-one quick,
through the shrubbery of the garden, toward a private deep gasp-another-and silence reigned as before. ,
entrance. A poor travel-worn creature she appeared! A few minutes passed, and then the Hindoo went to
in the dim light; her long hair fell in disordered braids the divan and lifted the drapery from the scene of death.
over her soiled garments ; her silken slippers were torn, She gazed on the murdered pair for the space of a mo-
and hung in damp tatters from her small feet, and every ment, and then grasped the goblet and drained it to the
thing about her spoke of the long and weary road which dregs resolutely and without the least sign of hesita-
she had travelled. As she entered the dwelling her lion.
step became firmer, but more cautious of sound, and l When the attendants entered their master's room late
she paused to listen more than once as she traversed the in the morning, they found him lying upon the divan,
sumptuous apartments. She found the door of the go- composed as if in sleep, but dead. A pale, liſeless
vernor's sleeping chamber. Her hand lingered for a form lay by his side; one arm was Aung over his
moment on the latch, and then she entered. Her face bosom, and a mass of golden hair gleamed with
looked stern and strangely corpse-like, and her eyes painful contrast against his ashy check. The drapery
had a deadly gleam in their black depths, as she passed, was rent away from the canopy, and there on the floor,
by a night lamp which shed its faint rays through the entangled in its folds, as the agonies of death had left
apartment. She glided with a noiseless step over the her, lay the Rajah's daughter.


THE NIGHT ATTA ск.
medicina
Original.
Il services of a poor widow whose husband had perished
THE NIGHT ATTACK. on the voyage to his adopted country, so that his do-
A TALE.
mestic affairs went on as regularly as any other settler
though his wife knew nothing about them. She was,
BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY.
however, an expert needle-woman, and more than once
did she find some choice garment, an heirloom from
In the year 1689, the little village of Schenectada several generations, entrusted to her delicate fingers, to
was the most Northerly of the Dutch settlements in
rtherly of the Dutch settlements in repair an envious rent or the slow decay of time. She
America. It consisted of some forty or fifty houses, ll was skilled in leechcraft too, learned, as she said. from
clustered together, as if for protection, in the middle of her Indian nurse who knew the virtues of every plant in
a clearing, surrounded on all sides by thick pine forests, the forest, and many a simple ailment did her herbal
from whence its Indian name, Schenectada, was deri-
relieve.
ved. A rough road cut through the wilderness enabled Angelique Dalton was the daughter of a French offi-
the inhabitants to obtain from Albany the necessary cer in the Colonial service, who had resided many years
supplies for the use of the settlement, and also to for- in Canada. Her mother, an Indian girl of great beau-
ward their furs, the only article of trade, to the seaboard. ty, had died while she was yet an infant, and the care
Near the centre of the village stood a neat log house, of her early years had been entrusted to a faithful old
furnished with more regard to comfort than most of the
squaw who was generally believed to be her maternal
dwellings in the neighborhood, and adorned, in the grandmother. Her father, gatisfied with seeing her
summer season, with various flowering plants, trailing well clothed and apparently happy, paid little further
around the rude door and window. This was the resi attention to her. His whole time was devoted to the
dence of the only English settler in the place. Charles military regulation of the colony, and to the trading in
Dalton had come to Schenectada about two years pre-furs with the Indians. The wife of the governor, at-
vious to the date of my story, bringing with him a very tracted by the child's beauty, had offered to receive her
young wife, whose petite figure, dark complexion and into her family to be educated with her own daughters,
large black eyes, clearly betrayed her French origin. I and limited as this education necessarily was in that
It was supposed that he was, from some unknown cause, remote colony, it was yet far better than the little orphan
a fugitive from Canada, and the cautious Dutchmen could else have obtained. She was about fifteen when
were rather disposed to look upon him with an evil eye; her father was obliged to visit France on some Colonial
but he paid so liberally for his land, and traded his rich business, and she found herself entirely alone though
furs so fairly among them, that all suspicion was soon still under the protection of the Countess - Her
allayed. In fact, he was soon found to be of great | old nurse had died a short time before, and Angelique
advantage to the settlement, for he brought with him | felt all the bitterness of a lonely and affectionate heart
the trade of several tribes of Northern Indians, with pining for objects of affection. The family of the go-
whom he had trafficed when in Canada, and who were vernor were kind to her, but she could not love those
glad to avail themselves of a more direct intercourse who never forgot that their veins were traversed by the
with the flourishing colony of Niew Amsterdam. Bold purest blood of France, while the eloquent flush in her
and enterprising in character, gentle and kindly in man-cheek was derived from the darker current of an Indian
ner, and possessing the finest traits of Saxon beauty, he race. It was just at this time that she accidentally en-
was a universal favorite with the Indians, who had given countered Charles Dalton, who had lately settled in the
him the poetical designation of the “ Eagle Eye.” new English colony at Saybrook, and was then visiting
But his pretty little Angelique was most deplorably the Canadas for purposes of traffic. But little time
deficient in the requisite qualifications of a settler's was required to awaken sympathetic feelings in the
wife. She could neither spin nor knit, and her delicate hearts of the fiery young Englishman and the lonely
hands were singularly awkward in the milking, churn- | maiden. Angelique knew that her father's hatred to
ing and cooking, which employed a large part of the the English forbade all hope of obtaining his consent to
time among the females. The substantial-looking vrows their union, and Dalton was too ardent a lover to wait
of the sturdy Dutchmen wondered at her ignorance; a year for her father's return with the chances of a re-
but she was so good-tempered, and laughed so good-fusal at last. The result may easily be anticipated.
humoredly at her own mishaps—moreover, she was al- | They fled to Saybrook, where a clergyman was found
ways so ready to tend a cross baby, or watch a sick | to unite them, and, leaving an impression that they had
child, when the mother was busied in the active duties departed for Europe, in order to mislead any future
of her household, that they soon learned to forgive her search, they reached Niew Amsterdam, from whence
deficiencies, though they could not help pitying ihe hus- they proceeded to settle in Schenectada.
band of so inefficient a wife. Dalton, however, seemed Angelique's first real sorrow was the loss of her in-
to be quite unconscious that he needed their compas-fant. Scarcely had its soft eyes opened to the light of
sion. His greatest pleasure seemed to be found in in- day, when its faint pulses were stilled for ever by the
dulging his darling Angelique, and every pack of furs cold finger of death. It was a bitter grief to the young
which he sent to Niew Amsterdam brought him a re- mother, and nothing but her entire and devoted love to
un of some unwonted luxury for her. Fortunately her husband supported her to bear it with resignation.
for the comfort of his household, he had engaged the But the feeling of maternity had been so new and so


THE NIGHT ATTACK.
transitory in its duration, that after a brief interval of 11 At first the haughty warrior looked with contempt on
sorrowing, her cheerfulness revived, and she learned to the little creature who came to offer him the cooling
think of it as a sweet dream which had visited her once draught, or the soothing potion; but he soon learned to
with peculiar happiness, and might again be hers at greet her coming with savage courtesy, and to watch
some future day. The heart is so full of hope during for the usual visit with an anxiety very unlike the usual
the sunny season of early youth that even death can Indian apathy. A change seemed to come over his na-
only throw a passing shadow over its brightness; alas ! ture, and in proportion as he recovered his strength his
how different is the pall-like cloud which his hand draws anxiety for freedom seemed to diminish. He no longer
over our fair prospects in later days. Angelique had one demanded his bow and arrow, or pined for the liberty
of those cheerful sunshiny tempers which we rarely see of the forest. Hour after hour he would sit, silent and
except in early childhood. That day must have been motionless as a statue, watching Angelique's every
stormy indeed which did not shed some gleams of light movement, and listening to her every tone. More espe-
over her path-that plant most deeply imbued with cially did he delight in her song. Her voice was sweet
bitterness from which she could not extract one drop of and clear as the mocking-bird of the Southerr. woods,
honey. Her light laugh and cheerful song were the and the gladness of her heart was perpetually bubbling
delight of all her neighbors, for even the care worn and over in gushes of melody. The warrior seemed per-
heavy hearted could not refuse to sympathise with a fectly entranced by this music, and in the gaiety of her
creature so formed for joy.
spirits, Angelique would often burst into some wild and
The life of a settler must necessarily be one of hard beautiful strain in order to awaken the enthusiasm of
ships and peril. The wolves that howled about their this “stoic of the woods."
dwellings were to be destroyed-the panthers that glar | At length the Indian took his weapons to depart.
ed at them from tree and cliff were to be exterminated Dalton stood ready to accompany him into the forest,
-the bears that prowled along the borders of the clear when the warrior suddenly paused, and turning to An-
ing were to be hunted for the double purpose of security gelique, bent down to the ground before her, while he
and sustenance, and all these perils were to be daily took up from beneath her tiny foot a handful of dust.
encountered in the search for daily food. Such a life Pressing it to his heart and brow, he said:
naturally made men courageous. The dangers which | “Onalaska departs for the land of the setting sun,
they face continually, cease to seem perils to their ima- and his shadow will no longer darken the white man's
gination, and the instinct of self-preservation is in itself lodge. Will not the singing bird raise the song of fare-
a cure for cowardice. Dalton was known to be one of i well?”
the boldest hunters in Schenectada, and every enterprise i Angelique smiled as she began a low, plaintive melo-
of unusual peril was entrusted to his guidance. During , dy such as the warrior asked. His eye never turned
one of these excursions into the depths of the forest, the from her face till the song was concluded, then in a low
hunters accidentally encountered an Indian badly woun voice, he said:
ded in an encounter with a bear. He belonged to a “When four moons shall have vanished from the sky,
tribe of Mohawks who had never yet been induced to Onalaska will return; he will bring with him furs such
trade with the Dutch, though they had long carried on as white men never have yet seen; will the singing-bird
a commerce with the French Canadians. Policy no smile to see him once more ?"
less than humanity induced the hunters to bear the A sudden gleam of light flashed on Angelique's
wounded warrior to their settlement; but when there mind as she met, and for the first time understood the
the difficulty was to provide a home for him. Not one Indian's gaze. Her heart trembled as she replied:
of the good vrows were willing to admit a red man into li “The singing-bird will always welcome him who
their household, and the poor Indian stood some chance comes with good tidings to the Eagle Eye, for she loves
of being once more left to the tender mercies of the the Eagle Lye, and her songs of rejoicing are for him."
forest dwellers, when Angelique hastened to her hus- | A long deep gaze was Onalaska's only reply, and fold-
band, gently reproaching him for not at once depositing ing his arms in his blanket he disappeared in the forest.
his burden at home. The Indian was a young Mohawk Four months slowly waxed and waned. Happy in
warrior with the form and bearing of one of nature's the affection of her husband and in the trustfulness of
princes. The practical skill which all men acquire in her own loving heart, Angelique had almost forgotten
times of need, enabled the experienced hunters to re- her Indian guest when Onalaska suddenly appeared be-
lieve his suffering, and the strength of a hardy frame fore her. He brought furs of the most costly kinds,
together with the gentle cares of his kind hostess, and refused to receive any equivalent for them beyond
wrought his final cure. During the first days of his a swift horse which he had long coveted. The furs
illness, all Angelique's attentions were requisite to re- were ten times more valuable than the animal, and Dal-
concile him to the necessary restraints. From her old ton cheerfully made the exchange. Onalaska remain-
Indian nurse she had learned several of the dialects led with them many days. His natural stoicism seemed
peculiar to the Northern tribes, and had often been forgotten, and his questions respecting the customs of
summoned to act as interpreter during their bargainings the whites were unceasing. Their marriage customs
with the whites. She now found her knowledge still particularly excited his attention, and nothing could
more useful, since it enabled her to quiet the restless exceed his surprise and even chagrin, when he found
spirit of her unwilling guest.
the white squaws were not to be bought with skins and


THE NIGHT ATTACK.
wampum. On the day of his departure he sought An-|| renewal of hardships, and hoped each day to find them.
gelique and conversed earnestly with her in his native selves at the goal of their efforts. A few days before
dialect. Indignation, terror, surprise, by turns marked they emerged from the forest, Onalaska left them, and
her speaking countenance as he proceeded. Her little hastened onward to provide for them on the borders of
figure seemed to dilate, and her eye actually flashed the village. With all the cunning of Indian artifice he
fire as she bitterly reproached the haughty warrior and managed to procure food, and secreted it in the clefts of
waved him from her. A scowl of fiendish malignity li the trees till they should arrive. At length, on the eve-
darkened his brow as he strode out of the settlement ning of the nineteenth of February, 1690, the worn out
and returned no more to the peaceful village.
coldiers reached the outskirts of the village. Onalaska
Not long after, the settlers were aroused by a night met them, but what was his rage when informed that
attack on their homes, or rather on the home of one of they only waited for daylight to surrender themselves
their number. A few straggling Indians surrounded prisoners of war.
the house occupied by Dalton, forced the door and had “Is the white warrior mad?” exclaimed he to Colo-
nearly succeeded in carrying off the inmates, when the nel Audelet. “Is he cold as the snow that crackles
numbers who hastened to the rescue succeeded in dri beneath his feet? The pale faces are sleeping around
ving them from their prey. Two of the Indians were their fires—their doors are open to your swords--would
killed, the rest escaped; but Angelique asserted that, il ye go forward like dogs to crouch beneath their feet and
in spite of his war decorations, she recognized the face lie down in the ashes before them, when ye might tram-
of Onalaska among the invaders. The inhabitants im- ple on them ere they awake to avenge the blow ?"
mediately made preparations to resist future attacks. “But our men are faint with hunger and perishing
The stockades were repaired, and new regulations for with cold," said the Colonel : “a child can overthrow
the keeping vigilant watch were made. But the In- i them."
dians appeared to be satisfied that they possessed not || “Onalaska can find them food," said the Indian ; "the
the means of success, and no further alarms occurred. red warrior fights first and feeds beside the bodies of his
Onalaska bad determined to obtain possession of An- | slain enemies—but the pale faces are like women, they
gelique, and, finding his first attempt ineflectual, resol- | must be made strong with meats.”
ved to obtain further aid. His intercourse with the “Give us food," exclaimed the weary soldiers, "give
Canadians had made him acquainted with the jealousies us food and two hours rest, and we are ready to attack
existing between the French and Dutch settlements, and the village.”
his acuteness led him to discover that he could most A look of contempt was Onalaska's only reply.
efficiently complete his purposes by fomenting those “Can you furnish us with food ?" asked Audelet.
jealousies. He knew that the old French governor had “Onalaska has said it, and Onalaska speaks not with
long looked with an envious eye upon the sheltered a lying tongue," said the warrior; " but the white man
villages in the rich valley of the Hudson, and he now gives nothing without a price, and the red man has
set himself to the lask of exciting his cupidity so far as learned to traffic also. Onalaska seeks a wife from the
to induce an incursion into the Dutch possessions. There lodge of the white man, swear to me, then, by the great
were many in Canada to aid him in this purpose-men Manito, whom the white man fears, that if I snatch
who could thrive no where by industry, and whose only the singing-bird from her nest, she shall be mine."
hope was in tumult and disturbance. Some misman.' Audelet paused a moment, and replied: “Why does
agement in the negociations then pending between the Onalaska ask this? The lodges of the white men are
colonies came in aid of the project, and, while the before him-whatever the warrior's hand can win be-
Dutch were totally unsuspicious of danger, a detach|longs to him alone. If Onalaska seeks a wife among
ment of two hundred Frenchmen and nearly as many the pale faces, let him take her and no man shall stay
Mohawk Indians, were on the march to attack them. him."
The conduct of this expedition had been entrusted to “It is well,” said Onalaska; "now shall the famish-
Colonel Audelet, a man of great boldness and possesseded warriors find rest and food-then to the white man's
with a deep hatred of both Dutch and English settlers. I lodge for plunder and revenge!"
His feelings of cupidity and revenge were enlisted in The peaceable inhabitants of Schenectada were sunk
the cause, since to the Dutch he owed the destruction of in profound sleep, totally unconscious of danger, when
a thriving trade in furs, and to the English the loss of a at about an hour before midnight the horrid warwhoop .
daughter, of whom an English settler had robbed him echoed through the settlement. One moment of black
some years before.
terror succeeded, and the next every man snatched his
More than twenty days the little army toiled through' musket and every woman clasped her children. But
the wintry wilderness towards Schenectada. The forests what could the half-naked inhabitants do amid double
were almost impassable with the accumulated snows of their number of savages, and men worse than savages.
the whole winter, and the cold was intense, so that their | A heavy snow was falling, and the intensity of the cold
sufferings from fatigue and hardship were almost incre- almost deprived them of the use of their limbs. The
dible. It was the season when but little food could be army was divided into detachments of five or six, who
found in the forest, and each man was obliged to carry surrounded each dwelling, forced the door, murdered
his provisions strapped on his back. Many a time they the inmates, and then cominenced the task of plundering.
would gladly have turned back, but that they feared a All the awful horrors of garage warfare were there ex.
car


THE NIGHT ATTACK.
9
hibited. The crushed body of the helpless infant was | pierced the neck of the unhappy Angelique, and buried
flung in mockery to the bleeding mother, as her dying itself in the bosom of her father.
eyes turned towards her child while the father, struck! The settlers of the new world, the first intruders upon
down by half a dozen swords, was scalped ere his lips | the Indian hunting grounds, have long since passed
ceased to implore mercy. It was in fact less a conflict away, and amid the stately dwellings of our flourishing
than a carnage. When morning broke, the scene was cities it is difficult to recal the scenes of humnble toil and
indeed frightful, even the Frenchmen shuddered as they | fearful peril which our forefathers encountered. The
beheld the dreadful witnesses of their cruel excesses. traces of Indian warfare have long since been effaced
Sixty persons who slept in quiet happiness but a few from the valley of the Hudson ; but many an aged
hours before, now lay dead upon their own hearthstones. grandame may yet be found who has not forgotten,
Forty more, deprived of the fruits of a life of industry among the tales which charmed her childhood, the tra-
and of all that rendered life desirable, were captives; i ditions which commemorate the “ Burning of Schenec-
and of the few who struggled through the storm so suc-tada.”
cessfully as to reach Albany, not one escaped without
wounded or frozen limbs.
original.
The first house attacked in the settlement was Dal-
LA SOLITAIRE.
ton's. Fastening like a bloodhound on his prey, Ona-
laska had forced the house, and ere Dalton could grasp
his weapons, had buried his tomahawk in his brain.
He sits upon his shady throne,
Angelique, terrified by the sudden tumult, awakened
Beneath the covert green,
from her slumbers only to sink again into utter uncon-
The bee and bird his courtiers are,
sciousness beneath the shock. Hastily tying her so as
But where's the gentle queen ?
to prevent escape, Onalaska left her in the keeping of a
trusty follower, while he hurried to complete his work
Around him droop the lily bells,
of destruction. Day had dawned over the scene of hor-
Beside him opes the rose,
ror ere he returned to seek his victim. Sunk in the
She sighs away her fragrant breath,
stupor of grief and terror, Angelique was entirely pas-
To soothe his lone repose;
sive in his hands. She suffered him to wrap her in
blankets and bear her through the blazing ruins of the
Yet bee and bird may wander by,
village, which the Indians had set on fire, without ap-
The rose grow pale and dim-
There is no sweet companionship
pearing to be conscious of any thing. At leagth he
Amid them all for him.
reached an open space in the midst of the settlement,
where the officers were assembled to concert their best
A light comes o'er his smiling cyes,
mode of retreat before the alarm should have been
given to Albany. He was hurrying through the midst
A soft and sunny gleam-
of them when Colonel Audelet approached. A loud
And airy fancies floating round
cry burst from his lips as his eye fell on the face of the
Enfold him as a dream-
captive, and the next moment Angelique was in the
“Oh, would that I were Oberon,"
arms of her father.
He murmurs sweet and low,
The brow of the Indian grew black as midnight as
“To seek my fair Titania, where
he viewed his prize thus snatched from his grasp. Gloo-
The starry jas’mines blow;
mily gazing on the group around, he seemed to be wait-
ing till Colonel Audelet should return her to him. Not
To call the knights of fairy land
a shadow of relenting was seen upon his countenance.
Upon the circled green-
“The white man has promised that the warrior might
To steal within a cowslip cup,
keep what the warrior bad won," at length he said;
And wake my fairy queen :
" will our white brother eat his own words? The wo-
man is mine-the Eagle Eye can watch over her no No longer here in solitude,
more--the music of the singing-bird will now be heard
To gaze around and pine-
in the lodge of Onalaska."
Earth's empire let all others claim,
As he spoke he stepped forward as if to take her
If cloudland could be mine!"
from her father's hands. Roused almost to madness
by the excitement of his feelings, Audelet repelled him Dream on, dream on, thou gentle one,
with a force that made the Indian reel. The glare of
But better far for thee,
fiendish malignity was in his eye as he turned sullenly To “bear a charmed heart," and live
away and strode to the forest. Scarcely a moment
In visions bright and free;
elapsed ere his return. He was now mounted and his
gun was in his hands. The next instant, both father Oh, better far, than weep the change,
and daughter lay bleeding on the ground, while the
When youth and love have flown,
tramp of his horse was heard resounding through the To calmly sit a lonely king
forest. His aim had been fatally true, the bullet had | Upon a lonely throne !


10
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
BY HENRY F. HARRINGTON,
Original.
was the widow's turn to shift and turn; and she did so
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. with an adroitness which testified to her admirable tact;
for still the house was open, and daughter after daugh-
ter ushered, under the happiest auspices, into fashiona-
ble society. A charming place was the Lady Flem-
Preface.
mings', for the titled beaux to while away an hour-a
· Friend. Well, Mr. Author, is your tale to be long charming woman was the Lady Flemming herself, and
or short ?
pretty and agreeable her daughters; and four youthful
Author. Certainly not short; neither, compared swains with good establishments, in possession or im-
with Richardson's Sir Charles Grandison, will it be mediate expectancy, three of them with titles too,
long. But measured by the average length of magazine found themselves, in succession, to their utter aston-
stories, it will be somewhat long.
ishment, in love, betrothed, married, and brothers-in-
Friend. Pshaw! It will extend, I suppose, into law, without a pause between these very important pas.
magazine after magazine, keeping the mind upon ten- sages in life to catch a reflective breath.
der looks, time without end. Abridge it! abridge! The fourth daughter being in the fashionable phrase,
abridge! Those tender looks will impale your reputa- " well established," that is, made miserable for life in
tion.
the companionship of a conceited and obstinate husband,
Author. Softly. Here has our proprietor eight thou- with shallow wits, because he boasted more wealth
sand subscribers to cater for; embracing as many tastes than his fellows, and could be angled for and caught, as
as there are individuals. “Give us long stories, as the a fisherman secures his prey. Lady Flemming deemed
English magazines do, and not surfeit us with little it fit time and occasion to transfer to the surveillance of
scrimped messes, that provoke but do not satisfy the , her own eye, her youngest daughter, Estelle, who had
mental appetite!” cry many in answer to your warning, spent the years of her childhood since her father's death
my good friend. We must try to serve dishes for the cat which period she was but nine years of age-with
palates of all.
la maiden aunt, her father's sister, who resided some
Friend. What is to be its name?
fifty miles to the Northward from London. This good
Author. It has none.
lady loved poodle-dogs, poll-parrots and cats and kit-
Friend. No name! Why is that, prythee? tens, in a far greater measure than she was affected
Author. Simply because I cannot think of a befit-, towards the rising generation of the human species, and
ting one.
paid every delicate attention to her canine and feline
Friend. Of what will it treat ?
protegès, while she suffered her niece to consult her
Author. Of character, rather than of incident or i own inclinations; and she grew up, in consequence, one
manners. Beseeching you, therefore, and through you, of nature's own darling children; robust and ruddy, and
the readers of the magazine, to excuse anachronisins, laughing and gay, not fettered by artificial prescriptions
and all deviations, I will break the ice.
to improve upon the handiwork of nature, and yet
CHAPTER 1.
graceful in every motion. She became, ere she left her
rustic home, sixteen, and a woman; and it was a sad
In a boudoir, at the West end of London, plainly, but day for her, with all her curiosity to see the fine sights
neatly furnished, betokening taste, though perhaps not of the gaudy town where, in obedience to her mother's
wealth, a lady is sitting, engaged upon some article of 'summons, she bade adieu to trees and flowers, and rivu-
needle-work. She has passed the grand climacteric lets and birds, and her pretty pet lamb, and was rattled
but betrays the remains of superior beauty, while her away to London.
expression is that of sprightliness and penetration if not ! Her mother received her with testimonials of much
of decided talent. She is evidently in deep thought; affection. She had not set eyes on her for three long
for now and then she plies her needle with diligence, / years, and had hardly thought of her in that period,
and anon, drops her work upon her lap, presses her save to reflect that she was to “be provided for," so
lips with her extended finger, and taps with a remarka- soon as her elder sisters had been established in life.
bly pretty foot, while her eye pores upon the carpet, It was with some degree of anxiety that Lady Flem-
until, with a long breath, a slight, and a quick nod of ming had awaited the first interview with Estelle ; for
the head, intimating satisfaction at some climax of her she had been far from handsome in her childhood, and
cogitations, she litis her work again, and renews her was withal, somewhat wilful; and according to her
gentle toil; again to pause, to stop, to smile, to nod, mother's business-like calculation, she promised to be
and then again, to work.
a drug in the matrimonial market. But with that re-
This is the Lady Caroline Flemming, the widow of markable transformation of features and form, which
Sir Philip Flemming, and a pattern of managing moth- sometimes accompanies the developement of either sex
ers. Her husband had inherited an unsullied name, \, from youth to manhood or womanhood, Estelle seemed
with but little property. Hospitable and generous, he to her mother's eye, to have been touched by a fairy's
contrived by shifting and turning, to maintain a house!'wand; and when she bounded into the parlor, airy
in town and a box in the country, and to make his friends and graceful, glowing with eagerness and emotion, a
comfortably welcome; and finally died, leaving his wi- sweet enticing smile gilding every feature-playing round
dow with five young daughters and an empty purse. It | rosy lips, and twinkling in the corners of her blue eyes,


A T A L E WITHOUT A NAME.
11
whose soft and speaking expression revealed the ten- see one. And there will be sparkling jewels, and splen-
derness of her soul; while a tuneful and playful voice did dresses, and music and dancing! Perhaps I shall
exclaimed, “ Dear mother, it is I!" The union of the dance! I'm sure I will if any body asks me; and I'll
not wholly dormant affection of the mother, with the make my sisters' husbands dance with me twice apiece!
glad surprise of the matrimonial speculator, secured for Oh, delicious!"_and she hummed a popular air, and
Estelle an ardent embrace, and a fervent welcome to sailed away, peronetting and chasséeing, not ungrace-
the home of her childhood.
fully. But excitement of whatever nature, soon exhausts
It was the third morning after Estelle's arrival in itself, and Estelle became sufficiently calm before many
London, that found Lady Flemming alone, and in deep | minutes, to cast a glance at her mother. The stern ex-
study, in the boudoir, as has been already related. That Il pression of her features caused an instant revulsion of
study was as may be imagined, a plan of operations re feeling in Estelle's bosom, and suddenly pausing in both
lative to Estelle's introduction to the “world,” and to song and dance, she exclaimed, inquiringly:
the preparation of her mind for the part she was to act. i “You're not angry, mamma?”.
This appeared to Lady Flemming, to require much skil. | “Really! Have you at length concluded to consider
ful generalship; for in the two days that she had beenme of sufficient importance to inquire whether such a
at home, Estelle had exhibited some evidences that the mad exhibition is gratifying or not? I am truly flattered
wilfulness of her more youthful days was by no means | by the extreme condescension ?"
subdued, though, chastened by the promptings of all “Are you really angry, mamma? I'm sure I didn't
generous nature, it now assumed the praiseworthy garb think it was wrong"--and Estelle, as she spoke, seated
of independence and firmness of character. She was herself on the cushioned stool at her mother's feet.
deeply romantic too; a second provoking bar to her “My dear, you are not now among the woods and
mother's success with her. She had made the beauti- fields of Hamptonshire, nor are you a child, to be
ful and the glorious things of nature her companions, l charmed by every roving fancy, and to give vent to every
and they had stamped their impress upon her heart; | fantastic impulse. You are now a woman, and it is
and she had revelled in day-dreams, all fantastic and time that your thoughts and feelings should be chasten-
enchanting, until her very life had become a dream.ed to an interest in the great ends of existence."
Such an one was scarcely a fit subject for the designing | Estelle looked wonderingly in her mother's face as
plans of a coldhearted, selfish, ambitious mother. But she imparted this exordium of her first lesson, Lady
already had Lady Flemming succeeded triumphantly | Flemming continued:
four several times; carrying many hearts coups de “ It is time to place a proper estimate upon pleasure,
main, her tactics unsuspected by the vanquished, then and to pursue it only so far as it will subserve those ob-
and for ever; and she did not now despair, although Ijects which must necessarily engross the attention of
action was to be maintained in the face of such adverse every young lady on her entrance into life. Forgetful-
influences.
ness of this important truth will render you the sport of
Her contemplations were finally interrupted by Es- fortune, and leave you stranded, at length, without hope
telle, herself, who rushed into the room in a very fever of relief or rescue."
of excitement, holding on high two pink-colord billet:, | Estelle's amazement to discover to what this could be
exclaiming,
the prelude, or what was its import, deepened the ex-
“ Invitations, invitations, mamma, to Lady Lander's! || pression of wonder with which she listened.
A ball! a ball! And there's an invitation for me, too, ll “The conventional pleasures of society are of more
- seema card '—"Lady Flemming and daughter!" I significance, my love, than your uninitiated mind may
may go, mamma? I know I may. I never was at a ball be aware of. A ball, superficially examined, appears to
in my life! I never saw more than ten people in a be only the gathering of friends or strangers, as may be,
room together! Aunt never had company, only old for mutual entertainment; and nothing more. But, in
Mrs. Menot, and the minister's ugly sister. A ball! a reality, it is an offering of advantages to secure those
ball! I'm going to a ball !”
permanent enjoyments and comforts which every bosom
Lady Flemming, who carried her tactics to the remo- pants for, because nature has implanted there a yearn-
test ramifications of thought and action, deemed iting for them, and which can only be attained by cau-
proper to draw herself up, and reply with an accent of tious activity and exertion. Of such advantages, only
surprise,-"You forget, or are beside yourself,”—but the foolish, the thoughtless, and the unwary forget to
she was unnoticed by Estelle, who had fung herself into avail themselves. My dear, women are not insignifi-
a chair by the window, and was examining billets and cant creatures, dependant upon the will of the stronger
card, style and chirography, with an eagerness that sex to the degree which you may, unconsciously--it may
seemed to imagine these mute messengers to be capable be to yourself-imagine; and by which false estimate
of adding more to the pleasant story they had told. Il you may shape your conduct, to your own lasting injury.
When her curiosity was thus far satisfied, she started In the very important matter of love and marriage, with
up, and dancing up and down the room, she re-com- which every young woman expects to have concern, it
menced her strain of girlish and romantic wonder and may seem that woman is passively to await the advan-
delight.
ces of the other sex, with only the privilege of rejection
“Oh, only to think of it, a grand ball! My dancing. I should she be so fortunate as to obtain a proposal; while
master ai Clapton, told me about balls, and now I shall man may flit here and there, with the whole female


12
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
world before him, from which to choose. So it seems, || the pole-star of her existence. With these views, how
my love, but be assured that woman holds her earthly could she comprehend her mother's language? How
destiny in her own hand, and may secure for herself the could ehe understand definitions of love, jarring harsh
man she desires, while he may fatter himself that in discord with the eager longings and expectations of her
throwing himself at her feet, he has exercised his sov- own bosom? She paced awhile up and down the bou-
ereign will, and voluntarily assumed the chains that he doir, and then prepared herself to attend her music-
confesses himself willing to wear. My dear, you know master, resolved to consult at the earliest opportunity,
what love is ?”
some one of her sisters, and obtain, if possible, a solu-
Estelle began, towards the close of her mother's ha- tion of the mystery.
rangue, to comprehend its tenor, at least, enough to To her extreme delight, dinner was scarcely conclu-
know that it was a lecture on love and marriage, for her ded on the evening of the same day, before the carriage
own especial edification ; but her single mind was suf- of her elder sister, now Lady Fordyce, drove to the
ficiently mystified by it, to be unable to estimate pre-door, despatched to convey Estelle to the mansion of
cisely its bearings upon herself, or its usefulness. At its mistress. With delight, Estelle arrayed herself, and
her mother's abrupt question, she looked up inquiringly was driven away, thinking more and more of the grand
in her face, at a loss whether the query was retrospec. | ball, and impatient more and more to receive a deve-
tive or premonitory-general or particular; whether lopement of her mother's incomprehensible language,
she sought to be informed if she had yet experienced upon which, her appearance at the ball, in some mea-
the tender passion, or was sufficiently versed in its sure, depended. Lady Fordyce was somewhat like her
character to be able to fathom her own heart, should mother, in her love of intrigue, with more bluntness.
she be in danger of an attack from the blind god. There She had proved a most obedient and faithful aidecamp
was something irresistibly comical to Estelle, in the in the matter of her own marriage, and had secured
scene that was enacting, and after twirling her fingers, thereby, a titled and rich husband, in Earl Fordyce, a no-
and gazing upon the carpet, and again into her mother's bleman of a round, goodnatured face, short stature, and
face, she could control her sensations no longer, but most lymphatic temperament, with an irresistible de-
bursting into a broad laugh, she dropped her head into sire for personal comfort and ease, its natural conse-
her mother's lap, and so remained until she recovered quent. He possessed but a moderate capacity, and his
composure. Upon liſting her head, she read strong
sensibilities were somewhat obluse. When, therefore,
displeasure in her mother's countenance, and instantly
Lady Flemming paid attentions to him for her daugh-
grieved and alarmed, she cried imploringly-
ter's sake, and the daughter-under her mother's in-
“Now, mamma! I know I'm nauglity, but indeed, I structions, for her own sake-the usual process in con-
couldn't help it!"
nubial preliminaries being reversed-being much in
It was not Lady Flemming's policy to exercise any || want of a wiſe to superintend his household, he was
great degree of severity, and relaxing her rigid expres- | rather pleased than otherwise, that the trouble and ex-
eion, she replied:
ertion of choosing should be spared him. The young
“You are forgiven, Estelle; but since you are disposed || lady was well formed, graceful, and versed in the arts of
to receive serious instruction in such a spirit, I will social life. She could converse fluently, draw credita-
postpone any further conversation ; only desiring you bly, and sing prettily. Moreover, she was of good fami-
to remember that you cannot make your entreé into life || ly, and as to wealth, the repletion of the Earl's coffers
until you fully comprehend my feelings, and are disposed amply atoned for any lack on her part. A proposal in
to comply with such requisitions as I consider it of the due form was therefore made ; and Catharine Flem-
first importance to enforce upon my children, and by ming, then eighteen, became the wife of Earl Fordyce,
which they cannot too early commence to regulate their
then verging to forty. But Lady Fordyce had a mind, in
conduct"-and Lady Flemming rose and left the bou many respects, superior to this traffic in the heart's best
doir.
sympathies. She was capable of loving intensely; and
Estelle readily understood from this, that she would there was a void in her bosom. Estelle but little re-
not be allowed to attend Lady Lander's ball, until some sembled her in appearance, and less in character. Lady
thing or other had taken place, she knew not what.
Fordyce was tall, and Estelle rather below the average
There was the necessity that she should believe some-height; Lady Fordyce had a calm, collected expression
thing or other, and act accordingly; and that something ever resident on her thin, though intellectual, and some-
manifestly had to do with getting a husband; farther, what handsome face; emotion and thought pictured
she could not penetrate. Now Estelle looked upon themselves in ever varying colors on Estelle's bright
love and a lover, as possessions which would make life features, and kindled in light, or were reflected in ten-
an elysium. She regarded the very words as not to be derness in her eye; Lady Fordyce was more intellectual
lightly spoken, and firmly believing that matches were | than Estelle, but she lacked her fervor of imagination,
made in Heaven, was prepared with her ardent sympa her enthusiasm, her truthfulness and her single-minded-
thies, her innocence and enthusiasm, to invest her lov- ness; while in addition, she was proud and ambitious,
er-when the talismanic charm that was to draw them and somewhat vain ; sentiments that were dormant-
together should execute its holy mission with all the wholly dormant in Estelle's bosom. I have said that
lofty accomplishments of the hero of romance, and to Lady Fordyce could love; was capable of intense affec-
pour out upon him all her soul—to makoher love to him, tion, and could exercise the heart's finest, most boly


14
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
Estelle, seriously, very-very seriously, be careful how | has all the female world who had the benefit of proper
you indulge romance upon this very important subject. | instructions."
As mamma says, women have more to do than to stand “Is Cousin Isabelle such a woman ?" asked Estelle,
still, waiting for a lover. Lovers are not so plenty, that with earnestness.
they need not be sought. You may love, dear; but not A slight change was visible in Lady Fordyce's face,
until your love has the zeal of prudence. You are to though her well-governed feelings rarely betrayed her;
choose, not to be chosen, and when you choose, you
chosen, and when you choose, you and for a moment there was a pause.
must do it with the same eye to advantages that the Isabelle de Rebiera was the only daughter of Count
merchant exercises in bargaining for goods."
Philip de Rebiera, and Mary, sister of Sir Philip Flem-
"Oh, Catharine, no! What, choose and not be cho-||
ming. The count had visited England when Sir Philip
sen!—I select a man, not-phoo-you don't mean so!
had been but a few years married, in the suite of the
Now I don't want you to joke ; for I want dreadfully
Spanish ambassador. Mary Flemming was then resi-
pai
dreadfully to go to Lady Lander's, and I know from
ding with her brother, and love and marriage was the
mother's manner that I cant, unless I understand her,
I cant unless I understand her i consequent of Count Philip's introduction to the family.
and consent to what she would have me do. Do be se-
| The happy pair-indeed happy, for the count was a
rious, sister.”
man of elegant manners, a strikingly handsome person,
“We shall have to break off our conversation at as
on at as and well-informed mind, and Mary a sweet, placid, gen-
unsatisfactory a juncture as that at which terminated
tle creature, soon left England for Spain, and for seve-
your interview with mamma, if this be the light in which
ral years resided at the count's family seat, the count,
you view my communications; for I never was more
in the mean time, rising in honor, and filling with credit,
serious in my life."
several important stations at court. But when their
“And you really say," exclaimed Estelle, starting up,
only child was but twelve years of age, the countess lost
" that I am to weigh the looks of men.”
the bloom of health, and seemed rapidly sinking into a
decline. Her alarmed and anxious husband, to whom
“No, dear; not their looks," interrupted Lady For-
she was everything, was ready to sacrifice every per-
dyce, " for that is but a minor consideration. Had you
sonal feeling for her security; and fondly trusting that a
said purses, you had been nearer the mark; and nearer
visit to her native country would restore her to her
still, had you thrown rank into the scale. Prudence
former self, relinquished ambition and court-favor, and
first, love afterwards. Love never proves more than a
accompanied her to the home of her childhood. She
will o'the wisp to the faint and hungry traveller. It
did indeed seem to gain in health from the moment sbe
is not the gleam from the friendly window, where he
set foot on the shores of England; and the count, too
may find food for bis hunger and rest for his weariness.
happy in the thought of her recovery to venture the
If when he is enjoying the realities of the latter, he
chance of a relapse by a return to Spain, sold his large
chooses to look out upon the dancing mockery, why,
possessions there, and became a citizen of the sea-girt
then it matters not; but it were dangerous and reckless
Isle. Bui the symptoms of recovery in the countess
before. Yes, dear, strange as it may seem, woman
were illusory. She suddenly failed beyond the hope of
must choose for herself; or let those who are better ac-
restoration, and died in the arms of her husband, pray-
quainted with the world, choose for her, and then shell.
ing him with her latest breath, to guard her child and
must advance to the attack as regularly and determin-
train her up an English woman.
edly as an army proceeds to the storming of a fort-by wishes of his wife, was estimated by the count as a sol-
To gratify the dying
march, countermarch, trench, mine, escalade and coupi
emn duty, and he continued in England, trausferring to
de main. Is it so very shocking ?” concluded Lady
aay his darling child the sympathies that had bound him so
Fordyce, taking Estelle's hand in her own, as she ob-
closely to her mother, and watching over her with
served her quivering lip and fixed gaze, that she was on
almost painful carefulness. Isabelle was born in the
influenced by strong emotion.
same year with Lady Flemming's second daughter, and,
“Does mother mean this ?" asked Estelle in a tremb-
as may be supposed, was often in the company of her
ling voice.
cousins. Indeed, when the count was compelled by
“Yes, all this; and she means, too, that you cannot
family affairs to abandon his child for a season, and visit
too soon forget all adverse impressions, and begin to
Spain, she was committed altogether to the tutelage
regulate yourself and your conduct by such views; and
and protection of Lady Flemming. Under her lady.
I entirely agree with her, that such is your best, your
ship's chaperonage, Isabelle had been ushered into so-
only course.”
ciety at the same time with her Cousin Maria, so nearly
“Then neither of you love me !" cried Estelle, almost
of her own age. But she was a thorn in Lady Flem
bursting into tears, and withdrawing her hand from
ming's side. Beautiful, sensible and accomplished, at
that of her sister.
the same time preserving the artlessness of her natural
“Estelle!” said Lady Fordyce, reproachfully.
manner, and an enticing modesty and humility, and cre-
“No-no, dear sister; I mean that if this be life, it
ating at all times, at home and abroad, the greatest
is not worth living for; and if I must become such a
sensations, because never seeming to strive for effect,
creature, I had better die--yes, die !"
she was constantly interfering with her ladyship's ma-
You are complimentary, Estelle. I have been such inceuvres for the settlement of her two daughters, who
a one ; and so have Maria and Charlotte-indeed, so were then of sufficient age to be married. Twice, at


A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
15
the least, she had weaned "splendid prizes” from 'lightful dreams of the song and the dance, and splendor
Catharine, when they were on the very point of con- and brightness, and she awoke with impressions of the
summating the delicate affair; and when the latter interview with her sister, somewhat dimmed by dis-
young lady was in a quiver of trembling expectation, her tance, and eagerness for the ball and its gratifications,
hoped-for swains had turned short about, and thrown enhanced by its nearer approach. A rich and becom-
themselves at the feet of her cousin. What more mor- ing dress was prepared for her. She listened, mean
tified and enraged both mother and daughter, was Isa- time, with calmness, to her mother's oft-repeated in-
belle's conduct in rejecting decidedly and without hesi- junctions and instructions in regard to her behavior,
tation, those whom they had looked upon as worthy of and when, at length, the wished-for evening came, and
a thousand arts to rescue. Lady Fordyce's change of she was attired for the great occasion, intensity of ex-
countenance has thus been explained.
pectation heightened the natural glow of her cheek and
Estelle, however, wrapt in the mantle of her own the lustre of her eye, and Lady Flemming surveyed her
better feelings at the dissipation of the sweet dreams again and again from head to foot, with motherly pride
she had indulged in, of ecstatic enjoyment when she and complacency, and whispered to herself as she
should be introduced to society, and miserable at this mounted the steps of the carriage-“She will take, I ain
first knowledge of the deceit and treachery of life, and convinced.”
the hollowness of the gaiety and splendor, that, viewed
CHAPTER II.
from a distance by her youthful and enthusiastic eye,
had seemed enchantment and ecstacy, did not notice | Carriage after carriage rolled up to the door of my
her sister's pause. Lady Fordyce finally replied: Lord Lander's splendid mansion. All the luxury that
“We may as well say nothing of Isabelle. I have unbounded wealth can command, displayed to advan-
little consideration for those who affect simplicity, and tage by surpassing taste, made the gorgeous scene to
well knowing the requirements of society and the ob- seem like the enchantment of fairy land. A thousand
jects of social intercourse, pretend ignorance and un lamps emulated in their dazzling radiance, the splendor
concern. We will say nothing of Cousin Isabelle.” of the noonday sun. Sweet perfumes were borne on
“ But I am sure there is no pretence in Cousin Isa- the wings of the air-statues and pictures, the most
belle," said Estelle, earnestly. Lady Fordyce, however, glorious creations of art, intoxicated the admiring eye,
would not continue the subject, but led Estelle back to and filled to overflow the measure of imagination's lofti-
the point from which they had wandered, and for an est picturings, while, through gilded halls and arching
hour or more continued to enlarge upon it, with little corridors, in the midst of all this glory, moved smiling
interruption from Estelle, whose astonishment and pain forms in beautiful array, and all was life and gaiety and
incapacitated her for conversation. When Estelle re- light! And within those smiling forms curtained by
turned home, and sought the quiet of her own cham- that beautiful array, were the exultant throbs of un-
ber, she sat by her window, and wept for hours. Mis- bounded joy, and the writhings of bitter anguish. Love,
fortune could have had no keener sting for her, than this pouring out its deep-flowing sympathies upon its fellows,
first dissipation of the illusions of her imagination ; and Hate, muttering harsh curses like the growls of the dis-
she resolved again and again to herself, that if such were tant thunder-Admiration, glancing with kindling eye,
the cold and designing arts of social life, she would fly and crying, “beautiful ! beautiful!"-Envy, with de-
from its false glitter, and pass and end her days in the moniac scowl and gnashing teeth-Pride, haughty and
dear country, among the truthful charms of nature, that distant, stern and sullen-Vanity, tricked in enticing
she so dearly had loved, and whose influence upon her li gewgaws-wild, frenzied Delight, forgetful that pain
had been so powerful. Thus resolving, she sought her and sorrow have an existence or a name and cold.
pillow, and sunk to uneasy rest.
heart-broken Grief, alone and lonely in the midst of
The morning brought Lady Fordyce to a private in- | thousands—Death in the centre of life. All, then, that
terview with her mother, in which the conversation mingle and commingle in such scenes-shrouded to the
with Estelle of the previous evening was detailed, and mortal eye behind those hollow smiles and that mocking
also the manner in which she had received her sister's glitter of array-all, all were there!
communications. It was manifest that there were in Lady Flemming and Estelle arrived somewhat early,
Estelle, unpliable materials to work upon; and mother before the majority of the guests had assembled; as it
and daughter deliberated long and intently upon the
was desirable to spare the uninitiated Estelle the con-
best means to curb the outflowing purity and singleness
fusion of an entrance under the scrutinizing glances of
cht of the daughter and sister, and arouse pride la throng. But this naturally made her the object of
ard vanity to action. It was a serious question whether
It was a serious question whether greater attention to those who had already arrived, and
it would be politic to permit her to attend the ball. As as she advanced, leaning upon her mother's arm, her
yet, measured by the polite standard, she was wild and eyes cast timidly down, and her singular beauty heigh-
rustic; but so graceful and interesting in her unfettered tened by the blush that suffused her face and neck, her
naivete and sprightliness, that perhaps the effect might mother, whose eyes and ears were alert, to catch and
be superior to that of any assumed demeanor. It was | skilful to interpret any and every look and word relating
finally concluded, before Lady Fordyce took her leave, to her, had little difficulty in estimating the earnest gaze
that Estelle should attend, as it were, upon trial. As of all, and the whispers that briskly circulated, to be
for Estelle herself, her sleep had been filled with de tributes of admiration; while one tall and elegant young


16
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
gentleman, standing in the midst of a bevy of ladies, ll “Lord Lander's only son and heir, and will be sought
exclaimed in a perfectly audible tone“sorpassingly beau- after more than any nobleman upon the carpet. Yes,"
tiful!" Estelle lifted her head by an irresistible im- continued her ladyship in a meditative tone, as if run-
pulse, and turning in the direction of the sound, en- ning over the unmarried noblemen in her mind, “deci-
countered suddenly, the ardent gaze of a pair of lustrous dedly he is the best match to be obtained. Now re-
black eyes. Blushing until it seemed as though the blood member my instructions, Estelle. Have no foolish,
would press through her transparent skin, she bent her shrinking timidity-nor yet be too bold and confident.
head again to the floor. At the same instant Lady Be afraid of venturing too far, and yet, by no means
Flemming looked deliberately towards the speaker, and let it make you afraid of attempting any thing, for that
instantly recognizing in him Colonel Elthorpe, the only I would be to exhibit an indecision of thought and ac-
son and heir of the titled master of the mansion, the tion, more prejudicial than boldness itself. He comes;
host of the evening, she smiled and bowed, the smile guard yourself well, my dear."
and bow being gracefully and cordially returned.
The tenor of Lady Flemming's counsel unavoidably
To give Estelle an opportunity to recover herself- recalled to Estelle's mind the painful conversation she
for she could feel her arm tremble as it rested on her had held with her sister, and this certainly did not con-
own-Lady Flemming retired to a corner, which served tribute to increase her self possession ; so that when
as a partial retreat from notice. There, Estelle soon Colonel Elthorpe had conversed a few moments with
forgot her tremor, and, thoughtless of herself, surveyed her mother, and was introduced to herself, her tremb-
with wondering admiration, the fast-increasing company, ling, confusion and blushes, were any thing but satis-
as they passed near her to salute their noble hostess. factory to Lady Flemming, who, aware of the controlling
The keenness of curiosity being blunted after a while, influence of first impressions, was anxious, in more than
she thought-and she may be readily forgiven for it-of an ordinary degree that Estelle should appear to advan-
the fervent exclamation that had met her ear, and the tage. Estelle was conscious that she was offending her
handsome eyes that had been fixed upon her face; and mother, and was indeed vexed with herself for being thus
seeking for their owner, saw him at some distance in wanting in confidence; for there was a feeling in her
conversation, where she had an opportunity to scan his bosom, that she would give worlds to meet ihe contin-
appearance at leisure. He was habited in military at- ued esteem of one, who had involuntarily communica-
tire, and was certainly superior in nobleness of carriage ted to her his good opinion of her outward appearance.
and manliness of figure, to the most of men; and to Es- But to several of his first questions, she replied
telle, who had seen so little of the world, he seemed a ' in spite of herself, in a voice scarce elevated above
demigod. Two or three times he turned in the direc- a whisper, and without daring to lift her eyes from the
tion where she was standing, and she thought his eye floor. But there existed no false timidity in her charac-
rested upon her with more than a careless expression. ter. She had sufficient self-respect, to guard her from
He certainly approached gradually nearer to the spot imbecility of action, and to elevate her above unjust
where she yet stood, by her mother, and, she knew not comparisons of herself with others, creating the very
why, there was a fluttering of her heart.
results which, under such influences, she would antici-
But Lady Flemming, better able to fathom the feel- pate; retaining her in the dim and scarce distinguished
ings by outward manifestations, had also watched the back-ground. Her present manner was occasioned by
colonel, and was soon satisfied that his attention was the overpowering influence of the novel circumstances
fixed upon Estelle, and that he was making his way in which she was placed; and no sooner did these pe-
towards them. There was much in this slight interest culiar influences lose their vividness, than she regained
betrayed by the colonel, which was peculiarly satisfac- her natural ease and grace, and appeared a renovated
tory to Lady Flemming. She knew that the colonel being. Colonel Elthorpe spoke of the country-his re-
must have returned to London from the army upon the mark being suggested by one from Lady Flemming,
continent, at a very late period, probably that very day, thrown in indirectly, as a kind of apology for Estelle's
by the style of the salutations which passed between bashfulness—that she had brut lately come to London-
him and those with whom he was connected by ties of and then Estelle could sympathize and enlarge—and in
affection, consanguinity or friendship. Recalling the her simple yet delightful style, she spoke of its beauties,
period of his leave-taking, a year or two before, she its attractions, its pure delights-her melodious and
could remember to have heard no hint or floating sus- | playful voice adding new charms to the bright prompt-
picion of any impression upon his heart in any quarter. | ings of her imagination, and the soldier listened with
Estelle's beauty was of the cast to charm a gallant, an expression of deep pleasure and full appreciation of
spirited soldier just from the camp; and much passed her feelings.
through her ladyship's mind that needs not to be de Suddenly, in the midst of their earnest conversation,
tailed. Seeing an opportunity when no one was very the colonel glanced hastily round the crowded apart-
near them, she said to Estelle,
ment, then looked at his watch, and seemed for a few
“My dear, Colonel Elthorpe, the one who made the moments afterward, in anxious reflection. "Pardon
loud remark upon you when we entered, is on his way me, ladies," at length he said, bowing, “ for this very
to us. He is just from the army. Of coure you know ungentlemanly procedure, but I am in momentary ex-
who he is."
pectation of the arrival of a near and dear friend, and
“No, mamma,"
1) feared that I had neglected to greet him upon his en-


A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
17
trance. Ah,” continued he, turning to Estelle, “there "in uninterrupted freedom. Crossing an entry near the
is the music! The dances are about to commence. I entrance-way, they found Colonel Elthorpe pacing to
feel constrained to await his coming, but let me hope to and fro with folded arms.
be favored with your hand when I return."
“Whither so fast ?” said he ; will you not pause so
Estelle gave token of assent, and again bowing, he long as may suffice to greet me ? especially, since I am
left them. “Very well, you behaved very well, my thus exiled from the gay throng."
love," said Lady Flemming immediately, to Estelle, “Self exiles deserve no pity," answered Estelle ; and
“after you conquered your first affright. You really then observing that Isabelle and the colonel looked at
did yourself credit, dear, and made a decided impreso each other without recognition, she went through the
sion."
ceremony of introduction.
Although this was but a continuance of the same “You declare yourself an exile, Colonel Elthorpe,"
strain which had excited such painful emotions in Es-said Isabelle; “may I ask wherefore?”
telle's bosom, she listened to it, not only without aver-| “I await the arrival of a particular friend, who came
sion, but even with pleasure. In the morning, the idea with me from the continent, has been my camp com-
of effort to interest one of the opposite sex, and of cool panion, and once in battle saved my life.”
and deliberate calculation how far that effort had proved “Ah," exclaimed both ladies in a breath.
available, would have thrilled through her bosom, and “Yes. Shall I relate the circumstances ? It may
made her recoil with indignation; and now she even give him interest in your eyes-for courage I know must
smiled at its execution. Alas, how soon do our better be charming to woman-and that I should especially
and nobler feelings yield fealty to the sway of passion! admire. It so happened in our last campaign, that my
Her dormant vanity was already awake!
regiment, having been detached on dangerous service,
Lady Flemming sauntered with Estelle through the was intercepted, before a junction with the army could
rooms, threading their way among the dancers, her be effected, by a body of the enemy, drawn up to dis-
ladyship smiling and nodding to her thousand and one pute our passage ; and concealed from our sight by an
acquaintances, until they entered the music-room. elevation, until we were close upon them. They in-
There, a few votaries of song were gathered about the stantly opened a galling fire, and at the first discharge,
piano, at which a songstress was seated, pouring forth my horse was shot under me, and my troops wavered,
sweet melody. “It is,” cried Estelle, “it is Cousin and turned to retreat. But retreat would have brought
Isabelle ! I know it is, for all I haven't seen her for five us upon the main body of the foe, and I besought them
years. Oh, how beautifully she sings. Dear Isabelle!" to turn and prove themselves worthy of their country.
As she concluded the verse she had been singing, My efforts to rally them would have proved abortive,
Isabelle turned her eyes in the direction of our friends, had not a lieutenant dashed in among them, and with
and starting up, ran to them, exclaiming,
voice and action, effectually seconded my exertions.
“Aunt, I'm very glad to see you. And this is Cousin They rallied, and obedient to command, resolving to re-
Estelle, is it not? Welcome, cousin, to London. A deem their honor, rushed forward to the charge. We
bright and dazzling scene this for my sweet cousin ! fought, as we had need to do, desperately. I was
Alas,'tis too bright for its splendor to be deep or lasting." | almost blinded with excitement, in the terrible carnage,
As she spoke, she held out both hands to Estelle, and my men were cut down everywhere around me, and the
kissed her as she ended, and Estelle, overcome by the victory seemed declaring for the foe, when this lieuten-
rich eloquence of her expression, and the love beaming ant again sprung to the van of the fight, and inspired
from her dark eyes, returned her grasp with fervor, and every breast with new vigor by his words and exam-
answered,
ple. I was finally attacked by two at the same time,
“Dear Isabelle! Oh, I am so glad to meet you! I and in the struggle for life, I did not see that I stood
knew in a moment it was you, though I have not seen alone and deseried; for the foe had wheeled a piece of
you for so long. I suppose I have altered amazingly | artillery to bear upon our thickest ranks, which suddenly
since then, and you would have no more known me, turned and fled. At once, a stranger arm clove one of
than the man in the moon, if I hadn't been with mamma. my assailants to the earth, and the other fell, pierced
But you were a woman then, and are the same kind-by my own sword. At the moment, as I staggered for-
looking Cousin Isabelle, only you seem a little older, ward, faint with exhaustion and loss of blood, the same
and more calm and sedate. And you will love me just arm grasped me, and with giant strength, dragged me
as much as you did then, wont you ?"
from the spot. It was all the work of an instant, and
“Yes, yes, I will," answered Isabelle, the tears start-| I was scarce removed, before the cannon thundered
ing to her eyes. “Come," said she, putting Estelle's forth its deadly contents! I felt that the gallant sol-
arm through her own; “let us go where we can have a dier had snatched me from the destruction it scattered ;
good talk. Trust her to me a little while, wont you, and when, after a reinforcement had relieved us, I sought
aunt?"
to thank my deliverer, I found him to be the same lieu-
Lady Flemming, who was in converse with a gentle-tenant, whose bravery had been so conspicuous.”
man, granted a hesitating consent, for there was no be- “We can appreciate the interest you feel in him,"
ing whose influence over Estelle she more dreaded than | said Isabelle.
that of Isabelle ; and the two girls left the music-room “He has obtained the promotion he so richly merits,"
and sought an antechamber, where they might converse continued the colonel, " and has been very lately ga.


18
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
zetted as captain. Shall I describe him to you, that | nances, which betrays a calm desire to pierce into the
you may be prepared to receive him? Nay, here is depths of character as pictured in expression. But it
himself to answer for himself,”—and a tall officer, with needed not equal observation to fathom the two beauti-
glossy hair and moustaches, wearing a smile that dis- ' ful cousins. Estelle was as a pellucid fountain; the
played two beautiful rows of remarkable white and simplicity of her mind was written in letters of light,
large teeth, advanced towards them. “Howard !” ex- and all who looked might read, and know without much
claimed the colonel, extending his hand.—“Ah, El- of study, the singleness, the sweetness, the purity of her
thorpe, how do you ?" was the answer, in a very musical, spirit. But while Isabelle was to the eye of the ob-
yet manly voice. Pray what scene of enchantment is server, as single, as sweet, as pure, that observer felt
within, that fairy forms are fitting so gaily to the win- that there was more within; deeper currents, and
dows ???
brighter fountains. You would love Estelle at once
“Let me introduce you to two of the sprites, no un- and for ever, and she would ever be the same Estelle;
favorable specimens of the beauty and brightness with but you would love Isabelle at once-and more and
in ;' and the gentlemen joined the cousins, who had re- more, as circumstances developed her character. Her
mained, in compliance with a gesture from the colonel. | face was not interesting from the abstract beauty and
The colonel took Estelle's arm and led the way to the regularity of her features, but for its confiding meek-
drawing-rooms, followed by Captain Howard, who at- || ness, and the intensity of feeling pourtrayed in it. She
tached himself to Isabelle. When they joined the com- believed the world all honesty, all truth, all openness.
pany, there was a pause in the dancing, and the four | Why should she not? How could she have an adverse
stood up for the next couillion, in the same set. Estelle
thought, when her heart was a gushing stream of Heav-
had lost all embarrassment, and now and then, her enly purity and love; whose chrystal waters had never
buoyant glee at some slightly-ludicrous circumstance, been polluted by one unhallowed thought! When she
made her clasp her hands in delight and laugh aloud ; spoke, her voice stole on the ear in silver tones like the
then, remembering how pointedly her mother had fore- , soft yet swelling music of a harp-string, played upon by
warned her against this breach of decorum, and finding the evening breeze; and it soothed and subdued the
herself, for the moment, the mark for wondering scru- soul of the hearer. Were her hours rather kissed by
tiny, she would hang her head and blush to the very
the laughing god of joy, or wept over by the pale genius
temples; but no mother was near to observe and chide,
of sorrow? She was often happy; she ever smiled to
and though Francesca looked reproof, it was with such | witness the exhilaration of pleasure, and could be gay
an encouraging smile, that she was not perplexed or as the gladsomest, with the innocently gay; but she
mortified, but promised amendment in an answering Loften dront a tear of pity at the story of unfriended mise-
smile, and soon was again wrapt in the excitement of
ry; deserted the splendor of wealth to enter the abode
the scene. After several dances with one and another, of hundry destitution: she stole from the laughing and
Estelle, somewhat fatigued, joined her cousin again, the thoughtless, to whisper consolation in the ear of the
her mother having returned to seek her, and Caplain | lonely, the sick and the dying! She would have re-
Howard remained with them, refusing every exertion of lieved. could she have done so the u
lieved, could she have done so, the unhappiness, have
his friend to entice him to dance again, or to improve hallowed the guilt, of a world!
the opportunity to make acquaintances. There was a
(To be continued.)
slightly-perceptible constraint in his manner, as though
not wholly at his ease, but he was notwithstanding,
graceful, and bore himself with a delicacy of manner to
Original.
che ladies peculiarly agreeable. Both Isabelle and Es-
telle were deeply interested in him. There was some-
SONNET-TO QUEEN VICTORIA.
thing extremely fascinating in his manner, and the at-
traction of the most apathetic would have been attracted
BY THE REV. J. 4. CLINCH.
by his smile, when he displayed those fine, even, and
alınost dazzling rows of teeth, contrasting richly with Lady, amid the pomp that circles thee-
his raven-black whiskers and hair and dark, sun-burnt The ceaseless round of homage, and the set
complexion. His conversation was of a varied and ani And stately forms of courtly etiquette,-
mated description. He spoke of his connection with Dost thou not sometimes wish that thou wert free
the army-related anecdotes of the stirring scenes in
To leave thy golden cage, and chainless flee,
which he had been an actor-now amusing, now call Like some bright bird, a quiet home to find
ing forth deep emotion. Yet he did not seem egotisti. With those thou lovest, leaving far behind
cal; for, at times he skilfully elicited remarks from his The cumbrous crown and robe of royalty ? -
companions, and afforded them opportunity and occa Dost thou not pant for some such quiet shade,
sion to bear their part in the converse; placing them so With no attendant flatterers by thy side-
perfectly at their ease, that their thoughts and feelings | No public eye to mark each look and tone
were pictured in words without effort or constraint. He Where thy pure thoughts, unchecked and unbetrayed,
did not appear to be attracted by one cousin more than May find expression unto none denied
the other; for the vigilant Lady Flemming detected him But those who wield a sceptre on the throne ?
often in that close observation of each of their counte- || Boston.


OCEAN FEELINGS.
19
Original.
And once, when cheerful rose the heart-fraught lay,
OCEAN FEELINGS.
I caught my sea guide's strange perplexed smile-
I mark'd the change when tears did silent stray,
BY JOHN J. ADAMS.
And he, as though my sorrow to beguile,
In kindness ask'd—what thus thy thoughts do wile ?
AGAIN I greet thee, ocean, in thy smiles,
And mark thy gambolling in rainbow crest;
My song, sir Pilot, gratitude inspir’d-
Freed from the earth and its ensnaring wiles,
For on the mercies of my God I thought,
I gaze, and feel that with thee I am blest,
And my full soul, with holy rapture fir’d,
As sinks each torturing thought that e'er my soul opprest. Those feelings vented that were overfraught,
With thankfulness for bliss so heavenly wrought.
I gaze upon thee when at twilight's eve,
Thy waves do seem to speak in humble pray'r; For all secure in my now sought home,
While, like fair flowers, they gently take their leave, | Upon this fitful ocean I was borne,
No longer dallying with the inconstant air
While not a thought to low desire could roam,
And, sympathetic, feel a rest for all my care.
Or action vain, o'er which the contrite mourn,
And which, full oft, so mark the spirit torn.
I mark, in wonder, when with fearful dash
You break, as though the bark you would o'erwhelm; | Content and plenty with me and around,
In anger calling to the intruder rash,
How could my heart repress the joyful lay?
Who dares to wander o'er thy virgin realm;
Yet, as I pierced yon verge in circle bound,
As rush the seamen, bold, unto the uncertain helm ! Why should you marvel that the tears did stray,
When to my vision came the woes which throng the
I've gazed upon thee in each change so grand-
way?
Thy quiet is a grandeur-all confess;
Tho' then so distant seems the heart-sought strand,
See where yon tall bark helplessly is rolling-
The friends we seek, perchance love's fond caress,
Those looks of agony-how dreadful-look!
The knell of death o'er all is fearful tolling
And all which our most cherished feelings bless.
Can you that sight of horror calmly brook,
| Which e'en the soul of Nero might have shook ?
I've gazed upon thee, and, like those of yore,
Who did with life imbue thee, I have thought,
That e'en from out thy "multitudinous” store,
Can you survey it and not bless your God
All fair things on this earth, perchance, were wrought,
That thus serene you move upon the deep?
1. Come now with me and bless the chastening rod,
And in old time, save thee, existed naught.
Which breaks guilt's thunders, and gives quiet sleep
To those who o'er their wayward follies weep.
Whence sprang that thought-in what soul-searching
mood,
Mark you that little and that fragile bark,
Was he who brought the fancy into birth?
A mother and her child are on the wreck;
High mus'd he as he looked upon the flood,
Heard'st thou that shriek ? Unto that moaning hark !
While standing on the fairest spot of earth-
The father, dying, totters to the deck,
That no alluvia show'd, or atmospheric dearth.
Relentless death his victims ne'er may reck.
Those wild imaginings—how dear they are-
Mind was their dictate—who shall say they're wrong?
They could not stoop unto the sceptic's fare-
To being, glory, poesy and song,
All things they gave which to our earth belong.
Turn there-oh, God! what horror harrows now,
Thy strucken heart as fearfully they close !
Those icebergs round that moveless, fated prow-
Those rending yells, those mad, despairing throes
And, if thou can'st, seek for thy night's repose.
To being, glory, poesy and song,
Yes, thou may'st seek, and calmly close thine eyos,
Fain would I give all things which reach my lay;
If to thy God the heartfelt prayer ascend,
The blissful thought how rapt I would prolong,
That, while thy soul does all his blessings prize,
That all shall waken to a brighter day,
To those thus stricken for his unknown end,
And bask-transcendent thought! in Heaven's eternal His boundless grace in mercy may extend.
ray.
What joy is fellowship unto that mind,
One day when the people of Athens desired Euripi-
Which bursts the cerements worldlings cast around ; des to expunge a certain passage from one of his trage-
To see in peace its kindred and its kind,
dies, he came upon the stage and exclaimed—“I do
Complacent look beyond this narrow bound-
not compose my works to learn of you, but to teach
Nor thus to view can e'er with holy joy be crown'd. ll you.”


20
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
NUMBER I.
bet
om 'n
Original.
|| wine, 'tis parent of wit and merriment. And yet I
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY. would not force your will let it be the law of our feast
that none drink in courtesy more than it pleasureth
him."
THE HEROISM OF QUEEN ESTHER.
1 Loud applause followed this gracious address from
their monarch-the golden flagons were replenished,
and jewelled cups flashed in the light.
CHAPTER I.-THE BANQUET.
“Still it becometh not me," continued the king, “t0
“Let us fill ourselves with costly wine and ointment: Let no argue in the praise of wine, for what sayeth the writer.*
flower of the spring pass by us: Let us cover ourselves with
rose-buds ere they be withered."-WISDOM OF SOLOMAN.
**||*It reduces the king, the infant, the poor and rich, to
one level. It maketh the heart so joyous that monarchs
'Twas night in Persia. Elam's burning god had and governors are no longer feared--the love of friends
passed to other lands, leaving his starry train“ to rule and kindred are forgotten, and swords are often drawn
the night.” Arcturus and all his sons were out-
Orion and the Pleiades, shedding soft brilliancy over! “Bravely hath my lord spoken of wine," said his
many a perfumed vale, mountain and desert lone. Gen- favorite, Mamucan, who sat next to him ; "it is truly
tly their rays were Aung over the stately city of Susa, la potent thing, and readily masters man, the lord of the
and fairy gardens of the Royal Palace. Here, flowers, earth. But, if I dared hazard an opinion, there exists
rare and lovely, were giving forth their fragrance to the a more powerful thing than wine.”
night. Myriads of roses, jas’mines, myrtles and sweet “What may that be, Mamucan ?" said his royalmas.
oleander-glowing pomegranate, almond, graceful chi- ter. “Say on!”
nar and citron, were gathered in gorgeous groups, or “ It is the king," said the favorite. “Man is lord of
bending over the silvery and gushing fountains. the earth, you say; he planteth the vineyard and make
A royal banquet hall arose in this sweet Eden. Gor-eth the wine, and doth not the king command all men ?
geous in its magnificence, it was worthy its royal mas. If he command to kill, they kill; if he command to
ter. The floor was a rare mosaic of marble and por- spare, they spare; if he bid them to go to war, to
phry and alabaster, which gave it the glow of a rich break down mountains, walls and towers, it is done; if
painting. Pillars of marble encircled the apartment, he command to make desolate, to build, to cut down, to
suspended to which by silver rings were hangings of plant, man obeyeth him. Confess, then, all ye who
rich stuffs, of white and green and scarlet, looped up hear me, that the king is the most powerful thing in the
with silver cords. A table in the form of a crescent world."
occupied the centre of the room, covered with every “Yes, wine is strong and the king is strong, but I
rare viand and delicious fruit, and thick set with deli- know what excelleth both in power," said prince Ad-
cately sculptured vases and cups of gold and silver set math.
with precious stones, bearing the most exquisite wines “Speak on," said the king.
of Helbon and Damascus, the sweet water of Choaspes, I “It is woman, my lord. If mankind rule the world,
sacred to the royal table.
doth not woman rule him? He that planteth the vine,
Around this luxurious board, reclining upon silver and the king who commandeth sea and land, owe their
couches covered with purple cushions, were the chief existence to her. A man leaveth his father, mother and
nobles of the court of Artaxerxes. In the centre was country for his wife. For her he will hold as dust all
the monarch, arrayed in robes of scarlet and purple, gold and gems and every precious thing of the earth.
adorned with gold and jewels, and wearing the royal | Will not a man labor more faithfully for the woman of
tiara, of cloth of silver and purple silk twisted, which his love than for his king? Yea, he will rob, and spoil,
bore a short plume, erect in front. Next the king, sat and brave the dangers of the sea, the fury of lions and
his seven counsellors, the heads of the seven noblest the terrors of darkness, to gain treasure to lay at a
families in Persia, descendents of the conspirators woman's feet! Men have lost their wits, have become
against the usurper, Smerdis, the Magian, and privi. slaves, have sinned and have perished for woman's sake.
leged, in memory of the confusion of that hour, to wear Even the king, commander of the earth, does not he in
the plumes which decorated their white linen turbans, turn obey a woman ? Have I not seen his fair slave,
a-slant.
|Apamé, sitting beside him upon the throne, taking the
A dazzling light was thrown over the richly laden crown from his august head to place upon her own ?-
table by silver chandeliers, while the hall resounded nay, even strike the monarch unchidden! Hare I not
with music and merry laughter. This was the seventh seen him fear her anger, and sue and flatter to be recei-
day of the royal feast-a feast given by the king to all ved into favor again? Then acknowledge, oh, king!
his officers and nobles, in commemoration of the peace and ye, oh, lords! that woman hath more power than
which his unremittirg efforts had procured to the one wine or the king."
hundred and twenty provinces of his vast kingdom. Universal applause crowned the orator who had so
Silence was commanded at the table, and the king skilfully advanced the claims of the female sex to sove•
spoke:
1 reignity. He was declared conqueror in the debate,
“ This is the last day of the feast, my lords,” he said,
"let it in joy and mirth exceed the rest. Stint not the "1 Esdras.


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
21
Ibra
and the sparkling cups were once more filled high to l yourselves. I will force you to acknowledge her pre-
the honor of woman. A momentary silence succeeded eminence. Bid the Lord Chamberlain appear!"
the clamor, during which a deep sigh', as heard in the ! In the bustle of their entrance, Prince Carshena
apartment. All started at this unusual sound in the whispered into the ear of Mamucan: “What have
banquet hall, and the king, turning, beheld beside him you done, Prince? You have sealed your own ruin !
his cup-bearer, a Hebrew captive, who stood with his The queen, already your enemy, will be incensed against
arms folded in his linen mantle, his eyes fixed pensively you for suggesting this to the king, and she will leave
on the ground, and his whole figure so expressive of nothing undone to work your woe. Nay, when the ef-
mournful musing, as to present a complete contrast to fect of the wine is over, the king will see his error, and
the merry and gaily dressed courtiers.
you will be sacrificed to appease her.”
“How now, Nehemiah ?" said the king, “why art “You are short-sighted, Carshena," said the Prince,
thou so sad? Why this heart sorrow when all are so cooly. “Do you not see I am planning her downfall
gay ?"
instead of my own? Since she prevailed upon the
“Let the king live for ever!" said the captive He- | king to give the government of Sardis, for which I sued,
brew; "and let my lord not rebuke me, for why should to her favorite, Haman, I have vowed her destruction.
not my countenance be sad when the place of my fa- Fate now serves me. I have not worshipped Ahri-
thers' sepulchre lieth waste, and the gates are consu- | manes in vain. Vashti will refuse to come, for her
med with fire ?"
spirit is high-the king will be enraged, and I will so
“Nay, do not mar our joy by thy gloom. Cheer up, work upon his anger, that she will be degraded from
Nehemiah-come, tell us which thou thinkest the strong- her ill-deserved state."
est in the world-wine, the king or woman ?”
“Repair to the Women's Court," said the king to
"They all are excellent in strength, my lord; but, oh, his chamberlain, who stood before him. “Bid Queen
king, there is something more powerful than these!" || Vashti appear in her royal robes, with the crown upon
said the Hebrew.
her head, that all may behold her beauty and confess
"And what may that be ?” asked the king, smiling my taste unquestioned.”
at the courtiers, who all looked forward, expecting some The chamberlain bowed and departed. Passing
amusement at the captive's reply.
through the starlit garden, whose fresh air and sweet
" Truth is stronger,” replied the Hebrew. “ Earth odors were grateful after breathing the heat and fumes
and Heaven bow to the power of Truth. In wine, and of the banquet hall, they were admitted through a large
the king, and woman, is error and death; but truth en gate into a marble court, with its usual adornment of a
dureth always, and conquereth for evermore. True is 'whispering fountain and vases of rare flowers. Around
the earth to her seasons, and swift and true the stars in this were built the rooms appropriated to the women of
their course. In the judgment of truth there is no un- the palace. A large saloon fronted the gate, from which
righteousness; but the children of men are wicked. echoed the silvery laugh and melodious tones of femalo
Truth is the strength, and kingdom, and power, and voices.
majesty of all ages. Blessed be the god of truth!" Here Queen Vashti held a feast to the ladies of the
The Hebrew was silent; a sudden awe fell upon the court, and the wives of those princes who sat at the
assembly, and they exclaimed, as if with one voice king's table. The walls of this apartment were richly
“Great is truth and mighty above all things!"
painted, or adorned with delicate flower-work, carved
“Well bast thou spoken, Hebrew,” said the king. ' in cedar and brightly gilded. Gorgeous Babylonian
“I here pronounce thee conqueror in this our argu- carpets were spread upon the marble floor, and the sof-
ment, and will give thee any boon thou shalt ask!” tened light of alabaster lamps, reflected from silver
The Hebrew, with a silent ejaculation to his God, | mirrors, threw a gentle moon-like radiance over the
knelt before Artaxerxes. “If it please thee, oh, king!" room and its fair young group.
he said, “let me be sent to Judea with power to re-buildil A circle of ladies surrounded a table upon which was
our holy temple, and the god of truth shall bless the placed all that could tempt a fastidious palate. Grapes,
evermore !"
and wine, and pomegranates, Arabian dates and all that
" Thy request is granted. Remind me of this to- | was rare and delicious was before them. Upon a raised
morrow, when I will write the fitting orders."
seat, sat Queen Vashti. Tall and commanding, she
With many thanks, and a heart filled with gratitude looked the sovereign. Her dress was of golden tissue,
to God, the Hebrew fell back behind his benificent while from the royal tiara glittering with jewels, fell a
master.
rose colored veil spotted with gold.
“ The Hebrew is wise," said the king; “but he has When the chamberlains entered, she started in angry
thrown a shade over our mirth. Come, fill up, my lords surprise. “What means this intrusion upon our priva-
let us drink to woman. I give you the fairestin Per-cy?" she said, haughtily.
sia, Queen Vashti !"
The chamberlain, with a lowly obeisance, delivered
When they had drank, Prince Mamucan observed : ! the king's command for her to appear before the princes
“We drink to her beauty, my lord, upon our faith in in the banquet hall. The queen gazed upon him a mo-
your taste; for the lovely queen hath never blest our ment in silence, while her brilliant eyes flashed fire, the
color grew deep upon her cheek, and her bosom was
“ 'Tis true," said the king; "but you shall judge for stirred with powerful emotion.
eyes."


22
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
“Do I hear you aright, my lord ?"
1 With trembling lips the chamberlains bore to the king
“ You do, most royal lady. The king expects you.” | his queen's refusal to appear before him. The wrath of
“Is the king mad!" she cried with a burst of wrath, the king was loud and deep. “She refuses to come!"
for her spirit was out in all its power. “What! doch he exclaimed. “Is my royal will disputed ? Am I
he bid me, the queen! descend from her state, to appear bearded by a subject in my own palace ?"
in the midst of a drunken revel? Doth he bid a deli- | Harbona advanced to allay the king's anger, and
cate lady come forth from her privacy to submit to the spoke so judiciously of woman's rights and immunities,
wanton gaze of his idle, half-inebriated courtiers ! Re- that his ire began to cool. This suited not the views of
turn, my lords--there is some mistake in this.” And Prince Mamucan, and he sought to keep alive the wrath
the self-willed lady drew her veil around her and re- of the king.
sumed her seat, panting with all the anger of outraged |"Truly, a fine example of obedience to our wives !"
dignity and womanly delicacy.
l he said, with a sneer, to Carshena, but loud enough to
"Nay, royal Vashti, hear me,” said Harbona. “It be heard by the king. “I should not wonder if this
is the king's command, and I dare not return without breed a revolt in the Seraglio, and in future we shall be
the queen."
obliged to obey the women!"
“How! do ye stand arguing with me thus, as if ye || “ By Ahrimanes ! you speak the truth, Mamucan,"
deemed I would obey this insolent command !" and the said the king, his anger reviving. “If I submit to this
diamonds in her tiara flashed not more vividly than the I may never hope to rule my women again. What shall
eyes of the ireful queen, while gazing upon the trem- | we do, princes, to punish the refractory woman?"
bling eunuchs.
There was silence in the banquet hall-each one fear-
“You will not thus rebel against-" began Abagtha, lling to hazard an opinion on this delicate subject, lest
but he was cut short by the enraged queen-rising from the king should in future regret any harsh measures he
her seat, her glittering robes falling around her. had undertaken at their suggestion-interfering between
“Begone, slaves !" she cried, stretching her hand man and wife being proverbially dangerous. The wily
majestically towards them; “ begone! and tell your Mamucan was the first to speak.
king I will not come !"
"If my lord, the king, will listen to the advice of his
The chamberlains turned and immediately quitted servant," he said, humbly, “no trifling punishment will
the saloon. A great commotion succeeded their depar- have any effect. The women will all, no doubt, presume
ture. Some gentle spirits shrank aghast at the daring upon the daring of their mistress and give us uouble,
of the queen; but there were many there who applau- and nothing will strike terror into their souls and reduce
ded her lofty resolution.
them to obedience, except the queen be repudiated."
“What, ladies !” exclaimed the Princess Roxa, wife | The nobles were astonished at the boldness of Ma-
of Mamucan; “shall we be abject slaves to our hus- ||mucan, and even the king seemed staggered at the pro-
bands! Shall they dare, when they may choose it, to posal.
drag us from our retirement ? Shall we have no re- l " Believe me, my lord," continued the prince, follor.
serves, no rights uninvaded? Let us all imitate the ing up the blow; "it is the only measure to pursue,
strength of mind of our royal mistress, and resist all You may never hope to bend the lofty spirit of Vashti;
unlawful usurpations, if we would have any freedom and your other women, taking example by her disobe,
left!"
dience, will break all rule, and cost you much trouble
“ The noble Roxa is right,” said Princess Zeresh. to bring them again into subjection. Vashti, the queen,
“As it is, we have not sufficient liberty. In other lands, hath not only done the king wrong, but hath stricken at
woman is free to walk out, or attend assemblies of both the peace of the princes and people of Persia and Me
sexes, when she pleases, while we are shut up in our dia ; and, in their name, I demand this sacrifice? When
tiresome abodes, and watched and guarded like chil- this deed of the queen's shall be noised abroad, will
dren. If our royal mistress had given way to this law not the women reply to their husbands' commands-
less encroachment of our rights, it would have become • The king cannot force the queen to obey him, and
a precedent, and our lords would be sending for us, like shall we obey you?'”
slaves to amuse their drunken companions !"
Still the king answered not. Several others now
The fair orators were applauded, and encouraged by spoke, whose wives the haughty queen had offended, or
the example of their queen, high resolves, were passed whose views she had thwaried, recommending the king
to resist their husbands' orders when not agreeable, and to turn Vashti away and take a more pliant wife.
even to demand from them more freedom. These wise “This is good advice," said Carshena, willing do
observations were unkeeded by the queen, She sat his friend, Mamucan, a service. “Let the king take a
wrapped in her veil, plunged in deep thought, her bosom more blooming maiden. Queen Vashti is old and her
agitated with a variety of emotions. Now regreting, i temper soured, a younger and fairer queen would be
now applauding, her refusal to obey the king. She lis- more gentle and obedient."
tened intently, expecting the return of the chamber. “Others seeing the king's eyes sparkle at the thought
lains, or some other indication of the result of the step now warmly advocated the measure, each recommend-
she had taken; but nothing was heard except the chat-ing some young beauty to the king's notice. This advice
ting of her guests-and, exhausted with the violence of was well received, and requesting his Seven Counsellors
her emotions, she dismissed the ladies and retired. to meet him the next day, he dismissed the assembly.


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
23
CHAPTER II.--THE CANDIDATES.
// the Prophet Jeremiah, telling of the rorrows and wrongs
" Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above ll of her country.
rubies."-PROVERBS, Xxxi. 10.
How lonely sitteth Zion now!
How mournful and how desolate!
As some sad widow o'er whose brow,
Soon a decree went forth into all the hundred and
Stern sorrow rules in gloomy state.
twenty provinces over which Artaxerxes reigned, writ-
She who was princess o'er the land,
ten in the various languages of the many nations there
And saw proud nations own her sway,
Now seeks in vain some pitying hand
congregated, that Vashti, the queen of Persia was re-
Her weary, faltering, steps to stay.
pudiated for refusing to comply with the king's com-
There is no feasting in her hall-
mands. It further declared that, under penalty of the
There is no laughter in the street.
like fate, all women are commanded to obey their hus-
Her maidens sigh in captive thrall-
Her friends are scattered ne'er to meet.
bands, that every man might rule in his own house.
This decree was enrolled among the laws of the "Nay, Hadassah !" cried Mordecai, bursting in,
Medes and Persians that were voted unalterable. It “ cease thy mourning and sing a song of joy and thanks-
was further commanded that the fairest maidens of the
giving. The Lord will have pity upon Judah, and Israel
land should be brought to the palace of Artaxerxes, in will again flourish as the cedar of Lebanon!" Hadas-
Susa, that the king might choose another queen. The sah gazed with surprise in her uncle's face. He was
fate of Vashti was thus soon decided ; and she was completely changed. No longer dejected and mourn-
sent from the palace in disgrace. Her followers, the
ful, he was now joyous and triumphant.
revolutionary chieftainesses, lowered their standards in “What hath thus excited thee, my uncle ?" she asked.
token of submission, and silence and fear reigned in the In an exulting tone, he related the disgrace of Vashti,
Women's Court.
and the king's command that the fairest virgins should
How gentle a touch will sometimes set in motion the | be brought to the palace, that the king might choose
machinery of the world! These events, apparently un- from them a queen. "And where shall he find a fairer
important except to the actors, were big with the fate than my Hadassah !" exclaimed her uncle. “Where
of the Jews who were spread over Persia and Media. | is there a skin of more delicate rint ? where a more
The refusal of a Persian queen to obey her husband, | glowing cheek? where more lustrous eyes and glossy
prevented the massacre of thousands of innocent per-
ands of innocent per- || hair, or more stately form ?”
sons, for it produced her removal from the throne, and Hadassah sank into a seat, and the boasted glow
placed upon it, a Hebrew maiden. Will the scoffer at faded from her cheek.
an especial Providence, read this, and not trace in it “Why, how now, silly maiden!" said Mordecai,
the fingers of God? In His hand are the hearts of prin-1 why is this; wilt thou not be a queen!"
ces. He guides them to the accomplishment of his " Alas, no, uncle." she said. "Spare me this trial.
purposes. His “peculiar people” were not forgotten. | My spirit shrinks from the giddy height you would bid
Lost, degraded, rebellious as they were, He still watch me attain. What! leave my dearest uncle-my quiet
ed over them with a parent's care. He willed not their home, and mingle with the corrupt and gilded slaves of
total destruction, and “shortened those days" of death | a court ?"
and sorrow for Abraham's sake, from whom they sprang, “I looked not for this aversion, Hadassah! Hast
and for His sake who should spring from them. thou no ambition? Think what it is to be the bride of
In the suburbs of the city of Susa, by the river's side, a monarch! to outshine all the maidens of this vast
and concealed from view by a grove of stunted cypres- land !"
ses, stood a lone hut, formed of mud which was harull “Uncle! wouldst thou have me wed the uncircum.
dened in the sun, and thatched with date-leaves. Herecised! the enemy of our faith and oppressor of our peo-
resided Mordecai, once a man of wealth in Judea, but ple! It cannot be that thou shouldst counsel this, mine
subsequently carried captive to Babylon with his King | uncle !"
Jeconiah, when the country was conquered by Nebu- || “It is for thy faith, and for thy people I would ask
chodnossor. Mordecai now gained a scanty subsis-it, girl. Thou art an instrument of the Lord for the
tence by laboring in the city, and lived in this retired | salvation of Judah! A Jewish maiden upon the throne,
spot in order to escape notice. When the news of the and the horn of Judea will be once more exalted. In
king's decree reached him, his heart bounded with joy. my soul I feel thou wilt be the chosen of the king, and
He now saw a way open for the advancement of his | then what power will be thine! The injuries and ex-
people, and with many a silent prayer and ejaculation tortions inflicted on our race, will cease, and we shall
of praise, he sought his home. The hut of Mordecai, obtain instead, benefits, perchance release from cap-
wretched as it was in appearance, contained a jewel of tivity. Arouse thee, Hadassah! Jehovah sends thee
inestimable value. Here dwelt a Jewish maiden of forth to save thy people! Like Deborah, and Judith,
rare beauty, who, upon the death of her father, wasthou wilt stand forth in our annals as a saviour of our
left to the care of her Uncle Mordecai. Determined to country. What! a Hebrew maiden, and refuse to obey
place his peerless niece upon the list of virgin candi- her God!"
dates, he lost no time in seeking her. As he approached | The gentle maiden had always looked upon Mordecai
her apartments, he heard her voice accompanied by the as her father, and obeyed his commands without a mur-
Psaltery. She was singing a mournful song, written by mur-now urged by him, and called of God as she


24
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
The
imagined, she no longer resisted, but sacrificing her pri-| The eunuch arrived and gazed with delight upon his
vate feelings, placed her fate in his hands.
| beauteous charge, for she had so won upon him by her
“'Tis well, my child," said her uncle, fondly. “I gentle loveliness, that he felt a father's interest in her.
will immediately take measures for thy appearance in He took her small white hand in his, and led her into
the palace. But let me impress upon thee, my daugh- the presence of Artaxerxes. Like the evening star she
ter, the necessity of concealing thy faith and nation, or beamed upon the king, all brilliancy and sofiness. The
thou wilt not be received among those who despise us. monarch raised her as she knelt before him. “Bring
No longer, Hadassah, my Hebrew myrtle, thou must hither no more maidens, Hegai,” he said, gazing with
now be a Persian Star, for in future I shall call thee
ecstacy upon the lovely Esther-"this is my queen-
Esther."
1 earth can give no fairer !"
next day Mordecai sought Hegai, the Lord. The important news now soon flew over the palace
Chamberlain, in whose care the candidates were placed. and city. Esther was chosen queen, and the royal
Concealing his relationship, he told him of a jewel crown was placed upon her head. Mordecai retired to
“worth all her tribe," of whose abode he was acquaint- his humble dwelling and spent the day in prayer and
ed, and offered to lead her to him, when he might judge thanksgiving to God for this signal favor, and to mourb
if she were fit to enter the ranks of the candidate mai- l the loss of his gentle Hadassah.
dens. Hegai appointed a time and place for the meet-
ing, and the sanguine Hebrew spent his last beral in
CHAPTER III.--THE FALLEN QUEEN.
purchasing rich robes to deck his favorite. The day
“ As a jewel of gold in a swine's snout,
arrived, and Mordecai led Esther into the room where So is a fair woman without discretion."-PROVERBS, 11. 22.
Hegai awaited them, and throwing off the veil which
covered her person, gazed triumphantly into the face of In a large saloon, paved with marble, and lined with
the eunuch. And seldom was there a veil withdrawn Lydian tapestry, belonging to a noble house of Susa-
from before so perfect a form and face. Clad in grace- her face buried in the satin cushions upon which she
ful robes, her rich, dark hair confined with a lustrous lay, was a lady indulging in all the abandonment of vio-
band of diamonds, her large, soft eyes, full of elevated lent grief. A man richly clad stood in front of her, bis
thought fixed firmly upon the chamberlain-her whole arms folded in his purple mantle, gazing in silent con-
figure expressive of majesty of soul, and lofty resolve tempt upon the agonized female before him.
mingled with sweet gentleness, burst with such sudden " And this is the haughty Vashti!” he said at last.
surprise upon Hegai, that he felt she must be the cho- “This weak, weeping woman is the daring spirit which
sen of the king, and guided by a superior power, he bent ruled the court of Artaxerxes !"
his knee as if in presence of a queen. Mordecai watch- “ Rail on, my brother,” said the unhappy lady, rais-
ed with rapture the effect of her charms, and giving hering to his, a face whose glorious beauty was dimmed
in Hebrew a last charge to conceal her religion, and
| with tears. “Your scorn, your contempt, can arouse
stand firm in the cause of the Lord to which she was
me no more. My spirit is broken, my pride is gone,
called, he threw the veil again over her, and consigned
and the empress is lost in the woman."
her to the hands of the Lord Chamberlain. Placed in
"Can it be possible you loved this man!"
the women's court, Esther, with the other maidens, un-
"Yea, Haman, with all the fire of my nature !
derwent the purification required by the king ;-six
“ Then why not obey him? Why accuse fate for
months with the oil of myrrh, and six months with sweet
your misfortune when you have carved out your own
odors. The heart of Hegai was turned by the Lord Destiny 2 Proud and unbending you offended the
towards the gentle Esther, and he placed her in the
princesses, and made enemies of the nobles of your
richest rooms, gave her seven attendants, and rendered
court, and could not curb your indomitable spirit even
her every kindness and advantage. To him, Esther for the crown of Persia!"
spoke in favor of Mordecai, who, in consequence, re The sorrow-stricken queen offered no reply to her
ceived the post of porter to the king's gate. This gave brother's cruel reproaches, but too much exhausted
him access to the palace, and he walked every day be even to weep, with closed eyes she leaned heavily back
fore the women's court to obtain from the slave infor- l against the cushions, her rich, dark hair no longer con-
mation of his cherished niece. The time of purifica-l fined by the royal tiara, fell in disorder around he
tion over, each maiden was led by turns into the pres- her long lashes lay upon a cheek of marble paleness.
ence of Artaxerxes. Many a lovely maiden was there Haman walked impatiently about the saloon."So
of every nation. Bright glowing creatures from the well had I planned,” he said—“so long and cunningly
gardens of Indus, the shores of the Caspian, and Ara- worked to place you upon the throne, and now to have
by's sandy plains-from Babylon, and Nineveh and my nicely-reared fabric overthrown by your impatient
Echatana-gay in attire, and smiling with hope they spirit, is enough to drive me mad! There is, however,
went forth, but returned, their fair brows clouded with one thing left, vengeance !” Vashti started, and press-
the chilling consciousness they had not won the king. I ed her hands firmly upon her heart. “Yes, vengeance,
Esther's turn came at last, and as clad in rich garments, sister! Wouldst thou not smile to see him low who
she stood in her radiant and peerless beauty, awaiting wronged thee ?"
to be conducted to the monarch, the assembled can-| “Oh, that I could tear this weakness from my heart!"
didates knew their hopes for the throne were over. exclaimed Vashti, passionately, “but, Haman! harm


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
25
Cu back
him not! I could curse myself for it, brother. I love he passed. He rode loftily out of the gate, around
him yet," and with a shuddering sigh she once more which was collected a crowd of slaves and idlers, who
ſell back.
bowed thamselves to the dust at his approach, crying,
“Psbaw! this is foolery! What is thy love to me? “Hail, Haman! son of Mythra!" Ore alone stood
'Tis already whispered thou art in my house, and should erect, gazing with a calm brow at the pageant as it
it be discovered thou art my relative, my enemies will passed. Haman was astonished at his daring, but sup-
seize upon it as an engine to hurl me from the favor of posing him some stranger, ignorant of the king's com-
this besotted king. I have not yet arranged my plans, i mand, satisfied his malignity by frowning darkly at the
but if I cannot work upon Artaxerxes to degrade Esther,l, offender. The next day the same thing occurred. All
and place thee again on the throne, he surely dies !" were prostrate except the stranger, who stood proudly
“ Thou worm!” cried the queen, starting from her with folded arms as Haman passed. The slaves who
seat, and fixing her dark, vivid eyes upon Haman stood around and marked the anger of Haman, expos-
“ dare not to touch the sovereign of Persia with thy tulated with Mordecai-for it was heupon his singu-
low-born hands! He shall not die!".
lar conduct. They urged the king's decree, and the
“What, dost thou wish him to live, blessing thy rival power of Haman, and warned him of the danger of of-
with his love ?" said Haman, with a sneer. “Already
fending the haughty favorite. To all this, Mordecai
he doats upon the beauteous Esther, while thou art vouchsafed no reply, and when Haman again rode forth
despised and forgotten!"
stood among the kneeling group, like some tall tree,
“Forbear!" shrieked the fallen queen. “ Rend not erect amid the wreck of forests. Haman was galled
my soul with such blasting images! Hurl Esther from
past endurance.
my throne, and let her taste all the bitterness I have "What slave !'' he cried riding fiercely up to him.
tasted !-aye, let me see her hated blood flow!" she know you not the king's command' down there and
cried fiercely, her eyes flashing with the dark emotions | kneel before me!"
which swayed her bosom-all the woman lost in the
“I bow not to mortal, my lord," said the Hebrew,
dethroned queen" let me place my foot upon her neck, calmly, “ to my God alone, my knee is bent in adora-
and then do with me, aye, with him, what thou wilt!"
li tion." And folding his linen robe around him he slowly,
“If I can ruin Esther in the king's favor, or compass | strode away.
her death, wilt thou lend thyself to my conspiracy?" | Haman's wrath was great, but his nature was wily
“I will!"
and cunning, and detecting a smile among his followers,
“It may be the death of the king will be required, he smothered his ire, and rode on, devising some sure
and I may want some trusty and unsuspected agent, and cruel punishment to the man who dared to resist his
who can have access to him when he sleeps, to strike | will. Calling to his side one of his trusty servants, he
the blow in secrecy and security; wilt thou be the asked him the name of the offender.
agent ?”
“ It is Mordecai, my lord, a Jew, and we do suspect
“I will!" and as she spoke, the fire again fled from a relation of the queen, for messages have gone be-
her cheek, and covering her face with her hands, shetween them, and Hegai said he brought Esther to the
buried them in the cushions, her long, dark hair falling | Palace."
like a funeral veil around her.
"A jew and relative of the queen!" thought Haman,
“ Esther is in my power and the throne is mine! for Ha-
CHAPTER IV.-THE KING'S DECREE.
man is not so weak as to work for another, no my fair
" Thy tongue deviseth mischief;
sister, thou art but my agent, and when the king is dead,
Like a sharp razor,working deceitfully.”-PROVERBS, 4.2.
my faithful Macedonians, whom I have secreted in the
city will place me upon the throne of Persia!"
Haman now aroused all his energy to compass his Haman asked no more questions, but, bending over
plans. Revenge for his sister's degradation, and an his horse whispered to his slave.
ambitious wish to advance himself to power, were the “Bring me the surety of all you say, and a golden
mainsprings of his actions. His first step was lo worm daric shall reward you !"
himself into the king's confidence. This, with extreme A few days after this, Haman rushed cagerly into his
cunning, he contrived to do. . He was placed above all sister's presence.
the nobles of the court, and the king even sent forth a “Joy! joy! Vashti !” he cried, “thy rival is in my
decree, commanding all, at the approach of Haman, to power, and thou shalt see her blood flow at thy feet !"
bow down and worship him as a god. Exulting in his “Ha! what sayest thou !" exclaimed the queen.
success, Haman now, with renewed hope, endeavored “I have discovered her well kept secret at last. Vash-
to accomplish the destruction of Esther, hoping by his ti, Esther is a jewess! despised, captive Hebrew !"
influence, to induce the king to place Vashti again upon “Then shall I be avenged! Haman! I breathe free
the throne.
ll once more!" and shaking back her neglected locks, the
Soon after the decree in his favor, Haman, clad in face of Vashti beamed with triumph.
costly robes of purple and scarlet, on an Arab courser, “Yes, she is of that hated obnoxious race. As yet
whose velvet housings were embroidered with gold, | the king knows it not, nor shall until my plans be ar-
rode through the city, with a long train of followers, to ranged."
satisfy his insatiable pride, by the adoration of all whom “Quick, tell me all!” exclaimed the eager princess.


26
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
“Listen. By the many arts, of which I am master, || the sacred fire, wore a linen band over his mouth, that
I will work upon the king against the jews, then, taking the dampness of his breath might not sully the purity of
advantage of some little disturbance which frequently the holy element, brought from heaven by their pro-
occurs between these people and ours, because forsooth, phet Zoroaster. The service seemed almost over, and
they cannot bear oppression, I will represent them as a Haman resolved to remain quiet until the worshippers
dangerous race which it is the king's duty to extermi- were dismissed. He had never observed the faith of his
nate. I can guide Artaxerxes as a child, by his own Grecian fathers, for all creeds were the same to his cor-
good qualities; for the benefit of his country he would rupt heart, but as a means to power he had cultivated
sacrifice his dearest friend. A decree goes forth for the the favor of the priests, and had professed his wish to
massacre of the jews, Mordecai and Esther share the be initiated into the religious ceremonies of the Persian
fate of their people, and Vashti mounts the throne of Magii. With contempt he now gazed upon the scene
Persia!"
before him. There was no light in the temple save that
“Oh, soul ravishing view! now I shall know that of the sacred fire, which threw its red glare over the
peace which fled my bosom while my rival lived and | marble columns and white robed priests, over sacred ves-
was beloved !”
sels of gold, grotesque carving, and rich gilding which
“Vashti!” said Haman with a withering frown, re- adorned the temple. The deep silence was undisturbed
member thy oath! If we require the king at thy hands, l'except by muttered prayer by the Magii or sigh from the
strike sure!"
bosom of some devout worshipper. These prayers over,
With a wild shriek, the unhappy woman fled into an | smooth skins were produced from which were read por-
inner room.
tions of the Zeud Avesta of their prophet, Zoroaster,
after which the worshippers were dismissed. Some
CHAPTER V.--CASTING LOTS.
few lingered to purchase Zor, holy water or drops of
Hom, prepaired from certain plants during the conjunc-
the idols have spoken vanity,
And the deviners have seen a lie,
tion of particular planets, and of peculiar efficacy in
And told false dreams."-ZECHARIAH X. 2.
sickness. At length all were gone, priest and worship-
per, except Dejoces, the Arch-Magii.
In furtherance of his plan of destruction and blood, “Ah, my noble convert !” he exclaimed, when he saw
Haman now continually dwelt upon the character of the Haman advance. “It is some time since you sought
jews who were spread over the king's dominions, he our temple.”
painted their restless spirit, and their former power, “True, holy father," replied the wily noble,“the cares
told of the riches which it was supposed they possessed, and duties of a court have usurped my time. Now,
and exaggerated every little disturbance into which however, I have come to devote myself to the pure doc-
these injured people were led, and made it appear anerines of the fire worshippers."
act of rebellion.
“In the first place, my son,” said the Magii, “I must
That nothing might be wanting to further his views, object to that designative of our religion. We do not
Haman resolved to employ every agent who could be of worship fire, but merely hold it sacred, being a symbol
any benefit to him in his wicked purpose, for, to his wish of our God Mythra. It is a type of the Sun, which is
to revenge his sister, and wish to possess the throne, the dwelling place of that supreme intelligence who is
was added, an intense hatred towards Mordecai, who himself formed of light, and, like fire," self shining,
had braved his power, which filled his malignant heart pure, luminous."
and urged him on to deeds of blood and desperation. “You have other Gods, father?"
Religion, ever a powerful engine in the hands of bad | “Blessed be Mythra! yes, Orismades, the principle
men, was one of the agents which Haman resolved to of good, formed of all pervading fire and pure water;
make use of against the jews. For this purpose he he is intelligent, active, benificent. Worship him, my
bent his way towards the Temple of the Sun.
son, but, at the same time, forget not to propitiate the
This noble structure was of white marble, gracefully Spirit of Evil, Ahrimanes. He is the opposite of Oris-
proportioned. It stood in an open space near the mades, and with him rules the world. He is the source
bounds of the city, and now, as Haman approached, ap- of all crime and misery; and, as says the Avesta of our
peared to great advantage against the dark green back holy prophet, Zoroaster, “He is wicked, impure, malig-
ground of the mountain which towered behind the town, nant, and can never hope to attain goodness."
while the setting sun cast a roseate hue over its grace- “Pardon the question of your humble disciple, father,"
fully sculptured pillars and portico. Haman ascended said Haman, “but will you deign to inform me of the
the steps, passed through the richly carved doors of purpose of the creation of this spirit of evil."
Sandal-wood, and entered the temple. The centre ofi“He was created pure, but commitling sin, fell from
the edifice was filled with kneeling worshippers, whose his high estate. Since then he is permitted to roam the
faces were turned towards the east, but, who, in looking world for a time, to prove the virtue of man, and to en-
towards their God, were careful not to turn their backs title him to the reward destined for him who shall come
to the sacred fire, which burned upon a large silver al from the fiery trial of the templer, unsullied. Beware
tar at the upper end of the temple.
of him, my son ! his influence is great; and to strengthen
Before this altar the Magii were performing the his power he has created Deeves, evil spirits, to assail
service of the evening, he whose duty it was to attend the heart of man with wicked thoughts."


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY. :
27
Haman conscious of evil, dropped his eyes before the tion, as his own well being depended upon their destruc-
priest.
tion.
“We are not however left without aid against him," "Yes, let them die!" exclaimed Dejocer. “Inso-
said Dejoces, “Orismades has also formed many new lents! they pretend our religion is of later date than
spirits to contend with the forces of Ahrimancs. Among theirs, and tell us our holy Zend Avesta was taken from
these are Ardebelest, the genius of fire and light, who their bible, when all the world knows the worship of the
watches over the sacred fires, that Ahrimanes may not sun, and the pure beings contuined in it, is coeval with
extinguish them, and thus bring destruction upon all the existence of that luminary."
things; Shamrivar, Spirit of the metal and mines; Es-il “It is true, father. Let us be wary, and our plans
pendermad, guardian of the fruits of the earth ; the an- will succeed. Go now to watch the planets that astro-
gel Kourdad, who watches over water which gives | logy may give us its aid; put up prayers to Mythra,
strength to man and to the soil; Amerdab, genius of Orismades, and Ahrimanes, that nothing may be want-
plants of trees."
ing to assure us of victory."
“Truly you lack not ministering spirits," said Haman, After a long consultation upon their future measures,
with a concealed sneer.
the conspirators separated, and Haman took his way to
"You have not heard of hall,” said the priest. "I the palace.
have not told you of Honover; of Rash-in-rast, genius of “Wise Haman!" he said, I have taken the right
justice; of Serooch; Beliram, armed with club and ar- method to the sure accomplishment of my schemes by
rows; of Dje; Abondad, the Man Bull; of the Ferobers; engaging this dolt of a priest in my service. Curse the
of Kayoniers ; Maschia and Maschiana ; Harfestes; of fool! doch he imagine he can bend my lofty intellect to
the Spirits who reside in Planets."
Il give credence to his crowd of angels, and gods, and de-
“ All this I will listen to, some other time, learned vils, and holy bulls ? Truly if I believed in any God, or
Dejoces," said Haman, “I must now return to the pa- put faith in any creed, it would be that of the Hebrew
lace. This bag of gold, father," he added drawing it he thus scorns, with his one eternal Jehovah, his wise
from beneath his purple mantle, “ I have brought to pur- lawgiver, and sublime prophets. But, there is no god,
chase perfumed wood for the Sacred Fire, that our no futiire; I will not believe it, or I should go mad with
Lord, Mythra, may be inclined to open my heart to the the thought!"
pure faith, and receive me among his worshippers." Finding himself near the king's apartment, Haman
“Thou hast done well,” said the priest, taking the threw into his countenance an expression of despair and
gold with avidity, and secreting it, that he might appro- rushed into the room, crying out, “ Woe! woe upon Su-
priate it to his own private use. Would that all our no sa! woe upon Persia and Media !"
bles, and rich men were as piously disposed. Truly wel The king, who was alone, started with alarm. “Ha-
want it, and our offerings have been few of late." man! what moves thee thus !" he exclaimed.
“How! can it be possible the Holy Temple of the “Alas, my lord, our days, I fear, are numbered! the
Sun is neglected !" said Haman with affected alarm, i glory hath departed from this land !" Aſter exciting the
“it is then as I feared, and the idolators are corrupting king's fears, Hainan continued, “I have just seen the
our people."
head priest of the temple of the sun; he tells me the
“What sayest thou, Haman! Idolators !"
Gods are angry. Orismades hides his head, and it is
“Holy Dejoces, thou shouldst be more watchful over | feared Persia will be given up to the deadly agency of
thy flock. Listen. The Queen is a jewess, and be- Ahrimanes!"
loved by Artaxerxes; judge what reason we have to “How know ye this?" asked the king.
fear, as we have of late, the king will forsake his ancienill "My lord prepare to hear a prognostic of woc-the
religion, and patronize that of her people! think of our sacred fire burneth dim !"
temples turned to Hebrew fanes, and our priests remo- | The king started in astonishment and horror.
ved to make room for the sons of Levi!".
“ So low," continued the deceiver, “that nothing will
The alarm, the horror expressed upon the priest's face, I revive it; and it is feared it will be extinguished for
showed the effect of Haman's communication.
ever! Then woe upon Susa! woe upon Persia!"
“ A jewess !" he cried, “ curses upon the race! Dogs! || Artaxerxes was a superstitious man, and as he listen-
Deeves ! may Ahrimanes clutch every soul of them! | ed to this artful tale paleness sat upon his royal brow,
may the hundred years of torment in burning liquid me- and his limbs trembled. He remembered the fate of
tal, reserved for the wicked, be extended to eternity for the nations around him ; for he had looked upon fallen
them! Shall our temples be desecrated, our fire be ex- | Tyre, and Jerusalem, and Babylon-and now he began
tinguished for the spawn of Judah !".
to fear the doom of Persia was decreed.
As the enraged Magii turned towards his sacred fire, “Perhaps something might be done to propitiate the
the red glare flashed over his bronzed features, expres- I gods," he said. “Go, good Haman-seek the priests,
sive of every evil passion; he looked the personification inquire if any thing lies in my power, and I will do it."
of the Spirit of Evil he invoked, standing amid his own “I met Dejoces coming to see you, my lord," said
tormenting flame. Haman saw with inward triumph the lying Haman. “He bid me say, he with his breth-
the working of the poison he had instilled. He addedren will spend this night in prayer, and in studying the
every thing most likely to excite the priest against the il planets. He requests thy presence, oh, king, at the
Jews, and found him a willing agent for their extermina- Temple to-morrow at sunrise. Then, when Mythra


28
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
first manifests himself to the world, he will be most their wives and little ones. Wouldst thou dispute the
propitious, and the priests will then inform thee of the the commands of Mytbra? Wouldst thou deliver the
result of their nightly watching."
land a prey to Ahrimanes ?”
The monarch and his favorite sat late that night over | “You are then certain these Jews are the cause of
their banquet, and the next morning early repaired to the anger of the gods ?" asked the king, hesitating to
the temple.
consent to the massacre of so many of his subjects.
City and valley were yet in the shade; but the snowy | At that moment the fire of the altar began to grow
peaks of the neighboring mountains were rosy with dim. It sank, and fashed and flickered until the former
the sun's first rays-and, as they ascended the temple brilliancy which had lighted the temple gave place to a
steps, he rushed suddenly from behind the rocky bar- dusky, angry glare. The priests shrieked and tore their
rier, and Nooded the world with his golden showers. robes.
The sacred fire, which had been purposely replenished “The sacred fire is going out !" they cried. “The
with billets of wood, burned brightly and clearly as the holy flame is extinguished ! Woe upon Persia! woe!
king entered.
woe!"
“How is this ?” he said. “I was told the holy fire “'Tis a Jew passing the temple !" cried Dejoces. “ It
burnt low, and, behold! the flames reach to the roof." | ever sinketh thus when the idolators tread within the
“It doth at present, oh, king," said the high priest, the precints of the Holy Fane. Open the doors-let
who came to meet Artaxerxes; “but there are moments | my lord be convinced,"
when it burns so low, that I gaze in horror lest it be | The doors of the temple were thrown open, and lo!
extinguished, and ruin come upon the nations in conse- before them stood a Jew! Evidently he was passing
quence !"
| the temple and bad stopped to gaze upon it, and ibe
“How account you for this ?" asked the king. “Have doors opened so noiselessly he did not notice the more
your last night's vigils discovered aught ?"
ment. The priests all sunk down; kneeling and mut-
"It hath, oh, king! Hear the revealed will of the tering their prayers around the silver altar, except
gods. They are angry to behold this highly favored Dejoces, who, pointing to the Jew, gazed triumphant-
city filled with accursed idolators! They stink in the ly into the king's face. The monarch's hands were
nostrils of Mythra—and I have learned from my mid-clasped, and pale and trembling, he gazed from the
night studies, the sacred fire will be quenched if the lessening fire to the priest and the idolator-while
land is not purged of their defiling presence.” | Haman turned away to conceal the sneering exulta-
“Ha! Idolators—who are they?" asked Artaxerxes. tion with which he viewed the success of this, his well
“The Jews, my lord.”
contrived artifice.
“The Jews! they are esteemed a useful and peace | The Hebrew's white lunic was edged at the waist
ful people."
and bottom with blue ribbon, while a fringe of the
“Let the king live for ever!” said Haman, advancing. same hue ornamented the linen wrapper which envel-
“Even if it were not the gods' decree, permit me hum- oped his form. His face as he gazed up at the idola-
bly to suggest it would be for the king's benefit to send trous fane was expressive of hate and rage. He shook
away this people. They respect not the king's laws, his closed hand at the temple, crying:
but abide by their own; therefore it is not for the king's “I spit upon the idol's house! Woe upon the fire-
profit to suffer them. If it please the king, let it be worshippers! I hurl at them the words of holy Isaiah:
written that they be destroyed, and I will pay ten thou-
Behold! all ye that kindle a fire,
sand talents of silver into the treasury as some compen-
That compass yourselves about with sparks!
sation for the loss of their services. They are scatter.
Walk in the light of your fire!
And in the sparks that you bave kindled.
ed over the king's provinces, mixing with the people,
Kuow that I am the Lord !
and teaching them to rebel against their royal master."
I form the light and create darkness-
Let the earth bow down before Jehovah!'"
“Speak not of expediency," said the priest, sternly.
“ It is the will of the gods to remove them, and who The closing of the doors startled the Hebrew, and he
dare question it? They must be exterminated, oh, passed on. “'Tis strange," he murmured to himself;
king! They dare to revile our sacred fire, and say their “ have I mistaken the epistle ? Let me look at it again."
god has formed the sun, the residence of ours.”
Opening a letter, the Jew read: “A brother from
The king was awed-convinced. Caring nothing for Jerusalem wishes to communicate important news to
the Jews, and willing to do the priests and his favorite Mordecai, of the holy city. Meet me at sunrise before
a service, he at once consented to their wishes. the Portico of the Temple of the Sun.”
"The gods shall be obeyed ;" he said. “ Haman, \ " Truly an unsavory place to speak upon matters
see that this troublesome race be immediately thrust tive to our holy city!" said Mordecai. “I will take one
from the city."
more turn and peradventure he will arrive.”
“The city!" said Haman. “They are spread all His correspondent came not, for the letter was writ-
over the king's dominion, and cannot be driven forth.” | ten by Hamen to further his unholy schemes; and Mor-
“ They must die, oh, king!" said the Arch-Magii, decai, wearied and vexed, returned to his home. As
solemnly.
the temple doors closed, the fire-secretly fed by the
“Die! What, all this people ?"
priests-shot up a brilliant flame.
16 Yes-all!" said the priest, sternly. “They and “A miracle !" cried the priests; "the Jew has depar.


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
29
ted!" and they burst forth in a hymn of joy-the king || tress, until informed of it by her maids and chamber-
was vanquished.
lains, who beheld him as he mourned at the gate. Una.
Hamen knew his noble master well. He was a ten-ble to divine the cause of his sorrow, she imagined it
der hearted and just prince, and he knew it would be poverty, and sent him by a confidentinl attendant, an
difficult to induce him to command the massacre of so assortment of rich clothing, which she requested he
many persons, unless he was convinced it was the will would substitute for the black goat's hair robe and rope
of his gods. By the machinations of Haman, and the girdle which he wore. He refused this, but related to
priests' juggling, he had been easily swayed to their Hatach all Haman had devised against the Jews, and
will; and the wicked triumphed for a time.
sent by him a copy of the king's decree to the queen.
“And now," said Haman,“ let us cast lots before the He implored his niece, if she would save her people,
altar, that we may see what day will be the most lucky to sue to the king for mercy. The lovely Esther was
for our undertaking.”
much distressed at this news, and knew not how to obey
"Here are dice,” said Dejoces; " upon which are her uncle's request, for she knew it was death for any
marked the names of the months, and on these are the one to enter the king's presence unealled, and thirty
days. Throw, then, oh, king, in the name of Mythra- | days passed since she had been sent for. How, then,
and that which is uppermost will be the day indicated could she see him to implore mercy. This she caused
by the gods as most propitious for our endeavors to Hatach to report to Mordecai, who wrote in reply these
cleanse the land from defilement."
words:
The king threw, and the thirteenth day of the twelfth “ Think not thy life is endangered solely by entering
month, Adar, was turned up. Haman and the priests the king's presence, Remember thou art a Jewess, a
threw with like result. At the same moment a ray of secret of which Haman is possessed, and which his
sunlight, from a concealed crevice in the wall, falling hatred to me and my nation will induce him to reveal
suddenly upon a crystal representation of the sun, which to the king. Then hope not, by holding thy peace to
was placed on high behind the altar, a brilliant glory | escape. Thou and thy father's house will be destroyed.
alled the temple, as if the heavenly luminary itself had Fear not, Esther! God hath sent thee to the kingdom
risen before them!
| at this time that thou mightst be a deliverance to Is-
“The god! the god !" cried the priests. “Mythra rael !"
himself has deigned to shine upon us !"
Esther hesitated no longer, but resolved to offer her
The credulous and excited king prostrated himself life as a sacrifice to her country. She would brave the
with the rest, believing the god of fire was actually pre- king's laws and perhaps fall a victim'to his anger; but
sent to smile upon their undertaking. All his scruples she should have made an effort to save Judah from de-
silenced, he willingly gave to Haman his signet-ring, lj struction, and, her duty done, she could die in peace.
with power to act as he thought fitting-and when he She returned this answer to her uncle:
returned to the palace sent letters to the governors of “Go, gather together all the Jews that are at present
all his provinces bidding them—“ Destroy, kill, and in Susa, and fast ye for me. Eat not, nor drink for
cause to perish, all Jews, both young and old, little three days, night nor day. I and my maidens will also
children and women." Exhausted with the scene he fast, and then I will go to the king, which is against the
had gone through, the king called for wine, and he and | law, and if I perish-I perish."
his worthless favorite drowned all uneasy reflections in The unhappy queen laid aside her royal apparel, and
the bowl. “Put not your trust in princes.”
clothing herself in robes of mourning, entered her closet
and uttered the following prayer.
“Oh! Lord God of Israel! thou only art our king-
help me, a desolate woman, who has no helper but thee
" Bline eye runneth down with rivers of water, for the destruc-
tion of the daughter of iny people."-LAMŲEL, 3. 48.
-it satisfieth not our enemies that we are in bitier
captivity, but they have stricken hands with their idols,
The voice of mourning was heard over the vast do that they will abolish the faith that thou hast ordained,
minions of Persia, when the king's cruel decree was and destroy thy people, and stop the mouths of them
known; the Jews fasted and wept, and “the city of that praise thee, and quench the glory of thy house and
Susa was perplexed." The Jewish people had lived so thy altar! Give me eloquent speech in my mouth be-
long among their conquerors, and demeaned themselves fore the lion: turn his heart to hate him that fighteth
so well, that they had found favor in their eyes, and against us, that there may be an end of him, and of all
were bound to them by many ties of friendship and that are like-minded to him. Thou knowest all things
kindness. How then could they arise in cold blood and oh, Lord : thou knowest that I hate the glory of the
slay this innocent and forlorn people? But the king's | unrighteous, and abhor the bed of the uncircumcised -
decree could not be disputed, and all prepared to obey that I detest the sign of my high estate which is upon
it. The despair of Mordecai was great. He rent his my head, and that I have not esteemed the king's feast.
clothes, and putting on a garment of sackcloth, covered nor drank of wine-offerings — neither hath thy hand-
his head with ashes, and placed himself before the king's maid any joy since the day that I was brought hither
gate uttering loud moans and lamentations.
--but in thee, oh, Lord God of Abraham! Then hear
The queen, meanwhile, was ignorant of all that was the voice of the forlorn, and deliver us out of the hand
to befall her people, nor · knew she of her uncle's dis-l of the mischievous ! Amen!""
CHAPTER VI.-THE CONSPIRACY.


30
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
Three days did the sons of Israel in Susa, fast and || loaded with chains, and cast into a dungeon to await
pray to God to avert the calamity, and to soften the the king's pleasure. An account of this event was dis-
heart of Artaxerxes, that the queen might find favor in patched to Esther by Mordecai, who sent a relation of
his eyes. On the fourth day, Mordecai directed his it to the king, but he, satisfied the men were in his
steps to the palace. It was yet early, and the palace power, gave no heed to the particulars of the plot-as,
gates were not open. Weary and faint with three days at present, his mind was occupied with recent accounts
of fasting and of woe, he threw himself upon the ground of the rapid advance of the Grecian troops towards his
and, concealed by the pillows of the gate, indulged in dominions.
mournful meditation and prayer.
"Oh, Lord, the King Almighty!" he prayed; "the
CHAPTER vii.-THE QUEEN'S TRIAL.
whole world is in thy power, and if thou hast appointed
to save Israel, there is no man that can gainsay thee.
"Sing and rejoice, oh, daughter of Zion! for lo! I come. And
I will dwell in the midst of thee, saith the Lord."-ZACHA-
Thou knowest all things, and thou knowest, Lord, that Riah, ii. x.
it was neither in contempt, nor pride, nor for any desire
of glory, that I did not bow down to proud Haman; The day arrived which was to decide the fate of the
for I could not have been content with good will for the captive Jews. Queen Esther, willing to risk her life
salvation of Israel, to kiss the soles of his feet. I re- for the hope of saving her people, prepared to enter the
fused this, that I might not prefer the glory of man king's apartments uncalled. If he were wroth, her in-
above the glory of God; neither will I worship any but stant death would follow; but if he felt inclined to grant
thee, oh, God! And now, oh, Lord, our King! spare the boon she came to ask, he would stretch forth his
thy people! for their eyes are upon us to bring us to sceptre in token she might approach and present her
nought; yea, they desire to destroy the inheritance that petition. The queen's gentle spirit shrank from her
hath been thing from the beginning. Hear my prayer, enterprise: but once more resorting to her closet in
and turn our sorrow into joy, that we may praise thy prayer, she came forth strong in the Lord. The queen
name! Amen."
and her maidens were arrayed in the costliest robes.
The meditations of Mordecai were interrupted by the Esther, in memory of her early days, frequently mixed
arrival of two persons, whom he recognized as big. I a little of Hebrew costume with that of her conquerors.
thana and Teresh, two chamberlains of the court. They Upon this momentous occasion, she had studied in her
seated themselves near to Mordecai, and entered into attire to make herself appear at the best advantage. A
conversation without perceiving him.
dress of snow-white woollen stuff of Damascus, woven
“Of all the villanous deeds which our employer, with threads of gold and bordered with the same, reach-
Haman, has been guilty," said Bigthana ; " this murdered nearly to her feet, just displaying her loose Persian
of the Jews and the innocent queen are the worst.” litrowsers of light roseate silk; the royal tiara, or turban
“Let them die!" said Teresh, gloomily; "they are of twisted silk and gold, bound down her dark flowing
Jews and deserve death.”
locks, while the queenly mantle of purple velvet, having
"I care not much for the Jews," replied Bigthana: 1 around it a deep embroidery of pearls, fell from her
" but it does scem a pity this gentle creature should be shoulders and lay in heavy masses behind her. Radiant
massacred; however, I am sure the king will prevent with beauty, and smiling cheerfully, although her heart
was heavy, Queen Esther, followed by a train of lovely
" His leave will not be asked," said Teresh, with a maidens, entered the forbidden courts of the king.
sneer. - In the confusion of the day, it is iny province Artaxerxes was sitting upon his ivory throne, glitter-
to see she shares the fate of her people. Haman hopes ing with gold and jewels. He wore the royal robe of
to excuse himself to the king afterwards, and even place Persia, purple, with stripes of silver. A tiara of the
Vashti upon the throne."
same was surrounded with a diadem of priceless gems,
“But if he should not be pardoned ?"
while his scarlet tunic was one brilliant mass of jewels
“Then the king dies. It is for this purpose I sought and gold. Artaxerxes was considered the handsomest
thee at thy house, and gave that vial. Three drops in man of his time, and now, surrounded by his nobles,
the king's cup, and Haman is king. I believe, how- attired in crimson and blue, the favorite colors of Per-
ever, that is the fate reserved for him at every issue of sia-in a magnificent saloon of marble, inlaid with ivory,
this affair."
and lung with cloth of gold tissue-his throne over-
"What a needless waste of life. Haman will never shadowed with an immense plane-tree wrought in gold,
be king: think you our princes will suffer a stranger he presented a glorious and imposing spectacle.
like the vile Haman upon the throne ?”
Queen Esther and her train entered the saloon. When
“ He takes care of that. The Macedonians, who are "King Artaxerxes beheld his present queen, unawed by
ravaging the nations around, are his countrymen, and the fate of her predecessor, thus daring to set his laws
as a last resource he will call them to his assistance.” at defiance by boldly coming unbidden into his presence,
The guards arrived to open the gates, and the dark his wrath was aroused, and he turned towards her a
conspirators passed through. Their career of guilt | countenance flaming with anger. At this sight, the
had now, however, drawn to a close; Mordecai, who heart of the gentle queen sunk within her, and she fell
had overheard all, denounced them to the soldiers as fainting into the arms of her maidens. The princes
plotiers against the king's life, and they were speedily and assembled nobles looked upon the scene with silent
it.”


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
31
sympathy; for the lovely Esther was a general favorite "day I was born!” he cried. “May the sun never rise
in the court, and they would have knelt and pleaded for 1 to bless it! May it be struck from time, for ever!"
her if they dared. As the king gazed upon her, his “What hath befallen my lord ?” asked his wife in
heart softened, for he loved his gentle queen, and the alarm. “Yesterday he was boasting of his riches and
Lord so wrought upon him by means of her beauty, that his favor at court, and now he bewaileth his fate in dust
his heart was changed.
and ashes."
While each eye was watching him with intense inte- || “Yes, my wealth is unbounded!” he exclaimed. “I
rest, he stretched out his golden sceptre towards her. have wives ard a multitude of children. I have flocks
In a mild voice he said, “ What wouldst thou, Queen of friends, and slaves to do my bidding. I stand high
Esther ? Come near-look upon me as a brother and in royal favor, for I am placed above the princes of the
be of good cheer!"
court, yea, Esther, the queen, asks no one to come in
Tears of joy were in every eye, and smiles upon eve- with the king to the banquet, except myself. Yet all
ry face when the king pronounced these words. The this availeth me nothing while Mordecai, the Jew, sit-
queen, reviving with an effort, advanced and touched teth at the king's gate and refuseth to do me honor !"
the sceptre.
Vashti turned from him with a gesture of scorn, and
Moved by her loveliness, and her distress, Artaxerxes his wife essayed to comfort him; but he refused to be
descended from his throne, and embracing her, bade comforted. “What am I with all my greatness," he
her be comforted, and speak freely her mind, and he said, “if there lives a man who thus dares to scorn me!"
would grant her request, were it half his kingdom. “I “Surely, in the month of Ader, the Jews will die,
humbly thank my lord for this favor," said the queen. and my lord will be rid of his foe.”
“ When I entered, and beheld the king's terrible majes. “It wants some months to Adar," said her husband,
ty, I thought to see an avenging angel before me, and 'gloomily.
my heart was troubled within me."
• Were I possessed of all thy rank and power,"
“Thou shalt not die, Esther, although our command said Zeresh, “this insolent Jew should no longer live.
ment is not regarded, but speak thy request and it shall I would erect a lofty gallows, fifty cubits high, and I
be granted."
would hang my enemy thereon, and thy favor with the
“If it seemeth good to the king, let my lord come to king will save thee from his anger, if he do trouble him-
my banquet to-morrow and bring with him the Lord self with the fate of such wretches."
Haman, where I will demand my boon, which is of I“ It shall be done! I thank thee, Zeresh. The man
great importance, touching even my life.” The king 'shall die to-day, for I cannot be at peace while he de-
promised to be there, and Queen Esther, with a glad fies me.” Haman shook off the dust from his robes
and grateful heart, withdrew.
and hastily withdrew.
Great was the pride of Haman then! He was invi- | Thou who art reading these lines, beware how thou
ted to feast with the king and queen! he, a stranger blamest Haman! If thou art without sin, then cast
and adventurer, had arrived at the high honor of being thy stone. Look within the recesses of thy own heart
the guest of the queen, at her own request—an honor when surrounded by all the world can give of wealth
she had not conferred on any of the princes and nobles and happiness, hast thou not pined for more ? Hast
of the court. Inflated with vanity and triumph, Ha- | thou not striven for some fancied good, lacking which,
man looked forward to a course of honors and prosperi- 'all means of joy around thee are neglected, and thou re-
ty. Alas for thee, Haman! Thy fabric of happiness fusest to be at peace until it be attained.
is bravely built, there lacketh not costly stone, nor gild. That night, the king being restless, awoke very
ing, nor devise of cunning workman, but when the sky l'early, and commanded the records of the palace to be
is clearest, and the sun shineth brightly, and thou se brought him, that he might occupy his leisure hour in
curest, then suddenly shall it fall, and bury thee in its looking them over. There he beheld the service ren-
ruin!
dered him by Mordacai, when he secured the conspira-
Joy in his eye, and exultation in his step, Haman tors. “Have the traitors been examined ?"
was passing from the palace, to give orders for new “No, my lord.”
and sumptuous attire for the banquet, when, behold! “Let it then be done instantly, for I see by these pa-
there, in the king's gate sat Mordecai, who, when the pers Mordacai declared a great lord of the court was
others around kissed the dust at his feet, stood erect, their employer. Surely I have been very negligent !
unmoved! What a check to all his greatness! what a | Hath the man been rewarded who discovered the con-
spectre in his path to remind him of his mortaliiy! | spiracy?"
With a groan of anguish he fled to his own house. Zell “He hath not yet, oh, king !"
resh, his wife, gazed aghast at his sudden entrance, and “There hath just arrived without, I hear, one of my
apparent destruction. Pale as marble, his eyes burned nobles. Let him enter."
fiercely, and tearing his beard, he paced the room in The door was opened, and Haman entered. His
violent agitation. Zeresh and Vashti gazed in affright gallows was erected, and he now came to win from the
upon him, but to all his wiſe's soothing words and anx-king permission to hang his enemy upon it.
icus inquiries, he replied by bitter curses upon Morde-i “Come hither, Haman,” said Artaxerxes. “What
cai and the Jews. At length throwing himself upon the shall be done with the man whom the king delighteth to
ground, he cast dust upon his head. “Cursed be the honor ?"


32
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
to the m
an whom the
gate."
The proud heart of Haman exulted, for he thought | he rembered the scene in the temple, and saw through
the king intended to confer some new favor upon him. the designs of Haman. He cast a withering glance
“For the man whom the king delighteth to honor," upon his ungrateful favorite, which caused him to shrink
said the wily Haman, “ Let the king's royal robes be and wither with despair.
it, and the horse which the king rideth upon, and “Ho! my guards !" cried the king, rushing to the
the crown royal. Let this apparel and horse be delivo door of the hall. He was met by soldiers, who brought
ered into the hand of the king's most noble princes, that in chains the two chamberlains, Bigihana and Teresh,
he may array with these, the man whom the king de- who had conspired against him.
lightech to honor, and bring him on horseback through
“ Here are the men whom thou didst command to be
the street of the city, and proclaim before him, “ Thus
examined, oh, king," said the head officer. “I have
shall it be
| brought them that they might receive their doom at thy
to honor." ;
'royal hands, for they have confessed the wicked Haman
Then the king said to Haman, “Make haste, and
did hire them with rich gifts to practice against thy life
take the robes, and the horse as thou hast said, and do
even thus to Mordacai, the Jew, who sitteth at the king's
and the queen’s."
“Sieze the villain !" cried the king, in a voice of
The heart of Haman stood still when he heard these thunder. “Bring him forth and let him die like a dog!"
words. Must he exalt the enemy whom he came to de- | “Behold, my lord," said the officer, “there stands
stroy! Must he show himself to the world as groom to without a gallows fifty cubits high ; if it please thee,
the despised Jew! He rushed from the king's presence we will hang him thereon."
almost a maniac. Haman could not resist the king's “Aye, hang him there ! and afterwards, the others,"
mandate. The humiliating ceremony was enacted, and said the king, and returned to the banquet hall.
then, with his head covered in anguish, he fled to his | The wretched Haman had sunk upon his knees be-
own house, where the gall and bitterness he had so well fore the queen, to implore her protection, and finding
pent up in his bosom, burst forth with tremendous vio- i she was turning from him, grasped her hand, and in-
lence. “My heart did misgive me, after thy depar- treated her to hear him.
ture,” said his wife, “that I had counselled thee to do “Ha, wretch !" cried the king when he entered,
aught against the Jew. 'Tis said they have a powerful“ wilt thou insult the queen before our eyes ! Away
God, who visits with awful judgments those who do
with him to death !"
them wrong. Then cease to wrestle with Mordecai,
Haman was dragged forth and hanged upon the gal.
my husband and my lord, or I fear me the wrath of his
lows which had been prepared for Mordecai. The Jew
God will fall upon thee.”
was called into the king's presence.
The queen's chamberlain now arrived to escort Ha-
man to the banquet. Arrayed in his most costly robes,
“Here is my signet ring, Mordecai," said the king.
and smoothing his brow, Haman followed him into the
“It was once Haman's, it is now thine. Take it, and
queen's presence. With joyous eyes he gazed at the with it, all the wealth and power and rank of Haman.
magnificence around him, and at the royal feast which
I cannot revoke my decree, but thou shalt have soldiers
was awaiting him, and unsuspecting the queen's knowl-
and arms to defend thy people against those employed
edge of his arts against her nation, advanced with a by the wicked Haman, who seeing this preparation,
confident smile to the raised seat occupied by his royal will not dare to strike. Save as many as thou canst.
master and Queen Esther. That smile was the last the
have promised to Nehemiah, the Government of Judea.
face of Haman wore.
See that he hath men and money to rebuild his holy
" And now that we are assembled at thy request,” | city, for I would do all I can to recompense my queen
said Artaxerxes, “ what is thy petition, Queen Esther ? | and the Jews for my unjust decree."
It shall be granted thee, even were it half my kingdom, Then bounded the heart of Esther and her uncle for
for I have sworn it.”
joy. Kneeling to the good king, they kissed his hands
Then Esther, the queen, kneeling before him, said, in devout thankfulness for his generous conduct, and
“ If I have found favor in thy sight, oh, king! and if it then lifting their eyes above, poured out their grateful
please my lord, let my life be given to me at my peti- souls to the giver of so much good, who had shown him-
tion, and that of my people, at my request. For we are self so powerful to save!
E. R. S.
all sold, I and my people, to be destroyed, to be slain,
and to perish !"
"And who is he'" said the king in his anger, “who i As a sublime statue manifests its maker's thought,
dost presume in his heart, to devise any thing against so God's creation displays his mind. But conceive,
thy life? I understand thee not. Who are thy peo- that while the rude mass is shaped into the lineaments
ple?”
of a man, it grows more and more conscious of the
How sank the heart of Haman within him!
advancing work, so that each new outward line and
“ Know then, oh, king, I am a Jewess! My adver-trait is accompanied by a new and livelier inward
sary is this wicked Haman, who hateth me and my sense of the artist's design, and consequently of his
kin, and hath beguiled thee, to give us all to slaughter." character, and we have a faint image of the scheme,
Then was the king's wrath too great for words, for which the history of the world unfolds


SCENES FROM A NEW PLAY.
33
SCENES FROM A NEW PLAY, ENTITLED
Original.
|| Shall all concentre! Hang his unhinged mird
'Tween sense and madness-madness that hath birth
In blasted hope and withering despair!
MARIAN.
And one small glimmering of waking sense,
To feel its own destruction! 'Tis my prayer!
BY HENRY F. HARRINGTON,
Curse him, oh curse him, Heaven!
Gresh.
Till at length,
Branford.
Their goal is won! Report did spread from her that thou wert dead,
There is a demon here, whose maddening throes, And they were married. Thou hast all the tale.
Will close in deadly ruin; Misery-
Bran. And 'tis enough--for it hath turned to gall
Oh, Misery!
All kindly feeling. With what panting hope
Gresham. Alas, what suffering!
When from my gloomy prison I had 'scaped,
Bran. Tell me the damning tale ; ay, let my brain
Where I had perished but for thought of her,
Be steeped in full infection! Speak, I say,
Sped I with winged feet o'er land and sea,
If thou art honest, and reveal me all,
Led by one guardian angel, on and on,
If all thou knowest!
Her image in my memory! I came;-
Gresh. Too much, indeed, I know;
To feel as fiends of Hell were in my sense,
Yet naught could check.
To sift all human leaven from its mass,
Bran. The tale—the talemand quickly!
And leave me demon! And their task is done!
Gresh. Scarce was the footprint of thy parting step I will be demon! She hath known my love.
Lost to the sight, its fragile lines erased :
And she shall feel the measure of my hate!
Scarce the last echoes of #hy voice had died,
Farewell—I'll speak no more! 'Tis almost madness
When she
Doth riot in me now!
Bran. So soon !--s0 soon! My back scarce turned,
Ere 'gan the devil of her will to roam !
Marian. No-no; and leave me, Elton, now!
I do believe thee. Had I sought her door,
If thou dost truly love me, thou dost prize
With six years' sorrow printed on my brow,
My unpolluted honor! Oh, forbear
And she had sprung to me, her angel face
To stain it, thou, who shouldst of all the world,
Lit by a smile, her voice proclaiming joy,
Its firmest champion bemand leave me, Elion!
-Not the resounding fiat of the world
Elt. Farewell!
Had stirred the towering fabric of my trust!
Mar. One word-As strangers must we meet!
And hadst thou lisped her false, or looked her false,
Oh! do not look at me, nor speak to me,
I would have slain thee where the deed was dared!
And more—not touch me ! Couldst thou read my heart !
But have these eyes beheld her in her shame,
Anguish doth kindle love beyond love's self;
With their first eager gaze;-but have these arms
For love's the solace of the broken heart-
Sustained her shrieking; while her guilty mate
And now, dear Elton, in my misery-
Fled from my blasting sight! 'Tis truth-'tis truth!
Now when the darkness of despair is round,
- And I am forced to trust thee.
More have I longing for thy sweet endearments,
Gresh.
Scarce was this,
While hearts of friends were heavy at thy loss,
Than when the sun of joy shone brightly forth.
But there's a yawning gulph between us gapes,
Thy wife did bear her with unwonted ease,
We may not, must not leap! With desp’rate throes
As had a load been lifted from her breast.
Rein I the frenzy of my passion in;
Then, all remonstrance scorned, she gathered round her,
And when I meet thy glance, or hear thy voice,
A troop of scheming younkers in her doors.
Or feel thy thrilling touch, all's lost again,
Bran. Would that a bolt froin Heaven had struck
And the swelled waters of the fount gush forth.
her dead,
Farewell!
In that first profanation !
Elt. And shall I never see thee more ?
Gresh.
For a time
Mar. Once more-once more-when is my fate
She did peruse thy letters, which to her
decreed
With careful hand I did myself convey-
|| By him, its arbiter; then may we meet,
Bran. Thanks, thanks to thee!
| The last time, with our child.
Gresh.
At length a glance sufficed
Elt.
Our child !
For their contents, and last she threw them by,
Their seals unbroken-
(Marian waves him off, not trusting herself to speak.)
Bran.
Hold, my spirit, hold !
Mar.
He's gone!
Gresh. This lord who hath thy hallowed place | Gone with a cold farewell; no kiss at parting!
usurped,
And I have willed disseverment to bide,
Was ever with her.
Where most I'd wish companionship. Well-well,
Bran. Curse him, Heaven, from this! It must be so ; 'tis duty points. Kind Heaven,
May his vile body be a charnel house,
I thank thee for the power myself to conquer,
en sickness, foul disease, and loathsome pests,: Where most myself had joyed in victory!


34
SCENES FROM A NEW PLAY.
Be still be still, my heart, and look around thee! 1 Bran.
Pardon-pardon!
A fearful struggle is before thee now,
And say—-dost love me still?
Arm for the dreadful contest!
Mar.
Ask me not that-
(She sinks into a chair, and buries her face in her A dreadful thought is darting through my brain!
hands. Branford enters and gazes on her before He will not in oblivion drown the past,
he speaks.)
And call me “wife" again! His wiſe again!
Bran.
Ha-my lady? Come pain-come death—come any thing but that!
Pray must I bend the knee, ere thou canst deign What will he now?
To note the presence of a commoner-
Bran.
My Marian-my wife!
'Tis well—'tis well, my lady!
| Hope springs to new existence at thy words;
Mar. (rising)
Oh, no-no! Speak-dost love me still ?
Taunt me not, Branford; 'tis enough to feel
Mar. (aside) I stand convulsed
My weight of misery; I cannot bear
With freezing horror! He hath called me “wife !"
The crushing of such words. Speak kindly to me. Wife-wife to him! Spare-spare me, Branford, now,
Bran. Alas, that I should ever meet thee thus! (sits Thou art nol-1-I cannot answer thee!
a moment then rises suddenly)
Bran. I'll doubt no longer. Thou must answer me!
Woman, I left thee with a blessing on thee,
Is thy heart mine-all mine?
And thy young child; all glowing with the trust
Mar.
No jot is thine.
In thy unfailing truth! I have had woes-
My hope, my love, life, heart, soul, every thing,
Big, maddening woes, thick falling on my head;
Are Elton's—his alone!
And pain and agony--and I have watched
Bran.
E'en to my face,
My flesh as it has wasted, and have felt
Dost glory in thy shame? By thine own words,
My strength fast parting; but within my heart
Thou art confessed all guilty. To the name,
It was all sunlight-for 'twas filled with thee!
The damning name that thou hadst won before,
Now here I stand-woe, pain and agony,
Hast thou now “Liar," added.
Scorned in the promise of repose with thee,
Mar.
. Branford! Nay,
To find thee-what thou art !
Assail with scoffs and threats and menaces,
Mar.
Thou dost not think
| If it be grateful to thee. I will hear
Me guilty, Branford! Then hast grief alone
With changeless calmness, for I'll think of thee,
At the strange fortune 'tween us interposed-
Not as thou art, but as thou hast been to me.
It is I, Branford-and thou dost not think
Branford, when first my startled eye ran o'er
Me guilty, as thy fearful words import-
| The withering characters that spoke thee living,
Bran. Accursed woman, thou art foul as death!
What thou hadst suffered, and thy coming pain,
Couldst not bave bowed thee to appearances,
Smote on my heart and found an echo there,
E'en if thy heart were callous to my loss,
To all thine anguish. When I saw thy face,
For one poor month, ere to thy wantonness,
Pale with long misery, my soul gushed forth
Thou didst, 'fore all the world, give basest vent ?
In very agony; but now thy words
Mar. Branford!
Have choked the current, and the stream is dry.
Bran. What charnel house of hellish orgies, I can but pity thee—I do no more.
Thou mad'st my dwelling, ere my lingering foot Fix now thine eye on mine. It doth not quail
Had scarce o'erstepped its threshold !
Beneath thy gaze; my lip doth quiver not;
Mar.
Branford!
And if my look hath boldness to my view,
Bran.
Now,
Shrink from the loftiness of scornful pride,
Vows scorned, the world despised, thine honor blasted, | That knows no jot of guilt. Go, Branford, go!
Since thou hast won the summit of thy guilt,
Child. (without). Mother-dear mother!
I hope thou’rt happy in it!
Mar. (in agitation) Come not here, my child!
Mar.
Branford-Branford-
Ah, come not here!
I pity, but I scorn thee!
Enter Child.
Bran.
What to think?
Child.
Dear mother!
Is this dissembling? It doth bear the front
Bran (rushing to it) 'Tis my daughter!
Of noblest virtue. Have I been deceived ?
It is my child! (He looks in the face of the child and
She may have deemed me dead. My Marian,
starts back) Woman, whose child is this?
It may be false, the story they have told me;
Mar. Mine, Branford-mine!
Say, dost thou love me still ?
Bran.
And mine-
The tale is false,
Mar.
No, no-not thine!
Whatever tale it be, would stamp me guilty.
Bran. Out with her from my sight, lest in my mad-
And so thou shouldst have felt it, Branford-Ay,
ness,
And when the base tongue of the slunderer
| I do some deed of horror!
Had dared one little whisper to my shame,
Mar. (leading the child out) Go, my daughter.
Thou shouldst have spurned him lifeless to thy feet!
Bran. Where is my child !
I hoped that thou hadst known me!
Mar.
Ask not-oh, ask not now!
Mar.


SCENES FROM A NEW PLAY.
35
Bran. Where is my child?
|| And stores of comfort passing hope and wish,
Mar. (aside in great agitation.) I cannot answer Could happiness confer, then had I been
him!
Indeed, most happy. He did write to me,
Bran. (softening his tone.) Woman, where is my Oſt, from abroad, in anxious tenderness;
daughter?-Give her to me,
Though not one letter to my hand ere came,
And I'll forgive thee all! Where is my daughter ? Save that last herald of despair and wo.
Mar. Her mother guards her not-she is in Heaven! And shall he brand me guilty in the act
Bran. Oh, misery! She died by thee-by thee! That hath o'erturned his peace? Shall fiendish hate
Slain by thy cold neglect. Alas, my daughter! Feast in mad triumph on my blighted name,
Have I then lost my child! All curses on thee, And his more bitter misery? Shall I,
Thou murderess!
With power, mayhap, to right myself and him,
Mar. Hold this fury of thy tongue!
That power refuse, for that I fear to use it ?
I was her mother, sir!
Dishonor were deserved if honor's worth
Bran.
All hope is crushed!
Could not repay such price. My soul is nerved!
For nothing live I more! I will be gone
He shall be satisfied.
And leave thee, now; go to thy paramour,
Ellen.
Wilt peril life
Whom thou didst choose from the hot-blooded crowd For him who loves thee, but thou lovest not,
Called round thee in my dwelling!
And by the act his bosom rend, who loves thee,
Mar. (aside.)
What is this!
And is loved by thee-Elton ?
He calls me wanton-and he bids me seek
Mar.
Ellen--Ellen-
My paramour; and now I do remember,
Speak of aught else save him, and I can hear thee!
He hinted of some story ihey had told him !
Ellen. Why then I can but answer with the boy,
Some villain hath poured poison in his ear!
Heaven speed thee!
Who can it be!
Mar.
I do trust in Heaven for aid !
Bran. It is all known to me!
Almost my reason trembles at the scheme
Where are my letters, filled with love of thee,
In mine own reason gendered. If't be sin,
Cast from thee valueless !
The guiliy to deceive for this good end,
Mar. (lenderly.) Didst thou write, Branford ? To strip the mask from their deformity,
Bran. Out-out! no falsehood more!
And save the innocent-then Heaven forgive me!
Mar. (aside musing.) Who hath done this!
Night comes—my wishes execute, dear Ellen,
Bran. Didst thou devise, or he, so cunningly,
As I have asked thee, and hope the best.
The story of my death, that safe from shame,
Ye might live on in crime ?
Mar.
Ye powers of Heaven,
Ellen. Weep now no more. Thou hast triumphant
Who hath done this!
proof,
Bran. I leave thee to thyself.
For him, of innocence. Since now 'tis plain,
I leave thee to all joy that thou canst reap
That fate, and not thy will, hath wrought against him,
From thy polluting sin! Go-riot in't!
He will not step 'tween thee and happiness;
My lost, lost child !
Be comforted.
Marian. Oh, didst thou know him, Ellen,
As I do know him, and didst comfort thus,
Ellen.
Marian,
My ear would drink with joy thine accents in,
Thou wilt not do this thing. It were thy life
And kindle brighiest hope. Alas! alas !
To place in direst peril.
He hath a spirit stern and uncontrolled;
Mar.
Urge me not.
When once convinced, most obstinate in will,
To the kind pleadings of the voice of love,
Though may conviction rest on broadest wrong.
To scorn, to warning, will I be as steel.
So do I tremble lest he scorn my tale,
Ob, Ellen, as the avalanche, that sweeps
In error resolute. And should he spurn me,
Down from the hills, and ere the startled herdsman,
There were, no longer, hope!
Doth note bis danger, finds him desolate;
Ellen.
Be thou not spurned.
As the dread thunderbolt, that comes—is gone-
With boldest front, in consciousness of right
And the scathed branches of the riven oak
And innocence and truth, do thou approach him.
Teil of its fiery course-s0 with a shock,
Courageous, brave opposing look and word;
Sudden and dreadful, fell upon my ear
And so compel that justice to be thine,
The words of Branford that he deemed me base Which freely were bestowed not.
Ellen. But thou art not so; wherefore grieve ? Mar.
It shall be,
Mar.
Enough If that I sink not-but more dreadful 'ris,
That he doth think me so. Oh, Ellen, Ellen,
The thought of meeting Branford in his ire,
Thou knowest not half the tumult of my bosom! Than was the perilous reality,
Branford my husband was--and ere he left mo, Of braving Gresham to disarm his hate.
If kindness, and profusion of all gifts,
Those fearful looks! Oh, they do haunt me yet!


''HETTORE FIER A MOSCA."
a
Original.
| herself certainly whether her husband were alive or
A CHAPTER FROM AN UNPUBLISHED TRANSLATION
dead. Reason suggested that what had not been done
heretofore, might be done yet; but her heart whispered
OF AZELIO'S NOVEL, CALLED,
it is too late : and that too late sounded as an irrevoca-
“HETTORE FIERAMOSCA.''.
ble decree. Her days were long, anxious and bitter,
" Man's love is of man's life a thing apart-
deprived of every hope of extricating herself from the
'Tis woman's whole existence."--CHILDE HAROLD. difficulty, at all events without yielding wholly to the
power of one or other of the influences which warred
The ancient convent on the island between Mount Logether in her bosom. Her beauty was fading under
Gargano and Barletta, had been dedicated to St. Ursula. the force of such a conflict.
Ils walls now show but a mass of ruins overgrown with | The morning hours and those of mid-day passed off
thorns and ivy; but at the period of our history, | with less difficulty. She worked at embroidery; and
they were in tolerable preservation, and formed an edi | she possessed books, and could walk in the convent
fice of gloomy aspect, that had been raised by the tardy garden. But the evenings ! Her darkest thoughts and
remorse of a princess of Anjoa, who came there to end most perplexing cares, seemed like those insects which
in sanctity a life that had been passed amid the licen- | become more numerous and annoying as the sun de-
tious pursuits of pleasure and ambition. A solitude of clines. Genevia then would seek a refuge in the cha-
more perfect amenity and calmness could not have been | pel; where, if she found not joy and peace of mind,
desired.
she gained some interval of consolation
Upon a rocky edge about twenty yards above the sea, |Her prayer was brief, and never varied. “Most
there is a level piece of ground hardly exceeding five || Holy Virgin," she said; “grant that I may desire not
hundred paces in circuit; and at the farthest angle of to love him.” And sometimes she added, "grant that
this plain, stood the chapel of the convent. Its entrance I rnay resolve to seek for Grajano with the wish to find
was through a lofty gothic portal, and the interior was him." But her heart often refused to join in the latter
composed of three aisles under pointed arches, suppor- | petition.
ted by slender columns, richly carved in grotesque fash-|| By constantly repeating these words, she kept herself
ion of architectural ornament that belonged to the era continually thinking of Fieramosca, even at the moment
of their erection; and lighted by a lofty window of when her voice was raised in a prayer that she might
stained glass where the setting sun gleamed dimly forget him. Thus she went on, sighing and mourning,
through coarsely colored glass, covered with grim figures but it too plainly appeared which was the stronger in-
of St. Ursula and her ten thousand virgins, carried hy clination of her heart. This day, however, by one of
the most horrific looking angels that ever opened their those sudden alterations that belong to our nature, she
wings on tomb-stone or window-pane.
seemed strengthened to adope finally the better resolu-
It was now near the evening, and the few monks who tion. The idea of an illness which her failing health
still lingered in the delapidated monastery, hard by, l warned her to expect, and of death coming among the
were chaunting the vespers behind the great altar, in terrors of a troubled conscience, turned the scale in
long and monotonous cadences, while a graceful female favor of the resolution to inform herself respecting
figure was kneeling in prayer beside a monument, Grajano; and when she should find him, to return to
already growing old with time, and placed under a him, at all events, and at whatever cost. If Fieramos-
canopy of marble, carved with vine-leaves and the figures i ca had been present she would have announced to him
of various animals, not easily distinguished. Beneath such a resolution, at the very time, without a moment's
that costly tomb reposed the princess who founded the hesitation; and as she came out of the chapel she said
convent, and the lady in prayer, covered even to the to herself: “This very evening he shall see and know
feet with a veil, whiter than the marble, might have it all."
been taken for a statue to which some artist of more The monke, having finished their chaunting, passed
perfect taste had given the attitude of prayer, as a rich out, one by one, through a small door that led to the
and appropiate ornament to the tomb-if some tresses cloisters, and silently belook themselves to their respec-
of chestnut colored hair had not been seen to have esca- tive cells. Genevia passed out after them. She enter-
ped from the confinement of the veil, and to be waving ed a gallery that surrounded a little garden in the
in the breeze, and her eyelids raised from time to time, middle of which was a well under a roof supported by
discovered dark blue eyes, in which shone through tears four stone pillars. Thence traversing a long passage
the fervency of earnest supplication.
she came to a court-yard in the rear, one side of which
Poor Genevia! she had never been so much in need was formed of a small habitation, always open, and in-
of the aid of prayer than now, that she found herself tended for the accommodation of strangers; being se-
in a situation where the female heart has not in its own parate from the rest of the buildings. Genevia was
strength the ability for self-conquest.
here alone with the young woman that had been saved
She repented, but too late, of the determination to by Fieramosca, and they together occupied two or three
follow Fieramosca, and to unite in some degree, her chambers, which, according to the custom in convents,
fate to that of the man whom she was bound in pru- did not communicate the one with the other, but opened
dence and in duty, above all others, to avoid. She re- | upon a gallery common to them all. Genevia, entering
rented of having remained so long without informing the room where they were used to pass the greater part


38
"HETTORE FIERA MOSCA.”
of the day, found Zoraida busy at a tambour-frame, and rarely happens that one who fears to discover only evil
singing as she worked a canzonet in the Arabian lan- | to himself, is anxious to see very clearly; thus reluc-
guage full of those low tones that mark the songs of tant to know the truth, he had delayed inquiry till the
almost all the nations of the torid zone. She looked a day when his own eyes convinced him of the error. He
moment at the work, and sighed. It was a mantle of returned to Barletta deliberating with himself, and all
blue satin embroidered in silver, which they were toge- the time undecided whether he should tell Genevia or
ther making for Fieramosca. She then took her seat conceal it from her. The former would separate her
in a balcony shaded with vines, and looking towards from him for ever; the latter seemed unjustifiable: and
Barletta. The sun was already hid behind the hills of then how could he hide any thing from her, who was ac-
Puglia ; a few streaks of cloud floated near the horizon customed to read all his thoughts? In this uncertainty
in the brilliant western sky, like fishes of gold swim- of purpose he arrived at the island, nor had he decided
ming in a sea of fire ; and their reflection was seen in when he met Genevia, and then, forced by circumstan-
the water in long lines broken here and there by the Ices to determine at once in the one way or the other,
white sail of a fisherman's boat, which a light breeze, he, for the time, without premeditation, adopted the
was propelling towards the shore. The eves of the purpose of concealment, saying to himself, " I will con-
fair one were fixed on the mole of the harbor which was | sider further."
before her, and from whose shadow she saw a little. “I come late this evening," said he," but I have had
boat put out and steer towards the island.
great affairs in hand, and bring you great news.”
Now she was more than ever desirous of some event “ News!" exclaimed Genevia; “good or evil ?"
that might produce a decision of her choice, for what-i “Good, and by the help of God, in a few days we
ever the decision might be, in her actual state of mind | shall have better still."
it could not fail to a relief. But how tedious and how Arrived at the open space before the chapel, they
painful those moments of suspense! She longed to have proceeded to a spot on the extreme verge of the rock,
Fieramosca there with her; she longed to have the mo- , where the descent is perpendicular to the sea—a spot
ment arrive when he should have heard those words marked by a low, ruinous wall and a circle of cypress-
which she was to find so difficult to pronounce; if he trees, under whose shelter were several rude seats, and
did not come, or came too late, would she another day a cross of wood. Seating themselves here, in the sil-
be resolute to speak them ?
very rays of the moon, which already had overcome the
The dark spot that scarcely seemed to change its po- purple light of sunset, Fieramosca resumed the dis-
sition, now was seen on the sea approaching the shore. course.
After a quarter of an hour had passed, it had visibly in- ll “Rejoice, my Genevia! this has been a glorious day
creased in size, and now it might, though with difficulty for Italy and for us; and unless God favors injustice, it
be discerned to be a skifl, which a man was guiding will be the beginning of greater glory. But now it is
towards her. Genevia recognized him and felt a weight necessary to summon your fortitude ; now you must
pressing on her heart. By a sudden revulsion of her show yourself a model for the dames of Italy."
thoughts, she believed it to be impossible to say that to il “Proceed," said she, fixing her eyes upon his face, as
him which an instant previous she had considered irre if to study his features, and to anticipate, by reading
vocably determined. She would now have seen with their expression, what was the proof to which he was
pleasure that little boat change its course and go back ; ,, about to put her firmness. “Speak; I am a woman,
but, on the contrary, it came nearer and nearer-alrea- | but I have a heart."
dy it was near the island; and now she could plainly “I know it, Genevia, and sooner would I doubt the
hear the oars as they dipped and rose from the water. rising of the sun to-morrow, than doubt of thee!"
“ Zoraida, behold !” said she turning toward her. He then informed her of the challenge, explained
companion, who slightly raised her head, in the atti- minutely how it arose, told of his going to the French
tudo of one who listens, and then fixed her eyes again camps, of his return, of the combat that was in prepa-
upon her work. Genevia descended, and passing along ration ;-and how animated were his words, how full
the shore to the spot where the boat approached the of the love of his country and of glory;-how the pres-
island, reached the strand by a stair-way chiselled out ence of Genevia heightened the flame, may be imagined
of the stone, at the moment that Fieramosca had thrown by such readers as have felt their hearts beat more ra.
the oars into the skiff and secured its prow to the rock. pidly when speaking of some generous deed performed
But if she wanted the heart to declare her resolution, for their native land, and listened to by a loved fair one
Fieramosca, who had on his part, also, something im., capable of the same sentiments.
portant to reveal, did not feel more courage for it than From time to time, as Fieramosca went on, unfolding
she did. Having been for a long time at a distance the events and their expected sequel, increasing in en-
from the places where Grajano fought, he had received, ergy of language and gesture, the breathing of Generia
but very little tidings of him. Those soldiers who came became more frequent; her bosom swelled as if it were
from Romania, were either misinformed or mistook the a veil inflated with gusts of wind :-it rose and sank at
name when they reported that he had been slain. To the breathings of impetuous affections, discordant im
yield his belief to them had suited his inclinations too deed, but all worthy of herself. Her eyes which seem-
well to allow him to refuse them credit, or to take much led to move with the words of the warrior, flashed fire
pains to obtain certain information as to the fact. It' as they kindled with enthusiasm.


"HETTORE FIER A MOSCA."
39
When he closed, she laid her fair, soft hand on the cides every thing. It would be too much to relate to
hilt of his sword, and raising her face, she said with you what claims the crown of France possesses over this
earnestness, “ If I had your arm-if I could use this kingdom. You must know, however, that it is a feif
sword, which I can scarcely lift, you should not go of the Holy See, which means that it belonged to the
alone; no! and it should never be my lot to hear it church, and the church, about two hundred years ago,
said, 'the Italians have conquered, but he remains on the invested Charles, Duke of Provence, with it."
field! Oh, I know well, that conquered you will never i “Oh, very well, and who gave it to the church ?"
return;" and here, at the thought of danger so near, “It was given by a warrior of France called Robert
she could not restrain the tears that fell on the hand of Guiscard, who had become master of it by conquest."
Fieramosca.
“ Now I comprehend less than ever, the book which
“Why do you weep, Genevia ; do you really wish Genevia lias given me, and which I have read all through,
that the combat should not be fought ?"
and with attention. Tell me, was it not written by Issa-
“Oh, no, Hector; do me not such wrong;" and dry- | Ben-Jusuf ?"
ing her tears she added eagerly, “ I do not weep; it is “Yes."
over now;"—and she paused a moment, then with all “And does it not say that all men are made in the
smile, which the tear-drop still on her eyelids rendered image of God, and redeemed with his blood ? I under-
only the more beautiful, she said, “I wished to talk of stand how there may be, among Christians, some, who
swords and battles, and to seem brave, but my weak- making a bad use of power, may possess themselves of
ness is betrayed, and I deserve it."
the property, and take the lives of their equals; but
"Women, like you, could cause miraculous things to how this wrong can be changed into a right, descend-
be done by the sword, without your touching it ; you ing from father to son, I do not comprehend."
might turn the world topsy-turvy if you knew how to act. il “I know not,” said Fieramosca, smiling, " whether
I speak not of you alone, Genevia, but of the women of you do not understand, or understand too much; but
Italy, in general, who, unfortunately, are not like you." this is certain; without such right, what would become
The last expression was over heard by Zoraida, who' of the popes and emperors and kings ? And without
had approached with a basket of fruit, with cakes, them, bow would the world go on?”
honey and other delicacies. She held it on her left' Zoraida shrugged her shoulders, and said no more.
arm, and in her right hand she carried a goblet of white She spread a collation, with the contents of her basket,
wine. Her vestments were made after the oriental | upon one of the seats, having first covered it with a nap-
fashion, and the fantastic taste of her country was kin, which had the fragrance of freshly washed linen.
shown in the choice of colors, all of the most vivid hue. “Oh, yes," said Hector, lo divert the sadness that
Her head preserving also the mode of Eastern nations, i still lingered on the brow of Genevia, “let us try to be
was ornamented with bands plaited together, the ends happy while we can, and let the world go on just as it
of which fell upon her bosom. She had that high eye- pleases. Let us now eat these delicacies in good spirits.”
brow, and eagle glance-that brown--and if I may so “ The proverb," proceeded Fieramosca, “ bids us not
call it-golden-tinted skin which belongs to a race of lo speak of the dead while at table; no more of the
people that live near Caucasas. In the midst of her combat; let us speak of joyful things. We shall have
affectionate manners, flashes of a barbarous nature a festival soon. Signor Gonsalvo has ordered a tourna-
would sometimes appear, of a daring and disrespectful ment, a bull-fight, with plays and balls and dinner-par-
frankness.
ties.”
She stood gazing on Hector and Genevia, and, in the “What do you say? And the French ?” said Cenevia.
Italian tongue-but with a pronunciation that showed “The French will be there also; a truce is offered to
the foreigner, she said, “You spoke of women. Hec- them, and they cannot be so unmannerly as to refuse it.
tor, I desire also to understand what you said."
The purpose is to celebrate the arrival of Donna Elvira,
“Not of women," replied Genevia; “ we were speak-the great captain's daughter, whom he loves better than
ing of a dance in which we should make a sorry figure.” his own eyes; and he is determined that there shall be
These words greatly excited the curiosity of Zoraida, a great celebration."
and Hector therefore related to her all that he had told The questions of the two ladies were not without
Genevia.
i number, but must be left to the reader's imagination ;
She stood in suspense and doubt a little while, and and Hector gave the most lively satisfaction in answer-
then shaking her head, she said, “I do not comprehend. ſing first one and the other.
Such quarrels, so much noise, because the French say “Delightful! is it so? His daughter, Donna Elvira,
they have little esteem for you. But they have surely i was sick at Taranto, and now being cured, she rejoins
said the same thing more plainly by coming to your her father; and it seems that he does for her what he
country to eat your grain and drive you from your dwel- |would not do for himself. In Taranto, lately, I was
lings. And have not the Spaniards equally shown the told that the Spanish soldiers were mutinous because
same opinion of you, coming also to Italy, and doing they were not paid, and as Inigo related it, the life of
the same that the French have done ?”
Gonsalvo was preserved as by miracle, for all those
“The hind does not chase the lion to his den; it is, devils were raging round him with their pikes. A cer-
the lion hunts the hind, and devours him. Zoraida, we tain fellow named Yciar, a captain of infantry, after
are not here among barbarians, where force alone de- Gonsalvo had declared that he had no money, call-


40
THE POLISH BOY.
ed out with a loud voice and indecent language-||
that his daughter might get it for him. The tu-
mult ended, and in the evening all was quiet. The
next morning, when every one rose, what think you they
saw? There was Captain Yciar hanging with a pike
through him, from the window of the house that he
made his quarters, but to those who had thrust their
pikes against Gonsalvo's breast, nothing was done to
hurt a hair of their heads."
With this kind of chat the evening wore away; and
at last Fieramosca rose, and accompanied by both the
ladies, proceeded towards his boat. Genevia descended
to the lowest point of the rock, but Zoraida remained
above, and when Hector saluted her as he stepped into
the skiff, she made no answer, but moved away. He
took no notice of it, but said to Genevia, “She did not
perceive me. You will bid her adieu for me. Now,
adieu. To-day may be the last, or nearly so, that you
will see me here."
He struck the oars into the water and parted from
the island. Genevia having re-ascended the steps, stood
on the height a little while, looking after him, as the
two diverging lines of his boat's wake grew longer on
the sea, and when she could distinguish them no more,
she entered the apartments, and resigned herself to an-
guish and remorse.
B. EDWARDS.
Now with white lips and stony eye
She murmurs forth her misery.
But hark! The tramp of heavy feet
Is heard along the bloody street,
Nearer, and nearer yet, they come,
With clinking arms and noiseless drum.
They leave the pavement. Flowers that spread
Their beauties by the path they tread,
Are crushed and broken. Crimson hands
Rend brutally their blooming bands.
Now whispered curses, low and deep,
Around the holy temple creep.
The gate is burst; a ruffian band
Rush in, and savagely demand,
With brutal voice and oath profane,
The startled boy for exile's chain.
Original.
THE POLISH BOY.
The mother sprang with gesture wild,
And to her bosom snatched the child;
Then with pale cheek and flashing eye,
Shouted with fearful energy-
“Back, ruffians, back! nor dare to tread
Too near the body of my dead,
Nor touch the living boy. I stand
Between him and your lawless band.
No traitor he. But listen ! I
Have cursed your master's tyranny.
I cheered my lord to join the band
Of those who swore to free our land;
Or fighting, die; and when he pressed
Me for the last time to his breast,
I knew that soon his form would be
Low as it is, or Poland free.
He went and grappled with the foe,
Laid many a haughty Russian low;
But he is dead-the good-the brave,
And I, his wife, am worse-a slave.
Take me and bind these arms, these hands,
With Russia's heaviest iron bands,
And drag me to Siberia's wild
To perish, if ’will save my child."
BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
WHENCE come those shrieks, so wild and shrill,
That cut like blades of steel the air,
Causing the creeping blood to chill
With the sharp cadence of despair ?
They come again, as if a heart
Were cleft in twain by one quick blow,
And every string had voice apart
To send forth its peculiar woe!
Whence came they ? From yon temple, where
An altar raised for private prayer
Now forms the warrior's marble bed,
Who Warsaw's gallant armies led.
The dim funereal tapers throw
A holy lustre o'er his brow,
And burnish with their rays of light
The mass of curls that gather bright
Above the haughty brow and eye
Of a young boy, that's kneeling by.
"Mad woman, stop !" the leader cried,
Tearing the pale boy from her side ;
And in his ruffian grasp he bore
His victim to the temple door.
“One moment !" shrieked the mother, “one-
Can land or gold redeem my son ?
If so, I bend my Polish knee,
And, Russian! ask this boon of thee.
Take palaces, take land, take all;
But leave him free from Russian thrall.
Take these!" And her white arms and hands
She stripped of rings and diamond bands,
And tore from braids of long black hair
The gems that gleamed like star-light there ;
Unclasped the brilliant coronal,
And carcanet of orient pearl;
Her cross of blazing rubies last
Down to the Russian's feet she cast.
He stooped to seize the glittering store-
Upspringing from the marble floor,
What hand is that whose icy press
Clings to the dead with death's own grasp,
But meets no answering caress-
No thrilling fingers seek its clasp?
It is the hand of her, whose cry
Ran wildly late upon the air,
When the dead warrior met her eye,
Outstretched upon the altar there.


BUNKER-HILL MONUMENT.
41
The mother, with a cry of joy,
Snatched to her leaping heart the boy!
But no—the Russian's iron grasp
Again undid the mother's clasp.
Forward she fell with one long cry
Of more than mother's agony.
And now he waits one holy kiss
To bear his father home in bliss ;
One last embrace, one blessing, one !
To prove thou knowest, approvest thy son.
What! silent yet? Can’st thou not feel
My warm blood o'er thy heart congeal ?
Speak, mother, speak !-lift up thy head.
What! speechless still? Then art thou dead!
Great God, I thank thee! Mother, I
Rejoice with one like thee to die !"
Slowly he falls. The clust'ring hair
Rolls back and leaves the forehead bare.
One long, deep breath, and his pale head
Lay on his mother's bosom, dead.
But the brave child is roused at length,
And breaking from the Russian's hold,
He stood a giant in the strength
Of his young spirit fierce and bold.
Proudly he toward; his flashing eye,
So blue and yet so bright,
Seemed kindled from the eternal sky,
So brilliant was its light.
His curling lip and crimson cheeks
Foretell the thought before he speaks.
With a full voice of proud command
He turns upon the wondering band:
“Ye hold me not, no-no, nor can,
This hour has made the boy a inan.
The world shall witness that one soul
Fears not to prove itself a Pole.
I knelt beside my slaughtered sire,
Nor felt one throb of vengeful ire ;
I wept upon his marble brow-
Yes, wepe I was a child—but now
My noble mother on her knee
Has done the work of years for me.
Although in this small tenement
My soul is cramped-unbowed, unbent,
I've still within me umple power
To free myself this very hour.
This dagger in my heart and then
Where is the boasted power of men?"
He drew aside his broidered vest
And there, like slumbering serpent's crest,
The jewelled haft of poignard bright,
Glittered a moment on the sight:
“ Ha! start ye back? Fool, coward, knave!
Think ye the knife my father gave
Would drink the life-blood of a slave ?
The pearls, that on the handle fame,
Would blush to rubies in their shame!
The blade would quiver in thy breast,
Ashamed of such ignoble rest!
No! thus I rend the tyrant's chain,
And Aling him back a boy's disdain!"
Original.
BUNKER HILL MONUMENT.
AN APPEAL.
We blush when we name Bunker Hill; and are dis-
posed to skulk away, and hide ourself in some secret
corner, out of the sight and the cognizance of men.
And so blusheth every American that hath a soul; the
finger-post of whose mind hath not so rotied at the base,
that it toppleih and directeth downward to the earth
and sordid things, but pointeth upward and onward.
“Who of you would build a house and sitteth not down
first and counteth the cost ?" And did not the pro-
jectors of the monument on Bunker Hill; who would
commemorate thereby the birth-place of Freedom-the
glorious impulse to a world would rear an altar of sacri-
fice for patriotism on that holy of holies-did not they
count the cost? Had they no treasury, that there
standeth a monument half finished, a byeword and a
reproach-dishonoring and cumbring the ground that
supporteth it? Aye, truly, they did count; and thought
to draw from an exhaustless treasury- A nation's grati-
tude! a people's patriotism !--and it is that such a
treasury should so soon reverberate the hollow sound of
emptiness, that we are humbled and ashamed-that we
would hide from the face of men!
Think of it! Men and women of America, reflect
upon it! But sixty years have we been a nation. Our
growth is of less than yesterday; so small a period in
the lapse of years, that were all departed time to be
spread out before us as a map, the prick of a needle's
point would more than suffice to define our boundaries
and existence there! And yet we are a mighty, a pros-
perous, a glorious people ; a wonder to all nations, our-
selves foremost amongst them. Our edifice towers above
kingdoms ard principalities and hoary empires-over-
topping the handiwork of centuries on centuries-this
edifice of a moment! We were nothing, and in a
twinkling, we are every thing! Our history is a sen-
tence. “We fought, conquered, were free, and are a
great nation !" They that saw our sun of freedom rise,
have not yet all passed away. They yet breathe !
they that fought on Bunker Hill! Aye, breathe, and
move among us, and speak to us--they that helped to
make us what we are ; and we listen to the tale of the
Winspiring work from their own mouths. The sacred
A moment, and the funeral light
Flashed on the jewelled weapon bright.
Another! and his young heart's blood
Leaped to the floor, a crimson flood.
Quick to his mother's side he sprang,
And on the air his clear voice rang:
“Up, mother, up! I'm free-I'm free!
The choice was death or slavery;
Up, mother, up!-look on the son-
His freedom is for ever won ;


42
THE CAPTIVE QUEEN'S GIFT.
blood of the martyrs to achieve what we enjoy, yet ( fought there, knew no boundaries, no divisions. They
tinges the ground where it fell, for the earth hath not fought as Americans--for their whole country! And
had time to drink it up. Our fathers—our own imme- they fought as well at Saratoga, and White Plains, and
diate fathers, by whom we were begotten, created and Brandywine, and Yorktown, as at Bunker Hill! for
fixed our fortunes on a rock, and with all these pure, they fought as Americans, for their whole country!
running, gushing founts of inspiration to patriotism, we Their memories belong to their whole country! In the
have builded a monument, and left it half made! Oh, great question of Freedom, and its birth and its results,
it is more than a shame-it is a bitter, burning, accurs- Massachusetts men and New York men and South Caro-
ed thing!
lina men are cast in the grand and glorious name of
And it is an aggravation of the degradation of our Americans-countrymen! Massachusetts men and
own honor, that no difficult testimony of our patiotism New York men and South Carolina men fought side by
was demanded. It was not asked that we should be side, shoulder to shoulder, and their dust mingles be-
come pilgrims to a distant shrine, like Musslemen to neath the same sod where their patriot blood ran out in
their prophet's tomb. It was not asked of us that we a commingled stream! Oh, let not their children cre-
should mortify our flesh, and distort our limbs as doth ate divisions that the fathers had not !
the Hindoo devotee-nor that we should separate our- | And now an appeal is made once more. Americans,
selves from men, and live in hermit solitude like the shall the monument be finished ? Women of America,
saints of olden time; no, nor to sacrifice one of the take up this cause! Be you the avengers of your coun-
least of our hopes or affections, or aught that were in- try's honor! Wipe you away the stain that is upon us !
deed a hard thing; but only and simply to bestow of Plead, implore, weep! There may be hard bearts that
our superfluity of dross-a little mite ! and we cannot can withstand your prayers. Who shall withstand
give it!
your tears ? Weep! that we may no longer be a bye-
But what is the utility of a monument, cry some in word. Your mothers cheered and supported and filled
excuse ? Aye, utility! It is an expressive word-a with courage the bosoms of our fathers in the bour of
word of four syllables! and it is used to cover a multi- trial and dismay—and their memories are blessed.
tude of sins! Out upon it! It is used to cloak the Let their daughters emulate their mothers; and cry,
very degradation of sordid selfishness! Utility! Oh, “ give! give!" and awake sluggish patriotism, and
this is the age of utility! We build great stone houses, I tear away the enfolding shroud of selfishness-and they,
and labor like dogs from morning to night, and become too, shall be blessed in their day and generation!
strangers, in our coil, to the sweet affections, and the
H. F. H.
gentler sensibilities, and the enchanting perceptions of
our natures-we swallow our food with the rapidity of
Original.
any quickest thing we can fancy, to the manifest expo THE CAPTIVE QUEEN'S GIFT.
sure of ourselves to strangulation, that not a moment
may be lost, and we hoard and hoard, neither enjoying
BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
of ourselves the fruits of our labor, not opening its bene-
fits to others. We build great railroads, for they will
"Let me weep awhile !
yield percentage; we dig huge canals, for they will
Bear with me-give this sudden passion sway!
Thoughts of my son, his cruelty, his guile
yield percentage; we make steamboats hiss and sput Come, as a wind that o'er a reed hath sway;
ter, and fly, for they will yield percentage; and when
Till my heart dies with yearnings and sick fears;
Oh! could my life melt from me in these tears!"
others come upon our track, we count 110t life as aught
in the one absorbing pursuit, and in the fierce compe-|| Seated by her embroidery-frame, Mary Stuart, the
tition, louder hisses the steam, broader spatter and unfortunate Queen of Scots, was adding the last silken
spatter the wheels, and faster flies the boat, and then, a violet to a rich border of fruit and flowers, which her
sound as of thunder—a few shrieks, and hundreds are magic needle had wrought on a robe of thick, orange-
hugged in the embrace of death! and all this is utility! colored silk. Her supper stood untasted on a little la.
Then a mite of these hoards is asked of us, that a monu- ble at her elbow; and it was not till the twilight had
ment may be reared to their memory, who bled to give darkened all the brilliant colors into one, that she per-
us title to build railroads, and dig canals, and propelmitted herself a moment's respite—then she turned to
steamboats, and send our great ships, like living things, the table and placed a bit of food between her lips.
Aapping their huge wings across the waters, to fill up | With difficulty she swallowed it, pushed the table from
our storehouses with the useful and the beautiful things her, and threw her graceful form back into her heary
of the whole earth, and we shake our heads and cry out chair. Bright tears gathered in her eyes, and she look-
aloud, "Where is the utility ?”
ed mournfully on the nearly finished robe, and murmur.
Again, saith the unwilling one; “I am not of Mased, “ It will soon be finished-this sweet hope will no
sachusetts ; let the people of Massachusetts build their longer cheer me, and then what will occupy my lonely
own monuments !" Had our fathers said thus, we had hours? Alas, what a fearful thing it is to be alone
not been free. What! shall the title to Bunker Hill be with bitter thoughts !"
given up to Massachusetts ! Will a nation surrender The unhappy captive wiped the tears from her face,
its birthright. Bunker Hill and its enduring glory are had lights placed by her embroidery-frame, and again
the patrimony of every American heart. The men who plied her needle, while dark and gloomy retrospections


THE CAPTIVE QUEEN'S GIFT.
43
passed through her mind. She thought with painful !! One that had observed the unfortunate queen kneel.
repret of France, her own dear France, the home of her ing before that crucifix in the beautiful bumility of her
youth, the land of gaiety and chivalry. While these heart, with her streaming eyes fixed earnestly on the
thoughts occupied her mind, her laper fingers lingered silver image, her fingers clasped, and the pearls on her
on the silk, and large tears rolled down her still round slender neck rising and falling with her quick respira-
cheeks, and soiled the rich embroidery over which tion, must have forgiven her worst offences in the cer-
she bent. A moment and a deep color was breaking tainty of her deep repentance. God forgave them, even
into her cheeks, over which the tear-drops fell at more though her sincere prayer ascended from a misguided
distant intervals. She was thinking of Scotland, then though humble heart. As the energy of her supplica-
of ber reception after crossing the channel to take pos- tion abated, a sweet calmness overspread her features,
session of her hereditary crown. She remembered the and she arose with the spirit of a smile beaming in her
ridicule her refined accomplishments had excited in the face, and her fancy hovering round her son, as when a
rude people she was called upon to govern; then the sweet infant she had lust seen him. Hope came to her
warm blood deepened and burned in her cheeks, almost heart again as she thought of him, and with quiet eye
drying the tears that lingered there with its heat. she arose and returned to her employment.
Darnley, the sensual, brutal Darnley was in her mind, || The robe was finished, that dear work of months. It
the husband on whom she had, for a lime, lavished the was splendidly beautiful; and with a feeling of happi-
wealth of her warm affections; the man who had re- ness she had not felt for years the anxious mother took
warded her love with infidelity, and her kindness with a last look at the bright fabric and exquisite workman-
base ingratitude. By degrees her cheeks regained their ship before she folded it as a present to her son; then
pure white-the muscles of her sweet mouth were she stripped all the rings except the royal signet from
working about the corners, and twitching under the her fingers, and substituted a black riband for the chain
white skin; her open forehead concentrated itself, and of large pearls that suspended a cross to her neck.
her little hand lay trembling upon the frame, with the “He will not receive this," she said, sorrowfully, “they
needle between its fingers. The working of that speaks have made the beautiful religion of his mother hateful
ing face told more plainly than words, that the horrid to him;" and with a deep sigh she replaced the golden
circumstances of Darnley's murder were passing in her li cross under her high ruff. Kissing the pearls she
imagination ; but the remembrance of the foul suspio placed them, together with the rings and all the orna-
cions that had been attached to herself, soon brought ments her captivity had left her, in a small ivory casket,
back the glow to her cheek and the peculiar brightness vainly hoping that the next lips that pressed them
to her eye; her graceful head was erect with the con- would be her son's, quivering with love and pity for the
sciousness of perfect innocence. Indeed, it is aston- | mother who had taken her last ornaments to form a
ishing that the suspicions of murder could rest for a gift worthy of his acceptance.
moment on one who had never been found guilty of a “He never can know the magnitude of my love for
single act of cruelty, and who, to her kind and gentle him, the yearning for one look from his eyes which has
nalure, together with a want of firmness, owed all her kept sleep from ine, and rendered my captivity doubly
misfortunes. In short, the very womanly virtues of bitter-he will not know this, but surely he remembers
Mary Stuart proved the ruin of the Queen of Scotland; me. He cannot have forgotten the sweet nights when
while the want of those virtues kept the tigress Eliza. | I slept with him on my bosom, and was awakened in
beth upon the throne of England, and gave her power the morning by his dear mouth pressing mine, and his
over the liberty and life of her beautiful cousin. The little hands patting my cheeks as he knelt over me
cunning and duplicity of Elizabeth and her want of they have not taught him to think me guilty, vile-oh,
feeling were her safety; while the very frankness and no, I will not think it." Again the poor queen's frume
gaiety of Mary’s disposition, expanded as it had un- was shaken with terrible emotion as these thoughts
wisely been by a foreign education, helped to work her passed within her. She began to write the letter which
ruin. A want of proper resolution rather than an un was to accompany the gift before her agitation had suli-
holy passion led to her union with Bothwel. Now she sided. Rapidly she penned the outpouring of her ma
could look back and trace the events that led to that ternal love, while quick sobs now and then broke from
most imprudent step; but when she reflected on that, her lips. Twice she was obliged to press her beautiful
her thoughts shrunk from it as the plague-spot of her eyelids firmly together, and when she unclosed them
life. Now when it presented itself before her in the they were dripping with the tears she had thus striren
solitude of her reflections, with an expression of self- to send back to their fount. The letter was finished,
disgust she dropped her needle, drew back shuddering secured by a band of floss silk, and laid on the folded
into her chair and covered her face, as if that could still robe, and after again kneeling before her crucifix, Mary
the consciousness of her self-abasement. For some placed the package by her pillow, and dropped asleep
moments she sat, still pressing her hands to her face, with her hand upon it.
while her low sobbing broke the stillness of the apart- | Touching were the directions Mary gave to her mes-
ment; when she arose, and with trembling steps ad-senger on the following morning. “Tell the prince,"
vanced to a table at the head of her couch, on which she said, “ how you have left me, confined in damp
was a crucifix with a small image of our Saviour exqui- apartments without friends and without books, and only
sitely wroaght in silver.
indulging in hopes of happiness and freedom when I


44
DAVIE'S MEN.
Original.
DAVIE'S MEN.
think of him. Tell him my health is failing under the ||
pressure of affliction, and that I weary the Virgin Mary
with entreaties to see him again before I die—and oh,”
she added, pressing her beautiful hand on the messen-
ger's arm in her earnestness, “oh, mark him closely-
tell me if he weeps when he reads my letter—if he
kisses it or looks sorrowful. Tell me if he is grown
tall and comely like-," she could not pronounce the
name; but turning her troubled face from the messen-
ger, motioned him hastily to withdraw, and sank sob-
bing into her chair.
The week that her messenger was expected to return
from Scotland, the captive queen wandered like an un-
quiet spirit round the uncomfortable prison house in
which the unjust Elizabeth had confined her. Her em-
ployment was forsaken, and scarcely tasting food or in-
dulging in sleep, she spent her time in watching anx-
iously for the expected news from her son. The morn-
ing on which the man arrived, she had risen from a
restless bed with a heavy depression on her spirits, and
the sickening sensation of hope deferred at her heart.
After her morning orison, she threw open the casement
that commanded a view towards Scotland, and descried
a horseman in the distance. A fuintness came over her!
when she became sure that it was her messenger. For
worlds she could not have spoken, but stood motionless
with fixed eyes and white lips watching him till he dis-
mounted. Then she tottered to the door, received be-
tween her trembling hands the package he extended,
and shut herself in that she might open it alone. With
quivering fingers the poor woman unfolded the wrap-
per and shook open the contenis-a casket fell at her
feet, the lid gave way, and her own jewels were scatter-
ed over the floor. The robe she held was her own gift
returned. A faint sickness crept over her frame, the
unnatural tightness of her nerves gave way, and with a
gasp, she fell senseless on the floor.
When Mary's attendant entered the apartment, she
found her lying like a corpse upon the floor, her beau-
tiful hair scattered in profusion over her pallid face,
An hundred blades are flashing
In the mellow midnight ray,
And an hundred men are mounted
On their steeds of dappled gray.
Ye may hear their tramp at the midwatch
As they merrily dash along,
The winds outspeeding as they gom
So fleet of foot and strong.
So fleet and strong those good steeds !
And who are they that ride ?
Blithe hearts of Carolina-
And of her chivalry the pride.
Their way is o'er the mountain,
Their way is o'er the moor,
And they stem the rush of the river-flood,
And clamber the rocky shore.
Their haunts are in the greenwood
Where Summer streamlets flow,
And their home in the distant forest shade,
The Briton may not know.
trasting strongly with the gorgeous robe still grasped in
her hand. The frightened attendant called for assist-
ance, and laid her insensible mistress on the couch. It
was a long time before a slight quivering of the poor
captive's eyelids bespoke returning life. When suffi-
ciently conscious to know that her messenger was at
her bed-side, she raised herself upon her elbow, and
pointing with unsteady finger to the robe and jewels
scattered upon the floor, she attempted to speak, but
could only articulate, “ Why? why?" and fell back
upon her pillow, still looking in the man's face with
such beseeching, heart-broken earnestness that his eye
filled as he said,
“James, your son, refused the gift because it was not
directed to him as king, instead of prince, of Scot-
land.”
A smile, an indescribable smile of agony came into
the poor queen's face, a look that said her bruised
heart was crushed for ever, crushed by her own
Who in the foray leadeth
This blithe and gallant train,
When the din of the battle echoeth,
And the death-shot speeds amain ?
Who in the rout outrideth
The fleetest of the foe,
And with flashing brand, in the reeking dust,
The Briton layeth low?
'Tis he who when the foe come
In shadowy numbers on,
Nerveth the stout hearts of his men
With cheery look and tone. -
Who guideth them when the wild-deer
On their moss-strewn couches lay,
Far in the sunless forest depths,
From the moonlight chase, away.
'Tis he who bears him ever
With stately foot, and free
As the warrior-chief of a dark-browcd race,
And proudlier than he.
His name young lips are breathing,
And hearts leap at the sound,
And “ Davie" is the battle-shout,
And the soldier's brow is crowned
With laurels that shall fade not
With the memories that die-
And a prayer shall e'er go up for him
While neath his native sky
A patriot spirit lingers,
And his men be honored well,
With the kindred brave who fought and bled,
And the kindred brave who fell.
son.


"JESUS OF NAZARETH PASSETH BY."
A wail upon the night breeze !
Original.
'Tis of woman in her despair-
“ JESUS OF NAZARETH PASSETH BY."*
Her home is chill and tenantless
For the Briton hath been there.
BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.
And she, a stricken captive,
Is led in bonds away-
Watcher!—who wak'st by the bed of pain,
And the little ones whose infant breath
While the stars sweep on with their midnight train,
She nourished—where are they? *
Stifling the tear for thy lov'd one's sake,
Catawba's waves are gliding
Holding thy breath lest his sleep should break;
In the silver moonlight by,
In thy loneliest hour, there's a helper nigh,
But their murmur is hushed as on the breeze “ Jesus of Nazareth passeth by.”
Breaks forth that smothered cry!
Stranger !--afar from thy native land,
And glittering plumes are waving
Whom no man takes with a brother's hand,
Above its chrystal bed,
Table and hearth-stone are glowing free,
As a serried band of foemen dark
Casements are sparkling, but not for thee;
O'er its shallow stream is led.
There is one who can tell of a home on high,
But faintly in the distance
“ Jesus of Nazareth passeth by."
The tramp of steeds is heard,
And a feeble hope of succor nigh
Sad one, in secret bending low,
The captive's spirit cheered.
A dart in thy breast that the world may not know,
Wrestling the favor of God to win,
It came-as comes the whirlwind-
His seal of pardon for days of sin;
Rapid and instant, there-
Press on, press on, with thy prayerful cry,
And sabres flashed, and shouts rang out
“Jesus of Nazareth passeth by.”
Upon the midnight air.
A plunge into the water-
Mourner!-who sitt'st in the church-yard lone,
A struggle with the wave-
Scanning the lines on that marble stone,
And Davie's men to the rescue
Plucking the weeds from thy children's bed,
Urge on their chargers brave.
Planting the myrtle and rose instead;
Look up from the tomb with thy tearful eye,
'The Briton turned him fiercely-
“Jesus of Nazareth passeth by."
But who of his dastard train
Survived at dawn to tell the tale
Fading one, with the hectic streak,
Of his fellow dastard slain ?
In thy vein of fire and thy wasted cheek,
For the strong grasp of the foeman
Fear'st thou the shade of the darken'd vale?
Hath hurled them in the stream,
Seek to the guide who can never fail;
And they sank with many a nameless oath,
He hath trod it himself, he will hear thy sigh,
And with many a bubbling scream.
“Jesus of Nazareth passeth by."
Their blood hath dyed the waters,
* St. Luke,
And on the dark wave borne
The corpses grim of rider and steed
Are floating there at morn.
Original.
But the captive's bonds are riven-
SONNET.
She greets her home again;
And bright young smiles are beaming there
Stars are the many weeping eyes of night,
To soothe that mother's pain.
Which, when sad darkness walks supremely forth,
Oswego, 1838.
J. M. CASEY. Il Shed dew-drop tears upon the breast of earth,
To flee away at touch of sunbeams bright;
RELIGION, conscience, affection, law, science, poetry, Like them we weep when Grief broods o'er the heart,
including the kindred arts, are for ever rectifying the dis- | Spreading his shade on all things sweet and fair,
orders and miseries of mankind. But the mode in which Till comes Joy's morning light with welcome glare
the poetic art does this, is by presenting to mankind a | To bid the offspring of the eye depart,
world of its own, in which good and evil, true and false, | That leaves upon the flow'rs of life a stain,
fair and ugly, harmonious and discordant, and all such (Which in the varied retrospect appears,
analogous pairs of contrasts are mingled by just and in. Tinging their leaves with thoughts of mournful years)
telligible principles of combination, and point to their own A pale memento of forgotten pain.
solution-not indeed a solution always for the under. These tell us Man was made at times to sigh,
standing, but always one adequate for the feelings, and that he might hail with greater thanks a smiling sky.
purifying and exalting them.
C. H. A. B.


50
DID I POSSESS THE TREASURE.
DID I POSSESS THE TREASURE.
BARCAROLE OF DONIZETTI,
SUNG BY MISS CLARENCE WELLS,
ARRANGED BY J. Watson,
ANDANTE AFFETUOSO.

Did I possess the treasure of Monarchs or Pe - ru,
I'd yield them all with

pleasure, Dear
love to purchase you.
For life is sad and weary, When thou art far & -

........ None the heavy hours to cheer, Ah!.....


48
THEATRICALS.
THEATRICALS.
|| Power would make an excellent manager could we be assured
that he would show half that energy in catering for the stage
Park. We have had very little novelty at this theatre since that he exhibits in the sustension of his own popularity-bo
the publication of our last number, excepting Madame Vestris comes among us, his trunk lined with eccentric dramas, written
Mathers' performance of Lady Bell, in Murphy's comedy of for the
o for the exercise of his own genius, and so carefully, that he
“ Know your own mind.” She sustained the character equal.
himself is never dependant upon the performers for any effect
ling the expectations of her warmest admirers and to the great
to be produced beyond that which is to be provided by their
disappointment of those pseudo critics, who, in overrating their
subordinate agency. Perhaps this is the great secret of bis
own judgment had underrated the talent of the actress. Ma-
signal success—his unbounded popularity and his fame. His
dame Vestris' Lady Bell was an exquisite portraiture, with all
Rory o' More, his Irish Lion and White Horse of the Peppers,
the flow of nature refined by those delicate pencillings of the
are all of the same character-monodrames! Himself, the
artist, which call forth no rapturous bursts of applause at the
Alpha and Omega--the soul and substance—the all and all.
A
moment, but charm by their simplicity and ease, their intellec-
tual beauties, and their modest grace.
NATIONAL.-Since the publication of our last number the af.
The fact, however, cannot be disguised, that Mr. and Mrs.'
Tre fairs of this theatre have glided smoothly on, with an uninter-
Mathews' first engagement did not terminate with that brilliant rupted tide of success. Forrest's profitable engagement termi-
career of success which had been so firmly anticipated by those nated only to give way to one still more profitable, that of
well acquainted with their extraordinary powers, and that | Celeste. The fame of this extraordinary gifted woman, for
great versatility of talent eminently distinguishing their pro- su
such she undoubtedly is, and the eclat of her late European
fessional pursuits. The cause is found in the effect. Their ef-
visit, naturally excited in the public a feeling of curiosity to
forts were too limited--the characters assumed, particularly
witness her performances, to compare them with what they
those of Madame Vestris, too hackneyed; and upon previous had formerly been, and to note the wonderful improvement
occasions too ably represented by established favorites, to elicit said to have taken place.
any extraordinary sensation in their favor. It is little to the Her first appearance, to a house literally crammed in all parts,
purpose that she was the original representative of those parts was in a speaking character, that of Madeline, in “St. Mary's
-that she had embodied the ideal creations of their authors. Eve," a drama of very ordinary merit, but which had been most
The public attend a theatre to be amused, and are but very strangely eulogized by the London newspapers. The part she
little affected by the consideration of whether Mrs. Keeley or sustained was not as formerly, pantomimic, but one in which
Miss Tree are copyists of the characters finding their original her voice was heard, and heard to great advantage. Her for.
in Madame Vestris. They found the characters themselves eign accent, her natural and unaffected manner, and her grace-
delightfully sustained by those ladies, and if not with the same ful gestures, all combined to render her performance a perfect
excellence to be discovered in the original, yet with such slight triumph. The career of her success continued uninterrupted
shades of difference, as to awaken no desire to see them repea- from the commencement to the termination of her engagement,
ted by their founder. The songs in the several pieces in which and her last appearance was to an audience as crowded as on
Madame Vestris has appeared, are the only great and distin-1 the first night.
guishing features. They were delivered with a sweetness-a
The next attraction which the industry and enterprise of Mr.
pathos and effect perfectly unequalled. Her beautiful air of Wallack provided for his patrons, was one of the very highest
" I'd marry him to-morrow," in the operetta of "The loan of order. The three most celebrated of English vocalists, Miss
lover." is an unexampled instance of the power of music 'i Shirreff. Mr. Wilson, and Mr. Seguin, made their first appear-
over the feelings. The exquisite taste of execution-the sim- ance on the American stage in Rooke's new and justly celebra-
plicity, the pathos, the peculiar tenderness with which it is 'ted opera of " Amilie ; or, the Love Test," a composition which
invested by the inimitable artist, ranks it with the finest exhi.
the musical cognoscenti of Europe have pronounced to be
bitions of the art. But we go to the theatre for something
superior to the best productions of the best English masters;
more than mere ornaments of the stage, however beautiful-we
exhibiting in every bar, genius, science, sentiment and refiec.
seek at the Park more substantial amusements, and we know
tion. The newspapers have already made their readers ac-
that Madame Vestris is capable of far greater exertions thanquainted with the biography of the above eminent vocalists, for
those which characterized her first routine of parts. The Park which reason we shall refrain from doing so. But as we are
is not, and never can become a Theatre d' Vaudeville. The not aware the
not aware that any thing has been said of the professional
taste of a New-York audience is of a higher standard, and de-
career of the composer of “Amilie," we give the following
mands the sterling drama.
facts derived from an authentic source. Mr. Rooke, who is
Miss Ellen Tree's engagement followed on the departure of now about the meridian of life, is a native of Ireland, and of a
the Mathews'; and we wish we could with truth say, that in respectable family. In his youth he conceived a most ardent
the adınirable comedies in which she appeared to so much love for music, and pursued the study of it clandestinely, in
advantage, she could have been better sustained by the stock consequence of the violent opposition of his father against what
company. Mr. Simpson entered into short engagements with the considered a useless and unprofitable pursuit. The sound
Messrs. Scott and Abbot, to support Miss Tree, and thereby' of a musical instrument heard in a remote part of the house,
admitting the inefficiency of his present company for the pur- frequently led to a discovery of the delinquent, and which in
poses of regular drama. We have already so copiously re- variably produced a severe whipping by way of admonition
viewed the performances of this lady in the several characters Hunted from cellar to garret, young Rooke at lenght found
in which she has appeared, and which were repeated as the 'a spot where he could securely, if not comfortably, pursue
attractive features of her engagement, that we have nothing the bent of his inclination. It was on the roof of his dwel-
Jeft in the way of encomium and as little in disparagement. Sheiling, under the lee of th
sustained her reputation with her usual energy, and if she ced, he first commenced his practical exercises on the Bas-
gained no new laurels, it resulted from the absence of any new soon, which instrument, rather the w
character in which her energy and talent could be successfully had purchased out of the trifle allowed him for pocket money.
employed. We want to see Ellen Tree in a new character- | To a mind less ardently constituted than our young musician's,
one neither deriyed or borrowed-one of her own embodyment these incessant annoyances would have presented an insupera-
-an original part. Let her look to our native authors; she will ble bar to his advancement; they, on the contrary, rather ser-
roap a harvest in fame and fortune and stamp her originality by: ved to stimulate his exertions, until at length he succeeded in
patronising the efforts of native genius, and embodying the acquiring a practical knowledge of most instruments of music,
conceptions of some one of the dramatic poets of America, and it is to this fact that musicians attribute the admirable and
Power, the life and soul of Irish whim, succeeded Ellen Tree,' perfect instrumentation of "Amilie."
and always active in search of novelty, produced two new and i Mr. Rooke's musical career commenced in his native cits,
successful pieces during the short period of his engagement. Dublin, in those very celebrated choirs of Saint Patrick's and


LITERARY REVIEW.
48
Christ church cathedrals, two of the best schools for theory and opera: and first of Miss Shirreff, “the admired of all admi-
rudimental vocalization now extant. To this is undoubtedly rers." Her voice is a rich soprano, round and powerful, exten-
attributable the solidity which characterizes many of his pas. ding nearly two octaves and a half, from a to c, and possessing
sages in “ Amilie." After serving the usual term as a chorister,'much sweetness and flexibility. Her intonation is good, and
he engaged with the manager of the Theatre Royal, Dublin, as her method of singing discreet and judicious. Her embellish-
one of the orchestra, and shortly after was advanced to the situ-iments are always in keeping with the character of the music :
ation of Repetateur, or second leader. He then took up his and her acting is much better than any vocalist we ever saw.
abode in London and played on the violin in the orchestra In her person, Miss Shirreff is about the medium standard, well
of Drury-lane theatre, when Mr. Wallack was stage manager. formed, with an intelligent and loveable face, beaming eye and
Here, in all probability, he first drank his inspirations for ope- teeth like pearls. Her pronounciation is correct and perfectly
ratic composition. He was always "trying his hand” at opera, 1 distinct, and her gestures are graceful and expressive. It may
but never had the resolution or tact of worldly men to obtain with truth be said of this lady, that she has the car of the pub-
more than a circumscribed publicity, if so can be termed the lic. So firmly has she established herself in general favor, that
enthusiastic admiration of a few ardent lovers of music. Thus to express a doubt of her excellence, would be deemed rank
in comparative obscurity, he was, as it were," wasting his sweet heresy.
desert air » u l Mr. Wilson, the vocalist, became li Mr. Wilson well merits the distinguished reputation which he
acquainted with him, and was at once struck with admiration brought from Europe. Ilis voice, a high tenor of delicious
at his original and beautiful talent. With the modesty of true quality, extends from c on the third space of the g cleff, down
genius, Mr. Rooke reluctantly submitted his opera of "Amilie" to a on the fifth line bass cleff, and is sufficiently flexible to exe-
to the inspection of his new friend, who, enraptured by the cute with ease passages requiring it. His intonation is correct,
blaze of musical splendor it exhibited, resolved upon using his and his style of a very pleasing description.
best endeavors to have it produced at one of the great theatres.
| Mr. Seguin is undoubtedly the best basy singer we have ever
He accordingly introduced Rooke and his fair child to Mr. had in this country. Possessing a voice of magnificent quality
Macready, the manager of Covent Garden. The composer extending from e, natural, down to treble d, bass cleff, he exer-
seated himself at the piano, and played the opera through.'cises it with a skill and effect that have won for him the admi.
Scarcely had he finished it, when Macready expressed himself i ration of the best of our musical judges. His intonation ap-
highly delighted-promised that the piece should be produced pears to be faultless, and his method that most approved by the
with all convenient speed, and with a liberality that did him first masters. Mr. Seguin is a prodigious favorite with the
honor, tendered to the astonished musician a check on his ban- public, and will become so wherever he is heard.
ker for five hundred pounds for the copy-rigbt, with a promise We regret that the limits we have prescribed to such matters
of five pounds for every night the opera should be performed. prevent our extending to the orchestra, chorus, and the perfor-
It is scarcely necessary to add that the offer was accepted with mers generally engaged in the opera, more than a passing word
gratitude. The piece was immediately put in rehearsal, and of commendation. They have acquitted themselves in a man-
after a preparation of ten weeks, was produced with a success ner that reflects credit on themselves and the establishment of
com mensurate to its merits merits.
which they are members.
Congratulations poured from all sides on the modest and un- FRANKLIN.--The engagement of that talented vocalist. Mrs.
pretending composer; who, delighted with the happy termina Gibbs, is a convincing proof that a liberal spirit of enterprise.
tion of his labors, could scarcely realize his good fortune, when will accomplish almost impossibilities. The introduction of
on the morning after the production of " Amilie," Cramer and operatic pieces at this neat little theatre, has been attended
Addison, the music publishers, presented him with a thousand
with success, far beyond the anticipations of the managers.
guineas, the purchase money for the copy-right of the music- Mrs. Gibbs possesses a fine and melodious voice-her singing
making, in addition to the sum previously received from the is sweet-her articulation is clear; and she never appeared to
manager, fifteen hundred guineas, or seven thousand five hun- greater advantage than on the evening we witnessed her per-
dred dollars. Mr. Rooke has, it is said, several other operas formances in Rob Roy and the Olympic Devils.
composed some years ago, but still unknown to the public,
who are now on the qui rive for their production. But let
LITERARY REVIEW.
us return to our original subject-the first performance of
"Amilie" in America.
How To OBSERVE, by Miss Martineau : Harper & Brothers,
of the entire success of the opera there is but one opinion. The volume itself is good enough, full of very sensible obser-
oud as our play-going recollections are, we cannot remembervations, interspersed, now and then, with a coarseness of die-
any dramatic production more successful. It is not our inten- tion which might be excused in a man, and which, of course,
tion to enter into a critical analysis of the music. We shall must be excused in her who mingles so much of the masculine
only observe, that from beginning to end a constant succession with her thoughts as to entitle her to assume all the liberties
of exquisite melodies and harmonic combinations, delight and which are generally allowed to gentlemen. It would have been
astonish the hearers.
well for Miss Martineau's reputation as a journalist, had she
The great charm of the opera is its originality. There is not studied “How to observe," thoroughly before entering upon
in a single passage, the slightest semblance of imitation. True, her travels in America.
in its sentiment we are reminded of Mozart. Its occasional
| We have also received a copy of the same work from Lca
fire and passion bring Weber to our recollection ; but nothing and Blanchard, of Philadelphia.
is borrowed or stolen from either of these great models. What
THE GIFT, FOR 1839 : E. L. Carey & A. Hart.- This is, in-
most excited our astonishment was the newness of the melodies
deed, a most splendid volume, and will bear comparison with
-and this, after the millions of changes that have been rung on
any of the annuals issued from the London press. Miss Leslie,
seven simple sounds. It is miraculous!
the editor, has displayed her usual tact in the selection of the
Ten weeks were devoted in London to the rehearsal of this literary contents. It is embellished with nine fine engravings:
opera. Here, thanks to the indefatigable exertions of Mr. Pen- among them we perceive " Rustic Cirility," a copy of which
sop, leader of the orchestra, under whose direction the opera was published in the July number of the Ladies' Companion.
was produced, but little more than that number of days sufficed! Mrs. Sigourney, Miss H. F. Gould, Charles West Thomson,
to render the chorus competent to the discharge of its duty; Park Benjamin, Mrs. Gilman, Mrs. E. C. Embury, William B.
and in less than a fortnight the piece was produced with a per- Tappan, Robert Walsh, jr., Miss Leslie, Dr. Mackenzie and
fection in all its departments that called forth the delight and Jolin Inman, have each furnished spirited articles. The
admiration of an audience remarkable for the judicious appli- , Gilt, as a literary production, has ever stood amongst the
cation of its applause.
first of American annuals, and in the present instance, it fully
We come now to speak of the principal performers in the equals any of its predecessors.-G. & C. Carvill,



1
SEN
.
NO
ale
TE
RE
.
Bi
DESIGN
TE
00
LE
by
.larina
CAMA OF GALLIL EE...
1:; posestnice





THE LADIES' COMPANION.
NEW-YORK, DECEMBER, 18 3 8.
Original.
Il gination is aroused; it can almost hear the waters of
CANA OF GALILEE.
that sacred and solitary well gurgling and rushing up
from its pebbled bottom as they did more than eigh-
BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
teen hundred years ago, when the cool element was
drawn thence to fill the six water-pots which were made
What a blessed power of the mind is that which the instruments of that first and most beautiful miracle
associates events and feelings with things—which ever vouchsafed by our Lord. The mind is all awake.
steals with a melody upon the heart, as the South wind It follows the bearers from the only well to be found
breathes upon a bed of half-open flowers, bringing out even to this day, in Cana of Galilee, to the festival,
its hoarded memories and enlinking thoughts even as I where Christ appeared a partaker not a rebuker of in-
the breeze rifles them of the perfume and the dew which nocent mirth, and which he sanctioned, not only by his
but for it might be shed faintly from their delicate uns! | own presence, but by the presence of his apostles also.
How often the sight of a book which we have read with It sces the goblets empty and the smile dying away
some dear friend--a rose whose withered petals have | from the lip of the bridegroom, as a sense of his scant
been cherished, because the life was lavished upon a hospitality presents itself. It pictures the sympathy of
beloved bosom-of a card, containing a familiar auto-|| Mary the mother, and it can almost feel the waters
graph-the tones of a favorite air—the bird-song which | blush to wine beneath the Saviour's gaze of tranquil
we have heard years before among the mossy nooks and l power.
the green hollows which children love to haunt as bul-Atrain of thought has been kindled, and it will not ex-
terflies love the Summer air! How often each or any | pire here. It follows the great being on whom it has cen-
of these will awaken the sleeping poetry of the heart to tred, through every act of his life. Retrospectively it
those thoughts which purify and elevate, which par- sees Him
take of the gentle affections which link us to each other,
“Where his birth-place was a stable,
and of the more sublime and lofty worship which is not
And the humble hay his bed."
of earth.
A light from the star which led the wise men in their
Would you feel the sweet and holy force of associa- pilgrimage, is shed abroad in the soul, and it offers up
tion, lay your hand over the few words which give a ti-l incense not of frankincense and myrrh, but of a prayer-
tle to the plate before you. What is it? A beautiful ful and chastened spirit.
engraving, truly; as a well-executed specimen of art, the The life of Christ presents in itself a succession of sub-
eye might dwell upon it with pleasure, for there is a lime pictures, every one blending in tint and harmony
Iruth and beauty in the grouping and in the extreme with the other, till a perfect character is formed. Noth-
distance, well worthy of admiration. But with all this, I ing is wanting, nothing is overdone; we must believo
it is but a pretty engraving. A cluster of houses scarce- || in its truth because the most vivid imagination fails to
ly more than a village, a mountain sleeping in the mist, pourtray any thing so perfect. The ideal of the most
and a group of figures gathered about a well with water-| lofty mind stands rebuked by the calm, gentle, unob-
pots of a strange form, and garments which we easily trusive majesty of the real. Search for a character of
recognize as peculiar to the East. It appeals pleasantly similar consistency any where among the haunts of
to the taste, but the heart takes no share in the sensa- | men, and is it to be found ? Shakspeare, with his vast
tion created. Remove your hand! What is it now ? | conception and almost superhuman knowledge of the
Does not your heart leap as if a stream of sunshine had heart; he who could pourtray a Hamlet and create an
suddenly Aashed through it? Is that print the same to Ariel, has he ever conceived of a being so consistent, so
you that it was a moment since? Is there no poetry | human, and yet so Godlike? Milton, whose mind
aroused by the associations which crowd upon you with seemed to comprehend Heaven and exalt earth, with
the sight of those few words? If not, religion even as all his sublimity and depth of thought, has conceived of
a sentiment, has never whispered within your heart. nothing that can approach to a character like that of
If sweet and holy feelings do not come to you, as wa Christ. If the imagination of master minds like these
ters gush from a newly-open fountain, read no further; has failed to pourtray perfection like his, where else in
this page is not for such as live only in the present; it the realms of thought shall we seek? Where shall wo
will have no meaning to them! To those who feel, an look for it among the ideal ?—where among the real ?
invisible and sublime spirit has all at once sanctified Turn to the records of the past. Let the great men of
that print, the real is mingled imperceptibly with the by-gone ages appear in review before the mind. Men,
ideal. The paper and the graver's art is forgotten; all who have wrenched diadems from annointed brows, and
picture is before the mind shadowed by an atmosphere have lavished them abroad as if they had been garlands
of holiness; it has been sancified by the footsteps of our | of withered flowers-whose footsteps have shaken the
blessed Saviour, made holy by his first miracle. Thaima- foundation of ompires, and whose power has been fels


54
CANA OF GA LIL E E.
to the remotest corners of civilized life, sweep by with il ness his prayer and his agony of spirit; dwell on his
the iron seal of war upon their foreheads, and garments patient and gentle speech when he returned from that
died deep in the blood of nations. Statesmen, who scene of pain, and found even his deciples asleep. Re-
have wielded the destiny of empires by the might of flect on his meekness and forbearance when the traitor's
mind alone-pilgrims, who have made life a penance kiss was on his cheek-on the hand so readily extended
and a toil-martyrs, who have sealed their faith in fire to heal the ear of the maimed soldier. Go with him to
and death, and who have gone into eternity shrouded in the place of trial, and to that last fearful scene which
the glory of their own self-sacrifice-holy men and ho-caused the grave to give up its dead, and the solid earth
ly women-the great and the good of all nations and of to tremble beneath the footsteps of his persecutors.
all ages, glide by, purified and exalted by the shadowy Dwell upon his life and upon every separate act of his
glory of the past; yet the mind turns away from the life, and ihe soul must become embued with a sense of
solemn procession unsatisfied with a greatness which is its truth, beauty and holiness. It will be made better
merely human, and dwells with a love which is of the by the study; for it is sweet to reflect upon perfect
faith and of the reason, upon that being who stands goodness-sweeter to feel that the heart can be turned
among the history of the world alone, unapproached to pure and useful thoughts by the musical combination
and unapproachable.-The Great and The Good. of three words, “ Cana of Galilee."
The great men whom history or life presents, we feel
to be so only in a series of acts called forth by circum-
stances, or in the concentration of strong energies on a
Original.
given object. The prominent traits of character which HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
place them before the world are blazoned in a glowing
NUMBER II.
outline, but the filling up is wanting, or if shadowed
forth, we find great acts arising from unworthy motives,
THE HEROISM OF RUTH.
strength combined with weakness, and in every in-
stance, some one fault to mar the harmony of the whole.
“In Rama was there a voice heard-lamentation and weeping
We can find men perfect in some one quality, but not and great mourning-Rachel wceping for her children, apd
would not be comforted, because they are not."-JEREMIAH,
one faultless in all things. In the character of our
Xxxi. xv.
Saviour, the mind and the heart rest satisfied; the more
it is studied the more holy and beautiful it becomes. There was a voice of mourning in Moab. A young
Does the mind ask for submission, seek it in his child- | man revelling in the pride of youth and health, was sud-
hood, while he was subject to his parents--for youth-denly cut down in his prime. Yesterday, a bright and
ſul dignity-see him standing in the midst of the tem- glorious creature, treading the earth with firm and
ple, sublime in youth and power, reasoning with the haughty foot; girded with the might of a strong arm
doctors and lawyers with a wisdom which astonished and powerful intellect-and now, motionless and help-
even those who questioned him on subjects which had less he lies, on his flower-strewn bier. Around him are
been to them the study of a life time. Does it ask a weeping friends; and the wail of hired mourners is
republicanism, see him choosing his followers from the the only sound which disturbs the silence of the death-
rank of humble working-men-for humility and chris- || chamber.
tian forbearance, find him washing his deciples' feet, || At the head of the bier sat a melancholy group-his
and sitting at the same board with publicans and sin- aged mother, Naomi, and her daughter-in-law. The
ners-for true and gentle charity-listen to his voice years of Naomi had been many, nor bad the days of her
when he says to the sinful woman, “ Woman, where pilgrimage been cloudless. Sull, grief had not yet
are thy accusers ? Go in peace and sin no more.” Does bowed her down. Many a lightning shock had struck
it ask a heart full of gentle and domestic sympathy, her, and strewed the leaves of her beauty, and torn
follow him to the grave of Lazarus, or to the bier of the away her branches, but, firm and trusting in her God,
widow's son-for benevolence, let the mind dwell for she bent to the blast but to arise more erect than before.
a moment on the cleansed leper, on the blind restored Many years since, a grievous famine drove her forth
to sight, and on that heart-stirring scene where he stood from her pleasant home in Bethlehem to seek subsis-
in the midst of a multitude while the sick were let down lence beyond the Jordan, but, although leaving her home
through the roof that he might heal them-for firmness, || for a strange land, her hope and her courage failed pot,
go to the wildernes where the Son of God fasted and for her husband, Elimelech, and two sons were with her.
was sorely tempted forty days and forty nights—for One after another, these had been taken away by
energy, witness it in the overthrowing of the money. death. Naomi's heart was filled with sharp anguish,
tables, while those who had desecrated the temple were but she knew her King Jehovah bad called them from
cast forth from the place they had polluted-for wis. her side, and her loyal heart submitted without a mur-
dom, read it in every act of his life, and in every line mur. Mahlon, her last son now lay before her a corpse,
of his sermon on the mount-for prudence, see it in but she sits erect beside it. Cast upon the floor in an-
his answer given to the chief priests when they brought guish of soul, her head buried in her mother's lap, Ruth,
him the tribute-money-for patience, forgiveness, and the widow of Mahlon seemed some tender flower, torn
all the gentle attributes which form the Christian cha- | from its resting place by cruel tempest, and clinging for
racter in its perfection, follow him to the garden; wit-|| support to the nearest thing. Orpah, widow of Chili-


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
55
on, sat on the other side of Naomi, wetting with her ters," she said, advancing towards them, " pardon the
tears the long, glossy locks of the fair Ruth, as she bent|| selfishness of age and sorrow. I have suffered my griefs
over to comfort her, or, looking up in wonder at the no so far as to usurp all feeling—all thought that not until
ble fortitude of the high-souled Naomi.
now have I seen the extent of the sacrifice you are
But, although Naomi bowed not at the storms of fate, making, in leaving your home to accompany me. Re-
there was a blight at the core. She felt not her griefs turn, beloved ones, ere it be too late, each to her
the less, that she gave them not utterance. Even now, | mother's house, and the Lord deal kindly with you as
as she sat apparently calm beside the bier of her last ye have dealt with the dead and with me."
cherished one, her eyes fixed upon the funeral linen Ruth threw herself in Naomi's arms and wept; and
which enveloped his body, her thoughts wero with her for one moment a flush of joy passed over the face of
early home, her beloved husband and her darling boys. | Orpah. Checking it, she turned to her mother-in-law,
Happier days arose upon her-loved forms came to “Nay, mother,” she said, “ urge us not to leave thee,
view, and voices of cherished lost ones were in her ear. | for chou art old and lonely, and we will return with thee
Mournful and lonely felt she then when the death-trump, to tny land.”
summoning them forth, aroused her, and the last link “Not so, my daughters. I have not many years to
which bound her to earth was torn away. Her heart live, but you are young and should marry again. In a
yearned for her home and friends of other days, and she strange land, alone, what would ye do if I die and leave
inwardly resolved to leave the land where she had suf- | you. I have no more sons to give you, to protect you
fered so much misery, and return to her loved Judea when I am gone."
again.
"Mother of my Mahlon," said Ruth, raising her head
from Naomi's bosom where she had wept in silence-
A few days after the burial, a train of camels was "bid me not leave thee! with thee is every recollection
seen winding up the side of a steep hill on the borders of past happiness, passed never to return. I have gazed
of Moab. It was Noami, with her daughters-in-law, with thee on his form in its pride, and with thee have
wending their toilsome way to the land of Judea. The wept in despair over his bier; can I then lose the light
summit gained, the females alighted, and while the ser- of that face and that voice which ever brings his re-
vants were preparing supper under the cedar-trees, ad-) semblance to my heart ?"
vanced to the brow of the hill to gaze around them. The mother and widowed daughters liſted up their
They looked upon a gloomy scene. Below them lay voices and wept. In a little while, however, Naomi re-
the famed Dead Sea-dark, stern, and motionless, nonel sumed her solicitations, and Orpah, after many passion-
could look upon its cold, still surface without a shud- ate adieus, turned from her mother and sister, and de-
der. Bare, jagged cliffs, and hills of everlasting gran- 1 parted, but Ruch clave to her. “Ruth, my daughter,"
ite arose from its shores, shooting up their steril peaks
said Naomi, mournfully, “behold thy sister-in-law hata
in every direction as far as the eye could reach. Orpah / returned to her people and her God; follow her, then,
and Ruth gazed with sadness upon the desolate scene;
but a mournful smile broke over Naomi's face. “Mull “Entreat me not to leave thee!" exclaimed Ruth.
daughters," she said, “ behold the famed salt sea! and Il pressing her mother's hands to her lips—“whither thou
beyond, the hills of Judea ; my loved home I see theel
geest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge!
at last! Now, Lord, let thy servant die in peace!" l Tell me not of my people and my God, for thy people
This distant glimpse of the land they had chosen for should be my people, and thy God my God. Mother !
a home, was any thing but cheering to the forlorn young||
where thou diest I will die, and there will I be buried-
strangers; and turning from it with a sigh, they gozed
and the Lord judge me if aught but death part thee and
out over the verdant hills and plains of Moab, whose ||
rich vallies, noble temples and cities were now lighted
up by the sun's last rays.
Hour after hour passed away, and all were buried in
"Oh, Moab, my country!" cried Orpah. stretching
sleep except Naomi and her faithful daughter-in-law.
her arms towards it, while tears rughed over her face-
On the brow of the hill they still remained in deep con-
“ beautiful Moab, I shall never see thee more! for the verse on high and holy matters; for Ruth had asked
last, last time, I gaze upon thy hills ani palaces !" || her mother to instruct her in the faith of Israel.
Ruth gave not way to the passionae emotion of her! Her memory stored with the traditions of her people.
sister-in-law, but she stood with her arms crossed in
me crossed in | Naomi poured into the wondering ear of the young Mo-
resignation over her perfect form, der lovely check pale
abitess the extraordinary history of her race. She
with suppressed grief, and her çark eyes fixed mourn-
spoke of the pure first pair-of their fall of the tre-
fully upon the home she had lek, thus brightly contrast-
mendous deluge which cleared the earth of its inhabi-
ed with that she was seeking
tants-of holy Abraham, and Isaac and Jacob-of the
Naomi gazed upon her daughters-in-law, and her
dealings of God with the Egyptians, for the sake of his
heart reproached her for accepting their dutiful offer of || own peculiar people. She painted his love for them,
accompanying her to Bethlehem. They were young, |, which led them through the Red Sea-their long and
and had many years of life and happiness before them; // wandering journey-and told of holy Moses, who led
why should she tear them from their home and friends them on their perillous way into the promised land
to follow her footsteps in a strange land? “My daugh- which lay before thom. When the heart of her young
ere it b
too late."
me!"


56
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
proselyte bounded with joy at the thought of being num- || all the host, and, with a sounding crash, the walls of
bered with a people so favored by a powerful God, Na- Jerico lay low. Happy art thou, oh, Israel! who is
omi said "Nay, fall not into that error which has been like to thee, saith the holy Moses. Oh, people, saved
fatal to so many of my tribe. Jehovah is a God of by the Lord, the shield of thy help, and the sword of
love, and has showered down blessings upon us, and has hy excellence-thy enemies shall be found liars unto
placed us in this lovely land, but presume not on this— thee, and thou shalt tread upon high places!'”.
forget not, my daughter, he is also a God of justice, and
spares not his own, even his chosen, when they offend. With mingled emotions of joy and sorrow, Naomi
That dark and mysterious lake which lies below us is stood upon the shores of the Jordan. That stream, so
an awful monument of his wrath. See, far ahead celebrated in the history of her nation, told of home and
around-its waters spread-all that waste space was country, and she remembered the day when she had
once a lovely valley decked with many a city and good passed it with her husband and children-but now she
ly palaces-now all destroyed by fire and rolling waves. returned old, poor, and lonely. Repressing these feel-
Over its sombre, silent waters, never has vessel sailed ings, she plucked for Ruth the oleanders, myrtle, and
or aught living passed; for, below, in its vast depths tamarinds with which its borders were adorned, and
these cities lie, strewn with the bones of their guilty pointed out to her notice the broken walls, and ruined
dead. Old men have said, in their young days, those funes of Jerico; never to be rebuilt under pain of God's
few who have been bold enough to penetrate the heavy curse. A dark spot were these gloomy ruins on
deserts and barren rocks which bound its polluted shores, the fair plains which stretched around it, rich with ri-
have, when the sun shone strong upon its surface, dimly pened harvest, and gay with anemonies and the famed
Been columns and roofs and porticoes far beneath.” rose of Jerico.
Ruth clung to Naomi's side in silent dread. “Even | A toilsome journey through hills and ravipes, brought
his servant, holy Moses, God spared not. Moses, his them in sight of Jerusalem. Then did the heart of the
chosen leader of the Israelites, who so faithfully served | aged Jewess bound with pride and joy, while directing
him in the dreary wilderness, once failed in duty, and the eyes of the young stranger to that majestic mount of
as a punishment, was not suffered to erter the land of marble and gold, glowing in the bright sun of Judea-
promise. Daughter, seest thou yon dark mountain, and, used as Ruth was to the glorious palaces and cities
dusky Nebo, upon whose top daylight is just breaking ? | of her own sunny Moab, she yet could not restrain an
there Moses climbed and gazed upon the home of his exclamation of wonder and delight as this magnificent
people, which he had so striven to reach, but which he city met her view. Refreshed by this sight, Naomi
was never to enter; and upon that Jordan he was never pressed on with new vigor, and in a few hours tears of
lo pass. How he must then have mourned that weak- tenderness and grief were on her cheek, for she gazed
ness which, after all his toils, gave to another the glory | upon her native Bethlehem. Their haven was attained.
and victory. In the recesses of that mountain, great Yon green hill, clothed with rich groves of olive-trees,
Moses laid him down and died."
and crowned by graceful clusters of stately white build-
“The God of Israel is a terrible God," whispered the ings, is indeed her home, but where were those whose
awed Ruth.
noble forms were at her side when ten years before she
"Only to those who orr, my child. Were we but left these walls? The gate of Bethlehem was a poble
farther on our journey, I could point thee out the spoustructure, whose cool, deep arch was the favorite resort
where the pure remnant of our tribe reaped their re- of the citizens, who met to talk over the news of the
ward. Oh, could I have beheld them as they crossed day, or gaze upon the strangers who passed through.
Jordan! What a glorious sight, my child! At God's There were clustered many of the friends of the bereaved
command, the waters parted-our priests led the way, | widov, who gazed upon her with earnest eyes as she
bearing the holy ark of the covenant, which in turns rode anng. Time and sorrow had done much to change
they held in the river's bed until the people of Israel | her, but he was known at last.
passed. There were the sons of Levi in their snowy “Naoni! can it be !" they cried. “Welcome, long
robes—the tribes of Reuben, Gad and Manasseh, armed lost Naomi-thy name speaks truly now, for pleasant
for battle the children of Issachar with their tents, art thou to our sight once more."
and the sons of princely Joseph.
i “Call me noi Naomi, my friends," said the widow-
“A wondrous show, indeed, my mother."
call me Mara for bitterly hath the Lord dealt with me.
“And when we shall pass the Jordan's bank, I will I went out full, anl the Lord brought me home empty.
point out the towers of ruined Jerico—what a glo-| Why then call ye mı Naomi, seeing the Lord hath tes-
rious array was there, my daughter! How must the tified against me, and he Almighty hath afflicted me ?"
hearts of its people have sank within them when they
beheld our numerous host-our glittering warriors and Once more settled in ler native home, the widow's
train of priests bearing the ark and other symbols of | humble calmness returned. Her friends were rejoiced
our religion! Seven days did that mighty host of Isra- | to see her, and flocked around her, endeavoring to alle-
el march in solemn silence around the devoted city; in viate her sorrowful lot. The years of famine and trouble
silence unbroken save by the trumpet's warning note. which they had seen, left them little to give, but her
The funeral march and death trump ceased not until own, and Ruth's industry, placed them above want.
the seventh day, when, one mighty shout went up from Without the city gate arose a lordly mansion sur.


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
57
rounded by fields and groves. This belonged to Boaz, ||tween them, yet left her home and friends to accom-
a rich man, and relative of Elimelech, the husband of pany her mother-in-law into a strange land, and since,
Naomi; to whom, should they need succor, the widow hath been a daughter to her.”
determined to apply; but for the present, her humble | “Naomi! ah, I remember, word was brought me the
wants were fully supplied. The time of barley harvest widow of my kinsman, Elimelech, had returned, but
arrived, and Ruth observed her neighbors return every the cares of the city and other matters, have driven it
evening with grain gleaned from the fields around from my head. See to her well—let her glean among
why should she not do the same, and thus add to the the reapers, for such piety deserves reward. Let her
comforts of her mother-in-law ? Filled with the thought, not follow the men for she is too lovely, but place
the next day she sought Naomi.
her among my maidens." Ruth now approached, and
* Mother,” she said, “ I see my neighbors return each | Boaz called her to him. “Hearest thou, my daughter ?"
evening laden with corn ; let me then go into the fields he said, “ wander not about the fields, but glean here in
and glean after any one in whose eyes I shall find grace.” mine, and keep fast to my maidens. When thou art
“Go, my daughter.” said Naomi, "and the Lord athirst, ask the young men to draw for thee. I will
bless thy kind endeavors to lighten thy mother's lotpis ll speak to them that they serve thee well."
“Ruth, grateful and surprised for this notice from the
With a light heart Ruth passed out the gate, happy !
lordly master of the field, knelt at his feet, and bowed
in the hope of rendering her mother a service. It was
her head before him, saying, “ How have I found grace
a glorious morning, and one moment sho stopped to
in thine eyes that thou shouldst thus kindly notice a
gaze out upon the fair and extensive view spread be-
stranger ?"
neath her. Over plain, hill and city, the morning sun
“It hath been fully shown me, all thou hast done to
was glancing, but she sighed as her eye fell upon the
thy mother-in-law, since the death of thy husband," said
gloomy waters of the Dead Sea, which lay darkly gleam-
Boaz-"and how thou hast left thy father and mother,
ing in the distance, for beyond its rocky shores arose
and the land of thy nativity, and art come into a people
the hills of her own loved Moab. She turned hastily
thou knewest not heretofore. The Lord recompense
away and sought the nearest farm. It chanced to be
se || thy work, and a full reward be given thee of the Lord
the estate of Boaz, her husband's princely relative.
God of Israel under whose wings ihou art come to trust."
Already were the reapers hastening to their work, each
The heart of the grateful Ruth swelled within her.
bearing a leathern bottle or gourd, filled with water, and
“Let me always find favor in thy sight, my lord," she
as they passed her each turned to gaze upon her love.
said, “for thou hast comforted me, and has spoken
liness. Inquiring for the overseer of the harvesi, Ruth
friendly unto thy handmaid, although I be not one of
proffered her humble request that she might glean in
thy maidens."
the fields that day, which request, pleased with her
“Come hither at meal-time,” said Boaz, kindly,
sweet gentleness, he granted.
" and eat of my bread and drink of our vinegar.”
Soon after, the gates were thrown open, and Ruth, \ At midday the reapers all assembled to dinner, ac-
looking up from her work, beheld a stately man ap- l companied by Boaz. Ruth was called, and was served
proach. His tunic of the softest wool, his crimson silk | by the master of the farm, who gave her parched corn,
girdle richly embroidered with gold and silver, and his bread and vinegar and water, sufficient. When Boaz.
mantle of the finest linen, proclaimed him a man of departed, he gave Ruth into the care of the overseer,
rank and wealth. It was boaz, the owner of the farms. | with a charge to the reapers to leave a little for her to
“ The Lord be with you!” he said to the reapers as he I glean as she followed. In the afternoon all departed,
passed “The Lord bless thee!" they answered him. I and Ruth with them. She had beaten out her glean-
Advancing to the overseer, he inquired into the state of inge, which amounted to an ephah of barley. Smiling-
the harvest, and merits of the reapers.
ly she showed this treasure to her mother-in-law, who,
“I see my orders have been obeyed, and ye have in surprise, exclaimed, “ Truly, thou hast been success-
many of the poor gleaning after you," he said.
ful, my daughter! where wroughtest thou, to-day?
“Aye, they know my lord's kindness," replied the Blessed be he who thus favored thee."
overseer, " and flock hither in crowds. The praises of “The name of the kind man in whose field I gleaned
the generous Boaz are ever in their mouth."
was Boaz," replied Ruth.
“Blessed be the Lord who hath not ceased his kind-
“Nay, give God the praise," said the pious Boaz. |
ness to the living and the dead !" cried Naomi. “ The
“I but obey his words given by his servant, Moses.-
man is a near kinsman to us, Ruth.”
• When ye reap the harvest of the land, thou shalt not
“He will extend his kirdness," replied her daughter,
wholly reap the corners of thy field, neither shalt thou
“ for he bid me continue with his people until the end
gather the gleanings of thy harvest; thou shalt leave
of harvest."
them for the poor and the stranger: I am the Lord
“Keep, then, with his maidens, Ruth, and wander
your God,' he saith. But who is this lovely damsel
not in other fields. The Lord will reward thee, my
who followeth the reapers.”
child, for thy industry and piety."
“It is Ruth, the Moabitess, my lord; daughter-in-
law to Naomi, a pious and worthy young woman, wbo, The words of Ruth awakened a new hope in the aged
although her husband was dead, and all ties broken be- i widow's heart. A way was opened, she trusted, to


58
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
law.”
better the condition of the virtuous Ruth, and reward || therefore, thy skirt over me, for thou art the nearest kin
her for all her kindness. She remembered the law of to my husband.”
Israel, which, when a man dies, obliges the next of kin | When Boaz became aware it was the lovely and vir-
to marry his widow, and raise up an heir for his broth- tuous Ruth who thus sought him as a husband, his heart
er's name and estate. Naomi had never hoped the lofty warmed towards her, and his gratitude was great that
Boaz would marry the humble Moabitess, as, if it were she should have preferred him, almost double her age,
demanded, he could escape by paying the penalty; but to the many young men whom he knew admired her.
now, his great kindness to Ruth had inclined her to “Blessed be thou, my daughter," he said, " for thoa
think the beauty and virtue of her daughter-in-law had hast shown more judgment and kindness in thy latter
made an impression upon him, which would render him
end than at the beginning, as thou followest not young
willing to accept her.
men, whether poor or rich; and now, my daughter, fear
Her views were explained to Ruth, who agreed to | not. I will do all thou requestest me, for I am thy near
follow the directions of her mother-in-law, as she at kinsman, and all the city dost know thou art a virtuous
once saw how much service she could do to Naomi, should woman. Still, Ruth, there is a nearer kinsman than I,
her wealthy kinsman take her to wife. The repug. whom thou knowest not; tarry this night, and in the
nance she felt to banish her loved Mahlon from her morning I will speak with him, and if he will perform
heart and take another in his place, was not for a mo unto thee a kinsman's part, and take thee to wife, it is
ment cherished ; for, when the heroic Ruth resolved to well; let him do a kinsman's part according to law;
leave her home and friends to comfort the declining but if he will not perform his duty to thee, then will I,
years of her husband's mother, she inwardly vowed her as the Lord liveth! Lie down until morning." Ruth
own wishes should never be placed in opposition to lay gently at her kinsman's feet until daybreak, when
those of Naomi.
she gently arose to withdraw. Boaz, who was awake,
“Our kinsman, Boaz, winnoweth barley, to-night, on
called to her. “Hold out thy veil and take a measure
| of barley," he said. “Go not empty to thy mother-in-
the threshing-floor," said Naomi to Ruth. “Wash thy-
self, therefore, annoint thee, and put thy raiment upon
thee and get thee down to the floor; make not thyself
Ruth was enveloped in a large linen wrapper, or
known to him until he hath done eating and drinking; veil, one end of which she held out, while her generous
when he lieth down, mark the place, and when he is
kinsman poured into it six measures of barley. Then,
Her
asleep, lift up the manile which covers him and lie down receiving his blessing, hastily returned home.
at his feet under the cover. In our nation, it is a token
mother was rejoiced at her success. “Now remain
thou claimest his fulfilment of the law, and his pro-
quiet, my daughter, until thou find how this matter will
turn out,” she said, “ for the man will not rest until he
tection."
has finished the matter this day."
"All that thou biddest me, I will do," said the obe-
dient Ruth, " for on thy judgment I place implicit reli-
The hope of obtaining the beautiful and virtuous
Ruth for his wife, so animated Boaz, that he took
That evening Ruth took her way to the farm of Boaz.
measures to have the business settled immediately.
The threshing-floor was a large, even space in the field,
That day he appointed ten of the elders of Bethlehem
surrounded by low walls and out-houses. It was now
to meet him at the city gate. It was the hour when he
piled with grain, among which the reapers were busy, I knew the other kinsman of Elimelech would pass.
some driving oxen, others beating it out with a flail, or He had but just saluted the elders, and taken his seal,
tossing it on high that the wind might blow away the
when Hezron, the kinsman, passed. “Ho! turn aside,
chaff, while the grain fell in a heap on the ground. Hezron, and sit down here," cried Boaz. He obeyed
Boaz was there, directing and occasionally assisting his the call, knowing some business was to be transacted,
men. At nightfall they all partook of a feast together,
and entering the gate, seated himself in front of Boaz
master and men. When all were satisfied, they de-
and the elders. The former addressed him thus. “Na-
parted, some to their houses in the city, some to rest
omi, who has just returned from the country of Moab,
among the straw or under the large, spreading trees.
intends selling a lot of land which belonged to her hus-
Boaz had eaten and drank, and his heart was merry || band, our kinsman Elimelech. Thou art nearest of kin,
thus feasting with his men, and being very weary, he and I thought thou wouldst like to purchase it that it
threw himself upon a heap of straw, and spreading his
go not into a stranger's hand. If thou wilt redeem it,
large mantle over him, was soon asleep.
redeem it, if not, I, as next of kin to thee, will purchase
Ruth, who had concealed herself, now following her | it!" Hezron, after thanking Boaz, declared himself
mother's directions, whom, she knew understood the willing to buy the lot of Naomi. Boaz had hoped he
customs of Israel well, came softly, uncovered his feet, || would not, but now added, “ with this land goes an in-
and lay down. At midnight, Boaz, in turning himself, cumbrance, if I may so call it-for with it thou must
awoke, and discovered a woman at his feet-a woman take Ruth, the Moabitess, as this land was inherited by
who evidently had a claim upon him, for she had sought her husband, Mahlon, since dead; thou must take her
the protection of his mantle. “Woman! who art to raise up an heir to Mahlon, to inherit this land ac-
thou !" he exclaimed in surprise and dread.
cording to our Jewish law."
"Iam Ruth, thy handmaid," she answered. “Spread, "Nay, that I cannot do," said the kinsman, "lest I
ance.'


A SCENE FROM A NEW TRAGEDY.
59
mar my own inheritance. I give thee my right as next|||
Original.
of kin, for I cannot redeem it.”
A SCENE FROM A NEW TRAGEDY, ENTITLED
Boaz willingly agreed to take the land and Ruth. In THE CHRISTIAN SEN A TOR.
fulfilment of the law used on such occasions, he plucked
off the shoe of Hezron, in token he took from him the
BY HENRY F. HARRINGTON.
inheritance, and turning towards the elders and people
We are of the number, who trust in the theatre-and believe
gathered around, said with a loud voice, “ All ye as-
that it may be made a great and good institution-inciting to
sembled here, are witnesses this day, that I have bought noble emulation of the pure doctrines it is capable of teach-
ing. We believe its deformities to be grafts, not the natural
all that was Elimelech's and all Chilions, and all Mahlon's,
growth-easily to be lopped off. The following is an extract
of the hand of Naomi; moreover, Ruth, the Moabitess, from a tragedy, composed under such convictions.
the widow of Mahlon have I purchased to be my wife,
to raise up the name of the dead upon his inheritance,
ACT FIRST,-SCENE SECOND.—Hall in the house of
Marcellus. He is discovered sitting by a table,
that the name of the dead be not cut off from among his
leaning his head upon his hand. Livia is reading
brethren, and from the gate of his city. Ye are wit to him from a scroll.
nesses this day."
The elders and assembled people cried, “Yea, we Livia. (Reading.) “Then Brutus waved on high
are witnesses!"
th' ensanguined blade,
When all were silent one of the elders spake in a || Before the rapt and thronging multitudes.
solemn voice, “The Lord make the woman that is As swelled his voice in heaven-born eloquence,
come into thy house, like Rachel and like Leah, which He pointed oſt to fair Lucretia's corpse,
two did build the house of Israel; and do thou worthy Bright Honor's sacrifice, that full in sight,
in Ephratah, and be famous in Bethlehem; and let thy Bore dreadful witness 'gainst a tyrant race.
house be like the house of Phazer of the seed which the Assembled Rome in awe and wonder heard,
Lord shall give thee of this young woman!"
As 'twere the Sacred Oracle had spoke,
Then did the aged heart of Naomi rejoice! Once Or holy messenger from Jove Supreme.
more she hoped to see her children around her, and Resistless impulse swayed th' impetuous throng;
the joy of her youth renewed.
A throne to dust was hurled, and Rome was free !"
Ruth was married, and lived a long and happy life Marcellus. (Starting suddenly up.) Oh, Brutus!
with her husband and her mother, for never was the
Brutus! In that elder time,
aged Naomi forgotten, and all that wealth and affection
When murky darkness of tyrannic storm,
could bestow, was lavished upon her.
| The dawning clouded of fair Liberty,
The ardent wish of Naomi to behold a child of Ruth, The scathing tempest, howling in its might
and inheritor of Mahlon, was gratified, for a son was
Through the wide forest, laid not all in waste.
born to her. The neighbors of Naomi gathered around
Some giant trees bore up against the blast,
her to congratulate her. “Blessed be the Lord !" they
Bending, not broken! There were giant hearts,
said, " who hath not left thee this day without a kins. ||
Like fiery coursers chafing at the rein,
man, that his name may be famous in Israel. He shall
Impatient to break forth and feel them free!
be unto thee a restorer of thy life, and nourisher of thy
A thousand echoes wakened at thy voice !
old age ; for thy daughter-in-law, who loveth thee, and
| When thou didst speak thou wast a conqueror;
who is better to thee than seven song, hath borne him."
| And from Rome's hills, rose Freedom's infant song!
Naomi took the child and laid it in her bosom, and
Oh, wert thou now in Rome, that is not Rome,
became nurse to it. Thus did the virtuous Ruth reap
Where tyrants swim in blood, and Roman's--nay-
the reward of her heroic sacrifice of home and country
Degenerate sons of those were Romans once,
to solace the declining years of her aged, poor, and
Feel not their own infliction—where foul sin,
desolate mother. She partook of the promise to Abra-
Stalks in each dwelling-place, its household god,
ham, and in her seed were all the nations of the earth
Where knavery is honor, and as erst
blessed, for from her descendants sprang David, the
The war-scarred conqueror o'er Freedom's foes
king; and our blessed Savior, Jesus Christ. E. R. S.
| Was crowned with laurel, chaplets now adorn
Th’incestuous murderer! Where to be held
In league with virtue is to be despised -
Oh, were thy patriot spirit in this Rome,
vo lov
one a coxcomb, the other an honest man. The first
Thou wouldst be idiot ever!
was rich, the second poor. He took the honest man
Close the scroll,
for his son-in-law; for “I had rather," said he, “ have
My daughter; I can list no longer now.
a man that wants wealth, than wealth that wants a man." Is't not the hour thou shouldst to Julia go,
This, near to nightfall ?
Liv.
'Tis the promised hour.
It was a beautiful thought of old, to ascribe divina- || Shall I prepare to leave thee?
tion to the swan, because he welcomed death with his Mar.
Yes, my daughter;
sweetest song; foreseeing his happiness, and delighted | But first a word with thee. Thy father's eyes
with his release from life.
In far Hispania first op'd to light,
TA
of T
s had t


60
A SCENE FROM A NEW TRAGEDY.
Where was thy grandsire officer of Rome.
1 Mar. The Gods be with me! Whither shall I turn!
In far Hispania I grew to manhoud ;
Where curb wild roving thought, and sink to peace !
And there I joined me to a Roman maid,
The Gods be with me-Rome thou hast thy Gods,
Of noble birth and plenteous store of wealth:
And from the thousand altars on thy hills,
But in whose breast a brighter treasure glowed
In thy proud temples and thy paluces,
Than birth or riches-- Virtue! To my love
Incense and smoke of bleeding sacrifice,
She gave thy brother, Sextus and thyself,
Curl upward to the skies. Shall these be mine,
Then early died. Alarmed by noie of war,
These, by our chronicles from farthest time,
In trusty care I sent ye here to Rome-
Of deeds unblushing workers-deeds to men
Where late I followed ; to this mighty Rome,
Unholy, and by Reason's self abhorred?
The gilded charnel house of moral death !
May Gods be guiltless, for what man is vile,
The mistress of the world and Queen of Vice! Condemned of Gods and Men? If such be Gods,
I came, to find thee worthy; but alas,
Then sin is god-like, and in nanght parlakes
Thy brother, Sextus, in infection steeped.
Of gross enormity, save when it lacks
The pride ye both had shared, thou dost engrose. Discretion of concealment. Is this truth?
Be true thou to thy father !
Oh, Nature, when thine unpolluted step
Liv.
Fear me not!
Wakes gentle echoes in the wildwood shade
Mar. But I should fear for thee, my Livia.
Where'er in solitude of lonely vale
And thou shouldst be most watchful, not alone
Thou hear'st the music of the bubbling rill,
To guard from fall, but from th' assault of foes.
Thou tell'st of purity. Can works be pure,
That own defiled creators ? Sense abhors it!
When danger lurketh in each changing path,
With Wisdom, Caution league; to each the last
The Gods be with me ever! Not such Gods,
Is to be bankrupt in the former too.
For they are nothing !
[He glances about-then carefully draws a scroll
Liv. Armed by thy counsels and mine own resolves,
I scoff at danger!
from his bosom.]
Now I am alone;
Mar.
Livia, I grieve
And from thy hiding-place I draw thee forth,
At this thy raunting, more than I rejoice.
Thou strange perplexing history. Thy tale
O'erweening confidence defeats itself,
Is of that Christus of the Hebrew race
And to the danger it doth scorn, betrays.
By Pilate given to ignoble death,
Like that Rash general, who, fenced about
With mound and battlement, doch nit securo,
Who came, thou sayest on earth to point the way
To the night-circled home of Deity!
Nor cares to past the wary sentinel-
I love thy story, trembling while I love!
By subtle foe surprised, he meanly falls !
Virtue in woman is of golden worth:
I'll read thee carefully.
Most precious now, when shame hath honor's place,
[A knock is heard. He conceals the scrol.
And wears her state and her insignia.
I am disturbed.
(He rises.
Be watchful, fearful ever!
Spirit unknown, invisible! Where'er
[Enter TURBO. Ho! who waits ?
Thou makest thy throne and swayest destiny,
Mine honest Turbo, there is promise given
High 'bove yon broad unexplorable arch,
To noble Julia, wife to Flavius,
Or in earth’s centre, 'neath the unfathomed depths
That Livia for a time be guest with her.
Of mighty ocean, where are wondrous caves
Mimitable, with all glorious things
I give her to thy hand, with fervent charge,
That thou abate no circumstance of care;
Adorned 'yond man's imaginings-Creator!
For so degraded is this fallen Rome,
Speak to my soul! A man 'mong kindred men,
But in thy presence an untutored child,
That e'er the walls of their detilement prate,
And on the breathings of the insulted wind,
Speeds to thy myslery his earnest prayer!
Rides fell pollution!
Mume this night-bound soul!
Who waits ?-Come in! [Enter Flavius Sabinus.
Turbo. Trust me, noble master,
Flavius, thy hand! In joy I welcome thee.
She shall be safe bestowed.
My daughter has but now to Julia gone;
Mar. . Farewell, my daughter!
Thy wife, one foremost of the little hand
Liv. Farewell, dear father!
Of matrons honest to themselves and Rome.
Mar.
Spirit, if as one
But now to matters else. Hast thought bestowed
Supreme, co-partnerless, thou holdest rule,
| On that was subject of our late discourse,
O'er many by divided sway o'er earth
The Hebrew Christus and his novel creed?
Eternal reign, Spirit, or Spirits hear!
Flavius. What charm hath such a creed to Roman
Smile on a father's love, and bless my child!
ears?
No more-farewell!
Taught by one lowliest of a hated race?
Liv. The Gods be with thee ever!
I had not deemed it worth a second thought.
Exeunt Livia and TURBO. MARCELLUS thoughtfully || Mar. Why not, my Flavius ? The earth is dead-
resumes his seat by the table.
| The clods of degradation heap it o'er;


A SCENE FROM A NEW TRAGEDY.
61
And man's chief work is to be least a man.
| By grovelling defilement! Oft reproof,
'Tis moral death. Our altars and our gods,
Grave exhortation, all a father's love
Vain superstitions, are grown old and stale,
Availed not-and as one with hideous cancer,
Nor laws, nor conquerors, nor arts can save;
Here at his heart, tainting the founts of life,
The subtle logic of our schools may charm;
Bares his racked bosom to the torturing knife,
But cannot renovate; man now must know
And bids its keen edge 'mong his life stringe search,
Himself, and light eternal gild the world!
To root defection out; so from this breast,
From the clear doctrine of this lowly Jew,
I tore all love, and cast my Sextus forth,
Beams bright effulgence and resistless truth.
When he forgot he was a Roman son;
Why, the centurion, thy friend, hath writ,
No more accounted mine! Believe me now
What prodigies, that shamed all juggling,
One hearth is pare in Rome!
Acil.
Amazement spread and wonder at his will,
We came with thee
Proofs upon proofs accumulate. My Flavius, . On grave affairs to meditate ; but shrink
Behold, a treasure! (He takes out the scroll.) Tran- T'invade the sorrows of a wounded heart.
script of his life
Mar. Nay, let me hear thine argument. 'Tis grief
A copy true from one by Matthew writ,
Must bow to duty, duty ne'er to grief.
His friend and follower; procured at cost
Sorrow is pure in undevoted hours,
In Greece by Lucius, and to me dispatched.
'Tis guilt usurping else. Thine argument.
Fla. Let me-
Acil. The assembled senate hath this day received
[A knock. MARCELLUS conceals the scroll. Renewed disgrace and sharpest ridicule.
Mar. Nay, silence! Pray ye enter! (Enter Cais In person came the Emperor in the midst,
Pos and Acilius.) Welcome!
And in contemptuous mockery required
Sage Crispus and Acilius
Opinions grave, a turbot how to dress.
Be ye saluted, venerable friends.
Mar. What did the senate? As by magic sway,
Cris. (Glancing at Flavius.) Are we all friends ? | Roge not the indignant body in its wrath,
Mar.
'Tis Flavius Sabinus, Defiance hurled, and pealed the cry for Rome?
More kin in bond than kindness to Domitian.
Acil. What is the fallen and polluted senate,
But oh! what direful state doth it portend,
| That it should hurl defiance ?
When one another meets with look askance,
Mar.
Were all silent ?
Fearful lest each the other traitor find ?
Oh, would I had been there!
Fla. Crispus, how left you now the Emperor ? Acil.
I would thou had'st.
Cris. Not e'en a fly doth bear him company. Ay, all were silent-though a piteous few,
He hath killed all for pleasure.
Scowled at the fierce indignity!
Acilius.
Rome's too sunk
Mar.
In foulest depths from Emperor to serf
The insulted walls and roof and pillars down,
For me to bear with't longer!
In one revengeful ruin whelming all ?
Mar.
Dare one grieve
Rome thou art now no more! The little store
Save I alone,
Of thy untarnished honor lies inurned.
Thy hand, Acilius! I greet thee, brother!
Be named no longer Rome! for being else,
There are two Romans yet!
The dead is mocked when we do call thee so!
Cris. (To Marcellus.) Are all about theo Thou now art numbered with the things that were !
Of most undoubted worth? Lurk no false spies Thy wondrous glory, thy unequalled arts,
Among thy servants ?
Thy god-like virtues, and thy mighly deeds-
Mar.
No, upon my soul !
Thy thousand victories, thy conquests, stemmed
One hearth is pure in Rome! One roof o'erspreads By each of aught to conquer, and thy Freedom,
A household uncontaminate—and rears
Proudest of thy possessions, fed for ever,
Itself in air, in sunlight brightly basking,
These in thy chronicles alone, endure !
For it doth hide no shame! One door doth swing For with thy glory, virtue, freedom, might,
Back on its hinges, and no breath exhales
Thou'rt withered, faded, and for ever gone!
Of inner pestilence! Ay, on my soul,
And few thy mourners are !
One hearth is pure in Rome !
Acil.
May we not save
[He speaks in a burst of pride, but having concluded Our country by a blow, and set her free!
suddenly sinks his head.]
Mar. If by a blow her freedom may be won,
Acil.
You droop, Marcellus.
Be mine the arm to strike. But how, or where?
Mar. (Mournfully.) I pray thee question not! Aim ye the dagger at Domitian's heart?
Acil. Nay—to a friend
Ye pave a bloody way for anarchy,
Reveal, what friendly offices may soothe !
Or one succeeding, mightier in crime!
Mar. My son! my Sextus! He was all my hope ! Will ye through Rome lift Freedom's banner up,
Of frame how vigorous! Of sense how keen! And call on Romans to throw off their yoke!
Of richest store of wit! Alas, he turned
Who now are Romans ? They are sunk to beasts,
To base dishonor; stained his manly parts
That caged, will rend the hand would set them froe !
Fell not


62
A SCENE FROM A NEW TRA G E DY.
Your little band would vanish like the dews,
I have not stood a suitor to Domitian,
And Rome's last sons by wanton impulse die!
Nor bated e'er a jot of dignity.
But now 'cis nightfall; let me see ye both
I would not serve that hated Emperor,
Upon the morrow to consult anew.
And where my sense rebels to offer duty,
Cris. Be this in firmest secrecy involved :
I scorn to bend in honor. No, l'etronius,
Farewell.
We'll have no lamps to-night.
Acil. Farewell!
Pet. Will naught persuade thee?
[Exuent Crispus, Acilius and Flavius. Bands of carousing and of lawless youths,
Mar. I had my passions schooled to temperance; Patrol the streets on all destruction bent,
And curbed the hot brained fiery impulses,
And enter where the darkened portico
That trample reason in excited play.
Betrays the proclamation disobeyed.
I had resolved to woo forgetfulness
Mar. And thou wouldot have me serve this Emperor,
of this vile state I dwelt in, and devoted
Who thus degrades his country and himself
To the deep searchings of the grasping mind-
By such Barbarian license! Say no more!
Study intense, and high imaginings-
For are thy words but traitors to thy hope,
To probe dark mysteries! And now, despite me, And all thou say'st makes resolution strong.
The blood is lingling to my fingers' ends;
I'll have no lamps to-night!
And mingled passions, turbulent and wild,
Pet.
I hear the shouts
Vehement rage and bold perplexing rule.
Of coming revellers! Shouldst thou be marked
Let ine grow calm again! (A knock.) Come in! For insult and aggression-
[Enter PETRONIUS.]
Petronius, Mar..
Who will dare
Thou who dost love my Livia, and hast won
Assault upon Marcellus?
Return endeared, the jewel of her heart,
Pet.
Ah! I fear
Welcome—and say, what sends thee thus in haste ? Too many careless of renown or worth!
Pet. My care for thee is prompter to my speed! Mar. Let them but hurl one missive at my doors,
Why is thy dwelling darkened?
Or raise unwonted outcry 'neath my porch,
Mar.
Thanks, Petronius, And by my soul, in wonder they shall find
Thy question is well timed. I had forgot
They've roused the lion that shall leap i'their midst,
The shades of evening round. Without! A light! And rend them piece from piece! Assault my dwelling!
Pet. Hast thou not heard the proclamation, spread Ho, there! (Enter TURBO.) Strong bar the doors !
By strictest order of the Emperor ?
Let watch be kept
Mar. Thou knowest, save by imperious duty driven, For rash intruders! Arm my household straight!
Across my threshold, few my ventures forth.
[Exit TURBO.
For it doth too much move me, to behold
Assault my dwelling! I am fired with rage!
Rome's degradation! I have nothing heard
I was accounted valiant in Hispania,
Of proclamation.
And little have I lost save some slight skill,
Pet.
'Tis supreme command,
More than atoned by sinews ripe in power!
That every house of high and low degree,
Let the vile renegades approach that dare !
This night illumined be. E'en now all Rome
I'm match for twenty of their carcasses.
Shines as in midday brightness; while thy house Debauched, enervate, half decayed in life;
Conspicuous stands in darkness.
Corrupt by base and wanton revelry!
Mar.
So shall it stand,
[Loud noise without; shouts and assaults upon the
Ere for Domitian one poor lamp be trimmed!
doors.]
I glory in the darkness—'will give note,
Pet. Behold! I stirred thee not with idle fears!
That here a Roman dwells!
Pet.
But 'twill subject thee,
They come, and by their loud and mingled din,
In numbers many. Since thou art resolved
To insult, shame, mayhap, alas, to death!
On bold defiance, thus my sword I draw,
Mar. Death hath no terrors to affright my soul!
To stand or fall with thee!
But 'tis too late now first to woo dishonor
To my embrace!
[Still louder noise. TURBO rushes in.
Pet. But in this slight effect
Turbo. Soon will the doors
Thy lofty virtue can endure no scath.
Be forced to earth, too weak for such assault!
Mar. Petronius, since first expanding sense
Mar. Here let us measure forces in this hall.
The force of Virtue and of Honor prize,
I will endue me in my chamber near,
From youth to this, the vigor of my years,
With my firm shield, good casque and tempered blade,
I can with earnest satisfaction view
And then rejoin ye. Has it coine to this! [Erit.
A life unsullied, and a mind confirmed
[The servants enter and range themselves on one side,
In purer thought and loftier resolve,
PETRONTUS and Turbo at their head. Soon after,
Of noblest race-for the Flaminian way
enter revellers with SEXTUS, son of MARCELLUS,
Hath hundred monuments of honored dead,
much intoxicated. He staggers down to the front,
My long and proud array of ancestry.
opposite the scrvants. ]


SLANDER.
63
Ist. Reveller. Resist ye, dogs, our will? Throw || warning to his own heart; and though he must grieve
down your arms!
over its wasted tenderness and abused confidence, yet
Or hacked in thousand pieces ye shall lie !
let him remember, that the Almighty, from his temple
2nd Red. Show us your larder, or no mercy hope! of glory, has His eye of majesty upon him, and that in
3d Rev. Your cellar and your larder. Srir, ye slaves. his case, and in all others, He will prove himself just in
[Enter Marcellus, armed. I mercy.
Mar. Ye drunken, lewd and grov'ling knaves! Ye But among all the evils with which man afflicts his
robbers,
fellow man, there is, perhaps, none, that causes so much
Dead in your lives, a cumbrance to the earth,
pain as Slander. I believe it may be taken as a general
What seek ye here? If ye be Roman sons,
rule, that in all cases of malicious falsehood, the calum-
Where is your shame, and where your heritage niator has become the enemy of his victim, by inflicting
Of continence and virtue? Have ye sunk
upon him some previous injury. This may be account-
To the base level of the midnight thief?
ed for on the same principle ibat we love those on whom
Or do ye ape the savage of the wild ?
we confer benefits; and there is no enmity so bitter, so
If ye be foreign slaves that have engrafted
unrelenting, as that of one who has injured a fellow be-
On Roman vice your fouler infamy,
ing, and unrepenting carries about the consciousness of
Reveal yourselves, ye harpies of our state
it in his bosom. In the presence of the injured man
That I may scourge ye first! But whence ye are he is humbled with the conviction of his own inferiority;
Or of what race or kindred, naught concerns me! he feels that he is looked upon in his littleness, and that
Thus I revenge your thief-like violence,
he ought to be despised; he is conscious that his heart
And thus defend mine honor and my life!
is before another in its blackness; and human nature is
Upon ye, robbers!
such, that there can be but little warm affection for an
[As he has been speaking, he gradually draws to the object we know does not, and cannot esteem us.
front; and as he starts to the combat, his cye falls !
But where is the remedy of the victim of slander ? In
But where is the remedy of the vi
on Sextus, who is supporting himself on his sword. his heart, in his principles, in his life. Not by going
Marcellus staggers forward, drops his sword and from man to man to contradict circulated falsehoods.
shield and clasps his hands.]
No man with truly delicate feelings will stoop so low as
I'm nerveless now!
to endeavor to convince others by words that he is not
I cannot slay my son !
that, which in the rectitude of his heart he ought not to
believe his neighbor capable of supposing him. Nor is
[The servants and revellers, who had rushed together
his remedy in, as it is called, tracing the slander to its
remain in silence with crossed swords, gazing in
source. In most cases it is difficult, and always painful to
astonishment on Marcellus.
do so; and when it is done, what is the end obtained ?
The privilege of feeing lawyers ; of collecting witnesses
Original.
to prove that he himself is not a bad man, and that his
antagonist is; to hear actions, that have sprung from ex.
SLANDER.
alted feelings and high-souled motives, tortured into er-
It is an idea full of consolation, that God never allows | rors, or perhaps crimes; to see the most pure and sacred
an evil to visit us, but he at the same time supplies us actions of his life dragged from their sanctuary and dis-
with some source of consolation. A man may be called torted, till the injured man almost doubts his own iden-
upon to yield up the wife of his young affections, or the tity.
children of his love ; but with this blow comes bright | And what is the punishment the law inflicts upon the
hopes of an immortal reunion, of years and years spent | slanderer? The forfeiture of money! Can that pay
in the bliss of an eternal world. Religion is his conso for the agonies suffered by his victim? No, not if each
lation. A man may lose property by a sudden blow of base sy!lable uttered could be hardened into a diamond,
misfortune, or by gradual decay. It is a loss severe and rich as that on Russia's diadem; not if each pulse of
unfortunate. But he knows the extent and sces his the slanderer's heart could tell down rubies, as a com-
remedy. With nerves new strung, and resolution shar- il pensation for the evils of his falsehood. Then why seek
pened by adversity, he retrenches his expenses, increases this means of redress so long as the law offers one so
his exertions, becomes more frugal, and retrieves his feeble ?
losses. Connected with this, may be other evils thal | The slandered man must submit to see his reputa-
fall more heavily upon the feeling heart. Friends may tion injured for a time; he must teach himself 10 see
have dropped from the unfortunate in his hour of adver- the eye of esteem turned from him; to have the warm
sity; ingratitude may have thrown its mildew over him. I grasp of friendship less frequently warm his heart; to
Those he may have taken to his bosom when frozen and receive the formal bow instead of the cordial greeting,
almost lifeless, may, viper-like, sting venomously their But let him not despair; the world will at length judge
resting-place. The wound our peace receives from rightly. Let him call up his religion and his philosophy
those we have cherished and trusted, is indeed a pain to his aid, while steady in the rectitude of his heart he
ful one. Yet, even here, the good man may find an al-mingles with his fellow men, omitting no opportunity of
leviation, by taking the picture of moral deformity which doing good, and avoiding all appearances of evil. This
ingratitude offers, and setting it up as an example of will prove the antidote of slander.
S. A. s.


64
THE NOR MAN ARROW..
Original.
If fusion that still characterises—though in a less degree
THE NOR MAN ARROW. than in those days of feudal pomp—the preparations
BY THE AUTHOR OF “ THE BROTHERS," " CROMWELL," ETC.
for the chase. Tall yeomen hurried to and fro, some
leading powerful and blooded chargers, which reared,
'Tis merry, 'tis merry in good green wood,
and pawed the earth, and neighed till every turret
When the navis and merle are singing,
echoed to the din; some struggling to restrain the mighty
When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,
And the hunter's horn is ringing.--LADY OF THE LAKE. bloodhounds which bayed and strove indignantly against
the leash ; while others, lying in scattered groups upon
As beautiful a Summer's morning as ever chased the the esplanade of level turf, furbished their cloth-yard
slars from heaven, was dawning over that wide tract of shafts, or strung the six-foot bows, which, for the first
waste and woodland, which still, though many a centu- time, had drawn blood in England upon the fatal field
ry has now mossed over the ancestral oaks which then of Hastings. It might be seen upon the instant, it was
were in their lusty prime, retains the name by which it no private retinue that mustered to the “ mystery of
was at that day styled appropriately—the New Forest.forests,” as in the quaint phrase of the day the noble
Few years had then elapsed, since the first Norman sport was designated. A hundred horses at the least,
Lord of England had quenched the fires that burned in of the most costly and admired breeds were there para.
thirty hamlets, had desecrated God's own altars, making ded-the huge coal-black destrier of Flanders, limbed
the roofless aisles of many a parish church the haunt of like an elephant, but with a coat that might have shamed
the grim wolf or antlered red-deer, turning fair fields the richest velvet by its sleekness ; the light and grace-
and cultured vales to desolate and barren wastes, to ful Andalusian, with here and there a Spaniard, springy
gratify his furious passion for that sport, which has so and feet and fearless-while dogs in numbers infinitely
justly been entitled the mimicry of warfare. Few greater and of races yet more various made up the
years had then elapsed, yet not a symptom of their old moving picture-bloodhounds to track the wounded
fertility could now be traced in the wild plains waving quarry by their unerring scent; slowhounds to force
with fern, and overrun with copse-wood, broom, and! him from his lair; gazehounds and lymmers to outstrip
brambles; unless it might be found in the profuse luxu- i him on the level plain; mastiffs to bay the boar, “crook-
riance with which this thriftless crop had oversprcad kneed and dewlapped like Thessalian bulls ;" with terri-
the champaign, once smiling like a goodly garden withers to unkennel beasts of earth, spaniels to rouse the fowls
every meet production for the sustenance of man. It of air. Nor were these all, for birds themselves were
was, as has been said, as beautiful a Summer's morn-there, trained to make war on their own race; the long-
ing as ever eye of man beheld ; the sun, which had just winged hawks of Norway, with lanners from the Isle of
raised the verge of his great orb above rhe low horizon, || Man, merlins and jerfalcons and gosshawks. No tongue
was chequering the mossy greensward with long fan-could tell the beauty of the creatures thus assembled,
tastic lines of light and shadow, and tinging the gnarl.some scarcely half reclaimed, and showing their wild
ed limbs of the huge oaks with ruddy gold; the dew, nature at every glance of their quick flashing eyes,
which lay abundantly on every blade of grass and every some docile and affectionate, and in all things depend-
bending wild-flower, had not yet felt his power, nor ant upon man, to whom, despite caprice and cruelty and
raised a single mist-wreath to veil the brightness of the coldress, they are more faithful in his need than he,
firmament, nor was the landscape that lay there sleep- proud though be, dare boast himself towards his fel-
ed in the lustre of the glowing skies less lovely than the low; no fancy could imagine the superb and lavish gor-
dawn that waked above it. Long sylvan avenues geousness of their equipments.
sweeping for miles through every variation of the wild- A long keen bugle-blast rang from the keep, and
est forest scenery-here traversing in easy curves wide in an instant a hundred bows were strung, a hundred
undulations clothed with the purple heather, here sink- ready feet were in the stirrup;-again it rang, longer
ing downward to the brink of sheets of limpid water, and keener than before, and every forester was in his
now running straight through lines of mighty trees, and saddle; while from the low-browed arch, bending their
now completely overbowered as they dived through stately heads quite to their saddle-bows, over the echo-
brakes and dingles, where the birch and holley grewing drawbridge a dozen knights rode forth, the follow-
so thickly mingled with the prickly furze and creepingers and comrades of their king. Scarcely above the
eglantine, as to make twilight of the hottest noontide. middle size, but moulded in most exquisite proportion,
Such were the leading features of the country which thin-flanked, deep-chested, muscular and line and
had most deeply felt, and has borne down to later days agile, there was not one of all his train, noble or squire
most evident memorials of the Norman's tyranny. or yeoman, who could display a form so titted for the
Deeply embosomed in these delicious solitudes, sur-union of activity with strength, of beauty wi:b endu-
rounded by its flanking walls, aud moat brimmed from rance, as could the second William. His hair, from
a neighboring streamlet, with barbican and ballium and which he had derived his famous soubriquet, was not of
all the elaborate defences that marked the architecture of that marked and uncomely hue which we should now
the conquering race, stood Malwood Keep, the favorite term red, but rather of a bright and yellowish brown,
residence of Rufus, no less than it had been of his more curled closely to a classical and bust-like head; his eye
famous sire. Here, early as was the hour, all was al-was quick and piercing; his features, severally, were
ready full of life, full of the joyous and inspiriting con- well formed and handsome ; yet had the eye a waver-


THE NORMAN ARROW.
65
ing, and restless, and at times even downcast expres- |! we outlaws here ?" he whispered close in the ear of
sion; and the whole aspect of the face told many a tale Tyrrel. “'Fore God, but they shall rue it!" Scarce
of pride and jealousy and passion; suspicion that had he spoken, when a buck burst from the thicket,
might be roused to cruelty, and wilfulness that surely and, ere it made three bounds, leaped high into the air
would be lashed by any opposition to violent and reck and fell, its heart pierced through and through by the
less fury. But now the furrows on the brow were all unerring shaft of an outlying ranger, who the next in-
relaxed, the harsh lines of the mouth smoothed into Istant stepped out of his covert, and catching sight of
temporary blandness. “Forward, Messires," he cried the gay cavalcade confronting him—the sounds of whose
in Norman French, “the morning finds us sluggards. approach he must have overlooked entirely in the ex-
What, ho! Sir Walter Tyrrel, shall we two company citement of his sport-turned hastily as if to fly. But
to-day, and gage our luck against these gay gallarts ?" || it was all too late! A dozen of the king's retainers had
“Right jovially, my liege," returned the knight whom dashed their rowels into their horses' flanks the instant
he addressed; a tall dark-featured soldier, rode be- ne appeared, and scarce had he discovered their ad-
side his bridle rein, bearing a bow which not an archer, vance before he was their prisoner. “A Saxon, by my
in the train could bend. “Right jovially will weman soul," cried Rufus, with a savage scowl, “ taken ied-
they dare cope with us !—What sayest thou, De Beau- hand, and in the facı !-out with thy wood-knife, Dami-
champ-darest thou wager thy black boar-hound against an! By the most holy virgin, we will first mar his arche-
a cast of merlins-thyself, and Vermandois against his ry, and then present him with such a taste of venison
Grace and me?"
as shall, I warrant me, appease his hankering, for one
"Nay, thou shouldst gage him odds, my Walter," while. Off with his thumb and finger! off with them
Rufus interposed, "thy shaft flies ever truest, nor yield speedily, I say, an thou wouldst 'scape his doom! Ha!
I lo any bow save thine !"
grinnest thou, villain," he continued, as a contortion
“ To his, my liege!" cried Beauchamp, “ Thou yield writhed the bold visage of his victim, who, certain of
to his!-never drew Walter Tyrrel so true a string as his fate, and hopeless of resistance or of rescue, yielded
thou-he lacks the sleight, I trow, so ekes it out with with stubborn resolution to his torturers—"an' this doth
strength! Tyrrel must hold him pleased if he rale make thee smile, thou shalt laugh out right shortly!
second i' the field."
Hence with him, now, Damian and Hugonet-and thou,
“How, now, Sir Walter ?" shouted the king; “ hear- | Raoul, away with thee, set toils enow, uncouple half a
est thou this bold De Beauchamp, and wilt thou yield score of brachs and slowhounds, and see thou take me
the bucklers ?-not thou, I warrant me, though it be to a right stag of ten ere vespers!- Bare-backed shalt thou
thy king!"
| ride on him to the forest, thou unhanged Saxon thief,
“So please your highness," Tyrrel answered ; “'ris and see how his horned kinsmen will entreat thee. See
but a sleight lo 'scape our wager, 'scaping the shame that the dog escape ye not, or ye shall swing for il-
beside of yielding! He deems us over strong for him, i bind him and drag him hence to the old church of Lyme
and so would part us !"
-hold him there, on your lives, till sunset! and, ye, lead
“ Nay, by my halydom,” Rufus replied with a gay thither his wild charger; we will sup there upon the
smile, " but we will have it so. We two will ride in greensward, as we return to Malwood, and thou shalt
company, each shooting his own shaft for his own hand. make us merry with thy untutored horsemanship. Now
I dare uphold my arrow for twenty marks of gold and for our wager, Walter. Forward-hurrah !" and on
my white Alan, against thy Barbary Bay. Darest thou, again they dashed, until they reached the cboicest
Sir Walter ?"
hunting-ground of all that spacious woodland- the deso
“I know not that, I dare not!" answered Tyrrel, late and desert spot where once had stood the fairest
“ But your Grace wagers high, nor will l lightly lose | village of the land. Unroofed and doorless, in different
Bay Barbary; if so our wager stand, I shoot no roving stages of decay, a score or two of cottages, once hos-
shaft."
pitable happy homes of a free peasantry, stood here and
“ Shoot as thou wilt, so stands it !"
there amid the brushwood which had encroached upon
“Amen," cried Tyrrel, “and I doubt not to hear their precincts, while in the midst the desecrated church
your Grace confess, Tyrrel hath struck the lordlier quar- of Lyme reared its gray tower, now overgrown with
livy, and crumbling in silent ruin. Upon the cross which
“Away, then, all! away!" and setting spurs to his crowned the lowly tower, there sat, as they approached,
curvetting horse, the monarch led the way at a hard a solitary raven, nor, though the whoop and horn rang
gallop, followed by all his train a long and bright pro- close below his perch, did he show any sign of wildness
cession, their gay plumes and many-colored garments or of fear; but rising slowly on his wing, napped round
offering a lively contrast to the deep leafy verdure of and round in two or three slow circles, and then with a
July, and their clear weapons glancing life-like to the hoarse croak resumed his station. The raven was a
sunshine. They had careered along with merriment favorite bird with the old hunters, and when the deer
and music, perhaps three miles into the forest, when I was slain he had his portion, thence named the raven's
the deep baying of a bound was heard, at some short bone; indeed, so usual was the practice, that this bird,
distance to the right, from a thick verge of coppice. the wildest by its nature of all the things that fly, would
Instant the king curbed in his fiery horse, and raised rarely shun a company, which its sagacity descried to
his hand on high, waving a silent halt. “Ha! have be pursuers of the sylvan game.
ry."


66
THE NORMAN ARROW.
“Wha!! Sittest thou there, old black-frock, in our 'savage of the forest will shrink in mute dismay. The
presence ?" shouted the king, bending his bow, “but we father, after a long and fearful struggle with his more
will teach thee manners;" still, the bird moved not, tender feelings, wringing his hard hands till the
but again sent forth his ominous and sullen croak above blood-drops started redly from beneath every nail, lifted
the jocund throng; the bow was raised, the cord was his face, more pale and ashy in its hues than that of the
drawn back to the monarch's ear; it iwanged, and the inanimate form which he had loved so tenderly; and as
next moment the hermit-bird came fluttering down, he lifted it he caught the fierce glow mantling on the
transfixed by the long shaft, with painful and discordant front of each well-tried companion, and his own features
cries, and fell close at the feet of Rufus' charger lightened with the self-same blaze; his hand sank
There was a murmur in the crowd, and one, a page downward to the hilt of the long poniard at his girdle,
who waited on the king, whispered with a pale face and and the fingers worked with a convulsive tremor as
agitated voice into his fellow's ear—"I have heard they griped the well-known pommel, and an exulting
say
smile curled his mustachioed lip, prophetic of revenge.
" Whose shaft'gainst raven's life is set,
Once more he bowed above the dead; he laid his broad
Shaft's feather his heart-blood shall wet!"
band on the pulseless heart, and printed a long kies on
The Red King caught the whisper, and turning with the forehead; then lifting, with as much of tenderness
an inflamed countenance and flashing eye on the un- as though they still had sense and feeling, the relics of
witting wakener of his wrath, “Dastard and fool!” he the only thing he loved on earth, he bore them from the
shouted; and, clenching his gloved hand, he dealt the roadside into the shelter of a tangled coppice; unbuckled
boy so fierce a blow upon the chest, that he fell to the his long military mantle, and spreading it above them,
earth like a lifeless body, plunging so heavily upon the secured it at each corner by heavy stones, a tem-
sod head-foremost, that the blood gushed from nose, porary shelter from insult or intrusion. This done,
ears, mouth, and he lay senseless and inanimate as the in total silence, he rejoined his friends, who had for-
surrounding clay. With a low sneering laugh, the borne to offer aid where they perceived it would be held
tyrant once more spurred his charger forward amid the superfluous. Without one word he grasped the bridle
smothered execrations of his Norman followers, boiling of his charger, tightened his girths, and then, setting no
with indignation-for that one of their noble and victo foot to stirrup, vaulted almost without an effort into the
rious race should have endured the foul wrong of a blow, steel-bound demipique. Raising his arm aloft, he
though it were dealt him by a monarch's hand. And pointed into the long aisles of the forest, wherein the
there were scowling brows, and teeth set hard among followers of Rufus had long since disappeared.
the very noblest of his train ; and, as the glittering band | “Our thoughts are one," he hissed, in accents scarce-
swent on, the father of the injured boy-a dark-browed, I ly articulate, between his grinded teeth,“ what need of
aged veteran, who had couched lance at Hastings to words ? Are not we soldiers, gentlemen, and Nor-
win the throne of earth's most lovely island for that mans, and shall not deeds speak for us ?”
base tyrant's sire-reined in his horse, and leaping to ll Truly he said, their thoughts were one! for each
the earth upraised the body from the gory turf, and had severally steeled his heart as by a common im-
wiped away the crimson stream from the pale features, pulse ; and now, without a word, or sign, or any inter-
and dashed pure water brought from a neighboring change of sentiments, feeling that each one understood
brooklet in a comrade's bacinet, upon the fair young the other, they wheeled their horses on the tyrant's
brow, but it was all in vain! The dying child rolled up- track, and at a hard trot rode away, resolved on instant
ward his faint eyes; they rested on the anxious linea- vengeance. Meanwhile the hunters had arrived at
ments of that war-beaten sire, who stern and fiery to all their appointed ground. The slowhounds were un-
else, had ever to that motherless boy been soft and ten- coupled and cast loose-varlets, with hunting.poles, and
der as a woman. “Father," he gasped, while a brief mounted grooms pressed through the underwood; while
painful smile illuminated with a transient gleam his in each open glade and riding of the forest, yeomen
ashy lips" mercy, kind mother Mary. Father-fath- || were stationed with relays of tall and stately gaze-
er"-the words died in the utterance, the dim eyes wa- bounds, to slip upon the hart the instant he should break
vered-closed! the head fell back upon the stalwart from the thick covert. The knights and nobles galloped
arm that had supported it, and, with one long and qui- off, each with his long-bow strung, and cloth-yard arrow
vering convulsion, the innocent soul departed. Some notched and ready, to posts assigned to them, some
three or four-inferior barons of the train, yet each a singly, some in pairs; all was replete with animation
gentleman of lineage and prowess in the field - each one and with fiery joy. According to the monarch's plea-
in his own estimate a Prince's peer-had paused around sure, Tyrrel rode at his bridle-hand, for that day's space
the desolate father and his murdered child ; and now, admitted as his comrade and his rival;-two splendid
as the old man gazed hopelessly upon the features of bloodhounds, coal-black but tawny on the muzzle and
his first born and bis only, the sympathy, which had the breast, so accurately trained that they required no
moistened their hard eyes and relaxed their iron fea- leash to check their ardor, ran at the Red King's heel;
tures, was swallowed up in a fierce glare of indignation but neither page nor squire, such was his special man-
irradiating their scarred and war-seamed visages with date, accompanied their master. And now the loud
that sublime expression, from which, when glowing on shouts of the foresters and the deep baying of the pack
the face of a resolute and fearless man, the wildest gave note that the chase was on foot, and by the varied


THE NORMAN A RROW.
cadences and different points whence pealed the soul- could be traced amid the stormy music. But with the
exciting clamors, Rufus, a skilful and sagacious sports crash, no human shout was blended, no bugle lent its
man, immediately perceived that two if not three of the thrilling voice to the blythe uproar, no clang of hoofs
noble animals they hunted must have been roused at announced the presence of pursuers. All, even the
once. For a few seconds he stood upright in his stir- best and boldest riders, saving those two who waited
rups, his hand raised to his ear lest the slight summer there in calm deliberate impatience, had long been
breeze should interrupt the welcome sounds.
foiled by the quick turns and undiminished pace main-
“This way," he said, in low and guarded tones, “this tained by the stout quarry. The crashing of the branch-
way they bend; and with the choicest buck-hark to es might now lie heard distinctly, as they were separa-
old Hubert's holloa! and there, there, Tyrrel, list to ted by some body in swift motion; and next the laboring
that burst-list to that long sharp yell; Beshrew my sobs of a beast overdone with toil and anguish ; the
soul, if that be not staunch Palamon-that hound is waving of the coppice followed in a long sinuou
worth ten thousand. Ha! they are now at fault.- resembling in some degree, the wake of a fleet ship
Again! Brave Palamon again! and now they turn; among the rolling billows. Midway, it furrowed the
hark how the echoes roar; aye, they are crossing now dense thicket between the king and Tyrrel, but with an
the Deer-leap dingle; and now, now, as their notes ring inclination toward the former. His quick eye noted
out distinct and tunelul, they gain the open moorland— his advantage, his bow rose slowly and with a steady
spur, Tyrrel, for your life! spur! spur! we see him motion to its level; it was drawn to its full extent; the
not again till we reach Bolderwood," and, with the forked steel head pressing against the polished yew;
word, he raised his bugle to his lips, and wound it lus- the silken string stretched home to the right ear. The
tily and well till every oak replied to the long flourish. brambles were forced violently outward, and with a
Away they flew, driving their foaming chargers, now mighty but laborious effort the hunted stag dashed into
through the tangled underwood with tightened reins, the more open space. Scarce had he cleared the
now with free heads careering along the level glades, thicket, before a sharp and ringing iwang announced
now sweeping over the wide brooks that intersect the the shot of Rufus. So true had been his aim, that
forest as though their steeds winged, and now, at dis- the barbed arrow grazed the withers of the game, a
tant intervals, pansing to catch the fitful music of the hart of grease with ten tynes on his noble antlers, lea-
pack. After a furious chase of, at the least, two hours, ving a gory line where it had razed the skin; and so
the sounds still swelling on their right, nearer and near- strong was the arm that launched it, that the shaft
er as they rode the farther, the avenue through which glancing downward, owing to the king's elevation and
they had been galloping for many minutes, was inter- the short distance of the mark at which he aimed, was
sected at right angles by one yet wider though neg- buried nearly to the feathers in the soft mossy green-
lected, and, as it would seem, disused, for many marshy sward. The wounded stag bounded at least six feet
pools might be seen glittering to the sun, which was into the air; and Tyrrel, deeming the work already done,
now fast descending to the westward, and many plants lowered his weapon—but the king's sight was truer,
of ash and tufted hazles had sprung up, marring the raising his bridle hand to screen his eyes from the rays,
smoothness of its surface. Here, by a simultaneous now nearly level, of the setting sun—"Ho!" he cried,
motion, and as it seemed, obedient to a common thought, “ Tyrrel, shoot-in the fiend's name shoot!" Before
both riders halted. “He must cross, Tyrrel, he must the words had reached his ear, the baron saw his error,
cross here," cried the excited monarch, "ave, by the for, instantly recovering, the gallant deer dashed on-
life of Him who made us—and that before we be ten ward, passing immediately beneath the oak tree which
minutes older. I will take stand even here, where I Rufus had already mentioned. Raising his bow with a
command both alleys; ride thou some fifty yards or so, | rapidity which seemed incredible, Tyrrel discharged
to the right; stand by yon rowan sapling, and mark me his arrow. It struck, just at the correct elevation,
-see'st thou yon scathed but giant oak ?-now if he against the gnarled trunk of the giant tree, but swift as
pass on this side, mine is the first shot; if on the other, was its fight, the motion of the wounded stag was yet
thine! I will not balk thy fortunes; meddle not thou more rapid; he had already crossed the open glade, and
with mine!"
was lost in the thicket opposite. Diverted from its
They parted, the king sitting like a stalue on his well- | course, but unabated in its force, the Norman shaft sped
trained but fiery Andalusian the rein thrown loosely onward; full, full and fairly it plunged into the left
on the horse's neck, and the bow already half bent inside of the hapless monarch, unguarded by the arm
the vigorous right hand--the baron riding, as he had | which he had cast aloft. The keen point actually drove
been commanded, down the neglected avenue, till be clear through his body, and through his stout buff coat,
had reached the designated tree, when he wheeled coming out over his right hip, while the goose-feather,
round his courser and remained likewise motionless, which had winged it to its royal mark, was literally
facing the king, at that brief interval. Nearer and dabbled in his life-blood. Without a breath-a groan
nearer came the baying of the pack, while ever and -a struggle, the Conqueror's son dropped lifeless from
anon a sharp and savage treble mixed with the deeper his saddle; his horse, freed from the pressure of the
notes, gave token to the skilful foresters, that they master limbs that had so well controlled him, reared
were running with the game in view. Nearer it came | upright as the monarch fell, and with a wild quick
and nearer; and now it was so close, that not an echo snort of terror, rushed furiously away into the forest;


68
THE NORMAN ARROW..
the bloodhounds had already, by the fierce cunning of nor, though shrewd search was made for them until the
their race, discovered that their game was wounded, confessor of Tyrrel, when that bold spirit had departed,
and had joined freshly with his old pursuers; while he revealed the real slayer of the king, did any rumor of
who did the deed, gazed for one moment horror-stricken their residence or fortunes reach any mortal ear.
on the work of his right hand, and then, without soiThe moon rose over the New Forest, broad and un-
much as drawing nigh to see if any thing of life remain-clouded, and the dew fell heavy over glade and wood-
ed to his late master, casting his fatal bow into the land. The night wore onward, and the bright planet
bushes, put spurs to his unwearied horse, and drew not set, and one by one, the stars went out, and still the
bridle till he reached the coast; whence, taking ship, he king lay there untended and alone. The morning
crossed the seas, and fell in Holy Land, hoping by mists were rising, when the rumbling sound of a rude
many deeds of wilful bloodshed—such is the inconsis-cart awoke the echoes of that fearful solitude-a char-
tency of man-to win God's pardon for one involuntary coal-burner of the forest was returning from his noctur-
slaughter.
nal labors, whistling cheerfully the burthen of some
Hours rolled away; the sun had set already, and his Saxon ballad, as he threaded the dark mazes of the
last gleams were rapidly departing from the skies, nor greenwood. A wiry-looking cur, maimed in obedience
had the moon yet risen, when six horsemen came slow- to the forest law lest he should chase the deer reserved
ly, searching as it were for traces on the carth, up the to the proud conquerors alone, followed the footsteps of
same alley along which Tyrrel and the king had ridden his master, who had already passed the corpse, when a
with such furious speed since noontide. The lingering half-startled yelp, followed upon the instant by a most
twilight did not suffice to show the features of the melancholy howl attracted the attention of the peasant.
group, but the deep tones of the second rider were those | After a moment's search he found-although he did
of the bereaved and vengeful father.
not recognize-the cause of his dog's terror, and cast-
“How now?" he said, addressing his words to the ing it upon his loaded cart, bore it to the same church
man who led the way, mounted upon a shaggy forest-whereat but a few hours before the living sovereign had
pony,“ how now, sir Saxon ; is it for this we saved thee determined to glut his fierce eyes with the death-pangs
from the tyrant's hangmen, that thou shouldst prove a of his fellow man. Strange are the ways of Providence-
blind guide in this matter ?”
that destined man lived after his intended torturer!
“Norman,” replied the other, still scanning, as he And stranger yet, freed from his bonds, that he might
spoke, the ground dinted and torn by the fresh hoof- ' minister unto the slaughter of that selfsame torturer, he
tracks, “my heart thirsts not for vengeance less than found his purpose frustrate-frustrate, as it were, by
thine! Nor is our English blood less staunch, although its accomplishment-his meditated deed anticipated
it be less fiery, than the hottest stream that swells the -liis desperate revenge forestalled.-“ Verily, ven-
veins of your proud race. I tell you, Rufus hath passed geance is mine," saith the Lord, “and I will repay it."
here, and he hath not turned back. You shall have
your revenge !"
Even as he spoke, the beast which he bestrode set
FRIENDSHIP.
his feet firm and snuffed the air, staring as though his
eyeballs would start from their sockets, and uttering a
Where shall we trace the power which binds
tremulous low neigh. “Blood hath been shed here!
The kindred sympathy of minds?
and that, I trow, since sunset! Jesu! what have we
'Tis where the feelings of a friend
now ?" he cried, as his eye fell upon the carcase that so
With truth and virtue haply blend.
lately had exulted in the possession of health, and en-
ergy, and strength, and high dominion. “By Thor, the
Where Friendship's spirit kindly flows,
Thunderer, it is the tyrant's corpse."
Each joy in varied beauty glows;
"And slain,” replied the father, “slain by another's It leaves a thousand charms imprest,
hand than mine! Curses ! ten thousand curses on him And gives to life its finest zest.
who shot this shaft." While he was speaking be dis-
When days of sorrow and of care
mounted, approached the body of his destined vicrim,
Urge on the mind to sad despair,
and gazed with an eye of hatred most insatiably savage
The hand of Friendship will sustain,
upon the rigid face and stiffening limbs; then drawing
Nor seek to comfort us in vain.
his broad dagger—"I have sworn !" he muttered, as he
besmeared its blade with the dark curdled gore "I
In Memory's vision, Friendship smiles,
have sworn! Lie there and rot,” he added, spurning
And oft the lingering hour beguiles;
the body with his foot—"and now we must away, for we
Fondly we trace in happy union,
are known and noted ; and, whoso did the deed, 'tis we
Our dearest friends, in sweet communion.
shall bear the blame of it. We must see other lands.
I will but leave a brief word with the monks of Lyming. Disdaining all the wiles of art,
ton, that they commit my poor boy to a hallowed tomb, It glows in every virluous heart;
and then farewell fair England !" and they, too, rode Is faithful in each changing clime-
away, nor were they ever seen again on British soil ; Endeared by absence and by time.
H
.


THE VOW.
69
Original.
U as thou sowest, so must thou reap.” As he spoke, his
THE VOW.
eye flashed full on the trembling Rachel, but she saw
not their expression; her own were full with tears.
BY EDWARD MATURIN.
The father's curse fell with a more blighting influ-
ence on the innocent Rachel, as she called to mind its
Mens immota manet-
cause, and the object on whoin her heart was set. An
Mortem orat, tadet cæli convexa tueri.–Virgil.
obedient daughter, she shuddered when she thought
“Nar; but the youth is good, and of upright dealing,
that filial obligations compelled the compromise of feel-
my danghter; and one respected among our people.
people ling, or could cancel its freedom; and as her mind re-
He is rich beside, and one that hath vessels and monies. verted to the object
ies. Il verted to the object of her love, the name, the nation,
The youth also loves thee, and I would thou wert aff-
and above all, the religion which separated them, her
anced to him."
fears but too well justified the evil omen of her father's
Such were the expressions in which a Jewish father |
words.
endeavored to conquer his daughter's repugnance to an
That evening, Rachel had retired to her apartment.
union with one of her own people, in which we may ob-
In addition to the luxury of Oriental style, it was mark-
serve a leading characteristic of that nation, viz: pros-
ed by an elegance, the result of wealth and taste. The
perity and wealth forming the ground work of his re-
silver lamps had been extinguished, and the moon pene-
commendation.
trating the leaves which ewined the casement, reflected
“Come, come, give thy consent, my Rachel. Thy on the opposite wall the varied shapes through which
mother is gathered to her people, and thou art the only it passed. A fitful air waved them to and fro, and as they
pledge our years of love have left me. Thou art her
yielded to its breath, they resembled spirits whose ori-
image, and I fain would see thee happy ere I die.” As
gin and destination are alike mysterious.
the old man spoke, he took his daughter's hand, and
A deep and melancholy silence seemed to rest on
pressing it affectionately to his lips, lis tears flowed every object; filfully broken by the still more plaintive
fastly on it.
rustling of the leaves as the wind sent its soft music
The daughter he addressed was nis only child, and
through the branches. The sadness of the hour was
Benjamin loved her with a feeling surpassing the “love in unison with th
in unison with the maiden's heart as she dwelt on the
of women." She was indeed one, that to look on, was | malediction of her father, and felt, with the perversity
to love. Her countenance possessed that classic regu-i of the passion, a fresh vigor arise from opposition.
larity so peculiar to the Jews; the arched brow and!
Notwithstanding the difference of creed, she had pledge
aquiline nose, while the eye, whose blackness seemed led herself to a young Moor, but the fearful menace of
capable of pourtraying only the strong passions, in her,
her father almost induced her lo renounce the vow, and
beamed with a lustre which expressed the sentiment retrieve h
retrieve her fanh.
almost before it was spoken. She was seated after the
The casement-window conducting to the garden, was
Oriental fashion, on an embroidered cushion, while her open, and the soft light which fell on tree and flower,
fingers carelessly swept the strings of a mandolin. The
seemed to harmonize their shape and color. Rachel
melancholy chords she had struck accidentally, awaken-
reclined on an ottoman, while her eyes were listlessly
ed a responsive feeling, and the maiden dropped her head!
turned towards the casement. A shadow quickly pass-
to conceal the tear they had called forth. She handeded the apartment, and a few notes of the guitar were
the instrument to her attendant, and remained for a
accompanied by a sweet and manly voice, to the follow-
few moments silent. She looked earnestly on her ing:
father with a mingled expression of horror and suppli-
"The myriad stars are gleaming, Love,
cation. “Thou woulds't not make thy Rachel misera-
And the heavens with light are beaming, Love,
ble,” she said, “ in wedding her to one she could not
And the countless dyes
That bathe the skies
Jove. No; were he as Haman, whom the king de-
From the milky way are streaming, Love.
lighted to honor, thy Rachel could not wed where
Oh, who would this hour resign, Love,
For the fickle hues which shine, Love,
she did not love."
On the dreamer's path ?
Save when he hath
“How cometh it thou lovest not him thy father hath
Such visions as float on thine, Love.
chosen ?" asked the Jew, his dark eye kindling as he
Such an hour as this is meetest, Love,
For Passion's tones; and sweetest, Love,
spoke.
Are the hours that glide
"Nay, be not wrath with thy Rachel," replied the
When by thy side;
Tho'alas! they're too often the fleetest, Love."
maiden, clasping her father forcibly. “Have I not
been to thee a daughter 7 have I in aught disobeyed! No car is more susceptible than that of Love ; from
thee? have I not been to thee even as Ruth to Naomi? il a thousand, it can distinguish that single voice which
But-"
first woke the infant-heart from its trance, whose dreams
“Why dost thou hesitate ?"
of happiness are too frequently changed for the sigh
“Forgive thy Rachel; she cannot love the youth." ll and the pang. The voice was Hassan's, her betrothed.
“Ha! art thou of the disobedient of the house of Isra. In a moment she was in his embrace.
el ?" returned the Jew. “ Hast thou chosen the part of “Is it thus," said the Moor, as he gazed on her, "is
Absalom? Thine end then be his; for from this time it thus thou requitest Love? Is sorrow his offering?
I hold thee as a branch cut from a goodly tree. Even are tears the rain with which thou wouldst water the


70
THE VOW.
plant, and look for goodly fruit ? Nay, weep not so, my of Mahometanism, and atonable only by death, if the
Rachel." As he spoke he parted the hair from her fe- offender repent or be unwilling to apostatize to the Mos-
vered brow, and kissed the tears from her lids. lem creed. The tendency of her words was but too fa-
“Hassan, we must part," faltered the maiden. I tally proved by a subsequent event. On the following
“Not so, by Alla!" retorted the Moor. “Witness morning a small body-guard of the Emperor balted be-
our holy prophet, how I love thee! Faith-country. | fore the residence of Benjamin, and their commander
The honors of this world, and the bliss of our paradise | inquiring for the Jew, presented him a firman with
are but as dust in the balance when weighed against the imperial seal. As the old man hastily scanned it,
thee." He checked himself, and his lip curling with the ashy hue of his visage, his quivering hand and lips
scorn, his mind was momentarily affected by some sufficiently testified the fearful exaction contained in the
darker thought. “Perchance thou hast no love for me," il parchment. It specified the particular expressions
continued the youth; " or worse, thou mayest love | used by his daughter, rendered penal by the laws of the
another ?" And as he spoke, his dark eye fixed on her Barbary states, and demanded her immediate appear-
a glance which, while it dared to inquire, shuddered at ance before the Sultan of Fez and Morocco, where the
the reply.
charge would be substantiated by a witness. The Jew
“Hassan, wrong me not,” rejoined the maiden, with stood motionless and silent, and the only symptom of
that fearless tone which bespoke the truth of her words. the thoughts which agonized his mind, was the tear
“My father would bind me in marriage, to one of our which fell upon the parchment as he unconsciously ran
own tribe, and hath, even this night, mentioned the over its contents.
youth; then ask me not, doth Rachel love, who, for “My Rachel, my only child," he muttered to him-
thee, hath disobeyed a father, and spurned his choice.” sell, “they will tear her from me, even as the rebellious
The recollection of her father's parting words thrill- sons of Jacob sold Joseph, the well-beloved, for a bond-
ed through her, and shuddering at their import, her servant." His head sank upon his bosom, and the in-
head sank on the breast of the youth. He felt, i distinct mutterings of his voice testified the anguish of
as he gazed on her and her falling tears, that the his soul. The firman dropped from his hand, and he
bigotry of their mutual creeds formed a barrier weak stood like one whose hopes of the present and future
and narrow between them, and determined that Racheli were alike extinguished.
should be his own, though their union should be pur. The suspense of the scene was interrupted by the app
chased even by the sacrifice of the promises made to l pearance of Rachel. Her eyes wandered with timidity
the Blest.
as she looked alternately on her father and the armed
“Let us not,” he cried, “tempt the prize while it is troops which surrounded him, and her apprehensions of
yet within our grasp, or temper the passion which binds danger were fully confirmed when she saw the Empe-
our hearts by the stern and icy calculations of age. Allror's firman. She rushed to her father for protection.
shall be sacrificed for thee. The turban shall be tram “What is this thou hast done, my child ?" sobbed the
pled in the dust; mine ear shall be deaf to the call of old man ; .“hast thou added apostacy to disobedience ?
the Muezzin, and the Pride of the crescent shall bow to have I nurtured thee in the faith of the House of Israel,
the Truth of the cross. We will worship thesame God, il only that thou shouldst bow the knee to the golden calf, or
and the prayers we offer to His mercy-seat, shall return wander after strange gods? I say to thee even as the
in blessings on the tie that binds us. Away then with prophet, if the Lord be God, worship him; but if Baal
tears, my Rachel; my paradise shall be on earth, and be God, then follow him." The old man's voice grad.
the Eternity thou hast told me of, as the hope of the ually sank within him, as he dwelt on the dreaded
Christian, shall outweigh the joys of our Eden which apostacy of his daughter, compared with which, all
gladden the eye to betray the soul.”
filial disobedience was an offence light and venial.
The bigotry of the Moor, and the pride of his creed “What sayest thou, my father ?” replied the Jew.
seemed to fall before the strength of the passion heless, fixing on him her full eyes, dim with the tears of
avowed, and the imaginary glories of his paradise to terror and reproof, “What hath thy Rachel done?
fade before ties and charms more tangible. He plucked My knee hath bowed in worship but to the one and
a dagger from his belt, and presenting the hilt to his true God, even to the God who wrought deliverance for
lips, was about to swear upon it, when the Jewess, || Israel."
seizing it, exclaimed, “ Mine be the oath. Sooner |“Nay, torture me not now with assurances of thy
would I relinquish our holy faith, and bow with thee to faith, even when the angel is at the door to smite ihe
Mecca, than wed the youth of my father's choice.” first-born. Hast thou not forsworn thy kindred, thine
The words no sooner escaped her, than a faint rust- house, and, oh! that these lips should live to say it, thy
ling was heard among the trees, and the shadow of a | God. Thou bowest no longer to the ark and the mer-
human figure, indistincly seen for an instant, escaped cy-seat; Mecca is thy shrine, and the crescent the syin-
through an opposite path. The scimitar of Hassan | bol of thy creed."
was unsheathed on the moment, and, clasping her once. The Jew, amid the sternness of his reproof, could do
again, he pursued the fugitive.
longer repress the paternal feelings which rose like a
Throughout the Barbary states, and in Morocco- || ray of sunshine through mist; and falling on his daugh-
the scene of the present tale-such words as those ut. | ter's neck, he wept the tears of bitterness and pain.
tered by the Jewess, are deemed equivalent to a vow “Thou wrongest me," exclaimed Rachel, as with diffi-


THE VOW.
71
need."
culty she endeavored to support his tottering frame. Il paternal love; “ They will take thee from me, my child,
“ Thou wrongest me. I worship none but the God of and thou wilt be polluted amid the abominations of the
our Father Jacob; even Him whose piilar of light gui- tents of Kedar. But thy father will watch for thee to
ded the footsteps of his wandering children. Who are guard thee in their ungodly places, even as Mordecai
these our persecutors in a strange land? Where is watched by the palace gate for his well-beloved Esther.
mine accuser ? Wherewithal doth he charge me?" || Go, go, my child. The blessing of the God of Jacob be
As she spoke, the glance of proud and maidenly defi- upon thee. We are weak, and dare not resist these
ance she cast on the armed troop, seemed to awe their Philistines; but forget not, Rachel, thy God in the hour
commander to a momentary dereliction of his duty. | of trial, who can raise for thy champion the strong arm
He hesitated, till his eye falling on the parchment, he of a Samson."
advanced, and raising, presented it to her. Dashing As he spoke he pressed her to liis heart with all the
aside her tears, she perused it hastily, and her lips energy the anguish of the moment spared him, and a
curling with disdain at the futility of the charge, and groan of agony burst from him as he gazed on his daugh-
the treachery on which it was founded, she flung it at ter surrounded by a band of Moorish troops.
her feet. “It is true," she said; “I uttered the words; There is no hour through life's pilgrimage when it
but though only a Jewish maiden of a weak and scat-! wears more the aspect of loneliness and desolation
tered race, your judge and tribunal I alike despise. It than on our first separation from home; we feel as
cannot be that He who fed the prophet in the wilderness, though our path were to be through a wilderness, where
will desert the desolate and oppressed in the hour of all is dark above, and bleak and barren around. The
gay and lightsome footsteps of youth lags with the an-
" Rachel, my child,” exclaimed the old man as he ticipated infirmity of age, and the eye weak and dim
heard her admitting the truth of the impeachment, with tears, vainly endeavors to penetrate the clouds
“are these thy words?” She shuddered and was si- which lie before it. We feel as though the Past were a
lent as she reflected on the words she precipitately ut- friend with whom we had been long familiar, and in the
tered the preceding evening. “Wilt thou not answer, cold aspect of the Future, we recognize a stranger who
my Rachel ?" he continued, regarding her earnestly, smiles only to betray. Memory raises her veil from
as indignation struggled with sorrow and tenderness. the thousand joys of childhood, and we can recount
"Oh, my child, if this be true, then hast thou number- them ouly with the melancholy pleasure of those who
ed the days of my pilgrimage. Even like our Father still regard the flowers which have withered on their
Jacob, my hairs will sink with sorrow to the grave.” | breast. Our heart feels no longer the quickening throb
As she looked on the anguish of her father, she re- of health, its very pulse is weak, like a traveller who
pented the vow she had so rashly made, but felt that drops down exhausted ere half his pilgrimage be done.
the pangs and penalties of the law would be weak com- The voice of father and mother seems to have for ever
pared with the passion which she was conscious would passed away, and the tones of strangers fall coldly on
support her through them. The vow--if such it might the ear, like a wintry blast sweeping the wolian which
be termed-had been uttered in an unguarded moment, had once responded to the gentler air of summer.
and originated not from antipathy to her creed, but || Such were the feelings which influenced Rachel, as
from dislike to the youth her father had chosen. She she sat in the solitary apartment assigned for her use.
had resolved never to wed him, and her rash expres- | It was evidently a portion of a building connected with
sions of attachment to the Moor she was willing to the palace, from the murmuring sounds which issued
maintain amid the cruelties and trials which the arbi- from the corridors. She was attended by a female
trary justice of a despot might impose. As she felt the mute, from whose demeanor silent and austere, she an.
tears of the old man bedew her cheek, her feeling of re- ticipated the worst results. Refreshments were con-
pentance became stronger, and her attachment to her veyed to her at appointed hours, but repeated questions
religion more confirmed by a sense of the lies which were productive of no information.
bound her to him.
Two days had elapsed since her apprehension, when
There is an instinctive delicacy even in the roughest the door of her apartment opening, the same officer
natures, which suspends the operations of duty, and who had conducted her thither, entered. The gentle-
bows in silent homage to scenes of suffering and distress. ness of his manners seemed to combine a native polish
The soldier inured to danger and fatigue will weep in with sympathy. He intimated the command of his
sympathy with the tear of innocence and childhood, and sovereign for her immediate appearance, and the invol-
even the wretch whose brow has been seared by the untary exclamation, “God of Jacob, protect thy ser-
hand of crime, has still one tear for the misfortunes | vant," burst from her pale lips, as the open door dis-
which are but the mirror of his own. It was under the closed a guard of soldiers. She instantly dropped the
influence of this feeling that the commander stood in long veil which covered even her bosom, and repeating
hesitation how to act, as he witnessed the painful scene | an inaudible prayer, followed the men.
between Benjamin and Rachel. At length approach-ll She passed through corridors crowded with men, some
ing them with diffidence, and making a salaam, he inti- lsuitors, some merchants, the quick glance of the eye
mated his commission and the necessity of expedition. I and rapidity of gesture, testifying the urgency of their
The old man raised his head slowly, and fixing on her business. The majority were litigants in quest of jus-
an expression in which sternness melted before pain and tice, and the black slaves who followed them laden with


72
THE VOW.
costly gifts, sufficiently proved that there, as in other || anon he wrung his hands or pressed them to his brow,
countries, the Goddess possesses a mercenary nature, as though they could remit the pain which fevered it.
and requires to be bribed for her favors, like the guar. “My child, my first-born," exclaimed the old man,
dian of Danae.
as clasping his daughter's neck, he wept upon it. I
As she advanced through the crowd, her beauty seen have found thee,” he continued, as he regarded her
dimly through her veil, like a landscape through mist, with fondness, and parted from her brow her flow-
struck the beholders with admiration and silence, noting hair, “I have found thee, my child, yet though
unmingled with surprize as they recognized in the per it be in the house of Baal, I thank my God I
son of the lovely captive the daughter of the wealthy bave found thee. These eyes are sore troubled with
Benjamin. “What was her offence ?" was the ques- weeping for thee; yea, I desired to look on thee again,
tion which leaped from mouth to mouth, and which even as the hart thirsteth for the brook, and the God
rested unsatisfied with the inquirer.
of our fathers hath heard my prayers. But why weep-
She, at length alone and unprotected. stood in the est thou, my child ? Wherein have our enemies
hall of audience, and before her judge. Causes of com-
harmed thee? Thou art to me, Rachel, even as Jo-
plaint are, with few exceptions, brought before the em- || sepa
s om seph, his best beloved, was to our Father Jacob. Speak,
peror, whose eyes were sternly fixed on her as she ad-
sternly fixed on her as she an. I speak, my child."
vanced.
The old man paused; he felt the warm tear on his
hand; he heard the violence of her sob. He hastily
He was seated after the ottoman fashion, on a pile
raised his hand to his temple, and striking it, endeavor.
of cushions slightly elevated from the ground; one
ed to rally his thoughts which lay turbid and confused.
slave holding the umbrella over his head-a privilege
The suddenness of his domestic calamity, and the an-
peculiar to the family in possession of the throne-
guish of their separation, as they quickened feeling, had
another plied the fan, while a third stood prepared with
blunted his mental perceptions; and he strove to re-
the favorite beverage, coffee. The remainder of his
trace circumstances, lo connect cause with effect, and
retinue was composed of officers, civil and military
vainly asked himself, “ why he and his daughter stood
At a sign, two slaves approached and removed the before the tribunal of the Moor?” Ibrahim, with the
veil of the Jewess. The piercing glance with which he taciturnity of the Eastern character, looked on in silence,
had hitherto regarded her, both as a delinquent and a secretly planning, however, for the possession of the
Jewess, softened into a voluptuous tenderness as he i Jewess.
gazed on her beauty heightened by the pictorial effect of | The first object which formed a nucleus for the
her national costume. Her robe of yellow silk hung thoughts of Be, jamin, was the articles carried by bis
sufficiently low to disclose a bosom of exquisite mould, slaves, on which his eye accidentally fell, as it wandered
whose throb bespoke the anxiety under which she la- | from one object to another. “Ha!" he exclaimed.
bored ; and her ringlets, whose blackness might be said " 'Tis here. Perjury, by Heaven and earth. My
to be dyed in Death, clustered on her snowy neck like daughter, the arrow of the destroyer is on its deadly
the foliage of cypress shading a marble temple. The flight, and bath singled thee for its victim." His voice
helpless maiden stood before her judge weeping and sank with that tone of rapid alternation consistent with
silent; she felt the truth of the accusation, she knew the wanderings of his mind, and seizing a casket of jew-
the penalty, and though she loved the Moor with all the els from one of the slaves, he fell at the emperor's feet,
fervor of woman's love, she repented the vow, when the 'and casting them before him, in an attitude of prostra-
religion of her fathers was to be the penalty of its ful- tion, he sank to the ground, his face almost touching
filment.
Ji the feet of Ibrahim. “Take them. Take them all."
When she first appeared, Ibrahim resolved that as a he cried, “but leave me not childless. Why should I
eriminal, upon the substantiation of the charge, she linger on through the valley of the shadow of death, when
should be condemned and executed. But as he gazed my staff is not by my side; neither are my loins girded
on her surpassing beauty, with the passion of an Eas- for the way ?"
tern despot who levels loveliness and virtue to the The appeal had no further influence upon the despot
brute creation, he resolved that but one condition than to call forth a burst of impatience. Rising from
should purchase her pardon. In the cold and apathetic his seat, and for the moment discarding the indo-
manner of one who performs a duty as a ceremony, he lent apathy of the Oriental character,“ Away with her,"
recapitulated the expressions which had been overheard, he cried ; " and thou, dotard, on thy life, fail not lo ap-
the construction placed upon them by the law as a vow pear to witness thy daugbter's fate."
of apostacy, and the punishment which awaited its non He saw the love which united father and daughter,
fulfilment. While he was yet speaking, a murmur was and the strength of his lust hesitated not to make it the
heard at the entrance of the hall, and an old man ad- l instrument of inducing compliance with his abandoned
vanced with tottering gait, followed by slaves bearing will. The old man feebly rising from the ground, stood
some valuable articles. The Moors who thronged the motionless, his eyes fixed on the ground, while his
hall fell back from his path with that ſeeling of antipa- strongly-knit brow and quivering lips, seemed as though
thy with which they regard one of an opposite creed. he were mentally invoking a curse or his enemy, which
It was the Jew, Benjamin. His piercing eye glanced he dared not utter. He seemed abstracted from all as-
rapidly around as in search of some desired object, and sociations either with his daughter's situation or dan-


THE Vow.
73
ger, and the warmth of paternal affections he had s0|| officers, he appeared at her door, and his retinue, mak-
strongly expressed, was absorbed in that most tanta- || ing their salaam, closed it, leaving them together.
lizing of all feelings, the desire of vengeance neu She was pacing the room rapidly as he entered, and
tralized by impotence.
so great was her abstraction, that she heeded him not
Ibrahim whispered one of his numerous retinue, and until suddenly turning, the eyes of Ibrahim and his lovely
on the instant iwo separate guards surrounded father prisoner met. There is a majesty around the form of
and daughter. The old man did not even raise his | Innocence, as she folds around her her mantle of white-
eyes, but attended by the guard, mechanically inoved ness, which silences the aspersions of malignity, and
on.
awes the bold aspect of the accuser. She seems to
The apartment to which Rachel was now conducted, stand like Pallas, when she rose from the head of the
differed far from that which she had formerly tenanted. Olympian god, her attitude one of defiance, and her
It combined splendor with the luxury incidental to Ori- panoply proof against every shaft chance or design may
ental furniture. It was spacious-the walls hung with level. So stood the Jewish maiden before her accuser,
damask drapery, were ornamented at the cornices with whose tyrannic will might authenticate the charge and
arabesques, while the corners bore in large letters the seal her fate. As he gazed on her attitude of pride, he
word “ Alla," wrought with gold in the Turkish charac. for the moment forgot his power, and feared to pursue
ter. The room, circular in its form, was surrounded his design. But a short interval convinced him that it
with ottomans, so dexterously joined, as to represent was but woman who stood before him, whose delicacy
the appearance of unity, covered with damask, and sunk beneath the dangers which menaced her, and
fringed with gold, while at stated intervals there rose a whose tears flowed as though to conciliate and soften
pile of folded drapery terminating in, and clasped by, a the heart of her accuser. In a moment she relaxed
crescent. The floor was of porcelain, divided into tes- the sternness of her attitude, and was at the feet of
selated compartments of blue and white, while from Ibrahim.
the centre rose a fountain, whose waters, perfumed from “Mercy-mercy!" burst falteringly from her lips,
a reservoir, cooled, while they scented the atmosphere. as she knelt to him. He regarded her with an air of
Regardless of the splendor which surrounded her, the proud indifference, as one whose feelings were already
unfortunate Rachel Aung herself on an ottoman and bent to his will. So looks the tiger on his destined
buried her face in her hands. Between the Past and prey, or the reaper on the flower which falls unresist-
Present, a dim veil seemed to hang which confounded ingly beneath his sickle.
agents and events, and through which it was impossi- “Lovely maiden, askest thou mercy of me? The
ble to distinguish the visionary from the real. Dull and request comes too late ; thy crime is great, great must
confused were the objects which floated before her, like be the penalty. Our Prophet and his God claim thee
the intangible imagery of a dream, which, though visi-l as their own. Thou canst not be unwilling to consu-
ble, the mind vainly endeavors to incorporate. But mate the vow thou hast uttered freely."
amid them all, conspicuous rose the form of Hassan, l •“ The vow—what vow ?" reiterated the maiden, as
like a solitary column amid the wreck which surrounds her mind rapidly retraced her interview with Hassan.
it. The smile which glowed upon his lips re-animaled “ Is it the boasted justice of your law, or mercy of your
her drooping energies, and she felt that penalty or even religion, to exact with rigor the penalty of words utter-
torture were inadequate to subdue the love she bore ed in unguarded haste? It cannot be. But even for
him. Yet, though she was willing to sacrifice her life his sake though I would part with life, I dare not for-
for him, she could not compromise her religion; and sake my god."
though now in the power of those hostile to her from As she rose from her knees there was a blended air
creed, as she dwelt on the faded glories, the prostrate of pride and devotion, and the elevation of her eyes to
power of Israel, and the pride of her theocracy, when || heaven gave that holy aspect to her countenance which
God spake face to face with her legislators, priests, and seemed to say that her heart was animated with the
leaders, her heart swelled with devotion as she pon-spirit in which she spoke.
dered on the grandeur and antiquity of her religion. “It is vain, maiden," replied Ibrahim, after a pause,
So long had she remained in the trance, that it was “ to look to heaven for protection, when thou art in the
night before she rose. The casements had been closed, power of an earthly king."
and a solitary silver lamp suspended by a chain of the “Yet the sceptre of that king may break," retorted
same metal, shed a “dim, religious light" through the Rachel, " when he would stain it with blood, or bend
apartment, harmonizing the damask into a dark and it to the purpose of his own unholy will.”
sombre hue. The costliness and splendor which met | Her eye as she spoke rested full on Ibrahim, who
her eye only formed the stronger contrast with the hu- felt that in its penetrating glance his designs were an-
miliation of her spirit; she felt herself, as it were, in ticipated. He resolved, therefore, to conceal them till
the toils of a tyrant, whose will might either liberate or her fortitude should sink under the terrors of her ap-
enthrall her, and as she pondered on her condition, the proaching death, and then disclose them, as the only
chilling thought thrilled through her, of a corpse array- | means of purchasing her freedom.
ed in the gilded trappings of the tomb.
“Knowest thou, maiden, the death to which thou
Ibrahim was not long in disclosing his schemes. On wilt be doomed ?"
the following morning, preceded by some two or three "I defy and brave it for my God," replied the Jew-


74
THE VOW.
ess; “for though ye should bind me to the stake, yet || victims. If I fall, it will be because thy tyranny wills
amid the tongues of fire which rose to consume me, I it, for thou hast no witness to prove my words."
would glory in the pain which attested the sincerity of A glow of triumph suffused the Sultan's countenance
my faith, and like the captive Hebrew in the furnace. I as he replied, conscious that in the retention of the
flame, the hand of the protecting spirit would be ex. I witness, he had multiplied the toils which ensnared his
tended, if not to guard, at least to guide me to that victim.
better world where the power of earthly monarchs muslí “The witness of thy words is here, even within my
bow to the omnipotence of the heavenly, and their palace."
sceptres and thrones crumble amid the lightnings of the “I will not curse him," said Rachel, raising her
hand which created them."
eyes to heaven, the calmness of their expression still
Her form dilated and her eye kindled as she recount. more softened by tears. " Rather would I bless him,
ed the grandeur of the God in whom she trusted, and and change his heart by kindness, as Joseph did his
even the misbelieving Moor trembled as he recognized | brethren, who rose up to slay him."
in the glow of her spiritual beauty that fortitude and The benignity of the thought seemed for the mo-
firmness which seemed to emauate from the powers she ment to assuage her feelings, and her eyes still remain-
described, which threats could not subdue, nor the ter- ed elevated, as in silent prayer to that Being, wbo, in
rors of punishment extinguish.
the moment of trial, can inspire weakness with power,
“Ha! laughest thou me to scorn,” he exclaimed, his and breathe even on the heart of cruelty the throb of
eye flashing and his cheek coloring with indignation. mercy,
“ Maiden, thou shalt rue it. My will is the arm of the “Jewess," said Ibrahim, “I will not parley with
law, which can either shield or condemn thee. Without thee; a foul blot is it on my faith that I have held con-
are my guards ready for thy destruction-one word of verse with thee so long. If naught can work on thee,
mine, and thou fallest as the leaf from the tree, thy neither the rashness of thy vow, nor the dread of pup-
name unmourned and thy place unknown. Think notishment-lo! I have an advocate here, whom I have
that I boast-my very name is power, and in my veins kept as an hostage for thy submission."
flows the blood of the once-famed Boabdil."
| The Jewess regarded him with an expression of in-
“Sultan,” replied the Jewess with dignity, “ I have credulity, and shuddered as she thought her obstinacy
heard thy vaunting only to despise it, while I know that might extend its punishment to one who was alike be-
in the exercise of that power thou canst not stir one loved as innocent. Her worst anticipations were reali-
step beyond what the God of our faith will thee. zed, when the Sultan stamping with fury, the door
Thinkest thou I would not rather tempt the terrors of opened, and Benjamin, loaded with irons, and escorted
the grave, than surrender myself body and soul to thy by a troop, entered.
unholy will. 'Tis true, that the weak and scattered l “Merciful God, look down upon thy servants," ejac-
remnant of Israel are esteemed among ye but as the ulated Rachel, as she glanced upon the old man, his
beasts that perish; yet shalt thou see, that loathed and eyes moist with tears, his hair and beard neglected, his
trampled as we may be, the deserted Jewess hath still head declined upon his breast, and his whole demeanor
pride kindling within her soul sufficient, Sultan, to dare that of one worn with care and bent with suffering.
thy cruelties, and tell thee to thy face-thou art a ty. The Sultan's eye wandered with a glance of malig-
rant!"
nant pride, as he gazed alternately on father and child,
The only hope in which he had trusted, the reduction and fixed itself at length on the pale and trembling
of her sternness and resolution, failed him now; and as Jewess. “Did I not say unto thee, maiden, that resis.
a last resort he exchanged the haughtiness of com- i tance was vain ; here is one in whom is no offence, and
mand and threat, for the humility of earnest entreaty. I yet he bends beneath my chain."
“Lovely Jewess, hear me," he continued, approach- Rachel answered not; her hands were locked as in
ing her.
an agony of prayer, and her closed eyes seemed to shun
“Sultan!" she interrupted, with an energy she had communion with the scene of anguish and bitterness.
not hitherto exhibited, drawing from her bosom a small The brow of Ibrahim was knit, and his compressed lip
dagger, "approach one step further, and the daughter worked as in meditation of some foul, dark design, and
of the despised Benjamin lies bleeding at thy feet.” | anger at her silence.
“ Then hear me even where I stand," he continued; ll “Dog of an unholy creed !" he exclaimed, turning
“but say that thou wilt be mine, and the wealth of my full on the Jew, “thou art mine and mine thou shalt
empire shall be at thy command. Look around thee, remain, fettered as thou art ; nay more, thine ill-begot-
maiden, resistance is vain, thou art surrounded by men ten gain, which thou prizest as thy life-blood, shall be
whose business is a slavish obedience to a will they dare seized, and wanderers as thou and thy tribe are, thou
not dispute, and cannot resist. The very floor thou shalt be a beggar, if this thy daughter bend not to my
standest on is within my Haram."
“Sultan, as thou valuest my life," retorted the Jew- The old man answered not; his head sank still lower,
ess violently, “no more! If thou wilt imprison my | and a strong respiration seemed to relieve the intensity
person, thou shalt not insult mine ear. Decide my fate of his feeling. “Rachel! Rachel!" muttered the
as it pleaseth thee, thou wilt but add one more human old man, inaudibly, “would that thou too, my child,
life to the catalogue which bleeds with the names of thy | wert gathered to thy fathers with thy mother, Rebecca,
1) will."


THE VOW.
75
ere this day of sin and shame had dawned upon our! The hour of final separation is an epoch in life, which
house! But the will of the God of Jacob be done. anticipates the chill and solitude of the tomb; and
Even as the axe is levelled, so falls the tree !"
compresses into a moment all that we dread and trem-
“Speak, dog! what wilt thou ?" exclaimed the Sul. ble at of eternity. The momentary “ Farewell” of a
tan, “we trife time. By Alla! we waste moments friend but sweetens our intercourse, and leaves behind
and words on this same maiden as though our prophet it a charm like the echo of music, which links us with
had destined her for his Paradise. Speak, Jew!" something delicious in the Past, on which memory can
Benjamin raised his head-rage and indignation had dwell even while she weeps. But when we feel we
quenched his tears, ag the summer's sun parches the look our last on those we love, (for in the hour of mis-
earth, and a sternness almost preternatural kindled in fortune omen speaks like truth,) that stillness shall
his full dark eye.
succeed that voice, and the dim twilight of a friendless
“Sultan, I have heard thee. If the maiden be guilty, state the light of that countenance whose smile was
thy prophet and the law claim her. But rather would gladness; it is then the grave is robbed of its terrors
I kneel upon her grave, and thank my God she was at we have felt its chill, we have heard the echo of its soli-
peace, than live the foul and corrupted instrument of lude, and wandered in its darkness. The sun has sunk
thy lust."
on a sudden and for ever, and the music of the statue
“Ha!" exclaimed Ibrahim, his hand resting on his died amid the waste of sands which lent no echo.
scimitar half unsheathed.
11 They had parted, perhaps for ever; or if they met,
“Nay, hear me further," continued the Jew, his it might be amid the pains and inflictions of a tyrant's
voice strengthening as he spoke, “and then strike. I will. The Jewess stood motionless on the spot where
was willing to ransom my child, but now that thou hast, they had embraced ; the look, word and action of her
bared thy secret, not one coin will I give thee. Thou father were as objects she could not distinguish from a
shalt find that weak and trampled on as we may be, dream. The very ring he placed upon her finger lay
like the grass of the Geld, the God in whom we trust unheeded, the possession alike disregarded as its ob-
can unlock the gate to the prisoner, and raise the right- | ject.
hand of his strength against the persecutors of his pec-
Suffering, like physical pain, from excess, produces
ple. Rachel, my child," continued Benjamin, ap-torpor as well as acuteness, and while it gives us the
proaching her, and falling on her neck, "weep not, we
patience of passiveness, deprives us of resistance. So
are even now in a great strait, yet Israel once trembled
was it with Rachel; she had unconsciously implicated
before the hosts of Pharoah, and horse and rider sank herself and father, and the object for whose love the
in the mighly waters. The mighty have fallen even in
words had been so rashly uttered, was, perhaps, for
the great strength wherein they boasted, and the wea-
ever separated from her. She could now only endure
pons of war perished even while the hand of the strong
strong the result; and, like the flower, bend to the blast she
held them. The tyrant feasted, though the groans of
could neither propitiate nor avert.
our captive fathers mingled with the banquet-song, yet
It was now evening, and since the hour of her father's
did the walls of his palace tremble even with the doom
the Lord had written there ; for the enemy and avenger
departure she had been left alone ; while solitude in
the absence of every thing external to attract or be-
were nigh even at the door. Then weep not, my child,
for the arm of our God is not shortened that it cannot
guile, lent imagination to anguish, and a gloomier tone
to feeling.
save."
“ Dog! thou hast sealed thine and thy daughter's!
She was standing by the casement which surveyed a
doom !" burst from the lips of Ibrahim, as he rushed spacious area before the building, and between her and
from the apartment.
the twilight, which yet lingered in the western sky, she
They were not left long alone ; but even the interval' plainly distinguished a figure, whose look and ges-
was employed by the distracted father. His face half' tires were directed to her. It was Hassan, the Berber.
averted from her, as it rested anxiously on the door, he His figure, naturally majestic, as it stood in bold re-
took from his finger a massive signet-ring. “Take
lief against the sky, was a model of manliness and
this, my child. It is thy father's gift-keep it as the grace. He had partially removed a dark mantle which
apple of thine eye, for even at the eleventh hour, when
he wore for the purpose of disguise, and dropping it
the hand of the enemy is on thee, it can change thy' beneath his right-arm, it fell in folds across his ample
fate. Let not thy heart be troubled, my child, even chest. She approached the casement, and waving her
our Father Jacob, fed before the vengeance of a bro-
hand, he was in a moment beneath it. Slightly elevated
ther. But God was with him to strengthen and multi- from the ground, their communion was rapid as un-
heard.
His finger pointed to a secret spring in the signet, ' “What doest thou here, Hassan ?" said the maiden,
and the stern significance of his eye left no doubt as to anxiously. “Alas! thou art here too late. I am in
the fatal tendency of his gift. The heavy tramp of the Sultan's power. Nor wealth nor prayer can change
men being heard without, he resumed his attitude of his will. Oh! could I have thought those rash words
indifference, and stood with folded arms, his declined, would have sealed the daughter's doom, and whitened
head scarcely concealing his tears. One moment more the father's hair with grief? But why should the Jew-
saw him surrounded by the guard.
less murmur ?" she continued, the lear starting with
ply."


THE VOW.
every effort to repress it. “As our loves 'have been were a few whose wild and picturesque costume pro-
unholy, even so must my death be unblest."
claimed them the mountain tribe of Berbers. Fore-
Her strength for a moment failed her, and she leant most of the band, she descried Hassan, amid the pale
against the casement for support.
torch-light which but fainuly shone upon the combatants.
“Rachel," replied the Berber, the untamed blood She saw his scimitar flash and descend upon his oppo-
of his mountain horde mantling as he spoke, “thou nent; a successful parry warded the blow. The Ber-
hast pledged thyself to one, who, nurtured in deeds of ber leaped from his horse; a violent grapple ensued,
daring, and fostered by the free breath of his mountain, and his enemy lay breathless at his feet.
is as fearless as the eagle when he breasts the air, or “Alla-hu!" shouted Hassan, waving his blade, and
hangs his eyry on the cliff. It is for me, and the love his majestic figure which seemed to carve its way, was
thou bearest me, thou art in danger, and dead were I, in a moment lost amid the crowd. The Jewess totter-
alike to the freedom of our name, and the daring of our | ed, faint and trembling to the casement.
tribe, to desert thee. I heard thou wert here, and here. The confused perceptions of a dream seemed to pass
have I followed thee, to save or perish with thee. De- before her. The tumult was not abated. Still rung
lay not, maiden, in disguise have I come, and if that the steel-still pealed the war-cry of the Berbers and
save thee not, I wear a scimitar. By Alla! as I love, the Sultan's guard. A hand of iron seemed to rend
so will I die for thee. The night is lowering and over the door-it burst open, and Hassan rushed in, pale,
cast, the better chance for safety. My steed, fleet as breathless and bloody. He was followed by two or
he is true, waits without the palace-gate."
three of his tribe, whose torches but dimly lighted the
“Uige me not, Hassan," replied the Jewess, in a | apartment, and disclosed the object of their search.
tore which blended despair with resignation. “My The arm of the Berber clasped the waist of the trem-
life is to me now even as a thing of dust, and I would bling Jewess.
that its last moments were steadfast in the faith. I “Fly with me!” he cried, while she rested on him
seek not safety for myself--not for myself,” Her voice as resistless as the prey in the vulture's talon. “Fly
sank in broken accents, as her mind reverted to her with me, while yet I have power to call thee mine. He
father.
never spared man in his fury, and how will he thee,
“By our prophet, I stir not hence !" exclaimed Has who art but as the flower to the mildew? Delay Dot,
san, “till I save or avenge thee!"
maiden. Said I not I would avenge, or perish with
“Canst thou not save my father ?" said the maiden. thee? The fren air of our mountain waits tbee, that
“ Thou, and thy cause, shall be both avenged !" re- never yet was tainted by the breath of tyrant. Rachel,
plied the Berber.
' thou art mine, and for ever."
“Great Heaven, he hears me not !" ejaculated the The pencil of the artist could have dwelt upon the
maiden, as the figure of Hassan disappeared through group. The dim illumination of the chamber accor-
the opposite entrance.
ded well with the act of violence, while the flickering
The obstinacy of the Jewess, by insulting the pride ray of light typified the feeling which prompted it. The
of the Sultan, had but confirmed her fate. When first pictorial grandeur of his costume; the muscular and
she appeared before him, he was willing to compromise graceful attitude; the trembling and half-lifeless mai
the penalty for the possession of her beauty. But his den whose head reclined upon his bosom, realized
buit had been spurned, and like authority when dis- | all that we can combine of the protecting prowess of
obeyed and spurned, its exactions were increased, and to man, and the depending delicacy of woman. It pictur-
infliction was added vindictiveness.
ed to the imagination the Roman and the Sabine,
Some days elapsed, and no intimation was conveyed while the dimness of torches, and the swarthy com-
to her of the day on which the Sultan's threat would be plexions of their bearers, not inaptly harmonized with
fulfilled. With every huur her resolution strengthened, the scene, the hour, and the act.
and pride rose with the thought that she was called on The Jewess hung speechless on one arm, while with
to die for her religion. Her heart was weighed down the other his scimitar pointed to the Moors the pas-
with that ominous feeling, which never fails to haunt sage they were to clear. The energies of Hassan
those who feel the approach of their last moments. seemed to rise with the emergency. The war-cry of
She was, however, prepared for all, could she be but his tribe was still to be heard, but only in broken ac-
assured of her father's safety.
cents. Superior numbers had overpowered them, and
That night, overcome by the bodings of her fate, she one desperate effort remained for the achievement of
had not retired to her sleeping chamber connected with the rescue. Raising her from the ground, like down
her apartment; exhausted by her interview with the before the blast, he was about to rush from the a part-
Berber, associated as it was with peril, she sunk upon ment, when an armed body entered with Ibrahim at
an ottoman, vainly endeavoring to seek in sleep a res their head, his scimitar was struck from his hand.
pite from the horrors which surrounded her.
The blow shivered it.
She started at midnight with the clash of arms and “Syndarac-Bentaleb !" burst from the lips of the
the shouts of contention. At first she confounded them Berber, in tones of rage and reproach. “Slaves! -
with the turbid thoughts of her dream : she listened strike! Our prophet hath blest the Brave !"
again-they were real. She darted to the casement-|| He clasped her still closer, and seizing a scimitar
the court-yard was thronged with armed men. There from one of the Moors, had almost reached the balus-


THE VOW.
77
trade; but here the number of his opponents increas. “God of our fathers !" exclaimed the maiden, rais-
ed, and from the inequality of the strife he was over-i ing her hands to heaven with an effort in which sur-
powered. His companions were also disarmed, and a prise triumphed over exhaustion, “and is it thou, whom
few moments more beheld them in chains, and Rachel I trusted, hast betrayed me?"
once more in the power of Ibruhim.
| Shame and self-contempt burned in the heart of Ele-
"Away with him to the deepest dungeon!" cried the azar; he was specchless, while his hands were exten-
Sultan, in a voice of thunder, "and thou, fair Jewess,"|ded to her locked in the agony of entreaty.
he continued in a voice of irony which but ill dissem “Pardon-pardon!" at length burst from him, as
bled rage and disappointment, “thy vow is not forgot rushing forward he sank at her feet. “I heard thee
len-our Prophet claims thee still."
that fatal night thou didst commune in the garden. Re-
The mountain-Moor was soon in chains; but the fire venge for my rejected suit, and evil wrought strong
which glowed in his eye as he fixed it on the Sultan,
within me. Yet though thou shouldst hate and revile,
showed that his spirit was not quelled, nor his purpose oh! curse me not."
of vengeance extinguished.
The moisture stood on his brow; his hands were
The atteinpted rescue only accelerated the fate of clenched as though the grasp of death were on them, and
Rachel. Ibrahim, with the suspicion incidental to the he sank to the ground with the inert heaviness of a
cruelty and injustice of his character, feared that delay,
lifeless mass. Rachel for a moment regarded the
while it afforded an opportunity for a second attempt,
prostrate Eleazar, but when she raised her eyes there
might frustrate his design, and disappoint his ven-
beamed in them that holy serenity of forgiveness and
resignation, which seemed to say more eloquently than
geance.
the line itself-
On the following day she way therefore summoned a
second time to his presence. The number of the mili-
“ To err is human, to forgive Divine."
tary retinue which surrounded him was increased; and “How shall I curse, whom the Lord hath not
as the deserted Jewess glanced on the drawn scimitars || cursed?" said the Jewess, calmly, while her eyes were
and the stern visages of the warriors who bore them, I fixed on Hassan ; the benignity of her feeling borrow-
her heart sank within her. She felt herself, as it were,
ing the language, and softened by the spirit, of Scrip-
amid a new creation, where sympathy was unknown, 1 ture. "Even as the God of Jacob turned the heart of
and entreaty would be as unavailing as if addressed to i Balaam, the son of Beor, when he went up to curse
marble. Her eye wandered from face to face. The Israel; so bless I thee.”
tyrant had spared her at least one pang-Benjamin was Her hands were clasped in the fervency of prayer,
not there.
| and the motion of her lips attested the sincerity of her
A dead silence pervaded the hall, broken at intervals blessing.
only by the clanking of chains. Every eye was direc. But there was one who stood beside her, the disciple
led to the advancing object; but Rachel feared to of a sterner faith, whose spirit unmitigated by the
turn. The fetters were more distinctly heard as they creed of Faith, remembered wrong only to avenge it.
approached, and as her eyes turned with diffidence on Hassan moved not his eyes from the prostrate form
the prisoner, they encountered Hassan.
before him, derision blended with ferocity kindled in
He spoke not-every feature was rigid and compo-
their gaze, and as he stood, his arms folded, and his
sed as marble; but in the haughty sternness of their
foot insultingly on the neck of Eleazar, his Moorish
expression, there was blended a contempt for death,
countenance and commanding figure nobly represented
with the resolution of revenge.
the picture of the revengeful Zanga bestriding the body
An officer beside the Sultan, unfolding a scroll, pre-l of Alonzo.
faced “ In the name of the Prophet,” read it aloud. It
" They were separated, and the Jewess remanded to
recapitulated her offence as the former one, with the
be her apartment. The certainty of death which draws
addition of the penalty-capital punishment, which on
on an imaginary curtain between this and a fulare world,
the day following, was awarded also to the Berber.
by elevating the hopes and desires to a purer and more
Rachel heard her sentence with silence; but the in- l permanent state, brings with it that calm resignation
tensity of her feelings seemed to struggle for utterance. I which renders us indifferent to all things earthly. Such
After a moment which compressed into its brief space were the feelings of Rachel as she that night addressed
* the bitterness of death," and the pangs of separation herself to God, in the spirit of her creed, praying not
from all we love and live for, she said, in a tone scarce more for his protection in her hour of extremity, than
audible,
for the outpouring of his grace on the wanderers of her
“Where is he who accuseth me?”
people, and that the tiine might draw nigh when Jew
On a signal from the Sultan, a small door opened, and Gentile should worship in one faith, and His glory
and a masked figure, strongly guarded, advanced. Ra- might be diffused like the waters over the face of the
chel gazed with a wonder which absorbed every other earth. The hour of midnight saw her still in prayer,
feeling, the mask and mantle effectually disguising ihe and as she rose, opering a small book, in a low and
figure, and baffling conjecture. The former was at silvery voice which attuned with the silence of the
length removed, and disclosed the features of Eleazar, | hour, and solemnity of her fecling, she read the follow-
the young Jow, whom her father loved and she rejected. ling:
10


THE VOW.
"Oh, God! Creator-Infinite!
King of kings, and Lord of light-
Thou whose throne is hung on high,
Cloud-pavilioned in the sky-
Thou whose arm is strong to save
From the tyrant of the grave-
Incline thyself, oh, Lord! and hear,
Purge the heart and dry the tear.
Thou who canst raise the mighty deep
From the fetters of its giant-sleep,
And wing the tempest as it flies
O'er the bosom of the startled skies;
Loosing the lightning's burning zone,
That bursts in flashes from thy throne-
Bow thine ear, oh, Lord! and hear---
Save, for the Destroyer's near.
features, and her eyes were fixed and glazed. A smile
of triumph played on her lips, as with the remains of
receding strength, she pointed to the ring; the signet
was open. It had contained poison. The old man
could now “kneel upon her grave, and thank his God
his daughter was at peace.”
While the attention of all were directed to the scene,
the Berber, with the speed of lightning, snatched a
poignard which he secreted in his breast, and buried it
in the heart of Eleazar. One moment more, and he
was on the scaffold, the crimson blade still in one hand,
while with the other he clasped to his heart the cold
remains of her, who, though separated in creed, was
united in passion. Her cold head reposed on his beat-
ing heart, and, ere he surrendered himself, the tear of
gratitude fell upon his cheek that she was beyond the
reach of her tyrant and enemy.
The llebrew Captive's trust, oh, Lord,
Hung on the promise of thy word,
When Babylonia's monarch read
The doom which gave him to the Mede.
Incline thine ear, oh, Lord! bow dowo),
Protect us from the Tyrant's frown-
Rejectus not-in mercy hear
The prayer that moves the burning tear!"
She that night slept but little ; next to prayer, her fu-
ther's safety being the principal object of her solicitude.
Original.
She was therefore prepared,when on the following morn-
MARCH OF THE AGE.
ing, female attendants entered her apartment to array
her in the garment she was to wear at her execution.
BY JOHN J. ADAMS.
It was entirely black, a color which, from the extreme
antipathy with which the Moors regard it, the Jews are " Leave we the Past, the recent wondrous Past,
To meditate on that approaching time
principally compelled to wear. She was disrobed and
Which broadly now its shadows casts around,
arrayed in the black garment. Every ornament was How swells the heart with lofty contemplation,
When its high musings lifts the raptured mind
taken from her, and one of them pointed even to the
To dwell on those bright days of promis'd peace,
signet-ring which Benjamin had given her as a parling Whose foretaste gives such pbilantrophic joy.
No impious work man's folly now uprears,
pledge. She prayed she might be permitted to die But elements, subservient to his will,
with it. Her request was granted. She removed it
Here yield fraternal and expanded arms,
Which through its circuit to the lands far end,
from her finger, pressed it fervently to her lips, and
Urged by the subtle fluid's potent power,
restored it.
Brings brother unto brother, long estranged;
And there, upon old ocean's untracked wild,
“ Now I am prepared," she said.
The lordly palace speeding in its pride,
In a few moments after, the muster of the troops in
Makes brief the pathway unto shores remote.
By happy art in close communion brought,
the palace-yard, accompanied by a low and solemn The world, ere long, a fellowship shall own,
All feuds forgot and peace for ever reign."
burst of music, announced that the melancholy proces-
sion was being formed. A guard of six entered the
The foregoing is an extract from a poem, entitled the “Charter
apartment, and surrounding Rachel, they moved slow Oak," a production of the author's written at sea during Jan-
ly forward.
ury last. It will be perceived that the following lines were
penned shortly after the first arrival of the Great Western,
Foremost went the Imaums, each with an open Koran and anterior to the coronation of Victoria.
in his hand, and chaunting passages from it suited to
che solemnity. Then followed a strong body-guard While fresh the trace the wild enthusiast made
with drawn scimitars, whose cheerful glean, flashing At least so deem'd by those who will not soar;
back the sunlight, formed a dismal contrast with the Behold, how beauteous comes the crowning hour,
procession in which they glittered. Next came Rachel, || Not dimly vision'd in his recent theme.
her hair flowing loose on her shoulders, and a long black Speeds not the lordly palace in its pride-
veil descending from her head and concealing half her Dawns not the day when peace shall ever reign?
person. On one side of her stood the Berber, his stern-Oh, Poesy! no longer thou'rt the maid,
ness and the majesty of his deportment unawed by the Sporting with Naaids in their murmuring streams,
dread of death, his eyes fixed with a wild and ghastly Or revelling with the Dryads in the glade;
stare. On her other side walked Eleazar, doomed to || Far less we find thee now in Paphian bowers,
witness the punishment which had resulted from rash- But, like Minerva, on the world thou break'st,
ness and the evil suggestions of disappointment. The Crested in pride of wisdom and of art,
procession was closed by Moorish soldiers.
And marshalling man unto that conflict bright,
They had arrived at the scaffold, the procession halted. || Where mind and love the blissful contest hold.
Rachel, overcome by weakness and terror, was suppor- || Vain was thy art e'en when of Illium's towers,
ted as she ascended. Hassan moved not; every limb | Of Hector, and Achilles, and their train,
seemed to be moulded in marble, every muscle braced In strains sublime the bounded minstrel sung:
with iron. Her veil was removed by the executioner: Or when Aneas sought the Latian shore:
every cye rested on her. There was a livid hue on her || What sang they but of black revolting deeds,


MAR CH OF THE AGE.
79
And following still but in a wanton's train-
For Helen Dido woke the glowing song-
Else to Augustan ear gave sickening lay-
The muse, poor pander, and the muse ashamed,
Handmaid in art to cruelty and vice.
No Pegassus can now the bard avail,
Or airy rambling on Parnassus' height;
To the dark Past he now but gives a look,
Then hastes to plume him in the glorious train
Borne so invisibly throughout the world.
Mysterious power! what marvel fills the soul
When we survey the varied, wondrous ways
On which thou bear'st incredulous passive man,
To the bright haven of his promis'd peace;
Theme inexhaustible, yet I, presumptuous
And wayward ever, seek to weave the strain.
Now nears the time when England's virgin queen
In her gay court shall homage smile return
Unto the flower of Europe's gathered pride-
Perchance the last of all such pageants vain,
Whose gewgaw glitterings shall debase the race
That speak the swelling language of the free-
And thing that language, cherish'd parent isle,
Ere long to be the language of the world.
Yet, lady, favor'd, happy in thy crown,
The muse, while sternly truth doth guide her flight,
Would fain thy laureat prove, and dip her wing
To gild thy days in the reflected hues
Of a whole nation happy in thy smile.
Brief time, the tilt and tournament were there-
And nodding plumes in graceful dalliance wove,
The gallant squire, and high bounding steed,
The lance well poised, lip press'd, and flashing eye,
Proclaimed the cavalier for lady love.
While the poor minstrel, lowliest in the train,
Sang of bold deeds to condescending ears,
His muse awak'd to worse than sensual strains
And now are gath'ring round the mighty queen-
Mighty indeed, for love's thy base of power,
The beauty and the bright of Christian climes;
The chivalry which shall thy splendor grace,
Thrice happy queen—the chivalry of mind.
Hereditary rank still holds its sway,
And still its long accustomed station fills,
Unheeded tho' to pass the gazing crowd,
If mind or virtue shine not on its crest.
Not mine, fair isle, in bold excepting tunes
To speak dispraising thy ancestral pride,
Yet must I utter, as the full thought urges,
The proud belief, that rapid hastes the time
When lineal state shall quiet yield its sway-
E'en as I've marked, in twilight glittering West,
A lazy cloud-its sombre body deck'd
With a bright fringing of the Iris dyes,
Dissolving in a flood of chastened light-
Then every star sent down its proper light,
And chiefly Dian, mistress of the throng.
Prove thou, fair queen, the Dian of the world,
Bright in thy station may'st thou constant move,
Thy God reflecting with a ray divine.
| To the Far West now hies the impatient muse-
With lightning speed, ark follows upon ark,
As tho' the world were disemboguing there.
Where shall we rest, or where pursue the theme?
The mind, which erst on fiction's pinious lloaled,
There revels in reality's romance.
What bounds to reach, or to define the power
Of the vast change few rapid years have marshall’d,
Belongs to those, who, o'er their fellows favored,
With heaven touch'd eyes the glowing future scan.
Immortal Clinton! were thy grasping mind
Again confined to frail debasing clay,
How would it leap to reach that consummation
Which in brief distance on its gaze would break-
Tho' vaguely seen by all the world around
By those who toil but in a lowly labor,
Or those who stand erect in artist pride :
Little they deem who make the angle sure,
Or those who elevate the humble spade,
What glory shall accompany the train
For which so busily they smooth the path.
Like a young traveller bounding with desire
To see the varied beauties of the world,
Irresolute where first his steps shall wend,
The muse, as breaks the wonders of the age,
Tho' in their dawn-so circling are the lures-
Scarce knows how she her new-fledged wing shall plume;
Since, high, or low, far round or far beyond,
All things that greet her rapt ennobling gaze,
Invite her to a soul careering flight.
And see where now in brightest radiance flashing,
Each hill cop cresting and each valley cheering,
The light of liberty spreads o'er the land ,
Now speeds the time when freemen shall be free,
When the unfettered mind, each shackle rending,
Shall make the present to the smiling future
A hand maid prove; with such bright jewels decking,
That all the world may here in homage throng-
For to the Future-unto it alone,
Must boasting man look for his present pride
Be that o'ershadowed, darkling sinks his soul.
My country! and in this discursive strain,
I will invoke thee in thy majesty,
And offer up the soul incited prayer,
That thou, with rulers worthy of thy empire,
May, by thy great unparalleled example,
Wake in the emigrant an emulation
|| To nobly win a station midst our song.
Brief lime, Heaven smile, this strain may be renew'd,
To sing the praises of our patriot bands,
Who, scorning all political device,
Not rulers, but co-laborers shall prove,
And swell the sober triumphs of that land,
Where Eden's garden erst its fragrance gave.
No hireling words have ere disgraced the bard,
And now the patriot feeling must have vent.
Ere long the chosen of this favored land,
Will treat of themes that shall each bosom swell;
Leaving all selfish, low, intriguing schemes,
How will they joy to trumpet our high destiny-


:
VERSES WRITTEN AT CAPE COTT A GE.
80
Original.
VERSES WRITTEN AT CAPE COTTAGE.*
BY JOHN NEAL.
Point to the Rocky Mountains' natural gorge,
And trace the rail-road to its fartherest bound;
Thence, with a Colden's Fulton piercing sight,
The steamers see stud the Pacific wave-
No idle dream-nor even idle that,
Which views New England's ever hardy sons,
Make nought of China's famous Tartar wall:
There shall our language urge a healthful sway,
While now, its blessed and enlightening influence,
Through Burmah and Hindostan, Polynesia,
Doth waken man unto his better attributes,
Yielding a rich reward to Christian toil.
Hurrah for Cape Cottage, hurrah!
Hurrah for a sight of the sea !
Hurrah for the girls that are found there!
Hurrah for the rocks that abound there,
With sea-perch weighing more than a pound there!
Hurrah for the wind blowing free!
-
-
Original.
SHOWERS.
Bend, brothers, bend! with all your might,
Stretch forward, keep her to it!
Lo! the dark surges flashing bright!
Lo! the blue waters trembling white !
Hurrah boys! drive her through it!
BY: THE REV. J. H. CLINCH.
Hurrah for Cape Cottage ! hurrah!
Hurrah for the hedges of roses!
Hurrah for the trees and the flowers !
The berries and blossoming showers,
Sea serpents and pearls,
The boys and the girls,
And the beach where old Ocean reposes !
The leaves which tip the graceful Locust's boughs
Loaded with glossy pearls, are slowly waving
Before my lattice, and their slender stems
At times o'erburdened by the shining treasure
Stoop and throw off the accumulated rain.
Anon, some bustling and officious gust
Sweeps round the wall, invades the laboring tree,
And with its ruthless pinions sweeps to earth
The riches it still hoarded; but again
The half closed leaves receive the ceaseless shower,
And bend with treasure as they bent before.
Such is the course of life. Insatiate man
Sighs for the golden shower; and when it falls
He bends, bough-like, beneath the heavy load
Of care and anxious pain which ever come
With Fortune's glittering rain. Yet, if some blast
With adverse “pressure" shake his treasures down,
And scatter to the winds the gems he bore,
With all his former thirst he toils again
To win the bubble Wealth, and bend once more
Beneath the weight he deprecated once.
There's the “ Cape of Good Hope," and the bepe
of good cape
To comfort the man of the sea
There's the frightful “Cape Horn"-to the mar-
ried “Cape Fear,"
And the nice little cape that belongs to my dear,
Of a tissue so thin that they call it Cape Clear!
The last to be doubled by me.
There's “ Cape Cod,” and “Cape Anne,"
Bless your soul what a “ span,"
“ Cape Lookout,” and “Hattaras," toom
And the “ Capes of Virginia," the strangest of all,
For oh! how strangely they rise and fall!
In the sweet sea-brecze, or the moonlight ball
That's held on the Ocean blue!
Oh, say what you will of the Capes of the Sea!
The capes of the Land are the capes for me.
Original.
SONNET.
PORTRAIT OF A LADY-PAINTED BY D. R. BARKER."
Bend, brothers, bend! there lies the shore!
Spring to it—a!l together!
Now where the surges roar,
Along the Deep's "untrampled Avor,"
We go like a dancing feather!
The blissful June of life! I love to gaze
On its sweet wealth of ripening loveliness,
And lose the thought that o'er my saddening days,
Grim Care has woven clouds which will depress,
In spite of stoic pride and stern rosolve:
Beauty like this the waste of life redeems;
'Round it-their sun-the coldest hearts revolve,
Warm'd back to youth and gladdened by its beams.
But, lady! in that mild, soul-speaking glance,
Those lustrous orbs, returning heaven its hue,
I greet an earlier friend-forgive the trance !
'Tis Nature only, imaged here so true
That, briefly, I forgot the Painter's art,
And hailed the presence of a Queenly Heart.
HORACE GREELEY.
Then hurrah for Cape Cottage, hurrah!
Hurrah for the blossoming trees !
Hurrah for the shells and the moss!
The cliffs and the chasms to cross !
Hurrah for the beautiful women!
The places to swim in
All tranquil and brimmin!
Hurrah for the sounding sea-breeze!
* A watering-place on the shores of the Atlantic, near the
entrance to Portland harbor, one of the most beautiful retire-
ments in the world.
- Whose rooms are at No. 243 Broadway.


THE CHARITY OF WAGES.
81
.
Original.
did all in her power, to aid him in diminishing their
THE CHARITY OF WAGES. expenses. He was not of that class, who spend their
wages on their arrival in port, and forget their family.
BY LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.
But as that family increased, his earnings, without rigid
economy on her part, would have been insufficient for
Among the forms of benevolence, which in our age of their support.
the world, are both multiplied and various, perhaps, l' At length the bitter news came that her husband was
few of us, sufficiently keep in mind, the Charily of lost at sea. When the first shock of grief had subsided,
Wages. To assist the poor, through their own industry, she summoned her resolution, and determined to do
ennobles them. It keeps alive that love of independence, that for her children, which their father had so often
which is so priceless in a free country. To grudge, or expressed his wish to have done, that they should be
stint the wages of female labor, is false economy. It is kept together, and not be dependent on charity. She
to swell the ranks of degradation and vice. In our sex, || meditated what mode of livelihood would best enable
it is unpardonable cruelty; for the avenues in which i her to comply with a wish, to her so sacred. She had
they can gain an honest subsistence, are neither so nu- great personal strength, and a good constitution. She
merous or so flowery, that we may close them at plea- made choice of the hardest work, which is performed
sure, and be innocent. We ought not to consider our by females, because it promised the most immediate
selves as doing the duty of Christians—though we sub- reward. Often, after her hard task of washing, did she
scribe liberally to the foreign, and popular charities- forget her weariness, while, in the dusky twilight, she
while we withhold the helping hand, or the word of hastened toward her lowly home, as the mother bird
sympathy, from the female laborer within our own nerves her wing when she draws nearer to her nest.
gates.
But she found her sickly babe, a sufferer from these
I know not that I narrate an uncommon, or pecu- absences, and sometimes accidents befel the other lit-
liar circumstance, when I mention a young girl, brought tle ones, from her having no person with whom to leave
up in comparative affluence, who at the sudden death of them. The sum which she earned, would not always
her father, was left without resources. The mother's 'pay for the injury they had sustained by the want of
health failed, through grief and misfortune, and she no- her sheltering care. It occasionally happened, that if
bly resolved to earn a subsistence for both. She turned the lady for whom she worked, was out, or engaged
to the needle, with which she had been dexterous for with company, she returned without her payment, for
amusement, or the decoration of her own apparel. A, which, either to wait, or to go again, were incon-
liitle instruction enabled her to pursue from house to veniences, which those who dwell in abodes of plenty,
house, the occupation of a dress-maker.
cannot estimate.
At first, some of the delicate feelings of early culture, Was there not some labor which she could perform
clung around her. She dared scarcely to raise her at home, and thus protect the nurslings for whose sub-
eyes, at the table of strangers, and when at night money sistence she toiled? The spinning-wheel and loom,
was given her, she felt half ashamed to take it. But first presented themselves to her thought, for she had
want, soon extinguished those lingerings of timidity and been skilful in their use, in the far off agricultural vil-
refinement. Before her pittance was earned, it was lage, where her youth was spent. But domestic manu-
mentally devoted to the purchase of some comfort for factures had become unfashionable, and she could ob-
her enfeebled mother. It soon became evident that tainno such employment. Coarse needle-work, seemed
her common earnings were insufficient. She took home her only resource. At this, she wrought incessantly,
extra work, and abridged her intervals of rest. Her scarcely allowing herself time to get, or partake of a
candle went not out by night, and sometimes when her scanty meal. But after all was done, the remunera-
mother had retired, she almost extinguished the fire, tion was inadequate to their necessities. She could
continuing to work with chilled hands and feet, lest the scarcely supply a sufficiency of the coarsest food. Her
stock of fuel should not suffice until her slender earn- | children shivered, as the Winter drew on. Their gar-
ings would allow her to purchase more.
ments, though constantly mended, were thin, and their
Her nervous system became overwrought and dis-ipoor, little feet, bare and blue. She drew back from
eased. Those for whom she worked, were often the miserable fire, that they might be warmed, and
querulous, and hard to please. She felt an insuperable shuddered as she saw the means of sustaining this com-
longing for a kind word, an encouraging look,-for fort wasting away.
some form of sympathy, to sustain the sensitive spirit. i Still, the injunction of her departed husband, lay
Those who hired her, had not put these in the contract. deep and warm in her heart. She asked no charity.
Work, on her part, and money on theirs, was all the She remitted no exertion, and her whole life, was as
stipulation. They did not perceive that her step grew one prayer to God.
feeble, as day by day she passed through the crowded At this crisis, a society formed on the true princi-
streets to her task, or night after night returned to ple of benevolence, to aid poverty through its own ef-
nurse her infirm mother. A sudden flush came upon her forts, arose, to save her from destruction. Its express
cheek, and she sank into the grave before the parent, object was to improve the condition of the tempesl-tost
for whom she had toiled.
mariner, and his suffering household. It comprised an
The wife of a sailor, during his periods of absence, establishment, where garments were made for seamen;


82
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
and here she obtained a constant supply of needle-work, ||
Original.
with liberal and prompt payment. One of its most LA TALE WITHOUT A NAME. *
beautiful features, was a school, where the elementary
branches of a good education were gratuitously taught.
BY HENRY F. HARRINGTON.
Here, instruction in the use of the needle, was thorough-
ly imparted, and as soon as the pupils were able to fin-
CHAPTER III.
ish a garment for the clothing-store, they were encour As the character of the officer to whom the reader
aged by receiving a just payment.
was introduced, near the close of the last chapter, is of
Now, the small, lowly room of the widow, was bright- || a complex nature, and he is destined to occupy a com-
ened with comfort, and her heart was too full for words. | paratively large share of our attention, a rehearsal of
When her little girls came running from school, with a | the prominent events of his life, prior to the period of
shout of joy, the eldest one exclaiming,
| his appearance in our pages, may be desirable. He
"See, mother, see, here are twenty cents. Take was the son of one Simeon Howard, who found his way,
them, and buy a frock for the baby. They gave them early in life, from his native village, somewhere in the
to me, for making a sailor's gingham shirt, strong and North of England, and sought his fortunes in the bust.
good. My teacher says, I shall soon sew well enough, ling city of Liverpool. Shrewd and calculating, he soon
to make one of a nicer kind, for which I am to receive
mounted the ladder of success. Never exposing him-
seventy-five cents. Then, I will help pay your house- self to dangerous risks, though his gains were primari-
rent. Oh, I never was so happy, in my life, and yet I || ly small, from the diminutiveness of his capital, yet he
could not help crying when I waked, for I remem- || avoided “great losses " thereby, and it was not long
bered that you used to make exactly such shirts, for before his many littles became a mickle. When Sime-
dear father, and I did not know but the man for whom on fancied, and fancied truly, that he possessed a suffi-
I made this, might be lost at sea, and never come back ciency of this world's goods to enable him, without a
to his home any more.”.
sacrifice, to follow the general interpretation of " set-
“Here is a book," said the little sister, “which my | tling down in life," i.e. to attach to himself a help-male
teacher let me take from the school-library, to bring for prosperity and adversity, he married one Fiorella
home, and read to you, while you sit at work. And
Lozzi, a sprig of Italy, the daughter of an Italian refu-
she is so good, and kind to me, mother, she takes as
gee. It was the only mis-step that Simcon ever made.
much pains to have me learn, as if we were ever so
She was possessed of a disposition closely allied to the
rich, and I love her dearly."
fiend-like. She had passions tierce and untameable; a
" Blessings on her," said the widow, through her fearful lack of the ennobling sentiments, and enougb of
grateful tears. “Heaven's blessings on the society, and subtle cunning to tinge this odious compound with a yet
on every lady, into whose heart God has put it to help i darker shade. It may be questioned how so careful a
the desolate poor, through their own industry.”
industry."
And
Andy man as Simeon should thrust his neck into so fatal a
night and morning, she taught her kneeling babes, the
noose. Alas! he but reaped the fruit of his own sel.
prayer of gratitude for their benefactresses.
fishness. The fact was, Simeon was a lodger, at a cer-
Let us encourage every variety of effort, by which
tain rate, per month, in the boarding-house of Antonio
our sex can win a subsistence, and foster in the young | Lozzi, the father of the chosen one. Antonio prospered
that spirit which prefers the happy consciousness of in his vocation; and Simeon cogitated that by marrying
being useful, to any form of indolent, and helpless de- the daughter, he could win the father to admit him to
pendence. In our bounty to the poor, let us keep in a share in the receipts of the house, and thus he should
mind, the principle of aiding them as far as possible, secure a wife with a sort of perpetual dowry. He suc-
through their own exertions, for she who thus studies' ceeded in the plan, in every ramification, but he would
their moral benefit, elevates them in the scale of being,
have relinquished boarding-house and profit, in one
and performs an acceptable service to her country, and
month after be became a copartner with Antonio, and
to her God.
husband of Antonio's daughter, to be assured that she
Mothers, speak often to your daughters on these sub-ll was his antipode-that is, at the other end of the earth,
jects. Instruct them in the economy of charity. Your
there to remain during her mortal existence. Swallow-
responsibility comprises both earth and Heaven.
ing his domestic infelicity, however, as best he could,
There are many works from writers of the present
Simeon grew fast in wealth, and grew soon to be a
day, which afford valuable hints for conversation, on the
father, which he rather regretted, because he had a no-
subject of being respectable and happy, without the
tion, not very far removed from the truth, that chil-
possession of wealth. Pre-eminent among them, is
dren are considerably expensive; and this, in his esti-
Miss Sedgwick's “Rich Poor Man, and Poor Rich
mation, was an adamantine disqualification in any thing.
Man.” From your own observation, you can illustrate | But the fortune was not to be avoided. The boy was
the truth of such sentiments. You can convince them, || born, and grew, and from the earliest period that he
from the page of history, that virtue, and talent, and I was able to exercise will, and more especially when he
the heart's true felicity, may exist without the tinsel of i had attained, not to years of discretion, but of locomo-
gold. You can impress on them from a Book Divine, | tion, he was suffered to manage matters very much
that to "gain the whole world" would not balance one
sigh of a lost soul,
Continued from page 18.
-
-
-


A TALE WITHOUT A NA ME.
83
in his own way; for his mother doated upon him, and the upper jaw in all imaginable shapes, over his under
would sooner have received an injury herself, than have lip. His parents were Scotch, and his father had been
suffered the feelings of her darling to be hurt, or his a daring and ferocious smuggler. How they had be-
wishes to be thwarted; and his father was too much come inhabitants of Simeon Howard's native village, it
immersed in money-making, to trouble himself greatly matters not; but true it is, and much it matters, that
about his hopeful scion. He was named Frederic, not when Frederic first set eyes on this singular and almost
because that name conjoins euphoniously and sentimen- disgusting being, he laughed to excess, but ere long,
tally with Howard, but because Simeon, by whom any courted his acquaintance and commenced the intimacy
occasion whatever, was canvassed in regard to its ca- we have noticed. Mathew's mind was of coarser ma-
pabilities to increase his stores, bestowed it in honor of terial than that of Frederic, and his reason far more ob-
an aged merchant, as tight-fingered as himself, and tuse; but his passions were equally terrible in their
therefore sympathizing with, and interested in him and strength. During their boyhood, their connection bo-
rich, moreover, and relationless, and totlering on the ded no good to the villagers. Mathew was ever ready
brink of the grave. The old man was delighted at the to execute whatever rascality Frederic might devise ;
bonor, and thanked Simeon, and Simeon chuckled, and I and their days and years were passed in the pursuit of
the old man died, and after sundry donations to asy- mischief, that often deserved a stronger name.
lums, and churches, and societies, by way of settling As they became young men, a gradual change was
scores with Heaven for his extortions and gripings while evident in Frederic's manners and intercourse. His
alive, he made his namesake residuary legatee—the vanity taught him to respect the opinions of the world,
father to be executor, and to enjoy the use of the pro-|| at least, in appearances, and he learned to chain the
perty until the boy became of age. Simeon now regard- devil within him, so that it should not stamp any visi-
ed his boy with a kind of reverence, for he was richer ble impress of its ravages. Like Richard, he could
than himself, and to have opposed his will in the slight- smile and be a villain; he could speak the language
est particular thenceforward, had been sacrilege in of sympathy and love, while hate alone was dominant.
Simeon's eyes. Unfortunately, Frederic, while his ap- Mathew, on the contrary, remained much the samo,
pearance had all his mother's grand characteristics— save that the repulsive features of his character increas-
her dark eye and hair, and really beautiful features— ed in vigor with the growth of his body, and with the
his mind was also distorted like her own. He grew up, exercise in which he constantly indulged them. Frede-
vicious in the extreme-a malignant, cruel, revengeful, ric diligently practised those accomplishments which
selfish, proud and cunning child.
would impart grace and ease; Mathew became yearly
When he had attained to his twelfth year, his father more graceless and ungainly. Thus the contrast in their
received an injury, which, refusing to be entirely healed, personal appearance became stronger and stronger:
offered a serious impediment to the continuance of his but their fellowship was not weakened. On the con-
business, though not conflicting with his chances of a trary, their destiny had, by this time, become interwo-
somewbat longer pilgrimage on earth, a pilgrimage in- 'ven by the commission of various deeds of the grossest
deed, was it to Simeon, so soon as his darling means of character.
adding to his possessions were removed from him; and! The father of Mathew, as we have said, was neigh.
loathing the sight of Liverpool, now that he could not bor to Simeon Howard. On the other side resided, in
make one of its busy crowd—for the very turmoil of life a little cottage, an aged pensioner, who had been a
that he could witness from his windows in the street lieutenant in the army. Supported in an humble man
below him, excited him almost to frenzy-he relin- ner on his half-pay, he solaced his declining years in
quished business and boarding-house with a sigh, and the companionship of his only child, a daughter, now
an unquestionable equivalent, and removed to his na-eighteen years of age. Frederic had often seen her after
tive village to end his days. There Frederic formed an bis father's settlement in the vicinity, but she was then
intimacy with the son of his father's next door neighbor, a mere child, and as time elapsed, being often thrown
an intimacy, which in some phase or other, continued into contact with her during her gradual developement
unbroken during the lives of the parties. Mathew to womanhood, he had not been impressed with the
Leggetson, this friend, was one of nature's whims. He change, nor was be led to appreciate the gentleness and
resembled nothing on earth or under the earth-noth- | modesty of the blooming girl, whose tender glance, and
ing of which mankind have any notion. He was tall sweet enticing smile, if they did not constitute beauty,
and brawny, but his limbs hung loosely in their sockets, were but slightly removed from it. A peculiar event,
and his long arms, with huge hands thereto appended, shortly before his arrival at man's estate, awakened
swung backward and forward at every motion. One new feelings in his breast. On a Summer's afternoon,
leg was distorted and unwieldy, giving to his walk an as he sat at home, by the window of his father's parlor,
unnatural bitch. His hair was of no particularly de- he heard shrieks plainly issuing from the rear of the
scribable color. The words dirty and yellowish and Lieutenant's cottage, and, as may be supposed for the
white may, however, impart a faint idea of its pe- ery of distress arouses the curiosity, if not the sympa-
culiarities. His eye-for one was sightless-was large, | thies of the most abandoned of our race-he hurried
wild, and staring; his nose, long, thin, and inclined thither. The nearer he approached the cottage, the
towards the sightless eye ; his mouth, large, and dis- | more earnest and thrilling became the cries; now of
figured by a row of long, yellow teeth, protruding from help, now of intense supplication. Frederic was soon


84
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
on the spot, and beheld the lieutenant's daughter strug-|| But Frederic was now a man. Should he remain a
gling in the grasp of Mathew Leggetson, who was en- habitant of the village, where the remembrance of his
deavoring to throw her to the ground. The fiend de- youthful excesses, and suspicions of his agency in a
sisted at Frederic's interruption, and muttering some thousand dark transactions since manhood had been
thing in his rough patois of mingled Scotch and Eng- upon him, were exhibited in every glance of every eye?
lish, he shuflled off. Mary Lincoln had sunk in silence It could not be. And ambition, too, began to swell
upon her knee, and clasped her hands, looking up into within him. He spurned at the idle monotony of his
Frederic's face with a beseeching look, that words could life. Possessor of a sufficiency, if not of wealth, it had
not have assisted ; and when she felt that relief was been misery to him to sit down to enjoy it with the
complete, she grasped Frederic's hand, and would have sweet being who so dearly loved him. He panted for
pressed it in gratitude ; but exhausted and terrified na- bold and vigorous action-for room in which the pow-
ture gave way, and she fell, fainting, upon the ground. ers of mind that he felt to be strong, might expand and
He raised her in his arms, and supported her to the satify themselves. Fettered, however, by his sad lack of
cottage, where she soon revived, and remained with her education, but few paths were open to him. He was
until the return of her father from the village. Meet- not long in adopting what seemed the most feasible.
ings between the young, under unusual circumstances, He had begun and matured his plans, without a sug-
are apt to engender a strong tie ot' interest. So was it gestion to those most interested in his actions and his
now. Frederic left the cottage, after assuring the lieu-welfare; for this dissembling secrecy was one peculiar
tenant that he need not fear a second outrage of the feature of his character; and when he announced to
kind, for that he had influence over the offender, and Mary that he had purchased an ensigncy in the —
would exercise it in their behalf-full of the image of Regiment, then under orders to embark for the con-
Mary Lincoln. He had indeed an influence over Ma- tinent, it was like a thunderstroke to her heart. But
thew, and directly sought him. Few words passed be- she had already learned that his resolves were of ada-
tween them, but enough to satisfy Frederic that no fu- mant, and that expostulation or entreaty were vain;
ture interference with Mary would be attempted. Ma- so she meekly bowed to the lot she could not avert, and
thew had learned to look upon Frederic as a being of a tried to school herself to bear with calmness, his long-
higher grade than himself. He had so long been the perhaps his eternal separation from her. She busied
clumsy machine put in action by Frederic's master ge- herself in preparing him for his departure; but oh, she
nius, that he had acquired a habit of servility to him, listened to him now, and treasured up every word he
mingled, also, with a kind of attachment. When, there-, uttered, and watched every change of expression, that
fore, Frederic's word was passed, that this thing must the memory of those words and looks might be her so-
not be again, he yielded without a spark of animosity lace when he that had spoken and looked was gone.
towards Frederic, but he ever after regarded Mary with He left her. It was a sad parting for the gentle Mary.
the full extent of his fiendish hate.
She could not say farewell; the words would not pass
Frederic had won a passport to the lieutenant's cother livid lips; and his last parting kiss was printed on
tage, and he failed not to employ it. How soon the a pale and lifeless cheek, for sense had refused to sus-
quileless Mary loved him with her whole soul-loved tain her. The reader may not be surprised to learn,
him the more, that all the village else looked on him that Mathew Leggetson accompanied Frederic, as his
with an evil eye! It was a moment of exalted rapture servant.
to her, when he declared that he loved her, and de-l For some months after her husband's departure, Ma-
manded and received a modest kiss—the pledge that ry's desolation was cheered by the reception of letters,
there was a union of their hearts. To her, shut out full of love and affectionate remembrance. But Fre-
from communication with the world, her love was the lideric, when he had joined his regiment, was translated
one great impulse of her soul-her motive, thought, to a new sphere of existence. New incitements, new
guide, and object in life. She was one of those mild impulses, new ends broke in upon him. Ambitious to
and shrinking creatures, whom to love and be loved, the extreme, and unrestrained in the pursuit of any ob-
implies the fruition of hope, the ecstacy of happiness.ject by moral considerations-only asking himself how
She would sit on a low footstool beside her lover, with the goal might be achieved, and careless of whatever
her hands crossed upon his knee, looking up in his face, obstacles, provided he could screen his delinquencies
as he discoursed to her, with a steady gaze of trusting from the knowledge of the world, he became a new
affection, uttering never a word, and only varying her man. He applied himself with diligence to various
position, to clasp her hands together, or cover her face, studies, when duty permitted, to qualify himself for an
while tears of joy were springing up from her full | honorable part in social intercourse. He ingratiated
heart: and so she could have sat forever. Thus passed | himself into the favor of his brother officers, especially
a year, and at the end of it, the old Lieutenant died. | of those who boasted of nobility, and was restless for a
But he had the satisfaction before he died, to see his claim to admittance into that elevated society, of which
daughter happy as the wife of the man she loved, and he gathered knowledge from the converse of his noble
secure of a home, when he was gone from her. She acquaintances. But when he turned his thoughts home-
did not desert the cottage until he had been placed in ward, his soarings were chained down by the reflection
bis grave; and then, in weeping, but in hope, she be- | that he had fettered himself to a wife, adorning indeed
came an inmate with her husband, of his father's house. her own sphere, but unfitted for the brilliant destiny to


A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
85
which he aspired. As he grew in favor with those || as she approached, regarding her with so calm an ex.
whose friendship he regarded as his stepping-stone up-pression, so different from the look of love, that she was
ward, by his gentlemanly address, apparent manliness of frozen to marble, and staggered backward to her seat,
soul, and decided bravery, his advancement only stimu- l) with a quick gasp of horror-stricken dread. Frederic
lated ambition to bolder strides, and his remembrances i was unmoved; and bidding her to listen to him with-
of his wife assumed a gloomy hue. He first denounced out interruption, he plainly told her of the determina-
his infatuation in precipitately binding himself down be- tions he had formed, and of the obstacle which he felt
fore the world had been opened to him. By degrees he her to be to him. “It were better for us," he continu-
transferred-for it was no difficult task in a mind like ed, “that we should never see each other more. I
his—his anger against himself to its innocent cause. It will lodge sufficient for your comfort with I- , from
soon became a settled feeling-until at last, it were not |whom, on application at the first of every month, you
harsh to term it hatred. Yes, the gentle Mary was de will receive a regular stipend. But I charge you by
spised and hated by him, for whose happiness she would your love, and as you would avoid my hate, never to
willingly have died.
write to me, nor seek me, nor be to me other than a
It were a matter of course that his letters should be stranger."
come short, constrained, and infrequent. Mary could. He rose to go. Syllable upon syllable of his harangue
not but perceive the change, but while it gnawed like had fallen upon her ear, as the peal of the rolling bell
an adder at her heart, she could not bring herself to on the soul of the condemned criminal. She could not
think that his love was diminishing, still less did it move when he coldly said farewell; but when he turned
prompt her to call off from him one jot of her own af to look at her for the last time-hard-hearted as he
fection. It was a mystery that made her cheek grow might be, he dared not leave her, as she was, for she
pale, her eye dim, her step feeble; and for whose de. sat in a fearful and unnatural shiver, as though chilled
velopement she waited in agony of soul. When she to ihe soul. He went to her side-he chaſed her
wrote to him, she did not reprove ; but she would ask, hands-he spoke her name—and then the spell was
while the stains of tears were on the paper, whether he broken, and with a convulsive laugh, she fell upon the
were not well, that he wrote so little and so seldom. floor.
She knew not that he tore her fond letters as they came, We have omitted to mention that Frederic's mother
into a thousand pieces, and scattered them, with an had left the world while he was away, so that Mary was
oath, to the winds.
now alone. For some few months, Frederic heard
By and by, Frederic received news that his father || nothing from her, and dreamed that she had succeeded
was on his death-bed, and a furlough was granted him,
in stilling her love and resigning herself to her situa-
that he might obey the parental summons and hasten
I tion; for he was informed by his agent that her stipend
home.
was regularly called for. But when some five or six
Mary was the first to meet him; and in the rapture
months had gone, to his astonishment, he received a lei.
of beholding him again, all remembrance of suffering
ter from her. It told him that she was ere long to be a mo-
vanished, and she was carried back to the sweet hours
ther, and conjured him, for the sake of his unborn child,
of the past, when each day was but the renewal of joy
to be kind to her once more. He gnashed his teeth as
in his dear presence. “Frederic, my own dear Frede-
he read; the lone and utter misery of her soul, painted
ric, have you come again? Do I see you again ?" were
in her words, goaded him to phrensy; the news she
her fervent exclamations, as she sprang into his arms,
communicated of the still closer tie that would inter-
pressed his hand, and smiled through her thick-falling weave their destinies, was as poison to his soul. Ho
tears. Frederic could not perceive without a slight sat and wrote in return—wrote, that he hated her
pang, the change in her appearance; though the sight || the bottom of his heart; cursed her and her unborn in-
of her did not reopen the closed fountains of his love ; || fant, and hoped that both might die, he cared not how.
and he treated her for several days-during which hel He received word, soon after sufficient time had
paid the last offices to his father's remains--with kind- elapsed for the reception of his letter, that for several
ness and attention. But when the duties to his parent months no money had been called for, and when he
had occupied his mind, were fulfilled, and thought came to England, advanced in rank, and with noble
had leisure to wander, the fell suggestions of his am friends, he sent Mathew to reconnoitre the village and
bition renewed his imprecations at his state, and Ma- | learn what had become of Mary. Mathew returned
ry's changed appearance, which he interpreted into a with the information, that one stormy night she had left
silent reproach, operated to increase the dissatisfaction her dwelling, and had not been heard of more ; and it
with which he regarded her. He only regretted that
was thought, had destroyed herself. “Humph!" cried
the chain that bound him to her was indissoluble. But ||
Frederic, as he brought down his arm upon the table,
he resolved upon his course. He announced to her one
" that letter did its work! I thought it would! Thank
afternoon, as they were sitting together, that that very
er Heaven, she's gone!"
evening he should depart for the nearest post town on
To be continued.
his return to the army. It was the first intimation he i
had given of the near prospect of his leaving her, and A consistent and humble Christian is like the night
with a half shriek she rose, and would have found shel- violet, which is scarcely perceived among the flowers of
ter in his arms in her sorrow, but he coldly put her away the garden, yet it perfunies with its fragrance all around.
11


'<
87
<
'SPIRITS AND ELEMENTS.”
But cries within its wall,
|| And in its waters fades away-
Broke on mine ear with sadness-
Yes, with Nature's every mode,
To sing, I thought, o'er man's first fall, I interweave my spirit's abode-
To guilt would horror add, to sorrow madness. In the mountain-waterfall,
I lay in mutest grief,
Hasting to its burial-
When I heard those sounds of pain : In the dancing quivering spray,
Autumn's whithered leaf,
Which bursts from the wave to kiss the day,
Sings not so sad a strain-
And in Love's satiety dies away-
But Nature's voice was weak within, In the branch's gentlest motion
Her very eloquence was mute,
Responding to the hum of Ocean-
To the tears I shed, when the cry of sin In the song of the bee on the flower's breast
Burst from the fall’n—the destitute Where it seeks its sweets, and finds its rest;
I could not hear the cry,
By color and odor detain'd and carest-
Of the sad and sinful pair:
In the soft murmur of the gale
So I gave my current of Harmony
Which flies to meet the sea it loves ;
Flight thro' the silent air.
Pregnant with ethereal tale
I wander'd far and near-
Of ev'ry star in heaven that moves-
Thro' upper solitude,
Blending its passion with a gentle wail;
'Till I saw the purest tear
Like notes of separating doves-
That Nature ever shed in saddest mood :
In the mighty thunder
I knew the tear-'twas Nature's own,
Which shivers Earth above and under,
Descending from a Mount,
As tho' 'twould rend her poles asunder-
The beacon of the poets' eye-
In the storms which heap
The mind's pure spirits round it shone,
Wreck on wreck thro' the deep,
And sparked o'er the trickling fount,
And in mockery lull them to Death's last sleep-
Which flowing, murmur'd “Castalie"-
In the myriad host of the burning simoom,
I lighted on its dancing wave,
Which in Araby rises a sandy tomb-
Which quiver'd 'neath my slow-descending sound; Thro' Nature's mildest, softest mood,
“Poet's heart," I cried; "be thou my slave." The peopled sphere, or desert-solitude,
And Music sent her poesy below, around, I march with Melody—my multitude.
Which mingling with the stream,
Ber. Spirit of Harmony which rulest Matter,
Begot the beauty of the poet's dream.
And still'st the wind with thy melodious wand,
I dare not hear thee longer. As the wretch
O'er Castalie's spring,
Quivers upon the precipice's peak-I pause.
I wave my wing;
And tho' thy vocal mysteries unfold
'Twixt earth and sky I hover and float,
A Paradise of Amphionic sound;
Like a wandering spirit,
Yet I must hear-hear on-till sinking sense
Whose tones inherit
Swoons in worship. Speak, speak again.
The sweetness of ethereal note,
SPIRIT.
And bears within its bosom soft,
My spirit fails, but ling'ring echo
The harmony it wafts aloft,
Beats thro' Nature to and fro,
To fall on the sinking heart of man,
As winds, odor-laden from paradise
Like renovating touch from ray Promethean-
Throw the balm of their wing
The waves' soſt rippling curl,
On the earth-born Spring,
No beauty to the ear could bear;
And form a new Eden for human eyes-
If Music did not her charms unfurl,
As on the mountain's height
And wave her wings syrenic there-
Morning's crimson-interwoven shroud
Ber. Hold-hold! And raise me not too quickly to
Scatters 'fore her wand of light
That Heav'n I've lov'd and painted in my dreams-
The night-born vapor and the cloud-
Show not thy love by raising guilt itself
As from her urn of molten gold
To purity ineffable; lest air
She rises o'er the brooding shade;
So hallow'd would contemn the lip it cherish'd,
And the Sun from his ocean-fold
Suspending life, and mar my blessedness
Dispels the mists which melt and fade-
Ob, let me worship thee? Yet, no-speak on!
As the waves upon the river,
SPIRIT.
Hurrying on still ever-ever-
'Neath Castalie's wave, where my spirit hides, Die when on Ocean they break and sever-
Chast'ning its empurpled tides,
As the darkness-wooing nightingalo
Purity dwells for the poet's lay-
Sinks her lay to a plaintive wail,
For the snowy flake which falls on the lake,
When at the dawn of day;
Kissing the Parnassian billow,
Her strain's decaying embers,
Finds too soon a dewy pillow,
The sweetest Love remembers


88
SILENT LOVE.
'Fore light expiring die away—
As the groans of the Dream
'Fore Reality's beam
In mute surprize to silence sink.
As the chain of enduring joys we weave
Our earth-bound spirits to deceive
Melt; when we stand on Eternity's brink-
As the blooming glow of youth's bright braid-
As the buoyant smile of the love-sick maid-
So dies my spirit, and my echoes fade
Away-away.
[Spirit vanishes.
Ber. Where um I? Vanished! What stilly murmur
Revels thro' sense ? As Nature's tongue had spok'n
Cloth'd in her garb of holy eloquence.
What echo's this which fades in distance faintly,
And like the voices of the guardian-spirits
Around the sick-man's bed, make palpable
The joys of th' unseen realms from whence they come.
Oh! that thy form
I could materialize, and make an idol
To bow before. I dare not hear myself.
Her spirit starts from its insulted trance,
And peals upon mine ear; a second conscience.
Original.
SILENT LOVE.
His thoughts were of the sacred cause,
In which he came to labor there,
But even when the anthem rose,
And even when he knelt in prayer,
He fell her spirit join with his,
He knew that beaming face was there.
Months glided by, until a year
In secret thought, and hope, and fear,
Had passed since first she met his sight,
And though her eye became more bright,
Less firm her step, more pale her cheek,
And pensive brow appear'd,
While wishing, half resolved to speak,
He doubted, paused, and feared.
Still that mysterious interest grew
More strong, and he resolved at last,
That ere another Sabbath pass'd,
Her name, her dwelling should be known,
And then, Hope whisper'd, he might woo,
Might win her for his own.
A message camema soul had been
Called from its earthly home away,
And he was ask'd to minister
The last rites to the shrouded clay;
Ho went the coffin lid was raised
With soul-felt agony he gazed-
It was her face-the one that shono
Upon him in the house of prayer,
But, oh! the kindred soul was gone,
The still cold face alone was there.
His dearest tie to life was broken-
By other lips the words were spoken,
The solemn words of “dust to dust,"
He felt his heart, his spirit crushed
With speechless anguish ; but there yet
Was more to sufferto regret.
Her father told that she had been
A silent suff'rer until death
In her fixed eye and lip were seen,
And then, that with her latest breath,
She breathed his name and thus reveal'd
A secret, until then conceal'd,
That hopeless love its poison gave,
Short'ning her passage to the grave.
His heart was deaden'd; that one ray
So fondly cherish'd-quench'd in night;
And never on his darken'd way,
Arose another star so bright.
One hope alone to cheer his path,
His solitary path, was given-
That when his spirit rose from earth,
Twould be to meet with her's in Heaven.
" The gravo has victims,--and the sunny earth
Has many a one, who hopelessly lives on,
When all that gave to early life its worth,
When all that made the future bright, is gone.
The early dead! Oh, call them not the lost,
No more by storms of grief or passion tost,
They are the early blest to them is given
The changeless calm, the endless bliss of Heaven."
Within a quiet village, rose
A house of social prayer,
Where those who worship’d, met with one
Aiding their pastor's care;
Each Sabbath morn they saw him come,
Then turn to seek his distant home-
He was a stranger there!
A stranger young and eloquent,
Who nobly bore his part-
Warning the sinner to repent,
Cheering the contrite heart,
With many a blessed promise, given
To those who seek a home in Heaven.
Among his hearers there was one,
Whose eye was fixed on him alone,
Who seemed to watch each word and tone,
As from his lips they fell;
And soon her mild expressive face,
Her beaming eye and native grace,
With pleasure he had learned to trace,
And found them when he left the place,
Upon his memory dwell.
Her name he knew not, ask'd not-yet
With deep, and deeper feeling met
That thrilling glance, and own'd its power
When highest duties claim'd the hour.
She was released from earth, while he survived,
One cherish'd feeling's deathless strength to prove,
She died an early victim-and he lived
A victim through long years, to Silent Love.
ELLA


FEMALE EDUCATION.
89
Original.
incitements of their natures, and have rushed with man
FEMALE EDUCATION.
into the arena, striving for the fame of superior tal-
ent and acquirement. They have won, in a measure,
BY HENRY 7. HARRINGTOX.
the prize they sought. They have told us that the
crown they have worn, was woven of prickly thorns ;
PART III.
that they have felt themselves to be warring with their
What should be woman's education, if the objects of natures ; that they have yearned, even in the noonday
her existence be what we have endeavered to prove them?
rove them I of their triumphing, for the feminineness of feeling
Let us first dismiss, for it is of minor importance, the "
he that had gone from them for ever; the calm repose and
education that is to be obtained beyond the precincts of
shrinking delicacy of thought, that would permit them
home; whatever is commonly understood by the term
to wear the wreath that is the true glory of woman, and
education. It is a social as well as a private duty in
therewith to be content. If our exhortations be insuf-
every being, whether male or female, to be versed in
ficient, and of no effect, let the adjurations of such be
the elements of all knowledge ; for every sound mind
treasured and regarded.
is capable of this without interference with its peculiari-
The polite accomplishments are essential to a com-
ties, or injustice to the particular ends it is destined to plete
Il plete education. What the graceful volute, the airy
achieve. Let woman, therefore, be taught in her youth.
column, and the tapering spire are to architecture, these
Let the door of nature be set open before her. Let
are to the education, pleasant of themselves, and im-
her learn the wonderful laws that govern the mighty
parting beauty and harmony to the whole. Painting
universe-how the twinkling stars are set in heaven,
induces to a profitable communion with nature; and
and planets roll-how water circleth in aceaseless round;
the study of her chaste combinations and proportions
is drawn up from the deep, descendeth in rain, disap- i cannot fail to refine, in a degree, the operations of the
peareth in the bosom of earth, and gusheth forth in mind in the gentle crucible of sympathy, and leach it to
fountains, that course to the deep again how the mao. approximate to the same chastity and delicacy in its own
netic needle, the emblem of Truth, pointeth ever to the labors. Music is harmony; and it teaches harmony.
pole-how the huge ocean heaveth from its unfathom-
It subdues passion, enlarges the affections, and attunes
ed depths, at the bidding of the moon. Let her be
the character to a sweet and delightful concord. The
taught of herself. Let her mark the wondrous bandi-
simpler forms of the dance are strengthening, enliven-
work of the Creator in the structure of her own body-
ing, and innocently exhilarating; and combining as it
that glorious machine! that piece of matchless mecha-
does with melody, its influences are of a kindly nature.
nism! All this that she may learn of nature--whatever
But painting and the song and the dance are often de-
may be the title her studies may assume ; astronomy,
ceitful snares to the heart. Often, very often, they
philosophy, chemistry, anatomy-will not only assist
abandon their true position of ornaments, and become
her in her earthly career, but will also strengthen her
the very end and aim of life. Then is their harmony
virtue; make her piety to glow with added fervor; bid
more accursed than discord most discordant. Then
her to bow down in humility before the majesty of the
esty of the have they lost all precious influence. There is no more
Omnipotent-the maker of nature and herself. Let her
pitiable object, than the youthful female, just coming
be taught, moreover, of the earth; its changeful histo-
into life, when reason is expanding into the fulness of
ry; its curious diversity of climate, productions, and
power, and the solemn responsibleness of existence
animate life; the progress of its noblest habitant in art
should burn like fire within her-who hath set up her
and science, and the reach that is still before him,
accomplishments before her, and bows down before
though he may boast himself of much. But when she
them, and worships them, as they were gods; sacrif-
hath learned enough to solve the problem that may be
ces on their altar her precious thoughts; her noblest
offered to her attention in the ordinary walks of life,
powers; the destinies of her life. Such a one hath,
and to bear her part with respectability in social inter-
in the foolishness of her heart, reared her dwelling of
course, urge her no farther; no, not one step. There i columnas
columns only; carved and decorated, and beautiful
let her pause. Inculcate not that it is a profitable thing
withal, but walless and roofless; admitting the storm 10
to dive into the mysteries and perplexities of knowl-
spend its merciless rage on the shrinking and unpro-
edge ; awake not her ambition to strive with men for
tected habitant within. Perhaps, oh, dreadful thought !
the palm of proficiency, for it is not well. It will but i the vanity of a mother hath exposed her thus. How
divert her attention from the paths in which her feet will that mother account for the mental murder of her
are shod to tread, and in which she may advance with child!
honor and delight, to conduct her into devious ways, Il Dismissing, after this short attention, the considera-
where she cannot save but be a laggard, far behind. I tion of outdoor education, it being, as we have before
If she be of a masculine habit of mind, exhibiting a bias remarked, of secondary interest, we turn to the sacred
for such research, let it be no argument in favor of in- || influences of home-woman's dearest schoolhouse; and
dulgence and encouragement. The more earnestly the tender yet urgent lessons of the mother, communi-
strive to repress such a bias, that is in truth, but an un-cated by looks, by words, by smiles, by tears—the
sightly deformily. Did we need to fortify this our po- child's most precious tasks. And now that we are up-
sition, we could call to our aid the warnings of many of on this theme, the importance of the subject fills us with
the female race, who have themselves disregarded the emotion, and we would that we could communicate to


90
FEM A L E EDUCATION
the heart of the reader the sensations that oppress our || as it must, with ever varying circumstances; tinged with
own, especially if that reader be a mother, or one that as many shades as there are diversities of mind. The
is looking forward to that endearing and solemn rela mother, the culturess, must be the judge. But let her
tion. Of all earthly duties, there is none that weighs beware of slothfulness or neglect in her task; and of
80 heavily upon the soul as that of the parent to the that which is worse than inaction, the exhibition of per-
child. The tie that binds the offspring to its parents is version in herself. The child catches vivid impressions,
strong, and justly and necessarily so. There are few before its tongue can frame its wishes into words; and
who are not grateful for existence; and in proportion' those impressions may abide with it for ever, powerful
to that gratitude, should be filial deference and love. for life or for death. We doubt not, that in ninety cases
More than this, nature has implanted an instinct of af- out of a hundred, the depraved and abandoned crimi-
fection to the creators of our being; the protectors of nal may trace the first seeds of his error to the days of
our infancy; and in the pages of revelation, this in- his childhood, and curse the misguidance of his mother.
stinct is fortified by the express command of Heaven. Is there boldness in this assertion? Alas, can you an-
But in a comparative view of the duties of parents and swer that it is not true? We do not intend to be un-
children to each other, those of the latter are but as derstood that so many mothers are guilty of themselves,
dust in the balance. The child is devoid of agency in and wilfully communicate their own depravity to their
its own production. It is brought into the world, help children; no! we mean this ; that such mothers were
less and dependant. Before it can provide for its own never taught, and have never known the tremendous
wants, or secure its own sources of happiness, it is ex responsibleness of their charge. Each one of them
posed to the reception of bodily and mental harm, if may have tried to teach her children; she may think
constant watchfulness be not exercised. It has ten- that she has done for them all that lay within the scope
dencies of mind, that untilled and unpruned, may run of her ability to do; and may be weeping over what she
to waste; and passions, that uncurbed, may fill the soul may deem the dreadful results of their perversity. She
in after years, with madness and horror; make life a never dreamed that every outbreak of passion in her-
cursed thing; a hell this side the portals of the grave. self was a lesson to her child more powerful than ad-
If the freeacting creators of such a beingthe conscious | vice upon advice, and command upon command. She
assumers of such a responsibleness, by indifference or never felt that her own censoriousness, pettishness,
neglect, fashion this howling wilderness, where might vanity or pride, would be imitated and copied, and
have been a fertile and productive garden, who does stamped deep as life upon the character of that child;
not shudder at the mountain load of their accountable that her own slight disregards of truth, had been trea-
ness!
sured up, and had seared little by little the conscience
And if our previous reflections have been just, this of that child, as with a hot iron, to make its after years
responsibleness weighs with especial heaviness upon one long continued lie. She never imagined that the
the mother, as the peculiar guardian and guide of her little tottling thing at her side, was revealing in its
children in those years when the character is chiefly childish bursts of passion the incipient tendencies of
formed; and when we view in the female infant, not maturity; that growing with its growth, and strength-
only an immortal soul, placed upon earth to fit itself ening with its strength, would lay their grasp upon it
for Heaven, but the future governess of other souls, for with irresistible power; and in her insane fondness, un-
whose advancement in virtue and knowledge she is to willing to check the “poor little thing that knew no
be partially accountable, we cannot but regard with ex- better," or indisposed to the exertion of a contest lo
ceeding and trembling interest the culture and training overcome it, had let slip, it may be, the one golden op-
of its budding sense. It is in early childhood, as we portunity; had rivetted herself, the bonds of after crime.
have said, that the character receives its most vital im- | Afflicted mother, you who mourn the loss of a darling
pressions. It has been already remarked, that just as child-we mean not death, but that moral decay-
the twig is bent, the tree is not inclined ; that we can worse, a thousand times worse than the death of the
not sweep away at will, the great landmarks which na- ! grave, look back to the days of its youth, and mark as
ture has erected between the minds of the sexes; nor you trace it along, whether you have not unwittingly de-
bridle the strong excess of any particular mental mani-stroyed your dearest hope—whether the sting of re-
festation. But it is not often that this excess exists, morse should not pierce your own bosom!
and no reasonable being desires to overthrow those glo- We say to the mother who appreciates how impor
rious landmarks. In the great majority of instances, a tant a part she has to act in the drama of life in the
bias may be given to the character in early life, that it guidance of her children, look upon your daughter, Dot
it is not in the power of time and circumstance to de- only as the companion of man, but as the future mother;
stroy. The growth of the mind is, as a general thing, destined to assume the same responsibleness that you
coequal with that of the body; and as you may swathe feel to bear so heavily upon yourself. Strengthen ber
any portion of the infant frame, and palsy its strength, || virtue from her earliest years. Nature has laid for you
and increase or nurture it by exercise, so that it shall a sure foundation. Strengthen and fortify her virtne;
surpass its fellow members in vigor, so may you swathe and above all, inculcate high and unalloyed incentives
and palsy, or nurture and expand any limb of the no- to action. We will say plainly and earnestly, you must
bler frame within. We cannot particularly designate strive to make her more than moral. She must be gui-
in what manner this influence is to be exerted, varying ded by loftier aims than are the offspring of morality,


FEMALE EDUCATION.
91
and receive her impulses from Religion's purer fount. I come after! Is not this silence false, criminal, danger-
Yes, woman should be eminently religious. We consi- ous ? Take from the female, just coming into life, the
der any being as an object of pity, whose virtue is only | vital principle of religion, and let her be moreover, ig-
the teachings of the blind instincts of nature-for no norant of the paramount designs of her being, and
more than this is cold morality—or worse, the selfish what is she? A cumberer of the ground-wasting life
counselling of policy; and the offices of woman are of in vanity and worthlessness. Of how many the years
the complexion which requires the active and hallowing between womanhood and marriage are thrown idly
impulses of religion to impart to them vitality. They away, solely for the want of this knowledge properly
will else be as salt that hath lost its savour. Where is inculcated in all its solemn bearings and relations ! Un-
the mother who would not have her child better than possessed of any fixed and controlling aim, they are the
herself? How can it be better or so good, if that creatures of a day-mere butterflies-estimating happi-
mother's virtue be but obedience to her instincts, unless ness only by the amount of their evanescent pleasures.
it may be, the same instincts be stronger in the child ? | The ball-room, the theatre, and dress and gossip, are
For she cannot surely counsel in what she hath nothing with such the all in all. Marriage may awaken the
of herself; and imitation must ever fall somewhat short senses of many and teach them to bewail lost time-
of the original. So will the instructions of the mother teach them what, had it been taught by their mothers,
whose motives to action are no stronger than the life- that time had not been lost. But in many instances,
less promptings of morality, fail to impart with fruitful we fear-we know, that the poison of ignorance has
energy and earnestness. Again, no dependence can be sunk too deep to be eradicated. The follies of those
placed upon the protection afforded by the blind in- | wasted years have become necessary to happiness.
stincts of the mind. A child that hath been educated Pride and Vanity have been intoxicated too long to
only so far as morality extends, hath his honor built yield up their accustomed draughts. Such a wife re-
upon the sand even for earth-that the first winds of gards her husband with all the love of which she is ca-
temptation may overthrow, the first torrent undermine. pable, but she loves herself better. She must have thu
Let the young female be taught to draw the inspiration aliment which has nourished her. Her home will be a
of her conduct from the loftiest source to which humani- || dreary wilderness, except in so far as it affords her op-
ty can appeal; so that when she hath attained to that "portunities to indulge her delusive tastes. Where are
maturity which will open the eyes of her reason; and the fond sympathy and care, and the endearing interest
with the full developement of her bodily powers, she man pants for, and the husband expects ? They are
begins to estimate the ends of her existence, she may not for the husband of such a wife, and he is still alone.
apply herself with the ardor and earnestness which Such a wife becomes a mother. A candidate for Hea-
such an estimate guided by such inspiration alone can || ven is born unto the world. Perhaps she curses its ex-
communicate, to fit herself for her work. But, in order istence because its birth hath interfered with the circle
to do this, she must be instructed to know how to make of her pleasures. She may, perhaps-extent of stony-
this estimate of herself; how to appreciate the ends for heartedness! deny it sustenance from her own bosom,
which she hath been created—what and how momen that she may the sooner return to her giddy round; and
tous is the charge that is to devolve upon her. We re- cast it out to “heartless fosterage,” trusting its tender
peat what we have said already, let the female child be years to hireling hands. When its infancy is passed,
taught from her earliest years, with especial reference she brings it home-but views it only as an additional
to her paramount earthly duties as a mother and the in instrument to feed her Vanity and Pride. Its soul-that
structress of her children; and when she is no longer mother never even whispered to herself in her loneliest
a child, let her be plainly and explicitly told what she musings that it had a soul! She bedecks it in gewgaws;
is to be what she will have to do, and let her be en instills into its growing mind the seeds of her own fatal
couraged to discipline her mind therefor. Upon this infirmities; and when she hath grown too old to par-
point, there exists, we fear, much false hesitation. We take of what hath been the dearest sustenance of her
labor under the conviction, that this, the one great point mental life, and to mingle in the scenes where she had
of female education, is utterly repudiated ; and that delighted to be foremost, she sends her daughter as her
it is left to time and circumstance to convey this impor- representative ; and renews her own degraded youth in
lant lesson. Is it deemed indelicate for a mother to the degradation of her child.
impress it upon the mind of her daughter that she is to Is this a startling and dreadful picture ? Yet how
be a wife and mother? That she is to be the guide of many such there are; not perhaps vitiated to the full
immortal souls, accountable to Heaven for the charge extent of our picture, though there are many for whom
and that, if she be unfit for this duty when called upon it is an accurate portrait, but occupying every interme-
to exercise it, she had better-far better have never | diate grade. Shall it longer-much longer be ?
lived at all? Oh, that there were more of real delica W We crave indulgence while we advert to one more
cy abroad, and less of its flimsy shadow! Mothers | important particular in regard to woman, before we
can often help their daughters to husbands-can twist close this already extended essay. We enter our pro-
and screw and manage and thwart inclination, and test against the early marriages on the part of females,
entail a weight of misery that would, at best, effectually so prevalent. The very truth that such marriages are
prevent the proper exercise of any duty, but they can sanctioned by custom, and are, therefore, common, the
teach them nothing of the great objects of existence to more excites us to urge its evils and advocate reform.


92
THE TRA DES MAN’S DA U GHTER.
The male is confined by the shackles of the law, until her mother. In vain had she exhausted every endear-
the full vigor of manhood shall enable him to enter withing epithet and term of consolation to arouse her from
honor and success upon the arena of duty. Bat woman the lethargy of sorrow. Nothing would do. Over-
assumes her most serious responsibleness while she is come with her own sorrow and the sight of her forlorn
yet a very child. It is true, that the female frame is il parent, she let her young head fall into the lap of her
developed at a somewhat earlier period than that of the mother, and gave vent to a burst of anguish terrible and
male; but so far as our experience is our witness, this touching in one so apparently helpless. For some time
discrepancy does not extend in equal measure to mind. she rested exhausted upon her immovable mother, when,
For wliom will you demand more ripeness of character suddenly springing up, her whole frame quivering with
than for the wife and mother ? and yet there is many a eager hope, she exclaimed, “Up, dear mother, there is
wife and mother, who is but a thoughtless and careless yet hope.” Slowly the despairing eyes of her mother
girl. Let us be borne with, though we speak plainly, turned and rested their frozen beams on the glowing
for we speak at the same time what we feel, and indeed, face of the enthusiastic girl; her marble lips parted,
we speak the truth. It needs not argument to convince and her voice seemed to come from a far-off vault,
that in whatever light this custom is viewed, its per “Hope, hope ! and who speaks of hope-thou, my fa-
nicious influences are of a serious nature. It is beyond therless one-hope ?-no, the clutches of the tyrant are
the pale of the unfortunate and ill-judged; it is aggra- | upon us; the shadow of death is over us; the wail of
vated—it is criminal.
cracking heart-strings is in my ear, and talk ye of hope?
In bidding farewell to a subject that has enlisted our There is no hope—none.” Her features had remained
deepest interest, we would express our conviction that fixed while she was speaking, and, but that the eye
in no particular should there be more speedy and moved, the voice might have seemed to come from a
vigorous clamor for reform than in respect to the es-statue, so death-like and cold it seemed.
timate of the “Sphere of woman," and the mental ali- It was the first time she had spoken-and Ruth,
ment she requires. Woman is not honored as she thinking reason was returning to its seat, answered ea-
should be ; she is not known; she does not know her- gerly, “Do not despair, dear mother; I have a thought,
self. It is the blindness in regard to her, which has if you could only compose yourself to listen. 12" but
led to the existing jealousy of man, and the desire to she broke off on seeing she spoke to ears that grief had
commingle with him in every scene, in every duty. I made deaf to her voice. But the energy of the young
This cannot be. The fiat of the Almighty has declared girl sunk not, and she prepared to accomplish the pro-
that it cannot be, and woman remain herself. Oh, let ject that had flashed across her mind in the depth of
her know herself! Let her appreciate herself, and her grief, as the dazzling bow of heaven sometimes
honor her own glorious calling! And so soon as this throws its belt of brilliancy over the earth, while the
shall be, she will be fully and truly honored and respecto rain is yet falling. Ruth wrapped herself in a large
ed by man. The superficial deference that is now ex- cloak, and giving directions to a boy about six years old
tended to her, which is demanded only by her compara- to watch his mother, left the house. She wound through
tive delicacy and weakness, enlarged perhaps by a sense several close streets that led to a more retired part of
of her superior virtue, will give place to a deeper, slron the city, and soon, unmolested, stood on the step of
ger, intenser regard; inculcated by the knowledge that what, by its closed shutters and rusty latch, appeared
she hath her own mighty work to achieve-her own to be an uninhabited tradesman's stall. Her eager knock
lofty sphere on earth; a work, that man, in all the pride was unanswered-a second, and a third. Impatiently
of giant intellect, cannot accomplish-a sphere, in she raised the latch and entered what had been the
which in his most soaring and far-reaching impulses, he ware-room of a goldsmith's stall. Cases of rings, plate,
cannot move.
jewelry and all the multifarious articles that compose
the stock of a wealthy goldsmith of those times, lay
Original.
scattered about the room without regard to order, and
THE TRADESMAN'S DAUGHTER.
covered with the accumulated dust of months. The
fever of excited hope ran too wildly in the mind of Ruth
BY ANN S. STEPHENS.
to admit of more than a passing glance at the neglected
wealth scattered about her. She passed quickly for-
For hours the poor wife of the imprisoned tradesman ward, but stopped suddenly; and her heart quailed
had remained in the position which the overflowing of within her as through an open door she saw the object
grief had left her in. As if one blow had turned her to of her search. For the first time she thought of the
stone, she sat bending forward with clasped fingers, and magnitude and cruelty of the request she was about to
eyes distendedly fixed on the door, through which her make; and doubted whether, even to save the life of a
husband had been dragged. No appearance of motion father, she was doing right in tearing open the wounded
bespoke life, except a slight twitching of the nerves bosom of one whose feelings had been so much greater
about the mouth, as the soft troubled tones of consola- than those of death. Almost breathlessly she stood by
Lion reached her ear from the lips of her daughter; who, the open door, gazing upon the inmate of the little
beautiful in youth and fortitude, knelt before her with room. He was a man of about thirty years, thin and
tears rolling from her dark eyes, and streaming down palo almost to ghastliness, yet there was something
the sweet face that was raised imploringly to that of touchingly noble in his high, broad forehead, from which


THE TRA DES MAN'S DAUGHTER.
93
the black hair was combed and fell backwards over his I choaked voice replied, “ On Friday morning unless ho
shoulders.
can be saved."
At length, timidly and with sinking hopes, Ruth ven- || “Saved ; is there any hope of this ?"
tured to claim his notice by advancing into the room. "Only through you-only through you, uncle; and
He raised his head and a faint smile fitted over his it was for this I came; for this I dared to interrupt
features on recognising his niece. He motioned her to your solitude." Shore fixed his melancholy eyes upon
take a seat on a low stool by her side, and laid his hand her in inquiry, and silently waited for her to pro-
caressingly on her hair before he addressed her. At ceed.
length, fixing his eyes mournfully upon her face, he “Yes, uncle, it is to you I come to ask my father's
said, in a voice so clear and sad, that it fell soothingly | life, and the life of your brother. There is but one way,
on the torn heart of poor Ruth. “And what brings thee. Il and would to God I could follow it alone; but I can-
my child, to the lone home of thy uncle? Has sorrow not, and despair has urged me on lo entreat you to join
fallen on thy young head that thou seekest companion- me in petitioning one for his life, who the world says
ship with misery ?"
rules this King Edward, even in his most wayward
“Alas, dear uncle," she replied, “ you have guessed
moods; I mean—"
too right; I am in sore grief; for last night my poor
“My wife? Ye dare not say it ismy wife," almost
father was dragged from our hearth-stone by a compa-
sbrieked the unfortunate man, clutching her hand
ny of the king's men at arms, who accuse him of trea-
and as suddenly relinquishing it, as he fell into a chair, ev.
son.”
ery limb quivering with agitation, and big drops of per-
"Treason! my brother John guilty of treason? child, ||spiration gathering on his pale forehead.
thou ravest."
“Uncle, dear uncle, forgive this cruelty," cried the
"Oh, would I did rave, dear uncle, if that could make
terrified girl, “ unhappy that I am, thus to be forced to
my tale untrue-would I did rave. But alas, it is all
tear the heart of my kind uncle, or see my father on
Loo real. I saw it-felt it,” she continued, wringing
the scaffold.” She fell upon her knees by his side while
her hands and weeping bitterly; "I saw them tear him
saying this, and attempted to take his hand, but he re-
from the clinging arms of my poor mother, who now
" || sisted her effort, saying-
sits at home bemoaning him and bereſt of reason; I
“No, no, Ruth, ask me not to see her face-to hear
saw them strike with brutal violence my denr little
that voice; I could not and live. What! I, the father
Richard, as he clung to the knees of his father and beg-
of her child, her first, only, her lawful husband, to ask
her to smile upon the man who has made my home
ged piteously that they would not drag him from us. I
heard their coarse jests on my poor face as I knelt to
desolate, my child worse than motherless ? No, Ruth,
them in my agony of grief. Uncle, I do not rave;
no,"-and he sprang up and struck his clenched hand
would that I did "--and she leaned her forehead on his
upon the table-"not if it would save the life of all that
hand bathing it with her tears.
ever drew blood from the same fountain.”
| “My dearest uncle," replied Ruth, frightened at his
“Compose thyself, my poor child; nay, do not cry
vehemence, “ I did not ask all this; but one line, only
80; this matter may not be so bad as thou supposest;
llone line from you will do more than prayers from me.
knowest thou on what this charge of treason is founded ?"
I only ask you to write uncle ; surely you will do this to
“Yes; when I knelt and begged of them to tell me
| save your own brother and the father of your poor Ruth?"
my father's crime, they told me mockingly, uncle, mock- ||
"No more, no more ; I will—but do not torture me
ingly, that it was for boasting that he would raise his
| with words."
son to the crown. I knew not what they meant then,
| For some time the unhappy man wat as if endeavor-
but since I have bethought me, that once he said in one
lling to still the lumult of his frame. Then taking a vial
of his merry moods, that he would make our Richard
from his pocket he drank a part of its contents, and soon
heir to the crown, meaning the sign that hangs over
became calm enough to write ; but his hand seemed to
our ware-room. Some person must have reported this
shrink from the vellum; and it was long before he could
to the king, and my poor father is condemned to death
bring himself to write the first line; but when this was
by the cruel Edward for a few words of pleasantry.”
accomplished, he proceeded rapidly, as one who fears
"Impossible, child, this cannot be the cause; even
his power to finish a task will fail., With a heavy hand
Edward, base as he is, would blush to put a man to li
he placed his signature, and handing the roll of vellum
death for an offence so trifling."
to Ruth, motioned her to depart.
Nay, she replied, “but the king has construed || Elegant and costly as the fashion of the times would
those words into a contempt for his title to the English permit was the dwelling King Edward had provided for
crown, and therefore he condemns my poor father to the beautiful object of his illicit love. All that wealth
the block.”
could purchase or power command, was lavished upon
Shore arose and traversed the room in agitation; then her person and decorated her habitation, but each
stopping before Ruth, he said, “ Taken, tried and con- | day did she feel more sensibly the difference between
demned already! saidst thou thus, child-and at what the pure tenderness a husband feels for his virtuous
time must he suffer ?".
wife, and the unholy attachment expressed by the ob.
Ruth clasped her lands over her eyes as if to shut ject of her present choice. The glitter of wealth
out the sad vision this question presented, and in a could not hide, even from the object of such a union as
12


94
THE TRADESMAN'S DAUGHTER.
this, its shameless iniquity. The tie was formed by || over her, for she pressed the hand in which she grasped
trampling on the most sacred duties of life and upon the the vellum, heavily against her side, and stood for a few
best feelings of the human heart. It was a bond of sin, moments gasping for breath, and quivering in every joint
and misery was its reward. Full and sparkling was the with suppressed agony.
golden bowl the youthful monarch had offered to the | Ruth, almost exhausted with the contending emotions
lips of his beautiful victim. She drank-but bitter was of the day, set watching with pale cheek and heavy eye,
the gall and wormwood she was condemned to drain the overpowering agitation of the aunt she once thought
alone to the bottom. Edward's attachment for her was so perfect.
still in its first freshness. She had not yet been called Jane at length advanced to her, and laying her finger
upon to witness his hand tear away the unholy links on the vellum, said, in a low hoarse voice that, as she
that bound them together, to spend days and nights in proceeded, rose to the pitch of agony, “ This tells are
listening to his footsteps, to hang on his eye for a glance there is a favor I can grant-ask it-take it, though it
of former kindness, and to listen and look in vain; but lishould be my heart-strings, and in return bear this mes.
her foreboding heart told her this fate would inevitably sage to him; tell him that if Jane Shore could again
be hers; and a trembling dread of the future poisoned lay her head upon his bosom, as it once rested in ber
the present.
heart's innocence, she would endure the torture of years
Whatever were the reflections of Jane they were — tell him she is more wretched with a monarch at ber
interrupted by advancing footsteps. She listened with feet, and the magnificence of a queen about her, than
her graceful head bent slightly forward, and her heart he can be in the solitude of his desolate home, for he
palpitating like a caughtbird under her jewelled stomach- has an approving conscience for a companion ; but I-
er. Nearer came the light footsteps, and brilliant was the what have I but the consciousness of having scattered
smile that flashed like morning sunlight over each beau- | desolation and sorrow in the path of all I should have
tiful feature, dimpling the cheeks and lips into almost loved ? Tell him I feel that misery, deep misery, will
chill-like sweetness, as she advanced to the door. It follow me for this; and now briefiy tell me thine criand,
opened, and admitted, rot the expected royal lover, but for I would be alone with this scrolland my conscience."
a female, shrouded in the ample folds of a large cloak, ! Ruth, with many tearful interruptions, informed her
who advanced timidly and knelt at her feet as she stood of the imprisonment of her father, and the pitiful state
surprised and disappointed. Jane's natural benevo- of her other parent. Then she went on to describe ber
lence prompted her to acts of kindness, and pitying the last distressing interview with her uncle. Jane listened,
evident distress of the kneeling stranger, she stooped to and as her thoughts were carried back to the scenes of
raise her, exclaiming, “ Nay, maiden, kneel not to me; her innocent happiness, by degrees the anguish of her
I am not one to receive the homage of my fellows. If feelings softened into a long and bitter fit of weeping.
in aught my poor efforts can assist thee, speak boldly; The certainty she fell of gaining a pardon for the bro-
there is no cause of fear."
ther of her injured husband, soothed down her lumultu.
Slowly the suppliant arose ; and, extending a roll of ous self-upbraidings; her beautiful features relaxed into
vellum, said, in a low suppressed voice, “ This, lady,
their natural state, and she sat with her rourd white
will inform you of my mission."
arm thrown carelessly around her niece, when quick
light footsteps were heard in the passage.
Jane took the vellum, thinking it a petition for her
The door
good offices with the king, such as she was in the habit
opened, and Edward IV., of England, entered the room.
A slight start, as his eye fell on Ruth, was succeeded by
of receiving; but before she opened it, she courteously
led the stranger to one of the tapestried benches in
a brilliant smile. He advanced, and with the graceful
the saloon. “Rest here, my poor maiden, while I
assurance of a man privileged to trample upon forms,
learn the contents of this scroll, and if I can serve thee
separated the aunt and niece and seated himself between
them.
fear not the issue."
“So, my lovely dame," said he, addressing Jane,
Thus saying, she withdrew to one of the arched wir-
“ you have found a companion in my absence; and by
dows and unrolled the vellum. It was scarcely open
my faith, a pretty one, too. I, who spurred my horse
when with a smothered shriek, and lips, cheek, and
| from the hunt till his sides were bloody, that I might
brow as pale as marble, she sprang to the shrouded fe-
not fail in my promised visit, feel now that I should
male and tore back the hood from a face scarcely less have forced him to death, had I known I should have
white than her own.
found you with such a companion."
"Ruth, my own Ruth,” she exclaimed, clasping the As he said this, his large blue eyes were fixed in care.
poor girl wildly to her bosom and madly kissing her less admiration on the blushing Ruth, while his hand was
forehead, “is it thou, so good and pure, who hast come familiarly turning the rings on Jane's fingers. Jane
to me in my degradation ? But that scroll--that scroll answered with a smile. "You return from the hunt in
—with its blasting signalure-whence came it, I say—
cheerful mood, my liege, and I am right glad to see it,
speak quick or my brain will burst?" and without wait-
and more especially that the maiden pleases your ma-
ing for an answer she darted forward to where the vol-
jesty-for she has a boon to crave of your royal cle-
lum had fallen, and again seizing it with trembling hands mency."
and compressed lips, ran over the contents. When she
“A boon, say you—and what favor can Edward deny
came to the signature, a spasm of pain seemed to dart a face like that? No, by the mass, if our citizens al.


ASK NOT WHY IT IS I LOVE THEE.
COMPOSED FOR THE LADIES' COMPANION BY CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN.
MODERATO CON EXPRESSIONE

Ask not why it
is
I
NON

love thee,
Why is
heav'n
di- vine,
I
on · ly know I cannot tell thee;

But
my heart is
thine.
Why loves the breeze at noon to
sigh,
Why
HH



cease, why cease the stars to shine?
I cannot solve, I know not why-
But my heart is
THE
thine,
Why loves the breeze at noon to sigh,
Why cease, why cease the stars to
FL
-Trias
shine ?
I cannot solve, I know not why,
But
my heart is
oublin 117+1
cor
thine.
Ft Neon 1!11.111
2
3.
THD+u
Though others smile with kindness on me,
This heart alone is thine;
Its every pulse an off'ring to thee,
So hallowed is its shrine.
The sun will hold his onward course,
Thus does my love, my love incline;
To thee, and nought on earth can force
My heart from being thine.
In vain thou bid'st me to forget thee,
Death shall first be mine,
E'en then my flitt'ring soul shall bless thee,
For my heart is thine.
Each thought that haunts this fever'd brain
From love's first dawn is thine, is thine,
And this, the latest breathes again,
That my heart is thine.


98
THEATRICALS.
THEATRICALS.
1 plishments—but we wish he were not more than half as popu-
lur as he is, that he might be obliged to work in the harness
with others, and thus be of more benefit to the profession be
to the public of a novel cbaracter, at this house, which was not has chosen. Moreover, we wish that the people were less satis-
adverted to in our last number-in other words, Mr. and Mrs. fied than they are with the little sketches in which he appears-
Mathews and Mr. Power have been again engaged, and have that they would find fault with mere scenes, and demand some-
occupied nearly the whole of the time.
thing from the players which should approach to what might
Mr. and Mrs. Mathews terminated their engagement about
be called a comedy. However, the work of reform, if it be
the middle of the month. On the gentleman's benefit night,
commenced, must of necessity be slow in its progress. The
practices of speculators in dramatic talent have done so much
which was announced as offering their performances for the
injury to the drama that it will be many years before any im-
last time in this country, the audience was exceedingly large
portant change can be effected. The days of the legitimate
and fashionable, and the several personations of these artists
drama, nevertheless, must be restored, or the drama-the acted
were greeted with warm plaudits from every part of the house.
drama, must die into paltry insignificance.
It cannot be questioned that their acting was fully worthy of
the applause and acclamation bestowed upon it. Both these !
NATIONAL.-At this establishment, within a few weeks, en.
performers are excellent. Mrs. Mathews is the more finished
gagements have been fulfilled by the Corps de Ballet, under
artist of the two, but the distinction is one only to be discovered
Monsieur Hazard, as he was styled in the bills; by Mr. For.
by the careful scrutiny of the analytical critic. We have not
rest, and by Mademoiselle Celeste. As yet, we have not spoken
space to speak at large on this point: yet, in a few words, wel of the first of these.
will endeavor to convey our meaning. Mrs. Mathews ever ap-
The Corps de Ballet was partially successful, and only so; for
pears the character she would personate. She never steadily this French company was almost entirely composed of Ameri-
gazes at the audience, betraying signs that she knows there are can girls, who have been under the instruction of Mr. Hazard
persons before her. She is wholly lost in her vocation. No in Philadelphia for several months. Why will our managers
actress can be more perfect-though others may be more fasci endeavor to announce all their novelties as imported, or, as
nating, and may overcome us with special wonder.” The having been polished by an engagement at a foreign theatre?
style of her acting is such that persons who wish to see some-
Is the fault with the public? If so, let it be amended. Let us
thing beyond nature had better not witness her perforinances-
take some delight in encouraging our own artists, and not ex-
such persons can see just such acting every day in a lady's
pend all our praise npon the second-rate and third-rate artists
parlor, without paying a dollar, if they have only the happi-
of England and France-persons who may shine very well in
ness of being introduced into good society. Mrs. Mathews,
the parts they are wont to personate at home, but who, to be
then, is only to be admired by those who have a good taste for
successful here, introduce petty plays night after night, and
the dramatic art and those who have never seen much of life-
week after week, which are applauded much more than the
Hei! best dramas of the best writers, and are utterly dangerous to
those who prefer to view it at the theatre than search for it in
the actual world. Mr. Mathews is not equal to his consort. He
the future interests of the drama. But to return toour subject,
is, however, a diligent and apt pupil. He bas learned rapidly,
Madame Stephan, of the company we have mentioned, is cer-
tainly worthy of a remark. She dances with ease and grace,
and, of course, has unlearned, also, to a good degree. He has
much still to unlearn. He is always before an audience-his
and is sure to be welcomed by the audience whenever she ap-
cyes tell you that he is aware of it-his smiles at the pit are
pears. Some of her associates are very promising in their art,
the seals that assure you of it. In whatsoever character you
and, by severe study, may in time approach to Madame Ste-
phan's finish, though they can never expect to equal her in that
behold him, your mind ejaculates there is Charles Mathews.
natural grace which can alone make a dancer great in the eyes
Mr. Power, the personator of Irish character, passed through of the public.
his farewell engagement immediately subsequent to that of the Mr. Forrest's engagement was, very judiciously in the mana-
performers we have mentioned above. We have often witness-ger, a short one. He has confined himself to a few of his old
ed, with pleasure, his delineations: they are always replete characters, such as Spartacus, Metamora, Claude Melnotte,
with a rich humor which is sure to please. We must take ex. etc. Rather peculiarly we think, he has not attempted any cha-
ception, however, to his mono-dramas, if we would make any! racter moulded by Shakspeare-and is it well that he has not,
thing like a critical comment upon the stage. No matter what perhaps ; for his fame as an actor, and his purse as a business
this actor appears in, it is Power here, and Power there-Powman, can never bo enlarged by his performances in the plays of
er everywhere! One is inclined to think that the actor is a the immort
the immortal dramatist. He can never endue his form and face
perfect autocrat, for it matters not how much the other actors with the subtle spirit which all of Shakspeare's characters
are annoyed, so he lights the scene. This, truly, is not obser- should possess in some degree plainly noticeable. Still, ve
vable at a single performance, but where a person witnesses would not be understood to say that he cannot give us a fair
the same play several times, it is evident that Mr. Power causes performance in many scenes. He can do so; and sometimes be
nearly all the stumbling on the part of those who have as good plays so well that we are surprised that he should hinge upon
a right to be heard as himself. This is shameful. It is not only i his efforts, unaccountably fixed deformities.
uncourteous to the actors, but is disrespectful to the audiences In Claude Melnotte, Mr. Forrest appears to much advantage.
who, year after ycar, countenance and applaud them. It is He seems to have felt the character to a good extent, and
Mr. Power's cunning that does all this--although he has not the though we dislike exceedingly his dress as the Prince, we pass
cuoning to conceal it from those who have their eyes open. it orer, to give him our word of praise for the beautiful manner
It is not, however, our province or disposition to expose all in which he delineates the aspirings of the low-born boy of
these tricks, unless they interfere with the enjoyment of the genius-in which he displays with nicely and precision the
audience. We hope to have such things reformed altogether! sense of error which Claude feels and his determination to
in future. Mr. Power would be much more acceptable to all wipe the stain away from his character. Yet we should not
parties, we think, if he were a little more modest.
forget to censure the pointed way in which he addresses the
As an actor he is very amusing-there is no one more so; yet pit, when he exclaims, “Oh, that we-we, the hewers of wood,
he has his faults. One of his chief ones we will mention. It is etc. We have noticed that he always obtains for it a round of
his familiarity with his audiences-his impudent self-posses- applause. It would better become an aspirant for political
sion, which carries him through everything, and which honors than one who would win renown as an artist, to adopt
strengthens our belief in the old maxiin, -" Brass is every such a style of expression. The sentence is always delivered
thing." If this is inherent to his composition, we regret it; if emphatically at the audience. We wonder at this, since Mr.
it is a " part of his system," let him rid himself of it as speedi Forrest in refusing to address his friends before the curtain,
ly as it is possible for him so to do. We admire his talent-we makes this out of the way method of speaking to them during
laugh at his Momus-like face--we are pleased with his accom- the play, altogether too palpable to be misunderstood.


LITERARY REVIEW.
99
Mr. Forrest's engagement was a farewell one, and he has de- || Now to fulfil mine oath! and were there none,
parted to the Southern cities. On the last night of his engage-
To bind me to pursue the murderer,
Should not my filial duty be enough
ment he was called before the curtain, and it was supposed
| To urge me on ? An oath ? an oath of vengeance!
that he would speak, but he only smiled and withdrew imme- || Oh, what have I to do with vengeance? I,
diately upon making his bow. We think this was tasteful. / Who do so shudder at the sight of blood.
Unworthy hesitation ; am I not
The practice of speaking before the curtain is foolish, and can
A warrior's promised bride? Where should I fly,
have no good effect. If a call be made for an actor it should I if not to him,
If not to him, in this calamity ?
seldom be done, and when done should be, indeed, a compli-Alas, he now awaits me, light of heart,
ment.
Beside the garden's verge-the spot I chose.
Afiliction casts no shadow on his dreams!
Mademoiselle Celeste has been attracting very large audien-
He looks for a glad meeting. Oh, Velasco,
ces every night. In the opinion of the multitude, no actress What desolation would be round my path,
ever equalled her; but she makes the judicious grieve, not so In this bereavement, where it not for thee!"
much that she does not please them, but that she pleases the
And again, her reply, when she discovers her lover, Velasco,
public so much, and that her miserable plays are greeted with is his murderer:
applause, while the words of the best dramatists fall almost
"Wake? Then 'tis a dream!
upon senseless walls. It is true she is an artist, but one in a
Oh, blessed waking! such a dream of horror
line of performance which has but little to recommend it. We
Duped my poor senses-were it palpable,
rather prefer to hear good ideas read well by a plain woman. It could not more have check'd my frozen blood.
To the intellectual, we bow in preference; for mere momentary Nor thrill'd mine eyes within their loosen'd orbs.
pleasure is as unsatisfactory as a sudden and short shower on a
Methought I gazed upon my slaughter'd sire-
Bound by an oath of dire solemnity,
heated desert of sand. The immense popularity of Mademoi To take swift vengeance on his murderer.
selle Celeste exhibits how easily the public are carried away Distraught with grief, I hasten'd to Velasco-
with the vanities of beauty and the trappings of art, rather
Whom should I make, but him, my champion ?
The lightning's flash-the mufiled thunder's peal-
than by great intellectual merit. Mademoiselle Celeste is an
The arrowy rain-I heeded not the storm ;
artist. She is certainly very accomplished; but it is out of But forward urged my steps, until, at length,
our power to divine why it is that the people are so anxious to I met my lover near our favorite haunt.
see her perform.
Averted were his eyes-but when he turn'd
To fold me in his arms, pale horror glared
From every tortured feature-then, oh, then
LITERARY REVIEW.
Thou art Velasco. This is not my home :
My happy chamber, where the morning sun
Sheds such a tender radiance. No; the air
Palayo: Harper & Brothers.-We consider this book as de-
Is black with vapors, and the moaning gale
cidedly the best Mr. Simms has presented to the public. With Bends the high trees and sweeps the murky clouds.
the exception of the Lady Cava, who is a milk-and-waterish | What do I here at such an hour as this?
creation hardly worthy of a place in its pages, his female cha-
in its page his female cha. It was no dream.
It was no drea
It is reality."
racters are creatures of fire and spirit, that rest upon the me-
In conclusion we quote the following, previous to her antici-
mory as if colored there with the pencil of an antist. The
pated nuptials with Velasco:
Gothic courtesan-we have forgotten her name-but the cha-
racter is vividly before us-is, in our estimation, the most fine-
“ My home seems changed: pew faces stare upon me;
Familiar ones are miss'd; or, do I dream?
ly delineated, and the most true to nature of any female that ho
Was it not all mere fantastic play
has yet portrayed. There is something thrilling, and yet of brain-sick fancy? No. I stood before
strangely correct, in the struggle of good and evil in her heart. The king, and claim'd redress against my lover.
The death scene kindles the fancy almost to horror, but we
Oh, hypocrite! thy tongue besought a boon
Thy inmost heart rejected. I have fail'd
should have liked the conclusion better had she been allowed
In my first trial-would it were the last.
to follow the good impulses of her heart, and have repented in May it not be the last? Have I not done
her native mountains. Among the men, is a most despicable
All that could be exacted of me? No!
My duty urges, and my oath compels-
Terrible duty! heart-distracting oath!
do not exactly fancy, and his brother whom the author most
Is this the hand to point th' avenging steel-
appropriately makes the lover of Lady Cova. The two cha- || To point it against him! And do I waver ?
racters were created each for the other, and if they are not
| Dol so soon infract my sacred word ?
Ye powers of retribution, strengthen me-
allowed to get married in the promised two volumes, it will be,
And thou, impatient ghost, rebuke me not
as the old ladies say, "against all nature." The book will not For this delay: I'll not forget thy mandate:
only be read, but will be remembered : for there are scenes in I will do all my woman's weakness can."
it that cannot leave the mind.
Throughout the entire work, we could continue making ex-
Velasco; a Tragedy: Harper & Brothers. This American tracts, in proof of our opinion, were it necessary; but the re-
production reflects the greatest credit on its talented and young putation of Mr. Sargent is too firmly established to require such
author, Epes Sargent, Esq. We have perused this play with a course. It is, in short, a production reflecting alike honor to
unusual attention, and feel no hesitation in pronouncing it the poetic powers of the author and the dramatic literature of
equal to the best of those emanating from foreign dramatists. our country. Velasco has been produced in Boston with the
The poetry of Velasco is rich and glowing-the dialogue is most unequivocal success. Miss Ellen Tree sustained Izidora.
pointed and free from irksomeness—the incidents sufficiently the heroine. It will, we are happy to learn, be performed at
dramatic to ensure the perfectness of stage effect. The reflec the South this winter by the same lady.
tions of Izidora are chaste and beautiful, particularly in the
scene after having beheld the corpse of her murdered father STANLEY; or, the Recollections of a Man of the World: Lea
& Blanchard. This is an American work; the name of the au-
“ He moves not-breathes not! Is this death? No, no!
It cannot, should not be! not death! not death!
thor is not, however, revealed. It equals any of those which
Ah, father, speak-it is thy daughter calls !
are now flowing so fast from the press of our country, and in
She, who this morning hung upon thy neck-
point of literary composition it is superior to many of thom.-
Whom thou didst circle in thy living arms!
Oh, do not leave me thus!
G. & C. Carvill.
Cold, motionless,
Silent, for evermore!
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY.—The publishers, Lea & Blanchard,
And I stand here,
have issued, complete in one volume, the first part of this pecu-
Conscious of this, yet wondrously alive-
liarly interesting narrative. The illustrations are numerous
Nerving my sinews to the appointed task.
The name! Know ye the name he would have utter'd!
and characteristic of the story. Charles Dickens, the notorious
Ye do not. It is well. Bear in your burthen.
"Boz," is the editor of the work in question.-G. & C. Carrill.


100
EDITORS'TA BL E.
NAPOLEON MEMOIRS-Evenings with Prince Cambacérés.-! JULIETTA GORDINI ; THE MISER'S DAUGHTER.-We have read
E. L. Carey & A. Hart.-The author seems possessed of the the manuscript of this play carefully and critically, and consi-
necessary materials for the formation of a valuable record of der it a valuable acquisition to the dramatic literature of our
past events. We have not read it through, but what we have country. The plot is intensely interesting and is developed
satisfies us that it is one of great interest.-Wiley & Putnam. with great skill and judgment. The language is simple and
AN EXPEDITION OF DISCOVERY IN AFRICA. E. L. Carey & A.
effective and distorted by none of those unpatual inversions 50
Hart. This work is the production of James Edward Alexan common among our modern play-writers. The author has also.
der, under whose conduct the expedition commenced its tour with great good taste we thiok, resisted several grand oppor-
of discoveries. The volumes are interspersed with anecdotes tunities for inserting ranting and raging speeches in his piece.
illustrative of African manners, together with a brief descrip There is much fine sentiment, glowing imagery and touching
tion of the chase as conducted in that wild country. It is an poetry in the performance, all in accordance with the characters
invaluable work.-Wiley & Putnam.
which utter them and flowing naturally from their position in
THE MIDDY: E. L. Carey & A. Hart. This is another of ll the story. We learn that Mr. Isaac C. Pray, Jr., is the author.
those numerous productions, the foundation of which is laid The annexed article will be read with pleasure by those who
on the ocean. The interest of all such narratives are mostly of feel the importance of a Christmas dinner. The author has
a nature calculated to enlist deeply the feelings of the reader. I conceived and executed his work in a truly poetical style. He
-Wiley & Putnam.
is evidently inspired much by his knowledge of the standard
ROMANCE OF VIENNA: E. L. Carey 6. A. Hart-Here we have poets. This is betrayed in his style:
the famed Mrs. Trollope again. Her mind is ever active, and
THE TURKEY--A CHRISTMAS PIECE.
consequently she is always engaged with something or other-
whether it be of a libellous or innocent nature it is the same to
I saw the Turkey in his matchless pride ;
her. Her powers of description are great and they would do
The barn-yard ground, with crest erect, he walked.
honor to a more worthy owner. There is a peculiarity about
His subjects marched behind and by his side;
her writings that we have ever admired, although we strongly
And he Grand Turk of all, imperious stalked.
condemned her illiberal and prejudiced opinions.
No crowned king could with this fowl compare
British SENATE: E. L. Carey & A. Hart.-The author of the il In his majestic step and stately air.
“Great Metropolis," has, apparently after much labor and re-
Himself at his full height he proudly raised-
search, succeeded in manufacturing the “British Senate; a se-
cond series of "Recollections of the Lords and Commons.” It
Each other Turkey meekly bent his head,
is a work, we doubt not of much truth, inasmuch as the author
And then around him in contempt he gazed,
And, could he speak, I'm sure he'd thus have said:
states he has done every thing in his power to insure the great-
"Show me the Turkey on this farm, I say,
est possible accuracy in his statements. The description of the
That from myself can bear the palm away."
opening of Parliament by the young queen, Victoria, will am-
ply repay a perusal.---Wiley & Putnam.
Thus thought the Turkey, and in grandeur stood;
But soon the ruthless farmer-boy drew nigh-
His right hand sternly grasped a club of wood,
EDITORS' TABLE.
His sleeves up-rolled, and murder in his eye.
ACADEMY of Fine Arts, Barclay street.-A most magnifi-|| With direful force he struck one deadly blow,
cent collection of pictures has just been opened in Barclay St.,
And on the ground he laid that Turkey low.
each picture a study and a gem. Four are by Dubufe. One is
a thrilling scene from Lord Byron. The quiet and holy pic The Turkey fell ; but struggled still with death :
ture of John in the Wilderness, is of itself sufficient to place His eye a look of stern defiance wore;
the artist at the head of modern painters. The Circassian And, half up-raised, he madly strove for breath,
Slave, and the Princess of Capua, the one a portrait, the other Then gave one desperate gasp, and—all was o'er!
an illustration of a common Eastern custom, are both full of And here this moral is impressed on all,
Dubufe's peculiar excellence. The satin drapery about the That soon or later, pride must have a fall.
former is perfection in its way. But the principal attraction of
Ah, hapless Turkey! Hard was thy sad fate!
the room is an immense picture of the Destruction of Jerusa-
lem, by 'Titus, for the first time exhibited since it came from the
For o'er thy mangled corpse, in joyous glee,
hands of the artist. A day might be well spent in examining
Matrons, maids, urchins, each before a plate,
Shall mingle laugh and mirth and jollity,
this fine painting, and each hour would end in the discovery of
Until, at last, satiety shall be,
a host of rich beauties, unperceived by the careless observer.
It is indeed a rare production. The Revolt in Paris is the only
remaining scene which is of deep interest and finely executed.
And ye, the offspring of that luckless bird,
The whole entirely fills the exhibition room, which is fitted up
Will ye not sigh, and weep, and rave, because
with excellent taste, and with a regard to light which gives a
He whose sweet gobbles have so oft been heard.
most beautiful effect.
Is gobbled up himself by human jaws ?
And cackle curses 'gainst that custom grand,
LINES ON THE DEATH OF MISS M. B. SNOWDEN.
Which spreads such havoc through all Turkey Land ?
The happy parents, for their children's joy,
Have made ye parentless; he who was living
Yesterday, your sire, now dead, they do employ-
Grief infinite to you-for their thanksgiving.
So goes the world; what's happiness to me,
Another's direst curso, perchance, may be.
The sweetest flowers that gem the gay parterre,
In transient beauty bloom, and fade away:
And mem'ry fondly sighs o'er tlowers that were
The fleeting shadows of the by-gone day.
And thou art gone! gone to thy narrow home
Ero rip'ning years had nursed thee into bloom,
To that bright world where angel spirits roam
Whose op'ning gates are in the silent tomb.
Spirit of maiden purity, farewell:
Claim'd by the holy sisterhood of Heaven,
In endless realms of light and life to dwell,
Sinless in soul-in lighter sins forgiven.
W. E.
Reader-these lines a moral good contain,
Which you with care may easily discover;
I shall not deem my verses are in vain,
If you will deign to con that moral over.
Yes! In these stanzas of an unfledged peo,
A lesson is to Turkeys and to men!


一
​:
時
​M



TE
DA
SOBE
pe
BE
.
D
A
TR
VE
ola
illic
BE
HI Barted
Frintre o Rifier
THE TOMB OF WASONGTON, MOINT VERYON.
Ezgjia ved for the Libbyes lemja mion








THE LADIES' COMPANION.
NEW-YORK, JANUARY, 18 3 9.
Original.
|| firm against the beatings of the ocean, his name will be
THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON. remembered, and he will need no other monument.
| He fought for his native soil, and by that soil alone
BY ANN S. STEPHENS.
should his tomb be decorated. The sculptor might ex-
The Tomb of Washington! Let the eve dwell upon haust his art, and the graver his skill, to embellish
this sacred picture; let these words, which contain a that tomb, yet the most exquisite workmanship would
mournful history of death and of departed greatness, but mar the simple and quiet loveliness which now lin-
linger within the heart till all the sad and yet glori-gers about it. Upright and unostentatious was his cha-
ous associations connected with them are awakened. racter-silence and verdure should for ever dwell about
he Tomb of Washington! to every son and douche his last resting place.
ter of America, these few simple words convey a melan. It has been in deliberation to remove the remains of
choly and powerful meaning. Feelings of mingled af: | Washington to the seat of General Government, but to
fection, pride and regret awake in the bosom, like those
those who hold the ashes of the dead as something lito
aroused by a strain of funereal music, when drums are
tle less than holy, it would be almost sacrilege to dis,
muffled, and crape streams gloomily from the folded
turb his august repose, even to gratify the pride and pa-
banner. Solemn thoughts of greatness mingling with
triotism of a nation. True, it would seem but fitting
native dust, beneath the shadow of those trees, impress
that his burial-place should be in the marble aisles of
us with the majesty of that mind which has endowed a
the capitol, that the shadow of his presence might fall
nation with its own greatness and with the magnitude of
like the wings of an archangel over that place where Sena-
those deeds which have coupled the name of Washing-
tors and lawgivers assemble to regulate the power which
ton with reverence and love, not only here among his
his firm mind and strong arm secured to them. The pre-
own children, where the effects of those deeds are
sence of the illustrious dead might have a salutary moral
daily and hourly felt, but abroad, throughout the ci-
influence on the deliberations of the living. It would
vilized world, in the humble cottage of the Euro-
seems that ambition might stand rebuked, and the clash
pean peasant; on the throne of the Autocrat; in the
of political factions be hushed beneath the dome wbich
sheltered the body of Washington. But if the moral
palaces of kings; nay, in the regal halls of that very
influence of his example prove insufficient to keep the
monarch whose power he braved, and from whose grasp
he wrested a Nation's freedom. The grand, the sub-
allar of liberty unstained, and the temple of laws sacred
lime, the thrilling and the beautiful, all mingle and grow
to justice alone, neither would the presence of his
strong in the heart while dwelling upon this subject.
venerated dust have that effect. To the man who could
The soul becomes agitated with deep feeling, like the
feel the solemnity of his presence as it should be felt,
ocean when waters are surging darkly up from its se-
with the glow of patriotism and the enthusiasm of poe-
try, the holy associations connected with his remains
cret caverns, and are breaking away, wave after wave,
could never grow dim; but to the mass, their very near-
in the broad sunshine. The gloom of the grave is
ness might take something from the feeling of awe which
there, but the glory of past deeds is shed all around
now lingers about his tomb. No; let his remains rest in
it, telling of the Hero's life on earth, while a soft and
placid light breaks gently up from the horizon beyond
peace; the crowded thoroughfare and the arena of
the tomb, speaking of that home which is shared by the
political strife is no fit mausoleum for the body of Wash-
Hero and the Christian in Heaven.
ington. Let his tomb remain in its simple beauty, where
To those who can feel the true loveliness and dignity
the sunshine falls pleasantly through the overhanging
of nature, there is something heavenly in the solemn re-
branches upon it, and the breezes of heaven fan it with
pose which hallows the Tomb of Washington. There
their invisible wings. May it still remain where the
is a sublimity in its very lack of ornament, well befit-
blossoms of Spring lavish their perfume amid the tal]
ting the last resting-place of a Republican General. Let
grass, and the leaves of Autumn rustle a solemn dirge
to the breath of coming Winter.
an Alexander the Great, or a Napoleon, men who con-
Let a guide be
quered from a love of conquest, be perpetuated in mar-
ever in readiness to conduct the stranger through the
ble, lofty as their own ambition, cold as the hearth-sac
sacred shades, and that guide a pensioned soldier of the
stones their arms have made desolate. Let them be
Revolution, so long as one of the venerable band remains
coffined in gold, rich with the spoils of victory, and bla- | to perform i
with the spoils of victory and heal to perform the office. And when the last one shall dis-
zing with gems wrested from the crowns and sceptres appear from among us--when the minute gun sounds
which they have recklessly trampled beneath their feet.
forth the death of a generation, let the Tomb of Wash-
For these things they conquered, and by these things
ington be opened, and that soldier be placed at his feet,
let them be remembered. But Washington, our father,
that their dust may be mingled together, the first and the
needs none of this. He fought only for the redemption of last of an illustrious army, which will then have dis-
his native land, and while one rood of that land remains || appeared from the face of the earth for over.
13


REPARATION.
105
mine snout.
tints that made the charms of this delicious face, it was my father is a very clever scholar, but one would think
the expression of blended intellect and modesty, which that literature had given him a kindlier feeling for wood
rendered it enchanting, and invested the sweet image craft."
with a magical influence. The portrait had been pain- || “Arthur,” cried the father looking up again, “are
ied in a moment of inspiration. Arthur was proud of you bent upon the chase to-day ?”
his skill, but prouder of the likeness-it was enthroned | “Aye, determined, sir. I have sworn to destroy the
the genius loci of the place, as the fair original had monster-his life or mine."
been erected into the divinity of his heart--so that “It is thus," said he, musingly, “that man ever
those fair eyes were the first which greeted his own at seeks his foe. If it be a brute, through snow and ice,
waking, and the last on which his looks reposed at through fire and flood he rushes to his revenge. But if
night. It seems as if his orisons were purer for having it be a human foe he seeks-God help the man who
that mute witness of his devotion—there were times crosses his path! Arthur! may you never know what
when his fancy almost deceived him into the belief of it is to avenge a mortal injury."
the actual presence of his beloved idealizing all his! As if ashamed of his vehemence the old man shaded
views, and purifying all his wishes.
his face with his hands, and appeared absorbed in his
But it was not to this apartment that Arthur bent his book. Leaving him to his studies, Arthur deseended
steps upon returning from the chase. He made his to the sitting-room, engrossed in the sublunary care of
way to the sanctum of his father. This was a large providing for his bodily wants. Old mistress Briarton
room with a huge old-fashioned fire-place, and the ceil- was bustling about, busied in setting out a table, which
ing was crossed by naked rafters of white-oak. The speedily groaned under the profusion of the viands
furniture was of the plainest description, but it boasted heaped upon it. There were venison steaks, hot bread
an admirable collection of books enthroned on the and ham and eggs, while a huge coffee-pot sent up a
shelves of old worn-eaten book-cases. There were savory stream from its spout.
ponderous folios, and airy duodecimos, and dark vel “Fine times,” cried the old dame, tartly, as our hero
lums contrasted with the gaudy exteriors of modern entered, “when you make no bones of keeping the
edition, while their contents were as various as their table waiting half an hour, and disappointing us after
weight and dress. The satirical spider wove his meshes all. Here I've been obliged to cook another supper for
undisturbed over weighty tomes of controversial theolo- you. And then your dogs-like master like man-
gy, on which the book-worm only preyed. History only one of 'em ready for his victuals. The other will
displayed its numerous quartos, while modern poetry be coming in just as I am clearing things away, I war-
conceitedly assumed a place beside medicine and juris- rant."
prudence. Justiman was elbowed by Moore, and Aris- li “Marcus will never trouble you again,” said Arthur,
totle crowded hard by Byron. In the midst of this " he is dead."
apartment sat its owner, a stern, grey-haired man of “What do you mean?” cried the old woman, who,
fifty-five, at a table which was covered with books and after all had a kindly heart. “Dead, Marcus dead ?
manuscripts. Many of these had fallen to the carpet And how came that?"
and there formed a cordon around him, so that he might “ The bear,” said Arthur.
have been fancifully likened to an astrologer of the “The nasty wretch !" cried the old woman, “there's
middle ages, in the centre of his magic circlo. Luke no end to the trouble he's caused. And Marcus was a
Ashton looked up as Arthur entered.
good cretur after all, and very fond of you, Mr. Arthur.
“Well, my son, returned at last! What sport ?" You wouldn't have had so many antlers on your walle
“Indifferent,” replied Arthur, carelessly, as he flung if it had'nt been for him."
himself in a seat.
ll “I know it, dame," replied the young man, “but
“I'm glad of it," replied the senior, coldly, “because, to-morrow Bruin pays the penalty. Brashley and I are
to-morrow I can pin you down for that unexplained going to wake him right early."
passage in Plato's republic.”
“Oh! you won't go near him, Mr. Arthur,” said the
“ You must excuse me, sir," replied the youth; “Pla-old lady.
to's mysteries must be unexplained to-morrow. I have “No farther than into his den, I assure you,” replied
stirring game on foot-the unearthing of a sort of mon- Arthur, laughing.
ster from his mountain fastness.".
It was with uplifted hands and eyes, that the ancient
“ Indeed, my boy! And pray what sort of monstrum dame conjured the young Nimrod to forego an adven-
horrendum is the object of your enterprise?"
ture which seemed to her so fraught with danger; but
“ The bear, sir. He has been the terror of the neighi- || all her remonstrances proved fruitless, for as the young
borhood for a year. He has a long account of plunder-man lighted his bed candle, and bade the dame good
ed folds to answer for—and to-day has added another night, he again expressed his determination to follow
to his list of crimes. The best dog that ever brought the trail of the bear. Fatigue and exercise soon threw
deer to bay, or bled for his master, has paid the penalty the young huntsman into a profound sleep, from which,
of his gallantry. Marcus is dead!"
however, he was awakened at the dawn of day,
“Ah! is he?" replied the old man indifferently as he and sprang from his couch as the first grey light
resumed his book.
crossed the Eastern horizon. He was rapidly attir-
" Is that all!" muttered Arthur to himself. “Well, l'ed and equipped, and after dispatching his breaka


106
REPARATION.
fast and feeding his dogs, was ready to take up his line | she said, "you are jesting. Let me hope you will not
of march. Mrs. Briarton, now in her blandest humor, enter into collision with that dreadful animal.”
a singular medley of smiles, and tears, and snarls, bade “The adventure is not so very terrible,” replied Ar-
him take good care of himself, as she tied a fur comfor-thur, gaily, pleased at the interest displayed by Isabel.
ter round his neck, and gave him his wallet of provi- “ Your bear is a very prudent animal, and 'tis ten to ono
sions. She watched him anxiously as he departed from he may fly at the first intimation of our approach. I
the house.
say our approach, for I'm not going to venture into the
"Ah! he's a proper nice young man," she cried,"and conflict like a veritable knight errant, unarmed and un-
it would be a thousand pities if he came to harm. But attended, for I have for a squire, our trusty and well-
goodness gracious! what is the boy about? He isn't beloved Elisha, surnamed Brashley, sargeant of the
taking the road to the mountain. Perhaps he's grown | Bellefonte Rangers—and our good hound Hylax, would
wiser than he was a moment since, and has given up the worry a Hippogriff."
scheme. No, no! he's going to Mrs. Markham's. Aha! “And why not, Mr. Ashton, since Brashley's a host
I suspect! I suspect! Well, well, Miss Isabel is a pret- | in himself, let him go alone ?".
ty girl and a sweel-tempered one, and they do say that “Nay," replied Arthur, “ I must share his darger
the old lady has a power of money, kept in the banks if danger there be. Brashley is married-has children;
away down to Boston and New-York. Well, well, he if he meets with harm, how many hearts will bleed for
might go farther and fare worse-as the frying-pan said him-while I, save my father who would mourn my
to the fish."
| fate-I am a waif upon the waters of existence, the
Meanwhile Arthur diverged from his path, and ap- sea of fale may overwhelm me, and nono bewail my
proached a neat white dwelling, which stood somewhat loss.”
remote from the beaten road. Its walls in summer were “You do yourself injustice," said Isabel, with a fal-
covered with verdure, for its fair inhabitants were fond tering voice, “ you have many friends who would lament
of flowers, and literally embowered their habitation in your loss."
luxuriant vines. But these had disappeared beneath “ There is one alone whose sympathy I crave !"
the icy breath of winter, and now to the wan trellices, Their eyes met-an electric glance revealed to each
clung only the skeleton stems and withered tendrils, the other's secret. Hope suddenly enkindled in the
which rattled in the passing blast. To our hero, how- breast of Arthur. He sprang to the side of the blush-
ever, even these poor legacies of summer had a charm. ing girl, and took her hand. She made no effort to
The whole landscape was sleeped in the sunny hues of withdraw it. The next moment he was pouring forth
his warm fancy, and he felt as a bird in approaching its his vows and confessions, mingling with them his hopes
native bower. The cloudy sun had now rose above and aspirations, his lofty views, his chivalrous desires.
the Eastern horizon, and the many paned windows of They had reached that moment of their lives when the
Isabel's dwelling flung back its light in diamond rays. 7 delights of memory and hope are lost in the bliss of the
With the familiarity of an old acquaintance. Arthur present. Their spirits mingled like two clouds that
opened the outside door, never locked in that peaceful meet in the sunshine of the summer heaven. Wrapt
and hospitable section of the country, and soon stood
in that entrancing communion of soul, they were lost
within the little parlor. A lovely girl stood with one to earth and its grovelling desires-purified and elera-
arm resting on the mantel-piece, gazing vacantly into a ted by that holiest of passions. The tongue of the
bed of glowing embers, where, perhaps, her fancy was
clock marked the rapid flight of time, and the hour of
shaping out likenesses, or building castles. She started
departure, and Arthur, after one permitted embrace,
at the step of a visitor, and we may pardon her if she
tore himself away. Isabel watched him with tearful
gave one thought to the simple dress in which she was cyes as he slowly and reluctantly resumed his path,
attired.
often turning to wave a mute adieu-to sigh a passiog-
“Mr. Ashton!” she exclaimed, in a pleasant tono of | ate
surprise, “an early visitor!"
“ And on he turns a truant eye,
And pauses oft and lingers near ;
“I should apologise,” began the youth.
But when he marks the brightening sky,
“I am sure you shouldn't,” said the young lady, “I
Away he bounds to hunt the deer."
am very glad to find you an early riser. Equipped too, I Atthe appointed trysting-place he met with Brashley
for the chase. Bravo! the very Nimrod of Bellefonte. fully equipped for the chase and accompanied by a
And so you are going to make war upon my favorites- couple of staunch hounds. Hylax gave them a look of
the deer-it's a pity they're such awkward creatures angry jealousy, and bristled his crest as he followed
sulkily in the footsteps of his master. The salutation
• To hunt the deer, with hound and horn,
Earl Percy took his way-'"
of the woodman was frank and cheering, and the two
“Nay, Miss Markham, my presumption will not, I
companions, side by side, resumed their march. Their
trust, cause a single óstag of ten,' to rue
progress was soon impeded by drooping branches, by
thorny vines and the slippery nature of the footing; but
“The hunting of this day.'
encouraged by beholding fresh foot-prints of the bear,
I am going against a more formidable antagonist-the they struggled along upon his trail. Here and there
bear of yonder mountain."
they found a sprinkling of blood, faint and dimmed, as
The cheek of the young lady turned pale. “Oh, no," if spilt the night before.
voll


REPARATION.
107
“That fellow bears a grudge agin you, I'll be bound,” | throat of the angry animal-then, as its head turned,
said Brashley. “You made your mark on the 'tarnal two glaring eyes gleamed fiercely before the daring in-
varmint last night, in red ink. I shall give his memo- | truder. Now was the eventful time. Arthur levelled
ry a jogging myself for fear he forgets his lesson." I his piece and took aim between the flashing eyes of the
They had now arrived at a scene of savage interest. beast. He pulled the trigger with a steady finger-a
A little opening in the gloomy pines, displayed a more shower of sparks flew from the flint-but the powder
gloomy torrent leaping from an overhanging rock into a in the pan reſused to ignite. The bear arose upon its
stone basin, and thence finding its way to the lowlands hind feet, gnashed its teeth and roared frightfully. Ar-
over a rocky and broken channel. At every obstacle in thur cocked the piece with a steady hand, and drew the
its path, it foamed, roared, and scattered its spray | trigger once more. A blinding stream of fire gushed
upon surrounding objects. To the left of this torrent, from the muzzle of the piece, a deafening roar broke
lay the opening of a deep cave, the access to which upon the silence of the cavern, and the thick smoke
difficult even in summer, was now highly dangerous. rolled upwards to the vaulted roof.
To this point the unerring scent of the dogs led them,
“You done it!" shouted Brashley, plunging down into
and their clamorous baying was replied to by a low | the den, regardless of his neck, and followed by the
growl, from the lowest part of the abyss.
dogs, which no longer could be kept back. “Aye!
“There's the onrighteous varmint !" roared Brashley. aye,," he added, as the result of the shot was evidene;
“ Snug enough in winter quarters. What's to be done“ the cretur's nigh his latter eend, and my hunting-
now? It would be murder to send the dogs down, and knife's a marcy.”
che place is dark and pokerish enough. There'll be no With rash, but characteristic bravery, the huntsman
use in a chance shot, for the entrance is winding." threw himself upon the wounded beast, and sheathed
“I have a thought,” said Ashton, after a pause. “I'll his knife in his heart. Arthur raised his cap and wiped
go down into the cave myself."
the perspiration from his brow—the formidable beast
“Go to destruction !" retorted the sargeant. “I've was dead.
seed a man in the travelling caravan go into the tiger's
cage and put his head in the cretur's mouih-but that | Arthur hastened to communicate to his father the
was cakes and gingerbread to this. Pho! pho! you secret of his attachment to Miss Markham, desiring his
aint, you can't be serious !"
early consent to their union. He had little, it is true,
“Perfectly serious, I assure you, I have made up my to offer her besides the devotion of his heart and hand,
mind. The thing is practicable; I will descend and since his main dependence was upon the successful cul-
shoot the monster where he is.”
tivation of his farm. He was surprised to find that the
“Then, by George, you shan't go down alone. I'll engagement met with the entire approbation of his pa-
keep you company if I die for't.”
rent, who acknowledged the beauty and worth of Isabel
"No, sargeant, I must try the scheme alone. Your in the warmest terms.
presence would embarrass me.”
"You have made a wise choice," he said, “and Ar-
“ Ha! ha! that's a likely idea!" roared Brashley. thur, you have not forgotten an essential to matrimo-
“No, cap'n, you don't shake me off so easy. I can't nial felicity—a fortune."
stand on the outside and see you thrusting your head “Upon my word, sir," replied Arthur, “I never
into such a bear-trap."
I thought of that."
"As your superior officer," said Ashton, smiling, “Ill “Never thought of that!” exclaimed the old man in
command you to keep on the outside of the den. Think, | surprise. “Now, Arthur, you are either a very great
my good fellow, you have a wife and children.”
hypocrite or a complete simpleton. Come, come, I
“My wife would never speak to me," said Brashley, I know you're not a fool. You've doubtless sounded the
stoutly, “ if you so much as got your face scratched and old lady on the subject of her daughter's expectations-
I came home with a whole skin. She'd be mad enough you've made a bargain, I warrant."
to make a few remarks on my countenance herself.” Arthur was shocked at the unscholar-like cupidity
" Then let me tell you,” said Ashton, “ you can be of and indelicacy that his father manifested. He was too
more service to me where you are now. Reserve your new to the world to be callous to such emotions in a pa-
self and your fire for the point of danger. When I rent. At twenty, avarice surprises-at fifty, nothing
give the signal, you are welcome to descend."
can astonish. He hastened to disavow any mercenary
Brashley reluctantly assented to the proposal, and views.
Ashton began his enterprise. Grasping his rifle he be- “Well, well," said the old gentleman,“ perhaps your
gan carefully to descend the dismal and slippery rocks, delicacy was politic; at least it was in character. Rash
which guarded the bear's retreat. More than once he affection for youth-prudence for old age. Well, Ar-
lost his foothold and came near being precipitated to thur,” he added, rising, and taking his hat and staff,
the bottom of the cavern. But a watchful Providence “I must see Mrs. Markham, and arrange the prelimi-
sustained him, and he descended in safety. Straining naries-ask her consent, and attend to the settlement.
his eyes to penetrate the obscurity of the den, he per- | It would'nt be quite proper for you to present yourself
ceived a huge inert mass, something like a pile of rocks, l until the result of the interview. Amuse yourself in
at the farther extremity. A sluggish motion was per the interim with reading. You will find Chesterfield in
ceptible in the heap, as a low growling issued from the the book-case on the right. Good morning."


108
REPARATION.
“Alas,” thought Arthur, left to himself, “and cannot || mother, “but I must reject your suit. Too soon you'll
literature and science raise us above the sordid level of know the reason of my determination. Providence has
base minds? Do we know the courses of the stars, || interposed a barrier between my child and you. I can
the bosom secrets of the earth, the powers of the mate- say no more."
rial world, and yet possess no bridle to our passions ? | “Then I'm lost indeed !" cried Arthur, and giving
Have Plato and the stoics lived in vain ? Pythagoras | way to the powerful tide of his emotions, he buried his
given fruitless instructions ? Where shall we find the face in his hands, and indulged in a flood of tears.
guide to peace and virtue, if we look for it in vain in “After what has happened,” said Mrs. Markham,
the writings of the Eastern magi?" His eye fell upon al “ you will perceive that a removal from this scene is
small clasped volume, bound in black. “The answer the only thing which can save my daughter's peace.
is before me," he exclaimed.
My resolution is taken. By to-morrow night we shall
“Within this sacred volume lies
be far from Bellefonte."
The mystery of mysteries."
"And where shall I be," muttered Arthur. He
He opened it and read some passages with humility.
sprang to the side of Mrs. Markham and grasped ber
His pulse beat with calmness, hope reigned in his heart, | hand. "I have but one request to make," he said.
and he met his father, returning from his mission, with
“I relinquish every attempt to gain the hand of Isabel.
a cheerful aspect. “What newe, my father?"
I give her up. I dare not question the justice of your
A strange foreboding was awakened by the counte-
decree, nor doubt a mother's judgment. Henceforth
nance of Luke Ashton. The veins upon his forehead
she shall be to me as an angel of light-as a star to
were swollen, a dark frown lowered on his brow, and a
shine on me from a distance-immaculate and unat-
sinister smile preyed upon his withered lips. He pull-
tainable. But to my human weakness you must grant
ed his hat down on his forehead with violence, and this or
this one parting interview with her I love. I claim
dashed his staff upon the floor.
this as due to the overwhelming sacrifice I make."
" What is the matter, father. Are you unwell ?” | Mrs. Markham, dreadfully agitated, answered, “Yon
" You may well ask that question. No; well enough | have my permission to see her for the last time. Let
in body. I'm a fortunate messenger, and you are hap-ll it be to-night.
py. You're a winning gamester, Arthur, and throw
double-six every time you lift the box.”
We leave it to the imagination of the reader to pic-
“Have you brought a favorable answer ?”
ture the manner in which Arthur passed the time that
“Mine are not the lips for messages of love. Go-
elapsed before the arrival of the appointed hour for his
learn your answer from the lips of her you adore. Go,
interview. Long before that period, he was restlessly
go, be happy."
pacing in the neighborhood before Mrs. Markham's
Arthur gazed upon the countenance of his father with
house, ruminating on the sudden change in his fortune.
an expression of doubt. The old man's agitation had
At length the shades of evening deepened the landscape,
passed away, leaving a calm expression on his face ; | the stars came out in the blue vault, and the snowy cones
but about the lips lurked that ambiguous smile we have
of the pine trees sparkled in their clear radiance. The
before remarked. Arthur snatched his hat and hurried night was cold and clear, and the aurora borealis was
with all possible speed to the dwelling of his mistress. beaming in the North. Arthur watched the streams as
Isabel and her mother were both in the parlor. The
they shot up to the zenith and then fell to the horizon.
countenance of the latter was flushed, and the eyes of
| “Such," thought he, "were my aspiring hopes, so they
such
the girl were red with recent weeping. Mrs. Mark-
soared to mid-heaven only to be dashed to earth."
ham bowed to Arthur, and then turning to her daugh-
| How often had he watched that magnificent aurora
ter, said, “Go, my child, I have that to say to Mr. Ashol in the morning of his aspiration, when he attached a
ton, which it would be painful for you to hear."
different meaning to its shifting splendors. He pushed
Isabel clasped her hands, rose, and rushed from the
open the little garden gate that stood invitingly ajar,
apartment.
and was at once in the little parlor. Mrs. Markham
"Mr. Ashton," said the mother, “what I am about || alone was there to receive him.
to say will give you pain, but I know not how to render
"Isabel is very ill this evening," she said, " and I
it otherwise. You have sought the hand of yonder thought you would give her time to collect her spirits
weeping girl. She can never be yours.”
while I prepare you for the interview. In order to do
“Ah, madam !” exclaimed the young man, "you this I must tell you my story. It involves that of your
have shattered at a blow the fairest hopes that ever
father, and you must suppress your filial feelings while I
youthful fancy formed. I have loved your daughter comment upon his errors. In early lifa
comment upon his errors. In early life I met your
long and devotedly. I did hope that you were aware
father; he then bore another name. Luke Morden
of this, and did not frown at my presumption."
I was young, gay and accomplished. His fine exterior
“I have seen your father. Ask me no more."
and mental cultivation attracted universal attention, his
"Perhaps, perhaps," suggested Arthur, “his views | motions were watched, his sayings recorded, and his
may not have met your approbation. Permit me to movements commented upon. In the ball-room, the
declare that mine are different. I ask nothing but your theatre, the crowded assembly, he was alike conspicu-
daughter."
ous. His fatal eyes were at length directed to me.
“I know it. I know your noble nature," replied the Oh! I knew I was envied. I, the object of his passion-


REPARATION.
109
ate devotion. He breathed his love in poetry and mu-l vow been kept thus faithfully, we might yet be happy.
sic. I was fascinated, dazzled-nay, my heart was But you were perjured when you swore to be my pro-
touched. He was wealthy. I was poor, with no dow-tector and my friend for life.”'
er but my charms. My guardian-for alas! I was an or- “ Listen to me," exclaimed Morden. “In that, you
phan-was opposed to a union so unequal, for ho natu- are deceived. My villiany was defeated by the honesty
rally reasoned that the passion of so celebrated a man of the agent I employed. He, repenting before it was
would demand a more brilliant idol to render his homage too late, procured a real priest, and our marriage was
permanent. Morden offered me a private union. Isolemnized by the sanction of divine and human laws.
consented. Under the cover of the night I fled from Here are the proofs." And here he extended to his
the house of my noble protector to the arms of a lover. injured wife the papers which substantiated his avowal.
A few stages from the city we stopped at a rustic inn. She perused them in silence, and when she again raised
There a priest appeared and performed the ceremony. her eyes they were suffused in tears.
For a short time we were happy. We lived in a lovely il “Hear me, Eliza,” said Morden in a tone of deep
village secluded from the world. A barrier of bills, earnestness, “ hear me ere I depart from before your
green with luxuriant foliage to the summits, shut us out face for ever-ere I go in bitter solitude to expiate my
from the busy world—its intrusive comments. A blue offences. I was voluntarily a wanderer from you but a
lake embowered in foliage reflected our charming brief period. A guilty passion led me for a while astray.
dwelling and garden. Here floated the bark of my I was spurned, rejected with contempt. I awoke to a
lover bridegroom, while at midnight stole up from the full sense of the enormity of my offences. I resolved
calm waters the music of his unexpected serenade. to see you and offer all that was in my power-my hand
Ah! what a fairy life was that. I even now shed tears and fortune. I came back to throw myself at your feet,
when memory recalls it. At length the hour arrived to do you justice, and to die. But that happiness was
when Morden wearied of his retirement, where he no | not reserved for me. I found our little paradise de-
longer heard the plaudits of the world, nor received the serted-weeds had choked up its garden, and the cold
homage of a brilliant coterie. He bore his situation winds of Autumn howled gloomily over its blue waters.
with sullen fortitude; but soon his indifference ripened I sought to trace you, but in vain. My agony, my de-
into disgust; he, he, deserted me-aye, fled. I was spair, no words can picture. For years I sought you
overwhelmed with despair, but the birth of a daughter faithfully. Plunged as I have been into every species
came like a sunbeam to my heart. Judge, then, my of excitement, they brought no balm to my broken heart.
horror when I received intelligence that the marriage | At length I have found you. I have given you the
ceremony was false—that I was a dupe-a victim. I proofs of the legitimacy of our union. I dare not hope
next heard of Morden at another's feet-the accepted for forgiveness, but this I ask, do not destroy the hap-
lover of a fascinating woman. The proof of the com- piness of these young hearts; let me see Isabel and
pletion of his perfidy is before me. You are his son.” Arthur Leslie happy in each other; as for me, no mat-
" And Isabel, his daughter! Gracious Heaven! ter what becomes of me."
what a sudden light has broken in upon me."
Mrs. Morden had risen from her chair; the tears
“ This morning," continued the lady, " we met for were coursing rapidly down her cheeks, and her bosom
the first time-for you know we both have lived seclu heaved with agitation. Arthur sprang forward, caught
ded from the world since our arrival in this village. her hand, raised it respectfully to his lips, kissed it, and
Agitated, alarmed, overwhelmed, I commanded him to then placed it in that of his father. It was precisely at
leave the house, and fled from his presence. I will this point of time that Isabel, pale and disordered, en-
never see him more."
tered the apartment. She was speedily informed of
“Never see him more!" repeated a deep and solemn all that had occurred. The joyful tidings brought back
voice which made the lady tremble. “Behold him the color to her pallid cheeks, and more than the usu-
here!" Arthur turned and saw his father. “Eliza!" | al animation to her lustrous eye. We will not dwell
said Morden, “look at me, and see whether my life has upon the happiness of the re-united lovers. That night,
passed happily since like a traitor I fled from my duty when Arthur bade good-night to his beloved, he pressed
and from thee. Look upon this brow, furrowed by the ber lips and she forgave him.
F. A. D.
lines of care. These locks, whitened, not by age, but Boston, Mass.
grief. I have wandered far and wide-learning, business,
war, have by turns, engrossed my time, but my heart has
never been false to you."
EXPERIENCE teaches that the sword, the faggot, ex-
“Never false to me!" cried the lady, “there stands | ile, and proscription, are better calculated 10 irritate
the living witness of your faithlessness."
than to heal a disease which, having its source in
“You are mistaken," replied Morden, calmly. “Ar- the mind, cannot be relieved by remedies that act
thur is the child of a dear comrade who died, commit- | only on the body. The most afficacious are sound
ting his infant son to my care. I swore to bring him doctrines and repeated instructions, which make a
up as the child of my bosom ; to adopt and educate him ready impression, when inculcated with mildness.
in a manner worthy of his gallant father. I have kept Every thing else bows to the sovereign authority
my vow."
of the laws; but religion alone is not to be com-
“Ah!" exclaimed the weeping lady, "had every manded.


GLIMPSES AT GOT HA M.
111
I sallied forth in pursuit.
| only occupants. He with the nose appeared behind
It did not rain-it poured! The sun had not been visi- || the counter, and bending over it with much grace, po-
ble for a fortnight. The streets were buried as deep litely desired to know my wishes.
beneath a superstructure of mud and water, as ever was“He is the shop-keeper-therefore doubtless a Go-
Herculaneum. Every man carried an umbrella. The thamite," thought I.
chase was half a square ahead of me, and going at full “Can I help you to any thing to-day, sir ?” he asked
speed.
| interrupting my thoughts.
“ This,” thought I, “is in favor of his being a Go- “Have you any nos— gloves, I mean to say, sir!"
thamite-for they never walk but rush along the streets.” “A superior article,” he said, handing down several
And herein he was a New Yorker: for he “scurried' | parcels.
along the pavé like a penny-post man. Skilfully hel I selected a pair.
evaded the sea of umbrellas that rolled and waved about “ Bad weather, sir," I remarked, entering into a
his head. By this I knew he was not from the country i conversation preparatory to the grand aim I had in
—what city then was to claim him! I was determined view-namely, to know what town gave him birth.
to know. He had to cross the street-but, although I “Extremely, sir."
evidently in great haste, he went thirty steps out of his “You have a great deal of rain in New-York, I be-
way to take the flags by a right angle. He must be a lieve."
New Yorker, was my mental ejaculation. He neither “No, sir. Never a city showed such a full pattern
lingered to gaze at any thing or any body—all that he of blue sky the year round—why, sir—we get three per
passed seemed too familiar to his eye to attract his at- cent less profit on our goods here than in Boston, the
tention. “Alas, for Gotham!" I said. He bowed with a shops are all so light-so much sunshine. I wish it
jerk of the head to several whom he met, just as a man was more cloudy, and the days were darker, for my
does to acquaintances he is in the habit of seeing daily. part-this bright weather is ruinous to our business.”
“Gotham, thou art the city that owns this man!” thus “No doubt, sir, no doubt. You have lived in New-
chought I.
York many years, I presume, sir?".
He turned down Wall Street, and as he got oppositel “Man and boy, and I may say baby too, for that
No. 8, he stopped and looked in as if about to mount the matter-for I was born back here in Nassau street, I
steps and enter, when with a negative shake of his head have lived here, and that's five and forty years come
he continued down at the same rate as before. This | next Christmas. It's improved vastly in this time, sir.
delay had enabled me to come up to within twenty feet It's got to be a great and 'wonderful place now-the
of him. What surprised me, and at the same time made greatest I expect in the world next to London."
me almost certain that he was a Gothamite was, that "It's the greatest and most wonderful nose I ever
his vast nose attracted no attention-no one turned to saw!" said I, unconsciously repeating his epithets, and
look after him-no one stared as he went by-no little gazing abstractedly on that organ.
boys shouted “ Nosey!"
“What, sir ?” he asked, as if he had not heard my
I lost him near the board fence that encloses the Cus- | paraphrase.
tom House, amid a rabble rout that were looking at “I beg pardon, sir,you were speaking of New-
caricatures stuck thereon. As I was anxiously search- || York ?"
ing after him a dirty nosed urchin thrust a newspaper | “Yes, sir—a great place."
beneath my nose and shrieked out
“Very."
“Sun'ny Mornin' Nose, sir ?”
“It is a bad day,” he said, handing me my change,
“Do you see it?" I eagerly asked, my thoughts only “I never saw the like before."
on the nose, darting forward.
“Nor I!" I replied, looking significantly and wick-
“ Cricky, but he's a rum 'un !" said the imp, as I leftedly at his nose. “Good day, sir!"
him picking up his papers which in my haste I had | "Good day, sir." .
jostled from his hand.
Since I have heard the question of noses discussed
I soon discovered the nose. The nose which was des- | at the table d'hote; but I have held my tongue and
tined to dicide the fate of cities! He doubled the corner | husbanded my own wisdom.
of Wall and William Streets. I was close at his heels!
Suddenly he stopped before a store door, sprung and
A WOUNDED SPIRIT.
shut his umbrella, opened the door like one familiar
with the premises and disappeared.
There is no rest for those who roam,
Here now had arrived the moment and opportunity Burdened with a broken heart;
of for ever putting at rest this question of noseg. For No hope-no dwelling-place-no home-
in my own private opinion that nose would turn the No human solace shall impart
scale, for or against any city, this or the other side of To them the charm that made appear
the ocean.
All things of that sunny hue
With a step weighty and solemn with the importance That makes us wish to live and love-
of my business, I lifted the latch and entering the shop Chagrin hath spectred all they view,
I cast my eyes anxiously round. The gentleman with Farewell all hope below, above !
the nose and two little boys with pug smellers were the A wounded spirit who can bear
14


112
THE CHRISTIANS.
Original.
ious to arrogate to himself the glory of a deed which
THE CHRISTIANS.
would end the sufferings and degradation of his coun-
A PASSAGE FROM THE REIGN OF NERO.
try.
“Why should we not,” exclaimed Subrius Flavius,
BY EDWARD MATURIN.
"strike the tyrant and avenge the honor of our country
at the very moment he insults it? Even while in the
• They were put to death with exquisite cruelty, and to their
garb of a comedian he courts the applause of his peo-
sufferings Nero added mockery and derision."-ANNALS OF
TACITUS.
ple-a blow struck at such a period will disclose its
CHAPTER 1.—THE CONSPIRATORS.
own motive.”
“Were it not better," said another, " that he should
In a small apartment, strongly guarded by some of fall in his midnight frolics; to fire the palace, and in
their own adherents, sat a small band of those, whom
the confusion dispatch him ?".
detestation of the tyrant and designs for vengeance had
The acquiescence in the last design was unanimous.
combined in a common cause. Humanity shuddered
There was only one objection to it: the safety to them.
at the atrocities, perpetrated in the moments of whim
selves, which must accompany its completion. As men
and levity, and the minds of virtuous men were not less
sworn to the arduous enterprise of rescuing their coun-
revolted at the crimes than the character of an Empe-
try, they were willing to hazard their lives, and deemed
ror whose chief delight was the blood of his people.
the cause consecrated by the very dangers to which is
Contempt formed also no slight ingredient in their re-
exposed them.
venge. A monarch who compromised the dignity of
"No!" exclaimed Piso, “let the blow be struck be-
his throne for the humble distinctions of “a coachman
fore the assembled people. Let them see, though they
and comedian," and who in his own person degraded
may patiently wear the chains a player has laid on
the majesty of the empire he represented, by collision them, that Rome has not forgotten her Brutus, and that
with the lowest classes, had claim neither to the respect his spirit has not ended with his age, Flavius bath
nor allegiance of his subjects. Their reins of govern-
spoken rightly—the moment of his fall should be while
ment were each day relaxed in authority, when its chief | he insults his country and degrades the purple; let us
magistrate degenerated into a mere night brawler, | also regard the majesty of the throne, insulted by the
masked for the purpose of enjoying his debauchery and abandoned appetites of its prince, and stained with the
excess with impunity. Yet there were many who flat-blood of matricide. We have regarded his cruelties
tered the vices of the tyrant, and dignified his follies
with too much indifference, and bis vices with too much
with the name of talent, because they dreaded his frown;
pardon; but it is time the sword should be unsheathed
nor even did the Senate hesitate to pass decrees of ser-against himself, and those very vices be made the in-
vile adulation, extolling a son for the murder of his struments of his death. Let us not wanton with the
own mother, and proclaiming the anniversary of her time in meditation, which should be devoted to action.
birth-day as unhallowed in the calendar. But in that A purpose like ours may cool by delay, and needs to be
corrupt body there was one left (Pætus Thrasea) in kindled by promptitude and decision. Each new day
whom the sense of virtue and natural feeling was suffi- || discloses a murder perpetrated in the moment of whim,
ciently strong to restrain praise on such an occasion; or midnight revelry. Poetry and philosophy wither in
and whose independence, in abandoning his seat, only the poisonous atmosphere of his throne, and the deaths
marked him for the future vengeance of the Emperor, il of a Seneca and Lucan may yet be necessary to propi-
and formed an ingredient in his subsequent accusation. Liate the monster, and appease his thirst for blood. But
* The conspirators," says Tacitus, "painted forth in when he is insensible to the ties of nature, why should
Mowing colors all his atrocious deeds, by which the Em-lhe feel the influence of those more distant? Perhaps
pire was brought to the brink of ruin ; they urged the even now while we deliberate, the fate of some one of
necessity of choosing a successor equal to the task of us may hang in the scale, and his name may already
restoring a distressed and tottering state.”
stand on the roll of proscription."
The Author of the present conspiracy was Caius Piso,l As Piso concluded, every hand more closely clasped
whose noble birth derived additional lustre from his ta- its hilt, while the frown and the compressed lip, deno-
lents, which were uniformly employed in behalf of his iced the sternness of resolve. A general murmur of ap-
sufiering country.
probation ran through the conspirators, which subsided
At the head of the table, surrounded by several Ro- in the sentiments which it originated. Like men intent
man kuighis, stood Piso; and on his right-hand, Fenius | upon the same end, each proposed a different means
Rufus, commander of the Prætorian Guards, whose in- for its accomplishment. Some, in whom the sense of
tegrity as a public officer had insured the respect of the pereonal safety predominated, advocated private assas-
army and people. A single lamp illuminated the apart- sination ; while others, by the publicity of the act, ex-
ment, whose dim light gave an air of sternness to the hibited their utier recklessness of life in the vengeance
visages of the group. Aware of the dangerous occa. 1 which was sure to follow. The more pusillanimous
sion for which they were assembled, and the vengeance i proposed not only that the blow should be dealt by
which awaited them in case of discovery, each man | Piso's hand; but even during the hour of hospitality.
stood with his sword drawn. Amid the various designs' But the heart of the conspirator was not so blunted to
proposed for the downfall of the tyrant, each was anx-honorable principle as to accede to that proposal.


THE CHRISTIANS.
113
“What!” he exclaimed, “stain my household gods || Olympian, would scatter its rays of worship on many :
and dishonor my table with the blood of my prince! while ours concentrates its light on One. Thinkest thou,
No; those who strike for their country, should do it in maiden, this teeming earth, and yon glorious sky, are
the full gaze of her children. If we fall in the attempt, the works of a Being fashioned and material as our.
we fall not like cowards, afraid to proclaim their act, selves, the slave of passions, He affects to control in
but before the gaze of thousands who shall fire their others, with whom the Disobedient hath no hope save
children with the tale."
vengeance, and the Virtuous no enjoyment save the pas-
Immediately opposite to Piso, stood a man who had sing hour of life ?”.
hitherto remained in silence; his arms were crossed on “Nay," rejoined Tita, “our faith limits not enjoy-
his breast, and one hand was concealed within the fold ment to life. Elysium opens her gates to the happy,
of his robe. From the tenor of his life, hitherto disso-where wander the poets and sages, whose verses and
lute and effeminate, but little valor or stability of pur- precepts have been the land-marks of their age."
pose was anticipated by his confederates. His features "And what,” said the Christian, “can even the poet
delicately moulded, and habitually mild in their expres- create in that Elysium to compare with the Eternity our
sion, gave but slight indication of the resolution or hos-God hath revealed to us ? The poet will still rehearse
tility of a conspirator. What was their astonishment his song, and the warrior repeat the story of his fight.
when the soft and voluptuous Scevinus plucked from. Though the outward form of nature shall be changed,
his bosom a dagger, claiming the honor and danger of the low and perishable objects they have left on earth,
the blow.
shall yet be the theme of every tongue, and the desire
“Romans!” he exclaimed, “ look on this dagger!- of every heart. The Gods thou trustest in, whom thou
'lis sworn to liberty! I wear it for a tyrant. I have hast worshipped as eternal, desert thee on the brink of
taken it from the Temple of Fortune, and invoked the the future, and leave thee to wander amid the darkness
blessing of that goddess on our enterprise. For liberty of the Stygian shore. Canst thou worship beings who
I wear it, and rone shall forestall me in the blow. For doom thee to expiate the crimes themselves have com-
me, I care not if I fall, but let the eyes of Rome be on mitted; who have never enjoined a single law for the
me. Let the place then be the Circus, while he cele- guidance of thy life, and yet punish thee for violation ?
brates the games of Ceres. Let the hour of festivity be Now look, my Tita, to the eternity of the Christiana
that of death, and the groans of the dying be echoed the heaven I have told thee of is the dwelling-place of
by the exulting shouts of his people. I have carried our God; and joys, such as the ear hath not heard, nor
this weapon on my person consecrated to freedom, and the eye seen, are the reward of those who in the stead-
have sworn not to part with it, till the task be accom fastness of faith forsake all for the love they bear Him.
Emancipated from the body, our souls are purified from
There was a dead silence throughout the assembly, the lusts which bound us to life, and our senses cleans-
as they gazed, not more in admiration than wonder, at (cd for the enjoyments of a more perfect state. The
the change which circumstance had wrought in the dis-saints who have worshipped here in faith, and the mar-
position of the voluptuary. Scevinus advanced to the tyrs whose deaths have attested the truth of that faith,
centre of the apartment, and motioned the conspirators will form that glorious company of angels, whose harps
to his side. They surrounded him. He pressed the shall hymn the praises of their God, and whose crowns
dagger to his lips, each following his example; and ns of immortality beam as brightly as the stars of their
he consecrated it to “ Jupiter Vindex,” each touched own heaven.”
the hilt, and bound himself to “ Death or Freedom!” “And is this change to all ?" inquired Tita.
“To those who believe," rejoined the Christian,
CHAPTER II.-THE CHRISTIANS.
"even as I have told thee, in the words of our God,
“ And is it true, my Claudius, as thou hast told me, | All things are possible to those who believe. What
that there is but one God ?”.
can give us patience amid the scoffs, and courage amid
"Even so, Tita-a God who regards thee with the the dangers which beset us—but that faith, which, like
love of a father. A God, who, in his own being, em-l a ray can penetrate the cloud, and reveal the bright
braces the power which thy faith hath divided among heaven which awaits us? An Enemy to our faith is
many. One, perfect as he is powerful, who looks on on the throne, and while he persecutes, derides the
human sin only to forgive; whose altars stream not tortures he inflicts. But the Christian can smile
with the blood of beasts, but whose only sacrifice is the on the pains inflicted by an earthly hand, when he re-
incense of a pure and contrite heart.”
members they touch but the body, but cannot approach
“Yet," continued the maiden, fearful to abandon her the soul. They are like the thorns which bound the
early faith, and almost persuaded to be a Christian, | brow of his Saviour, but could not quench the halo whose
“ hath not that faith a loftier beauty, which shows us a light was immortal. Such is the hope of the Christian;
presiding power in all things, and diffuses the glory of amid trials and sorrows he is supported by the sense
Divinity through every object, whether it be the soft that they endure but for a season, and that the hand
and sunshine stream, or the flower that grows upon its that persecutes is as mortal as the victim."
band ?"
1 “I tremble for the wrath of Jupiter," said the mai-
“Even so, my Tita, every object hath a God to thee. || den, timidly, “should I abandon his altar."
Thy faith, like the halo which circles the brow of thy I “And wilt thou," replied Claudius, "continue in the
plished.”


114
THE CHRISTIANS.
worship of him whom his very votarists have styled || even amid the horrors of a prison.” The sign being
· The Thunderer ?' whose only attribute-power, is seen angwered from within, the door was opened, and the
in the desolation of the lightning; whose sceptre falls in Christians stood in the presence of the Apostle.
vengeance, but never paused in mercy. Bind not thy- | Claudius was in a moment at the feet of Paul, and
self to that faith, Tita,” he continued, the earnestness the tear which fell upon the hand of his teacher, evinced
of his manner deepening with the solemnity of the the sorrow and affection of the disciple. “Rise, rise,
cause he advocated, “which poets and false priests | my child,” said Paul. “If we part, 'ris but for a sea-
have framed for the superstitious. A faith which Fan son, and in the body; while our Spirits, free from the
cy hath written on her page, and bards have twined with weapon of the enemy, rise to the God who gave them.
the garland of their fiction. A faith which invites not Weep not then for me, but rather rejoice that the per-
to virtue, as it promises no reward, and leaves us to the secutor of God's church hath been called to support it,
guidance of a blind, corrupted nature. Life passes in and testify to the truth of a faith he disbelieved.”
the pleasures of a low and sordid sense, and the hour | “Rejoice with me, Father," said Claudius, rising
of death is unsupported by the assurance of happiness, and approaching Tita. He removed the mantle in
or the promises of a revealed God. Choose, then, be-|| which she had been disguised. I have led one more
tween the God of the Christian, whose laws are ap-!
from the errors of a false creed to the fold of Christ.
pointed, who hath declared his reward and punish Bless and baptize her.”
ment, or the Idol of thy creed, whose very altars are The apostle approached, and laid his hand on her
even uow trembling before the weak and despised fol- head, while the assembly kneeling, fervently repeated
lowers of the Cross."
the blessing he askod upon her conversion. “Welcome,
Tita was silent, her hands were locked and her eyes
welcome, my daughter, to our blessed faith," said Paul,
were turned to that heaven where rest the Hope and rising from prayer; “thou art now one of those whom
Reward of the Christian. Claudius wept with grati- the arm of the flesh is raised to smite to the earth; but
tude, as his ardent hope construed the mution of her lip be of good hope and fear not, for ours is a creed in
into prayer.
which life, its joys and tears are even as the mists of
“Speak, Tita,” he said, after a pause, “and let me
the morning, while the Future, for which they prepare
hear thee say, thou art a Christian.”
us, shines with the strength and brightness of the sun.
"I will worship thy God,” replied the maiden, “but Then fear not, maiden, the hand of the strong may isi-
who will teach me to pray ?”
umph over the body, and the very trials we endure be-
“ Thou shalt this night,” he replied, “ become one of low but make us fitter for the perfect company of Hea-
his children. Thou shalt pray among his servants, and ven.” The Apostle paused, and as he steadfastly gazed
be baptized. The rites of our faith are poor and humble, il on a young and beautiful girl devoting herself to a creed
even as He who preached it; nor altars have we, nor cost-' whose adherents were then the victims of unparalelled
ly sacrifice. Its priests are the persecuted Christians. I cruelty, the tears fell quickly, and his voice faltered
but the faith we follow is rich in the promises of eterni- with emotion. “My daughter thou art now surrounded
ty. Come with me, then, maiden, and the hymn of praise by enemies, who may doom thee to the cross, or the
we sing shall be echoed by angels who joy in the repen-
horrors of the arena, but fear not." His voice became
tance of a sinner.”
more indistinct as his mind reverted to the death which
awaited him. “The moments I have yet to number
CHAPTER III.-THE ASSEMBLY.
are but few; a Tyrant is my judge, and his will is my
The Christians of whom Claudius spoke, were that! punishment; yet I would see thee many times in this
night assembled within the walls of a prison. Paul, humble place of worship, and endeavor to seal thy faith
the Apostle, had been seized by order of the Emperor, by the words of a dying man.” His head sank upon
and was appointed to die. Day and night his cell was her bosom, and as she felt his tears, her first prayer to
filled with those who had been trained by his teaching the God of the Christian was breathed for the delire-
and example, and the patience and fortitude which sup-rance of His apostle.
ported his last moments, illustrated the faith he taught. The last echo of their hymn had scarcely died through
The apartment in which they met, was a small cell the prison, when distant shouts mingled with cries of
connected with the prison. Rude, bare, and desolate, horror and supplication to the Gods, were heard ap-
it was the last house of the Apostle of Hiin“ who had proaching, and gleams of fire flashed through the grating
not where to lay his head.” At the head of the apari- l of the cell. “It is the hand of God," exclaimed the
ment stood a rudely-carved cross, which the fearless Christians. “He hath come to the rescue of his ser-
zeal of the Christians had conveyed within the walls of vant."
a Roman prison. His followers knew not the moment “ It is a fearful flame," said the Apostle, “ but what-
the Emperor might order his execution, and each night ever it bodeth, as servants to the faith, we must bow to
was spent in the prison of their pastor, bearing his in- | the will of God."
structions in the articles of their faith.
Still brighter grew the flames, and more tumultuous
Claudius and Tita, as they approached the cell, heard the clamors without. The assembly prostrated them-
zho low and solemn murmur of prayer. “Thine must selves before the cross; Tita clung to Claudius, and
be a blessed faith,” said the maiden, as she paused and firmly repeated the prayer he offered up for protection,
Jistened, “ which lends to the persecuted spirit repose while the Apostle, as one whose heart was unaffected by


THE CHRISTIANS.
115
the dangers or accidents of life, stood in an attitude of rior Power, and betook himself to the temple of his
composure, his arms folded on his breast, while at inter- || God.
vals he responded to the accents of prayer which breath. Though Tita had not remained long in the assembly,
ed around him.
ll the humility of the Christians, their fervor in prayer,
Footsteps were heard rapidly approaching, and the and above all, the calm and sublime deportment of the
cry,“ Seize the Nazarenes," echoed through the prison. | Apostle, had already given growth to the seeds of faith
The words smote on the hearts of the assembly, and con- which his words had sown in her heart. As she hur-
firmed to their excited fancies the horrors of their doom ried through the streets, she endeavored to abstract her
and the persecution of the tyrant. “Be of good courage," mind from the horrors of the scene, and close her ears
said the Apostle, with calmness, “ the hand of God is against the bitter wailings which seemed to echo the
over us." The words were no sooner uttered, than triumph of the flames. She called to mind the prayer
a bandof the Prætorian Guards, headed by Fenius Rufus which Claudius had taught her, and as far as memory
rushed into the cell.
aided her, invoked the God of her new faith. At the
In the consternation of the moment, the Christians very moment the prayer was on her lips, they passed
forgot the admonitions of Paul, and turning to the sol- the temple of Jupiter Stator. The flames had made
diers, cried with one voice, “Mercy, mercy.”
li fearful ravages on the edifice, eddying like the waves of
“ Dogs !" retorted the guards, as seizing, they bound a fiery sea through the broken arches, and around the
Tita and Claudius, scoffs and reproaches embittering the solitary columns, that stood like Gods of a false religion
roughness of their manner. “Call on thy God," said i gazing on the havoc they could not prevent nor avert.
one, "if He can, He ought to save thee."
Priest and worshipper knelt in solemn prayer before
" They have forsaken Jupiter,” exclaimed another; the crumbling shrine, the embroidered robes of the
“ May His lightnings wither them."
former giving a ghastly reflection to the flames, which
A soldier approaching Paul with bonds, the Apostle derided the power of their God, and sported with their
extended his hands. “I am ready, yet unworthy," he religion.
said, " to bear chains and persecution for the name of As they passed the temple, a strong glare of light die-
the Lord Jesus."
closed the altar and a golden statue of Jupiter. At the
“Who is thy God ?" asked the soldier sneeringly. same moment, as by a lightning-stroke the statue fell
“Even He,” replied Paul, “ who can change thy re- from its pedestal. The crash gave a fearful echo
viling into worship.”
through the surrounding space, and a surge of fire and
While these things were passing, Tita and Claudius sparks rose as from the tomb of the dethroned god.
being bound, had been separated. Rufus, the conspira- ! Recently emancipated from the errors of a supersti-
lor, friendly to the Christians, and performing an un. tious faith, her heart was still prone to omen. The
willing duty in their seizure, approached Claudius, and Christian assembly, the resignation of Paul's manner
whispering quickly, “ Have a good heart. On the Ka- when he alluded to his approaching death, and the
lends the Tyraat dies, and thou shalt be free.”
calmness which seemed to mark him alone amid the
“ God forbid,” replied Claudius, " that blood should i consternation which surrounded him, all rushed to her
purchase my freedom. Why should I fear the death a mind, confirming the truth of her faith; and as she saw
God hath died ?" Claudius was seized and placed in the downfall of the statue to which she had once knelt,
an adjoining cell.
the last tic of her ancient creed seemed to be broken, and
“The God of the Christians be my God," burst from
CHAPTER IV.-THE BANQUET.
her lips.
That night the Tyrant banqueted amid the sufferings
Torn from a faith she had but lately embraced, and of his people, and the desolation of their homes.
from the presence of her young instructor, Tita was con- ' In an apartment, to whose luxury, fancy, as well as
ducted by the guards to the presence of the Emperor. I wealth contributed, sat the guests. The ceiling was
The conflagration which some have imputed to Nere- painted a dark azure to represent the firmament at
upon the ground that he wished to build a new city, and night, while the thousand stars that glittered on its sur-
assign it his own name--and the odium of which, he in face were of solid gold. The walls were hung in gold
turn affixed to the Christians, was raging around them and silver cloth, in which jewels were so dexterously
with violence, and they with difficulty threaded the nar- wrought as to represent mythological devices. Seats
row streets. The air was rent with the lamentations of of solid silver frames surrounded she apartment, and at
those who were compelled to look, without a single regular intervals were placed lamps, whose scented oil
hope, on the destruction of property and home. So emitted a rich and intoxicating odor. The spaces were
rapid had been the advance of the flames, that wealth filled with marble statues of poets and orators.
or household possessions were disregarded amid the Around the board loaded with the dishes of epicu-
general peril of life, and the endeavor to save it by flight. I rean fancy, livers and brains of pheasants, tongues of pea-
The young conducted the aged, and the impotent and cocks and nightingales, sat the guests, crowned with
diseased trusted to the support of the healthy. As each garlands, while the soft and voluptuous music was dis-
gazed upon the smouldering ruins of their homes, with mally contrasted by the groans and shouting without.
the instinctive feeling of nature in the hour of sorrow At the head of the table stood the Emperor's chair of
and desolation, he implored the protection of a Supe- solid ivory, inwrought with gold. It was vacant. By


116
THE CHRISTIANS.
its side stood a similar one, in which sat his mistress. || before me, good Rufus; I would see her in my power
Actè, an enfranchised Asiatic slave, to whose noble I have so long worshipped. Meherc'le! but her pre-
birth several men of consular rank had been suborned sence will give zest to our banquet. Bring her before
by Nero to swear.
me, and mark me, guard her well.” He approached
Notwithstanding the cruelty of a disposition which the soldier nearer, and whispered, “Let not Actè have
knew no remorse, and sensuality which never felt satie. access to her.” The soldier bowed and withdrew.
ty, a taste for music and dramatic exhibitions formed a Tita immediately entered accompanied by Rufus and
prominent trait in Nero's character. He was so ambi-; a few of the Prætorians. Her face was declined on
tious of applause, that when he appeared upon the her breast, and completely shaded by the luxuriant hair
stage he disposed an armed force throughout the thea- whose curls clustered round it. Nero flung aside his
tre for the purpose of extorting approbation which bet-lyre, and clasping his hands gazed on her in rapture, a
ter judgment withheld; and on one occasion the future sensual smile beaming in his eye, and playing in the
Emperor Vespasian had well nigh lost his life for daring curve of his lips. He rushed forward and fell at her
to sleep during the performances of the royal actor. feet. He seized her hand, and looking on her, passion-
On the present night, while his city was crumbling to! ately exclaimed, “ Tita, I have loved thee long; smile
ashes around him, and his people left houseless and on me, maiden ; my throne shall be thine.” The mai-
shelterless, the tyrant exhibited a fearful levity in his den moved not, nor answered.
conduct. He had arrayed himself in the fanciful cos- A cry of surprise bursting from the guests as they rose
tume of Orestes—one of his favorite parts—and before from their seats, rung through the banquet-hall. “The
he left the apartment, had been rehearsing a scene with Empress! the Empress !" was echoed by all. Nero
Paris, a Parasite and an actor, to the delight of his turned, and beheld them pointing to her chair. It was
guests, whose silence or censure would have marked empty. Actè had left the chamber. In a moment of
them for his hatred.
| intoxication he had been betrayed into inconsistency,
He rushed into the apartment followed by Paris; in and had ordered Tita before him while Actè was pres-
his hand he carried a small lyre. His face was flushed ent.
with wine, heightened by the exciting scene on which
CHAPTER V.THE CELL
he had been gazing, and as he raised a full goblet to
his lips, he exclaimed in a tone of savage mirth, “By! We left Claudius in the cell adjoining that of the
the Gods, it is a glorious sight! burn, burn, Rome, aye, Apostle. The guddenness of his seizure sufficiently dis-
to thy very last stone. The flames of Troy flashed not closed to him the certainty of his doom, and the impla-
more brightly to the avenging Greek. Pluto and his cable will on which his life depended. He, however, en-
minions are abroad to-night. Drink, drink, sirs, to the joyed the privilege of daily intercourse with Paul, and
havoc of the flames.”
from the contemplation of his example, and the inspired
It was well understood that Nero had been the cause beauty of his instructions which contrasted the utter fu-
of the conflagration, for during its progress, incendiaries tility of life with the glorious prospect of the Future, de-
with torches and combustibles were stationed through-rived a holy strength which fortified him against every
out the city, declaring they acted by authority. pain to which he should be exposed.
The guests, one and all, rose, fearing to dispute his “Master,” he said, “it is my will to die with thee.**
will, and pledged the ghastly toast in wine, which they “Say not so, my son," returned Paul. “Not tkine,
wished were poison to the Tyrant. A dread silence but the will of God be done. It matters not how or
prevailed through the apartment as they laid down their when we die. Let but our last moments be full of as-
goblets, but the pale, compressed lips, and the sternsurance to God, and faith to His Son, and the sufferings
brow which but ill repressed its frown, attested the we endure below shall be exchanged for that happi-
feelings which lurked beneath a gay convivial demea-i ness the world cannot give. We part here but for a
or. “ And thou, my fair Helen," he said, turning to moment, my son ; our meeting shall be eternal, and our
Actè, and pressing her hand to his lips, “by Jupiter, joy shall no man take away."
thy beauty might destroy a second Troy. The bride of Such were the exhortations of the apostle to confirma
Menelaus was not fairer. Psha,” he continued, burst- || his faith, and diminish attachment to life, whose terure
ing into a loud laugh, why do I mention the dotard's | at best was precarious.
name? Thou wilt not be false to me my Actè ?” I His desire was at length granted ; the execution of .
At that moment Rufus entered the apartment, and Paul and Claudius was appointed for the night be
approaching Nero, whispered, “She is here."
fore the Kalends. The period at once revived to the
"Bravely done, by Jupiter,” returned the monarch. | memory of the Christian the words of Rufus, " that the
"'Tis a night of triumph to me. Rome in ashes, and Kalends should see the Tyrant dead." He shuddered at
a mistress won! But the Nazareno ?”
the death even of his enemy, and actuated by the tenets
“Is in prison," replied Rufus.
of a religion which forbids retaliation for injury, or the
“ There let him rot,” returned Nero, “cursed dog! || entertainment of vindictive feeling, he not only freely
Is it not sufficient he hath won her love ? must he also forgave the Emperor, but desired, if possible, to save
corrupt her faith? Drink, drink, my Rufus, thou hast his life. The Kalends were approaching, and be him-
been faithful to me.” The soldier raised the goblet, and self was to die the night before. If he could absolve bis
in silence dronk the death of the Tyrant. “Bring her conscience from privity to bloodshed, he was content to


THE CHRISTIANS.'
117
him.
die. There was one other reflection which embittered || I flew to thee, for I heard this night thou wert to die,
his approaching fate, and taxed all the powers of sub and if I could not perish, at least to receive thy blessing,
mission. He had not seen Tita since their violent sepa- and pray with thee."
ration, and she had been torn from him at the moment On a sudden, the lateness of the hour and the con-
when her conversion to the true faith had consecrated spiracy rushed to the mind of Claudius. His conscience
their love. Nor was their separation more painful than shrank from the possession of its guilty secret, and on
the uncertainty of their next meeting. In this, however, its disclosure hung the life of his enemy.
he derived consolation from that beautiful portion of “Bear with me, Tita," he exclaimed hastily, “I
his faith, which taught him that the Future re-united the must see the Emperor before I die. I have a secret
broken ties of life, and purified affection from the senses which concerns his life and the safety of his throne.
which controlled it here; that the tear with which we That disclosed, I die happy. The Christian forgives
parted would be exchanged for the smile, and the suf-| where he is persecuted, returning good for evil. The
fering and broken-hearted forget the pain which dimmed entrance to the prison is guarded; I could not pass in
the eye and bowed the head.
my own garment. Lend me thy mantle. I will return
The night preceding the Kalends had at length ar- ere the hour of death arrives.” Their raiment was im-
rived. He was appointed to die after the Apostle, and mediately exchanged.
yet no opportunity had offered of divulging the conspi- “Remember," said Tita, “I came to die with thee."
racy, and so acquitting his conscience from the secret “Ere that hour I shall be here," replied Claudius.
which weighed on his last moments. He heard the tu- | “The God of our faith preserve thee," ejaculated the
mult of the soldiers without as they prepared for the maiden, as the door of the cell shut Claudius from her
execution; and he stood momentarily expecting their view.
entrance to conduct him to the place. As he thus stood,
CHAPTER VI.-THE TYRANT'S MIDNIGHT.
his last moments occupied in prayer, in which he im-
plored a blessing upon Tita, the door of his cell opened, Having passed the guards in safety, he flung the dis-
and the object of his thoughts and prayers was before guise from him as he approached the palace. Entering
its gardens, be desired to see Epaphroditus, the Empe-
“Welcome, welcome, my Tita," he exclaimed, “even ror's Freedman. With the narrow bigotry of an hostile
though it be in the hour of death. But why weepest faith, he distrusted the Christian, and doubted the truth
chou, girl ?” he continued, as clasping her to his breast of any intelligence he might convey. At length, after
he felt her convulsive sobs.
some importunity, his request was granted. “The Em-
" Ask me not,” she replied. “ Thou art to die; the peror is sleeping,” said the Freedman. “When he
faith thou hast bound me to must be sealed with blood. I awakes you shall be admitted to him."
Oh! my Claudius, was it for this I abandoned a creed It was midnight ere Claudius entered the palace ;
which withholds not its protecting power from the but the sleep Epaphroditus spoke of, was a broken and
humblest object on the earth ? Yet, for thy sake, will fearful dream. The tyrant tossed upon his couch, in
I love it still, seeing it has not left thee comfortless or vain seeking for that repose whose dreams were min-
without support."
gled with the images of guilt. By his side stood the
“Comfortless ?” retorted Claudius, his eye beaming spirit of his mother, which haunted the matricide in the
ish that light which hone and truch had borrowed from hour of conviviality not less than in the solitude of his
a purer world. “Comfortless! I tell thee, Tita, the chamber. But the darkness of midnight, whose silence
dungeon of my pain has for me neither darkness nor
was eloquent with the horrors of his guilt, lent to his
chains. Its solitude gives me the holier companionship
dreams the tortures of a coward and excited fancy.
of those thoughts which dwell within the Christian's | 'Twas then Agrippina rose to his mind, and as he shud-
breast; its fetters press lightly on my hands when I
dered at the imprecations of his murdered mother, the
think on the glorious liberation of the spirit from all air resounded with the whips, and the gloom of his cham-
that is unholy and corrupt. Remember, maiden, that ber blazed with the torches of the Furies who followed
I told thee of, that we must pass through fear and tribu-
assthrough fear and tribu-l her. He writhed upon his couch, his teeth gnashed,
lation ere the tainted soul can appear before God. The the fevered drops stood on his aching brow as the ima-
saint is content to pass through suffering here for the ginary presence of the furies typified the retribution
promise which awaits him beyond Jordan. Thou said'st which awaited him after death. The mimic part of
rightly, Tita, I am not comfortless, for the last words Orestes he so frequently played, rose before him, slain-
of our Divine Master were, 'I will not leave ye wholly ed with maternal blood, bound with serpents, goaded by
comfortless. Canst thou doubt, my Tita, the care of lashes, and trembling beneath the curses of the wan-
our God, while Rome itself is in ashes, not one flame dering shade. “Conscience," says Tacitus, “may
hath touched the prison of his servants ?"
make a truce with the guilty, but never a lasting peace.”
“And I," replied the maiden, “ have seen Jupiter By day or night, waking or sleeping, the shade of Agrip-
Staton hurled to the earth. But,” she continued with pina with other victims of his cruelty stood before him.
increased agitation of manner, “our converse must be His dreams were those of “ the crook-backed tyrant,"
brief, for the hour approaches. Guarded by Fenius Ru- aggravated by matricide.
fus, it is by his permission I am here. His last words “Back, back to thy Hades, accursed shade," ex-
were, · The palace hath dangers for thee; return not.' | claimed the tyrant, seizing his sword, and convulsively


118
THE CHRISTIANS.
starting from his couch, “ back, back, I say. Comest. “Death is not a theme for sport," returned Claudius ;
thou for blood or vengeance, my time is not yet.” “ the lamb gambols not before the wolf.”
His eyes glared, and the fingers of one hand distended “Ha! dost bait me to my face ?”.
with terror, as with the other he thrust at the imagi- j! “Not I," replied the Christian,“ but thy conscience."
nary spectre. “Ha! ha!" he exclaimed with a forced The tyrant started, and his sword fell. “Thou art
laugh, whose echo made him start as it rolled through even now in my power," continued the Christian,“ yet
the vacant chamber. “What is it I fear? Darkness, would I not strike thee though the sword were in my
solitude-myself! It is, it is, myself. My thoughts 'grasp. The Christian blesses even the enemy that
which burn night and day. Ha! who's there?” curses." Nero trembled as well before the sublime
“The slave of Cæsar,” said Epaphroditus, entering, doctrine of a faith he persecuted, as the dignity of its
“ of Him who rules the mistress of the world,” he con- disciple. “Thou tremblest,” said Claudius.
tinued, bending the knee with the servility of an Eastern | “'Tis with rage,” replied the Tyrant."
slave. “A Nazarene without craves an audience with “ The Christian,"continued the Nazarene, “trembles
thee. His request, he says, must not be slighted.” before God alone.”
“A Nazarene !" reiterated the tyrant, " what doth “Out on thee, fool,” shouted Nero, rage and terror
he here ? and at midnight? Perhaps,” he continued, heightening his voice to a shriek. “By Jupiter, thou
musing, “ he comes to beg the life of his Brother Paul. and thy faith shall be swept from Rome.”
But no; blood, blood, I will have,” he said, convulsively “Man dare not do what God forbids," retorted Clau-
grasping his sword. “Why should I, who have slain dius, his eye glowing, and his lip curling with disdain
a Mother, fear the death of a Nazarene?" His face at the impotence of a monarch who mistook defiance
grew ghastly, the sword fell on the ground, and as its for power. The sublime sternnesss of the Christian
echo smote on his ear, he flew to his Freedman, and awed the tyrant, and subdued his menacing tone.
buried his face in his bosom. “Shield me from them; ll “Christian,” he said, after a pause, “what of my
they haunt, they lash me. Oh! my Epaphroditus, I life?”
would that my pile were lit.” His athletic frame trem-li
trem. “It is in danger," retorted Claudius. “The dagger
bled in the embrace of his servant, till weak and stupi- is unsheathed for thy destruction, even while I speak."
fied with the horrors of his guilt, he sank at his feet.
A visible tremor ran through the tyrant, and tollering
“Speak, speak, Caesar,” said the Freedman kneeling, to his couch, he sank upon it. “ Cæsar," said Clau-
words,
and parting from his swollen temples the hair clotted dius, withdrawing, “my task is done. My last w
with perspiration. “Speak; shall I admit him ?” if they have not blessed, have saved thee. We meet no
“Not till they are gone," said Nero, endeavoring to more till we stand before God.”
rise.
The Emperor saw not the sublime action of the
“Who?" said Epaphroditus, looking round the apart-
Christian, as his uplifted hands seemed to attest the
ment dimly lit by a single silver lamp.
truth of his dying words, but the hollow voice in which
“My mother!” exclaimed the matricide, in a tone of
they were uttered, pierced the very heart of the guilty
king. “Man or shade, be thou what thou wilt," he
agony, which appalled his attendant. The tears flowed
exclaimed, rising from his couch, and extending both
freely, but they were the offspring of a coward mind
hands to him in the agony of fear, “ beest thou to warn
which trembled at the images it evoked from the sepul-
or haunt me, I adjure thee by our Gods, tell me all thou
chre of its guilt. They flowed on the cheek, but melted
knowest."
not the heart, either to pity or repentance. He dashed
“ To-morrow shall be celebrated the games of Ceres,"
them aside, and looking hastily round, sprung from the
replied Claudius ; "then and there meet the Conspira-
ground as in disdain of the abject position he occupied
tors for thy life.”
at the foot of his slave. “Admit the Nazarene," he
“Yet one word more," exclaimed Nero, rushing for-
said; and, after a pause, feeling the cowardice of
ward, and in the coward weakness of the moment, fall-
guilt, and approaching Epaphroditus, and eyeing him
sternly, “have guard upon thy life; if there be treache-
ing on his knees. The chamber echoed his words.
The Christian was gone.
ry here, thou diest; keep thyself within call, and leave
thy sword with me." The Freedman obeyed and with-
CHAPTER VII.—THE CROSS.
drew. The eyes of Nero followed him, as though he | Midway between the palace and prison, stood the
would scan his purpose. His sword was in his hand.
d. place appointed for the execution of Paul and Claudius.
Claudius and the Freedman entered after a few mo-
It was past midnight as he cleared the palace-gates.
ments; on a sign from the Emperor, the latter withdrew. As he proceeded with haste, a dark and shadowy body
“ What wouldst thou, Nazarene ?” said Nero, hastily. approached. A low and stifled lamentation swe ton
Claudius stood at the remote end of the apartment, the night-blast, and the light of a few straggling torches
his face and figure in perfect obscurity. “My task is shed a melancholy and sickly glare. It moved at a
one of mercy,” said Claudius. “Thy life and throne slow and measured pace, and it was not till the moment
are even now in the power of a despised Nazarene." of their meeting, that he recognized it as the funeral
“My life!" reiterated Nero, as the word sounded procession of the Apostle.
with the voice of retribution. “My life! and in thy' Stupified with horror as he looked his last on all that
hand! Fool! on thy life sport not.”
was God-like in nature, he forgot alike the errand he


THE CHRISTIANS,
119
had been engaged in, or the maiden he had left in his | death whose triumph and glory he painted to her?"
own prison. His mind was abstracted from every thing were questions which passed through his confused and
earthly, and its powers were suspended between love wildered mind. As he mused upon her danger, he was
for his master, and prayer for his last moments. As about to rush from the spot, when one of the soldiers
he gazed on the Apostle sublime and erect, his hands held a torch to his face, and recognizing, seized him.
bound as a malefactor, and folded on his breast, his “Ha! Nazarene, is this thy faith," he exclaimed,
eyes turned in prayer to that God for whose name per- tauntingly, “to leave a girl to die in thy place ?"
secution had no terror, and punishment no pain; as “Unhand me," cried Claudius, vainly endeavoring to
he heard him repeat with vigor and distinctness that extricate himself from the grasp of the soldier. “I fly
model of all prayers, his Divine Master had taught his to her rescue, and to death.”.
disciples; as he gazed on, and heard him, the beauti. | “She is here," cried a female voice from the centre
ful conformity of example and precept rushed to his of the troop, and flinging from her a mantle she had
mind, and the teachings of Paul never so strongly influ-l found in Claudius' cell, the speaker disclosed the form
enced his mind, as the faith, the courage and sublimity of Tita. In a moment he burst from the hold of the
of the Martyr.
soldier, and clasped the maiden to his heart.
As Claudius turned to join the procession, the eye of “Was it thy will, my Tita," he exclaimed, " to die
the Apostle fell upon him. “My son," he said, “have for me? So young, so beautiful; was life as nought to
I not well told thee that life is but a shadow. Even as thee?"
now the word of man can erase it. Remember, then, I “I have been wedded to thy faith," answered the
the words of the dying, which speak as from the oracle maiden, "in sorrow and suffering. Thou hast told me
of the grave, and with the frown of an Omniscient Judge that life is a dream to the Christian, and Heaven his re-
before them. Fear not, I say, even as our Master hath | ward. Thou saidst in that Heaven we forget the smile
taught us, those who hurt the body, but cannot touch which sense corrupted, and the enjoyments which fade
the soul; but rather fear Him who can destroy both beneath the hand which touches them. The martyrs
soul and body together." He raised his fettered hands of our faith, who regard life as an offering to God, thou
to Heaven, and bowed his head as he mentioned the hast said, will be our company;" and as she spoke she
name of God, and the tear which dimmed the eye of extended her hand to the lifeless form which hung upon
Paul, fell like dew on the heart of that young disciple, the Cross. “Claudius, I am a christian, and for that
quickening the growth of that faith his words had faith would I die. Thine hour had come; they entered
planted there.
thy cell ; I disguised myself with thy mantle, and was
Through that long night Claudius stirred not from content to seek in thy Heaven the happiness the Chris
the foot of the Cross where hung the lifeless body of tian could not find on Earth.”
his master. The hours rolled on, the sentries were re- ll “Seize him, seize him, a Christian hath deceived the
lieved from their posts, but the external world and its | Emperor," echoed the soldiers. “To the palace," they
objects were closed from him, as he knelt absorbed in shouted; "the wild beast shall devour what the Cross
prayer. The torches had already sunk in darkness, || has spared."
and the drowsy sentinel reclined upon his spear. No They were rushing forward to seize Claudius, when
sound was heard on that desolate spot, save the prayer Tita releasing herself from his embrace, flew to the
of the Christian, and the groan of anguish which es- foot of the Cross, and on her knees, clasping it with one
caped him as his eye occasionally glanced upon the arm, while the other was extended to the guards,
Cross. But round that martyred Apostle hovered the « Hold," she exclaimed; "the God of the Christian
halo of Divinity, brightening the hopes of the disciple I will protect his servant.”
with the light it borrowed from Eternity.
A few sultry drops of rain which had hitherto fallen,
The night was on the wane, and the stars were gradu- || portended an approaching storm. The clouds rolled
ally fading before the misty light of morning, and Clau-l on in an heavy and sable mass, while anon their broken
dius still remained praying by the Cross. So deep and edges glowed with the lurid rays of Summer-lightning.
abstracted had been that prayer, that he heard neither A peal rung through the heavens, whose hollow reverbe-
the word passed by the sentinels, nor the dull and ration quivered the Cross to which Tita clung. The
heavy tramp of armed men approaching. The first || phenomenon of appeal and answer, addressed it-
words which broke his reverie, were rudely addressed self to the superstition of the Heathens, and for a mo-
him by a soldier. “Rise, Nazarene ; seek a fitter placement they were as those who hear in the thunder the
for prayer."
voice of God. Motionless and silent they stood fixed
Claudius started from the ground. The whole had to the spot till the clouds dispersed, and the echoing
been as a dream. He looked upwards. The pale thunder had died in distance. But with the storm
form of the Apostle met his gaze. He clasped his hands passed its terrors, and seizing the Christians they con-
convulsively to his eyes. He looked round him; the ducted them to the palace.
night had already passed, and the dim light of morning
CHAPTER VIII.-THE TYRANT A JUDGE.
faintly streaked the East. Tita, and the danger in
which he had left her, rushed through his mind with the It was the noon of the following day, ere the Chris.
speed of lightning. “Had the maiden braved death tians appeared before Nero. The games in honor of
for the love she bore him? Had he shrunk from the Cores had been celebrated, and Claudius had defeated
15


120
THE CHRISTIANS.
the conspiracy, and spared the life of his persecutor. ''prayer, and confidence in the protection of his God.
The conspirators had been seized, and their punishment She rose from her couch, and endeavored to abstract
already awarded. As Claudius and Tita were entering her mind in prayer. She was strengthened; her feelings
the chamber of the Emperor, several of them were de- were tranquilized, and she sank to sleep.
parting, strongly guarded and in chains. The eye of || It was midnight; the lamps but faintly lit the cham-
Rufus fell on Claudius. “Christian,” he said, “I par- ber, whose deep silence was broken only by the respira-
don the faith which errs on the side of mercy. Thou tion of the sleeping maid. Slowly and cautiously a se-
hast spared a Tyrant's life; 'tis well if it sting not thine
cret panel connected with the silver cloth of the apart-
own." The conspirators passed on, and the Christians
ment, was opened and speedily closed. A delicate fe-
stood before the Emperor.
male figure approached, whose dark countenance and
Epaphroditus, who stood by his throne, in brief, de- flowing hair announced an Eastern clime. It was Actè.
tailed the complaints of the soldiers, viz: " That Clau- The Emperor had left his apartment that night, and
dius had endeavored to escape death by passing his free from suspicion, she had passed to the chamber of
prison-door in female disguise, and that the imposition her rival. She had not forgotten the passion he had
had not been discovered till they arrived at the place of exhibited to Tita in the hour of a drunken revel, and
execution."
jealousy, deeper for the protraction of revenge, still
Claudius angwered not a word; he was unwilling to | rankled within her breast. She loved Nero, Tyrant
desecrate the benevolence of his faith, by making it the and Monster as he was, the more so, perhaps, as he had
purchase of his pardon. He had left his prison, but it continued the connection in spite of the remonstrance
was to save his enemy. Death to him was more wel- and dissuasion of his mother; and the warm passions
come than life; and he stood before the Tyrant resolved of her climate, while they lent ardor to her love, gavo
to keep the secret of the last night's interview. The depth also to revenge.
darkness of the chamber, and the agitation of Nero, || She cautiously surveyed the chamber, and stood in
had so far concealed the Christian as to prevent his re- silence as to ascertain that none approached. In her
cognition now.
hand she held a small golden cup. She approached
“Ha! Nazarene," he cried with rage, his eyes full the couch. She bent over the unconscious form of her
and flashing, “ by the Gods thou hast broken thy cage victim, but the calmness of sleep was on her brow, and
once, but I will bind thee where Freedom shall only with it, it brought forgetfulness of danger. She touched
give thee to beasts.” Nero was not more exasperated her. Tita started from her couch. “Claudius, is it
at his alleged escape, than that of Tita from the palace, thou ?" broke from her lips, as she looked round her
and the love of the Christians which presented an ob- , wildly, unconscious of time or place.
stacle to his own lust. Turning to Tita, and with diffi- || Actè extended the cup to her. Guilt and fear for its
culty moderating the passion he could not conceal; success worked within
success worked within her; her hand trembled, her lips
“and thou, too, maiden, hast sported with our power 'quivered in the attempt to speak, and as she faltered,
within our very palace. Have a care; the lion is “ Drink, maiden, 'tis a draught for care," she sank ex-
strongest in his own den. This was the act of Rufus, hausted by the couch of Tita. Suspicion darted through
but he and his confederates are in chains. Thy guard the mind of the maiden as she recognized guilt in the
shall be trustier.” He whispered Epaphroditus. The nervous hesitation of Acte's manner; she dashed from
maiden looked not up; if she had, the malignant smile her the goblet, and as her scream of terror rung through
on the Tyrant's lip would have quenched the last ray of the apartment, the door opened, and the Freedman
hope.
rushed in; he disappeared for a moment, but immedi-
ately returned, followed by Nero and Claudius.
CHAPTER IX.-THE MISTRESS AND THE CHRISTIAN.
To explain their sudden appearance, it is necessary
The Christians were separated, but their destinations to retrace a few steps.
were as opposite in place as character. Claudius had | The enmity which Nero felt to the Christians, had
but exchanged one dungeon for another, while Tita was been embittered in the case of Claudius by the love
conducted to an apartment costly and luxurious. But, which bound him to Tita. As long as he lived the Ty-
what is splendor to the heart-sick and unhappy pri- rant could not hope for the possession of her person ;
soner? It resembles the golden bars of the cage to he therefore resolved upon his immediate death under
the bird; they catch the rays of that sun whose heaven | pretext of his creed.
was freedom, and whose broad expanse gave no limit! That night he had entered his cell, and had announc-
to its flight: and now its wing flutters only to reminded to Claudius his fate. To the Christian, Death bad
it of bondage, and the melancholy of its note pines for no terror, and amid the cruelties which Nero's ingenui-
the mountain and the breeze.
ty in sport devised for his victims, Claudius' fortitude
None were permitted to approach her save the Freed. || remained unshaken. “Grant me but one request,"
man, whose life was to answer the violation of his said the Christian.
charge. She foresaw the Tyrant's design, and anxious U “Speak," rejoined the Tyrant.
ly prayed for the hand of Death to avert it. She flung “I bow in silence to thy will," answered Claudius,
herself on the couch in despair, but the form of Claudi- || " if I but see Tita ere I die."
us stood by her side, and whispered words of comfort || “Follow me," replied Nero. They were already in
and support. He seemed to exhort the carnestness of ll the passage conducting to her chamber, when Epaph-


THE CHRISTIANS.
121
roditus, who watched at the door, hearing the scream, || death as lightly as the mimic sports of the stage. A
rushed in, followed by Nero and Claudius.
slow and solemn flourish of trumpets announced the ap-
A dead silence prevailed, as Nero and the Christian | proach of the procession. The monarch and his mis-
gazed on the figures, unable to explain their agitation or tress were already on their throne.
its cause. Actè still clung to the couch for support; ! Preceded and followed by a numerous guard, the
the goblet lay by her side, while Tita stood in the centre | Christians drew nigh. Claudius bore in his hand a
of the apartment, her hair falling in disorder on her small crucifix, which, in the intervals of prayer, he fer-
shoulders, her eyes fixed in vacant unconsciousness, vently pressed to his lips, while the strength and sub-
while her averted hand trembled as it pointed to Actè. mission he implored in the name of Him who had died
To one whose palace witnessed as frequently scenes of for all, were audibly responded to by Tita.
death, as those of conviviality, the present one, as his I They were already at the stake; two of the guards
eye fell on the goblet, needed no interpretation for Nero. advancing, had bound them to the pile, and were on the
“Poison, treachery," he cried, in a voice of passion.' point of firing it, when the exclamation “Hold,” from
Actè, mistress of every art which could assuage his Nero, suspended their further progress. The eyes of
fiercest moments, dreaded not his anger so much as dis- | all were turned to the throne. The Emperor held a
covery. She felt concealment vain, and with the sub- scroll; his hands trembled while he read it, till rago
tlety of a mistress who knows the weakness of her lover and disappointment struggling within him, he tore and
will forgive a fault which originates from the depth of trampled it. It had been handed to one of the guards
love, falling at Nero's feel, implored pardon. “For surrounding the throne, and the bearer had disappeared
give me," she cried, “I share thy throne, but cannot || ere Nero received it. It ran as follows:
share thine heart with another. My Lord knows the
"The Christian about to die hath saved thy life, but wills not
depth of that love which hath made me aim at the life
to make that service the price of his freedom. It is true that by
of this maiden. Pardon, Cæsar, for thy servant."
so doing, he hath divulged and defeated our design. We for-
Though guilty, the intense emotion of her utterance give an act which sprung from the gentleness of his faith. Think
evinced her truth; and as the Emperor gazed on his not, that though some of us are in chains, that there are not others
kneeling mistress, the sincerity of her words, the strength ready to avenge the Manes of thy victims, and redress their
wronged and violated country. The dagger yet remains un-
of her passion, the tears which dimmed her lustrous
sheathed, and the sons of Rome curse the life ofthe Tyrant. If
eyes, and the grace of her attitude, all Alung around the
Claudius and Tita perish, Nero dies. A CONSPIRATOR."
Asiatic a spell which even the bonds of love had never
known, and the sweetness of that voice reclaimed the The Tyrant looked on the crumbled fragments at his
sway which momentary rage had discarded. The heart feet, as though ashamed that threats should change
of the Tyrant was too callous to the sense of crime, to his purpose, or cheat him of his feast of blood. He
reprehend it in others, and the cunning of his mistress | vainly endeavored to laugh away his fears; but it was
hod touched the right chord in the heart of the Sensu- vain as his mind reverted to the dangers from which he
alist when she palliated crime by passion.
had been rescued. The Tyrant is constitutionally a
From that moment Nero relinquished his designs upon coward, and suspicion generates those cruelties from
Tita, but resolved at least that the pleasure of blood- others, which have been inflicted by himself. Terror
shed should expiate their frustration. “Christians," prevailed, but Cunning forgot not to enhance the par-
he said, turning to Claudius, " ye have met for the last don as the gift of generosity. “Release the Chris-
time. Epaphroditus, my guard.” The Freedman with-| tian," he exclaimed, “ he hath saved my life." He
drew, and entered in a few moments accompanied by descended the throne with the Asiatic, unwilling, as it
some soldiers. Claudius was remanded to his cell, but were, to remain on the spot where Mercy had supplant-
as he gazed on Tita, the faint smile that beamed through ed Vengeance.
his sad expression, was borrowed from the hope that I The Christians had tasted "the bitterness of death "
their meeting above would never know separation. in its anticipation. The reprieve called them back to
a world whose hopes and interests they had forgotten in
CHAPTER X.-THE CHRISTIANS' TRIAL. the change which awaited them, and while they wept
with gratitude for their pardon, Faith still turned their
The threat of the Tyrant was soon to be realized ;
hearts to the Future as an Home “not made with
and the faith of the Christians to be tested by resig-1;
H hands, eternal in the Heavens."
nation to their death. Nero, ever anxious to convert
the tortures of his victims to his own entertainment,
resolved that the hour of their execution should be du-ll The only way to make a happy progress through
ring the night, and the manner of it by fire. He ap- this world, is to go on a dogged, persevering pursuit
pointed-as was his custom when a Christian was to of one good object, neither turning to the right nor to
die-his gardens to be fitted for the occasion, and a the left, making our business, as much as possible, our
throne to be erected for himself and Actè.
pleasure, and not permitting ourselves to awake from
At the appointed hour the gardens of the palace were our dream of activity-not permitting ourselves to
illuminated, the pile surrounded by faggots was pre- think that we have been active-until we suddenly
-- pared for the martyrs, and before it, at a short distance, | find ourselves at the goal of our wishes, with fortune al-
stood the throne of him, who regarded the agonies of most unconsciously within our grasp.
and Acte



បរបរ
THE TE
SAM
។
ម
E
-
*
MMA
)
ht ULT WIT, F
i
)
II
HUUUUUU
III
k
)
Mil
I
u
tif
Y
,
L
__
H
ot)


RESIDENCE OF ITHIEL TOWN, ESQ.
123
Original.
'family were in the habit of sending me to borrow a book,
RESIDENCE OF ITHIEL TOWN, ESQ. which contained an alphabet of letters, suitable for
marking linen. In this book, which was entitled “The
BY LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.
Young Man's Best Companion,' were various copy.
slips--mathematical diagrams-dials for different hati
One of the Engravings which adorn the present, tudes--mariner's compass, etc., neatly engraved on
number, is of the mansion of a gentleman, long cele copper-plates. These diagrams I examined frequently,
brated for his architectural designs, which buth in while on the way, and can get recollect the strong and
public and private edifices, have beautified so many parts vivid impressions they made on my young and asto-
of our widely-extended country. It is pleasantly situa- nished mind, from the great ingenuity which I concei-
ted in New-Haven, Connecticut, one of the most de- ved it required to make and understand guch very cu-
lightful and picturesque cities in New-England. It is rious figures. Ever since, I have had a great propensity
a fair object to the eye, but its most striking feature is and love for mathematics, drawings, paintings, engra-
the noble library which it contains, and the accommo- vings, etc., and if this book-affair did not lead to it, I
dation afforded for its tasteful arrangement. In the know not what did. I was often reproved by the girls,
second story, is a spacious apartinent, forty-five feet in whom I have mentioned, for drawing figures with chalk
length, twenty-three in breadth, and twenty-two in on a large stone-hearth in my uncle's house. Ten or
heighth, with two sky-lights, six feet square,-three twelve years ago, I obtained, with some difficulty, this
windows at one end, and three sash-doors, opening upon same book, and could scarcely now be persuaded to part
the balcony. There, and in the lobbies, and study, are with my Young Man's Best Companion,' on any
arranged, in Egyptian, Grecian and Gothic cases, of terms."
fine symmetry, between nine and ten thousand volumes. Too much praise can scarcely be accorded to a man,
Many of these are rare, expensive, and valuable. More who, dependent on his own exertions, has thus taken
than three fourths are folios and quartos. A great pro- | pleasure in devoting so large a proportion of his time
portion are adorned with engravings. It is not easy to and means to the accumulation of intellectual treasures.
compute the number of these embellishments—though It is an example peculiarly conspicuous and beautiful in
the proprietor supposes them to exceed two hundred a country where the acquisition of money, for less libe-
thousand. There are also some twenty or twenty-five | ral purposes, and sometimes for no purpose at all, ex-
thousand separate engravings--some of them the splen- cept for the name of having amassed it, or of dying in
did executions of the best masters, both ancient and possession of it, is both the business and the passion of
modern. In these particulars, this library surpasses multitudes,
all others in our country. There are also one hundred "Till in the long-drawn struggle, life escapes."
and seventy oil paintings, besides mosaics, and other. The traveller, who in visiting the semi-capital of Con-
works of art, and objects of curiosity.
necticut, admires its fine scenery, its varied architecture,
Mr. Town has been nearly thirty years in making its ancient college, its classic domes, and tasteful cotta-
this collection, and having had many facilities, while in
ges, shaded by lofty elms, or embosomed in shrubbery-
Europe, both for selection and for economical purchase,
its noble gallery of pictures, and their venerable artist,
believes the whole cost not to exceed thirty thousand
I whose time-defying pencil still adds to the creations of
dollars--though, at the usual cost of books and engra-
genius—will not fail also to visit and admire the Libra-
vings, the amount must have been far greater. He has
ry, which has been here so imperfectly described.
been assiduous, not only to give his treasures a fitting | Among the writings of Mr. Town, is a pamphlet, en-
temple, but to guard them from casualities by fire. ' titled “ Outlines of a Plan for an Academy and Institu-
Every partition in his building, even to those in the ltion of the Fine Arts," of which the following is a tran-
closets, are of brick; all the inside plaistering is upon script. It clearly sets forth an excellent design of pa-
bricks, without laths, except the ceiling, and all the tronising what he so well understands:
floors are of mortar, two inches in thickness, with a “The general plan should consist of two branches,
coat of water-cement, and the rooms without wood. | distinct in all respects as to the entire control, govern-
cases.
ment, and ownership of property“each to be mutually
That the design of forming so large and rare a libra. I accommodated by the other in such manner that the
Ty, should have been cherished by one, who had neither benefits of all the talents and property of both intitu-
enjoyed the benefits of classic education, or inherited tions may, for all important porposes, be as fully and
the facilities of a child of fortune, is truly remarkable. as advantageously enjoyed by artists, connoisseurs, am-
The philosopher, searching into the hidden springs of lateurs, and the public, as could possibly be done, were
action and motive, might be desirous to know what had it practicable-which I believe may well be doubted-
early operated to produce so strong a predilection for to unite in one well-governed institution, every depart-
works of art, and elegant literature. It is pleasantment of such a national school and repository for the
thus to have the solution from his own pen.
fine arts, in the most perfect and satisfactory manner,
“I have had a great attachment for curious and un- without the possibility of any obstruction or difficulty in
common books, ever since tłre age of eight years. At the management and control of it. All past experience
that time, in consequence of the death of my father, I seems to show most conclusively, Philadelphia and
commenced living with my uncle, and the girls of his New York in their history of the fine arts, might be re-


A DAY OUT OF THE CITY.
127
.
Original.
|| for something to cool the fever in thy veins, as the hort
A DAY OUT OF THE CITY." panteth for the water brooks—when thou art most weary
of streets and houses, and the works of man when the
BY HENRY F. HARRINGTON.
bright sun seems thine enemy, and thou canst almost
. 19, but a day! For thou wilt find that, even in that curse his merry beams, revelling in their own brightness.
e o period the gentle finger of fancy will rub off the | Seek the depth of some tangled wood, lay thyself down
. bered rust from thy mind, and thou wilt return to thy || beneath the shade of a thick leaved tree; let a brook be
jes a happier and a better man. But, business, | near thee, that its tinkle may come up to thine ear as a
unt: shake off its fetters from thy mind as thou
soothing melody; and if thou art wise thou shalt be hap-
Idet a garment from thy shoulders. Eject it forci py. The song of birds shall waft thee on the wings of
ts thou wouldst an unruly tenant from thy dwelling, harmony to heaven-the rustle of leaves shall whisper
when thou returnest and assumest again its shackles, | peace to thy soul-and the chirp of the bounding squir-
will not pinch thee as before. Go but for a day. rel shall make thee dream of freedom-freedom from the
he country is no: kith nor kin to the city. It owneth shackles of artificial life-freedom from the selfish atten-
semblance, it scorneth comparison. It hath other lion of the crowd-freedom from the narrowness and
:9,-heaven born harmoniegother pleasures, other callousness that have folded thy spirit in their chilling gar-
* Seek it, thou who hast dwelt through weary years | ment while thou hast been in contact with thy kind. Go
se smoke, and bustle, and artifice of the city--that in the deep of summer!
zht-jacket of the panting soul! Seek it thou who Go, in ruddy Autumn; when the white robed frost
*t to be alone-who wouldst revel in the glory of has stole along in the concealment of the night, and
''mmelled thought. It will yield thy spirit repose, | danced in glee over the green grass, and kissed the ver-
hou wilt find a heartiness in thy reflections, that dant foliage; and hath painted the wide searching forest
oth thee in the barrassing excitement of the crowd. with hues caught and mingled from heaven's bow! Go
t thou who hatest to be alone. There is no soli-then-and thy heart shall leap within thee with delight
ike that which cometh over thee in the midst of at the gorgeousness of nature's robe. Thy pride shall
inds—there is no loneliness like that which with-| bow itself down at the contemplation of nature's superi-
thy soul, when thou minglest with the throng, ) ority in all things bright aud beautiful and good, to the
plest that none of all around thee careth aught for utmost efforts of arrogant man; and thou shalt humble
will pause for thee, or smile upon thee, when thyself in adoration before the majesty of the beneficent
st thou pass away from earth, the tread of many feet | Creator of these bright and good and beautiful things,
*** echo on the time-worn pavement, and thou wilt and hast given to thee senses to enjoy and a heart to ap-
le through the midst to thy narrow bed, and none | preciate. Go, I pray thee, in ruddy autumn! .
swiss thee in thy accustomed places, and no voice Go too, in hoary Winter. In vain dost thou leap in
estion whither thou art gone. Nature will speak | joy when thou coulemplatest the gifts of goodness, if thy
atly in sweet tones of sympathy-will blend and spirit be not more and more attuned to the purity and
with thy spirit. If thou art blithe, and care sits | loveliness of that goodness-and winter shall be sweet
upon thee, thou shalt find merry voices answer- || 10 thee, if thou spurnest it not. Winter was created for
hine, and thou shalt mark how gladness is all thee, as were the budding spring and blooming summer
thee; and, if thou art sad, thou shalt not want and fruit-laden autumn. Look around thee! The
afort. Oh, thou who curlest thy lip in scorn and | Aower that sprang up and put forth its prettiness to thy
tas thou readest, thou art as a little child, that I gaze and scattered its perfume on the breeze, is no
not of its own good. Thou art as one asleep-|| more; the wild wood hath shed its verdant glories,
..; st not LIVE, thou dost not abide on earth. ll and standeth in naked desolation-the husbandman
Ato the country--in the budding Spring. Thou hath gathered his fruits into his garner--a glassy coat
Pitch inspiration and energy from the renovation envelopeth the stream, and all nature sleepeth under
ace. The spreading leaves and bursting flowers, || a covering of snow. Youth was thy spring-time; didst
ich thee of His goodness, who givest to unworthy | thou plant the seed of virtue? Thou hast had thy
ith seed-cime and harvest, rain and shine; and I summer heat of manhood to invigorate and a
summer heat of manhood to invigorate and expand, and
alt learn to reflect, until the reflection shall be- || mature the gems within thee; has it found thee a sloth
* rudder to thine existence, that the god of nature | ful husbandman? The autumn of age will be there ;
God of man-that now is the seed-time of ihy
wilt thou gather the harvest of thy virtues in peace ?
nd as surely as the labor of the husbandman Look around thee! As the flower hath departed, as
blessed and in good time, the yellow corn and the fruits are garnered, so shall the frosts of decay sum-
grain shall gladden his eyes, so surely as thou mon thee to render an account of thy stewardship; and
jo shalt thou reap. Ifthy soul is as an unploughed as the icy coat enroberh the stream, and the mantle of
illed field, bitter will be thy harvesting. It is a snow envelopeth the earth, so shalt thou lie down, and
ing to commenco with nature in the budding the grave shall cover thee. That spring shall come
'-though it be but for a day.
again, and the pleasant flowers, regenerale and renewed;
a the deep of Summer; when thou art panting || and thou too shalt bloom on a fairer alt rejoice
hereafter in brighter sky! Go :
Localities described in the essay are in the vicinity
The incident is a memory of the past.
But take thou excellent ca
nh.
16


124
RESIDENCE OF ITHIEL TOWN, ESQ.
ferred to as a proof of the position that a body of ar-| with certain privileges in the use of the institution in
tists, pursuing their profession with the requisite am- proportion to the amount paid, instead of a dividend,
bition and pride of the art, and the other part of a com. which should in no case ever be made, nor the stock be
munity, still much more numerous, comprising connois-divided. Persons more able would take more shares,
Reurs, amateurs, merchants and all other professions and to obtain the necessary or enlarged privilege for their
trades-who would, from their numbers and wealth, be families, or their less able friends and relations; a large
able to raise a large amount of stock for the purchase sum might be raised in this manner, much of which in
of all the requisite works of art, for an institution, etc. small sums, that might be paid by almost any artist or
cannot agree harmoniously, for any great length of time citizen, to whom, in return, the use of the institution
together, either in the choice of officers, mode of gov- would be of great importance, and, in many instances,
ernment, or the manner of estimating their talents as much greater to the public, by this means, than the ef-
artists, against the property or stock of the sharehold. fects of such influence upon more wealthy men might be.
ers. It may be safely repeated, that this kind of har- “Such an institution being established, with suitable
mony cannot subsist long enough, and free enough from buildings, not only for eontaining the works of art of all
difficulties, to ensure any valuable purpose whatever, kinds, but having suitable halls, exhibition-rooms,
for much length of time. This position being admitted, school-rooms, etc., suited to the wants of the artists,
as I think it must be, what next presents itself? It is both in their public capacity, and in their private wants
the most obvious and imperative fact, that, in a new for their regular business, for which public rooms they
country like ours, neither can the arts flourish, or ar- may either pay reasonable rents, or give in exchange
lists be educated, without going abroad for instruction, such rights and privileges in their exhibitions, etc., as
to be much above mediocrity ;-and what is still worse, I would be an equivalent. By such mutual arrangements
perhaps-nor can that knowledge and taste be diffused of accommodation as might be made between the two
into the minds of a community, which is necessary ei- | bodies, each institution would have all the advantages
ther to encourage the arts, or give employment to ar- of the other, and yet no connection whatever in their
tists, by a demand for their works, without an exten government or ownership of property. The artists
sive library relating to the fine arts with their various might regulate all their own schools, exhibitions, and
kindred branches, extensive collections of engravings of election of members, and would have such an amount
the best masters, a collection of ancient and modern of property, or works of art, as they might find conve-
sculpture and bass-reliefs, of paintings, ancient and nient, or immediately useful, which would be un-
modern, also, of coins, medals, and various specimens der their own entire control; the other institution
and relics of antiquity, armor, etc. etc. But it may | would in like manner have their real estate, extensive
well be said that any near approach to a respectable library, and other works of art to any extent, under
and adequate collection of such valuable works of art, their own charter, organization and control; many other
as here enumerated, would cost, at least, from three minor appendages and facilities to these two main in-
hundred thousand to five hundred thousand dollars; stitutions may be added, to promote the general object;
if so, can any body of artists themselves make such a but I will now state my ideas more at length of each
collection, and establish an institution, which, together, one, and of their connection with each other.
with their own well-regulated schools, lectures, etc., “Having before adopted the title of “The United
shall present to our new country the means of educating States Academy and Institution of the Fine Arts," for
artists, as well as the diffusing of taste and knowledge the two institutions when harmoniously joined together,
of this kind, into the minds of the community at large, lending their aid, talents and influence to each other, by
to enable them to appreciate the arts ? Most certainly mutual agreement for their joint accommodation, with-
not! no one will pretend it. How then is such an ob- out the possibility of rivalship, envy, or any other inte-
ject to be accomplished in our country, at some properference on the part of passion or interest.
point, the most accessible to the artists of the whole “I would particularly state, that the Academy should
country, so as thereby to spread its influence and im- be, as its name imports, a school, composed of acade-
portant use to all our manufacturing and mechanic arts ? : micians, honorary members, and students in the arts of
It requires a large capital: the artists have it not design and imitation-the academicians to have the en-
themselves, nor can they agree to join in the same in- tire control and management of all its affairs in rela.
stitution with those who have it-they will not brook tion to government and property—o elect their ons
for a moment, the idea of money and its consequent in- i and the honorary members ; appoint a president to pre-
Auence and power in the government of such an insti- side over them, a foreign corresponding secretary, a
tution.
home corresponding secretary, and a secretary to the
“ One way certainly remains which is practicable meetings, etc., of the academy; a vice president, a
and easily accomplised, if it were commenced and pur- treasurer; also professors and lecturers for all neces-
sued in the right manner, either in Philadelphia, New-sary branches, and to regulate the admission of students
York, Boston, or Baltimore-viz: to obtain a charter to the schools, and the public to the lectures; also to
for such an institution as described, with a capital in establish and regulate one or two annual exhibitions of
transferable stock, of three hundred thousand to living artists, and any and every other particular rela-
five hundred thousand dollars, in shares of twenty-five ting to the members, the academy, its schools and its
dellars each, to be paid in, in five annual instalments, exhibitions.


RESIDENCE OF ITHIEL TOWN, ESQ.
125
“ The other great branch, here stated, “ The Insti- | pointed from any of the share-holders, whether in other
tution,” should be chartered with a transferable stock offices or not; and further, all the necessary professors,
as stated, of three hundred thousand to five hundred lecturers or teachers for such schools or lectures as they
thousand dollars, in shares of twenty-five dollars each, shall from time to time see fit to establish, institute and
payable in five annual instalments, each share to be en- continue for a limited or regular term of time, and to do
titled to a vote, when paid in, and, in all cases, every and cause to be done under their organized form of
twenty-five dollars paid in on shares of stock to be enti-president and board of control-the twelve only voting
tled to a vote. All share-holders, who may reside any who were chosen by the trustees, and the president
where in the United States, should have privileges in when not of that number, in case of a tie—all other ne-
attending exhibitions, etc., in proportion to the amount cessary business relating to the institution, not other-
actually paid in, to be determined equitably by the wise herein provided for, and to draw orders on the
president and board of control, but in no case should treasurer to pay all such necessary expenses, purchases,
any dividend of income or stock be made, but be ex- etc. etc., which they may see fit to incur, in accordance
pended in the enlargement and promotion of the insti- with their duties herein specified or authorized, to the
lution and its objects. The charter should allow of extent of the means.
holding a lot or lots in the city, equal in all to four hun- | “The president and board of control should also have
dred feet square, with all necessary halls, exhibition- | all the necessary halls, exhibition-rooms, school-rooms,
rooms, lecture and school rooms, artists' club-rooms, and other apartments, suitably erected, fitted up, and
rooms for sculptures, bass-reliefs, paintings, engravings, every way prepared for the accommodation of the acade-
draftsmen, etc. etc., either to rent to the artists for pri- my, which should be provided for on such terms and
vate rooms for business, or used by them, as stated, for upon such principles of mutual accommodation, as
all their public purposes; any room in such buildings would best promote the prosperity and dignity of the
not needed, as above stated, might be rented for any arts, and do justice to each institution, by the accom-
other purpose for which they might be best suited. I'modation of the members of each in every respect-
“ The share-holders should elect sixty trustees by which halls and the lecture-rooms are to be occupied
ticket, viz: twenty to serve three years, twenty to serve by the lecturers of each institution, in such manner as
two years, and twenty to serve one year, after which, to accommodate the members of each, and the public,
they should annually elect twenty to serve three years, in a suitable and convenient manner; to be regulated
and fill all vacancies by death or otherwise. The sixty by the mutual consultation of the president and board
ees, so elected, should meet once a year, and often- of the institution, and the president and academicians
er if necessary; they should elect a chairman and secre- of the academy. The exhibition and public rooms of
tary at each meeting, to preside and keep all necessary each institution should also in like manner be open for
records ; also a treasurer, to be elected once in two use, under suitable regulations, of the members of both
years, and oftener if necessary; they should also elect institutions, in the best and most convenient manner,
annually, five managers of the real estate, income, and and upon the most equitable and liberal principles.
all other matters relating to the buildings, repairing, “The property or collection of the institution to con-
renting and receiving rents, and all other kinds of dues, || sist of sculptures, bass-reliefs, and paintings, ancient
interest, payment of stock, and every kind of income be- and modern ; an extensive library of books relating to
longing to the institution, and to see that it is paid im- the fine arts, books of engravings, and engravings of
mediately into the treasury; they are to have power to history and mythology, portraits, etc.; coins and medals,
draw orders upon the treasury for such sums as they | ancient and modern ; models of architecture, ancient
may deem necessary for building and repairing, but for | and modern; drawings of all kinds ; specimens and
nothing else, and all such expenditures over five thou- relics of antiquity of all kinds, such as vases, candela-
sand dollars, or for all new buildings, the planning, ar- | bra, ancient armor, etc.; specimens and objects of
ranging and amount of cost to be regulated by these | natural history; also, curious specimens of the me-
managers, jointly with the board of control and ar-chanic's and manufacturer's arts; models of curious
rangement, which shall consist of twelve persons, to be and useful inventions and improvements, especially such
also elected by the trustrees for two years, half of whom articles of improvements as relate to the fine arts, cither
articles of improvements as relate to the fine
to retire from office annually; they should be elected directly or more remotely ;-all of which is to be ob-
from any of the share-holders, whether trustees or not, tained from time to time by the president and board of
but they are in all cases to be elected for their knowledge, control, and arranged by them in the several buildings
taste and experience in relation to selecting, purchasing, constructed and fitted up for the purpose : they should
or any way procuring and arranging in rooms, etc. all kinds | also regulate the times and terms of admission, and
of property, which the halls, library and all other parts every other necessary preparation and duty relating to
of the building, are intended to contain, as the property all parts of this kind of property: premiums should also
of the institution. This board, besides a joint voice in be awarded annually, by both institutions, for designs,
relation to buildings, as above provided, and large ex- || sculpture, models, paintings, engravings, etc.
penditures, shall also elect a president, two vice presi- | “A branch of the academy should also consist of in-
dents, a foreign and a home corresponding secretary, and structions for, and encouragement in, water-color
a secretary to their own board; also a librarian and his drawings, and an exhibition-room should be appropri-
assistants, with such keepers, etc., as shall be by them lated to this branch exclusively. The annual exhibition
deemed necessary and proper, all of whom to be apo "in London of water-colors is truly a splendid one, and


126
SAINT MARY'S CITY.
**
is beginning to attract that notice and attention, by pur-| slockholders of which to be members of the academy
chasers and otherwise, which this important subject is or institution; no person to subscribe to the stock more
entitled to; and it is a branch of the fine arts in which than two thousand dollars, until the books had been kept
females can easily and most successfully enter into com- open to artists, mechanics, elc., for sixty days; no per-
petition with the males, and the advantages to the arts son to hold any stock without being an academician or
and trades of our country, as well as in the diffusion of a shareholder in the institution ; the bank to have a
a general taste for the arts of design and imitation, capital of $1,000,000, with liberty to increase it to $3,
would be immense, as the cheapness of this mode will000,000 ; its stock to pay no tax to the State, but to be
enable many more persons to possess good paintings required annually to pay one per cent on its capital into
executed in this beautiful manner. Another great ad- the treasury of the institution for the increase of their
vantage of one or two such extensive institutions in works of art, and to enable them to offer premiums for
our country at proper points would be, that the mem- the best performances annually of living artists of all
bers or artists might live any where in the country, and kinds; otherwise the bank to be every way a distinct
yet have great advantages from them, by going there corporation from both the others, only having its stock
onee, or occasionally, to study and attend the lectures, owned, and at all times held, exclusively by members
as medical and other students now do in the other pro- and shareholders in the institutions before stated.-
fessions ; thus the advantages would reach the extremes Thus these institutions might be raised from the extreme
of the United States.
depths of poverty and beggary, and thus they would be-
“ Branch institutions might be connected and estab- || come objects respectable in themselves, and claiming
lished in other cities and villages, the president of which, and even demanding, that respect, that attention, and
at least, might attend the principal institution, and that admiration, which one of the most important, use-
carry home much knowledge and experience in regard ful and splendid application of the human mind and is
to the good management, etc., of the arts in his own faculties is capable of achieving."
section of country.
"Regular annual conventions should most certainly be
Original.
held, and persons of knowledge, taste, and experience,
SAINT MARY'S CITY.
in matters relating to the fine arts, should be sent to the
large institution, either by other similar institutions, or
BY S. F. GLENN.
such clubs or little associations of connoisseurs, ama-
leurs, and artists, as might exist, or hereafter be formed This city which has existence in name now, was situated near
the mouth of the Saint Mary's river, in Saint Mary's county,
in consequence of the inducements and advantages held |
Maryland : and was not only the spot whereon the first settleri
out by such a system.
of Maryland landed, but was also the first place on this conti-
nent, perhaps in the world,) where freedom of Religion was
"The advantages of such conventions, annually, would tolerated: where the Protestant and the Roman Catholic,
be very great, and the effect to raise the standard of our
enjoying their separate modes of worship, lived in barmony
together. A few old grave stones are all that remain of this
knowledge and standing in these arts, truly important. ancient city, which, at one time sent delegates to the General
Assembly of Maryland. The following thoughts were suggest-
The principal mode to be used in accomplishing all the
ed by a visit to that interesting spot.
above objects, is simple and easy: it is merely this :-
The subject must be talked over by persons of influence, O, quiet, solemn ground! move slow my feet,
pamphlets and newspaper essays must be written, pub Nor break the silence of this calm retreat.
lic meetings, clubs and conversations must be held, and 'Twas here the pilgrim breath'd his freedom pray'r,
after the subject is fully known and understood, and a And sang to Him his pious choral air.
sufficient number of persons and artists of influence No sect, with madden'd zeal strove here to bind,
have embarked in the cause, and a plan similar in sub In fetter'd forms, the christian freeman's mind.
blance to the above is well matured, on the broad basis Bright angels guard, and ever hover near,
of liberality and general accommodation ; when this This place, where Worship felt, no more, & fear.
course should have been pursued, I have no doubt, in Shadows of the past, methinks now meet my eyes,
deed I know, that in Philadelphia or New-York, an in As wing'd they come from the eternal skies:
stitution might be formed in the course of five or ten And softly whisper in my list'ning ear,
years, that would be worth millions to our country in its How liv'd, how died they while sojourners here:
influence; that would astonish the world, ; it might be How bow'd they at primeval altars rear'd :
one that would do honor to London or Paris ! There is How God they lov'd, and as they lov'd, bow fear'd.
no scarcity of materials for such collections, and many Saint Mary's! city of the dead alone!
parts of Europe can supply thousands of such articles of Thy altars moulder'd and thy children gone!
vertu, many of which are among the best of the kind in Why tenantless thy peaceful, holy ground,
the world.
Unmark'd, unknown, but by the gloomy mound !
"One more appendage I will add to complete the whole Doth with'ring desolation speed so fast,
scheme, and it is one which peculiarly suits the genius Her fierce destroying breath,-her whirlwind blast ?
of our country, and stimulates all its citizens to action, Can Purity no refuge get ? no shield ?
as well as to give their attention promptly to a subject. Or, must she too, share man's dread lot, and yield 1
I would ask of the State the charter for a bank, to be Yet peace! 0, lonely spot! thy tranquil rest,
denominated the Artists' and Mechanics' Bank; all the | But tells thee sacred, and thy people blest!


A DAY OUT OF THE CITY.
127
Original.
for something to cool the fever in thy veins, as the hart
A DAY OUT OF THE CITY." | panteth for the water brooks—when thou art most weary
of streets and houses, and the works of man-when the
BY HENRY F. HARRINGTON.
bright sun seems thine enemy, and thou canst almost
Ar, but a day! For thou wilt find that, even in that curse his merry beams, revelling in their own brightness.
little period the gentle finger of fancy will rub off the Seek the depth of some tangled wood, lay thyself down
gathered rust from thy mind, and thou wilt return to thy beneath the shade of a thick leaved tree; let a brook be
duties a happier and a better man. But, business,
near thee, that its tinkle may come up to thine ear as a
avaunt: shake off its fetters from thy mind as thou
soothing melody; and if thou art wise thou shalt be hap-
wouldst a garment from thy shoulders. Eject it forci- || py. The song of birds shall waft thee on the wings of
bly as thou wouldyt an unruly tenant from thy dwelling | harmony to heaven-the rustle of leaves shall whisper
and when thou returnest and assumest again its shackles, peace to thy soul--and the chirp of the bounding squir-
they will not pinch thee as before. Go but for a day. |rel shall make thee dream of freedom-freedom from the
The country is not kith nor kin to the city. It owneth shackles of artificial life-freedom from the selfish atten-
no resemblance, it scorneth comparison. It halb other lion of the crowd-freedom from the narrowness and
voices,-heaven born harmonieg-other pleasures, other callousness that have folded thy spirit in their chilling gar-
joys. Seek it, thou who hast dwelt through weary years ment while thou hast been in contact with thy kind. Go
in the smoke, and bustle, and artifice of the city—that in the deep of summer!
straight-jacket of the panting soul! Seek it thou who Go, in ruddy Autumn; when the white robed frost
lovest to be alone-who wouldst revel in the glory of has stole along in the concealment of the night, and
untrammelled thought. It will yield thy spirit repose, | danced in glec over the green grass, and kissed the ver-
and thou wilt find a heartiness in thy reflections, that dant foliage; and hath painted the wide searching forest
escapeth thee in the harrassing excitement of the crowd. with hues caught and mingled from heaven's bow! Go
Seek it thou who hatest to be alone. There is no soli- | then-and thy heart shall leap within thee with delight
tude like that which cometh over thee in the midst of at the gorgeousness of nature's robe. Thy pride shall
zhousands—there is no loneliness like that which with. I bow itself down at the contemplation of nature's superi-
ereth thy soul, when thou minglest with the throng, ority in all things bright aud beautiful and good, to the
and feelest that none of all around thee careth aught for utmost efforts of arrogant man; and thou shalt humble
thee-will pause for theo, or smile upon thee, when thyself in adoration before the majesty of the beneficent
shouldst thou pass away from earth, the tread of many feet | Creator of theso bright and good and beautiful things,
will yet echo on the time-worn pavement, and thou wilt and hast given to thee senses to enjoy and a heart to ap-
be borne through the midst to thy narrow bed, and none | preciate. Go, I pray thee, in ruddy autumn! .
will miss thee in thy accustomed places, and no voice Go too, in hoary Winter. In vain dost thou leap in
will question whither thou art gone. Nature will speak joy when thou contemplatest the gifts of goodness, if thy
to thee in sweet tones of sympathy-will blend and spirit be not more and more attuned to the purity and
accord with thy spirit. If thou art blithe, and care sits loveliness of that goodness—and winter shall be sweet
lightly upon thee, thou shalt find merry voices answer to thee, if thou spurnest it not. Winter was created for
ing to thine, and thou shalt mark how gladness is all thee, as were the budding spring and blooming summer
around ther; and, if thou art sad, thou shalt not want and fruit-laden autumn. Look around thee! The
for comfort. Oh, thou who curlest thy lipin scorn and flower that sprang up and put forth its prettiness to thy
aneerest as thou readest, thou art as a little child, that gaze and scattered its perfume on the breeze, is no
knows not of its own good. Thou art as one asleep- more; the wild wood hath shed its verdant glories,
thou dost not LIVE, thou dost not abide on earth. and standeth in naked desolation-the husbandman
Go into the country--in the budding Spring. Thou hath gathered his fruits into his garner--a glassy coat
shalt catch inspiration and energy from the renovation envelopeth the stream, and all nature sleepeth under
of nature. The spreading leaves and bursting flowers, a covering of snow. Youth was thy epring-time; didet
shall teach thee of His goodness, who givest to unworthy I thou plant the seed of virtue ? Thou hast had thy
man, both seed-time and harvest, rain and shine; and
summer heat of manhood to invigorate and expand, and
thou shalt learn to reflect, until the reflection shall be- | mature the gems within thee; has it found thee a sloth-
come a rudder to thine existence, that the god of nature | ful husbandman? The autumn of age will be there ;
is the God of man--that now is the seed-time of ihy I wilt thou gather the harvest of thy virtues in peace ?
soul-and as curely as the labor of the husbandman || Look around thee! As the flower hath departed, as
shall be blessed and in good time, the yellow corn and the fruits are garnered, so shall the frosts of decay sum.
waving grain shall gladden his eyes, so surely as thou mon thee to render an account of thy stewardship; and
sowest so shalt thou reap. Ifthy soul is as an unploughed as the icy coat enrobeth the stream, and the mantle of
and untilled field, bitter will be thy harvesting. It is a snow enveloperh the earth, so shalt thou lie down, and
good thing to commence with nature in the budding the grave shall cover thee. That spring shall come
spring-though it be but for a day.
| again, and the pleasant flowers, regenerate and renewed;
Go, in the deep of Summer; when thou art panting, and thou too shalt bloom on a fairor earth, shalt rejoice
hereafter in brighter sky! Go in hoary winter time.
• The localities described in the essay are in the vicinity of
Boston. The incident is a memory of the past.
But take thou excellent care whom thou goest with.
16


128
A DAY OUT OF THE CITY.
Avoid the grumbler as thou wouldst a pest house. He | been her heralds, and to whose souls her own is knit in
will cramp thy yearnings for brighter and better things. the bonds that genius weaves around her children.
His unattuned spirit will infuse its discordance into Next cometh a gentle creature, with a blue eye and
chine! have naught with him. And shun too the laugh. | auburn hair with calmness seated on her face, and re-
er-the scoffer at holy influences and holy things; he, posing in her chastened smile. Gentle she was, as I
who for a joke's sake, will profane the inner temple have said-as thou wouldst picture an angel-and with-
the shrine of thy heart of hearts. Bid him avaunt! in her was all that thou dost connect in thy heart with
He may, perchance, break in upon thy musings, and the images of those better beings, to whom the denizens
chase away from thee the sober calmness that should be of earth look up in reverance.
in thee and over thee and around thee. Have naught. And the fourth! How shall I infuse into my soul the
with him. But above all, keep thee from that one of enthusiasm, meeted to the elevation of her own spirit,
either sex, whose soul, like a shallow pool, only reflects that shall enable me to describe her. A maid with a
the moonlight upon ils surface, and has no jewels in its dark hazel eye, with a magic in its piercing glance that
far depths; to whom all things great and glorious are made every nerve thrill of him that met it; all ſervency-
as common things—who thinks not, sees not, feels not all purity-all melody-worshipping the bright and the
is but a moving clod; ay, worse than the dull earth, for beautiful-herself the type of what she so loved.
that may vegetate ; but one like this hath no fruitful These, were my company; and on a sunny morning,
germ within. Have naught, I pray thee, with one like we departed from the smoky city, in that moving won-
this. But take with thee choice spirits—those whom der, a steam boat. Episodically, let me entreat thee,
thou lovest-who have breasts kindred with thine when thou wouldst take nature by the hand, look with
-in whom the electric spark, caught from thine own horror on that four wheeled vehicle, yclept a stage.
bosom, will spread and glow and illumine! with such There is that in its creak that tells of the poor offspring
go thou out into the country, though it be but for a day! of art; and toil rises in a mist from the hides of the
How do I love thee, Rocky Nook, thou pleasantest part panting horses. Take thou the boat that skimmeth like
of the pleasant village of Hingham. I will not forget a bird. Music is in the dash of its wheels, the bubble
the lesson thou hast taught. I may never see thee of the waters about its prow. And there is food for
again; but I will carry the remembrance of thee into contemplation too, in the restless deep and the circling
the bustle of business, and it shall temper the cares of shore, and the sprinkled islands, and the skimming sails!
existence. I love thee, Rocky Nook, for thyself and thy | We are at Rocky Nook; and in front of the venera-
sweet memories!
| ble farm house where is our abiding place for the
This spot, eloquent in its tale of the beautiful, Inonce, rises a lofty elm that hath reared itself for cen-
sought not many years agone, with companions dear, | turies. Already I have learned a lesson. The memory
and kindred, as I have told thee that companions of man runneth not back to the day when that tree was
in such a scene should be. The only one of the sterner a little thing, bending in every blast. It is not aged
sex was one whom the world had aforetime treated | now; and the child yet unborn may shade its hoary
harshly, but had not embittered his spirit. He had head and sustain its limbs, tottering with decay, where I
seen the broad Atlantic in its fiercest wrath, when the now stand; and when I shall be of the things that were.
thunder broke over its mountain waves, and the light. I may look on those who will tell me when the frame of
ning perched on the masts of the gallant bark that bore this dwelling, unshaped by art, graced the depths of the
him, and wrapt it in sheets of fame. He had ridden in I forest; yet, even now, time hath dealt hardly with it,
a frail and tiny boat, on those mighty waves in that watery and a fow revolving seasons will level it with the earth.
waste, and had watched the fiery element as it feasted Thus frail the handiwork of man. He lifteth himself
on the noble ship, lhat but now had been his home, up; and forgetting that he is but dust, he laugheth in
while shrieks and death were around bim. Ho had his pride and heweth and pileth up, and saith in his
trod the shores of another hemisphere, where are the heart, “How mighty am I!" Alas! To-morrow bear
hoary and crumbling relics of other days and other eth the wail for him, and as he perisheth, so perish the
men ; yet he loved better the graceful proportions of costliest labors of his hands.
the wild-wood tree, and the gurgling of the rivulet, ll Episodically, let me again remind thee, when thou
than the marble column of an emperor, and the high goest into the country, seek not the fashionable water-
arched aqueduct. His pencil has wondrous power to ing place, nor abide at a hotel; though thou goest but
pourtray the beautiful in nature, and trace the lineaments for a day. Thou wilt but have leaped from Scylla inte
of the human face divine. He was a man of a firm will, | Charybdis. A hotel smacketh of labor and anxiety.
little brooking authority, yet kind and loving withal. Inharmonious method signalizeth all its arrangements.
Memory pictureth next, a fairer being, linked by the The bell that calleth the waiter, knelloth thine aspira-
magic spell of love to him I have just described. She tions for freedom; thou treadest on carpets that the
had an eye to see with him to whom she had vowed rattling loom has woven; thou hast come to seek the
herself, the bright pictures all glowing around her, and verdant carpet that nature hath spread for thee--the
to paint them too-not to the sensible eye on the magic idle ceremonies that are the rivets of artificial society,
canvass; but with the beaven-caught inspiration of will fetter thee, and steal thee away from the simplicity
poesy. And now in other lands she mingleth with the thou wouldst enjoy. How perverse is man, that in sum-
great and good of earth; to whom her luneful lays have mer's sweetest hours, when wood and stream and hill


SONG OF THE VOY AGING GIRL.
129
profile Likeness of his Grace
The Duke of Wellington.
and valley are most dear, he hasteneth to some sandy |
plain, that fashion hath consecrated, and there dream-
eth that he is happy; in the midst of the flaunting and
the gay, the careless and the vain-of frivolity and
heartlessness, dissipation and nothingness. Strange,
strange! Do not thou so!
We are out for a morning ride, with a clear sky and
a cooling breeze, for Nantasket beach and the rolling
ocean. Sixteen of us, male and female, packed in a hay
cart-ay, a hay-cart; wherefore not? Of all things
when thou seekest the country, and visitest nature in
her unfettered domain, abjure all gilded and smooth
rolling vehicles, whether yclept carriage, chaise, gig, or
barouche. They harmonize not with the scene. They
are familiar to thine eye, and thou seest them every day,
in thy brick dwelling in the city. Let naught of these be
near thee, to jog the elbow of memory, and remind thee
when thou wouldst most forget. Seek locomotion in some
humble invention, though it be perchance, a hay-cart.
How gayly rings our laugh! How does nature breathe
her calm placidity into our souls! The ocean is before
us, and its roar is in our ears. Oh, mighty ocean! The
overdowing heart findeth no new terms in which to
apostrophise thee, but thou art not the loss an emblem,
in thy vastness, of the majesty, the power that created
thee; in thy restlessness, of man's wavering heart;
and of eternity, in thy ceaseless roll!
We are back at the farm house, and a farmer's meal
is before us. A beef steak, fried potatoes, and home-
brewed ale are on the table. Excellent! Luxuries be-
cause almost unknown. A marvellous appetite have I;
let me indulge. Ah! here cometh a smoking whortle-
berry pudding. Blessings on its parti-colored visage !
I fear not to partake of thee, for that thou wilt tinge the
enamel of my teeth of thine own dusky hue ; for I am
away from the carping world.
We are back again. Houses, goods, carriages, streets,
horses, men, women, children and noise usurp the place
of trees, fields, hills and silence. But memory is tracing
the departed day on her imperishable tablets. I am
better for my pleasure of a day.

Original.
SONG OF THE VOYAGING GIRL.
BY JOHN J. ADAMS.
ALONÉ, now alone, on the billow,
How sadly my thoughts do return;
To droop like some low moaning willow,
That weeps o'er a worth cherished urn.
Original.
SONNET.
Bright crested the waves now are voicing,
A welcome of joy to their home ;
Unheeded by me 's their rejoicing,
As far, far from thee I do roam.
BY THE REV. J. H. CLINCH.
But soon shall our fond bark, returning,
In sympathy wreathe the bright foam,
While each element gallantly spurning,
That checks the embrace of my home.
FORWARD, still forward Learning's billows sweep
Flooding the nations; while on every side
Error's strong-holds before its potent tide
Crumble and disappear; and still the deep,
Impetuous tides onward and onward keep
Their ceaseless flow; and soon the mountain chain
Of Ignorance shall sink; and nought remain
To tell the world where Vice and Folly sleep,
Save the loose wrecks which float upon the waves-
Idols and charms and many a nameless thing
Once prized, but valueless. O! who would stay
Those glorious billows? Who from out the graves :
Of ages, would the forms of darkness bring
Which once o'er Earth usurped unbounded sway?!
On our favorite seat when you listen
The wind in tempestuous roar,
Think my eyes then, with pleasure do gliston,
For I'm nearing our dear native shore.
And when, with a hushing commotion,
The waves sing a fond lullaby ;
Think, that over that beautiful ocean,
They bear thee my heart's dearest sigh.


130
THE RA DI 8 H-GIRL.
Original.
remarkable. Two braids of rich black hair fell on either
THE RADISH-GIRL."
shoulder from beneath a little quilted hood which
scarcely shadowed a face of such gentle and touching
BY ANN S. STEPHENS.
loveliness, that the heart ached while looking on it.
"A maiden never bold
There was privation and suffering in every sweet linea-
of spirit, so still and quiet, that her motion
ment. Mrs. Staples dwelt on the large sad eyes that
Blush'd at itself. Her sinoothness-
Her sileuce and her patienco
sunk beneath her gaze, on the moist lashes and the
Speak to the people and thoy pity her."
tremulous spirit that lived around the small mouth, till
“Radishes—tea radishes ?" An overstrained but
her heart warmed toward the humble child.
sweet voice uttered this familiar cry in one of the upper
“ Poor thing," she said, drawing forth her purse,
streets of our city, and a little girl, who was toiling be-
che 11 “take this, and go down into the basement; you seem
neath the weight of an overflowing basket, drew back
half perished."
to the railing of a lofty mansion, that its mistress, a su-
li The girl looked wistfully on the piece of silver ex.
perb young woman, might pass from her carriage to the
intended to her, but she did not take it.
street door. The pavement was damp, and the lady
"1-I would rather not lake the money, lady, but if
hesitated for a moment before she left the carriage. |
you will buy some radishes with it, I shall be so glad!"
The small satin-clad foot lingered on the first step as
She ran to her basket and held it eagerly up with
she was about to descend, when the glad voice of a
both hands as she spoke. The radishes were uncom.
child broke from the drawing-room window above.
monly fine, and their slender scarlet spikes lay among
“Bobby, Bobby, I say, come, open the door this
the tufted leaves with a most tempting freshness, yet
minute. Mamma is here, all in the rain!"
it was almost dark, and her basket teemed to the
Mrs. Staples looked up. A beautiful young head,
u l brim. Not one bunch had the poor child sold through
covered all over with short brown curls was thrust out
that wet and dreary day.
into the rain, and a hand, scarcely larger than a good-
shona cond. Mrs. Staples smied at the earnest way in which the
sized rose-leaf, was busy as a young humming-bird waft-
little trafficker lifted her merchandize up the steps, but
ing kisses from one of the sweetest little mouths that
there was compassion in the smile.
"Go down to the basement,” she said, kindly, "and
eror answered the kiss of a mother.
“ Come, mamma, I'm in such a hurry"-cried the dear
the cook will take some of you. William,” she added,
little rogue, leaning eagerly over the cill and lavishing
turning to the footman, “ conduct her down, and see
her kisses more profusely on the damp air—"Oh! I
that she is quite warm and comfortable before she goes
do wish you—there, Bobby's opened the door-run up
away."
quick-papa is here!"
The man cast a supercilious glance toward the couch-
A fine boy had opened the door, and stood in the pas. man, and turned with a shrug to obey his lady's orders.
sage waiting his mother's approach. Mrs. Staples de-
“Mother, let me take her down,” cried the boy who
scended from her carriage with a careless but very grace- ) had opened the door, his fine eyes kindling at the supe
ful movement, and hurried across the wet stones, hold pressed insolence of the menial, “ I am not ashamed to
ing up the folds of her dress, hut with her eyes raised tu
lift her radishes."
the cherub-face bending in its beauty above her. In the
He bounded down the steps as he spoke, and taking
hurry of her movenients a superb cashmere shawl had
the basket from the girl he swung it round with a
fallen loosely from her shoulders and swept along the
flourish to his own arn. There was manliness and
muddy pavement us she passed.
grace in the action which might have befitted a much
“ Lady, your shawl will be spoiled," said the soft, older person, and his air of protection was most amu-
humble voice that had so feebly cried radishes a moment sing as he opened the gate and held it, that the humble
before.
radish-girl might pass down the area.
The little girl had set down her basket, and stood
“Mamma, why don't you come ?" cried the impa.
half shrinking at her own boldness, holding up the rich
tient little Sarah, letting herself down the stairs with
and soiled drapery. There was something in the voice
both hands and feet, that she might hasten her mother's
that appealed furcibly lo the generous heart of the lady. progress.
She flung the shawl over her arm, and bent her eyes
Mrs. Staples stood thoughtfully in the hall, for her
with a feeling of benevolent interest on the little maiden. heart yearned strangely toward the forlorn child whom
She was very young, gentle and timid in her appearance,
she had just sent from her presence, but when the voice
and altogether more delicato and lovely than those poor
of her own darling aroused her, a beautiful smilo lighted
children usually are who follow her wearisomo calling.
up her face, and she hastened toward the stairs with an
Her dress might be described by the emphatic word
impatient fondness, which nothing but a warm-bearted
poverty-stricken, yet it was tidy, and a natural grace
mother can appreciate. The lovely child scrambled up
dwelt about her person, which the frock of striped
from her knees, and with the bound of a young fawn,
worsted and coarse woolen shawl rendered but the more
leaped half way down the stairs int her mother's arms.
Her musical laughter rang through the hall while she per-
• A picture now exhibited at the Apollo, of a little girl with a formed the exploit, broken into a richer sound by the
basket of radishes on her arm, was taken as a subject for this kisses which she lavished over her mother's face, as she
sketch. It is the work of Mr. C. Ver Bryck, a young artist of
much promise.
bore her to the drawing-room.


THE RADISH - GIRL.
131
. . . . . . jl bread, yesterday. Let us try the bone again; if we
In the back basement of a gloomy wooden building, I could but get the least morsel, we might stand it till
in the lower end of Cherry Street, sat an aged couple at morning.
night-fall, on the day when our humble heroine is.pre- | The husband went to the table and scraped the bone
sented to the reader. The room was damp, low and till it was white as ivory beneath his knife. With all his
dark, with no other furniture than a couple of rude effort, but a few dried particles of meat were obtained ;
chairs, and a deal-table, on which were arranged a half but he bore them to her with something of cheerfulness ;
dozen unmatched cups and saucers, a broken plate or there was more than he had expected.
two, and a tea-pot with the spout broken off in the mid- “There is scarcely a mouthful, but it will keep you
dle, all scrupulously washed and piled together beneath alive," he said.
a clean crash towel, as if they had not been called in She kept her eyes resolutely turned from the plate.
use for many a day. A brown platter which stood upon “ Take a part yourself, and give me what is left; I can
a shelf which ran above the table, contained the only wait.”
appearance of food to be seen in the wretched dwelling, . The old man's bony fingers quivered for a moment
a bone of bacon thrice picked, and retained, probably, l over the scant morsel, and then he dashed his hand
from the wretched desire to possess something in the away and thrust the plate into his wife's lap.
shape of food, though that something were but a mockery. il “I don't need it. I am not hungry; eat, if you would
A straw bed was made up on one corner of the floor, | not die."
and partook of the general neatness of the room. The The famished woman turned her eyes on the frag.
sheets were of linen, and the covering, a patch-work | ments and clutched them like a bird of prey. In ono
quilt, formed of rich, old-fashioned chintz, was nicely l instant they were devoured; then, as if frightened at
Lurned under the edges. One might have known how her voracity, she lifted her glowing eyes to her husband's
precious that quilt was in the eyes of the possessor, by face with a look of touching appeul.
the care taken to preserve it.
" I could not help it. I meant to have left some, but
The old couple drew their chairs closer together on there was so little !- If we had but one mouthful more!"
the hearth-stone, and looked wistfully into each other's! She looked eagerly about the room, for the taste of
faces as the darkness gathered around about them, while food had made her almost ravenous. Suddenly she
the rain beat upon the walks without with increasing | sunk back to her chair and laughed hysterically.
violence.
“The radishes, John; if she dont sell any we can
“Come, cheer up," said the woman, with a vain eat them; there will be enough for all. I wish she would
effort at cheerfulness, pressing her withered fingers on come."
the hand of her partner, which had fallen with listless “You forget that the kind woman in the next room
apathy on his knee. “Poor Lucy would have been lent us the money to buy them with; how can we pay
home long before this if she had done any thing; she her?” replied the man, looking sorrowfully upon the
will be cold and wet; don't let us look so-50 hungry eager face of his wife. The poor woman buried her
when she comes in."
thin face in her hands, and tears stole silently through
“Yes, poor child, she will be wet and wretched || her fingers.
enough," muttered the old man in a broken voice; and “You may sell the quilt to-morrow," she said, again
he passed his hand over his eyes and flung a handful of lifting her face piteously to his, “ I will not say a word
shavings and chips on the smouldering fire, from a pile against it again. It was my mother's, but we cannot
which lay in the chimney corner. The blaze flashed up starve to death-that poor child and all.”
and revealed the pale, baggard faces which bent over | As she spoke, footsteps were heard in the passage.
it, with painful distinctness. They were sharp, wrin. She started up with the eagerness of a famished hound
kled and meager with lack of sustenance. The lips of and Aung open the door. A tall man, marked by that
both were thin and blue, and there was a fixed expres | most unfit badge of servitude for an American, a hat-
sion about them, which told how firmly they had born band of woven silver, pushed by her, and setting a bas.
with suffering. The man looked anxiously into the face ket down on the floor, stood gazing with a look of min-
of his wife, and turned his head away again with a gled arrogance and pity about the comfortless room.
groan. There was a look of intense keenness about || The little radish.girl, whose light footsteps had been
her sunken eye-of suffering and hunger that bowed the
enffering nnd hunger that bowed the lost in his heavier tread, stood just within the door, with
old man's fortitude to the earth. It was a picture of the rain dripping from her hood down the heavy braids
terrible famine, and yet patience and affection flung al of her hair; her little hands were clasped, and
thrilling beauty over it.
her large, glad eyes wandered alternately from her
The man gave one more agonized glance at his wife, Il grandparents to the basket, while her lips trembled
and rose to his feet.
with eagerness to speak the joy which she was yet too
"God of Heaven!" he exclaimed, wringing his hands shy to express before a stranger. The man gave another
and looking wildly about the room, “ you are starving look at the old couple, who stood with their keen eyes
to death, and I have nothing to give you !"
is von
riveted on the basket, then turning carelessly on his
The poor woman lifted her head and tried to smile, || heel he left the room, whistling an air and brushing the
but the effort was heart-rending.
rain from the sleeve of his livery.coat. We inveigh
“No, no, I am not very hungry; you remember the against the arrogance of the rich leveled against the


THE RA DISH - GIRL'.
133
a lady knocked on the window. My heart sprang into myself in the woods, but for the ladies and gentlemen
my mouth, for I thought she wanted me to stop, but a that stood round the edges of the floor so handsome and
great scout woman, with such a voice, turned a corner dressed so beautifully with square things that looked
just that minute, and she pushed by me as I was going like gold all round them. They every one, seemed
down the area, and the lady bought four bunches of her. I staring at me as I went in. This frightened me so that
I felt the tears come up from my heart, but I would not I ran into the passage to come away, but Mr. Ver
let the radish-woman see me cry, she looked after me Bryck followed me, and wanted to know what I was
in such a hateful manner, and laughed so when I drag. afraid of; I began to cry, and told him I did not like to
ged along with my heavy basket.
go anong so many grand people. He looked at a
“It was long after noon, and I had gone down Madi- young gentleman who came to the door to see what the
son Street and across clear to the North River side, matter was, and they both smiled, and told me not to
without selling one single bunch of radishes. My heart be afraid, for the gentlemen and ladies I had seen were
grew heavier and heavier, till it lay like a stone in my only pictures. I did not know how that could be, for
bosom, for I thought of you, so hungry and in such the pictures in books don't look like breathing people
trouble, and of the money which you had borrowed of as they did, but I was afraid they would think me haby-
Mrs. Miles. I was getting more faint and hungry every ish to be frightened when they were so good natured,
minute, and I thought my heart would break at last, so I followed them into the room.
for I was so tired that I had to hold to the iron railings He took me up to an old gentleman with a bald-
to keep from falling on the pavement. I don't know ex- head, who sat reading a great book through his specta-
actly where I was, but somewhere near Broadway a cles. A nice old gentleman he was, and so still, be
young gentleman went by me very fast, for it was be- || did not once lift his eyes from the book, though I stood
ginning to rain. He looked hard at me, but a great between him and the light. I was not in the least
many had done so before, and I should not have minded | afraid of him, for he looked kind and pleasant; but
it, but he turned back in a slow, thinking way, and af- when I was told to touch his hand, I held back, for it
ter looking at me a minute, very kindly told me to go with did not seem right for a little girl like me to take such
him a little while, and he would take me out of the rain.) a liberty. They both laughed when I told them so; but
“I thought, perhaps, that the gentleman kept house, they would make me touch the hand which lay on the
and wanted some radishes for tea; so I was very glad book, and as true as I live, grandpa, it was like
to follow him; besides, he had such a kind, pretty way touching a board ! That was what they called a
of speaking, that I could not have helped it if I had picture too, but it looked as much like a living man as
wanted to; it seemed natural 1o do as he bade me. I you do this minute. I did not think so much of the
Well, he walked on till we came to a block of new others being pictures when I come to look at them very
buildings in a street near Broadway. Allaround the lower close. But that old gentleman with the book and spec-
windows and the doors was solid stune. A little black tacles, I don't really know what to think of it. Yet
plate was by the side of the door which he took me But if I stop to tell you all I saw, it will be twelve
through, and on it was written in beautiful yellow o'clock before I get through. Mr. Ver Bryck came to
letters the name of C. Ver Bryck, Portrait Puinter. me while I was looking about, and made me stand just
I did not know what it meant at first, but after- where the light came in from the upper part of a win-
ward I found out it was the name of the young gen-dow. He sat down by a couple of shining sticks that
tleman who took me there, Mr. Ver Bryck-a queer stood up from the floor like a great A, and put some-
name, is'n't it? I should not have known how to pro- thing that looked like a wide lace-frame with a cloth
nounce it, but that I heard it so many times after I got nailed over it, on the little pegs that were fastened to
in. We went up a great high row of stairs, and along the sticks, then he looked in my face so long that I
a passage, till we came to a door which had another grew almost ashamed and wanted to turn my head
piece of black like that on the outside, with the same away; but he began to draw marks on the cloth, and
name on it, and a little slate hung by it covered over after the first I did not mind it, for he only looked up
with writing.
quick once in a while, and then marked away like any
“Mr. Ver Bryck opened the door. Oh, what a grand thing. I had forgotten all about being tired or hungry
room it was! There was a fine carpet on it, and nice till then ; but standing still so long put me in mind of
tables covered over with brushes and little boxes and l it, and I began to grow faint and dizzy, till the room
dear beautiful images, white as snow, and ſinging their went round and round. I did not remember any more
arms up, as if they wanted to play with one ; and all till Mr. Ver Bryck was lifting me from the carpet.
around the walls were places where it seemed as if | When I told him that I was tired and very hungry, he
you were looking out of doors. You could see moun- looked serious, as if he pitied me, and the other gentle-
tains that looked as if they melted away into the blue man said, “Poor thing! poor thing! and went out of
sky, and trees with large heavy limbs, that seemed as the room as fast as he could. In a little while he came
if they would break down with heaps of leaves, with back with a handful of cake and a cranberry-tart. He
soft grassy places about the roots, besides rivers that was almost out of breath, and his hand trembled like
wound toward you, so deep and clear, and cows lying- any thing, when he put them in my lap. I cried so that
the lazy things on the banks. I can't give you the least I could not thank him. He did not seem to mind it,
idea how beautiful it all was. I should have though though; but smiled and looked happy when he saw


136
THE FATE OF THE BLANCHE N A VIR E.
eyeless captive into the towers of Cardiff, his dungeon || your father steered the first, so sball you steer the
while he lived, and after death his tomb. No retribu. THIRD King William, that shall be, to the white cliffs of
tive justice had discharged its thunders upon the guilty | England."
one-no gloom sat on his smooth and lordly brow, no | “Well said, my liege," cried Foulke, the count of An.
thorns had lucked beneath the circle of Henry's blood- l jou, a noble looking baron of tall and stately presence,
bought diadem. Fortune had smiled on every efiort, although far past the noon of manhood, the father of the
had granted every wish, however wild, had sanctioned I lovely bride— to better mariner or braver ship, than
every enterprise, however dubious or desperate-he stout Fitz Stephen and La Blanche Navire, was never
never had known sorrow and from his restless ener- | freight entrusted! Quaff we a full carouse to their
getic soul remorse and penitence were banished by the blythe voyage. How sayest thou, daughter, mine," he
incessant turmoil of ambition, and the perpetual excite- added turning toward the blushing girl, who sat attired
ment of success. And now his dearest wish had been in all the pomp of newly wedded royally beside her
accomplished the most especial aim and object of his youthful lover, “ How sayest thou? Would'st desire a
life perfected with such absolute security that his insa- | trustier pilot, or a fleeter galley ?"
tiate soul was satisfied. Absolute lord of England, and U “Why," she replied, with a smile, half sweet half
undigputed ruler of the fair Cotentin, he had of late dis- sorrowful, while a bright tear-drop glittered in her eye-
armed the league which for a time had threatened his "why should I seek for fleetness, when that same speed
security, detaching from the cause of France the pow. will but the sooner bear me from the sight of our fair
erful Count of Anjou, whose daughier, the most lovely France, and of thee too, my Father ?"
lady, and the most splendid heiress of the time, he had “Dost thou then rue thy choice," whispered the ar-
seen wedded to his first-born, and his favorite, William. | dent voice of William in her ear, “and wouldst thou
The previous day he had beheld the haughty barons tarry here, when fate and duty summons me hence for
tender the kiss of homage and swear eternal loyalty to England ?".
the young heir of England, Normandy and Anjou-the Her full blue eye met his, radiant with true affection,
previous night he had sat glad and glorious at the fes- and her slight fingers trembled in the clasp of her young
tive boaril, encompassed by all that was fair, and noble, l husband with a quick thrill of agitation, and her lips
and high-born in the great realms he governed, and parted, but the words were heard by none sare him to
among all that proud and graceful circle his eye had whom they were addressed, for with the clang of beak-
looked on none so brave and beautiful as that youngers, and the loud swell of joyous music, and the glad
guiltless pair for whom he had imbrued not his hands merriment of all the courtly revellers, the toast of the
only, but his very soul in blood. He sat on the high bride's father passed round the gleaming board—“A
dais, beneath the gilded canopy, and as he quaffed the blythe and prosperous voyage-speed to the Blanche
health of those who had alone a kindly tenure of bis Navire, and joy to all who sail her."
cold and callous heart, a noble knight approached with Thus closed the festive evening, and thus the seal of
bended knee, and placing in his hand a marc of gold- destiny was set upon an hundred youthful brows, fore-
" Fair Sir," he said—“I, a good knight and loyal, doomed alas! to an untimely grave beneath the ruthless
Thomas Fitz Stephen, claim of your grace a boon. My billows.
Father, Stephen Fitz Evrard, served faithfully and well, The wintry day wore onward; and, wintry though it
Bo long as he did live your Father, William-served him was, save for a touch of keenness in the frosty air, ard
by sea, and steered the ship with his own hand which bore for the leafless aspect of the country, it might have pas.
him to that glorious crown which he right nobly won atsed for a more lightsome season-the sky was pure and
Hastings. I pray you then, Fair King, that you do sell cloudless, as were the prospects and the hopes of the
to me, for this gold marc, the fief I crave of you, that, as say throng who now embarked secure and confident be-
Fitz Evrard served the first King William, so may Fitz | ncath its favorable omens. The run shone gaily as in
Stephen serve the first King Henry—I have right nobly the height of summer, and the blue waves lay sleeping
fitted, aye! on mine honor, as beseemsa mighty monarch, in its lustre, as quietly as though they ne'er bad howled
here in the bay of Barfleur, 'the Blanche Navire-re despair into the ears of drowning wretches. There
ceive it at my hands, Great Sir, and suffer me to steer was no thought of peril or of fear-how should there?
you homeward, and so may the blest virgin and her son || The ships were trustworthy-the seamen skilful, nume-
send us the winds which we would have.”
rous and hardy-the breezes fair though faint-lbe
“Good knight and loyal," answered the prince, as voyage brief-the time propitious. The day wore on-
he received the proffered coin-"Grieved am I, of a truth, | ward; and it was high noon before the happy King, his
and sorrowful that altogether I may not confer on you the every wish accomplished, secure as he conceived him-
fief, which of good right you claim for lo, the barque sell, and firm in the fruition of his bloodbought majesty,
is chosen, nay more apparelled for my service, which rowed with his glittering train on board the royal galley.
must to-morrow, by heaven's mercy, bear me to that land | Loud penled the cheering clamors of his Norman sub-
whither your sire so fortunately guided mine. But since jects bidding their sovereign Hail-but louder yet they
it may not be that I may sail myself, as I would I could pealed when with its freight of ladies, the second barge
do so, in your good barque, to your true care will I en-shot forth-William and his fair sister, and yet fairer
trust what I hold dearer than my very soul-my song bride, and all the loveliest of the dames that graced the
my daughters-mine and my country's hope-and as broad Cotentin. Not yet, however, were the anchors


TII E FATE OF THE BLANCHE NAVIRE.
137
weighed-not yet were the sails sheeted home; for on || rang upon the favorable wind, and still the rowers sang
the deck of the King's vessel-beneath an awning of amid their toil, and still the captain sent the deep bowl
pure cloth of gold--a gorgeous board was spread. Not around-the helmsman dozed upon the riller, the watch
in the regal hall of Westminster could more of luxury upon the forecastle had long since stretched themselves
have been brought together than was displayed upon upon the deck, in the deep slumbers of exhaustion and
that galley's poop-spread with the softest ermine, satiety.
meet carpet for lhe gentle feet that trod it, cushioned “Give way! my merry men-give way!"—such was
with seats of velvet, steaming with perfumes the most the jovial captain's cry—“pull for the pride of Nor-
costly, it was a scene resembling more some fairy palace, | mandy-pull for your country's fame, men of the Fair
than the wave-beaten fabric that had braved many a Cotentin. What will ye let yon island lubbers out-
gale, and borne the fiag of England through many a | strip ye in the race? More way! more way!"
storm in triumph. And there they sat and feasted-|| And with unrivalled speed the Blanche Navire sped
and the red wine-cup circled freely—and the song went on a long black line stretches before her bow-dulo
round-their hearts were high and happy, and they for- ing the silvery surface with ragged and fantastic shades
got the lapse of hours—and still the reveller's shout was but not one eye has marked it. On she goes-swifter
frequent on the breeze, and still the melody of female lyet and swiſter-and still the fatal shout is ringing from
tones, blent with the clang of instrumental music, rang her decks. “Give way! men of Cotentin-give more
in the ears of those who loitered on the shore, after the way!"-Now they are close upon it-and now the dash-
sun had bathed his lower limb in the serene and peace-ling of the surf about the broken ledges--for that black
ful waters. Then, as it were, awaking from their trance line is the dread Raz de Gatteville, the most tremen-
of luxury the banqueters broke off-skiff after skiff turn-dous reef of all that bar lhe iron coast of Normandy-
ed shoreward, till none remained on board the Royal the hoarse and hollow roar must reach the ears even of
ship except the monarch and his train, and that loved son those who sleep. But no! the clangor of the exulting
with his bright consort, whom, parting from them there, trumpets, and the deep booming of the Norman nakir,
he never was to look upon again. The courses were and that ill omened shout "give way-yet more--more
unfurled--topsails were spread, and pennants floated | way!" has drowned even the all-pervading roar of the
seaward, and as the good ship gathered way-the father | wild breakers. On! on! she goes fleet as the gaze-
bade adieu-adieu, as he believed it, but for one little l hound darting upon its antlered prey-and now her bows
night to all he loved on earth-and their barge manned are bathed by the upflashing spray-and now-hark to
by a score of powerful and active rowers wafted the that hollow shock-that long and grinding crash-hark
bridal party to the Blanche Navire, which, as her pre- || to that wild and agonizing yell sent upward by two hun-
cious freight drew nigh, lufied gracefully and swiftly up Idred youthful voices, up to the glorious stars that smile
to meet them as though she were a thing of life, conscious | as if in mockery of their ruin. There rang the voice of
and proud of the high honor she enjoyed in carrying the the strong fearless man—the knight who had spurred
united hopes of Normandy and England.
oft his destrier amid the shivering of lances and the
Delay!-there was yet more delay-the night had rending clash of blades, without a thought unless of high
settled down upon the deep, before the harbor of Bar- excitement and fierce joy-the mariner who undismayed
fleur was fairly left behind—and yet so lovely was the had reefed his sail, and steered his barque aright, amid
night, with the moon, near her full, soaring superbly the wildest storm that ever lashed the sea to ſury-now
through the cloudless sky, myriads on myriads of clear utterly unnerved and paralyzed by the appalling change
stars weaving their mystic dance around her, that the from mirth and revelry to imminent and instant death.
young voyagers walked to and fro the deck rejoicing in So furious was the rate at which the galley was pro-
the happy chance that had secured to them so fair a pelled, that when she struck upon the sharp and jagged
time for their excursion-and William sat aloof with rocks, her prow was utterly stove inward, and the strong
bis sweet wife beside him indulging in those bright an- 'vide rushed in foaming and roaring like a mill-stream.--
ticipations, those golden dreams of happiness, which in Ten second's space she hung upon the perilous ledge,
deed make futurity a paradise to those, who have not while the waves made a clear breach over her, sweeping,
learned, by the sad schoolings of experience, that hu- | not only every living being, but every fixture-spars,
man life is but another name for human sorrow. Fairer bulwarks, shrouds, and the call masts themselves-from
-the breeze blew fairer-and every sail was set and her devoted decks. At the first shock, with the in-
drawing and the light ripples burst with a gurgling stinctive readiness that characterises in whatever peril,
sound like laughter about the snow-white stem, and, still the true mariner Fitz Stephen rallying to his aid a dozen
to waft them the more swiftly to their home-fifty long of the bravest of his men had cleared away and launched
oars, pulled well and strongly by as many nervous arms, | a boat-and even as the fated barque went down, bodily
glanced in the liquid swell-the bubbles on the surface sucked into the whirling surf, had seized the prince and
were scarcely seen as they flashed by, so rapid was their dragged him with a stalwart arm into the little skiff,
course, and a long wake of boiling foam glanced in the which had put off at once to shun the drowning hun-
moonsbine till it was lost to sight in the far distance dreds, who must have crowded in and sunk her on the
the port was far behind them, and the king's ship, seen | instant.
faintly on the gliminering horizon, loomed like a pile of “Pull back-God's death-pull back," cried the im-
vapor far on their starboard bow. And still the music i pecuous youth as he looked round and saw that he alone


138
HONOR.
of all his race was there—"pull back, ye dastard slaves, || back to Barfleur. On the third day Berault, the sole
or by the Lord and Maker of us all, though ye escape survivor of that night of misery, was brought in by a
the waves, ye 'scape not my revenge”-and, as he | Fishing-boat which had preserved him-and, when he
spoke, he whirled his weapon from the scabbard and had concluded his narration, Robert of Normandy had
pressed the point so closely to Fitz Stephen's throat | been revenged, although his wrongs had been a hundred
that its keen temper razed the skin-and, terrified by his fold more flagrant than they were. Henry, though he
fierce menaces and yet more by the resolute expression lived years, NEVER SMILED AGAIN !
that glanced forth from his whole countenance, they
turned her head once more toward the reef, and shot into
Original.
the vortex agitated yet and boiling, wherein the hapless
galley had been swallowed. A female head, with long
HONOR.
fair hair, rose close beside the shallop's stern above the || A soliloquy from the Christian Senator,"--tragedy.
turbulent foam. William bent forward, he had already
clutched those golden tresses—a moment and she
And what's Honor, born of earth?
would have been enſolded in his arms-another head
Great Alexander strode o'er hecatombs :
rose suddenly-another-and another-and another
Great Cæsar shook a world! And these are heroes,
twenty strong hands grappled the gunwale of the skiff |
And mighty conquerors. What's conqueror
with the tenacity of desperation-there was a struggle-|| But flatt'ry's other name for murderer?
a loud shout-a heavy plunge, and the last remnant of Ay, wholesale murderer! Your citizen
the Blanche Navire went down, actually dragged from | To grasp revenge, or rob his neighbor's chest,
beneath the few survivors by the despairing hands of Destroys his fellow. 'Twas a cursed deed.
those, whom she could not have saved or succored had
And he's accursed that did compass it.
whe been of ten times her burthen.
But he, who sweepeth states and kingdoms o'er,
All! all went down there was a long and awful
When fell Ambition hath his heart possessed,
pause, and then a slight splash broke the silence, a faint
Or lust of conquest, shedding bravest blood, -
and gurgling sigh, and a strong swimmer rose and shook
With laurelled brows is earthly demigod!
the brine from his dark locks and lo he was alone upon
Cæsar is in his grave; his mortal part
the deep-something he saw at a brief distance, dis-
Resolved to dust; where's the immortal essence ?
zinct and dark, floating upon the surface, and with a
Doth Honor pass the grave? There do we stick!
vigorous stroke he neared it-a fragment of a broken
When conqueror and citizen shall bear
spar-hope quickened at his heart, and love of life, al-
The last loud trumpet, pealing through the sky,
most forgotten in the immediate agony and lerror, re-
Pray thee, both unrepentant, which would'st be,
turned in all its natural strength-he seized a rope and
Of these two murderers ? Let Honor go.
by its aid reared himself out of the abyss, and now he sat,
She hath a glittering robe, but it doth hide
securely as he deemed it, upon a floating fragment on
A fleshless frame, a lifeless skeleton !
which, one little hour before, he would not have embark
H. P. H.
ed for all the wealth of India. Scarce had he reached
his temporary place of safety, before another of the suf-
ferers swam feebly up and joined him-and then a third The man who writes the history of woman's love,
—the last of the survivors. The first who reached the will find himself employed in drawing out a tangled
spar-it was no other than Filz Stephen, had perused skein. It is a history of secret emotions and vivid
with an anxiety the most sickening and painful the contrasts which may well go nigh to baffle his pene-
faces of the new comers-he knew them but they were tration, and to puzzle his philosophy. There is in it
not the features he would have given his own life to see a surface of timid, gentle bashfulness, concealing an
in safety. Berault, a butcher of Rouen-and Godfrey, I underflow of strong and heavy passions, a seeming ca-
a renowned and gallant youth, the son of Gilbert, count price that a breath may shake, or a word alarm, yet
de L'Aigle. “The Prince-where is the prince ?"|| all the while, an earnest devotion of soul, which, in
Firz Stephen cried to each, as he arrived. “Hast thou its exalted action, holds all danger cheap that cros-
not seen the Prince ?”—and each in turn replied, ses the path of its career. The sportive, changeſal,
" He never rose again. He-nor his brothers-nor his and coward nature that dallies with affection as a jest,
sister-nor his bride-nor one of all their company!” | and wins admiration by its affrighted coyness; that
“Wo! be to me!" Fitz Stephen cried, and letting fies and would be followed that revolts and would
go his hold, deliberately sank into the whirling waters, be soothed, entreated, and on bended knees implored,
and, though a strong man and an active swimmer, chose before it is won; that same nature will undergo the
to die with the victims whom his rashness had destroyed, ordeal of the burning plough-share, take all the extremes
rather than meet the indignation of their bereaved father, of misery and distress, brave the fury of the elements
and bear the agonies of his own lifelong remorse. and the wrath of man-in every peril be a patient
Three days elapsed, before the tidings reached King comforter, when the cause that moves is the vindica-
Henry, who in the fearful misery of hope deferred hadtion of her love. Affection is to her what glory is to
lingered on the beach, trusting to hear that, from some a man, an impulse that inspires the most adrenturous
unknown cause, the galley of his son might have put heroism.


INDIAN SUMMER .
139
.
• Original.
INDIAN SUMMER.
There's a home in the heart of New England,
Where once I was fondly caressed !
Where strangers ne'er looked on me coldly,
And Care never came to my breast!
BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD.
Those lines were suggested on viewing a beautiful landscape,
called the "Indian Summer." painted by Doughty, an Ameri-
can artist.
Tho' warm hearts have cherished the exile,
In moments of sorrow and pain,
There's a home in the breast of New England !
Oh! when shall I see it again!
Ah! yes ! in the mist, whose soft splendor
Is shed like a sinile o'er the scene,
So rich-yet so meltingly tender,
So radiant, yet so serene, -
Original.
THE POOL OF BETHESDA.
In the azure air veiling the mountain,
Far off, with its own robe of light,
In the gleam and the foam of the fountain,
In the foliage so gorgeously bright-
The following beautiful lines are said to have been written by .
young girl, eight years of age. They, most undoubtedly,
display much talent.
I see a wild beauty, belonging
To one sunny region alone,
New England! beloved New England !
The soul-waking scene is thine own!
AROUND Bethesda's healing wave,
Waiting to hear the rustling wing,
Which told the Angel near, who gave
His virtues to that heaven-sent spring,
Was seen a hapless multivide,
Trembling with pale solicitude.
And gazing entranced on the picture,
Mine eyes are with tears running o'er;
For my heart has flown home to those mountains,
And I-am an exile no more!
One was there, whose haggard eye,
Had often seen the water stirred,
Whose heart had often heaved the sigh,
The bitter sigh of hope deferred,
Another year to suffer on,
Bethesda's stinted mercy gone.
Again thro' the woodlands I wander,
Where Autumn trees, lofty and bold,
Are stealing, from bright clouds above them,
Their wealth of deep crimson and gold.
Where Nature is sceptred and crowned,
As a queen in her worshipping land,
While her rock-pillared palaces round,
All matchless in majesty stand.
No power had he-no friendly aid
To him its timely succor brought,
For while his coming he essayed,
Another won the boon be sought;
Until the Saviour's love was shown,
Which healed him by his word alone.
Where the star of her forest dominions,
The humming-bird darts to its food,
Like a gem or a blossom on pinions,
Whose glory illumines the wood!
Where her loftiest, loveliest flower*
Pours forth its impassioned perfume,
And her torrents, all regal in power,
Are wreathed with the sun-circle's bloom.
Had they who watched and waited there,
Known only who was passing by,
With what unceasing anxious care,
Would they have watched his pitying eyo,
And prayed with fervency of soul,
Their blessed Lord to make them whole.
Where on cloud-pillows soft but resplendent,
Our day-god is borne to his rest,
And the morn, like a pure jewelled-pendant,
Is hung on night's love-wreathing breast.
New England! beloved New England!
I breathe thy rich air as of yore,
For my heart is at home in those mountains,
And I-am an exile no more!
But habit and ambition swayed
Their minds to trust but sense alone.
They only sought the Angel's aid,
While in their presence stood unknown,
A greater, mightier far than he,
With power from every ill to free.
Yet not for thy beauty or glory,
Tho' lofty and lovely thou art,
And not for thy proud haunts of story,
These tears of deep tenderness start;
Bethesda's pool! thy rigid calm,
No Angel stirs of bless'd descent,
Dispensing now that heavenly balm,
With which thy healing waters went;
But He, whose word surpassed thy wave,
Is yet Omnipotent to save.
VIRGINIA.
• The Magnolia
Washington City, Nov., 1838.


A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
141
a being, pure and elevated above mortal vanities, as extended by that heart for the unwitting pain of hated
would be an angel upon the earth. Isabelle was, howo recollections, though recalled by a dearest friend.
ever, too calm and reflecting, with all her gushing con- ll Shall we trace the ciinning yet wary and unsuspected
fidence of love, to be betrayed into any sudden impulse of devices by which Frederic accomplished his purpose ?
passion; and she now sedulously guarded herself from Suffice it that he did accomplish it. It was easy with
forming any connection, to dissolve which, would have Isabelle-for though she might be said to love Colonel
been painful to her, while her father, on whom she so Elthorpe, it was not with the full energy of passion-it
fully depended, and whom she so dearly loved, was ab- was but in the bud. And Frederic so carefully assailed
sent from her confidence, in distant Spain. Insensibly, her; so fathomed the courses of her thoughts and ac,
however, the colonel's pertinacity, his evident devotion, corded with them in seeming sympathy-sought out the
and his general merit, won more and more upon her objects of her love, and appeared to love them toom
favor.
guided himself with so much of gentle deference in her
But to all thie, Frederic had open eyes; and upon his company, and vet at the same time, poured out the riches
dark-brooding soul, its effects were hateful and abhor- of his own mind and perceptions and imagination. It
rent. It was for such a one as he to execute a purpose, was skillully done; as the practised marksman measures
the true offspring of his fiendish nature. Deliberately his distance and brings down his feathered prey with
and resolutely he set himself at work, to turn off the unerring shou-Isabelle was surrounded by an irresisti- ,
current of Isabelle's affections from the channel into ble spell. She loved ere long, with a love that could
which it was slowly but surely tending, and to fasten know no bounds, no ceasing; but as yet she had not ex-
them upon himself. To him, the colonel finally opened plored the workings of her heart.
his heart; and solicited his assistance. “I must con- One important effect, however was experienced, which
summate my hopes," said he, as they paced arm in arm had not been anticipated. Frederic became en-
across the floor of Frederic's parlor at his fashionable tangled in his own net. He, eren he, could not resist,
lodgings, “or meet with a decided and final repulse, with all his firmness of purpose, the enchantment of
before our furlough expires. Help me, Frederic, help beauty and devotion like that of the sweet Isabelle; and
me. I love devotedly-love!-Oh, Frederic, have you when she had become his for life and in death-his in
ever loved ? If you have, you can estimate my feelings; every thought, every hope every impulse of her soul-his
if not, you cannot sympathize with me. But help me, through all joy, all sorrow that might brighten or shade
help me. Isabelle-what a heart, a soul, a mind is her existence; he was enchained in meshes that had in-
there! She has not in her character one grovelling sensibly woven themselves around him, and bound him
thought. No spark of vanity ever found a home in her as with fetters of iron. He loved, loved with a might
nature. Every day new virtues burst upon me! My beyond the power of common love. His imagination
dear fellow, help me, help me, if you can !".
and fiery passions inſused his attachment with an in.
Colonel Elghorpe could not have summoned a more tensity that at times was agony.
unfavorable advocate to aid his cause, than his remark || At once, and suddenly, was their love revealed to
in reference to Frederic's having felt the fire of love. It each other; it was not in words-no! for what have
recalled with full and startling power, for the first time, words to do with love? It is a spell that all the fire of
for many weeks, the memories of the past that he would language, cold even when most glowing, breaks while it
have rejoiced to sear with a not iron from his mind, strives to foster it. No-let not a word be spoken-let
could he so have erased them and consigned them to eye and feature alone strive and conquer, and the less
the oblivion he desired. He was visibly but slightly at real the triumph of victory!
fected, however, for the truth was seldom written in the So was it with our lovers. Frederic was for once be.
lying story of that cheek. His lip did now somewhat | trayed from his cautious selfishness. Reflection fled
tremble, and his dark skin change its hue in momentary from his mird. He had been drawn while pursuing his
paleness, but had it been perceptible to an observer's demon plans, into a whirlpool that he had not descried.
eye, the colonel was too wrapt in his own burning Could he have estimated how strong a hold the new
thoughts to be attracted by the emotions of another. passion in his bosom was to exert upon him, and into
“I'll visit her, my boy," answered Frederic. “I'll what labyrinths and abysses it was to conduct h
visit her oftener than I have. Come, be my companion would have shrunk as from threatening death. But he
zbither. We'll seek the Syren now. But consider, my || yielded to the delicious intoxication, careless of conse-
boy. Go-betweens sometimes reap the fruit. You had quences to himself or others. He would not analyse
better be afraid of employing me on your sentimental his feelings that he might know himself ere it becamo
errands."
100 late; and in one enrapturing interview, when their
“I'll trust you—I'll trust you."
souls were mingling-and it was but a pressure of the
Frederic looked upon his friend while as he gazed from hand, a look, a sigh, and Isabelle was clasped in Frede-
the window, with his back towards him, he made his
reply to what seemed a harmless jest, and the demo- || But she awoke from this trance to indulge in the
niac workings of his mind were for a moment all painted pangs of grief. Her father would soon return, and she
in his countenance. There was pity as for a victim, and well knew, that with all his nobleness and generosity,
the mad joy of mingled and hateful passions, exulting abided in him a proud and haughty nature, that scorned
in anticipated triumph. Never would forgiveness be too familiar contact with real or fancied degradation.
ms.


142
THE QUEEN OF A WEEK.
She knew that with all his devotion to her, he would see || would have been out of place on a being whose beauty
her wrapped in cerements and laid in the silent grave, lay in the almost transcendant purity of look, speech and
before he would consent that she should wed one of ig- motion. One tiny foot, from which the slipper had
noble birth. The thought of this fashed upon her, as, | fallen, pressed, with its rose-colored stocking, an em-
almost bewildered with her emotion, she disengaged broidered foot-stool. Her forehead rested on one liulo
herself from her lover's arms; and clasping his hand in hand, and the other with its marriage-ring hung over
hers, she poured out her heart to him. Alas! she al- | the arm of her chair. So deeply was she immersed in
ready knew that he could not boast of noble, or even re study, that unobserved, a door on her right opened, and
spectable parentage, in the fashionable definition of the a gaily dressed youth stood gazing with looks of grati-
adjective and what was to be done? With specious fied admiration upon her.
arguments, Frederic extorted a promise that their love For several moments the boy stood unheeded by the
should be concealed from her father for a time, and he door; then gliding softly over the yielding carpet he
left her. Her parent returned in a few days after this stole to the seat of his bride, and with a mischievous
interview, fraught with teeming consequences; and smile touched her neck with his jewelled finger; then he
heavy, heavy was the weight upon the soul of the pure burst into a gay laugh as his beautiful wife started up,
minded Isabelle, of this first-she almost felt guilty se- drew the robe hastily over her shoulders and stood be-
cret, from her kind father; and she grew pale when she | fore him blushing and half weeping with mortification.
felt his kiss upon her brow, for now she could not look Compassionating her painful confusion he checked his
into his eye with a smile of confidence and truth. mirth, and strove to conceal the struggling smile on his
I lips by bending gallantly to replace the stray slipper on
Original.
her foot, saying as he bowed his knee, “So my lady-bird
has flown to her cage again to feed on crumbs scattered
THE QUEEN OF A WEEK.
by churchman or leeches, and left her poor mate to his
BY ANN S. STEPHENS.
solitary pastimes. I shall go with a complaint to your
fellow student, the king," he continued, grasping the little
In a circular chamber, high in one of the turrets of foot and turning his glowing face to the soft hazel eyes
Sionhouse, the youthful bride of Lord Dudley was seated. || bent affectionately upon him.
Foreign and domestic luxuries had been brought into “And he," answered his smiling bride, "would per-
requisition by her ambitious father-in-law, to embellish || chance counsel the restive eagle to cage himself a while
and beautify that bower, and make it worthy of its lovely with the male he so rates, and partake of her book-lore,
inmate. Well had the proud Northumberland succeed in lieu of shooting arrows at a useless larget-think ye
ed in his attempt; for in England there was not a more he would not?"-and with a half blush she playfully
magnificent apartment than that. Bright trees and couched his upturned forehead with the tip of her taper
mouldering ruins were correctly pictured on the rich finger. The happy boy grasped her hand and pressed
brown tapestry hanging in full drapery along the walls, | it eagerly to his lips,-then springing up he dashed to
and the heavy wood-work about the deep casements gether the volume she had been reading, and throwing
was wrought by expert workmen into a just semblance his arm about her waist, drew her to the open window,
of oak leaves and acorns. The rough beams found in exclaiming, “ Look forth, fair book-worm, and say if you
almost every apartment of the realm, were here con- can, that this beautiful cage, gilded by my gracious
verted into massy vines of leaves and fruit, polished father, doubtless for some of his own wise purposes, is
into rich harmony with the magnificent furniture of the more inviting than this glorious expanse of country,
room. Heavy chairs, cushioned with purple velvet, with the broad sky bending over it, so blue and bright,
were ranged about the edges of the foor, left bare by a where forests, vallies and hills are rejoicing in their, as
carpet of mingled colors, so soft in its texture that it yet, unshaken dew, where the cattle are just rousing
yielded like spring moss to the light footsteps of its themselves from their night's rest, and the light air is
beautiful owner. There was a virginal and an ancient vocal with bird-songs. See how the rising sun is light-
lyre in the apartment, and golden or gem-clasped books | ing up the mist-capped mountains, turning them to
loaded soveral tables with the accumulated knowledge giants, crested with brilliants and clothed in purple and
of different nations. Retiring from the mellowing in- li gold; and the river in the valley, how it sparkles along,
fluence of the stained windows, that cast a gleam even flinging off light like a living thing. There, at our
on her pure beauty, the girl-bride had thrown open a feet, is the hunting forest-see! how the steady wind is
casement and placed herself beside it, and was intense- lifting up the green leaves in a mass like an immense
ly occupied by the contents of a richly bound book be- robe. I have seen fine sport among those old oaks; but
fore her. Incommoded by the warmth of her ermine now the deer stand still and stare at me with their great
lined robe, she had thrown it back from her neck, and eyes, as if they knew I had linked myself to a pretty
the fresh morning light poured full over her polished dame, who forswears both horse and hound. Look yon-
shoulders and classic head, rendering her pearly com-der-by my faith, that gallant buck has bounded from
plexion almost dazzlingly pure. Her black hair was the covert of the trees three times while I have been
parted smoothly from her forehead, somewhat in the speaking-such boldness stirs my spirit. We will run
fashion of the present day, and ornamented only by a him down, sweet wife, and your own white bands shall
double string of orient pearls. A diamond or a ruby | let the blood from his throal—what, say you nay ? then


THE QUEEN OF A WEEK.
145
-
The duke knitted his dark brows, and bent his pierc- Il guards file solemnly along, and listened to the low rum-
ing eyes angrily on his son, who answered it with a look | bling of coming wheels. They passed in sight, and
of defiance struggling with habitual reverence.
there, in an open cart, Northumberland was going to
“It is somewhat strange," said the duke, turning | execution. With his pale hands folded over his black
with a bland smile to the other lords, “ that the crown robe, and his dark hair threaded with silver lying back
of England must go begging for temples to rest upon. ) from his high temples, the old nobleman stood uncover-
I pray your lordships pardon me, if I seek a private con- | ed in the humble vehicle. Not a muscle of his pale
ference with my fair daughter, and leave you to the features stirred; his lips were compressed, and the con-
hospitality of my crown-hating son here;" then draw-centrated force of a strong spirit burned in his eyes.
ing one of the lords aside, he whispered in his ear, and when he came opposite the window he raised his head,
led the Lady Jane from the hall. She cast back an and seeing his children, stretched his hands towards
anxious look on her husband. The courtiers were them as in blessing. With a choking cry, Dudley
crowding around him, and as he bent his head to the threw his arms wildly upward, and fell like a dead thing
whispers of the duke's friend, the first budding of am- upon the floor. Their prison afforded no restorative,
bition was seen in the crimson glow burning in his and the hapless Lady Jane could only sit down beside
cheek. With a fainting heart his wife followed her him, lift his head again to her bosom and deluge it with
father-in-law. Entreaties, promises and tears prevailed her tears, as she watched for some sign of returning
over deep-rooted principle and natural prudence. With life. When Dudley opened his eyes it was feebly like
royal honors, but aching hearts, the young victims were an infant, and his pale hand hung helplessly over hier
that day conducted to London.
shoulder. Though very weak, he felt soothed and com-
forted; her heart was heaving faintly under his uching
The morning sun was struggling through the dense temples, and her sweet voice was whispering of re-
atmosphere of London, and piercing his yellow beams signation and religion. Still and silently he lay, ex.
through the deep windows of a prison-room in which hausted with the fierce storm of agony that had swept
Dudley and his young wife were confined, after the its hurricane over him. As a gentle nurse she quieted
friends of Mary had hurled them from their precarious him with the sweetness of her voice and the soft pres-
seat on the throne-a seat which had yielded them only sure of her lips; then she drew a bible from her pocket
anxiety and regret. Several days had they passed, and read the word of God to him-its promises and its
since that event, in strict confinement, and the spirits comfortings. All day was she thus employed, and at
of the youth had sunk into despondency. With his night-fall they were together on their knees, with clas-
face buried in his hands he was seated by a low wooden ped hands and uplurned faces, pouring out their trou-
table, the points of his gay dress untied, and his bright bled souls before Jehovah. It was not in vain; God
hair falling uncombed over his shoulders. His white visited them.
forehead, formerly so open and smooth, was now shrun- | Months had passed, their death-warrants had gone
ken and collapsed with internal agony. His breath i forth, and with a refinement of cruelty, the young hus-
came choakingly, while now and then a laboring groan band and wife were separated before the day of execu-
struggled through his shut lips.
tion. Dudley's summons was conveyed to him first;
Opposite, sat his victim wife, her large soft eyes fixed | but his weakness had passed away: there was a strong
in deep sorrow upon his working features, and her pale power within that had converted the youth into that
lips quivering slightly with suppressed agony at wild best of all heroes, a Christian. His lips were red, his
nessing his utter prostration. Every thing bespoke eye clear, and his voice unbroken, when he made it an
that it was for him, rather than for herself, she grieved. only request that he might see his wife before he died.
There was no neglect in her dress. The lustrous hair || The request was conveyed to her. A gleam of joy
was as smooth, and the dark robe as neatly put on, as shot across her mild features at the thonght of seeing
in her days of happiness; and though she was very | that loved ore again on earth; but it passed away, and
pale, it was rather from sympathy than from selfish sor- in a calm voice she said, “ Tell my lord that my heart
row. She arose, passed round the table, and for a is nerved for death, and that an interview might shake
moment stood behind the suffering youth, pressing her the firmness of both; tell him to be of good cheer, and
white hand to her eyes; when she dropped it on his in another hour we shall meet in heaven for ever;" and
shoulder, the fingers were wet with tears. Softly she again she returned to prayer and meditation.
placed her arm about his neck, and drawing his head to The message was conveyed to Dudley. “ It is well,"
her bosom pressed a kiss upon his forehead, and mur. he said, “it is but a moment and we part no more !"
mured of comfort. Dudley dropped his hands and and the brave youth, strong in religious faith, went to
turned his face to her shoulder with a less painful the execution. Again that hoarse bell was swinging
groan. Just then the tower-bell sent forth a sudden heavily in the air, and the dismal roll of wheels passed
sound like the belloving of a moody spirit, and the by. Jane sprang to her feet and rushed a few steps
noise of coming feet arose from the pavement below the forward, then checked herself, and with her hands pres.
window. With a fierce cry, Dudley sprang from the aed hard against her heart, listened to the receding
arms of his wife and rushed to the window. His whole tread of the multitude. For half an hour she stood
body trembled as in an ague fit, and clinging to the like a thing of breathing marble, without moving a
frame as if a gulf was beneath him, he watched the muscle or stirring a finger. The bell gave out a solemn


146
THE THREE MEETINGS.
toll, and stopped suddenly. The cold blood curdled |
about her heart, and her face was pallid like that of a
corpse. Again came the returning rush of the multi-
tude, and with a slow step she advanced to the window.
Drops of blood were fringing the edge of the cart and
dropping heavily along the pavement. She closed her
eyes with a shudder and prayed fervently. A spirit of
sweet happiness brooded over her; unseen wings seem-
ed fanning and expanding her heart; she opened her
eyes again on the decapitated body of her husband, and
looked long and calmly, for she felt that the spirit of
her guardian angel had left that form, and was even
then endowing her with holy strength to follow him.
When the guards came to conduct her to execution, there
was a pure smile upon her lips, and her face was bright
and glorious as that of an angel thus she went forth
steadily and unsupported to meet her death.
I see the broken-hearted pair,
I hear the wild adieu-
The hollow sighs that swell the air
When fortune parts the true.
No more no more of hope they speak,
No more they dream of bliss;
The lover on the lady's cheek,
Imprints a mournful kiss.
Again they met-long years had rolled
Their joyless tides along;
Life's bounding pulses had controlled,
And bowed the fair and strong:
The warrior's hand was chill and weak,
That once the sword could sway,
And fluttered o'er his aged cheek
His tresses thin and grey.
And she was wan and faded too,
The shadow of that girl,
With sunny hair and eye of blue
And forehead fair as pearl.
Whose beauty when he knew her first
The faithful fountain gave,
Bright as the charms of her who burst
Upon the Cyprian wave.
Then was their greeting sad yet sweet-
The goal was nearly won-
And like two wintry streams that meet,
They trembled into one.
They spoke not-neither sighed nor moved-
Their life-long trial o'er;
Where first they met, where first they lor'd,
They met to part no more.
Original.
THE THREE MEETINGS.
They met beside the running stream,
When life and hope were young;
When love was like an angel dream,
Unwritten and unsung.
The red-bird on the mountain ash,
Was singing to the wave;
The music of its busy plash,
A thrilling answer gave.
She stood beside the fountain's brim,
A girl with wild flow'rs crown'd;
And leaned with rapture upon him
Whose wreath her temples bound.
She was the May queen of the year,
The image sweet of spring;
With all the graces that endear,
A bright and girlish thing.
A cloudless sky was overhead,
And flow'rs beneath their feet;
The blossom'd tree its odors shed,
And all the earth was sweet.
Young love was their's-secure--gerene,
And gave his roseale dye
To every feature of the scene,
And glory of the sky.
Sweet pair! dream not of danger nigh,
Enjoy the present hour,
As birds disport in summer sky
Ere yet the tempests lower.
Dream on-too soon shall fate reveal
Your woes—too soon ye part;
Too soon the funeral knell shall peal
The tocsin of the heart.
Years passed-again the lovers met
And time had left no trace
Of woe on features beauteous yet,
Nor yet bereft of grace.
The same enduring forest heard
Their vows of truth renewed,
And warbled forth the same bright bird
To cheer the solitude.
LITERARY REVIEW.
THE ONLY DAUGHTER: Carey & Hart.-We are by no means
disposed to mention this book favorably, from the fact that it is
the first production of a very young author; for we hold that do
person has a right to send his literary wares into market us-
til they are fitly prepared for inspection. If a work cannot re-
cure popularity from its own merit, it is useless to claim indol-
gence from the plea of youth and inexperience. The Only
Daughter, however, has enough of real excellence to demand
for itself a respectable station among the novels of the day. It
contains descriptions of scenery, which are truly beautiful, bet
we have fault to find with the conception and delineation of
one, at least, of the leading characters. That of Ruth is over.
done; there are no such beings in nature. Deep feeling will
betray itself spite of all the control that woman's nerves and
woman's intellect ever placed upon it. Such love as Ruth is de-
scribed as possessing, could not have been concealed, and if it
could, the very power of concealment but renders the character
beautiful, as it otherwise is, revolting to a true taste for moral
goodness. The tale is a domestic one; the style chaste, bat by
no means remarkable for strength or argumentality.-Wiley &
Putnam.
THE HEIR OF SELWOOD: Carey & Hart.-Mrs. Gore is cer-
tainly one of the most effective female writers of the age. The
volumes before us are full of her peculiar beauties; in forciblo
description, consistency and strength of narrative, she has es-
celled even berself. Her characters are all natural rather than
ideal portraits, not fancy sketches. None of them are so nearly
allied to perfection, that one cannot point out living objects of
similar stamp and feature; nor are they so horribly villanous
that their prototypes may not be pointed out every hour of the
day, in the thoroughfares of real life. In ideal creation, original
thought, and beautiful imagery, we could point out many fe-


LITERARY REVIEW.
147
male writers both of England and America, far superior to Mrs. ting. They are so true to nature that, for the moment, we can.
Gore. But she has power of observation which gathers of things not doubt the reality of the characters she describes. We took
as they exist, and converts them to her own purposes with an, up the book as a temporary respite from the pressing cares of
effect and beauty which more original minds often fail to ac- l business, and did not rise from our seat until we had finished
complish.-Wiley & Putnam.
the volume.-G. & C. Carvill.
The Far West: Harper & Brothers. There is an appear- Oliver Twist: Lea & Blanchard- This long looked for work
ance of affectation running through these volumes which we is at last completed and published in two ncat volumes. What.
particularly dislike; in order to avoid the egotistical I, our au- ever might have been the reputation acquired by “Boz," as die
thor denominates himself “The Traveller." Now, in our opin author of the “Pickwick Papers," it is now doubly enhanced
ion, the method of expression which is most common and natu by the appearance of the present work. The same publishers
ral, is decidedly in the best taste; persons betray a much have, also, sent us tho sixth part of another highly amusing
greater share of vanity in singularity than in adopting a gene work, entitled "Sketches by Boz."
ral rule. With this exception, the volumes have a decided ex. PiccioLA; OR THE CAPTIVITY CAPTIVE: Lea & Blanchard -
cellence; the whole interest, of course, depends ou descriptions
This is a translation from a French work, that passed through
of scenery, diversified by the isolated adventures which the four editions within a month of its first publication. Picciola is
traveller, even in a thinly inhabited portion of country, may be the most striking and original tale that has appeared in our coun-
supposed to meet with. His descriptions of the prairies are both try for a long time. Lorely and unpresuming as the heroine is
original and vivid, and as a whole, the two volumes, though by represented, she has a claim to the protection of the wise and
no means the superior production which the author seems to good, and we hazard the doubt, whether the most hard-hearted
rank them in his preface, are calculated for general popularity. of critics could set his foot upon the neck of Picciola, without
PRIVATE JOURNAL OF AARON Burr, Edited by Matthew L.
a b Notebs experiencing an inward pang of remorse.-Wiley & Putnam.
Davis : Harper & Brothers.-This Journal is comprised in two!
ALTHEA VERNON: Lea & Blanchard.-If Miss Leslie draws
octavo volumes, of about 500 pages each. Thoso who expect
ili her characters from real life, she is certainly more fortunate in
to find in it many important historical or even biographical
all discovering originals than we have ever happened to be. During
facts, will be doomed to disappointment. Although the time 1 a 5
a short sojourn at Rockaway, last summer, we found the hotel
of Aaron Burr's residence in Europe was one of great political
crowded with all kinds of people; but no persons such as com-
interest and moment, we look in vain to the pages of this jour-pos
pose the majority of Miss Leslie's characters came within our
nal for any statistical information or any philosophical reviews
views Il observation. There were counts, it is true, English travellers
on the then existing state of affairs. It is written in a playful, and rich speculators, with three or four quiet, harmless-looking
pleasing style, and is almost entirely taken up with trifling per-
scions; all, with one or two exceptions, very common-place or
sonal details, illustrating the life rather of Aaron Burr, the gen- | very agreeable gentlemen and gentlewomen. Neither in the
teman of pleasure, than that of Aaron Burr, the politican and I ball-room or at the table did we witness any thing half so ludi-
eager votary of ambition. There is a degree of concealment
crous and vulgar as some of the characters which figure in Miss
and disguise about this private journal, which strikingly illus-
Leslie's story. Yet though we cannot believe them drawn from
trates the character of its author; and, even in his familiar let-
real life, at least, real life at the Marine Pavillion, they are a
ters to his almost idolized daughter, Theodosia, there is often-
most amusing set of personages we ever came across.
times a blind method of expression adopted, in order that she
CHARCOAL SKETCHES: Carey & Hart.--The sale of the for-
only might be able to discover his meaning.
mer edition of Joe Neal's fine production has been, we under-
These volumes will be eagerly purchased and read; for every
stand from a private source, very extensive. This alone proves
thing tending to throw any new light upon this extraordinary
the avidity with which it must have been sought after. No
man is of intense interest to the community. From his me-
less than four thousand copies have passed through the press
moirs, which have been for some time before the public, and
in a short period.—Wiley & Putnam.
this his private journal, which is now just published, it would HOME AS FOUND, by J. Fennimore Cooper : Lea & Blanchard.
appear that he was possessed of a kind and amiablc disposition; This is a sequel to Homeward Bound, a novel by the same au-
and it may be that posterity will not consider him that unnatural | thor, and will be read with curiosity by all who have perused
monster which his own generation have united in representing the latter work.-G. & C. Carrill.
him.
EVENINGS AT HOME; or the Juvenile Budget-Here wo
Life of Christ, in the words of the Evangelist-a complete have another of those valuable productions adapted to the use
harmony of the Gospel History of our Saviour.-Harper and of the rising generation, issued from the press of those indefati.
Brothers have issued this volume in a faultless style, illustrated | gable publishers, Harper & Brothers. Parents are not aware
with thirty fine engravings by Adams. As a present for young of the heavy debt they owe these gentlemen for the efforts they
persons, no work could be chosen with such advantage as this. | make, at least, once a year, in behalf of their children. By the
The compiler in the preface says, “the narrative of the life of publication of such works as the “Life of Christ," and “Eve-
Christ was undertaken with the design of placing in the hands nings at Home," a desire for reading is inculcated into the
of young persons a complete and connected record of the events bosom of every child, and thereby, that natural restlessnes of
which distinguished our Lord's history on earth, in the words disposition is quieted the child becomes delighted and inte-
of inspiration, free from the confuson which more or less arises rested with his book-the tasks of the school are no longer look-
in the mind of every reader in perusing the unconnected, and ed upon as a grievance, until, finally the mind is imbued with a
in some instances, apparently conflicting accounts of the diffe- love of reading it is impossible to eradicate. The volume is, as
rent Evangelists."
its title imports, most interesting. We have been much edified
Mary RAYMOND, another of Mrs. Gore's productions, pub- l in the perusal, and as a work of general and varied reading,
lished by Leaf Blanchard, can scarcely be made subject to would recommend it strongly to the attention of every parent.
more than the same comments that we have already made on Four YEARS IN PARAGUAY: Carey & Hart.-These volumes
the Heir of Selwood. It contains several interesting tales, of Il contain a rapid sketch of the political and social elements out
and the best. It is indeed a story of thrilling interest, contain-history of the Jesuits in Paraguay will be found to contain many
ing a moral which young ladies who feel inclined to marry for curious details, and to exhibit to those not deeply read in Jesu-
an establishment, would do well to study before they take the || itical lore, a very singular state of society.-Wiley & Putnam.
desperate leap which lost poor Mary Raymond her life.-G. $ | My Son's Book, is a neat little volume, just published by
0. Carvill
F.W. Bradley & Co. The principles which are most requisite
COUNTRY STORIES, by Miss Mitford: Lea & Blanchard. for the guidance of a young man entering into the broad arena
These stories are characterized by that combination of sim of life, are laid down with precision, and those which should
plicity, earnestness and quiet humor which renders all the pro- l govern him in the courtesies of life, are also expounded, with
ductions of this fascinating authoress so pleasing and interes. I reference to his intercourse with the different classes of society,


THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH,
A ROMANCE.
COMPOSED, AND POLITELY PRESENTED TO THE LADIES' COMPANION, BY MRS. GIBBS.

8va Flute.
ALLEGRETTO.
Come with me to yonder
hills, Where lightly dance each merry
elf, There the cup of life gay pleasure fills, And thy guide shall
be the Mountain Sylph.
In halls where
LLLLLL



spark · ling
diamond fountains play,
'Tis there we
dance we dance till break of
EL
day.
And when
the
world
is
hid in dusky
night, Our homes
a
azz '- ling
fairy world of light, .......... Come with me to yonder hills, where lightly
Pinte ecceco CCC
dance each fairy
elf, There the cup of life gay pleasure fills, And thy guide
shall be
the Mountain Sylph.
2.
Come away the moon is high,
Sailing o'er the foaming deep,
From treo to tree the night-birds fly,
And from their cells the glow-worms croop;
Then follow me and fear no evil charm,
No danger shall thy heart alarm,
Round thee a mystic spell sball play
Shall keep the Demon's pow'r away.
Come with mo to yonder hills, &c.


150
THEATRICALS.
THEATRICALS.
I means, Mr. Simpson will terminate his season prosperously.
Let him shake off the English yoko when it becomes the mere
PARK.-False praise is censure in disguise and is more se-
yoke of dependance-let bim gather around him all the talent af
verely felt in its effects than the bitterest invective of invidious
the country he can collect--- let him act vigorously in this, and
criticism. Sir Walter Scott, on being strongly pressed to write
success cannot fail in crow ning his enterprise.
a tragedy by the committee of Drury-lane, the better to sustain
Madame Augusta has just concluded an engagement, and ap-
the fortunes of that theatre, declined the invitation, quoting
peared in several of her favorite characters, which she has sus-
many of the reasons which would have led a less judicious au-
tained with undiminished excellence, but there is a cbilhog
tbor to its acceptance: they were, that he was too popular a
gloom thrown around the theatre, by which even her excellence
writer for his play to be condemned on its first representation,
has been obscured.
and too little acquainted with the machinery of the stage to
risk his fame on the bare probability of success. That he was
Velasco.—This admirable production of Epes Sergeant, bas
quite sure he should obtain the support of the daily press, but
been produced, and has won laurels for its author and the per-
not so sure that the public, who had read him in the closet,
formers. We have already said so much in just praise of this
would visit him on the stage; thus to see his play dragging out
tragedy, that we have nothing left in commendation, but of its
a miserable existence and expiring to empty benches, while his
performance. As an acting play, we entertained our doubts, but
kind friends, the diurnalists, were cheering him on in the vain
its success upon the stage has been triumphant. It would be in-
promise of lengthened existence, was a pain and a penalty he
vidious to point out one or two of the performers appearing in
had not a sufficiency of moral courage to encounter. Perhaps
this drama; all aimed to excel, and succeeded.
we cannot bring ourselves to agree with Sir Walter Scott, that Mrs. Shar.-This lady, after a long absence, has returned to
such would have been the result in his case; but such, at the the city, and reappeared at the Park. With the exception of
present moment, is the precise situation of Mr. Simpson in his Ellen Tree, Mrs. Shaw is the best actress in the country. Wit-
management of the Park, and the New-York press. Mr. Simp- | ness her Lady Constance, Julia and Marian, in proof of the as-
son may exclaim with truth, “ Heaven shield me from my sertion.
friends."
Mrs. Gibbs has appeared twice at this house in her favonite
Censure is dealt out unsparingly by some few gentlemen who part of Don Giovanni, and was warmly received. She is an
are inimical to the old house-censure without inquiry, and accomplished actress and singer.
criticism without the exercise of an ordinary judgment--while! Mrs. Bailey, so long known and apprecinted as a vocalist,
on the other hand, the friends of the theatre mete out a languid I will appear on the seventh, as Annette, in the new opera of
praise as lame, as limping and timid as a consciousness of ser-
that name which has been lately produced in London with the
vility can render it; and thus they do more injury to the es- most decided success.
tablishment than censure could possibly accomplish.
NATIONAL-If crowded houses, and delighted audiences are
As censors, we shall best discharge our duty to the cause of
the tests of management, these are the nightly signs of the times,
the legitimate drama, and sustain the best interests of the Park
and of public taste-of effective drama and judicious zeal dis-
theatre, by discharging that duty which we owe to our sub-
played in catering for an intelligent, enlightened and tasteful
scribers and the public. It has been our principal and our
people. In all the departments of the drama, the management
practice-even-landed justice-impartiality in the expression
of the National stand perfectly unrivalled in the Union. We
of our opinions—to approve with conscience and condemn with
are not led to the theatre to be gratified alone by the excellence
moderation. We have never raised our pen to chill the rising
of a Shirreff, a Wilson, and a Seguin, but to the performance of
genius of the day, or nipped the bud of promise with too se-
an opera in whieh they appcar, with all its miner parts in ad-
vere reproof. We have sustained the management of our the-
mirable arrangement-its scenic effects beautifolly executed
atres whenever we could justify it to ourselves, and even strain-
its properties in good taste, and its dresses in full costume. Api-
ed a point to the prejudice of our judgment. But we feel our lie, Fra Diavola, La Sonnambula, have been represented in this
selves, under existing circumstances, called upon to institute a theatre to brilliant audiences, and in the absence of the opera-
moro close and rigid examination into the policy of the manage-tic force, we are still attracted to its walls by sterling dramass
ment of this house, than iſ in the full tide of its prosperity. Suc- || admirably performed. .
cess in any effort of the stage is at all times the manager's jus
FRANKLIN, under the management of Mr. Dinneford, is pur.
tification in the mode or manner by which that stage may be
suing a prosperous course. It is nightly well attended.
conducted; and although in the exercise of our critical opinion
we may condemn the means--still, if public patronage decide
* against us, we have no right of censure in the management. It
EDITORS' TABLE.
is a trite adage, proved of all time in theatrical matters, that
“ those who live to please, must please to live." But when we Since the issue of our last number, we have secured the ral
feel the current of public opinion turned--and patronage with uable assistance of PROFESSOR J. H. INGRAHAM, author of the
held, we find ourselves more than warranted in the assumption " South West," "Lafitte," “ Burton," etc, etc., as a regular cos-
of our views of management being correct, since in the effect is tributor to the pages of the Ladies' Companion for the next
found the cause. If the opinion has been formed that the city two years. With such a powerful list of writers, as Lydia H.
of New York is not capable of sustaining two principal thea Sigourney; Ann S. Stephens; Frances S. Osgood ; Charlotta
tres, such opinion is mischievous and unfounded; it is capable Cushman ; Professor Ingrahain; Henry W. Herbert; John Neal;
of maintaining more, provided the material of which they are Hcpry F. Harrington; Rev. J. H. Clinch; Edward Maturin;
composed is of a quality entitling them to patronage. Grenville Mellen; Isaac C. Pray, Jr.; and H. Hastings Weld,
It is quite clear that the present stato of the acted drama is the Ladies' Companion is destined to take precedence at
not in accordance with the public tastc. The failure of Vestris every other magazine in America.
has disappointed the expectations of the managers, and the sea- 1 Beautiful steel engravings, illustrative of the prevailing
son has been prostrated by an event which could never have Fashions, will be introduced during the present year, in adda-
been anticipated. Mr. Simpson attaches no importance to his tion to our usual plates. They will be prepared with much ic-
stock company, and, unhappily for his interest, the public at curacy and care, as we are determined they shall supercede
tach as little. But we say here is his only remedy: strengthen every thing of the nature yet published in any magazine.
that company in all its parts--render it amply effective in the Dunlap's ExHIBITION.—A very large collection of paintings,
representation of sterling drama---let the prominent star of the by many of our best artists, is now open at the Stuyvesant Insue
evening be a play well acted in all its parts; encourage the tute, Broadway, the proceeds of which are appropriated to
rising talent of the country by producing new plays from the aid Mr. Dunlap in the publication of his forth coming work, er-
pens of American authors--we ask for no exclusion of the Entitled, “History of New York." The project is a laudable oua,
glish imported drama, and we confidently pronounce by these and should meet with universal support.






SEN
FUNDAS
TO
TELE
.
Url
Gimik lant
Sagly Dic
RE BED & BOIS GTILBERT,


: bow!
Ere this my cheek shall blush with shame,
Ere I will wrong my maiden fame.
Or spot the honored Hebrew name.
I plunge and crush these bones!
19
w nere routn ana Beauty both too quickly die ?
If thou art old, why then thus young appear,
Thou active one that canst so quickly fly?
Thou heedest not! Well-stay not thy career
I know I follow to ETERNITY.
1. C. P.


TIL LADIES' COMPANION.
NEW-YORK, FEBRUARY, 1839.
Original.
REBECCA AND BOIS GUILBERT.
BY ISAAC C. PRAY,
AUTHOR OF THE TRAGEDY OF "JULIETTA GORDINI."
VI.
“Ay! here I safely stand, proud Knight,
Not in thy power, though in thy sight,
For Heaven has shown a path of light-
Escape from thine abode.
Ere trust her honor unto thee,
The Jewish maiden thou shalt see
Prefer death's endless liberty,
Giving her soul to God!
The brightest pattern of a sect
To woe and wandering elect-
A Hebrew maid-she stands erect
Upon an air-hung wall!
Behold! Her eyes are guards to her,
Her champion 's her character-
And lo! The Templar dares not stir
Lest from that tower she fall.
VII.
"I fear thee not--and thank the hour
That gave unto thy race the power
To raise thus high this dizzy tower,
To fall from which is death.
Thy words I heed not, Bois Guilbert,
For though thou promisest to spare,
I know, proud Templar, thou art there-
Thy words are merely breath!
II.
VIII.
0, matchless maid-example high!
Far better 'tis at once to die
Than be enforced in crime to lie,
Or, worse, to tamely yield.
0, woman, though thy charms be groat,
Though every gift adorn thy stale,
Thine is the darkest, direst fate
Save Virtue be thy shield.
III.
So felt Rebecca in the hour
When Bois Guilbert with fiendish power,
Sought in the Templars' massy tower
To stain her maiden fame.
Though death were her's-yet death had been
A better treasure than to win
An endless heritage of sin,
And live a life of shame.
"Peace, if thou wilt-but with this place
Between us twain-a fitting space
'Tis ours to gaze while on thy face,
Is fixed Guilt's pale dismay.
Nay, blush not, Templar; still gaze on!
Nay, quail not, brave and foolish one-
What! Dost repent what thou hast done?
Ay, turn thy steps away!"
ix.
Blest Hebrew maid, to thee belong
Hope, faith and virtue courage strong-
The Templar fears to do thee wrong,
And now shall harm thee not.
Thy honor's safe! Thou’rt living still-
What-living? Yes ; she ever will-
While eyes shall o'er thy pages fill,
Immortal Walter Scott.
iv.
Original.
ΤΙ Μ Ε.
Bright fires are glazing now her eyes,
With lofty words how she defies
The passions which within him rise-
How firmly does she stand!
Impersonating Virtue there,
She seems just born, a thing of air,
With will and power to do and dare,
To threaten and command.
“Remain thou there, thou haughty man-
Move but a step-a single span-
I plunge below this bartisan
Upon the court-yard stones.
Ere this my cheek shall blush with shame,
Ere I will wrong my maiden fame,
Or spot the honored Hebrew name,
I plunge and crush these bones !
Oh, Time, how inexpressible art thou !
In vain it is that painters do unfold
Thy face and form that mortals may behold
They never knew thee-never saw thy brow.
E'en as I strive to fix thy features now,
I feel thy progress cannot be controlled ;
I cannot see thee fair, or young, or old-
Thou'rt come and gone! I know not where or how!
If thou art young, why dost not loiter here,
Where Youth and Beauty both too quickly die ?
If thou art old, why then thus young appear,
Thou active one that canst so quickly fly?
Thou heedest not! Well-stay not thy career-
I know I follow to ETERNITY.
1. C. R.
L
19



Own by
G
han
REBEN BOI GILBERT


--- -- www.c-yaru stones.
Ere this my cheek shall blush with shame,
Ere I will wrong my maiden ſame,
Or spot the honored Hebrew name,
1 plunge and crush these bones!
--guns, way uusi not joiter here,
Where Youth and Beauty both too quickly die?
If thou art old, why then thus young appear,
Thou active one that canst so quickly fly?
Thou heedest not! Well-stay not thy career
I know I follow to ETERNITY.
1. C. P.
19


154
THE SAXON PREL A TE'S DOOM.
Original.
affront, an you look not the will light a blaze
THE SAXON PRELATE'S DOOM. in England that shall consume put speedily your royal
BY THE AUTHOR OF “CROMWELL," " THE BROTHERS," ETC.
crown itself. He marches to and fro, with troops of
horse, and bands of armed footmen, stirring the Saxon
“ Die, prophet, in thy speech.”—KING HENRY VI. churls against the gentle blood of Normandy, nay, seek.
ing even to gain entrance into your garrisons and cas-
The mightiest monarch of his age, Sovereign of
England—as his proud grandsire made his vaunt of
“Do I hear right," shouted the fiery prince, striking
yore-by right of the sword's edge ; Grand Duke of
his hand upon the board with such fierce vehemence, that
Normandy, by privilege of blood ; and liege-lord of
every flask and tankard rang. “Do I hear right-and
Guienne, by marriage with its powerful Heritress; the
is it but a dream that I am England's king? What!-
bravest, the most fortunate, the wisest of the Kings of
one base vassal-one who has fattened on the bread of
Europe, Henry the Second held his court for the high
our ill-wasted charity—one beggar, who first came to
festival of Chistmas in the fair halls of Rouen. The
our court with all his fortunes on his back, bestriding a
banquet was already over, the revelry was at the highest,
galled spavined jade-one wretch like this, insult at
still, the gothic arches ringing with the merriment, the
once a line of sovereign princes !-trample a realm be-
laughter, and the blended cadences of many a minstrel's
neath his feet !-and go unpunished and scathe-free!
harp, of many a trouvere's lay. Suddenly, while the din
What! was there not one man-one only-of the hordes
was at the loudest, piercing through all the mingled
of recreant knights, who feast around my board to free
sounds, a single trumpet's note was heard-wailing,
his monarch from a shaveling, who dishonors and de-
prolonged, and ominous—as was the chill it struck to
fies him? Break off the ſeast-break off, I say-no
every heart in that bright companyof coming evil.
time for revelry and wine !-To council, lords, to coun-
During the pause which followed, for at that thrilling
cil. We must indeed bestir us, an we would hold ibe
blast the mirth and song were hushed as if by instinct
crown our grandsire wonnot for himself alone, por
-a bustle might be heard below, the tread of many
for his race-who, by God's grace will wear it spite
feet, and the discordant tones of many eager voices.
priest, cardinal, or pope-but for the gentle blood of
The great doors were thrown open, not with the stately
Norman chivalry!"
ceremonial that befilled the occasion, but with a noisy |
Rising at once, he led the way to council; and with
and irreverent haste that proved the urgency or the im-
wild haste and disarray, the company dispersed-but
portance of the new.comers. Then, to the wonder of
as the hall grew thin, four knights remained behind in
all present, there entered—not in their wonted pomp,
close and earnest converse—so deep, so earnest, that
with stole, and mitre, crosier dalmatique and ring, but
they were left alone, when all the rest, ladies and cava-
in soiled vestments, travel-worn and dusty, with features
liers, and chamberlains, and pages, had departed, and
hagard from fatigue, and sharpened by anxiety and
the vast gallery, which had so lately rung with every
fear-six of the noblest of old England's prelates, led by
various sound of human merriment, was silent as the
the second dignitary of the church, York's proud arch-
grave. There was a strange and almost awful contrast
bishop. Hurrying forward to the dais, where Henry
between the strong and stately forms of the four barons,
sat in state, they halled all together at the step, and in
their deep and energetic whispers, the fiery glances of
one voice exclaimed,
their angry eyes, the fierce gesticulations of their mus-
“Fair sir, and King, not for ourselves alone, but for
cular and well-turned limbs, and the deserted splendors
the holy church, for your own realm and crown, for your
of that royal hall—the vacant throne, i he long array of
own honor, your own safety, we beseech you"-
seats, the gorgeous plate, fagons and cups and urns of
"What means this, holy fathers," Henry cried, has-
Il gold and marquetry—the lights still glowing as it were
tily, and half alarmed, as it would seem, by the excited
in mockery over the empty board—the wire unpoured
language of the churchmen. “What means this vehe-l-the harps untouched and voiceless.
mence-or who hath dared to wrong ye, and for why ?"|| “Be it so-be it so!" exclaimed, in louder topes
"For that, at your behest, we dared to crown the than they had used before
hest, we dared to crown the |than they had used before, one, the most striking in ep
youthful King, your son! Such, sire, is our offence.
pearance of the group—“be it so— let us swear! Rich-
Our wrong-that we your English prelates are excom-
ard le Breton-Hugues de Morville, William de Traci-
municated, and"-
even as I shall swear-swear ye-by God, and by our
“Now, by the eyes of God!"* exclaimed the King, I trusty blades, and by our Norman honor !"
breaking abruptly in upon the Bishop's speech, his noble “We will,” cried all-"we swear!-we be not recre
features crimsoned by the indignant blood, that rushed || ant-nor craven, as our good swords shall witness !"
to them at mention of this foul affront, “now by the “Thus, then,” continued the first speaker, drawing
eyes of God, if all who have consented to his consecra- || his sword, and grasping a huge cup of wine, " thus, then,
tion be accurst, then am I so myself!"
I, Reginald Fitz Urse, for mine own part, and for each one
"Nor is this all,” replied the prelate, well pleased to and all of ye, do swear; so help me God, and our good
note the growing anger of the sovereign, "nor is this
lady-never to touch the wine-cup; never to bend be-
all the wrong. The same bold man, who did you this fore the shrine; never to close the eyes in sleep; never
- For this strange but authentic oath, see Thierry's Norman 11
| to quit the saddle, or unbelt the brand ; never to pray
Conquest, whence most of these details are taken.
to God; never to hope for Heaven, until the wrong we


THE SAXON PRELATE'S DOOM.
155
reck of be redress until the insult, done our sov-station of their intended victim ; but gazed on bim with
reign, be avenged!-until the life-blood of his foeman a fixed sternness that was far more awful than any show
stream on our battle-swords, as streams this nobler of violence. This dumb show, although it needs must
wine !"
occupy some time in the description, bad lasted per-
Then, with the words—for not he only, but each one haps a minute, when the bold prelate broke the silence,
of the four, holding their long, two-handed blades ex- addressing them in clear, harmonious tones, and with
tended at arms' length before them with all their points an air as dignified and placid, as though he had been
in contact, and in the other hand grasping the brim- bidding them to share the friendly banquet.
ming goblets, had gone through, in resolute unflinching “Fair sirs,” he said, “I bid ye welcome; although
tones, the fearful adjuration. Then, with the words, in truth, the manner of your entrance be not in all things
they all dashed down the generous liquor on the wea- || courteous; nor savoring of that respect which should
pons, watched it in silence as it crimsoned them from be paid, if not to me, who am but as a worm, the
point to hilt, and sheathing them, all purple as they meanest of His creatures, yet, to the dignity where-
were, hurried, not from the hall alone, but from the unto He has raised me! Natheless, I bid ye hail!
palace; mounted their fleetest war-steeds, and, that. Please ye disclose the business, whereon ye now have
same night, rode furiously away toward the nearest sea. I come to me."
The fifth day was in progress after King Henry's ban-i Still not a word did they reply-but seated them-
quet, when, at the hour of noon, four Norman knights, selves all unbidden, still glaring on him with fixed eyes,
followed by fifty men-at-arms, sheathed cap-a.pié in ominous of evil. At length Fitz Urse addressed him,
mail, arrayed beneath the banner of Fitz Urse, entered speaking abruptly, and in tones so hoarse and hollow-
the town of Canterbury at a hard gallop. The leaders the natural consequence of his extreme exertions, four
of the band alone were clad in garbs of peace, bearing days and nights having been actually passed in almost
no weapon but their swords, and singularly ill-accou- constant travel-that his most intimate associate could
tred for horse exercise, being attired in doublets of rich not have recognized his voice.
velvet, with hose of cloth, of gold, or silver, as if in “We come," he said, " on the King's part; to take,
preparation for some high and festive meeting. Yet, and that, too, on the instant, some order with your late
was it evident, that they had ridden miles in that un proceedings! To have the excommunicated, presently
suitable apparel ; for the rich velvet was besmeared i absolved-to sce the bishops, who have been suspended,
with many a miry stain, and the hose dashed with blood, forthwith re-established—and to hear what you may
which had been drawn profusely by the long rowels of now alledge concerning your design against your sove-
their gilded spurs. Halting in serried order at the reign Lord and Master!"
market cross, the leader of the party summoned, by an “It is not 1,” Thomas replied, still calmer and more
equerry, the city mayor to hear the orders of the King; dignified than the fierce spirits who addressed him.
and, when that officer appeared, having commanded him “ It is not I, who have done this. It is the sovereign
“on his allegiance, to call his men to arms, and take such pontiff. God's own supreme vicegerent, who, of his
steps as should assuredly prevent the burghers of the own will, excommunicated my late brother of York. He
town from raising any lumult on that day, whate'er alone, therefore, can absolve him. I have no power
might come to pass.” With his three friends, and in't! As for the rest, let them but make submission
twelve, the stoutest, of the men at arms who followed in and straightway shall they be restored !"
their train, rode instantly away to the archbishop's “From whom, then,” Reginald Fitz Urse demanded;
palace. The object of their deadly hatred, when the “ from whom, then, hold you your archbishopric-
four knights arrived, was in the act of finishing his from England's King, or from the Pope of Rome ?"
noonday meal; and all his household were assembled “My spiritual rights, of God, and of the Pope-my
at the board, from which he had just risen. There was temporal privileges of the King," was the prompt an-
no sign of trepidation, no symptom of surprise, much | swer.
less of fear or consternation in his aspect or demeanor, “The King, then, gave you not," the baron asked
as one by one his visitors stalked unannounced into the again. “Beware, I warn you, beware how you do an-
long apartment! yet was there much, indeed, in the swer me; the King, I say, gave you not all that you
strange guise wherein they came, in their disordered enjoy ?”.
habits ; in the excitement visibly depicted on their “He did not," answered Becket, without moving a
brows, hagard from want of sleep, pale with fatigue single muscle of his composed but haughty countenance;
and labor, yet resolute, and stern, and terse with although, at the reply, the fiery temper of his unwel-
the resolve of their dread purpose-to have astonished, I come visitors was made more clearly manifest; as n
nay, dismayed the spirit of one less resolute in the de- deep angry murmur burst simultaneously from all their
fence of what he deemed the right than Thomas Becket. I lips; and they wrung, with fierce gestures, their gloved
Silently, one by one, they entered, the leader halting hands, as if it was with difficulty they restrained them.
opposite the prelate with his arms folded on his breast, Il selves from violence, more open in its character.
and his three comrades forming, as it were, in a half-| “Ye threaten me—I well believe," exclaimed the
circle round him-not one of them removed the bonnet stately prelate, “but it is vain and useless. Were all
from his brow, or bowed the knee on entering, or offered the swords in England brandished against my head, ye
any grecting, whether to the temporal rank or spiritual | should gain nothing, nothing from me.”


156
THE SAXON PRELATE'S DOOM.
“We will do more than threater," answered Fitz || his two-handed sword already naked, rushed into the
Urse; and rising from his seat, rushed out of the apart- cathedral.
ment, followed by his companions, crying aloud, even || “To me!” he cried, with a fierce shout-"to me!
before they crossed the threshold, “ To arms!-Nor- valiant and loyal servants of the King!" while close be-
mans--to arms!"
hind him followed, in like array, with flashing eyes, and
The doors were closed behind them, and barred in- inflamed visages, and brandished weapons, his sworn
stantly with the most jealous care; while Reginald, and confederates—and without the gates their banded men-
the conspirators, meeting the guard whom they had left at-arms stood in a serried circle, defying all assistance
without, armed themselves cap-a-pié, in the court-yard, from the town. Again bis servitors entreated Becket
before the palace gates, as if for instant battle; with to preserve himself, by seeking refuge in the dark
helmet, hood of mail, and hauberk; their triangular crypts beneath the chancel, where he might rest con-
steel-plated shields hanging about their necks; their cealed in absolute security, until the burghers should be
legs protected by mail hose, fitting as closely and as aroused to rescue; or by ascending the intricaie and
flexible as modern stockings; their huge two-handed winding turret-stairs to the cathedral roof, whence he
swords belted about them in such fashion, that their might summon aid, ere he could possibly be overtaken;
cross-guarded hilts came over their left shoulders, while but it was all in vain. Confiding in the goodness of his
their points clanked against the spur on their right cause, perhaps expecting supernatural assistance, the
heels. There was no pause, for snatching instantly an daring prelate silenced their prayers by a contemptuous
axe from the hands of a carpenter, who chanced to be refusal; and even left the altar, to prevent one of the
at work in the court-yard, Fitz Urse assailed the gate. monks from closing the weak trelliced gates, which
Strong as it was, it creaked and groaned beneath the marked the holiest precincts. Meanwhile, unmoved
furious blows, and the lung corridors within rolled back in their fell purpose, the Normans were at hand.
the threatening sounds in deep and hollow echoes. 1 " Where is the traitor ?" cried Fitz Urse, but not a
Within the palace all was confusion and dismay, and voice replied; and the unwonted tones were vocal yet
every face was pale and ghastly, save his alone who had beneath the vaulted roof in lingering echoes, when he
the cause for fear.
again exclaimed, “wbere-where is the Archbishop!"
“Fly! fly! my lord," cried the assistants, breathless | “Here stands he," Becket answered, drawing his
with terror, “fly to the altar! There, there, at least, lofty person up to its full height, and spreading his
shall you be safe!"
arms forth with a gesture of perfect majesiy. “Here
“Never," the prelate answered, his bold spirit as stands he, but no traitor! What do ye in God's house
self-possessed and calm in that most imminent peril, as in such apparel-what is your will, or purpose ?"
though he had been bred, from childhood upward, to il "That you die, presently!" was the reply, enforced
the performance of high deeds and daring. “Never by the uplifted weapon, and determined features of the
will I turn back from that which I have set myself to savage Baron.
do God, if it be his pleasure, shall preserve me from "I am resigned," returned the prelate, the calm pa-
yet greater strails than these ; and if it be not so His tience of the martyr blent with a noble daring that
will to do, then God forbid I should gainsay him." | would have well become a warrior on the battle-field.
Nor would he stir one foot, until the vesper bell, rung “ Ye shall not see me fly before your swords. But in
by the sacristan, unwitting of his superior's peril, be the name of the all-powerful God, whom ye dishonor
gan to chime from the near walls of the cathedral. “It and defy, I do command ye injure no ore of my com-
is the hour," he quietly observed, on hearing the panions, layman or priest." His words were inter-
sweet cadence of the bells; "it is the hour of prayer; // rupted by a heavy blow across his shoulders, delivered,
my duty calls me-give me my vestments! carry my with the flat of his huge sword, by Reginald.
cross before me!" And attiring himself, as though |“Fly!" he said, “fly, priest, or you are dead!"
nothing of unusual moment were impending, he tra- But the archbishop moved not a step, spoke not a sylla-
versed, with steps even slower than his wont, the cloister ble. "Drag him hence, comrades," continued the last
leading from his dwelling to the abbey; though, ere speaker. “ Away with him beyond the threshold
he left the palace, the din of blows had ceased, and the we may not smite him here !"
fierce shout of the assailants gave token that the door “Here! here! or nowhere," the Archbishop answer-
had yielded. Chiding his servitors for their excess of ed. “Here, in the very presence, and before the altar,
terror, as unworthy of their sacred calling, he still and the image, of our God!" And as he spoke, he
walked slowly onward, while the steel.shod footsteps of seized the railings with both hands, set his feet firm,
his foemen might be heard clashing on the pavement and being of a muscular and powerful frame, sustained
but a few yards behind him. He reached the door of by daring courage and highly-wrought excitement, he
the catbedral; entered without so much as casting one succeeded in maintaining his position, in spite of the
last glance behind ; passed up the nave, and going up united efforts of the four Norman warriors. Mean-
the steps of the high altar, separated from the body of while, all the companions of the prelate had escaped
the church by a slight rail of ornamental iron-work, by ways known only to themselves--all, but one faith-
commenced the service of the day. Scarce had he ut- ful follower--the Saxon, Edward Grim, his cross-bearer
tered the first words, when Reginald, sheathed, as has since his first elevation to the see of Canterbury-che
beep beretofore described, in complete panoply, with same who had so boldly spoken out after the conference


158
THE WANDERING STEED.
“I will. But you must get up and light the lamp ll “Oh! my God!" cried John, don't talk so, squire, I
first, so that I can find them."
I beg."
“The rinder is all spilt," said the squire, "or I should I “What ails the foolish boy? Why do you stare so!
have lit the lamp long ago. You never knew me to un- | Your eyes look like saucers !".
dertake to do a thing, and not do it, unless it was im "Nothing, sir,” said John, hiding his emotion in a
possible."
| vigorous attempt to secure the noble animal. But no
“But I did not expect to see you run back to bed so sooner had John laid his hand on the horse's mane than
quick, Mr. Waddlefain."
he fixed his eyes on the man, thrust forward his ears,
“What! not when I thought you in danger, my dear snorted, wheeled suddenly, and bounded over the fence
Mrs. Waddlefain! As soon as I heard you scream, I into the road. Thus ended the night's adventure; for
dropped every thing and ran to your assistance. Grati- the speed with which the startled beast fled along the
tude, Mrs. Waddlefain! I never thought you ungrate-highway annihilated all hope of his capture.
ful, Mrs. Waddlefain."
Here a sudden silence on the part of the veteran cou- Winter had commenced. On glazed hill-top and
ple ensued; for the soft fall of a stealthy foot was heard i marsh, on channelled river and contemplative pool lay
on the stairs which led to the garret. It seemed to ap- the unbroken chrystal of the North, which to the burning
proach.
sun flashed back its virgin sheen like a vestal impervi-
"My gracious--husband!” whispered the good lady.
ous to love. Slow and dubious the far-seen pedestrian
“We are all dead men!" sighed the squire, nestling
wended his toilsome way amid a wilderness of frost.
to the side of his wife.
Like plumbs thinly scattered on the surface of a large
“Mr. Waddlefain!" cried a well known voice in the flour pudding, the dark ridge-pole and chimney of many
antechamber.
a cot speckled the white plain ; and where frowned the
“Ha! John! is that you ?” exclaimed the squire, dark and leafless wood, several pines and hemlocks
with the alacrity of Bunyan's Pilgrim after dropping his stood out conspicuous in their everlasting green-the
burthen at the cross, and thrusting out his head from changeless relics of Eden's perennial bowers. The sun
under a pile of bed-clothes like a turtle when the foot hastened from the cheerless skies, and early settled be-
passenger has gone by.
neath the horizon.
“Yes, sir. I thought I heard a scream. I hope I Then rose the mountain youths, and hill and vale
havn't disturbed your rest."
laughed through their icy teeth, and the snow-clad
“Very excusable, John. Not at all-ahem! It's wood sent back the melody and wild uproar of hardy
nothing, only Mrs. Waddlefain has had a little start. foresters astir. The gay laugh of rustic dames rang
Ahem! women are apt to be timid you know. But and jingled on the sharp atmosphere, and from va-
John--you are not gone ?".
rious points could be heard their horses' hoofs as the
"Well, sir."
snow-crust yielded 10 their iron pressure, and their
“I wish you would just go out and walk round the riders goaded them on to the place of mirth and revelry.
house, and see if there is anything on fire. I thought I | Ere the moon had commenced her widowed vigils, the
smelt something burning."
light blazed from the windows of a large winter-colored
John went out accordingly, and then Major Waddle- mansion that stood alone upon a broad knoll, between
fain said to his spouse, “ I thought I would not tell him the forest and the lake.
that we suspected any danger. It would be cruel to This imposing edifice belonged to a Mr. Watson, who
frighten him, you know: and if there is real danger, had been one of the first to enter that part of ihe coun.
he will find it out soon enough himself.".
try, and plant the garden-rose in the wilderness-now
Mr. Waddlefain waited sometime in anxious expec inoculated with civilization. The tracks of the red man
tation of hearing the sound of conflict, for they did not had been upturned by the plough, and the stumps of
doubt that the house was surrounded by robbers ; but green trees were frequent in the wood. Oblivion and
nothing of the kind came to their ears. Instead thereof, i silence had fed indignantly to the west, chased by many
the familiar voice of John was heard in strains like the voices. Like all pioneers, Mr. Watson had planted the
following, “Whoa! whoa, I say!" Then the sound of tree which should shelter his old age. But for three
a horse's hoofs thundering on the frosty ground contri- blooming daughters, who had now ripened into delicious
buted vastly to dissipate their uneasiness. Squire and voluptuous womanhood, he might have sighed that
Waddlefain valiantly raised the window, and inquired he had labored in vain—for what joy hath age of the
what was the matter.
toil of its youth?
“ A strange horse, sir-saddled and bridled-has | The three daughters had given an old-fashioned party.
broken into the door-yard."
Thither the neighboring youthy had flocked. Those
“Very well, John. Tie him up for the night, and who came unattended generally walked; while many a
perhaps you had better not go to bed again. It is al nag struggled up the long slope with a damsel on the
most morning-is it not ?"
crupper. Several rooms were at the service of the
“My stars! No sir-it is midnight!"
young people—all brilliantly lighted, and fitted up for
“ Strike a light then, and leave it burning in the hall, the occasion. Nuts, apples, pies, and several kinds of
so that if the owner should come for his horse before liquor had been plenteously provided by the mistresses
morning,"
of the revel, and those who partook of those dainties


THE WANDERING STEED.
159
did not stop to inquire whether “good digestion would || search. The head of a poor horse was seen projecting
wait on appetite." They dwelt among the mountains, over the tops of some black and stunted bushes-his
and there was not a youth of them all who feared to en- neck stretched out, his ears pointed forward, his mouth
counter a bear single-handed.
open, and his lips curled back so far as to lay bare his
The evening was wearing away, and the moon had teeth and gums--and now, apparently with great pain
already volunteered to see the “ladies" home, when the and immense exertion, he sent forth another of those
hardiest mountaineer of them all turned pale; for there, horrid shrieks which had palsied the merry throng in
came up from a neighboring swamp a cry so fearful and the midst of their festivity. Even now that the mystery
unearthly that the nerves of every listener thrilled like was fully developed, the foremost lad fell back, and his
smilten harp-strings. There was a pause in the midst companions came slowly up.
of the dance. The bold eye quailed. The damsels. When they reached the spot, the young men found
leaned against the wall, with mouth ajar. Again that that the rear of the suffering animal was bemired. The
hollow shriek came up terrible as if the Angel of Death mud and ice covered his haunches, while his fore-legs
passed by. The steeds who had been left in the yard 'rested on very precarious ground. But the poor animal
broke away from the stakes to which they had been seemed to know that he was surrounded by friends; and
tethered, and pawing about the door, seemed to plead he seconded their exertions with so much skill and tact,
for entrance.
that he was relieved from his perilous and painful plight
"John! oh, John! what can it be ?" said the young. in a few moments after the arrival of his deliverers.
est Miss Watson to a comely but untutored young man
Il When the lorn steed had been securely placed on
at her elbow.
solid ground, the young men turned pale at sight of his
" I never heard the like,” replied John.
equipments, for he wore a saddle and bridle of exqui-
“But you look as if you knew something about it;" || site workmanship.
exclaimed a damsel called Caroline, placing herself in “The rider !" cried they, one and all, as they hast-
front of the youth, and looking keenly in his face.
ened back to the spot from which the noble animal had
" Why do you all come to me to inquire ?” said John been extricated. They searched in vain. They then
impatiently, and he turned away to hide the now livid resolved to convey the horse to Mr. Watson's house,
color of his lips.
and procure torches to aid them in discovering the body
Mary Watson followed him. “You know we are to of the traveller, who, they did not doubt, had perished
be married next month, John. Can you refuse to tell in the swamp.
me anything? It is so strange!"
When they reached the house with their sad trophy,
Mr. Watson and the girls-together with John whom
“I know that you have given me these jewels, and Mary had persuaded to remain with her came out to
this elegant frock, which is so wonderful to all the peo- look at the rescued steed.
ple round. Even the city ladies who passed through I “ His rider inust be at hand," said Mr. Watson.
these parts last week seemed to envy me. But what are
“No, I think not,” said Mary. “ This, John, must
jewels and silks if you do not love me?"
be the horse which you told about, that came to the
"I do love you, Mary. Oh! Mary, Mary, stand near squire's and frightened Mrs. Waddlefain so badly, last
me-I am-"
November."
Again that cry of more than mortal anguish came up !“How, John! you never told us of that !" cried
from among the reeds. Again the young men trembled several of the young men.
--the maidens gave a low answering shriek, and the I “Perhaps I should not have mentioned it now," said
steeds moaned at the door.
the maiden as she encountered the eyes of her lover.
A footstep was heard in the chamber overhead, and “Ha, ha! nonsense !" exclaimed John with an un-
presently the venerable form of Mr. Watson entered the easy laugh. “You might have told the world of it, if
room.
you had chosen. But the squire was a little frightened
"Father, did you hear—"
on that night, and perhaps he would be ashamed if it
“Silence daughter. Young men you are all amazed. were known.”
It is not strange. You are are young and have just “Very judiciously answered," said Mr Watson, as he
listened to a sound which I never heard but once before took his future son-in-law by the hand. “Honor and
in my life."
dignity wait upon that lad who delights not to expose
"Oh, father did you-was it just before mother's the weaknesses of his elders.”
death ?”
Il “But, begging your pardon, sir," said the girl called
“No, no. It is some poor horse in distress. Are Caroline," he has exposed the weakness of the squire,
all your creatures in the yard, young men ? See if one without any reasonable cause."
of them has not strayed away?”
“She envies me,” said Mary to a byetander, "she
The girls looked up; and the crest-fallen youths cannot endure that I should be happy in the young man
hastened out of doors to conceal their blushes.
of my choice-because she has been jilted by the young
Finding their horses all safe, the young men immme- merchant. He was to have been here in Autumn, but
diately set forth in the direction of the swamp, and the he has not yet come. It is no wonder that she feels
propitious moon lighted them on their way.
sour.”
They were not long in finding the object of their Mr. Watson now proceeded to examine the horse.


BRITANNICUS.
163
The emphasis was not lost on Agrippina. “My || and act? The Prince bad, in the selection of those
Lord," she said, "the chances of the Tali are equal. I verses, exhibited an acuteness which might ripen into a
On your throw hangs your Kingdom."
daring to assert his rights, and a talent to maintain
The Emperor seized the dice-box, and with assumed them. The very injustice which formed the theme of
carelessness, threw. “Venus !"* shouted Nero.“ By | his song, had branded Nero with the epithet of “Usur-
the Gods, Kingdom is mine still."
per," and the excitement produced by the appeal,
The Emperor, with a satisfaction the greater, as might originate a rebellion against his throne, if the
present fortune was a prognostic of future success, took boldnesss of Britannicus were not curbed in its infancy.
his seat in right of the office awarded him by chance. The offence which rankled so deeply in his own breast,
His commands were imposed on the guests with jus- | was not a crime to justify the public measures of trial
tice and impartiality, and obeyed with cheerfulness. and execution; but one, which appealing to his own
But the authority with which he was invested, he re. fears, palliated the act of private revenge.
solved to make an instrument of ridicule towards Bri- “That young serpent," he said, as he paced his cham-
tannicus.
ber, “must be swept from my path. His words are
“And now, cousin," he said, with an air of playful-| poison to me, and influence the people against their
ness, “a Monarch, to be just, must be impartial. In Prince. While he breathes, Nero is not safe. Besides,
right of our election, we command thee to stand in the rabble would have a double motive against my
the centre of the room and entertain us with a song." throne, and while they reinstated this boy, would
By this command, he hoped that a boy not yet habi. || avenge the murder of his Sire. This torrent must be
tuated to society or the pleasures of the table, would ac- checked ero it reach my throne. He bath spirit quick
quit himself in so awkward and embarrassed a manner, || to conceive, and it may be, when years are on him, as
as to render himself an object of derision. Britannicus prompt to execute. He hath, withal, a gentle melan-
rose from his seat with a confidence which disappointed, I choly in his manner, which, while it speaks of wrong,
while it surprized Nero. He went to the appointed insensibly appeals for redress. He is favored, too,
place, and with a promptitude which showed, that caressed by my bold, ambitious mother. A spirit like
though a boy in years, he felt, and had pondered on his hers, fiery and impatient at my ingratitude, would not
condition, sang with a pleasing and melancholy voice, hesitate to remove me from the throne by the samo
some verses from the Poet Ennius, applicable to his | rneans as she placed me there. Ha! 'uis not the thirone,
own situation, adverting to the injustice of an Usurper, Cæsar, but thyself art in danger. Both must be quickly
and the misfortunes of a Prince, driven from the throne cared for; and this young flower crushed ere it ripen.
of his ancestors. The condition of a Cæsar obeying || Without there. Who waits ?”
where he should command; the youth of a Prince who A Page entered and made obeisanoe. “Hie thee,"
bore in patience what he had not the power to resist; said Nero, “ to the guard. Order hither Julius Pollio,
the truth which breathed in every tone ; and the melan- | the Tribune." The Page bowed and withdrew.
choly which seemed to flow from the consciousness of ll “Claudius is in his grave," continued the Tyrant,
wrongs he could not redress, all flung an eloquent charm musing—"the nuplial tie that bound my mother to him
around the injured Britannicus, which made the jest, restrained not her hand from guilt. True, she was am,
like the arrow of an unskilful archer, recoil upon its bitious to see her son upon the throne, and now the
maker. Heated with wine, and in the hour of revelry same motive may hurl me from it. He fell at the ban-
throwing off all reserve and dissimulation, they clamor- quet; his dish was poisoned. She hath a bold and
ed loudly against the wrongs of Britannicus. “The fearless heart, and a hand that quivers not though it
Prince," they cried, “ has been defrauded of the throne. I be stretched to murder. Cæsar, thou must break this
Down with usurpers. Claudius is dead. The crown web the Fates are weaving round thy throne. Who's
descends to his son, Britannicus."
there ?" The Tribune entered.
Sympathy reigned in every breast, and their expres | “Thou art a soldier. Wearest thou that sword in
sions of loyalty to the son of Claudius created tumult | honesty to Cæsar ?" said Nero, abruptly. The Tri-
throughout the apartment. The experiment had been || bune laid his hand upon the hilt.
unsuccessful, and Nero enraged and disappointed, rising | "'Tis true to Cæsar's person and his throne."
from his throne, hastened to his chamber.
"Enough," said Nero, approaching and addressing
CHAPTER 111.—THE SORCERESS.
him with more familiarity. “Dost wish to see me
Midnight found the Tyrant revolving the dangers of
reign and prosper. Would'st sweep all enemies from
his throne, and meditating the death of his rival. His
mine eyes ?"
“Cæsar," replied Pollio, “may command his servant
apprehensions were excited by the sentiment of com-l
for a soldier's duty.”
passion which prevailed through the assembly. The
“Nay, it is not there I need thee," rejoined Nero,
expression of that sentiment had been controlled nei-||
lowering his voice, and looking slowly round the cham-
ther by the courtesy of the guests, nor fear of their
ber, “not there—not there. Hast thou not e'en now
Monarch. If, in his presence, they thus boldly declared
in chains, one Locusta, a sorceress, under sentence for
their intentions, what might he not expect from private
her crimes by poison ?"
cabal and intrigue, where they were freer to speak
"She is in prison under my eustody," answered the
* The highest throw.
Tribune.


166
A TA LE WITHOUT A NA M E.
BY HENRY F. HARRINGTOX.
Tyrant's sway had been removed, his throne stood un-||
Original.
molested, and the reed on which she leant was broken. | A TALE WITHOUT A NAME."
“He is gone," echoed through the chamber. A faint
groan was heard, accompanied with a violent spasm,
and the Prince fell lifeless from his sister's arm. She
CHAPTER V.
fung herself upon the body, weeping, and caressing it.
In the innocence of childhood she poured out expressions
The openness of Colonel Elthorpe's character, led
of love and sorrow. Even while she looked on him, she
him to pursue his engrossing attachment, without any
hoped the fit would pass, and her brother revive. But
attempt at concealment or disguise. His attentions to
as she observed the color fading from his cheek, and his
| Isabelle were of the most unremitted and devoted
eyes become dim and glassy, hope sank within her.
° || nature; and when in companionship with friends, in
She touched him, and feeling the vital warmth had fled,
the full-heartedness and exhileration of sympathy, he
said tremulously. “He is cold!" The bystanders
often avowed his love, and his determination to achieve,
uttered a groan of horror. The Tyrant started, as guilt
if possible, the possession of its object. Under such
construed it into a cry for vengeance.
adverse auspices, the lady conspirators, whose plotting
“One and the same night,” says Tacitus, “saw the
has been before unravelled to our readers, deemed it
murder of Britlanicus and his funeral. Both were pre-
useless to bestow a thought upon him; and Captain
concerted."
Howard standing next upon the list as a candidate for
their machinations, was soon assaulted in front, fank,
Original.
and rear. It was true he was known to be of the hum-
THE DYING HUSBAND. blest origin; but then he was possessed of considerable
wealth, and had already attained to much notoriety and
BY ANN S. STEPHENS.
honor, as a brave and chivalrous officer. Of course, it
was necessary that Estelle should become a party to the
DEAREST, I'm dying !-bend thee down
scheme in whose result she was destined, should it suc-
One little moment by my bed,
ceed, to hold so conspicuous a position. But subtiliy
And let the shadow of thy hair
alone, it was soon manifest to them, would secure her as
Fall gently o'er my aching head.
a coadjutor. When, on several occasions, her mother
Oh, raise me up, and let me feel
had, by cautious indirections, endeavored to fathom the
Once more the beatings of thy heart,
depth of her feelings, a single gleam of her mother's ob-
And press thy lips again to mine
ject had called the crimson blush of shame to her cheek
Before in midnight death we part.
and the tear of indignation to her eye; and she had
Nay, tremble not; but fold me close,
protested in the overflowing innocence and purity of
Pillowed upon thy own dear breast;
her heart, against any and all designs of the kind. But
I fain would let my struggling soul
that very innocence was her betrayer.
Pass forth to its eternal rest.
Captain Howard undesignedly at the outset, assisted
in furthering the plot against himself. A stranger in
She stoops, and on her bursting heart
London, he had been dependant upon his friend, for an
His drooping head is resting now,
introduction to society. He had, as has been already
While white and trembling fingers part
related, declined making acquaintance on the evening
The damp hair from his pallid brow.
of the ball, and had adhered closely to the cousins; and
And there, upon its cold white front,
equally with Colonel Elthorpe, had received the most
With quiv'ring lips the kiss was given ;
marked attentions from Lady Flemming and her Count-
And pressed as if 'twould draw him back,
ess daughter, up to the period of the partial estrange-
Back from the very gates of Heaven.
ment of the friends, the result of Colonel Eliborpe's love
There, like a dying bird, his soul
to Isabelle. Left by the circumstance in a greater
Lay panting out its quiv'ring life;
measure to himself, the redoubled civilities of the
And still his almost lifeless arms
mother and daughter were a gratifying resource to
Clung fondly to his pale young wife.
Howard ; and he unhesitatingly availed himself of
One look he gave her, and it seemed
them. But it was not for so searching and penetrating
An angel had from Heaven above
a mind as burned in restlessness within him, to remain
Shaded with wings of tenderness
long in ignorance of his position. Suspicion induced
The troubled fountain of his love.
observation; and observation convinced him that disin-
A holy smile came o'er his face,
terested friendliness had little to do with the marked
As moonlight gleaming over snow;
politeness of Lady Flemming and the Countess Fordyce.
One struggling breath-one faint embrace, While, therefore, he accepted their urgent hospitality,
And lifeless he is lying now.
he amused himself with watching the skilful tactics by
The setting sun with golden light
which he was unsuspectingly to be thrown into contact
Was flooding all the room and bed,
with Estelle in every variety of position and every phase
Enfolding with his pinions bright
of circumstance ; that she might be displayed to his
The fainting wife, the marble dead.
Continued from page 142.


A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
169
engrossing as it was, than to forget an injury-to tram- || his nobility in his courage as an officer, and the elevation
mel a sense of wrong from brooding and brooding in of his character and talents."
his mind, assuming even a blacker hue, until it should Isahelle's quickened ear caught every syllable of this
become clothed in new habiliments, and league itself conversation, and she listened intently with retained
with a steady, ever-living, ever-growing purpose of re- breath, that not a word might escape her.
venge. And in nothing could he have been wounded | The father's face assumed somewhat of a sneer, but
more keenly, than in regard to his birth. His shame politeness restrained him from any reply that would ex-
at his lowly origin was as poignant, as the pride of bibit his feelings, since Colonel Elthorpe had declared
Count Rebierra was arrogant; and to point at it with Howard to be a friend; and there was a pause-most
the finger of scorn, as the Count had done, was with red disagreeable to both Elthorpe and Isabelle, for the
hot pincers, to tear, piecemeal, his naked flesh. That former could not but suffer in the near presence of one
alone was the bar between him and his passport to noble so loved, yet never to be his; and the latter was con-
intercourse; and so often as it was rescued from obli scious of the feelings that were active in Elthorpe's mind.
vion, so often he felt himself hurled backward into the Anxious to break it, Isabelle was about to throw out a
abyss of degradation. The bitterness of his feelings slight remark when the attention of all was attracted by
was rendered the more severe by the restraint he was loud outcries and confusion beneath the windows, where
compelled to exercise over himself; and the struggle the carriages were drawn up to receive the retiring
between his desires and his continued exile from Isa- company. There were oaths and menaces and exe-
belle, the result of her father's contempt, harshly forced crations. The gentlemen rushed to the windows in
upon him continued reflection upon its cause, and made curiosity, and the ladies stood in breathless and pale
rougher and rougher the current of passion, that foamed anxiety. It happened that Count Rebierra and Howard
and fretted within its bounds, only watching occasion to had sought the same balcony, directly above the scene
burst through them, and lay all around in waste. That of action, and were unconsciously brought into actual
occasion soon-alas for Isabelle ! too soon occurred. contact, as they leaned orer the iron railing to ascertain
The Countess Fordyce gave a splendid ball; at which what had given the rade alarm. The light from the
all our dramatis personæ were present. Isabelle never | lamps of the coaches and the flambeaux of the link-boys,
looked so lovely. She was not bright and light hearted, I watching an opportunity for employment, rendered the
as she had been, but the exquisite taste displayed in her darkness palpable as noonday; and Howard immedi-
attire, and the sweet gentleness of her features, albeit, a ately descried his servant, Mathew Leggetson, in the
shade of melancholy rested on her cheek, redeemed the midst of a furious combat, with the blood streaming
lack of buoyancy. Her lover, too, in manly beauty and from his nostrils, while he was inflicting fearful and
proportions, stood alone in the assemblage ; and the dangerous blows upon an adversary. Some of the by-
look that she dared now and then to steal at him as she standing servants and coachmen were earnest in efforts
leaned on her father's arm, called a blush of pride into lo quell the disturbance; but these efforts were render-
her cheek, that her's was the sympathy of such a one. ed nugatory by the counteraction of others, who, with
But it was a night of mental gloom to Howard. When the brutal inhumanity which is a characteristic of many
he passed near the side of Isabelle, awaiting from her of the lower classes in England, are never better pleased
the signal how to govern his conduct in regard to her, than when they can witness two of God's creatures mu-
her sedulous avoidance of a recognition was a painful tilaring in each other the image of God. At the same
warning that as yet her haughty father had abated none moment that Howard discovered his servant to be no
of his opposition, and that, though side by side, they insignificant part and parcel of the tumult, Count Re-
must seem like careless strangers. Master as he was || bierra's eye fell upon the wounded visage of his coach-
of himself, he could scarce exercise his self-control, and man, Pedro Montenegro, who was the recipient of Ma-
only by fixing his teeth firmly together, and retiring from the w’s blows, each one of which, as they ſell, extorted a
the sight of the authors of his excitement could he shriek or rather a yell from Pedro ; not however inspir-
summon enough of calmness to mingle in the mirthing fear, but nerving him anew to the contest, in which,
around him.
from his insignificant proportions in comparison with
“Colonel,” said Count Rebierra, as Elthorpe ap. Mathew's scraggy monstrosity, he was sadly at a dis-
proached, and greeted Isabelle with a trembling lip and || advantage.
saddened brow, "you have of late been remiss in your l “Mathew, Mathew !" cried Howard at the top of
clairns upon our hospitality. Are we to lose you as a his voice.
visitor altogether ?”
And simultaneously the Count shouted, “ Pedro, Pe.
“ Count," answered Elthorpe in confusion, “ I thank | dro Montenegro!"
you. Indeed I have been, I confess, a recreant; but || When Mathew and Pedro heard the voices of their
engrossing cares-duties with my friend "
masters, they desisted, and turned their faces upward,
“ Friend ?" echoed the Count inquiringly.
eager to exvulpate themselves, and criminate each other.
“Captain Howard-my other half--a comparative | But as in the matter of the fighi, so in the present in-
stranger in town, to whom I devote much of my lei- || stance, Mathew was greatly favored by his superiority
sure."
Il of size ; for his ungainly framo towered for above that
“Howard-of what family ?" inquired the Count. lof his foe, and his ugly features were displayed so fully
"None, none. He does not boast of birth ; but finds as to cast those of Pedro quite into the shade. As
21


170
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
might have been expected, both began to speak at once, || wildness—the very insanity of madness—at being thus
Mathew in a gruff Lass of mingled Scotch and English, confronted, and his language returned in kind by one
Pedro in a squeaking treble, his English being equally despicable for mennness of birth, burst forth in loud and
spiced with his native tongue. Mathew jerked out his vehement abuse, altracting the instant attention of all
words upon a single key, while Pedro ran, ad libitum, | within its hearing. Howard stood with folded arms
up and down the entire gamut; creating in their ex- during the whirlwind of his passion, regarding him with
planation a discordant confusion scarcely surpassed by a sncer of apparent contempt. The superficial observer
that of their quarrel, and rendering it utterly impossible would have thought when he looked upon the two, that
to distinguish a syllable of all they were so expeditiously Howard was the noble-as towering in heart as in sta-
uttering. Their masters could not by every gesticula- tion; contemplating in mute pity, the fury of some de-
tion and command, procure a moment's silence; until spised and worthless wretch. But a keener analysis of
finally, Mathew, enraged anew at his adversary's per- his features, would have detected a quick tremble of
tinacity, fell upon him again with redoubled vigor, and his curled lips, and a deadly paleness, almost lividness
the tumult was more stunning than before.
of countenance, that on the cheek and brow of an unin-
By this time several of the police had arrived; who, l jured man, denote one of but two states of mind ; para-
with the servants of the family, rushed forward to put lyzed fear, or the extremity of smothered rage; and
an effectual stop to further discord by securing the com- Howard did not fear any thing upon the earth. He
batants: a step demanded by humanity as well as to could have treated the Count's ebullition in no manner
restore the peace; for Pedro was now exhausted and that would have driven him more instantaneously to
almost lifeless at Mathew's feet; who, boiling with frenzy. He had as yet, heaped upon Howard only gene-
rago, did not relax the blows he had been bestowing ral insult, forgetting to advert to his lowliness of birth.
upon him. But it was to be no easy task to master the But now, when his outcry had drawn away attention
fiend-like Mathew. The first policeman who laid hands from the original promoters of the tumull-when the
upon him, he levelled at once with the earth, and the coachmen, servants, and police, below, had turned their
second and the third, -and finally, when a posse ap- faces to the balcony in eager curiosity, and many gen-
proached together, he seized the inanimale Pedro, and tlemen had crowded into it, beside the two, and throng-
sprang to an angle of the wall, indomitable against ed the near windows, he hurled at Howard, in the
whatever odds. Expostulation could not soothe him; silence, an expression of the deepest contempi, coupled
an officer who advanced before his fellows, was assault- i with epithets of " low-born dog," “minion," "upstart,"
ed with undiminished violence ; and when the enraged "slave,” that in his elevated and fiery tones, communi-
police levelled at him their staves, he grasped Pedro' cared to high and low, the tale of his adversary's dis-
tightly by the arms, and elevating him above his head, grace. Howard shook in every limb. For a moment,
whenever a blow was aimed, it descended on the unpro- he could not speak. He tried to smile, but the effort
tected cranium of the Spaniard. Mathew's eye flashed was dreadful; and those rows of white teeth were so
fire, and his giant strengih seemed undiminished and displayed between blanching lips, that the nearest to
undiminishing. He could not be caught unawares; the him shrank back in involuntary dismay. At length he
movement of an arm to lift a weapon,-and Pedro was slowly approached the Count, and said in a low and
jerked up to receive it. At length, through fear of in- husky voice, as if willing to save himself farther insult,
flicting death upon the innocent Spaniard, the police “ Look below you! We are laughed at. No more,
were brought to a total stand; at a loss what course to no more! I will communicate with you hereafter;" —
pursue.
and without waiting for a reply, he passed through the
window into the adjoining parlor, and paused not until
CHAPTER VII.
he had crossed with as careless an air as he was able to
When Count Rebierra witnessed Mathew's second at assume, to the extremity of the suite of apartments,
tack upon his servant, his rage was indescribable; and that he might not be followed by the frantic Count,
in the same feeling which prompted his pride of rank, should he attempt to continue the altercation. Mathew
he conceived his own honor to be compromised by an| had, by this time, surrendered, or had been forced with
injury to his dependant; especially, when inflicted as | Pedro into custody, to await the morrow's investigation
now, by the underling of a commoner. Since then, | before the proper tribunals; and soon the company,
Howard was at his elbow, he turned fiercely round, whom the successive fracas had dispersed in various
with a violent demand what the insult meant, coupled quarters, far or near, as curiosity or alarm prevailed, re-
with sundry anathematizing exclamations, that would mingled in the amusement that had called them togeth-
have aroused the anger of a stranger, but especially ex. er. Howard was first accosted, where he stood to re-
cited Howard, entertaining previous enmity, as he did, I gain composure, partially sheltering himself from ob-
towards the Count. He replied, therefore, in that deeply servation, behind a tall candelabra, by Lady Fordyce,
calm manner, which he ever employed when most en. | who expressed such regrets as would be naturally called
raged, and which is immeasurably provoking to one of forth from the mistress of the mansion, that two guests
ardent temperament, from the superiority of self-com- so esteemed, should have been excited to such ani-
mand which it seems to maniſest. Nothing could ex- mosity; and hoped that no after and more serious con-
ceed the combustibility of Count Rebierra. He kindled sequences would result. The Countess then took his
into the fiercese flame at the slightest touch; and his arm, as if to saunter with him here and there, in kind


A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
171
consideration ; but while she was conversing in an un-1| with all, a vivid remembrance of the scene he had passed
interrupted flow, she led the way, as though uncon-through so lately-of the scoffs and contempt of the
scious of her course, into a side apartment, where How Count, and the countenances of the hundred bystanders,
ard's eye fell upon the form of Estelle, extended upon catching every syllable, and indellilly recording, with
a sofa, while her mother was bathing her brow with re- the pen of scandal, his lasting degradation. He gnash-
storative waters. Howard paused at the sight, and ed his teeth-resolved at the same moment and in the
Lady Fordyce necessarily, also, arrested her steps; but same thought, to seek out both Elthorpe and Isabelle,
as though ignorant of the occasion of his delay, she con- to desire the one to meet him early in the morning, and
tinued to rattle on, with her back towards the group to speak, he knew not what, with the other. He sud-
within. Estelle's languid eye fell on Howard, and with denly relinquished Estelle's hand, that he had been hold-
a revulsion that called the retreating blood back to her ing said a few words in a scarcely distinguishable
face, with a suddenness that flushed it to crimson, she voice, in excuse for his abrupt departure, and left the
half arose; but gasped, and fell again upon the sofa, apartment. As he threaded his way through the crowd-
pale and insensible. Howard sprang to assist hered rooms, he funcied that every face wore an expres-
mother in restoring her. He admitted more air, andsion of jeering scorn, and that he was never so much
fanned her face ; while Lady Fordyce, with an exclu- the object of the gaze of all. Quickening his pace un-
mation of surprise, joined her efforts to theirs. But der the goading influence of such a fancy, he stole along,
the same maneuvering which had induced her, cruel: glancing around for the objects of his search. He soon
as it was, to conduce Howard to the spot where she discovered Elthorpe, busied in such polite attentions to
knew that Estelle was suffering from the severe effects several fair dames, as would render it improper to de-
of her agitation at the dispute between Howard and tach him from them. Silently approaching him, there-
Count Rebierra, and to which she had conducted her, fore, he whispered in his ear an appointment to meet
half fainting, in preference to a chamber, that Howard him at his lodgings on the following morning, and
might, by some chicanery, be attracted thither to wit- continued on. He trembled lest the Count had de-
ness her misery on his account, made her thoughtful i parted with Isabelle, and that her first impressions of
now to employ his aid in the manner most calculated to the quarrel would be caught from bim; but was relieved
engage his warmest sympathies; and when Estelle, by the sight of the Count in the midst of a dance. He
with long drawn sighs, opened at length her eyes, her might have reflected, that Count Rebierra would never
head was supported by Howard's arm; and the first confess, by a sudden departure, that a conflict with a
objects that met her gaze, were his brilliant eyes fixed commoner had power to ruffle his composure beyond
upon her own. Su soon as she obtained sufficient the passing moment. But where was Isabelle ? How-
strength to sit upright, with various excuses, Lady i ard's eager eye could not detect her here nor there.
Flemming and the Countess soon left them together. He coursed twice among the throng; he peered in
Poor Estelle was the first to break silence, with a con-' every corner; and sought out a small and empty room
fused remark upon his late dispute with her uncle, and to give vent to his disappointment, when a soft hand
his own escape from injury, which, as it had been the grasped his own, and Isabelle, who had hid her sor-
occasion of her discomposure, was now naturally up- rows there, drew him to a seat, threw herself on his
permost in her mind. Howard regarded her for the bosom and burst into a flood of tears. Howard, fear-
first time, with a sentiment akin to remorse for that at- ful of intrusion, gently disengaged her, and closed the
tention which had so fatally misled her. He could not door; then returning to her side, he did not make
but know that love and anxiety for him, had rubbed her any effort to interrupt her grief, or restrain the current
of sense, when she heard that he was one of the dispu-l of her tears; and several minutes passed before a word
tants. Every look, every gesture betrayed her heart. was spoken; then Howard kissed her cheek and spoke
At the same time he was conscious that her mother and her name. Her sobs were for an instant more violent.
sister had taken advantage of her state, to induce a and then, pausing, by an exertion, she faintly articulated,
tete-a-tete, that might result under the feelings with “ Frederic, Frederic, it is my father! It is my
which they presumed that he regarded Estelle, al. || father!"
though they often confessed to each other, that his con- “He forced the dispute upon me, Isabelle; he main-
duct to her was rather equivocal, and under the cer- tained it almost alone ; he has insulted me as no man
tainty that Estelle had poured out her affections upon but he could have done, and drawn a breath beyond !"
him in a gushing stream, in some definite demonstra-il The peculiar tone in which this was spoken, caused
tions. This consciousness increased the sentiment dorni. Isabelle to lift her head, and gaze earnestly into his
nant within him; mingling it with pity for the poor and face. That trembling lip told its agonizing tale; and
lovely and innocent girl, the victim of arts in which he Isabelle gasped, and grasping his hand, said, in a fear-
had assisted to accomplish their desolating purpose. He fully anxious inquiry,
therefore took her hand, and spoke to her with more of “ It will go no farther you will not-you cannot
gentleness and sympathy, than was usual to him. mean-Frederic, Frederic, will it stop here ?”
But this pitying remorse was but momentary; and as it Howard, as we have said, loved Isabelle, with the
subsided, came like fire, the thought of Isabelle-of intensest affection. She was so opposite to himself,
her connection with the consequences of his quarrel with that it was delightful to him, in the outset, to trace
her father--of the gulf yawning between them-and, comparisons; and then he admired-then loved devo-


A TALE WITHOUT A NA ME.
173
the homily. I've a capital memory! But you'll not same instrument; and was convinced of his ability-
hold to this lackadaisical creed now-you'll not refuse' from his superiority, to play with the Count like a
your aid to me, when the insult upon me has been so child. He pledged his honor to Elthorpe, if he would
Alagrant, that many would excuse the deed, did I plunge, thus assist him, on no account to even thrust at the
the assassin's dagger into his breast at midnight ?" Count, but to satisfy honor and the demand of the
“No insult can be warranty for sin, Howard, how world, by this exhibition of his courage. At the same
great soever it be. I am firm. Let me petition, how time, Howard determined to write privately to Isabelle,
ever, to act as your friend in a different relation ; let me making her the same pledge, and representing the
endeavor to reconcile you. I will seek the Count, whole lo be a shadowy device, to avoid the imputation
and "-
of tamely suffering disgrace, without the intention of in-
“Never! never!" cried Howard, striking his clench- "jury. The challenge was accordingly prepared in due
ed fist upon the table. Petition for reconciliation form and substance; of which Elthorpe took the charge.
Why, Elthorpe, did I consent to it-were we brought The note to Isabelle required more deliberation and
together-and he should hold out his hand to me- subtlety. Howard exercised his profoundest abilities
should beg for pardon on his knees-by Heaven and in its composition ; its tenor corresponding with the
earth, so fierce is the fire within me, I should clutch outline above. When completed, it was dispatched by
him by the throat, and strangle him in the grasp ! | the now liberated Mathew, at an hour previous to that
Blood, blood, Elthorpe! I crave blood!"
mutually agreed upon for Elthorpe to execute his mis-
“You are beside yourself! I never witnessed such sion to the Count.
an exhibition in you before. I beg of you to calm your ! Let us turn to the Count and Isabelle. The latter
self. You excite, I know not what sensation within had carnestly striven to fulfil her promise to her lover,
me. I am pained for you!"
but she could not be calm, she could not be happy. She
Howard had maintained his hold upon the friendship relied indeed, with perfect trust on his declaration that
of Elthorpe, by the same wariness and concealment of nothing should be done until she had been consulted.
his natural character, which he had practised upon Isa- | But fear stole into her bosom, though she struggled to
belle. For the first time, indeed, he was now display- shut it out; and as she unrobed herself in the solitude
ing himself. Elthorpe's words and shrinking gesture,
of her chamber, she often paused with a shudder, and
recalled him to himself, and made him bite his lip in throwing herself into a chair, sat with hands clasped
vexation at his forgetfulness. He hastened to remove closely upon her bosom, her foot tilting in agitation,
the impression he had made.
and her poor heart trembling with gloomy yet undefina.
“ But remember, my dear fellow, the extremity of the ble foreboding. Nothing was to happen until she had
provocation. And then, again, I feel that it will re been consulted. But then, something must happen
lieve me to rant a little. I but use these foaming words something! Imagination ran wildly abroad, and lifted
as a safety valve, to let off the pressure of my anger. up to her gaze, from its infinite store-house, picture alter
It will ease me. It has already. I hate to keep my picture, terrible and dismaying; each surpassing in its
feelings smothered within me! they harrass me cruel. fearful delineations and deadly coloring, that which had
ly. Don't misunderstand me, my dear fellow! But preceded. When these hideous shadows had done
really, I can't forgive-I can't submit to a tame recon- | their work, and extorted from their pallid victim a
ciliation."
shriek of horror, the spell would break; and she would
“Let us consider, then”-
again rise, and with trembling steps, proceed with her
“ What is more," continued Howard, in the subdued painful toilet. It was at last completed; but before
strain he had so suddenly assumed, noticing that it had she sought her bed, she threw herself upon her knees,
the desired effect upon Elthorpe, “any advances on my
any advances on mul and poured out her overflowing soul in prayer; prayer
side, of such a nature, would but sink me the deeper in for counsel, direction, and, prayer for her beloved father;
shame. No, no; nothing of this ! Something must be and prayer, deeper, far deeper and intenser prayer for
done-promptly, decisively, for honor's sake.”
that being, who had come in to share with that father
Various suggestions were made by Elthorpe, none of the treasure of her love. She arose, as the trusting be-
which Howard was in a mood to receive. He could liever ever arises from lifting up his spirit to its maker;
not coincide in any one, as being a sufficient recompense
calmer and more confident and hopeful; but yet she
to wounded honor; a quietus to shame. He panted
slept not. While Howard through that livelong night
for the “ultima ratio." But the calmer reflection was keeping his lonely vigil, his heavy and irregular
which had been forced upon him by Elthorpe, suggested tread never ceasing to resound on the floor that shook
to him the impracticability of pursuing the quarrel to the beneath it, from the moment that he entered it after
Count'sinjury if he would retain the favor of Isabelle. The reaching home, until Colonel Elthorpe broke the
two were utterly incompatible. At length he devised a stillness of his musings, in the broad sunlight-she was
scheme, by which he hoped to satisfy both revenge and keeping her desolate companionship, longing for the
love ; to which Elthorpe was with extreme reluctance, morning. It came at last; and when she descended
induced to consent. Ellhorpe was to convey a formal to breakfast, full of anxious anticipation of the event
challenge to the Count, who, from his known skill as a that the day was to disclose, she had no sooner greeted
swordsman, would, doubtless, select that weapon; while her father, than a letter in those well known characters,
Howard had found no rival to his own skill, with the was put into her hand. Hastily concealing it in her


174
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
bosom, she performed the honors of the table, scarce “ Proceed, Count," answered Elthorpe, when the
conscious of what she was doing; and was no sooner Count had ceased speaking. “As silence would be
relieved from duty, than she hastened to her chamber more than equivocal, I will listen to you in calmness,
and broke the scal. She paused even then 10 press her but must reserve the privilege to judge in what light it
hands upon her heart to subdue its throbbing; but at may be proper to view what you may communicate."
length her head was lifted up, her arm fell nerveless by "Well, I will proceed on those terms, for I am un-
her side ; and as she sat with her eyes fixed in a long willing to deceive, and equally so to have my actions
unmeaning gaze, the letter fell unheeded from her un-' misinterpreted. In a word, I cannot consider Captain
clasping fingers upon the floor, for its contents hud been Howard entitled to the satisfaction he demands."
perused.
| “You will assign a definite reason, sir ?".
A knock at the street door euddenly aroused her from! “Certainly. The meanness of his origin deprives
her trance, and as though she had been one doomed to him of the privileges of a gentleman.”
the felon's death, and that knock was the fatal signal, Elthorpe was a man of sterling courage, and nice per-
her face turned to ashy paleness as the sound struck upon ception of right; jealous, too, of honor. But he was
her soul; for Howard's letter had warned her that El- | cast in a different mould from the most of men. He
thorpe was soon to be expected. During his conference possessed that true and noble courage to despise the
with her father, which lasted several hours, she did not fiat of custom and the sneers of the world, when com-
leave her chamber, scarcely her seat; and the agony of pliance would inflict a wound on conscience, or judg-
suspense in that period, was a sore trial to endure. ment. Nineteen out of twenty of the fashionable world
But at last, the door of her father's study opened-foot- in which he moved would have replied to the Count's
falls were heard through the entries—the street-door abrupt declaration in language of defiance; aping, per-
Ewung on its hinges, and the visitor departed.
haps, the indignation they did not feel; especially, if of
his own profession, which prides itself to distinguish
CHAPTER IX.
with scrupulous nicely the lights and shades of honor.
It has been related that Colonel Elthorpe's conference. But Elthorpe, while he felt, at the same time reason-
with the Count continued for several hours; a longer ed; and was willing to enter without passion, into such
interview than might be deemed necessary for the ac- explanations with the Count, as might convince him of
complishment of their business. But a difficulty, the the unjustifiable extent to which he carried his preju-
fruit of those very prejudices which had given birth to dices in the present instance. Elthorpe, secure in
the insults of the evening before, had not suggested it. Howard's superiority as a swordsman, and his pledge
self to the thought of either Elthorpe or Howard. to inflict no injury on the Count, was at this time, anxi-
When, therefore, the civilities of reception had passed ous in a degree, that the meeting should take place ;
between Elthorpe and the Count, and the former, after for he could not discover in any other alternative a
making due explanations, advanced his band with How closure of the difficulty. He discussed the matter
ard's note, he was struck with wonder that the Count therefore with the Count, composedly and at length;
drew back, and stood mutely regarding him and the exposing the little probability, that, since Howard bad
note, while his face expressed a conflict of feelings. been adopted into elevated society by those whose
The Count was involved in a dilemma. He had not an own standing was unquestionable; since the fracas be-
ticipated a challenge, for he had not supposed it possi tween them occurred at the residence of a noble, where
ble, that one without caste, would so greatly presume; both were on the same footing as guests; and since
and his rage was proportionate to his estimate of the Howard had won much renown and consideration for
magnitude of the offence. But the bearer of the des. his military prowess, and enjoyed an honorable com-
pised communication was in every point entitled to mission in the army; would the world give the Count
respectful consideration; and it might reasonably be credit for truth, in the assignment of the reason he had
expected, that an exhibition of anger, or any symptom already given as the bar to a meeting with his adver-
of scorn of his message, would be treated as an offence sary; for, of course, it was to be expected, should be
to himself. He remained in his awkward position for continue to refuse on this ground, that Howard, in de-
several minutes, in painful confusion. Elthorpe finally fence of his own honor, would make known the steps be
lowered his hand and exclaimed,
had taken to satisfy the injury to it, and the occasion of
“May I ask an explanation, Count, of this very inex- failure. The conclusion was, that the Count chose the
plicable bearing? I should regret to misunderstand least of two evils; and decided to consult with some
you, sir."
friend, who would call on Colonel Elthorpe in the course
"We will not misunderstand each other, Colonel of the day, and seule preliminaries; and with this, El-
no-we will not misunderstand each other! Pray sit thorpe took his leave.
down. Captain Howard is your friend ; and by the Isabelle was, during the day, like one more dead than
code of honor, any disparagement of him, under the pe- alive. She would have given worlds to know what an-
culiar circumstances in which we all stand in relation swer her father had made to the challenge ; but she
to each other, you will have licence to apply to yourself. dared not ask. She scarcely saw her father. He
Now since we are alone together, let us waive this em- | seemed to her to avoid her presence ; for he omitted
barassing circumstance; or else we must misunder- several acts of kindness to her, that had become settled
stand each other. My mouth must be shut.”
habits. The Count did, indeed, avoid her. He could


A TALE WITHOUT A N A ME.
175
not bear to look upon her. He remained alone in the succeed in preventing injury to himself. He watched
library, in that agony of spirit, which every one, bound every motion with trembling interest. For a time the
to earth by ties of love-who has those around him who combutants exchanged guarded thrusts, playing warily
cling to him for protection and guidance-who, yet with each other, to estimate their relative skill and pe-
more, is not reckless of the shadowy future, and irem-culiar action, before they should engage with earnest
bles at the thought of eternity, must feel when he is effort. But soon the Count's eyes were lightened to
about to stake life upon desperate chances. Isabelle fiery intensity; and his vigorous thrusts warned How.
hoped that he might seek her; might make her his con- ard that it was time to exert his prowess. Elthorpe
fidant, and derive consolation from her love, as she had was shortly relieved from all apprehension. Howard
ever-save, alas, in one single instance !-received it fought from this time, entirely on the defensive ; and
from his. She remained all day in her chamber, and although he often purposely exposed and left himself
often heard the ushering in and departure of strangers;! fearfully open, he successfully parried every thrust.
but her fond anticipations that he would send for her to The Count perceived his adversary's superiority and
him, or come himself to her, were disappointed. His i plan of action; and goaded to madness, fought with an
footstep did not sound upon the stair, his gentle tap impetuosity and fury, that placed him entirely in How-
was not heard upon the door. Moreover, he excused ard's power; forcing Howard on the other hand, to the
himself from dinner, and it was served to him in the li- extreme of vigilance and energy. But he maintained
brary. It trembled upon Isabelle's tongue to question the utmost degree of coolness; while, with every move-
the servants who waited on him, what he said, how he ment, and every abortive effort, the Count's teeth were
looked, what he was doing; and whether he had not set more firmly together, his eye glared with an in-
asked for her. But she checked herself, unwilling to tenser ray; until at length, wholly frenzied beyond the
excite suspicion in the household, that any unusual power of control, the froth oozed from the corners of
event was occurring. In this dreadful suspense the his mouth, while a low hiss issued from between his
long evening passed away, and she retired to rest. The clenched teeth, and grasping his sword with both his
sleeplessness of the preceding night, and the stupor in- hands, he drove Howard backward with plunge upon
duced by long indulgence in grief and excitement, plunge, until he stumbled in his course, and fell head-
weighed heavy on her eyelids, and wrapt her in uneasy | long to the ground. The seconds ran up to raise him
slumber; and in that slumber she dreamed that the while Howard folded his arms, gazing contemptuously
door softly opened ; that her father entered and stood upon his prostrate form, exhibiting no effects of his ar.
over her; that tears, scalding lears fell fast and thick duous exertion, except in his quickened breathing.
upon her face, and that then he stooped and kissed her. The Count when lified up, was found to be wholly in-
She awoke-it was not a dream! Those tear-drops' sensible; and the restoratives at hand having failed to
were on her face-her door closed with an audible produce entire restoration to sense and strength, he was
sound! “Father, Father!" she cried in supplicating supported to his carriage and conveyed home; while
tones-but he did not come back!
Howard and Elthorpe were driven to the lodgings of
the former.
CHAPTER X.
Isabelle, after she had been awakened by her father's
The duel was to take place at six o'clock, in a retired entrance to her chamber, had wept herself to sleep.
corner of Hyde Park. Howard and Elthorpe first ar- | But with the morning's earliest light, she arose. Ex-
rived, and soon after, the Count joined them, with Sir hausted nature almost refused to sustain her. Her
Edward French his second, and a surgeon. The Count head seemed bursting with agonising pain, and mists
returned the civilities that Elthorpe extended to him, floated before her dizzy vision; but more keen than all
but frowned haughtily upon Howard, seeming ill at ease ills of body, was the sickness at her heart. How-
in his presence, and soon requested the seconds to ard's letter had designated the hour when the meeting
hasten their preparations. Swords, as had been ex- would take place; and she watched at her window, un-
pected, had been selected by the Count as their wea- til the carriage stopped at the door, and her father was
pons; and no cause of delay occurring, their swords driven away. Then new fears arose in her mind.
were soon crossed. But Elthorpe previously took Howard might wound him by accident; or, what she
Howard by the arm, and drawing him aside, whis-would scarcely confess to herself, she trembled to think
pered, -
of more-her lover might be perilled. She sought his
“Howard, remember you are solemnly pledged to a letter and perused and re-perused it; and through that
definite course of conduct. I have your word before hour of ansiery, endeavored to teach her Aurtering heart
Heaven! On that ground alone, I came."
that all would be well; that Howard would not rashly
“I will redeem my pledge," answered Howard care- have presumed on his skill; that no harm could come
lessly; " have no fear. He is safe.”
to either; and she succeeded in attaining a degree of
It was immediately apparent from the positions of calmness. When the carriage returned-when she
the combatants, that they were practised with the wea-heard it stop-a sudden faintness coursed through her
pon they handled. Elthorpe was led to doubt whether veins, and she clung to the table for support. She tried
the Count's skill would not nullify Howard's intentions, to rise-to obtain one look from the window and end
and render it absolutely necessary for him in self-de-l at once the painful suspense ; but her limbs were power-
fence, to act offensively; perhaps, indeed, he might not less. There seemed an unusual lingering by the car.


176
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
riage; the servants certainly were hurrying through ( sembled at the residence of one of its number; and
the entries to the entrance way; conversation was again our dramatis persone were brought beneath the
maintained in whispers. She would have shrieked, but same roof. Their relative situation was in no respect
the spell which had unnerved her frame, now paralyzed altered since the ball given by Countess Fordyce.
the power of utterance, and she could only sit in agony, Howard had been unable to hold communication with
hovering on the verge of insensibility. The entrance of, Isabelle since the duel, except by letters—those talis-
her maid, by diverting the current of her thoughts, re- manic messengers, which execute so faithfully the trusts
stored her in a measure to herself, and she was able to confided to them-and in one or two short interviews,
ask concerning her father. She received the joyful in. when they had met in their rides; for she had been de-
telligence, that though exhausted with exertion and voted in her attendance upon her father. In the course
emotion, he was uninjured. The good word revived of the evening in question, her father had become sepa-
the stagnant current in her veins, and sent it glowing to rated from her, and from the apartment in which she
her cheek. Her eye glistened; Howard had been true I was standing; and Howard, who had been watching
to his pledge; and with clasped hands she murmured a his opportunity, stole to her side; and in a moment their
prayer of gratitude to Heaven, and a blessing on her hearts were mingling. Both were careful for a time, to
lover.
watch the avenues to the room, through fear of a sur-
The issue of the duel, was for many reasons a source prise ; but love made them unwary; the Count was ab-
of exquisito satisfaction to Howard. First, it was re- | sent long; was finally forgotten; and our lovers stood
venge, full revenge. It had inflicted a wound upon the entranced with the exstasy of sympathy, all the world
pride of his adversary, more keen and rankling than to each other, and thoughtless of all the world beside.
would have been a wide and gaping cut into his out. When the Count had parted with the gentleman with
ward flesh; and this was sweet to his soul. Again, the whom he had been conversing, he was retracing bis
concession of the Count in meeting him, was an ac- steps to rejoin his daughter, when his own name, otter-
knowledgment of his title to honorable notice; anded by a speaker, whose back was towards him, attracted
established him more fully in the society he had coveted his attention. Whatever the remark might have been
to move in. What was a deeply laid plan, was noised in which his name had been employed, it was replied to
abroad as an exhibition of wonderful generosity and by a second speaker, in a low, sneering laugh, and the
forbearance; his superiority as a swordsman was indis- Count distinctly caught the words, “ Yes; true enough;
putable; and more than all, the heart of Isabelle had the Count, poor fellow, must have retired in a truly
received no scathe through injury to her father. It was pitiable condition. It was a noble thing in Howard."
in every light in which he viewed it, a theme of bound | Did he hear aright?“ Poor fellow !" he, Count Philip
ing exultation. To crown the summit of his delight, he de Rebierra designated as a poor fellow! Had the scal-
received a letter from Isabelle, full of gratitude andering lightning darted through his frame, and mingled
love. It was moistened with tears from an overflowing its death-dealing Auid with his founts of life, blacken.
heart, that here and there blotted the precious words; ing-rending-convulsing—it had not, to the eye of the
and in the solitude of his own chamber,-for when alone, | observer, devastated with a fiercer mien, ihan now
away from the gaze of men, he sometimes threw off the seemed to cling to his distorted and ghastly features.
of dissimulation, habitual in the company of His eyes were set in their sockets—his lips were livid-
others, and gave full rein to passion-he tossed his arms bis cheek the hue of the grave-his jaws distended-
wildly about and laughed aloud. But a reverse of feel- his breathing stilled-his fingers outstretched in conrul.
ing was preparing for him.
sive rigidity. A second thought on the extremity to
The Count was unable to leave his chamber for some which he had fallen-a second draught of the cup of
days after the duel, his excitement having induced con- the bitterness of his humiliation—and those eyes rolled
siderable fever. When he did emerge, he seemed an wildly around those jaws closed, until ibeir teeth gra-
altered man. He could not forget the shock his pride ted with a sound, against each other; the blood flushed
had received. He felt as though Howard, in acting that cheek to crimson; big drops came on his fore-
wholly on the defensive, had laid him under a kind of head; and shudder after shudder shook every limb, as
obligation. He felt that his life had been in the power with an icy chill. Fortunately, for he had not stirred
of a despised and hated foe, and had been spared. And from the spot where he had been cursed with the sound
wherever he went, he felt that ihe curious glances di- l of those damning words-his face was to the wall, and
rected towards him, seemed to say, “ This is the man the attention of no one was attracted towards him.
who owes his life to the generosity of his adversary.” | Again, that low, sneering laugh tingled in his ears and
He turned away from all companionship, and gloomily quivered in the very marrow of his bones ; and, swallow.
closeted himself at home. But absence from society ing his desperation with choking gasps, for he began to
exposed him to new mortifications. It would be said be conscious of his situation, he sprang 10 a near door,
of him that he had been humbled beyond power of en- eager for a breath of pure fresh air, to cool the fever
durance; and had withdrawn himself to brood upon his that parched him. It opened upon a balcony, that
shame. Should he suffer this humiliation ? No. Again communicated with the conservatory; and closing it
he mingled in the world, assuming a careless outside; behind him, he threw himself down, with his face to
but the fire was burning and consuming within. ll the floor.
A third time, a portion of the fashionable world as. When he arose, he obeyed his first impulse to sum-
cloa


GLIMPSES AT GOTHAM.
177
mon Isabelle, and retire from a scene that jarred so ||
Original.
harshly on his feelings. But when he approached her, || GLIMPSES AT GOTHAM.-No. II.
what description shall portray the conflict of his pas-
sions, when he saw her earnestly in conversation with
BY PROFESSOR J. H. INGRAHAM.
the man who had sunk him into the dust! It seemed
as though his very flesh and blood were leagued against Heu! quam difficile est Gotham describere.
him. There was now no frenzy as he gazed; but his
Gotham! who may describe thee! what pen yet un-
heart was sick within him. She was not remonstrating plucked from the wing that nourishes it, shall paint
-she was not angry that the foeman of her beloved
thee as thou art-portray thee with all thy heteroge-
father was addressing her; no, her sweet eyes never
neous parts to the mind's eye! Who shall give an idea
beamed more brightly, her face never wore a calmer
to him who has not seen and heard, of thy confusion of
look of placid loveliness. She answered too-answered
longues and direful noises! Who shall discourse of
softly, kindly; what hellish mystery was here! Then
thy people and omnibusses! of thy mud and thy dirt! of
that hated one of all the earth took her hand-she did
thy crooked lanes and twisted alleys! There is no end
not draw it from him and played with the rings upon
to thy streets-no limit to thy houses-no cessation to
her fingers, and at some jest he uttered, both smiled. thy noises! The chimney-sweeps with their screech-
His Isabelle, his daughter, smiled upon his mortaling throats, pipe into our ears before day break; then
foe! Then was he maddened; and scarce knowing the milk-man follows with his rattling car and Indian
what he did, he strided between them, forced Howard
yell; then the baker adds his melodious voice, and the
back with half a push, half a stroke upon his breast,
sooty charcoal-man his sonorous song. Thick-coated
grasped Isabelle's wrist with a tightness that ex-
watchmen move along with their captives of the night,
corted a cry of pain, and drew her after him from the
to the police; the loafer opens one eye, and lifts his
apartment. Howard followed not close, for he had l head for
head from the curb-stone, to see if it is time for him to
compassion for Isabelle, even in his boiling rage, and
get up; rattle-rattle, trundle the hacks to their stands;
when the Count released her in an anteroom, to array | the omnibusges roll along with their early burden, and
herself for departure, he confronted him sternly with, the drave go thundering hy to the wharveel the
“What is this! Count Rebierra, what is this?” The
borers, Irish and Afric, throng the streets, hurrying to
Count drew himself up for an instant, breathing hard their work, each with his tin pail of dinner; journey-
between his teeth, with nostrils expanded; then he
men and apprentices hasten along, and pretty milliners
crouched down, and springing suddenly with bothh ands
and seamstresses trip in cottages and shawls to their
at Howard's throat, he clenched it in a strangling grasp, daily tasks, and travellers for the boats, more rapidly
and as he compressed it until Howard, gurgling and cho pass with valise, and a surtout hanging on the arm.
king, fell forward upon his knees, he spat repeatedly in | The sounds
The sounds of toil and preparation for the business of
his face !-lhe deadliest insult that man can offer to man. Il the day inere
the day increase momentarily. At first, each note can
The struggle, though short, had attracted attention. be individualized, but before seven o'clock, they are in-
Numbers now precipitated themselves upon the two,
creased and mingled in most unharmonious and deaf-
and forced them asunder; and before Howard could
ening confusion.
fully recover himself, hurried the Count to his carriage.
All this is before breakfast. After that hour, stran-
Howard, with scarce a word to those around him, has-
gers begin to fill the pavé. Here is a Southern mer-
tened home; we will not follow him. We will not trace
chant with tooth-pick in teeth, hurrying from his hotel
the workings of that fiery spirit, inflamed to an intensi-
to Pearl or Wall-street; and there the Western or
ty beyond the power of hope or ambition, or even love
Northern trader is moving with yet busier brow and
itself, to quench! We will not disclose the broodings
quicker pace to the same points or to the wharves.
of that spirit over shapes of mischief, through all that
Early shoppers make their appearance; and Broad-
night-it will suffice to record their fearful realization.
way begins to be filled. Here and there a well-dressed
To be continued.
female moves by with that lingering, hesitating step
which threatens to terminate at every dry-goods or
Original.
jeweller's store ; but Stewart's or Tenney's invariably
EPITAPH
brings her up. Dandies come forth and lounge in the
ON THE DEATH OF MRS. MARY ANN ARMSTRONG, OF BALTIMORE.
sun, on the Western and fashionable side of this great
Hark! breathes there not a Spirit near,
thoroughfare-for, be it known, it is loss of caste to be
Who sweetly bids us dry the tear?
seen on the Eastern. Strangers, from all lands, throng
For ruthless Death grasp'd only clay,
the promenade, swinging slender canes, and sporting
The soul shall live in endless day.
vast whiskers and formidable mustachios ; in fine, all
“Life's turmoil wild,” she says, “is o'er ;-
the world's abroad
I dwell now on th' Eternal shore !
"To shop-to lounge--to gaze-to stare,
No more-no more, the stormy waves,
To show themselves, and take the air!”
Of mortal care, my bosom braves :
By twelve, the great highway of Gotham is thronged.
Then quit thy grief ;-oh, still the sigh!
Carriages, driven by liveried coachmen, and ornamented
And know 'twas bliss for me to die!" 9. F. G. with an ebony footman, roll majestically alongambright
22


178
GLIMPSES AT GOTHAM.
faces and wrinkled, ball-bordered and ringleted, look- duration of man's labor, to its utmost. About the hotel
ing from the windows upon the ever-moving crowd on doors and porticoes, gather groups on chairs, smoking,
the trottoir. Now, young gallants dash by in tilburies, quietly conversing, or looking at the passing throng.
driving their own servants—or astride trotting-horses Now, however, the Broadway belle who tripped the
(from which preserve me !) and by two o'clock taste, pavé at noon, has given way to the maid of the kitchen,
fashion and wealth-to say nothing of the omnibusses, and the sparkling brunette has deserted the trottoir to
which are at the same time the greatest blessings and the ebony daughier of Ethiopia. It would secm as if,
the greatest nuisances of Gotham, reign paramount in at this hour, the whole African population of Gotham
Broadway.
turns out for an airing, and passes in review down
At four, the “town" par excellence, hold sway in Broadway. Between ten and eleven at night, seems to
this popular promenade. Fashionable citizens and be their fashionable hour for promenading. With the
strangers are then at dinner, and appear no more till exception of here and there a frail member of the Mag-
towards five-when the pave becomes more crowded dalene sisterhood, with her train of youthful and, not
than at any part of the day. At this hour, every body unfrequently, gray-headed admirers. The more decent
walks not to shop or on business, but to see and be seen. and staid citizens, by a tacit consent, seem to have re-
The whole of the Western side-walk then reminds one signed the street to these sons and daughters of Ham.
of a promenade in a ball-room-two currents being con-| By twelve, Silence begins to assume her empire over
stantly moving in opposite directions, nearly at the the great city. Now and then a passer-by breaks the
same composed pace, doing nothing in the world but stillness with his echoing foot-falls; the watchman with
look and stare at one another. Every body then has his ringing club; the omnibus “cab," with his shrill
dined, and every body looks in good humor. This is the “ Broadway up! Broadway!" or. a loving urio o
pleasantest time to walk Broadway-and perhaps no chanals, reeling homeward, with their arms around
street in the world, take it all in all, can present such each other's necks, beguile the way by some uproarious
another scene of gaiety, brilliancy and beauty, and such
song; and at a distance the ſaint sound of confused
a melange of what goes to make up acity, for nowheredo
voices in a riot may be heard. All else is still. Be.
all ranks throng one pavé as here-all, from the sweep tween twelve and one, private parties break up, and
to his honor the Mayor,' using it common. In cities, the the
the theatres pour forth their thousands. Then a
abroad, there are certain streets which fashion has
strange and sudden sound of a moving multitude dis-
made exclusive. Broadway belongs to his majesty, the
turbs the night. Hacks rattle by at a quicker pace
people! Any very fashionable and modest person of the
than usual-crowds throng the trottoirs. By and by,
supreme ton you may chance to discover in Broadway, these sounds and movements cease, and the clang of
between three and four, you may set down as lunatic.
c.
Teha wnichma
the watchman's oaken staves, as they strike them with
From six to seven, Broadway roars-nay, thunders le ringine sound on the in
$a ringing sound on the hollow pavement, as signals of
with the noise of omnibusses bearing their freight of the alert, are alone heard. By iwo, all is still again, and
morning back to their residences up town. By the
silence and the sturdy white-coated guardians of the
time these become less frequent, the hacks freighted
night, ycleped “Charlies " reign sole sovereigns of the
with persons for the several theatres, take up the dying city until four, when the market-carts and chimnes.
notes of the omnibusses, and again make night hideous sweeps, the milk-man and baker, give the first notes of
with clamor.
preparation for the beginning of another day.
As twilight approaches, the city is suddenly lighted
This is but a faint sketch-a mere glimpse of a day
up with its million of gas flambeaux, and infiammable
in Gotham-yet it perhaps presents a full view and
air ignited into brilliant flame, succeeds the light of the
perfect picture of human life, and of what it is made
sun. Yet the city is not less gay now that the curtain
up! Some hundreds, or it may be thousands of such
of night has fallen over it. The street is thronged with
days make up a man's life. And to what purpose, so
pedestrians, hurrying from the scenes of the day's busi.
! far as life, merely, is concerned? Let Echo answer
ness to their homes, or some place of amusement, or
what!
promenading to enjoy the sights and moving spectacle
of the splendidly-illuminated side-walk. Here, the
Museum, with its band of music, playing on the balco-
TO ELLA.
ny in front, attracts some, and the dazzling windows of
the print-shops draw others. There, the theatre with
its bright lamps invites the loiterer on the one hand, Sleep, my Ella, sleep!-
and the panoramas of Jerusalem and Niagara, or the
On thy cheek a tear is trembling;
galleries of paintings on the other. Gorgeous displays I'll the treasure keep,
of jewelry, and magnificent shops lighted with the glare
Evening's star so much resembling.
of the noonday sun, arrest those whose purses and Now a dimpled smile is playing
wishes possess a kindred feeling.
Where the dewy light was straying.
By half past ten, the streets become thinner-but Let me not remove this treasure,
present a different aspect. Here and there, only, a
May the smile be ever thine ;
solitary shop is still lighted, its owner striving to length Yet I'll often think with pleasure,
en out the day which nature has wisely limited for the
Ella's friendly tear is mine.


MARY'S REQUEST.
179
Original.
MARY'S REQUEST.
And did the spirit falter
Upon its upward track,
To strew this never-dying flower
In tender token back?-
BY LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.
There was a shaded chamber,
A silent, watching band,
On a low couch, a suffering child
Who grasp'd the mother's hand.
Even at the gate of Ileaven,
Whence songs of angels flow,
Remember'd it the cradle hymn
That sooth'd its infant woe ?
She had told her faith in Jesus,-
Her simple prayer was said,
And now, that darken'd vale she trod,
Which leadeth to the dead.
Oh, mother's love! thus strong to lure
A seraph from on high-
Be faithful to thy trust and bear
Thy nurslings to the sky.
Red fever scorch'd her bosom, -
Frost chill'd the vital flame,
And her sweet, meek brow was troubled,
As anguish smote her frame.
Original.
HUMAN LIFE.
BY H. B. DENNIS.
Yet 'mid the gasp and struggle,
With shuddering lips she cried,
“Oh, mother-dearest mother,
Bury me by your side."
How passing fair this busy world doth seem-
How blithe and cheerful seemeth our strange race!
Joy and content with loveliest lustre beam
Upon the frolic features of each face;
And, gazing on this scene, we almost say
That human life is one long holiday.
“But where will you be buried ?-
My darling Mary—where ?-
In that green, shady dell you lov'd,
With earliest violets fair ?
Or in the ancient church-yard,
Where we were wont to stray,
'Mid the white, marble monuments ?-
My little Mary-say!"
Yet 'ris but seeming; this gay happy show
Is but the shining surface of a sea
Where the dark waters of despair do flow,
Where grief lies hid and blackest misery.
Sorrow and pain within each human breast
Are aye concealed, and will not let it rest.
But the thought of flowers had faded-
The green deli charm'd no more.
Dim grew those marble monuments,
With all their letter'd lore.
Take from the merriest throng the merriest one,
Whose careless laugh rings clearest on the breeze-
Whose jocund eye is sparkling in the sun,
And speaks of freedom, gaiety and ease-
Could you but lay his inmost bosom bare,
You'd find some secret grief still rankling there.
And one lone image linger'd-
Bright, 'mid the wreck of earth-
That love, which with her soul was knit,
Even from the hour of birth.
One only wish she utter'd,
While life was ebbing fast-
“ Sleep by my side, dear mother,
And rise with me at last.”
Yet each one thinks his lot alone severe,
Duped by the pleasant face his neighbor wears;
While he, in turn, seems full of happy cheer,
Though inwardly distraught by woes and cares.
Thus each one's outward air is still believed-
Deceiving all-by all himself deceived.
'Tis o'er—the spirit parted-
With that long, tender moan-
Check not thy grief, fond mother-
Thou daughterless and lone: -
Thus, in life's drama do we act our part-
Brilliant and joyous is the mimic scene-
And new-lit smiles do hide the aching heart,
And mantles gay cover the foul gangrene-
The gazer views bright beauty every where,
But feels within, the canker of despair.
Weep freely-Christ hath hallow'd
The tear that Nature wrings-
And see-how peaceful rests the clay,
That pain no longer stings.
Look !-Look!—the thin lip quivers,
The blue eyes open wide,
And what a hollow whisper steals-
“ Bury me by your side."
And this must still be so. On earth abound
No joys unmixed with bitter pains and woes;
And he but dreams who hopes in bliss profound
To sojourn here and compass sweet-repose.
The steadfast soul must look for this-above!
Where all is peace, and purity, and love!


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
181
Holofornes first found himself checked in his glorious | then let my Lord pass by them, lest their God defend
career, in the mountain passes of Galilee. He saw he them, and we become a reproach before the whole
had met with a people of more power and courage than world."
those nations which had so lately surrendered to him, || The speech of Achior visibly affected the people who
and encamping his band between Geba and Scythopolis, were assembled without the tent, and they trembled be-
he tarried a whole month to gather around him all his fore the God of Israel; especially as this account was
chariots and horsemen to crush at once these rebellious confirmed by others who dwelt near the land of Judea.
hill forts, which had dared to resist him.
Holofornes and his Captains perceived this, and were
Bethulia, an almost impregnable city, situated upon loud in their threatenings against those who had created
a hill near the Sea of Galilee, was the point towards a fear of the enemy in the soldiers' minds.
which he resolved to concentrate all his energies ; |! “Let us kill the traitor!" they cried, “we will not
thinking the fall of a post of such importance, would in- be afraid of the face of the children of Israel, for lo, it
timidate the rest, and he should find nothing to impede | is a people who cannot withstand our powerful army.
his victorious course to Jerusalem.
Let us go up my Lord, and they shall be our prey !"
Unused to resistance, Holofornes chafed at this delay; When the tumult had ceased, Holofornes cried out,
and fearing he should lose much time and endure much “Who art thou, Achior, and ye hirelings of Ephraim,
in the siege of these hill fortresses, he called together that have said we shall not make war upon the people
a counsel of his officers, and Princes of Moab and other of Israel because their God will defend them; who is
tributaries, to concert measures for the subjugation of || God but Nebuchodonosor!”
the Galilee strongholds.
"Aye, Nebuchodonosor is God,” cried the assembly.
The general of the Assyrians was seated in a magni- || “Yea, he will send his power and will destroy them
ficent tent of scarlet cloth embroidered with gold, while from the face of the earth,” continued the General,
around him were assembled his nobles and generals, and with fury in his looks; "and their God shall not de-
allied Princes.
fend them. We will tread them under foot-their
“Tell me, ye sons of Canaan,” he said, “who is this mountains shall be drunken with their blood-their
people that dwelleth in the hill country, and what are fields shall be filled with dead bodies, and they shall not
the cities they inhabit--what is the multitude of their be able to stand before us, and they shall ..
be able to stand before us, and they shall utterly perish,
army; what their power, and what King or Captain is saith King Nebuchodonosor, Lord of the whole earth!
set over them! Why come they not out to meet me, as And thou, Achior, thou hireling of Ammon, since thou
do the cities around them ?"
praisest this people, I will send thee among them; and
Achior, Prince of the Ammonites, stept forward to we will see how they receive a son of Moab. But if
answer the questions of Holofornes.
they slay thee not, thou shalt be taken when the forts
"Let my Lord now hear a word from the mouth of fall in my hand, and my sword shall pierce thy side.
thy servant, and I will declare unto thee the truth con- | Go, coward, trust to the God of Israel!"
cerning this people that dwelleth in the hill country; |! Achior was bound and led under the walls of Bethu.
and there shall no lie come out of the mouth of thy lia, where it was expected he would be perceived by the
servant. The inhabitants of this land are great and Israelites, and destroyed as a traitor and enemy to their
powerful; they rely for protection on no King, nor cap- l country.
tain, but are governed and shielded by a great and won | The city of Bethulia, crowned the summit of steep
derful God, who ever saveth them from harm, and re- and craggy hills, the approach to which was extremely
vengeth them on those who go up to slay them." difficult. The inhabitants relied upon the strength of
Achior related to Holofornes the history of the sons their fortifications, and the goodness of their cause,
of Israel; told of their sojourn in the land of Egypt, || for was it not a contest between their God, and the Gods
where they were ill-treated, and revenged of their ado | of Assyria!
versaries by their God, who smote the Egyptians, and The hopes of the young and brave were high, for a
drew his people thence by great and wonderful acts. holy trust had been confided to them; they held the key
He told of their triumphant entry into this country, led of Israel in their hands, for the country could not
by God, who destroyed all nations around, that they tered except through the passes of their mountains, and
might inhabit the land.
their sacred city and temple relied upon them for protec-
“Let not my Lord hope to subdue them," continued | tion.
Achior," while they obey their God, as he never de The old and reflecting, however, were not so sanguine.
serts them except they sin. Now, therefore, my Lord | They trusted not in an arm of flesh, for they well knew
and my Governor, if this people sin against their God, the great power of the Assyrians, and their determina-
they will not prosper, and we may go up and shall over- tion to conquer them. To God alone they looked for
come them; but they lately did depart from tho way deliverance, but he might for their sins see fit to give
which their God appointed, and were destroyed, in them into the power of their enemies.
many battles sore, and were led captives into a strange | The army of Assyria was now known to be near.
land; the temple of their God was cast down, and their The city, from its elevated position commanded a view
cities taken by their enemies; but now they have re- of the country around, and the houses and battlements
Lurned to their God, who has forgiven them, and have were filled with people watching for their approach.
possessed Jerusalem and the hill country again. Now The band who brought Achior was soon perceived,


182
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
and a sally was made against them; but leaving Achior,!' around and between these hills, covered with verdure,
bound, they escaped. He was loosed and carried into and spotted with villages.
the presence of Ozias, Chabris, and Charmis, the Gov! How many scenes, celebrated in her nation's history,
ernors of the city, who demanded the cause of his cap- l lay before her-scenes which had witnessed the valor
tivity.
of her countrymen, and favor of God! Would Jehovah
Achior stated all that had passed in the council of desert them now? She hored not, and resolved if
the Assyrian General; of the contempt of the enemy, efforts or prayers might avail, her's should all be given
and the defence of their God made by himself. Then for the salvation of Judea.
the people fell down and worshipped God, crying-
While plunged in alternate musing and prayer, Ju-
“Lord God of Heaven! behold the pride of Assur-
dith was aware of a sudden glitter upon a distant sum-
pity thy nation, and look upon the face of those thoumnit. She started and gazed. Broader and broader
hast sanctified this day!"
spreads the brightness. Could it be? Yes, it must
Achior was warmly applauded for his conduct. Ozias
be the dreaded foe whose spears were flashing back
took him to his own house, where he held a feast, and
in defiance, the sun of Palestine. Judith despatch-
afterwards he and the elders called on the God of Is-
ed in haste, a messenger to the Governors of the
rael with all their miglit for help.
city, who hastened to the ramparts, where, amid
A noble widow dwelt in Bethulia ; her husband, Ma-'
crowds of their town's-people, they gazed at the ap-
nasses, was a man of wealth and rank, but while over,
proaching invaders. Every hill was soon crowned by
seeing his men in the barley harvest, was struck by the
bands of the hostile Assyrians, who, in masses of crim-
sun and died. Judith, his widow, never ceased to
son and gold, poured like fiery lava down upon the de-
mourn for her husband, to whom she was tenderly at-
voted plains around the city. It was a splendid, but
tached; and still wore widow's apparel, and fasted and
fearful array, and the citizens of Bethulia gazed in al-
dressed in sackcloth except on the feasts of new moon,
Jternate dread and admiration.
and other festivals of Israel. By the strength and ele-
vation of her character, she comforted her town's-people,
What a change a few hours wrought in the scene
and infused into their hearts some of her own courage. "?
upon which Judith had looked. The land, once of a
ous spirit. The women of Bethulia, especially, relied
universal, peaceful green, now appeared a summer-
upon her for counsel and support; for they felt as wo-
garden, glittering with every brilliant hue. Tents of
men must always feel, when a great and successful
blue and scarlet and yellow, enamelled the ground;
army approaches a city. Powerless themselves,
while spots of purple, and crimson, and gold marked the
they could but look upon the contest in which were
place where the soldiery were encamped. The open-
perishing their husbands and children. The excitement
ings of the hills which once showed long green sistas,
of the combat might conceal its horrors from those en-
streaked by the sunbeams, now glared with the soldiers'
gaged in it, but the observer from afar, sees all its peril,
brazen shields, or brass plates which covered solemn-
paced elephants. Plumes were waving, standards
and all its distress. The warrior knows, if he falls in
glancing in the sun, trumpets awaking the echoes, and
battle, his name will live in the records of his country,
but there are few feminine hearts which can thus be
all was gladness and hope.
consoled for the loss of their dearest and best. Honor! The citizens gazed upon this brilliant array in mourn-
fails to heal the wounds of a lacerated bosom.
ful silence. The hope of escaping that powerful army
Although Judith reposed fearlessly on the arm of her
seemed vain; and one universal feeling pervaded their
God, she was not without anxiety, and often resorted 10
bosoms-unless God helped them, they were lost.
the roof of her house, where she had created a leafy Ozias turned to the other Governors, who stood dear.
bower, lo shelter her from the sun-to watch for the “ Now will these men lick up the face of the Earth,"
enemy. Here she gazed out upon the extensive and he said, "for neither are the high mountains nor the hills
verdant scenery before her, musing upon the history of able to bear their weight. Let us to prayer, brethren,
her nation, mourning for her lost husband, or commu- and haply God will relieve us in this our woeful strait."
ning with her God.
At the next council held by Holofornes, one of the
One morning, the weather being extremely warm, chiefs of Esau stood forth to speak. “Let my Lord
Judith ascended to her roof, and seated herself in her now hear a word," he said, “that there be no delay to
bower. What a fair and variegated landscape was
our army. The children of Israel do not trust in their
spread out beneath her feet; around her were hills and spears, but in their situation, because it is not easy for
mountains without number, rising and falling like green our chariots and horsemen lo ascend their mountain.
waves over the land, crowned with castles, and clothed At the foot of this hill are the fountains which supply
with olive and vine ; while far beyond, rose the dark the city. These are protected by bands of men; send
chain of Anti Libanus, its snow crowned summit con- ; thy servants to get these fountains out of their hands,
trasting coolly with the bright sea of Galilee, which lay so that they shall all die of thirst, they and their wives
beneath, the summer's sun reflected brilliantly from its and children; or surrender the city. Then shalt thou
surface. At her right was Mount Carmel, and the hills : render to them their reward for rebelling against my
of Bashan; and on the left, Mount Tabor stood frown-Lord.”
ing, its sides clothed with forests of ouk, while a fortress Holofornes was well pleased with this counsel, ard
aroso from its summit. Lovely va!lies and plains lay immediately despatched a powerful band of soldiers,
.


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
183
which after a short battle, gained possession of the land in that time, God may look in mercy towards us,
fountains of Bethulia.
and if at the end of these days there come no help for
The young are not long depressed, and on that day us, I will do as it may seem good to you."
the young warriors of Bethulia, speaking in contempt of The citizens were pacified with this promise, and de-
the foe, had by their courageous vauntings, and military i parted each to his own dreary dwelling, there to struggle
show, rallied the spirits of the citizens; but when they be- for life five days ere they be given up to slavery, or per-
held their giards driven in, and learned that their foun- haps, death. In silence they awaited their doom-hope
tains were in possession of the enemy, every heart sank, for assistance from on high nearly deserted them, and
and despair seized on the city. Prayer and sackcloth sighs alone disturbed the mournful silence of the so
were again resorted to, and all confessed that God alone lately animated city. After the dispersion of the peo-
could save them.
ple, Ozias received a request from the noble widow,
Judith mourned at home, alone. “We shall be a Judith, praying his presence at her house, accompanied
prey to the spoiler,” she said, “our beloved city, the by Charmis and Chabris, when she would show him a
birth place and sepulchre of my husband, Manasses, way to save the city. They immediately repaired thither.
will be levelled with the ground, and over our ruins the “Hear me now, ye Governors of Bethulia !” said
invader will rush upon Jerusalem.
|| Judith, when they were seated. “The words which ye
Oh, my God, hast thou willed this city's fall! Wilt have spoken to the people this day, are not right, say-
thou permit thy holy Temple to be desecrated by infi- ing ye will deliver the city to the enemy unless God help
del hands? It cannot be,-thou hast said, I will us within five days. Who are ye, that thus promise the
never leave thee nor forsake thee,' and on this promise help of God, and tempt Him thus? Ye know ye cannot
I will trust. But are we right to rest quietly here in find the depth of the heart of man, how, then, can yo
our trap, and die of starvation and thirst. On, that I pretend to know the mind of God, who hath made
were a man," thought the noble widow, "and I would all things, or comprehend His purposes ? God is
be up and doing; I would strike a blow for my country. not a man that He may be forced or threatened from
But what avail is there in the might of man-truly I His purpose, and if He do not save us within five days,
am a weak, powerless woman; but have not women ere He may after that. Let us call upon Him to help us,
now saved their country-am I not now looking down and He will if it please Him, for we worship no other
upon the great plain of Zaanannim, where such mighty God but Him, and He will not despise us, nor let Judea
deeds were done by Deborah and by Jael? Why may be wasted. Now, therefore, brethren, let us keep of good
I not do the samo ? Am I not famed in the land for heart yet a while longer, for our brothers depend on us
talent above my fellows, and shall I not employ this gift to defend the altar and the sanctuary. Remember what
of God in the service of my country, and of our holy things God did to Abraham and Isaac, and what hap-
temple? Oh, Lord of Heaven! look down upon thy pened to Jacob; wait on the Lord in parience, and He
servant, and deign to accept her as an agent in the sal- will yet save us."
vation of her country! Let me be a second Deborah in "All that thou hast spoken,” said Ozias, “hast thou
the land, and chase hence this Sisera who seeketh our spoken out of a good heart, and there is none who may
destruction."
Il gainsay thy words. From thy youth, all men have
There seemed no help for the citizens of Bethulia. known thy understanding, and this is not the first day
Sadly did they gaze upon their cisterns and founts in that thy wisdom has been manifested; but the people
the city, as day by day the waters diminished, and pro- i were very thirsty, and compelled us to promise to sur-
visions failed, and they knew they must die a dreary | render, and bring an oath upon ourselves which we
death, or be given to the enemy who were raging for cannot break. Therefore, pray thou for us, for thou art
them below. At last the water failed, and the citizens a holy woman, that the Lord will send us rain to fill our
fell fainting in the streets, and many died each day. I cisterns, and we shall hold out yet a while longer."
Then the people rendered weak by suffering, called “Hear me!" said Judith, “and I will do a thing
upon their rulers to surrender to the Assyrians, this be- which few women would do, but which is now the only
ing now the only hope for their lives. They assembled way to save the nation. Accompany me this night to
in a tumultuous manner before the house of Ozias, cry- the city gate, and let me and my waiting-woman pass
ing, “God be judge between us and you. You do us a forth, and within the days which ye have promised to
great injury that you do not require peace of the chil- deliver the city to the Assyrians, the Lord will save
dren of Assur. We have no helper. God hath sold us Israel by my hand! Inquire not ye of mine act, for I
into the hands of Holofornes. Send for him, then, and will not declare it unto you till the things I propose
give him the city as a spoil, and we will be his slaves, shall be finished.”.
for this is better than to die of thirst, and see our wives “Go in peace," said the Governors, "and the Lord
and children die!"
God go before thee to take vengeance on our enemies !"
Weeping and groaning was heard on all sides, and At the time when the evening incense was offered to
they “cried to God with a loud voice,” saying, “We the Lord in Jerusalem, Judith clothed herself in sack-
take to witness against you, Heaven and earth, and God, cloth, and throwing ashes upon her head, knelt in prayer.
the Lord of our fathers, if ye do not surrender quickly." || “Oh, Lord God of our father Simeon !" she said, “ hear
“ Brethren, be of good courage,” said Ozias. “God me, a lonely widow! Behold, the Assyrians are multi-
will not forsake us utterly. Let us endure five days, plied in their power; they are exalted with horse and


184
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
man-they glory in the strength of their chariots--they !' pressions of admiration. “Truly, these children of Is-
trust in shield and spear, in bow and sling, and know rael are wondrous people," said one. “If their women
not that thou art God who breakest the battles. Throw are such noble creatures, what must their men be?
down their strength by thy power, for they have pur- Who would despise this people, who have among ihem
posed to defile tny sanctuary where thy glorious name such women ?"
resteth, and cast down thy tabernacle with their sword. “So much more need is there of their extermination,"
Behold their pride, and give into my hand the power to said another, "for they are likely to become trouble-
cast them down-deign to bless my purpose, and smite some neighbors."
them by the hand of a woman. Thou, who art the God | It was now quite dark, and Holofornes came from
of the afflicted, the protector of them who are forlorn the tent, his servants bearing silver lamps before bim.
and without hope, hear my prayer, save us, and make The General lifted her from the chariot, and led her
every nation and tribe acknowledge that thou art the into the tent. In the centre stood a couch, above which
God, and there is none other protector of Israel but was a rich canopy of cloth, woven with purple and gold,
thee !"
and emeralds and precious stones. Holofordes seated
When her prayer was ended, Judith arose, and hav- himself, and motioned Judith to take a place beside
ing anointed herself, she plaited her hair, adorned it him, but she threw herself upon the ground before
with jewels, and arrayed herself in one of her rich him, imploring his mercy and protection. The Assy-
dresses which she had not worn since the death of herrian commanded his servants to raise her, saying,
husband, Manasses ;-her feet were decorated with “Woman, be of good comfort-fear not in thy heart,
sandals of scarlet and gold, while bracelets, chains and for I never hurt any thing which is willing to serve
rings, ornamented the rest of her person. She was a King Nebuchodonosor, the King of all the earth. If
woman renowned for beauty, and now that her majestic | thy people that dwelleth in the mountains, had not set
person was attired in costly and graceful raiment, she light by me, I would not have liſted up my spear against
well might hope to attract the notice of the Assyrian them. But now, tell me, why thou art fled from them
General.
and come to us; here thou art safe, for none shall do
Having laden her maid with a bottle of wine, a thee hurt, but entreat thee well, as they do the servants
cruise of oil, a bag of parched corn, and bread, and of our King, Nebuchodonosor.”
lumps of figs, she sat out for the city gate. The “Remember the words of thy servant,” said Judith,
three Governors were waiting for her, and when they “and suffer thy handmaid to speak in thy presence,
beheld her stately form approach, so richly decked, they and I will declare no lie to my Lord this nigbt. If
broke forth in expressions of admiration.
thou wilt follow the words of thine handmaid, God,
“Welcome, noble Judith!" they exclaimed. “May through thee, will bring wonderful things to pass. As
the God of our fathers show thee favor, and enable thee Nebuchodonosor, King of all the earth liverk! mer and
to accomplish the enterprize thou hast undertaken to cattle and cities shall live by thy power under Nebu-
the glory otthe children of Israel, and the exaltation of chodonosor, and all his house. We have heard of the
Jerusalem!”
wisdom and policy of Holofornes; and it is every where
At the request of Judith, the city gates were opened, reported that thou art the most powerful and excellent
and she passed forth with her maid, the three Gover man in all Assyria, and mighly in knowledge, and won-
nors looking after her until she had gone down the hill, derful in feats of war. My Lord,” continued Judith.
passed the valley, and they could see her no more.“ Achior hath been saved by our people, and bath de.
The heroine Judith had not long left the city, ere she clared all that passed in thy council, and of what he
was challenged by the enemy's sentinel.
said regarding the children of Israel, who could not be
“Who art thou? whence comest thou ? and where conquered unless they sin, for their God protects them.
goest thou ?” he said.
Therefore, oh, my Lord and Governor, lay his words to
“I am a Hebrew woman," replied Judith. “I have thy heart, for ihey are true, and our nation cannot be
fled from the city to the Assyrian camp, to go before punished, nor shall thy sword prevail against them, ex-
Holofornes, the Captain of your army, and show him a cept they sin against their God. But now, my Lord,
way to take the city, and pass through the hill country this people have resolved upon a great sin, and God
without the loss of a man."
will give them into the power of their enemies. Their
The man gazed on her in astonishment, so beautiful victuals and water have become scant, and they have
and so magnificently dressed, and alone. “Thou doest agreed to consume all the cattle and those animals and
well to save thy life by fleeing to Holofornes," he said. things which God, by his laws, hath forbidden them to
“ Follow me, and I will conduct thee to his tent, and eat! Thy handmaid knowing this, hath fled from the
when thou standest before him, be not afraid, but say guilty city, lest I perish with them, and God hath sent
all thou wilt and he will entreat thee well.".
me to tell thee, so that thou might be an instrument in
So pleased were the guard with the appearance of His hand to punish the Israelites. Thy servant is re-
this noble woman, that they placed her in a chariot, | ligious, my Lord, and serveth God night and day, and
and a train of a hundred men entered the camp. As He will reveal to me the moment when the people eat
she passed, every one looked on with wonder and ad- forbidden things, and consume the first fruits, of the
miration, and while waiting without the tent of Holo-corn and tenths of wine and oil, which have been sanc-
Cornes, the people gathered around, uttering loud ex- tified and reserved for the priests who serve the Lord


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
185
an
ul live,
in Jerusalem--things not lawful for our people to touch / sky. She thought upon all the misery and despair within
with their hands. Now, then, my Lord, be guided by those silent walls, and of the many hearts who were
me. Permit thy handmaid to go out in the plain looking to her for deliverance, and her strength of pur-
each night to pray, and God will tell me when pose again returned. Crushing her woman's tender-
they have done this sin, and I will tell thee, then shalt ness, she arose, firmly resolved to tread unshrinkingly
thou go forth with thine army, and thou shalt have an the path she had chosen, which, even if it led through
easy victory."
blood, would save her country and the holy temple.
Holofornes was astonished at all he heard. He Holofornes once slain, his dastard soldiers, no longer
thanked Judith for her offered services, and declared guided by his experienced hand, would be scattered
himself ready to act as she might dictate ; while the like rushes before the wind.
officers and nobles who stood around, declared, " There ! On the fourth day, Holofornes made a great feasts
was not such a woman on the whole face of the earth and calling Bagoas, his confidential servant to him, said,
for beauty or wisdom.”
“Go, now, and persuade this Hebrew woman whom I
“God hath done well to send thee hither," said Ho- have placed in thy charge, to come in to my foast and
lofornes, " that by our hands destruction may come drink with me. It is a shame to have this splendid
upon them that lightly regard him. Fair Judith, thou woman here and not share more of her company; truly,
art beautiful in thy countenance, and witty in thy words. I she will laugh us to scorn."
Surely, if ihou do as thou hast spoken, thy God shal!! Bagoas sought Judith. “Fair damsel," he said,
be my God, and thou shalt dwell in the house of Nebu- “art thou afraid of my Lord that thou comest not into his
chodonosor, and be renowned throughout the whole presence ? Come and drink wine, and be merry with
earth!"
us, and be made this day as one of the daughters of
At the evening feast, Holofornes called Judith to a Assyria, which serve in the house of Nebuchodonosor."
seat near him, and would have given her of his own “Who am I now, that I should gainsay my Lord ?"
rich repast and wine, but she said, “ Not so, my Lord, said Judith. “Surely, whatsoever pleaseth Him, I will
for it is against our laws, but I have here provision ac- do speedily, and it shall be my joy unto the day of my
cording to our customs, which I will eat."
death!"
“What if thy provision fail ?" asked Holofornes. Radiant with beauty, and in rich attire, Judith enter
“We have none of thy nation here to prepare it for ed the banquet tent, and seated he
ed the banquet tent, and seated herself on a couch spread
thee."
with soft furs which her maid had prepared for her,
said Judith.
opposite to Holofornes. The Assyrian gazed in rapture,
things shall not be expended ere thy handmaid shall and resolved to leave nothing undone to gain this beau-
work all that her Lord hath given her to do.”
teous Hebrew to himself.
At her request, Holofornes gave orders to the guard |
“Drink and be merry with us, Judith," he said.
to permit Judith to go out and in, to her prayers with-
“ Be not afraid of me, for my heart is filled with love
out the camp, that she might unmolested watch for the
for thee. Thou art the ſairest of women, oh, Judith."
propitious moment to attack Bethulia. Judith then re-
“I will drink, now, my Lord,” said Judith,“ because
tired to a tent prepared for her, where she reposed untill
my life is magnified in me this day more than all the
midnight, when she arose, and followed by her maid,"
id days since I was born."
went out in the valley to pray. How mixed were the! Judith ate and drank what her maid had prepared,
emotions which passed through the bosom of the devo-
of the dawn and so excited the Assyrian by her beauty and wit, that
ted Judith as she watched out the hours of night in that he
he drank more than he had ever been accustomed, and
lonely plain. Her maid, stationed at some distance, Judith fore
Judith foresaw he would be in a state fitting for her
was asleep, the watch-fires were out, the camp was purpo:
purpose. When the feast was over, and the guests de-
silent, and of all nature, she alone seemed alive. As she
parted, Bagoas dismissed the servants, who were weary,
revolved the great project for which she had come, the
and soon went to their beds, while he closed the tent,
woman conquered, and her gentle nature revolted.
and left Judith alone with Holofornes.
“Shall I be a shedder of blood!” she said. “Can The Assyrian, insensible to the presence of his
it be right to murder him? I cannot do it; my whole charming guest, had thrown himself on his couch, where
soul shudders at the thought! I, who refused to crush he now lay in a drunken slumber. The propitious mo-
the insect which offended me, shall I destroy man- ment had arrived for the execution of the great purpose
sball I lay hiin low who now treadeth the earth so glo- for which Judith had come. She listened-all was
riously. Oh, that there were some other way? How silent, and she approached the couch. The terrible
shall these small, these tender hands, smite the lordly enemy-her country's destroyer was before her; one
Assyrian? Perchance he hath a wife who watcheth blow of her hand, and Israel would be free!
for him at home, and loves him as I loved my lost Ma-1 “Shall I slay thee sleeping ?” murmured Judith;
nasses. Shall I make her the lonely widow that I am ? | " thou who wast so kind to me-whose words of love
Oh, Father above, save me from all this duplicity and but now have met mine ear? Yea, bloodhound! thou
crime!"
that wouldst slaughter my brethren-that wouldst de-
- As Judith raised her eyes, they fell upon the gloomy molish our holy temple! thy hour is come! If that
towers of Bethulia, distinctly seen against the star-lit form be erect to-morrow if that arm be stretched out,
23


186
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
Israel is lost! Oh, Lord God of all power! look shall be a spoil to your arms. But before ye do these
down upon me now, and bless the work of my hand, for things, call me hither, Achior, that he may behold him
the exaltation of Jerusalem !”.
|| that despised the God of Israel."
At the head of the couch hung a falchion. Judith, l Achior was sent for, and when he saw the multitude
taking the weapon in one hand, and the hair of her of people, and the head of Holofornes, which a soldier
drunken foe in the other, and exclaiming, “Oh, Lord of held aloft, and beheld the heroic Judith, standing before
Israel, strengthen me this day!” smote off the Assyri-him, arrayed in magnificent attire, her countenance
an's head. At her signal her maid entered, who, tear. glowing, and her eyes flashing proudly upon the fallen
ing down the jewelled canopy, wrapped the head in it, Assyrian, he thoughi the avenging Deity of the Israel-
placed it in her bag, and following her mistress, they ites stood before him, and be fainted at her feet.
left the camp unmolested, as if for their usual prayer, When he revived, he kissed the hem of her robe,
and hastened up to the gate of Bethulia.
exclaiming, “ Blessed art thou in Judea : and all the na-
“Open! open now the gate !" cried the successful' tions at the hearing of thy name shall be astonished!
Judith to the guard. “God, even our God, is with us, 'Tell me all thou hast done to bring to pass these won-
to show his power yet in Jerusalem, and for the down- derful things.”
fall of Assyria! The watchmen ran down joyfully to Judith related minutely all she had done since leaving
admit her, and brought her to an open space near the the city. The people listened attentively, and when
gate, where stood the Governors and a large concourse she had done, they shouted aloud for joy, and accom-
of people around a large watchfire, who had thus been panied her with all honor and reverence to her home.
waiting and watching for her, since the evening of her! When the morning broke, the head of Holofornes was
departure. “Praise ! praise God!” cried Judith, ad- 1 hung out upon the wall, and the Israelites assembled
vancing towards them. “Praise God, for he hath not without the gates. As soon as they were perceived the
taken away his mercy from the house of Israel, but hath
Assyrian guard ran to awaken their Captains.
destroyed our enemies by my hands this night! Be-
" Awaken our Lord, Holofornes," they said to Ba-
hold the head of Holofornes!" she continued, as her
goas, “ for the slaves have the boldness to threaten
maid held up the head, "the chief Captain of the army
of Assur, and behold the glittering canopy under which
battle. Let us go up and destroy them.”
he did lie in his drunkenness! The Lord hath smitten
Bagoas knocked at the tent, but receiving no answer,
him by the hand of a woman! As the Lord liveth, who
ventured to enter, when the headless body of their gene-
kept me in my way as I went! my countenance hath
ral met his astounded view, Crying with horror, and
deceived him to his destruction, and yet hath he not
rending his garments, he ran to the tent of Judith, and
committed sin with me, to defile or shame me.”
her absence confirmed all his suspicions.
The people were astonished; they gazed on the " Treason, treason !" he cried, rushing out among the
heroic woman in silence, and then as if by one impulse, soldiers ; "the slaves have dealt treacherously, and
bowed themselves and worshipped God.
this Hebrew woman hath brought shame upon the house
“ Blessed be thou, oh, our God!" they said. “This
of Nebuchodonosor! Holofornes is slain!"
day thou hast brought to nought the enemies of thy peu- “Holofornes is slain!" re-echoed through the camp,
and the soldiers trembled at the sound. The dread of
“Oh, daughter!" cried Ozias, “blessed art thou
the Israelite's God, which the words of Achior had in-
of the most high God, above all women upon the earth:spired, had never left their bosoms; and now, complete-
and blessed be the Lord God, which hath created the ly terrified, they every moment expected this awful God
heavens and the earth, which hath directed thee to the lo appear, and strike them as he had their General.
cutting off the head of the chief of our enemies. May The people rushed madly about. Confusion prevailed,
thy confidence in the power of God, dispose the hearts and in spite of all the efforts of their officers, the panic
of men to remember him in affliction. And God turn spread from rank to rank, and the army fled, half of
these things to thy perpetual praise, to visit thee with them knowing not all that had happened, but only hear.
good things, because thou hast offered thyself for the ing that the avenging God of the Hebrews was pursuing
good of our nation; hast revenged us, and walked them.
straight before thy God!"
"The wicked free when no man pursueth."
And all the people with one voice, cried, “ Amen!" | The step of the avenger, however, was not far behind
" Hear me now, my brethren,” said Judith, "take them. The inhabitants of Bethulia rushed out after the
this head and hang it upon the highest place of your fugitives, and sending messengers to the towns around,
walls; and soon as the morning shall appear, and the the people ran out, and soon the miserable Assyrians
sun come forth upon the earth, send out all the soldiers were assailed on all sides by the citizens of Betomas-
from the city, as if to make a sally upon the Assyrians, thom, and Chobai, and the people of the hill country of
but go not down. Then shall they assemble themselves Galilee, and of the sea coasts. Thousands were slaugh-
and put on their armor, and go to the tent of Holofor-tered, but many escaped and fled to their own country,
nes, to awaken him; and lo, when they find him so and Israel was free!
mysteriously dead, fear will fall upon them, and they! The spoils were great, especially the camp of the As-
shall fly. Then pursue them, ye Israelites, and they i syrians which fell into the hands of the Bethulians.
ple.”


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
187
Great was the joy of the inhabitants of Jerusalem at!
JUDITH's song.
their deliverance, and the name of Judith of Bethulia Strike to the Lord on the loud sounding cymbal,
was in every one's mouth, with terms of wonder and Sing, and ring out the sweet bells of the timbrel,
praise. To do her all possible honor, Joacim, the High-
E" Exalt, with new songs, our Lord's glorious name,
a wish,
Priest, resolved to visit and thank her for the salvation Who has
vation Who hath put the bold sons of Assyria to shame.
of her country.
Accompanied by a long train of the priest-hood, and Our mountains were clothed by the hosts of the fne ;
the great and good of Jerusalem, he arrived before the In vain, through their ranks, seek our torrents to low;
gate of Bethulia. Judith came forth to meet him, and On, on! like the waves of the dark rolling main,
knelt before him. Blessings were showered upon her O'er mountains, they come, over valley and plain.
by every voice.
Then treinbled our boldest, their vauntings were hushed,
"Arise my daughter," said the High Priest. “Thou
art the exaltation of Jerusalem, thou art the great glory
And the hopes of our bravest and wisest were crushed;
In terror, we called on Jehovah for aid,
of Israel! thou art the joy and rejoicing of our nation.
Thou hast done much good in Israel, with thy hand;
He spoke, and the waves of destruction were staid.
and God is pleased there with. Blessed be thou of the The mighty hath fallen, but not in the fray,
Almighty Lord forevermore !” And all the people For Judith came forth in her festive array,
cried “ Amen!”
In sandals and tire, wrought with jewels and gold,
To Judith was given the tent of Holofornes, which was And heart, by the might of Jehovah made bold.
of costly material, adorned with gold and jewels, and
with it all his plate, and beds of silver, and vessels of She dazzled the foe by the power of her charms,
gold, and rich stuffy. This she resolved to dedicate to
And rescued her land from the fear of his arms;
the Lord in Jerusalem. It was placed upon a tri-
The son of Assyria was caught in her toils,
umphal car, followed by a great train of priests, and
His tent and his riches and gold were her spoils.
soldiers, whose armor was adorned with garlands, and
"With falchion uplifted, she called on the Lord
who shouted for joy.
She struck, and Judea was freed by her sword.
Judith followed by her maid, both crowned with olive | Then quailed the Assyrian, and Media grew pale,
garlands, preceded the car, surrounded by the women and trembled the Perse at the terrible lale.
of Bethulia, dancing, and singing songs of praise. When
arrived in sight of Jerusalem, they pointed to the tem Their leader has fallen! they fly at the sound-
ple, which like a snowy mountain, reflected the rays of Our spearmen pursue, and their dead strew the ground.
the sun.
Then shout, sons of Judea! and sing a new song,
“Behold our Sacred Temple!" they cried. “Thou To our glorious Lord, at whose presence the strong
hast saved it from the idolater. Behold it is glorious Are bow'd to the earth, and mountains o'erthrown,
in gold and in marble and in 'precious stones, and but And rocks from their summits are shaken and strown.
for thee it were a smoking ruin!" Tears of joy and
Woe, woe, to the nations who threaten us harm!
gratitude, fell from the eyes of Judith, and she felt she!
Against them Jehovah shall stretch out his arm,
was repaid for all she had done.
And vengeance and fire shall pursue them for ever,
The procession ascended to the city, and up the mar-
And the voice of their wailing and weeping cease never!
ble steps of the Temple, and through its magnificent
E. R. S.
courts into the glorious space which surrounds the
Temple itself. Here were offered their sacrifices and
Original.
burnt-offerings and free-offerings. Judith felt a glow of
STANZAS FOR MUSIC,
gratitude to God as she gazed around her, upon the
sculptured marble, the altar of brass, and the brazen
laver, and marble tables, and other rich furniture
Evening closed round the castle hall
of the Court, and gazed at the graceful Temple
Where gathered a noble band.
whose richly embroidered curtain was raised, and gave
The gloom of the storm wrapt each warrior form,
her a view of golden furniture, and scarlet and purple
As they mourned for their father land.
within, and remembered that her feeble arm, made
A bard was there; and wearily rung
strong by God, had saved all these sacred things from
His trembling notes, as the minstrel sung,
the hand of the enemy. The High Priest was then in!
With blanching cheek, and tearful eye,
his splendid robes of blue and purple and scarlet em-1!
The dirge of his country's slavery.
broidery, adorned with jewels, and bordered with gol-
Morning broke on that castle hall,
den bells and pomegranates--while around him stood
Where gathered that noble band;
the sons of Levi, in their blue fringed robes of white And each heart was free as in merry glee,
linen-altogether a glorious and most wonderful array. ||
They joyed for their father land.
Judith, unable to repress her feelings longer, broke A bard was there; and cheerily rung
forth in the following song of thanksgiving and triumph, His swelling notes as the minstrel sung,
while the people accompanied her with instruments and With ruddy cheek, and glistening eye,
shouting :
The song of his country's victory! H. F. H.


188
MAL A ESKA,
Original.
|| with infancy," when the fire-light flickered over them,
MA LA ES KA.
to the ancient family-pictures painted in Holland, hang-
ing on the wall behind us in the old-fashioned oval
BY ANN S. STEPHENS.
frames, which, with the heavy Dutch Bible which lay on
'the stand, secured with hasps and brass hinges ponderous
The traveller, who has stopped at Catskill on his, as the fastenings of a prison door, were family relics
way up the Hudson, will remember that a creek of no precious to the old gentleman from antiquity and asso-
insignificant breadth washes one side of the village, and ciation. Yes, the picture was pleasant to look upon;
chat a heavy stone dwelling stands a little up from the but there was more pleasure in listening to his legends
water, on a point of verdant meadow-land, which forms and stories. If the one here related, is not exactly as
a lip of the stream, where it empties into the more ma- he told it, he will not fail to recognize the beautiful
jestic river. This farm-house is the only object that young Indian girl, whom he described to us, in the cha-
breaks the green and luxuriant beauty of the point, on racter of Malaeska.
that side, and its quiet and entire loneliness contrasts
pleasantly with the bustling and crowded litele village. At the time of our story, the beautiful expanse of
on the opposite body of land. There is much to attract country which stretches from the foot of the Catskill
attention to that dwelling. Besides occupying one of Mountains to the Hudson, was one dense wilderness.
the most lovely sites on the river, it is remarkable for The noble stream glided on in the solemn stillness of
an appearance of old-fashioned comfort at variance with nature, shadowed by trees that had battled with storms
the pillared houses and rustic cottages which meet the for centuries, its surface, as yet, unbroken, save by the
eye everywhere on the banks of the Hudson. There are light prow of the Indian's canoe. The lofty rampart of
no flowers to Aing fragrance about it, and but little of mountains, frowned against the sky as they du now,
embellishment is manifest in its grounds; but it is sur- but rendered more gloomy by the thick growth of time
rounded by an abundance of thrifty fruit-trees; an ex- ber which clothed them at the base ; they loomed up
tensive orchard sheds its rich foliage to the sunshine on from the dense sea of foliage like the outposts of a darker
the back, and the sward is thick and heavy which slopes world. Of all the cultivated acres, which at the present
greenly from the front-door down to the river's brink. day sustain thousands with their products, one little
The interior of the house retains an air of substantial clearing alone smiled up from the heart of the wilder-
comfort which answers well to the promise conveyed ness. A few hundred acres had been cleared by a bardy
without. The heavy furniture has grown old with its band of settlers, and a cluster of log-houses was erecied
occupants; rich, it has been in its time, and now, it pos- in the heart of the little valley which now contains Cat-
sesses the rare quality of fitness, and of being in harmo- skill village. Although in the neighborhood of a savage
ny with surrounding things. Everything about that Indian tribe, the little band of pioneers remained unmo-
house is in perfect keeping with the character and ap- lested in their humble occupations, gradually clearing
pearance of its owner. The occupant, himself, is a fine the land around their settlement, and sustaining their
stately farmer of the old class—shrewd, penetrating families on the game which was found in abundance in
and intelligent-one of those men who contrive to keep the mountains. They held little intercourse with In-
the heart green when the frost of age is chilling the dians, but hitherto, no act of hostility on either side bad
blood and whitening upon the brow. He has already aroused discontent between the settlers and the savages.
numbered more than the three score years and ten allot- ! It was early in May, about a year after the first set.
Led to man. His habits and the fashion of his attire tlement of the whites, when some six or eight of the
are those of fifty years ago. He still clings to huge stoutest men started for the woods in search of game.
wood fires, apples and cider in the winter season; and A bear had been seen on the brink of the clearing at
allows a bevy of fine cows to pasture on the rich grass break of day, and while the greater number struck off
in front of his dwelling in the summer. All the hospi- in search of more humble game, three of the most reso-
table feelings of former years remain warm at his heart. Silute followed his trail, which led to the mountain.
He is indeed a fine specimen of the staunch Republican. The foremost of the three hunters was an English-
farmer of the last century, occupying the house which man of about forty, habited in a thread-bare suit of blue
his father erected, and enjoying a fresh old age beneath broadcloth, with drab gaiters buttoned up to his knees,
the roof-tree which shadowed his infancy.
and a hat sadly shorn of its original nap. His hunting
During a sojourn in this vicinity last season, it was apparatus bespoke the peculiar care which all of his
pne of our greatest pleasures to spend an evening with country so abundantly bestow on their implements of
the old gentleman, listening to legends of the Indians: | sport. The other two were much yourger, and dressed
reminiscences of the Revolution, and pithy remarks on in home-made cloth, over which were loose frocks mano-
the present age, with which he loved to entertain us, factured from refuse flax or swingled tow. Both were
while we occasionally interrupted him by comparing handsome, but different in the cast of their features.
knitting.work with the kind old lady, his wife, or by The character of the first might be read in his gay air
praises of a sweet little grandchild who would cling and springy step as he followed close to the English-
about his knees and play with the silver buckles on his man, dashing away the brushwood with the muzzle of
shoes as he talked. That tall, stately old man, and the his gun, and detecting with a quick eye the broken
Wect child, made a beautiful picture of “age at play twigs or disturbed leaves which betrayed the course of
*
-
*


M A LA ESKA.
189
the hunted bear. There was also something charac- 11 of a more delicate green down the middle, where the
teristic in the wearing of his dress, in the fox-skin cap spring curled onward in a graceful rivulet, musical as
chrown carelessly on one side of his superb head, expo- the laugh of a child. As if called to life by the chime
sing a mass of short brown curls around the left ear and of the little brook, a host of white wild-blossoms un-
temple, and in the bosom of his coarse frock, thrown folded their starry bosoms along its margin, and clumps
open so as to give free motion to a neck Apollo might of swamp-lilies shed an azure hue amid the grass.
have coveted. He was a hunter, who had occasionally Until that day, our hunters had ever found "the
visited the settlement of late, but spent whole weeks in Straka" silent and untenanted, save by singing birds
the woods professedly in collecting furs by his own ef- and the wild deer, which came down from the moun-
forts, or by purchase from the tribe of Indians encamped tains to feed on its rich verdure; but now a dozen wreaths
at the foot of the mountains.
of smoke curled up from the trees at the northern ex-
The last was more sedate in his looks, and less buoy- tremity, and a camp of newly-erected wigwams might
ant in his air. There was an intellectual expression in be seen through a vista in the wood. One or two were
his high, thoughtful brow, embrowned though it was by built even on the edge of the clearing; the grass was
exposure. A depth of thought in his serious eye, and much trampled around them, and three or four half-na-
u graceful dignity in his carriage, bespoke him as one of ked Indian children lay rolling upon it, laughing, shout-
those who hide deep feeling under an appearance of ing, and flinging up their limbs in the pleasant morning
coldness and apathy. He had been a school-master in air. One young Indian woman was also frolicing
the Bay State, from whence he had been drawn by the among them, tossing an infant in her arms, carroling
bright eyes and merry laugh of one Martha Fellows, aand playing with it. Her laugh was musical as a bird
maiden of seventeen, whose father had moved to the song, and as she darted to and fro, now into the forest
settlement at Catskill, the preceding summer, and to and then out into the sunshine, her long hair glowed
whom, report said, he was to be married whenever a like the wing of a raven, and her motion was graceful
minister authorised to perform the ceremony, should as an untamed gazelle. They could see that the child,
find his way to the settlement.
100, was very beautiful, even from the distance at which
The three hunters bent their way in a south-western | they stood, and occasionally, as the wind swept toward
direction from the settlement, till the forest suddenly them, his shout came ringing upon it like the gush of
opened into a beautiful and secluded piece of meadow- waters leaping from their fount.
land, known to this day by its Dutch title of “ the Straka," || " This is a little too bad," muttered the Englishman,
which means, our aged friend informed us, a strip of
|fingering his gun-lock. “Can they find no spot to bo-
land. The Straka lay before them of an oblong form, rough in but " the Straka.” St. George! but I have a
some eight or ten acres in expanse, with all its luxuri-
mind to shoot the squaw and wring the neck of every
ance of trees, grass and flowers, bathed in the dew and
red imp among them.”
sunshine of a warm summer's morning. It presented
“Do it!" exclaimed Danforth, turning furiously upon
a lovely contrast to the dense wilderness from which
the hunters emerged, and they halted for a moment be-
him, “touch but a hair of her head, and by the Lord
that made me, I will bespatter that tree with your
neath the boughs of a tall hickory to enjoy its delicious
brains!"
freshness. The surface of the enclosure was not exactly
level, but down the whole length it curved gently up
The Englishman dropped the stock of his musket hard
from the middle, on either side, to the magnificent trees
to the ground, and a spot of fiery red flashed into his
that hedged it in, with a beautiful and leafy rampart.
cheek at this savage burst of anger so uncalled for and
The margin was irregular-here and there a clump of
so insolent. He gazed a moment on the frowning face
trees shot down into the enclosure, and the clearing
of the young hunter, and then lifting his gun, turned
occasionally ran up into the forest in tiny glades and
carelessly away.
little grassy nooks, in which the sunlight slumbered 1 “Tut, man, have done with this," he said; “I did
like smiles on the face of a dreaming infant. On every but jest. Come, we have lost the trail, and shall miss
side, the trunks of huge trees shot up along the margin the game, too, if we tarry longer; come.” The Eng-
beneath their magnificent canopy of leaves, like the lishman shouldered his musket as he spoke, and turned
ivied columns of a ruin, or fell back in the misty per- into the woods. Jones followed, but Danforth lingered
spective of the forest, scarcely discernible in its gloom behind.
and shadow. The heavy piles of foliage which fell “I must see what this means,” he muttered, glanc-
amid the boughs, like a wealth of drapery flung in ing after his companions and then at the group of young
masses to the summer wind, was thrifty and ripe with the Indians; “what can have brought them so near the set-
warm breath of August. No spirit of decay had, as tlement ?" He gave another quick glance toward the
yet, shed a gorgeous breath over its deep, rich green, hunters, and then hurried across " the Straka " toward
but all was wet with dew, and kindled up by the sun- | the wigwams. Jones and the Englishman had reached
light to a thousand varying tints of the same color. A | the little lake or pond which lies about a mile south of
bright spring gushed from a swell of ground in the upper the Straka," when they were again joined by Danforth.
part of the enclosure, and the whole surface of the His brow was unclouded, and he seemed anxious to do
beautiful spot was covered with a vigorous growth of away the effect of his late violence, by more than ordi-
tall meadow-grass, which rose thicker and brighter and nary cheerfulness. Harmony was restored, and they


MA L A ESKA.
191
the care of John Fellows, and pretty Martha Fellows, |culprit to snatch her hand from under the hunter's, and
his daughter, the maiden before mentioned. As the to overturn two empty tin cups in her fright.
sun went down, the men who had gone to the woods in “Sir," said Martha, recovering herself, and casting a
the morning, began to collect with their game. Two mischievous glance at Danforth, which was reciprocated
stags, rackoons and meaner game in abundance, were with interest.
lying before the door, when the three hunters came in Mr. Arthur Jones felt that he was making himself
with the slain bear. They were greeted with a boister- ridiculous, and suppressing bis wrath, he finished his
ous shout, and the hunters crowded eagerly forward to magnificent commencement. “Will you give me a
examine the prize ; but when Jones cast the Indian's drink of water?" At which Martha pointed with her
scalp on the pile, they looked in each others faces with little embrowned hand to the pitcher, saying,
ominous silence, while the young hunter stood pale and “There it is," then turning her back to her lover, she
collected before them. It was the first time that Indian cast another arch glance at Danforth, and taking his
life had been taken by any of their number, and they cap from the table, began to blow upon the yellow fur,
felt that in the shedding of red blood, the barriers of and put it to her cheek, as if it had been a pet kitten she
their protection were broken down.
was caressing, and all for the laudable purpose of tor-
“ It is a bad business," said one of the elder settlers, menting the man who loved her, and whom she loved
waving his head, and breaking the general silence. better than any thing in existence. Jones turned on her
" There'll be no clear hunting in the woods after this ; a bitter, contemptuous look, and raising the pitcher to
but how did it all come about, Jones-let us know how his lips left the room. In a few minutes the other hun-
you came by that scalp-did the varmint fire at you, or ters entered, and Jason Fellows, father to Martha, an-
how was it ?"
nounced it as decided by the hunters, who had been
The hunters gathered around Jones, who was about holding a kind of council without-that Arthur Jones
to account for his possession of the scalp, when the land William Danforth, as the two youngest members of
door of the house was opened, and he happened to look the community, should be despatched to the nearest
into the little room ihus exposed. It was scantily fur- settlement to request aid to protect them from the
nished with a few benches and stools ; a bed was in one Indians, whose immediate attack they had good reason
corner, and Martha Fellows, his promised wife, stood to fear.
by a rough deal table, on which were two or three tini Martha, on hearing the names of the emissaries men-
drinking cups, a couple of half-empty bottles, with a tioned, dropped the cup she had been filling.
pitcher of water, backed by a broken mug, filled to the “Oh, not him-not them, I mean-they will be
fractured top with maple molasses. Nothing of the overtaken and tomahawked on their way!" she ex-
kind could have been more beautiful than protty Mar- claimed, turning to her father with a look of affright.
tha as she bent forward, listening with wrapt attention “Let Mr. Danforth remain," said Jones, advancing
to the animated whisper of William Danforth, who to the table, “ I will undertake the mission alone.”
stood by her, divested of his coarse frock, his cap lying | Tears came into Martha's eyes, and she turned them
on the lable before him, and his athletic figure dis- reproachfully to her lover; but full of his heroic resola-
played to the best advantage by the round-about button- ' tion to be tomahawked and comfortably scalped on his
ed closely over his bosom. A red silk handkerchief, own responsibility, he turned majestically, without
tied like a scarf round his waist, gave a picturesque deigning to meet the tearful glance which was well cal-
gracefulness to his costume, altogether in harmony with culated to mitigate his jealous wrath.
his fine proportions, and with the bold cast of his head,
Danforth on being replied to, requested permission
which certainly was a model of masculine beauty.
to defer his answer till the morning, and the hunters
A flash of anger shot athwart Arthur Jones' forehead
left the house to divide the game, which had been for-
and a strange jealous feeling came to his heart. He
gotten in the general excitement.
began a confused account of his adventure, but the En. 8
glishman interrupted him, and took it upon himself to || Danforth, who had lingered to the last, look up his
gratify the clamorous curiosity of the hunters, leaving cap, and whispering good night to Martha, left the
Jones at liberty to scrutinize each look and motion of house. The poor girl scarcely heeded his departure.
his lady-love. He watched with a jealous feeling the. Her eyes filled wi:h tears, and seating herself on a
blush as it deepened and glowed on her embrowned
settee which ran along one end of the room, she folded
cheek; he saw the sparkling pleasure of her hazel eyes, her arms on the board which served as a back, and
and the pretty dimples gathering about her red lips, burying her face upon them, wept violently.
like spots of sunlight flickering through the leaves of a As she remained in this position, she heard a fainiliar
red rose, and his heart sickened with distrust. But step on the floor. Her heart beat quick, fluttered a
when the handsome hunter laid his band on hers, and moment, and then settled to its regular pulsations again,
bent his head, till the short curls on his temples almost for her lover had seated himself beside her. Martha
mingled with her glossy ringlets, the lover could bear the wiped the tears from her eyes and remained quiet, for
sight no longer. Breaking from the little band of hun- knew that he had returned, and with that know-
ters, he stalked majestically into the house, and ap- | ledge, the spirit of coquetry had revived; and when
proaching the object of his uneasiness, exclaimed, Jones, softened by her apparent sorrow-for he had
** Martha Fellows;" in a voice which caused the pretty seen her parting with Danforth-put his hand softly


192
MA LA ESKA.
under her forehead and raised her face, the creature was a moon, but the sky was clouded, and the little light
was laughing-laughing at his folly, as he thought. which struggled to the earth, was too faint to penetrate
“Martha, you are doing wrong—wrong to yourself the thick foliage of the wilderness. Danforth must have
and to me," said the disappointed lover, rising indig- been familiar with the track, for he found his way with-
nantly and taking his hat, with which he advanced co-out difficulty through the darkness, and never stopped
ward the door.
till he came out on the northern brink of the Pond. He
"Don't go,” said Martha, turning her head till one looked anxiously over the face of the little lake. The
cheek only rested on her arm, and casting a glance, half fitful moon had broken from a cloud, and was touching
repentant, half comic, on her retreating lover, “don't go the tiny waves with beauty, while the broken, rocky
off so-if you do, you'll be very sorry for it.”
shore encompassed it with shadow, like a frame-
Jones hesitated, she became serious, the tears sprang || work of ebony. No speck was on its bosom-no sound
to her eyes, and she looked exceedingly penitent. He was abroad; but the evening breeze as it rippled on the
returned to her side. Had he appealed to her feelings | waters, and made a sweet whispering melody in the
then-had he spoken of the pain she had given him in tree-tops.
her encouragement of another, she would have acknow-l Suddenly a light as if from a pine torch, was seen on
ledged the fault with all proper humility; but he did no l a point of land jutting out from the opposite shore.
such thing—he was a common sense man, and he re- | Another and another flashed out, each bearing to a par-
solved to end his first love-quarrel in a common senseticular direction, and then a pyramid of flame rose high
manner, as if common sense ever had any thing to do and bright, illuminating the whole point, and shooting
with lover's quarrels. “I will reason with her,” he its fiery reflection like a meteor, almost across the bosom
thought. “He will say I have made him very wretched, l of the waters.
and I will tell him I am very sorry," she thought.
“Yes, they are preparing for work,” muttered Dan-
“Martha," he said, very deliberately, why do I find forth, as he saw a crowd of painted warriors range
you on terms of such familiarity with this Manhattan themselves around the camp fire, each with his fire-lock
fellow ?"
in his hand. There was a general movement. Dark
Martha was disappointed. He spoke quite too calm-l faces flittered in quick succcession between him and the
ly, and there was a sarcastic emphasis on the word fel blaze, as the warriors performed the heavy march, or
low, that roused her pride. The lips, which had just war-dance, which usually precedes the going out of a
began to quiver with repentance, worked themselves | hostile party.
into a pouting fullness, till they resembled the rosebud, Danforth left the shore, and striking out in an oblique
just as it bursts its leaves. Her rounded shoulder was direction, arrived after half an hour of quick walking,
turned petrishly toward her lover, with the air of a at the Indian encampment. He threaded his way
spoiled child, and she replied, that “ He was always through the cluster of hark wigwams, till he came to
finding fault.”
one standing on the verge of the enclosure. It was of
Jones took her hand, and was proceeding in his sen- logs, and erected with a regard to comfort, which the
sible manner to convince her that she was wrong, had others wanted. The young hunter drew aside the mat
acted wildly, foolishly, and with a careless disregard to which hung over the entrance, and looked in. A young
her own happiness.
Indian girl was sitting on a pile of furs at the opposite
As might be expected, the beautiful rustic snatched extremity. She wore no paint-her cheek was round
her hand away, turned her shoulder more decidedly on | and smooth, and large gazelle-like eyes gave a soft bril-
her lover, and bursting into tears, declared that she liancy to her countenance, beautiful beyond expression,
would thank him if he would stop scolding, and that Her dress was a robe of dark chintz, open at the throat,
she did not care if she never set eyes on him again. and confined at the waist by a narrow belt of wampum,
He would have remonstrated. “Do listen to com- which, with the bead bracelets on her naked arms, and
mon sense,” he said, extending his hand to take hers. the embroidered moccasins laced over her feet, was the
“I hate common sense!" she exclaimed, dashing only Indian ornament about her. Even her hair, which
away his hand, “I wont hear any more of your lectur- all of her tribe wore laden with ornaments, and hanging
ing-leave the house, and never speak to me again, as down the back, was braided and wreathed in raven bands
long as you live."
over her smooth forehead. An infant almost naked,
Mr. Arthur Jones took up his bat, placed it delibe- was lying in her lap, throwing his unfettered limbs
rately on his head, and walked out of the house. With about, and lifting his little hands to his mother's mouth
a heavy heart, Martha watched his slender form, as it as she rocked back and forth on her seat of skins, chaun-
disappeared in the darkness, and then stole away to her ting in a sweet, mellow voice, the burthen of an Indian
bed in the garret.
lullaby. As the form of the hunter darkened the en-
“He will call in the morning before he starts-he trance, the Indian girl started up with a look of affec-
won't have the heart to go away without saying one tionate joy, and laying her child on the pile of skins,
word—I am sure he won't," she repeated to herself over advanced to meet him.
and over again, as she lay sobbing, and weeping peni- “Why did the white man leave his woman so many
tent tears on her pillow that night.
nights ?" she said in her broken English, hanging fond-
When William left the log-tavern, he struck into the ly about him, “the boy and his mother have listened
woods, and took his course toward the Pond. There long for the sound of his moccasins."


MA L A ESKA.
193
-
mmon to
the Indian warrior.
Danforth passed his arm round the waist of his In- | The council fire still streamed high in the air, redden:
dian wife, and drawing her to him, bent his cheek to ing the waters and lighting up the trees and foreground
hers, as if that slight caress was sufficient answer to her with a beautiful effect, while the rocky point seemed of
gentle greeting, and so it was; her untutored heart, emerald pebbles, so brilliant was the reflection cast over
rich in its natural affections, had no aim, no object but it, and so distinctly did it display the painted forms of
what centered in the love she bore her white husband. the savages as they sal in a circle round the blaze, each
The feelings which in civilized life are scattered over a with his weapon lying idly by his side. The light lay
thousand objects, were in her bosom, centered on one full on the glittering wampum and feathery crest of one
single being; he supplied the place of all the high as- who was addressing them with more of energy than is
pirations of all the passions and sentiments, which are
fostered into strenguh by society--and as her husband || Danforth was too far off to collect a distinct hearing
bowed his head to hers, the blood darkened her cheek, of the discourse, but with a feeling of perfect security;
and her large liquid eyes were flooded with delight. he left the deep shadow in which he stood, and ap-
“And what has Malaeska been doing, since the boy's proached the council fire. As the light fell upon him,
father went to the wood ?" inquired Danforth, as she the Indians leaped to their feet, and a savage yell rent
drew him to the couch, where the child was lying, half- ! the air, as if a company of fiends had been disturbed in
buried in the rich fur.
their orgies. Again and again was the fierce cry rei-
“Malaeska has been alone in the wigwam, watching terated, till the woods resounded with the wild echo
the shadow of the big pine. When her heart grew | rudely summoned from the caves. As the young hun-
sick, she looked in the boy's eyes and was glad," re- ler stood lost in astonishment at the strange commotion,
plied the Indian mother, laying the infant in his father's he was seized by the savages, and dragged before their
arms.
chief, while the group around furiously demanded ven-
Danforth kissed the child, whose eyes certainly bore geance, quick and terrible, for the death of their slain
a striking resemblance to his own; and parting the brother. The truth flashed across the hunter's mind.
straight black hair from a forehead which scarcely bore | It was his death they had been planning. It was he
a tinge of its mother's blood, muttered-
they supposed to be the slayer of the Indian. He re-
“It's a pity the little fellow is not all white."
monstrated and declared himself guiltless of the red
The Indian mother took the child, and with a look of man's death. It was in vain. He had been seen on
proud anguish, laid her finger on its cheek, which was the mountain by one of the tribe, not five minutes before
rosy with English blood.
the dead body of the Indian was found. Almost in de-
“Malaeska's father is a great chief-the boy will be pair the hunter turned to the chief.
a chief in her father's tribe; but Malaeska never thinks Il "Am I not your son—the father of a young chief--
of that when she sees the white man's blood come into one of your own tribe ?" he said, with appealing energy:
the boy's face.” She turned mournfully to her seat! The saturnine face of the chief never changed, as he
again.
l answered in his own language, “The red man has
“He will make a brave chief,” said Danforth, anx taken a rattle snake to warm in his wigwam-the war-
ious to soften the effects of his inadvertent speech; “ but riors shall crush his head !" and with a fierce grin, he
tell me, Malaeska, why have the warriors kindled the pointed to che pile of rosinous wood which the savages
council-fire ? I saw it blaze by the Pond, as I came by." were heaping on the council fire.
Malaeska could only inform him that the body of a Danforth looked round on the group preparing for his
dead Indian had been brought to the encampment about destruction. Every dusky face was lighted up with a
dusk, and that it was supposed he had been shot by demoniac thirst for blood, the hot flames quivered into
some of the whites from the settlement. She said that the air, their gorgeous tints amalgamating and shooting
the chief had immediately called a council to deliberale upward like a spire of living rainbows, while a thousand
on the best means of revenging their brother's death. fiery tongues, hissing and darting onward like vipers
Danforth had feared this movement in the savages, eager for their prey, licked the fresh pine-knots heaped
and it was to mitigate their wrath that he sought the en- for his death-pyre. It was a fearful sight, and the heart
campment at so late an hour. He had married the of the brave hunter quailed within him as he looked.
daughter of their chief, and consequently was a man of With another wild whoop, the Indians seized their
considerable importance in the tribe. But he felt that victim, and were about to strip him for the sacrifice.
his utmost exertion might fail to draw them from their In their blind fury, they tore him from the grasp of
meditated vengeance, now that one of their number had those who held him, and were too intent on divesting
been slain by the whites. Feeling the necessity for his him of his clothes to remark that his limbs were free.
immediate presence at the council, he left the wigwam But he was not so forgetful. Collecting his strength
and proceeded at a brisk walk to the brink of the Pond. for a last effort, he struck the nearest savage a blow in
He came out of the thick forest which fringed it a little the chest, which sent him reeling among his followers,
above the point on which the Indians were collected. I then taking advantage of the confusion, he tore off his
Their dance was over, and from the few guttural tones can, and springing forward with the bound of an on-
which reached him, Danforth knew that they were caged tiger, plunged into the lake. A shout rent the
planning the death of some particular individuals, which air, and a score of dark heads broke the water in pur-
was probably to precede their attack on the settlement. 'suit. Fortunately, a cloud was over the moon, and the


MA LA ESKA.
195
had met with among the Indians, and of his departure ! Now this same Englishman had a niece residing with
with Arthur Jones in search of aid from the nearest set him, who was considered by some, to be more beauti-
tlement. The old man gloomily added that the savages ful than Martha herself. The humbled maiden thought
would doubtless burn the houses over their heads, and of Jones, and of the bright blue eyes of the English
massacre every living being within them, long before girl, till her heart burned with the very same jealous
the two brave fellows would return with men. Such, I feelings she had so ridiculed in her lover.
indeed, were the terrible fears of almost every one in “I will see him, I will see them both,” she exclaimed,
the little neighborhood. Their apprehensions, however, starting up from the settle where she remained full of
were premature. Part of the Indian tribe had gone out jealous anxiety, since the dispersing of the crowd, and
on a hunting-party among the hills, and were ignorant unheeded by her father, who was relating his hunting
of the fatal shot with which Jones had aroused the ani- exploits to the five strangers quartered on him, she
mosity of their brethren; while those who remained, i dashed away her tears, threw a shawl over her head,
were dispersed in a fruitless pursuit after Danforth. and taking a cup, as an excuse for borrowing some-
On the afternoon of the fifth day after the departure thing, left the house.
of their emissaries, the whites began to see unequivocal The Englishman's dwelling stood on the outward
symptoms of an attack; and now their fears did not de- verge of the clearing, just within the shadow of the for-
ceive them. The hunting-party had returned to their liest. Martha had almost reached the entrance, when a
encampment, and the detached parties were gathering dark form rushed from its covert in the brushwood, and
around “the Straka." About dark, an Indian appeared rudely seizing her, darted back into the wilderness.
on the skirts of the clearing, as if to spy out the posi- | The terrified girl uttered a fearful shriek ; for the fierce
tion of the whites. Soon after, a shot was fired at the eyes gazing down upon her, were those of a ga-
Englishman before mentioned, as he returned from his vage. She could not repeat the cry, for the wretch
work, which passed through the crown of his hat. crushed her form to his naked chest with a grasp of
t hostilites were commencing, was now beyond a liron, and winding his hand in her hair, was about to
doubt, and the males of the settlement met in solemn dash her to the ground. That moment a bullet whis-
conclave to devise measures for the defence of their led by her cheek. The Indian tightened his hold with
wives and children. Their slender preparations were spasmodic violence, staggered back, and fell to the
soon made; all were gathered round one of the largest ground, still girding her in his death-grasp-a moment
houses, in gloomy apprehension; the women and chil- li he writhed in mortal agony-warm blood gushed over
dren within, and the men standing in front, sternly re- his victim—the heart under her struggled fiercely in its
solving to die in the defence of their loved ones. Sud- last throes ; then, the lifeless arms relaxed, and she
denly there came up a sound from the wood, the tramp- lay fainting on a corpse.
ling of many feet, and the crackling of brushwood, as
To be continued.
if some large body of men were forcing a way through
the tangled forest. The women bowed their pallid
Original.
faces, and gathering their children in their arms, waited
TO A LADY
appalled for the attack. The men stood ready, each ON BEING PRESENTED WITH A FADED ROSE.
grasping his weapon, their faces pallid, and their eyes
LADY, thy little gift I prize;
kindled with stern courage, as they heard the stifled
'Twill soothe me 'mid my many woes-
groans of the loved objects cowering behind them for
For any gift from thee is dear,
protection. The sound became nearer and more dis-
Though it be but a faded rose.
linct; dark forms were seen dimly moving among the
That faded rose! a moral sad
trees, and then a file of men came out into the clearing. Its dried and blighted leaves disclose;
They were whites, led on by William Danforth and
And many a lesson may be learned,
Arthur Jones. The settlers uttered a boisterous shout,
By gazing on a faded rose.
threw down their arms, and ran in a body to meet the
When parted from its parent stalk,
new comers. The women sprang to their feet, some
That flow'ret withered, drooped and died ;
weeping, others laughing in hysterical joy, and all em So Love will wither, fade and droop,
bracing their children with frantic energy.
Unless sweet Hope be by his side.
Never were there more welcome guests than the score
So life shall fade; a few short years
of weary men who refreshed themselves in the various
of joy and sorrow here are known;
houses of the settlement that night. Sentinels were
A few bright smiles, a few sad tears-
placed, and each settler returned to his dwelling, accom-
And Death has marked us for his own.
panied by three or four guests ; every heart beat high
So beauty fades; the fairest cheek,
save one-Martha Fellows-she, poor girl, was sad
That with the loveliest color glows,
among the general rejoicing; her lover had not spoken to Before the heavy hand of Time,
her, though she lingered near his side in the crowd, and Must wither like that faded rose.
had once almost touched him. Instead of going directly
But, like that rose, shall never fade
to her father's house, as had been his custom, ho accep While Heaven vouchsafes a breath to me,
ted the Englishman's invitation, and departed to sleep in My heart's deep feelings, warm and true,
his dwelling.
Which centre, dearest, all in thee. H, B. Da


196
THE BRIDE
THE BRIDE,--- A BALLAD.
Written By Charles Jeffreys;
COMPOSED BY S. NELSON.
ANDANTE

Oh! take her but be faithful
PP
Il

still,
And
may the bridal
vow
Be
sacred held in
after years,
And


THE BRIDE.
197

warmly breath'd as now,
A TEMPO
Remember 'tis no common tie
That binds her youthful
RITARDO
CRES
ppo
AD LIB:

heart:
'Tis one that only truth should weave, And only Death can part.
CRES
Ritardo
.
2. The joys of Childhood's happy hour,
The home of riper years,
The treasured scenes of early youth,
In sunshine and in tears;
The purest hopes her bosom knew,
When her young heart was free,
All these and more she now resigns,
To brave the world with thee.
3. Her lot in life is fix'd with thine,
Its good and ill to share,
And well I know 'twill be her pride,
To soothe each sorrow there;
Then take her and may fleeting Time
Mark only Joy's increase,
And may your days glide sweetly on
In happiness and peace.


198
TA M - 0'-THE-DEE.
Original.
|| My wealth is a hawk, and a jolly brown steed,
TAM-0'. THE-DEE.
My comrades are yeoman who draw at my need;":
“ A hawk and a steed, and a yeoman for me
The maid from the cot, and the lady from bower, For still I'll be lassie of Tam-o'-the-Dee."
The lad from the plough, and the lord from his tower,
The huntsman whose horn winds the mort of the deer,
“Your mother I met her, but she pass’d me by,
The ranger, so trim in his bow and his gear;
With one flirt of her head and one troll of her eye ;
Oh! come ye to wildwood and listen a glee
Whilst your father did stoop with a hound to play,
Of Nora, the lassie, of Tam-o'-the-Dee.
And he never looked up but he said me nay:"
“ 'Tis the gold and the gear of Lord Dacre," thought sbe,
Oh! now the Earl Dacre, of Arkendale lord,
“But still I'll be lassie to Tam-o'-the-Dee."
Has come to fair Nora, to prate a love-word;
He has ballads enew, and of minstrels a host,
“Never more to your father read I my love tale ;
And all gallant they shine, for he spares not the cost;
Never more to your mother my bonnet I vail;
And tho' he is old, like a younker speaks he
Yet never loved lad with a heart more true,
To Nora, the lassie of Tam-o'-the-Dee.
For still it is thinking and thinking of you;"
“ It is much my own plight, dear lad," thought she,
“The brisk sun of summer is not half so fair
“For sure I'm the lassie of Tam-o'-the-Dee.”
As the gems which shall glint in thy bridal hair;
Forty vassals at will, and maids aye at call,
“Good cheer and high mirth was in Lord Dacre's hall,
Thou shalt still walk the lady of bower and hall:"
And forty brisk yeoman stept forth at his call,
“Without maid or vassal, 'twere better," thought she,
Now boot ye, good men, to my bridal to ride;
“ To run the sweet wildwood with Tam-o'-the-Dee."
And they rode to the church, yet found never a bride;"
But as they shrank home was a laugh on the lea,
“And to each lord and lady thou shalt be the peer,
'Twas Nora the lassie, with Tam-o'-the-Dee. B.
Not a knight but will take, at thy bidding, the spear,
Not a minstrel of Prévence, the soft land of lays,
THE MUFFLED KNOCKER.
That will not be harping thy beauty's praise.”
“ It would please me far better to hear,” thought she,
Grief!-Grief !—'tis thine emblem so mute and drear,
“ In wildwood the whistle of Tam.o'-the-Dee."
Yet it hath a voice to the listening ear,
Of the nurse's care, and the curtained bed,
So she thanked Lord Dacre never a word,
And the baffled healer's cautious tread,
Tho' he sung till each vassal leered at his lord; And the midnight lamp with its flickering light,
“He had better be bidding his beads," say they, Half screened from the restless sufferer's sight;
“And leave trolling to lasses a love roundelay." Yes, many a sable scene of woe,
“For than all his broad lands far dearer," thinks she, Doth that muffled knocker's tablet show.
“Is one lock of the hair of Tam-o'-the-Dee."
Pain!—Pain!-art thou wrestling here with man,
When Lord Dacre found that his suit it was cold,
| For the broken gold of his wasted span?
He sent to her home all his gear and his gold;
Art thou straining thy rack on his tortured nerve
“ Here is gold for a Duchess," the father then cried,
Till his firmest hopes from their anchor swerve ?
“And here," quoth the mother, “is brave gear for a
Till burning tears from his eyeball flow,
bride.”
And his manhood melts in a cry of woe?
Methinks thy scorpion arts I trace,
“He may send all his gold and his gear,” thought she
" But still I'll be lassie to Tam-o'-the-Dee."
Through the mist of that sullen knocker's face.
Death !--Death-do I see thee with weapon dread!
Scarce an hour hath past by since Lord Dacre hath Art thou laying thy hand on yon cradle-bed ?
gone,
The Mother is there with her sleepless eye
And Nora now sits in her bower all alone,
To dispute each step of thy victory;
And again ye may hearken a voice on the air,
She doth fold the child in her soul's embrace,
Yet naught boots it me the Bard's name to declare, Her prayer is to be in her darling's place;
For the blush on her cheek, and the blink of her e'e, She hath bared her breast to thine arrow's sway,
Both tell she is listening to Tam-o'-the-Dee.
But thou wilt not be bribed from thy babe away.
“I come to thee, love, neath the broad bonnie night,
Earth!—Earth !-thou dost stamp on thy scroll of bliss
And tho' gallant yon star is, I know what's as bright;
The faithless seal of a traitor's kiss;
'Tis thire own merry eye, Love, so cunning of hue,
Where the bridal lamp shone clear and bright,
That it still keeps me thinking and thinking of you:
| And the dancer's foot through the maze was light,
Tho' ye hear it not, lad," with a blush, thought she,
Thou biddest the black-rob'd weeper kneel,
“I'm sure I'm the lassie of Tam-o'-the-Dee."
And the heavy hearse roll its lumbering wheel;
And still to the heart that will heed its lore
If you ask of my home I must point to the wood, || True Wisdom doth speak from the muffled door.
If you wish for my wine, 'tis the blue mountain flood,
L. H. S.


THEATRICALS
199
THEATRICALS.
11 dience. Mr. Jones is an uncertain singer. On one or two eve-
nings he sang with good taste and power, but sometimes so
PARK.-Since our last number was published, Mr. Sarg ert's
differently that we were astonished. He should mend his act-
tragedy,“ Velasco," has been performed five or six times with
much success. Miss Alerina Fisher personated Izidora in a
in two of the minor characters, but they have too little power
highly creditable manner, although we think she mistakes that
to deliver with effect the music of Rossini.
line of the dramatic art for which she is formed by nature. We
We should not forget to remark that Mrs. Gibbs has appeared
were generally pleased with her efforts, but she lacks power,
as Don Giovanni at this theatre. We wonder that a lady of her
and should be careful in future to enunciate more distinctly.
character and power, formerly the celebrated prima donna of
We regret to be obliged to notice her habit of never sounding
Drury-lane, and one of the most popular vocalists on the Eng-
the final letter in words terminating in ing. Such enunciation
lish stage, should not be engaged for some nights. She would
belongs exclusively to Yorkshire. Care and study may evontu-il more
more than fill the place which Madame Vestris has left unoccu-
ally render this young lady a favorite with the public.
pied-because, as a vocalist, and in personal charms, she is
Mrs. Sharo's engagement succeeded Miss Fisher's. Knowles' superior to that artiste. Mrs. Gibbs was first engaged by Mr.
play, “The Maid of Mariendorpt," was produced in an agreea Caldwell. We should really like to know whether this fact has
blo manner, and the character of Meeta was beautifully perso had any influence with managers in direct correspondence with
nated by Mrs. Shaw. The interest of the play flags at the end London managers? If this be the case, the public ought to
of the fourth act, and we cannot say that it was highly success- || know it.
ful. Its success at the Haymarket theatre, London, is undoubt- i| NATIONAL.-"The Last Days of Pompeii," a scenic play,
edly to be attributed to the support given to it by the wealthy founded on Bulwer's novel of that name, was revived early in
Jews residing in that neighborhood, since the author has at-|| the month-Mr. Hamblin personating Arbaces. The play is
tempted a defence of their character, as honorable to his head by no means perfect; yet, from the splendor of its pageantry
as to his heart. Mrs. Shaw appeared, also, as Hero, in Knowles' and scenery, it is popular. One of the most palpable faults
" Woman's Wit," a play, the language of which is so inverted in it is where the blind-girl, Nydia, is told she shall never
and affected as almost to baffle the study of any artist. To see Glaucus again! Every actor pronounced Athenian as if
study such a play is like working upon a rocky mine which it were spelled Athenaan, placing the accent on the last sylla-
contains no ample store of riches. Mrs. Shaw did not succeed ble but one. It seems to us that the stage-manager ought to
in attracting larger audiences than others who preceded her.' know better than to tolerate such a barbarism. We were asto-
But the apathy of the public toward this theatre is gradually nished to hear Mr. Hamblin adopt it. As the play was produ-
diminishing, and we have no doubt that the season will wind ced under his direction it may be that all the censure should
up with brilliancy. The company is certainly full of talent, | fall upon him. We have, however, no means of judging. Mr.
and has gained much in strength through Mr. Hield-a very | Hamblin was cheered each night of his engagement by the pre-
capable, although not always, a careful actor. He is a great sence of large and fashionable audiences, and his acting was
favorite, however, and we have every reason to think that he deserving of tho deatening applause it continually received.
will maintain a high position upon the boards.
Madame Celeste has again appeared, and produced “The
Miss Cushman, upon her benefit-night, appeared as Romeo, Spirit of Air," which merits no commendation, except so far as
and enacted the part to general satisfaction. This young lady the mere scenery and machinery are considered. As a literary
is worthy of much praise; but she should not overstep that work it is miserable ; and, as an acting play, bad; for Celeste
deportment upon the stage, the neglect of which renders many appears not to the very best advantage. It is too plain that the
of the artists of the theatre open to ceasure. Too much
piece was prepared expressly for her, and that the idea tbat the
familiarity with an audience, or with the persons of the drama, public would like to see some other artist in company with
not called for by the scene, usually has a bad result. A young Celeste was wholly disregarded by the author. Madame Ce.
gentleman made a powerful impression in the trial scene from leste is fully entitled to all the praise we have heretofore be-
"The Merchant of Venice," acting twice the first time at I stowed upon her, but she owes it to herself and to the drama to
Miss Cushman's benefit. We were much pleased with his evi present the public with more satisfactory pieces than she has
dences of discrimination and judgment, and we shall not be yet performed in. There are authors enough in the country
surprised to hear of his early advancement in the profession. I who would furnish her with better plays than she possesses, both
for her success and for the credit of the theatre.
Opera has revived, with Mrs. Bailey as the prima donna. The
Madame Stephan has, also, terminated a very successful en-
engagement was opened with “La Sonnambula." “Cinderel.
gagement. She is, in the strongest sense of the phrase, a splen-
la" followed, and after that came "La Gazza Ladra." This
did dancer. The variety and newness of her steps and figures
opera contains some exquisite music, but is somewhat tedious;
make her exhibitions among the richest of the kind ever wit-
too heavy for the story. Mrs. Bailey is a sweet, but not a pow-
nessed in this country. We saw her with much pleasure in
erful vocalist. She is one of the most pleasing singers which
it has been our fortune to hear; and the frequent applause and
the several plays in which she appeared, and our first impres-
sions of her capability we have found to be borne out by her
acclamation bestowed upon her exertions show that she is much
great success and the admiration which she bas excited. We
esteemed by the lovers of music. Her execution is easy and
trust that she may be speedily engaged, for no one, we think,
graceful, and the vast improvement perceptible since she per-
formed here before, has struck the public with surprise and
in her department of art, can be more popular or give more
ample satisfaction to the public. They who have scen her in
iration. As an actress, she is tame and spiritless, although,
at times, she exhibits such fine touches of nature as induce us
“La Bayadere," must ever remember how exquisitely she
seemed to exhibit the spirit of Terpsichore herself-how like
to hope that she will study to improve as an artiste. Mr.
a fairy she skimined over the ground, reminding us of Pope's
Brough, Mr. Hughes and Mr. Jones were the chief assistants of
swift Camilla.
Mrs. Bailey, although we ought, perhaps, to include Mr. Rich-
We learn that an Italian opera is soon to be played at this
ings, who played excellently, to say the least. Mr. Brough in
house, with one of the strongest casts ever known in this coun-
the concerted music satisfied and delighted all. By care and
I try. The admirers of music will hail the announcement with
study, he may become one of the best singers in the country.
pleasure.
His gestures are too redundant and graceless. A little more
nature would improve his acting vastly. Mr. Hughes surprised
FRANKLIN.—This establishment has been closed during the
all by his perfect ease and familiarity with the music-his month, in order that it might undergo some changes. It is now
voice, however, has some defects, natural or acquired, which open, and the interior is much more neat than formerly. It has
mar the grace of melody. Althougb competent to act bis part been painted with some taste, and offers a pleasant sight to the
well, in consequence of his confidence-yet he failed to exert auditors. By attention among the artists, the house will be-
himself to personate the Podesta to the satisfaction of the au. como popular in that quarter of the city,


200
LITERARY REVIEW.
LITERARY REVIEW.
| THE EXPOSITOR ; a new weekly paper-We have read with
sincere pleasure the several numbers of this work whicb have
THE HUGUENOT; a Tale of the French Protestants, by G.P. | been issued. It is conducted in a masterly and dignified man-
R. James : Harper & Brothers.- To one who is desirous of be- ll ner by Louis Fitzgerald Tasistro, a gentleman eminently
coming familiar with the state of France at the period when qualified for the important and arduous task. The Reviews in
persecution for religious opinions was in the ascendant, this this work are freighted with thought and knowledge, the mis.
work will be read with interest and profit ; but the novel-rea cellany is selected with good judgment, and the lighter articles,
der, who has nothing in view except mere amusement, will be both editorial and communicated. are such as imo,
both editorial and communicated, are such as impress us with
apt to pronounce these volumes dull. We have read a large a very high opinion of the editor's skill. The work must
portion of the work, and have become so desirous of finishing prosper.
it, that we regret the lateness of the day obliges us to express
an opinion before we have matured our judgment by a more
THE CORSAIR, is to be the title of a new weekly paper, which
thorough acquaintance with its character. The style of the 18 to appear about the last of the month. It is to be edited by
work is rich and glowing, and the sentiments and imagery show N. P. Willis and T. 0. Porter; and, from the high opinion
that the author is a man of genius and a master of his art.
we hold of the editors, we are induced to think that the cha-
racter of the periodical will be such as to gain for it an imme-
LETTERS TO MOTHERS, by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney : Harper of diate circulation. The readers of the Boston American Month-
Brothers.--The subjects embraced in this work could not be ly cannot but remember how excellently that work was con-
better treated than they have been in this volume. The work
ducted by Mr. Willis. In a weekly paper he will bave a greater
has been so justly and so highly praised by the press generally, field for his peculiar and agreeable style.
that we are at a loss for pew words of commendation. We be-
speak for it the attention of every mother, as a production well || THE MUSEUM of Literature and the Arts.--This work is pub-
fitted to suggest views highly important to the welfare of the llished by Brooke and S
elfare or me | lished by Brooks and Snodgrass, Baltimore. It is conducted
youthful members of society.
with zeal and ability, and arrays a list of well known contribu-
TRAVELS in the Three Great Empires of Austria, Russia and tors. The three or four numbers which we have received are
Turkey: Lea & Blanchard.—The author is a close observer, enriched with entertaining, and, oftentimes, with learned arti-
and these volumes contain a vast amount of accurate informa-
cles. Much of the poetry in the work is of a high order.
tion respecting the character of three empires but little known
except by name. Mr. Elliott has so
fields over which he has passed, that he has presented the world
with, probably, the very best accounts of Austria, Russia and
EDITORS' TABLE.
Turkey as yet published. Any one at all interested in either of
these countries, will be almost sure to find any object of his in-
| We learn the paragraph, in which Professor Ingraham was
quiry answered by turning to the pages of this work. The
mentioned as a contributor to this magazine, has been con-
style is lucid and simple, and we anticipate many pleasant hours
strued as an announcement of his association in the editorship.
in perusing it.-Wiley & Putnam.
That this mistake may be rectified, we find it necessary to as-
TALES. ILLUSTRATING THE PASSions, by G. P. R. James: Lea sert that Professor Ingraham is not an editor, but a contributor
& Blanchard. These stories are written in a felicitous style by
to the work. We have purchased pineteen articles from his
one of the best of novelists. The workings and effects of Re-l pen, which will be published during the next two years, at the
morse, Jealousy, Revenge, Love, Despair and Hatred, are pain- discretion of the editors.
ted with strength and feeling. The pictures are all gloomy,
Plates of Fashions.-Our arrangements for the Plates of
more or less; yet they will be examined with avidity. The
ne Fashions having been completed, we have the pleasure of sta-
author seems to have taken the hint for forming this volume
ting, that in the next number we shall present the first of the
from the works of Joanna Baillie.
series. They will be engraved upon steel, in the finest style of
ROB Of The Bowl: Lea & Blanchard.-We regret that it the art-not in outline, but with a finish surpassing any thing
has been out of our power to peruse these volumes with the of the kind ever attempted in this country.
attention which they deserve, and which we ever feel disposed
to bestow on works emanating from the author of "Horse-Shoe
MUSICAL INSTRUCTION.-We learn that Mrs. Watson intends
Robinson.” We have, however, found time to look into them-
to retire from the theatre and devote her time and talents to
here and there glancing over a page or two in one place, and a
instruction in music, provided she can make it an object by
detached sentence in another, till we are satisfied of its merit,
gaiping a sufficient number of pupils. We trust, however,
and that the author has added another green leaf to the laurels
that she will occasionally be found in the concert-room, for the
which he has so ably won, and which no American author keeps
public cannot be deprived entirely of her pleasant voice. Good
more grecnly on his brow. Rob of the Bowlis a tale of Mary-
instruction in music in this city is much required, in couse-
land. We have read enough to convince ourselves that the
quence of the increased taste for it.
author has preserved his usual vigorous and free style of nar-
Portrait PAINTING.--Mr. David R. Barker, 243 Broadway,
ration, and that his characters have lost nothing of their dis-
has a large collection of portraits, by his own hand, which are
tinctness and originality.-G. & C. Carvill.
daily gaining admirers. We are happy to learn that he is con-
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY: Lea & Blanchard.—This work, issued tinually employed in copying "the human face divine." The
in monthly numbers, has more claim to the name of a novel than rapid progress of Mr. Barker-his superior talent-his ability
any other production from the pen of Boz. There is some as a colorist-and his success in gaining perfect semblances,
slight exaggeration of character, but this is a point which the place him upon an eminence as gratifying to his friends as it is
general reader will care little about. The satire is good-hu encouraging to artists of genius.
inored-never malignant. The author looks at life and de-
scribes it with much truth-laughs at folly and wonders that
MERCANTILE LIBRARY Association. This institution, wbick
the world should be made up of such queer materials!
is a valuable association in such a city as this, has secured some
excellent lecturers this season; but we have listened to no
ADDRESS AND Puem, delivered before the Boston Mercantile li one with more delight than to John O. Sargent, Esq. His
Library Association, at the Celebration of the Eighteenth Anni subject was Mirabeau, and powerfully was it illustrated by the
versary. The address is from the pen of Edward Everett, and talents and eloquence of the lecturer. It was one of the hap-
contains lucid views on accumulation, property, capital and piest specimens of oratory that we have heard for a long time.
credit. The poem is well writte-of a huinorous character. We hope Mr. Sargent will repeat or publish the lecture, RS !
by James T. Fields.
is too good to be lost.






ES
SI
32
_
Du
Prinin
toy Dr Milla
..
THE SLEDGE.
en stor for the actions witamiin..
-


THE LADIES...MAAD A NIE
... ...ovog oca.uote by the hand of some
w..og dood Clustou snow lies, a sheet || kind mother or fair young sister, for this especial occa-
of burnished silver, over the earth-the calm, pleasant ll sion. Mark the expression of their brown honest faces
snow-storm, when the flakes fall thick and large, like|--the triumphant pleasure which beams over them,,
VOL. 8-25


mets


SABINA POP PÆ A.
205
Original.
him to degrade his own person, and the empire he ruled.
SABINA POP PÆ A.
Observing a smile of satisfaction on Nero's counte-
A PASSAGE FROM THE REIGN OF NERO. nance, he proceeded. “This very night she has ap-
pointed the meeting at her own villa; Otho sups with
BY EDWARD MATURIN.
some dissolute companions, and she will be alone."
“With all my heart I hate thee."-RICHARD 11.
“Thanks, thanks, good fellow," cried Nero, as ho
strode the apartment in rapture. “Thou hast exceeded
CHAPTER 1.—THE PANDER.
even the hopes of a lover.” He stopped short as though
The sun's last ray had streaked the east, and evening some obstacle had occurred to mar success, and subdue
was casting her shades around the palace of the his rapture. “Otho, Otho," he muttered, “how
Tyrant. In an ante-chamber, overlooking the palace. I shall he be disposed of ? Poison-the dagger." As the
gardens, and connected with them by a sloping ter- words gradually died on his lips, a convulsive shudder
race, was Nero. The impatient rapidity of his gait, as ran through his frame. The Pander bent forward to
he paced it to and fro, and the anxiety with which catch the mutterings of the Tyrant, and as he heard the
he looked through the increasing gloom, evidenced his instruments of death pronounced, like one whose heart
desire for the arrival of some one, or the receipt of some had been seared in the service of guilt, his eyes glowed
intelligence. As he walked, he muttered to himself, |with a fearful and unnatural light.
contemptuously: “ Fool! to tell me of his love-knew "Spoke my lord of death?" asked the minion.
he not I was powerful in my will, and reckless as to the “Who heard me ?" shouted Nero, starting as the
means of its fulfilment ? Seated at my board day after word rang in his ears, like the echo of his own thoughts.
day, her beauty and accomplishments have ever been “ The very ground I tread on is vocal with the cry of
the theme. Dotard ! the words which kindled curiosi- | blood.” The guilty wretch clasped his hands to his
ty, inflamed passion.” He stopped for a moment and forehead, as though to check the thoughts which
rushing to the door, which opened on the garden, bent goaded and stung him, like the whip sof the furies. As
his ear to catch some approaching sound. “Not yet, memory opened and read her catalogue of crime, each
not yet," he continued, turning away with impatience; l one writ with the “ pen of iron," and blazoned in fear-
“no tidings from her yet. I marvel, Tigellinus, but thou ful characters of blood, the Tyrant trembled, and ex.
shalt miss thy sesterces." He resumed his pace through tending his hands to repel some terrific image, he mut-
the chamber, and with it the thread of his soliloquy.tered indistinctly; "Not blood! not blood! my very ban.
“Olho, thou hast been prodigal and luxurious, and like a quet-board is stained. The shade of Britannicus haunts
Paris hast thou stolen thy fair Helen from another; but me there."
thou shalt find thy king is not to be outdone. Victor | The Pander, anxious to dispel these fears, as their
in the circus and on the stage, I need but one more indulgence might interfere with his trade, and retard
laurel for my brow; the conquest of Sabina Poppæa. his advance in the imperial favor, mored cautiously
Fool! thou hast wantoned for the last time." He was to the side of the Tyrant and whispered, while his keen
interrupted by the arrival of the expected messenger. Il mulignant eye rested full on Nero,
“ How now, good Tigellinus ? Hast thou prospered in " The poisoned lip never speaks." The Emperor
thy suit?" asked Nero, hurriedly; forgetting the evil of' |started as though an adder had stung him.
his designs in the pleasure of success.
“My very slaves are parties in my guilt,” he said to
“The servant of Cæsar has done his will," replied himself; he paused for a moment, as revolving devices
the Pander, bending his knee to the ground.
for the removal of Otho. “Wouldst thou do it ?" he
"Rise, rise, trusty fellow," said Nero," and tell me inquired, suddenly turning on the Pander.
all. The purse is not lost that wins a mistress.” And "When Cæsar commands, Tigellinus obeys,"rejoined
as he spoke, he thrust it into his minion's hand. the man obsequiously.
" It was difficult," said Tigellinus, “ to gain access to
| “Out on thee, slave," cried Nero, stamping in one of
one, whose hours are occupied with knights and gal- those ungovernable fits of passion, to which Tyrants are
lants. However, I framed a tale of urgency, and was subject, when stumbling-blocks lie in the path of their
admitted to her presence. The command you gave me guilt. “But for thee, and minions such as thou, con-
for an interview," continued the man, with the air of science would be silent, and night would have no ter-
one experienced in mallers of intrigue, “I changed to rors. Crime never presents her poisoned chalice, but
a request, for vanity would comply with the entreaty of she hath ministers to distil her potion.” The Pander
a king, where pride would rebel against command.”
met his rebuke in silence, knowing that on the slightest
" Thou hast judged rightly, fellow," answered Nero, | opposition to Nero, the same fate would most probably
as he hung intently on the words of his messenger. I befall himself, which he desired to mete to oihers. As
" What said she to that ?"
bis keen eye rested on the Tyrant absorbed in his own
" What could she say,” replied the man, as a smile thoughts, meditating the difficulties which marred his
struggled through his grim and guilt-worn features, il will and the possibility of their removal, the latter
" but accede to the proposals of a prince, whose accom- started from his revery and clasping his hands in rap-
plishments have won the praise of all.” As he spoke, ) ture, exclaimed
he cast a furtive glance on Nero, to see if the flattery “Thank the Gods! they have not deserted me yet!"
were well-timed to one whose vanity had frequently led “The worshipper is not forgotten, who pours liba-


206
SABINA POPPÆ A.
tions freely,” rejoined the Pander, with well-timed adu- || he cried, in a tone subdued by fear. There was no an-
lation.
swer. He advanced and raised the curtain. None
“Peace," cried Nero, approaching him hastily, and lurked behind it. .
speaking in a subdued tone. “ It were not safe to seize
CHAPTER 11.-SABINA POPPŁA.
the wife in the very gaze of the husband. He must The Moon and her "starry host” were bright in
away from Rome. His absence will not excite suspi-i heaven, as Nero checked in his horse before the Villa
cion, and I fear to tamper too much with the patience of Otho. Accustomed to the midnight brawl, and col-
of the rabble. I tell thee, when roused, they are a llision with the lowest phases of human life, and aware
Hydra; and they would watch with greater joy the of the perils to which they exposed him in case of dis-
burning pile of their prince, than the sacrifice consum icovery, disguise was no stranger to him. He lied his
ing on the altar. We might send him to a Province. steed to a tree, and wrapping round him a mantle, whose
Hold! Is not the Prætor of Lusitania dead ?” Tigel-folds concealed the splendor of the Imperial robes, he
linus rejoined in the affirmative. “Yes,” he continued, advanced to the house.
“ we will appoint him there. We will, as it were, hold | Ascending the steps, he entered the hall. None met
him in displeasure, forbid his appearance in our train him. Silence prevailed around, save the gentle mur.
or within the walls of the palace.” He paused for al mur of the trees as it harmonized with the playing of a
moment, as in contemplation of his design. “Yet, distant fountain. As he looked on the spacious hall,
the Einpress-Octavia,” fell brokenly from his lips. surrounded by marble statues, whose cold and spotless
The Pander lost not a word, as the obstacle presented white pallidly reflected the moon whicb gleamed on
a chance for his hellish employment. He approached them, he trembled as he seemed to stand in the compa-
the Tyrant and whispered in his ear—" Agrippina." Hny of the dead. He hurried onwards, and passing
“Owl!" shrieked Nero, as the daggers of his mother's through an opposite entrance, descended a terrace
assassins Aushed before his eyes, “thy note is ever opening into a spacious lawn intersected with walks,
one of death. Repeat that tale again, and by Jupiler, il and ornamented with fountains whose waters sparkled
thou shalt be torn azınder by wild horses.” The wretch, in the moon-beam. The path he struck into, le
poisoned as he was by the atmosphere of a murderer'sted in a white marble cove, where faintly twinkled :
palace, and habituated to scenes of horror, trembled as i solitary light through the vine-branches which encircled
he saw the workings of passion, which might single . it. He advanced, and entering, beheld the object of
himself as a victim. The manner of Nero, with the his passion.
vacillation of one who shapes it to his ends, on the in- At the first interview, conscious of the rank of her
utant forsook its steroness. “Serve me in this, good paramour, and the high stake for which she played,
fellow,” he said, “and thou shalt name thine own re- i she neglected no personal attraction, or winning grace
ward. I tire of Octavia, even though she have Cæsar's of manner, to ensure her conquest over the heart of the
blood, and is mine own kinswoman. Sabina must be voluptuary. Abandoned in character, her libertinism
Empress. Ha! what sayst thou to that ?” The Pan-II was always subordinate to her interest, and where that
der bowed in silence. I could divorce her—but mark ll lay, her favors assuredly followed. Elegant in manner
thee, not without cause-I fear the people. Like chill and person, and endowed with refined wit, her charms
dren, they must be humored at the very moment we appealed equally to the eye as the intellect. Love had
would chastise them. Come, work thy brains, fellow, no share in her heart, where it clashed with interest.
I must have a pretext for divorce."
She had abandoned her former for her present husband,
“Intrigue,” rejoined the Pander, with the readiness Ocho, who then enjoyed the Emperor's favor. Her
of one whose ingenuity was most fertile when catering | present lover was that Emperor, and his addresses,
for the Tyrant's lust.
while they flattered her vanily, excited the pride of soc.
"Good," replied Nero, the brightness of his eye tes cess.
tifying satisfaction; "but-with whom?"
As he entered, Nero paused in rapture to gaze on
“ Her slave."
her. She reclined on a silver couch, whose purple cover-
“ His name," hastily rejoined the Tyrant.
ing glittered with stars of gold. Her white robe, cos.
“ Anceitus," answered the Pander, doggedly, and trasted with the purple, developed the exquisite sym-
fearful even to broach his name; "he hath served Cæ metry of her form. Her dark hair fell loosely on a
sar, once.” The individual named, was the assassin of neck which vied in whiteness with the marble which
Noro's mother.
surrourded her.
“I pardon thee," said Nero, “ for the readiness of thy As Nero entered, she rose rapidly from her couch,
wit. This night on my return from Sabina, have him and with well-affected humility knelt, forgetting not the
within call of Octavia's chamber.” Tigellinus bowed, homage which gratifies a prince, even in his hour of
and had scarcely withdrawn, when Nero distinctly heard familiarity.
the sound of footsteps within his chamber. Ever sus- “Nay, rise, lady," said Nero, extending one hand,
picious of some ambush for his life, his sword was in-| while the other circled her waist. "If it be the cap-
stantly unsheathed. Turning towards the quarter tive's part to kneel, then what should I, whose heart
whence the sound proceeded, he started, on seeing the and throne are even now at thy feet?"
curtain move which concealed a door, communicating “Thy throne! my lord," echoed Sabina, with that
with the Empress’apartment. “Ho! who goes there ?'' studied surprise, which by affecting ignorance of the


SABINA POP PÆA.
207
Emperor's designs, was only meant the more fully to | will appoint him to a Province, thus will our loves be
develope them. “Alas !" she continued, “should I, the as secure as they are secret.”
servant of Cæsar dare to aspire to a throne whose Em- | “But the Empress ?" urged Sabina.
press is of Cæsar's blood ?".
“Shall be no longer so,' rejoined Nero, hastily. "The
“The hand which wove that tie," answered Nero throne of Rome shall be filled by another, and Sabina
with impatience, “ can dissolve it only to re-unite it in shall be Empress.”
the person of one more lovely."
Chapter 111.-OCTAVIA.
“Alas!" retorted Sabina, playfully, “ I fear me the
It was midnight ere the Emperor dismounted at the
same hand which broke one tie would not spare another."|
Il palace. The fervor of his passion had blinded him to
“That tie," replied Nero, “shall endure as long as I ||
the arts of his ambitious favorite, and what he mis-
gway the Roman sceptre. Think not, Sabina, I woo
took for the promptings of love, were merely the sug-
thee as a boy whose love is not of the heart, but ringed
gestions of a spirit wbich aspired to the pride of sove-
with the gay and fickle colors of his day.dreams. Think
reignty. The more he dwelt upon her charms, and the
not," he continued, pressing ber hand to his lips, and
indifference of satiety he felt towards Octavia, the more
kneeling, “that like him, my love is the mere breath
confirmed was his resolution to wed the former, and di-
of a moment, like the wind, wandering from flower to
vorce the latter.
flower, and treasuring the sweets it steals as it fies.
As he entered the chamber, the Empress lay on a
No, Sabina, I love thee as man can only feel, who, like
couch in tears. “How now!" he cried, in a voice whose
the tree, bends beneath the storm he cannot resist. For
brutality half revealed his design ; "in tears? Weep
thee would I relinquish the diadem which binds the
on. Ere long thou shalt have cause to weep."
brow of the Cæsars, and end my days with thee in re-
“My lord, in what is my offence ?" replied Octavia,
tirement such as this."
in the convulsiveness of grief. “Have I not been to thee
To one so ambitious in her aims, the proposed dere-
|loving and faithful? Have I not regarded the sanctity
liction of the crown was by no means pleasing; having
of ihy person, and the honor of thy throne ? Flows not
so strong a proof of his attachment, she resolved there-
in my veins the Cæsars' blood ? Have I done aught to
fore to ensure the divorce of the Empress, and base her
deserve this of thee?" .
advancement on injustice and usurpation. She saw the
Nero regarded her with a stern and malignant frown.
object of her ambition within her grasp, and with dis-
“ You do not please me," he said, in a tone which
simulation, feigned reluctance to seize it. She cun-
blended indifference with irony.
ningly framed obstacles for their union, which she well
“Oh! my lord,” cried ihe wretched woman, rushing
knew would only accelerate success, by inflaming pas-
Il to his feet, “ say not that I displease thee, or that my
sion; and lastly, when the Emperor had conquered ob-
love for thee is nought. Rather would I that my pile
jections as speedily as they were advanced, she profess-
were lit, than meet that frown which awes tenderness,
ed extreme attachment to her husband. “Ask me not,”
or hear the sternness of those words which gives Hopo
she said, “my lord, to leave one whose every act and
and Love the chill of despair. My lord-my lord,
wish are but the fulfilment of mine. Bounteous even
let me hear thee say I am still thy queen."
to prodigality-his life is a continued round of plea-
He flung from him with a rude disdain the hand which
sure.” She paused for a moment, and added in an un-
had seized his own in the ardor of entreaty. “Away!"
der tone, “which rivals even the splendors of his prince."
• li he cried. “Thou art no longer queen. Why should the
The comparison was opportune, and accomplished what majestu
majesty of the sceptre be defiled by one who denies nut
she desired, viz: to effect a hostility between her hus-
her smiles to slaves ? Faithless and corrupt. Thou hast
band and Nero. However, Otho's fate had been already dish
n already dishonored me and broken thy compact with the people.”
decided.
“'Tis false," exclaimed Octavia, starting to her feet,
“Ha! exclaimed the Tyrant, with difficulty sub-il be
ulher majesty of mien and the innocence of fame lending
duing the rage which burned within ; "my rival! It shall
eloquence to her words. “'Tis false-false as the
not long be so. We will curtail his purse and train,
tongue that framed it. ' Better," she continued," that
since both are used to fing contempt upon his prince."
the poison which removed my sire and brother had been
Turning to Sabina, his hurried and indignant tones were
prepared for me algo, than thus to live slandered in
quickly changed to an amatory softness. “Fairest, our mine honor, and despised in my love."
love hath even outstripped objection, and our power
The Tyrant started as she unexpectedly revived the
removed it. Orders have been already taken for Otho." memory of the murders of Claudius and Britannicus.
Wanton as she was in character, and bent on her own The allusion only gave ferocity lo his manner. “Trai-
welfare even through the ruin of others, she trembled tress !” he cried, “on thy life we charge thee silence.
in the embrace of the Tyrant as she heard his ominous Add not reproach to faithlessness.” He stamped with
words. The deeds perpetrated by order of Nero violence, and shouting, “Ho! without there !” The
throughout the city, were bruited in the mouths of all, Pander, accompanied by Anicetus, entered.
and the ambitious beauty shuddered when she thought, il “Now the Gods preserve me!" ejaculated Octavia, as
that even while they were speaking, the Imperial man-| she sank upon the couch. .
date had gone forth for his death. “What means myl A quick and significant glance passed between the
lord ?" she inquired, timidly.
Tyrant and his minions, as the former pointed to the
" Fear not for him, Sabina," returned Nero, “ we l Empreng. "You confess ?" said Nero, in an audible voice.


SABINA POPPÆ A.
209
in
hensions of Nero acquiesced in a measure, sanctioned think that even in that mother's voice, thou hearest the
neither by affection nor repentance. The expression of entreaties of her child."
public sentiment assumed the anarchy of revolution. “Unhand me, traitress!” cried Nero, vainly endeavor-
Some rushed to the Capitol, supplicating the favor of ing to extricate himself from her grasp, “or by the
the Gods upon Octavia, while others in a tumultuous '' Gods I smite thee to my feet!"
body beset the gates of the palace. The statues of "Not iill thou hast promised me thy pardor.," an-
Poppea were dashed to the ground as objects of indig. swered Sabina. “Speuk, epeak my lord, pardon and
nity and insult, while those of Octavia, wreathed with save me!" He struggled to disentangle his hand. She
flowers and borne on the shoulders of the mob, were rose from her knees and in the agony of fear and grief
placed in the Forum and the temples. Military force was about to fling herself on his breast, when a blow
was requisite for the restoration of order, and at the from the Tyrant laid her at his feet.
point of the sword, the statues of Puppæa were rescued “Gods!" he exclaimed, as he heard the heavy and
from their insulters, and once more erected.
lifeless fall, but feared to look on the momentary work
While these things were passing without, not less of rage, “spare me not in your vengeance! Even
Lurbulent were the scenes within the palace. The feel- where I stand blast me with your lightnings! So let
ings to which Octavia had fallen a victim, were now the deed be yours not mine.
commencing to operate against Sabina, and as she A fearful yell from without answered the invocation.
heard the shouting without, and the clamors of the “ Away with Sabina! Down with her statues to the
populace, still echoing the cry, “The Empress-lo! dust again! lo! Octavia! Io! Octavia !” While
Honor to Octavia. Down with the statues of Sabina !" these shouts of vengeance, which the Tyrant himself
They seemed the signal for her downfall, and the knell had unconsciously anticipated, were still ringing in his
to her ambition.
ears, as he stood in stupor by the body of Sabina, the
Nor was the Tyrant less perplexed, as he stood, un- door of the apartment burst open, and Tigellimus rushed
certain how to act, divided between rage and terror.
" Ha! wanton,” he exclaimed, rudely thrusting her | “The Empress," he cried.
from him, “it is thou and thine accursed spell have “Is" rejoined Nero, starting from his revery.
wrought this! Ay, hearest thou that shouting ?” he
“ In Rome," answered the Pander. “The people
continued, as she sank trembling on her knees; “well surround her chariot with acclamations, and the Capi.
mayest thou tremble. 'Tis well if they do not seize and tol resounds with their prayers."
tear thee from that very throne thou hast ascended by ! “The Gods must be appeased,” said Nero. Away,
thy vile arts."
thou to the temple of Saturn.* Tell them to disburse
“I do not now contend for the honor of the nuptial
bribes to the soldiery. If they stand firm, Rome is
rite, even though thou hast avowed me ihine Empress.
safe.” He pointed to the lifeless form of Sabina, and
Life is all the boon I crave. Save me, my lord, from
rushed from the apartment.
the vengeance of Octavia's followers.”
“Save thyself,” shouted Nero, deridingly; "he who
CHAPTER VI.-THE AUGUR.
has willingly sought the precipice, must retreat ere the It was a dark and stormy night, as Nero, terrified by
earth crumble beneath his foot.”
| the return of Octavia, and haunted by the death of Sa-
“Nay, launt me not, my lord,” she replied, while her bina, left the palace for the College
. So
hands were locked in earnestness, and the clamors of
great was their influence on Roman superstition, that no
the people were heard in the pauses of her entreaty.
affair of moment was undertaken without consulting
“ My ambition was not greater than my love. I loved
them, and no event, involving public interest, could
not the Emperor, but Cæsar. Let not, then, that love
happen without demanding through them an interpre-
turn to accusation and reproach. I ask thy pardon and l tation of the will of the Gods as to its probable result.
protection. Should Octavia return and show herself to Superstitious beyond others, from the very excess of his
the people,"
crimes which ihrew a gloom over the future, the coin.
“ Sorceress," cried Nero, interrupting her, “I tellcidence of Octavia's return, the deaths of Sabina and
thee she is on her way even now. Think'st thou I dare i her child, and the rebellious clamors of the people, al]
oppose that monster, whose yells and groans are de- conspired to strengthen that feeling through the very
nouncing thee for vengeance. Ah!” he continued in a fear which trembled at futurity,
tone in which sorrow struggled with passion; "the “Hast thou done my biilding, Spurina ?” asked the
Gods have indeed marked me for their anger. The Tyrant, trembling, as he entered.
people rebellious to the throne-not slaves but kings. The man whom he addressed, was one whose dignity
And thou, my child, my Augusta, whose death I have and dress were calculated to add solemnity to his
watched with eyes that never wept before. Away with office, and inspire the superstitious with awe. His
tears ! they wound, even while they soothe.”
robe, or trabea of scarlet striped with purple, and em-
" Then by that child,” cried Sabina, seizing his handbroidered with cabalistical characters, inwrought with
as he passed her, “ whose memory is canonized in our gold, hung loosely round a figure tall and athletic;
own hearts, and who sits among those Gods who guard his cap was high and conical, interwoven with the same
Rome and her Emperor; I adjure thee, despise not the
mother. Shut not thine ear against her prayer, but | The Troasury was in this temple.


210
SABINA POPPÆ A.
augural emblems; while his beard, long and flowing, || derer. After her death, a temple was erected to ber
lent a sacerdotal dignity to his appearance. In his | memory, bearing the inscription—"To Sabina, the God-
right-hand he bore the Lituus, or Augural staff, used in dess Venus."
the observation of the Heavens.
The funeral procession was characterized by all the
“The Book of Fate we would open,” replied the pomp worthy of the rank of the deceased, and the at-
Augur, “is dark with fear and omen. Ha! hearest tachment the Emperor professed towards her. Bogg
thou that peal ? Speaks not the Olympian, in thatſ and virgins preceded it, strewing Aowers in its path,
fearful echo, his wrath and displeasure ?".
chaunting the praises and beauty of Sabina, and perfu-
The thunder died sullenly in the distance, and a ming the air with the incense they scattered from cen-
death-like silence reigned throughout the chamber. In sers. Descended from ancestors of rank, one of whom
terror the Tyrant clasped his hands, and extending them had been honored with a triumph, their statues were
to Spurina, exclaimed:
borne before the bier, which was immediately followed
“Can the Gods be appeased ?"
by Nero, his hands folded on his breast, and his appear.
“I know not, my son," replied the Augur. “Their ance indicative of sorrow and dejection.
will is dark, even as the Heavens which reveal its signs. At the entrance to the monument the bier was lov.
to mortals. Thrice this night have I essayed Divina-ered, and the Emperor pronounced the funeral oration,
tion, even through the blackness of the tempest, and in which he eulogized her beauty, virtues, and accom-
marked out the Templum, and turning to the East, have plishment, but above all, expatiated on the honor of te
awaited the omen that would give safety to thy throne. ing the mother of a child which was then enrolled among
But it was vain; the lightnings flashed brightly for a the Gods.
moment, and left the Heavens in darkness. Yet, while Thelustration with pure water from an olive-branch was
I looked, I saw a sign which betokened the approach concluded, and they were about to enter the tomb, wben
of a stranger, one whom thou hast wronged, and who the foremost fell back as a voice issued from it. “Hold!"
returns for the purpose of vengeance.”
it cried. The attendants retreated as though it had
“Vengeance!" reiterated the Tyrant, shuddering at been a voice from the dead, when Otho rushed from the
the mention of an instrument he had so frequently em-
monument.
ployed against others.
It was a moment of terror to the Tyrant, as his eyes
“Even so," replied the Augur. “The sign porten-
met those of the betrayed husband. His guilt borrowed
ded an unsheathed sword."
a deeper dye from the superstition which witnessed in
“ The will of the Gods be done!" ejaculated Nero. the return of Otho the fulfilment of the Augur's words-
“Wifeless-childless! Can vengeance strike more
“A stranger approaches," while the sword which glit-
deeply ?"
tered in his hand, denoted the purpose of revenge.
“Wifeless ?" rejoined Spurina.
“What dost thou here ?” muttered Nero, trembling
“Sabina is at rest,” replied Nero; "and by myll at the enraged expression of Otho.
hand."
“What dost thou here ?" retorted the stranger.
As he spoke, a fearful flash illuminated the apart-
“Methought thy bounty was a proof of favor, not the
ment, and the building trembled with the reverberation
purchase of dishonor. Makest thou thy power thus
of the thunder.
the pander to thy lusts? Tyrant, she whom I left a rife,
"'Tis a fearful night," replied Spurina, “and speaks
lies now polluted as a mistress. Away with the hope
of crime. Comest thou thus with unclean hands to ask
ors thou conferest in mockery on the dead, when thoa
the will of the Gods, or raise the veil of the Future ? || hast defiled their memory and name."
Away! away! Let not thine altars need sacrifice or
“Whence hast thou thy secret?" said Nero, looking
incense. Propitiate the Gods thou hast insulted, if yet round in terror as he beheld the surprise of guards sub-
1 side into pity.
they may hear and pardon thee.”
“The Empress," rejoined Otho, “thy wronged and
CHAPTER vir.—THE DEAD AND LIVING. || honored queen; she, who was too weak to avenge her own
Notwithstanding the brutality which resulted in the
insult, and the perjury thou called'st to support it; she
who overheard thy plan for her ruin, and my dishonor,
death of Sabina, it was asserted that Nero was violently
had pity for the injured husband to speak the secret."
attached to her. A difference of opinion prevailed as
“Away with him!” exclaimed Nero, in one of those
to the method of her death; some imputing it to poison
(an instrument of frequent use in his court) and others
violent transports of rage which so often sealed the doom
of those he hated or envied.
to a blow he gave her in a moment of passion. He re- ||
“The dead must first be avenged," exclaimed Oibo,
solved, however, to obliterate the memory of cruelty by
the attachment he exhibited during her obsequies, de- , rushing upon him. The blow was intercepted by the
spear of a soldier, and the sword struck from his hand.
livering in person her funeral panegyric: "while,” says |
an ancient author, “all Arabia did not produce in one
He was seized, and in prison awaited the pleasure of
year as much myrrh and frankincense as was consumed
the Tyrant.
at the funeral of Poppæa.” Contrary to the general|
custom, she was embalmed after the fashion of the The Empress Octavia was afterwards banished to
East, and her remains consigned to the monument of the Island of Pandataria, and beheaded by order of
the Julian family. Strange inconsistency of her mur. | Nero, Orho was shortly after crowned Emperor.


214
MY FIRST PLAY.
the curtain. Mr. S and Mr. L- ,came on. Mr. them. Some made the a broad-some short, some
S had to open with two lines and a half. He only close-some pronounced the e like the Italian, some
gave the half. Here was a beginning and with such the English, and some the Numidian, for any thing that
a beginning, thought I, Heaven save the ending! Mr. I could designate. That poor word!
L- answered. He was perfect, and I breathed Mr. E- had grown utterly desperate ; and in his
freely again. Then Mr. S had a set speech to re- despair had forgotten all that he ever remembered of
peat. He didn't know a word of it. Out came some- the last scene ; Mr. S— , as I have before said, koew
thing as near akin to the play and sense, as a hand nothing about any of it, and the dialogue was to be
organ is to music; glossed over with sundry emphatic maintained between them! They bungled on somebow
gestures, and closing with a magnificent dash from the or other, and I listened in wondering misery, for it was
back of the stage to the front into a splendid position. all new to me. By and by Mr. E seized Mr.
There he changed his tune. He launched out a medley S-- and strangled him. I was rejoiced to see him
of tragedy, comedy, farce, melodrama, tragi-comedy and die, although the play might die with him, for I could
what not, but alas for me, not a word of the play. Mr. | not have sustained my feelings much longer. After he
L- replied where there was nothing to reply to, i had kicked a sufficiency, and breathed his last to all in-
Mr. S— thundered out another medley, closing with tents and purposes, Mr. E-- was to go crazy, and in
a quotation from Richard III. Now, thought I, the his closing speech, imagine that he saw his mistress-
papers will baste me for an impudent plagiarist! I ran fancy her dead--and all that. Oh, if he will only do that
at every pore. Then Mr. L- answered to nothing well, thought I, for the last time, now that he has all
again. Mr. S-- again muttered and strutted, and the game to himself, it will wind the matter up roundly,
reader, that scene, which should have consumed fifteen and drive the past from remembrance. He thrust out
minutes, was condensed to two and three quarters! his arms delightfully; he made up precisely the rigbt
I wiped the perspiration from my forehead, rung the tragic face. Grand-grand-said I to myself. Alas-
moisture out of my handkerchief, and spread it on the poor fellow ! every word bad slipped his mind. Ex-
railing to dry. I felt that the play must be damned ! hausted with anxiety, he had to supply the language
The play! we had heard scarce a word of it yet! from his own brain, ad libitum. Creation! out it came
The scene changed. Mr. A-- came on. ·Mr. -and here's a bona fide specimen-here's a sample of
A-s personated—nay, pretended to personate, the what I had to father. Here is the paraphrase of my
comic character of the tragedy. It had been made to beautiful end! It almost proved to be my end indeed.
approximate in the original as near to a fool as possible, “Oh, I see her! I see her! No, no I don't! Yes
and required strict correctness not to prove one indeed. li I do-no I don't. She's gone again! Now I see her
Oh, that Mr. A may observe Hamlet's advice, again! All in white ! There, there she is! No she
thought I. He laughed as he came on; that was right, il ain't! Yes, she is! Yes, I've got her! Yes! Yes!
and I indulged hupes. He spoke-oh, universe, how yes ! yes! And to my inexpressible relief he fell back
he spoke! He went on with a rigmarole, so far beyond and died!
any thing I had ever heard in the shape of absurdity,
They gave me three cheers-through pity, thought I!
that language has no term to describe it. The word |
nonsense will not reach within a league of it. It was a
character to excite a laugh—but this stuff for me to
Original.
father! Laugh! no one laughed-no one could laugh; MONODY ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER.
and as for me, I couldn't have smiled, had the announce-
ment been made to me at the moment, that I had re- SWEET Powers droop, and weep their dew-drop tears,
ceived a legacy of a million of dollars !
And mournful waves the tall grass blade,
Finally, to my inexpressible satisfaction, he went off. | O'er thy lone grave; whilst too, the mandrake rears
Oh, reader, I will not particularize throughout that. Its head-its death-forboding head.
shocking barbarity. Mr. E-~'s best speeches were cut
out, because he had no cues. Mr.
S c ontinued his The vagrant swallow builds his clay-mixt nest,
transplantations from tragedy, comedy, etc. I listened Upon thy dreary silent tomb;
in vain for scenes which I knew to be in the play, and I And there the moody owl seeks cheerless rest,
listened, too, in inexplicable agony to more that I knew And shrieks his notes amid night's gloom.
were not in the play. Some things were said and some
actions committed, under cover of my paternity that How sorrowful the wind that o'er thee sighs!
night, which, not to be profane, I did not recognize to The fleet, the sad complaining gale,
be like any thing in the heavens or the earth or the How sweeps it murmuring by! how feebly dies,
waters, and every now and then my ears were greeted Its passing, melancholy wail!
with a quotation, thundered forth so that every soul in
the house could hear it with especial ease. And ihen | Thy spirit flower, the cumb'rous hours now pass,
the changes that were rung on the word, Gaetano, when- With Mem'ry's joys, which knew no dread,
ever it was uttered. Some placed the accent on the And mark'd thy bud and bloom; yet now alas !
first syllable, some on the second, some on the third They speak thee dead-they speak thee dead.
and some made four of it, with an accent on each of
S. F. G.


216
THE NORMAN's VENGEANCE.
every day, for the last month, had been, in truļh—80 || “Let Harold, then, address himself to battle," an-
little is the foresight, and so ignorant the wisdom even swered Tosti. “None but a liar ever shall declare
of the most sagacious among mortals—had been, in that Tosti, son of Godwin, has played a traitor'a part
truth, the agent by which his future conquest was to be to Harold, son of Sigurd !"
effected. Those gales which pent the Norman gallies. There was no more of parley. With a shock, that
in their harbors, had forced the English fleet, shattered was heard for leagues, the hosts encountered ; and in
and storm-lost, to put in for victuals and repairs, leaving the very first encounter, pierced by an arrow in the
the seas unguarded to the approach of the invaders. throat, Hardrada fell, and to his place succeeded that
Nor was this all! Those self-same gales had wafted false brother and rebellious subject, Tosti, the Saxon.
from the Northward another fleet of foemen, the Nor- | Again the generous Harold offered him peace and libe-
wegian host of the bold sea-king, Harold Hardrada, ral conditions ! again his offers were insultingly rejected!
and the treacherous Tosti, the rebel brother of the Sax- | and once again, with a more deadly fury than before,
on monarch. Debarking in the Humber, they had laid the armies met, and, this time, fought it out, till not a
waste the fertile borders of Northumberland and York leader or a chief of the Norwegian host was left alive,
shire; had vanquished, in a pitched battle, Morcar and save Olaf, Harold's son, and the prince bishop of the
Edwin, and the youthful Waltheof-who had made Orkneys-Tosti, himself, having at length obtained the
head against them with their sudden levies, raised from fale he merited so richly. A third time peace and amity
the neighboring countries-had driven them into the were offered, and now they were accepted; and swear-
walls of York, and there were now besieging them with ing friendship to the English King for ever, the Norse-
little hope of rescue or relief. Meanwhile, the King, men left the fatal land, whereon vet weltered in their
who had, for months, been lying in the Southern por- gore their King, the noblest of their chiefs, and twice
tion of the realm, in Essex, Kent, or Sussex, awaiting, five thousand of the bravest men of their brave nation.
at the head of the best warriors of his kingdom, the ar But glorious 'as that day was justly deemed - and
rival of his most inveterate foeman-summoned by news widely as it was sung and celebrated by the Saxon
of this irruption, unexpected, yet, as it seemed most bards-perfect as was the safety which it wrought to
formidable, into his Northern provinces, lulled into tem all the Northern counties—and freely as it suffered
porary carelessness by the long tarrying of his Norman Harold to turn his undivided force against whatever foe
enemy; and hoping, as it indeed seemed probable, that might dare set hostile foot on English soil invio-
the prevailing wind would not change so abruptly, But |
lute--still was that day decisive of his face !-deci-
that he might, by using some extraordinary diligence sive of the victory of William, whose banders were
and speed, attack and overpower the besieging force at already floating over the narrow seas in proud antici-
York, and yet return to Dover in time to oppose, with pation of their coming triumph!
the united force of his whole nation, the disembarkation It was a bright and beauteous morning in September,
of the Duke-had left his post and travelled with all when the great fleet of William put to sea, the galley of
speed toward York, leading the bravest and best disci-! the grand Duke leading. She was a tall ship, of the
plined of his army against the fierce Norwegians, while largest tonnage then in use, well manned, and gallanuly
the shores of Sussex remained comparatively naked equipped ; from the main-topmast streamed the conse-
and defenceless. A bloody and decisive battle, fought crated banner of the Pope, and from her peak, a broad
at the bridge of Staneford, over the River Derwent, re- flag with a blood-red cross. Her sails were, not as
warded his activity and valor-a battle in which he dis- now, of plain white canvass, but gorgeously adorned
played no less his generalship and valor, than the kind with various colors, and blazoned with the rude inciri-
generosity and mercy of his nature. Riding, himself, ent Heraldry, which, though not then a science, was
in person, up to the hostile lines, before the first en growing gradually into esteem and use. In several
counter, sheathed in the complete armor of the Norman places might be seen depicted the three Lions, which
chivalry—which, since his visit to the continent, he had were even then the arms of Normandy; and on her
adopted—“Where," he cried, in hi sloudest tones, " is prow was carved, with the best skill of the French
Tosti, son of Godwin?”.
artist, a young child with a bended bow, and a shaft
“ Here stands he," answered the rebel, from the quivering on the string. Fair blew the breeze, and free
centre of the Norwegian phalanx, which, with lowered the gallant ship careered before it-before the self-sa me
spears, awaited the attack.
wind which at the self-same moment was tossing on its
“Thy brother," replied Harold, concealed by the joyous pinions the victorious banners of the Saxon King,
frontlet of his barred helmet from all recognition,“ sends Fair blew the breeze, and fast the ship of William sped
thee his greeting-offers thee peace, and friendship, through the curling billows-so fast that, ere the sun
and all thine ancient honors."
set in the sea, the fleet was hull down in the offing,
"Good words !" cried Tosti,“mighty good, and wide- though staggering along under all press of sail. Night
ly different from the insults he bestowed on me last leank upon the sea; and faster flew the Dube; and as
year! But if I should accept the offer, what will he the morning broke, the chalky cliffs of Albion were in
grant to Harold, son of Sigurd ?"
full view, at two or three leagues, distance. William,
"Seven feet of English earth," replied the King, “or, who had slept all that night as soundly and as calmly
since he be gigantic in his stature, he shall have some-l as a child, stood on the deck ere it was light enough to
what more !"
i see the largest object on the sea, one mile away. His


THE NORMAN’S VENGEANCE.
217
first glance was toward the promised land, he was so || in clear and joyous tones. “Or what dismays you ?
swiftly nearing; his second, toward the offing, where Lo! I have seized this earth in both mine hands, and,
he hoped 10 see his gallant followers. Brighter and by the splendor of our God, 'tis yours !"
brighter grew the morning, but not a speck was visible || Loud was the cheer of gratulation which pealed sea-
upon the clear horizon. “Up to the topmast, mariners," ward far, and far into the bosom of the invaded land,
cried the bold Duke; "up to the topmast-head! And at that most brilliant and successful repartee-and with
now what see ye?" he continued, as they sprang up in alacrity and glee-confident of success, and high
rapid emulation to that giddy height.
ing courage-the Norman host marched, unopposed, in
“Nought,” cried the first—"nought but the sea and regular and terrible array,woward Hastings. Here on
sky!"
the well-known heights, to this day known by the com-
“Anchor, then-anchor, presently; we will await memorative name of Battle, the wooden fortresses were
their coming, and in the meanwhile, Sir Seneschal, serve speedily erected ; trenches were dug; and William's
us a breakfast of your best, and see there be no lack of army sat down for the night upon the land, which was
wines, the strongest and the noblest!" and, on the in- thenceforth to be their heritage-thenceforth for ever-
stant, the heavy plunge was heard of the huge anchor li more.
in the deep; the sails were furled; and like a living. The news reached Harold as he lay at York, wounded
creature endowed with intellect, and moving by volition, and resting from his labors, and on the instant, with
the gallant ship swung round, awaiting the arrival of his victorious army, he set forth, publishing, as he
her consorts.
marched along, his proclamation to all the chiefs of
The feast was spread, and, from the high Duke on the provinces and shires, to arm their followers, and meet
poop to the most humble mariner upon the forecastle, him with all speed at London. The Western levies
the red wine flowed for all in generous profusion. Again came without delay; those from the North, owing to
a lookout was sent up, and now he cried, “I see far,
distance, were some time behind; and yet, could
far, to seaward, the topsails of four vessels.” A little Harold have been brought by any means to moderate his
pause consumed in revelry and feasting, and once again fierce and desperate impatience, he would, ere four days
the ship-boy climbed the mast. “I see,” he said, the had elapsed, have found himself, at least, in the command
third time," a forest on the deep, of masts and sails !” of twice two hundred men. But irritated to the utmost
“God aid! God aid !" replied the armed crew,
by the sufferings of his countrymen, whose lands were
“God aid!" and, with the word, again they weighed pitilessly ravaged. whose tenements were burned for
the anchor, and, ere three hours had passed, the whole
miles around the Norman camp, whose wives and daugh-
of that huge armament rode at their moorings off the ters were subjected to every species of insult and indig.
beach at Pevensey.
nity, the Saxon King pressed onward. And though his
There was no sign of opposition or resistance; and forces did not amount to one fourth part of the great
on the third day after Harold's victory at Staneford, Duke's array, still, he resolved to encounter them, pre-
the Norman host set foot on English soil. The archers
i cipitate and furious as a madman.
were the first to disembark-armed with the six-foot
On the eighteenth day after the defeat of Tosti and
bows, and cloth-yard shafts, then, for the first time, Hardıada, the Saxon army was encamped over against
seen in England, soon destined to become the national
the fortified position of the invaders. On that same
weapon of its stout yeomanry. Their faces closely shorn,
day, a monk, Sir Hugues Maigrot, came to find Harold,
and short-cut hair, their light and succinct garments,
with proposals from the foe, offering him peace on one
were seen by the affrighted peasantry, who looked upon
of three conditions--either that he should yield the
their landing from a distance, with equal terror and as- |
l kingdom presently-or leave it to the arbitration of the
tonishment. Next came the men-at-arms, sheathed in 1
Pope—or, finally, decide the matter by appeal to God
their glittering hauberks and bright hose of mail, with: inhember
conical steel helmets on their heads, long lances in their
i Toeach and all of these proposals, the Saxon answered
hands, and huge two-handed swords transversely girt |
bluntly in the negative. “I will not yield my kingdom !
across their persons. After them landed the pioneers,
I will not leave it to the Pope! I will not meet the
the laborers, and carpenters, who made the complement
Duke in single combat !"
of that immense array, bearing with them, piece after
Again the monk returned. “I come again," he said,
piece, three fortresses of timber, arranged before-hand,
“ from William. “Tell Harold,' said the Duke, 'if he
and prepared to be erected on the instant, wherever
they should come to land. Last of the mighty host,
will hold him to his ancient compact, I yield him all the
Duke William left his galley, and the long lines fell into
lands beyond the Humber; I give his brother Gurih all
orderly and beautiful array, as he was rowed to land.
|| the demesnes his father, Godwin, held. If he refuse
In leaping to that wished-for shore, the Norman's right these my last proffers, tell him before his people, he is
foot struck the gunwale of the shallop, and he fell head. a perjured liar, accursed of the Pope, and excommuni-
long on the sand, face downward. Instantly, through cated.-He, and all those that hold to him!""
the whole array, a deep and shuddering murmur rose, But no effect had the bold words of William on the
“God guard us—'lis a sign of evil!"
stern spirits of the English. “ Battle,” they cried—"no
But ere the sounds had passed away, he had sprung | peace with Normans. Battleimmediate Battle !"
to his feet. “What is it that you fear ?” he shouted, and with that answer, did the priest return to his em-


218
THE NORMAN'S VENGEANCE.
ployer; and either host prepared for the appeal to that || proud spirit-stirring chaunt, each warrior of that vast
great arbiter—the sword !
array thundered the burthen of the song—“God aid!
Fairly the morning broke, which was to look upon , God aid !" Then like a storm of hail, close, deadly and
the slaughter of so many thousands-broad and bright incessant, went forth the volleyed showers from arba-
rose the sun, before whose setting one of those two last and long-bow ; while infantry and horse charged in
magnificent and gallant armies must necessarily be in unbroken order against the gates and angles of the fort.
volved in utier ruin. As the first rays were visible But with a cool and stubborn hardihood the Saxon in-
upon the eastern sky, Odo, the bishop of Bayeux, fantry stood firm. Protected by the massive palisades,
William's maternal brother, performed high mass be from the appalling volleys of the archery, they hurled
fore the marshalled troops, wearing his cope and rochet their short and heavy javelins with certain aim and
over his iron harness. The holy rites performed, he deadly execution over their stout defences; while their
leaped upon his snow-white charger, and with his trun- huge axes, wherever they came hand to hand, shivered
cheon in his hand, arrayed the cavalry, which he com- | the Norman spears like reeds, and cleft the heaviest
manded. It was a glorious spectacle-that mighty host mail, even at a single blow! Long, and with all the
arrayed in three long columns of attack, marching with hot, enthusiastic valor of her race, did the assailants
slow and orderly precision against the palisaded trenches crowd around the ramparts; but it was all in vain, they
of the Saxons. The men-at-arms of the great Counts of could not scale them in the face of that indomitable in-
Boulogne and Ponthieu, composed the first--the second | fantry; they could not force one timber from its place;
being formed by the auxiliar bands of Brittanny, Poitou and they at length recoiled, weary and half-subdued,
and Maine-and in the third-commanded by the Duke toward the reserve of William! After a short cessa-
in person, mounted on a superb Andalusian charger, tion, again the archery advanced, but by the orders of
wearing about his neck the reliquary on which his rival the Duke their volleys were no longer sent point blank,
had sworn falsely; and accompanied by a young noble, but shot at a great elevation, so that they fell in a thick
Tunstan the White, bearing the banner of the Pope- galling shower, striking the heads and wounding the
were marshalled all the flower and strength of Norman-unguarded faces of the bold defenders. Harold bimself,
dy. Scattered along the front of the advance, were who fought on foot beside his standard, lost his right
multitudes of archers, lightly equipped in quilted jer- eye at the first flight, but not for that did he desert his
kins, with long yew bows, and arrows of an ell in length, post, or play less valiantly the part of a determined
mingled with cross-bow men with arbalasts of steel and soldier and wise leader. Again with that tremendous
square, steel-headed, quarrels. Steadily they advanced, shout of “ Notre dame, God aid! God aid !" which had,
and in good order; while, in their entrenched camp, in every realm of Europe, sounded the harbinger of vic-
guarded by palisades of oak, morticed together in a tory, the horse and foot rushed on to the attack; while
long line of ponderous trellice-work, the Englishmen from their rear that heavy and incessant sleet of bolt and
awaited their approach-drawn up around their stan- shaft and bullet, fell fast and frequent into the dense
dard, which blazoned with the White Dragon-long ranks of the still undaunted English. At no point did
both the ensign and the war-cry of their race-was they force their way, however, even when fighting at
planted firmly in the earth, surrounded by the dense this desperate advantage! At no poini did a single
ranks of heavy infantry which formed the strength of Norman penetrate a gate, or overtop a palisade; while
their array. Just as the charge began, William rode at one entrance so complete was the repulse of the at-
out before the lines; and thus addressed his soldiery: ||tacking squadrons, that they recoiled, hard pressed by
“ Turn your hearts wholly to the combat! set all the defenders, to a ravine at some considerable distance
upon the die, either to fall or conquer! For if we gain, from the trenches, deep, dangerous, and filled with up-
we shall be rich and glorious! That which I gain, shall derwood and brambles; these, as they fell back in con-
be your gain; that which I conquer, yours! If I shall fusion, their horses stumbling and unable to recover,
win this land, ye shall possess it! Know, too, and were overthrown, and slain pell-mell, and half de
well remember this, that not to claim my right, have I feated. One charge of cavalry, ore shock of barbed
come only—but to revenge! Aye! to revenge our gen- horse would have ensured the total rout of the invaders
tle nation, on all the felonies, the perjuries, the trea- | --but wo! for England on that day—cavalry she bsd
sons of the English! The English, who, in profound none, nor barbed horse, to complete gloriously the work
peace, upon Saint Brice's eve, ruthlessly slew the un- her sturdy footmen had commenced so gallan ly. Sull,
armed and defenseless Danes—who decimated the bold great was the disorder-great was the disarray and peril
followers of Alfred, my kinsman, and your countryman, li of the foreign soldiery. The cry went through the hosts
and slew himself by shameless treachery! On, then, that the great Duke was slain! and, though he flung him.
with God's aid! Normans! On! for revenge and vic self amid the flyers, with his head bare that they might
tory!"
recognize his features, threatening, cursing, striking at
Then out dashed from the lines the boldest of his friend and foe with undiscriminating violence-it was
Vavasours, the Norman Taillefer, singing aloud the fa-
well nigh an hour before he could restore the semblance
mous song, well known through every province of proud of any discipline or order. This, once accomplished, be
France-the song of Charlemagne and Rollo ! tossing advanced again ; and yet a third time, though he ex-
aloſt the while his long two-handed war-sword, and erted every nerve, was he repulsed at every point in ter-
catching it adroitly as it fell; while at each close of that || rible disorder, and with tremendous loss. Evening was


A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
219
fast approaching, and well did William know, that if ||
Original.
the following morning should find the Saxons firm in A TALE WITHOUT A NAME."
their unforced entrenchments, his hopes were vain and
hopeless! The country, far and near, was rousing
BY HENRY F. HARRINGTON.
to the Saxon war-cry; and to the Normans, not to con-
quer, was to be conquered utterly! and to be conquered
CHAPTER XI.
was to perish one and all! Valor or open force, it was! The ride home with her father, that dreadful night,
too evident, could effect nothing against men as valiant was to Isabelle a season of overpowering agony. Her
and as strong, posted with more advantage. Guile was father had been almost forced into the carriage she had
his last resource-and guile, as usual, prevailed! A afterwards entered. He would not speak a word ; and
thousand of his cavaliers advanced, as though about to she dared not. Now and then, the glare of a street-
charge the trenches at full speed, with lances lowered, lamp, or the stronger brilliancy from the illuminated
and with their wonted ensensie, “ God aid !" But as aparıments where pleasure was still holding its reign,
they neared the palisades, by preconcerted stratagem, shone through the carriage windows, and enabled her
as if they had lost heart, they suddenly drew bridle, all to discern that his brow was gloomiły knit, and his face
as a single man, and fled, as it appeared, in irretrievable of ashy paleness; but when the rolling vehicle removed
disorder back! back! to the main body! Meanwhile, them from the light, his broken and fearfully audible
throughout the lines, the banners were waved to and breathing was the only token of his existence. Isabelle's
fro disorderly, and the ranks shifted, and spears rose reflections upon the painfulness of her situation, created
and fell, and all betokened their complete disorganiza- by her father's discovery of her intercourse with Howard
tion! The sight was too much even for the cool hardi- for the little he had now gathered, would, with cer-
hood of Saxon courage; with one tremendous shout they tainty, excite him to question farther-and the conse-
rushed from their entrenchments—which, had they held quent deprivation of that delightful and dearly prized
to them, not forty fold the force of William could have confidence which he had thus far extended to her, with
successfully assailed--and wielding with both hands the more harrowing thought that his fond and trusting
their bills and axes, plunged heudlong in pursuit. That affection had been wounded to the quick, were enough
instant all was over! For, at a moment's notice, at a to inspire her with the bitterest sensations, setting aside
concerted signal of a single trumpet, the very men they the necessity she was now under, of witnessing the
deemed defeated wheeled into line, and with their spears | misery she was conscious of having been the means of
projecting ten feet, at the least, before their charger's inflicting. The two sources of pain exerting a combined
poitrels, their long plumes floating backward in the action, were more than she could bear-tender, sensi-
current caused by their own quick motion, the chivalry
live, truth-loving as she was; and although the whole
of France bore down on their purguers, breathless,
distance was scarce half a mile-occupying in its pas-
confused and struggling. It was a massacre, but not a
sage but a few minutes, each moment seemed an hour.
rout; for not a man turned on his heel, or even thought to
She thought herself to be stilling as she rode ; but
fly; but back to back, in desperate groups, they fought though faint, and gasping with emotion, she had enough
atter their ranks were broken, hewing with their short
of resolution to drop the window. Were they not there?
weapons at the mail-clad lancers who securely speared | No, it was but Golden Square; half way. The fresh
them from the backs of their barbed horses-asking breeze blew across her face, but it did not relieve her;
not, nor receiving quarter-true sons of England to the for that anguished father was still beside her. At
last, annihilated, but not conquered! Night fell, and length the carriage stopped before the door of their
Gurth, and Leofwyn, and Harold, lay dead around their home. Her father slowly and silently descended, and
standard-pierced with innumerable wounds, gory, and offered his hand to assist her. It was cold and trem-
not to be discerned, so were their features and their bling, and its touch went to her heart, and caused her
forms defaced and mangled, by friend or foeman. Yet involuntarily to glance at his face. Its expression
still, when all was lost, without array, or order, stan-
forced from her a scream of mingled terror and agony,
dards, or chiefs, or hopes, the Englishmen fought on- and she fell forward, senseless, into his arms. In the
till total darkness gank down on the field of slaughter, same speechless silence, he raised her, and bore her to
and utter inability to slay caused a brief pause in the her room.
unsparing havoc! Such was the vengeance of the She had been really ill previous to this last fatal
Norman !
H.
event; for her consuming love for Howard, burned to
have free license; and as the caged bird frets itself
against the bars of its prison, that love in the confine-
ment of its impediments, wasted away her strength.
REASON.
It had lain, too, like a load at her heart, the conscious-
ness that she was deceiving her father's love, in the
concealment of her relations to another; and the present
Within the brain's most secret cells,
shock, operating upon her weakness of body, and men-
A certain lord chief-justice dwells,
tal anxiety and pain, induced a wandering of her senses,
Of sov'reign power, whom one and all,
With common voice, we Reason call.
* Continued from page 177.
27


220
. A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
from which she was not relieved for many days. When and joyous beauty, and her artless and childish vivacity.
she recovered her reason, after a tardy slumber, the The friendship then begun, had become more strongly
first object which met her eyes, was her father, pacing cemented by frequent intercourse thereafter, especially,
her chamber with folded arms, his wan look betraying 'until both Estelle and Isabelle began, at almost the
the conflict that had been raging within him. The past, same period, to feel interested in Howard. Then their
the dreadful past, boding so fearfully of the future, rose communion slackened, and finally, as their loves pro-
before her in that first moment of thought, and with an gressed, ceased altogether in so far as its confidence
impulse to throw herself at her father's feet, she exten- was involved, although their relationship brought them
ded her fair and delicate arms from the bed, with a feeble still often together. But during Isabelle's illness,
cry, in her prostration, like the moaning call of an infant. Estelle had made frequent applications for admillance
The Count started at the sound, and advanced on tip- to her, without effect, so long as her alienation of mind
toe to the bed. The eye on which he gazed, and which and subsequent weakness rendered it unsafe for her to
timidly and tearfully returned his glance, betokened, in be visited by any gave her necessary attendants. But
its collected and subdued expression, the return of sense. when she was able to sit up for two or three hours every
" Thank Heaven,” he said, in an earnest whisper- day, Estelle was gratified when she called, with the
while, at the same time, a smile of encouragement answer, that her coming should be announced to her
began to wreath his face, and he inclined forward, as cousin, and if she should be inclined to see her, there
though he would stoop and kiss his daughter. But the would be no objection made. Of course, Isabelle leaped
deep and vital love that had made him the lonely in heart to greet her; and the cousins were soon together;
watcher by her couch while danger menaced her, had Estelle, with that half instinctive half thoughtful reserve
rendered his hand quick and ready to perform the offi- | and caution inspired by a sick room, subduing her
ces demanded by her state ; had sharpened his ear to ardent and characteristic manner, as she returned
calch the smallest sound that came from her, though it Isabelle's fond kiss and welcome, and sat down by her
were but the rustling of the bed-clothes as she feverishlv side.
turned; and had made his heart weep at the incoherent “Come, Estelle,''said Isabelle,“ remove your bonnet.
exclamations, not wild for Isabelle could do nothing I shall not spare you for an hour, at least. I am weak,
wild, even in the deprivation of her sweet sense-but sweetest, therefore cannot say much; but I am wbolly
sad and saddening; was dammed in its current by the ignorant of what has been in progress in the gay world
remembrance of the past, now that Isabelle was herself these three weeks, and you shall be my gazelle. I
again, and flowed back upon itself. He arrested the know you must have news. But first of aunt and your
gesture while yet half executed; the incipient smile sisters ?"
gave place to its lowering antagonist, and turning away “Are all well, Isabelle. But, indeed, I shall be a
without a word or further sign, he beckoned an attendant poor gazette. Like yourself, I have had little to do, of
from an inner apartment, and left the room.
Ilate, with the gay world.”
The mind diseased, quarrels with the prescriptions | Estelle's voice faltered as she progressed hesitatingly
of the physician, and makes slow the body's recovery. I with this short reply, and Isabelle, who had been deceived
Isabelle gained in strength by almost imperceptible by the flush on her cheek occasioned by her walk,
degrees for some time, during which, her father never assuming the hue of health, now noticed that the lustre
greeted her with his presence. She discovered, how was gone, and paleness had usurped its vacated throne;
ever, by questioning her maid, that he regularly inquired while, at the same time, the look of her sweet cousin
for her with solicitude, and she remembered his look and beamed not with the airy serenity that had been so
action at her bedside, and felt that though clouded, his attractive a passport to her affection.
love was not extinct. But when she cast her thought I “Estelle, my dear Estelle, you have been ill, too.
towards her lover, so chilling, so black and hopeless | That careworn look and hollow eye, should be stran-
was the prospect, that she was glad to turn away from gers to my cousin. You have been ill ?"
it, and strive to bury it in forgetfulness. But as often, Estelle hung her head from which she had thrown
it rose again before her, more dark, more desperate back her bonnelmat Isabelle's question, and she played
than before. She heard nothing from Howard. His a moment with her glove, in evident embarrassment.
quarrel with her father, which, public as it was, she Then the silence that succeeded, indicating Isabelle's
knew must be the theme of conversation abroad, and, of pause for a reply, the more overthrew her self-posses-
course, was known to the servants, was a sufficient sion-poor girl, she had never much, at bestand the
excuse for her to question respecting him, without exci- blood stole up over her neck and face and forehead,
ting peculiar suspicions. But she could gain nothing enrobing all in its crimson mantle, while her frame
definite. She was informed that he was yet in London. shook violently, until she betrayed the unsustainable
This was the limit of the information elicited. A new climax of her emotion by turning away from her cousin,
sorrow was now to be added to her catalogue of griefs. I springing to the window, and burying her face in the
It will be remembered that when Estelle made her curtains, convulsive sobs meanwhile breaking from her,
debût in London society, at Lady Landor's ball, her that grew stronger and stronger, and more and more
cousin Isabelle acted partially as her chaperon for frequent, until they gave place to uncontrollable weep-
the evening, and was not separated from her until its ing. Isabelle's nature made her keenly alive to the
close. She was deeply interested by Estelle's bright limpulses of sympathy; and her present state laid her


222
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
did not leave her until consciousness resumed its con-ll be made by its victim to appease it. Elthorpe's cheeks
trol. When she stooped to kiss her and bid farewell, glowed with the enthusiasm of friendship when he had
Isabelle's boundless benevolence triumphed over all perused it; and Howard, as he stood smiling before
thought of self, even under such agonizing circumstan him, seemed elevated above mortal frailty. He could
ces, and she softly said, “ Be comforted-be comforted, easily have excused him for fierceness and implacability,
my sweet Estelle !"
he more than honored him for the god-like spirit he
seemed to manifest.
CHAPTER XII.
“ Howard !" he finally exclaimed, extending his hand
On the morning after the rencontre, Elthorpe hastened and grasping that of his friend, “I know not what to
at an early hour to Howard's lodgings in Pall Mall, anx- say to you. This is above"
ious, yet fearing to see his friend. The passion he had “A truce, a truce to compliments, my dear boy! It
witnessed in him on the occasion of his former fracas is but a rough sketch. Pray you, will it answer? Will
with the Count, when the extent and nature of the out- it touch the right chord? Well then, let it lie, and
rage upon him bore no proportion to the present, inspired we'll talk of something else. Where do you ride to-
the boding inference that now he would chafe like the day ?”
bitted war-horse, and listen to no argument; be soothed “To Greenwich, with Sir John, to dine."
by no endeavors of friendship. He was ushered to his “May I go? Will he tolerate me? There's pre-
parlor in a state of mind akin to trepidation; but what mise of a glorious day! When shall you be for the sad-
was his surprise to be greeted by Howard with a placid | dle? At four ? Grace Pall Mall as you ride, and I'll
smile, behind which no lingering signal of gloom or join you here. By the bye, I'll walk to Piccadilly with
passion was apparently shrouded. His toilet, too, was you. I'm for Bond Street. Avance! I'm at your
studiously completed-his whole appearance and man-heels!"
ner bearing a striking contrast to that exhibited in the Elthorpe descended the stairs, while Howard lingered
former and similar occasion referred to.
a moment. Elthorpe had no sooner turned his back,
"Ah-ha! Ah-ha! Elthorpe. Upon my word, you than Howard's countenance assumed a demoniac
honor Pall Mall early, after your exertions in the dance expression of triumph, and he muttered as he drew on
last night. Do you come for inquiry or communication ? his gloves—" Caught, fairly caught! It works by
If the latter, what from Berwick Street ? If the former, !" but when he rejoined Elthorpe at the door, bis
dash away. I am in a mood to hear and answer a face was bland again, and his smile that of a fate all
world of questions; serious, comical, or serio-comical.” | sunshine.
“And upon my word, Howard,” answered Elthorpe,
gazing full in his face with a stare of astonishment, "you!
CHAPTER XIII.
are an enigma, beyond my faculty to solve. Is last The limit circumscribed to us, forces us to hurry on.
night so soon forgotten by you? I have been fearful to Count Rebierra sought an interview with Isabelle,
witness the vividness of your memory of it. This soon after the confessjon of Estelle, and in deadly agoby
hilarity—this brusquerie-I am confounded! You are of soul, she was impelled by her horror of further and
not-"
her misery at past deceit, to reveal to him all. It made
“Ha, ha !" interrupted Howard, laughing, “ do you the Count gloomy to hear the unexpected tale, but it did
fancy I evaporated my spleen in the fumes of some gin- not soften him. He extorted from Isabelle, on pain of
shop-in the purlieus of Drury-lane or Covent Garden his everlasting displeasure, to hold no further commu-
--or drowned it in choice nectar iu St. James' Street ? ) nication with Howard. She obtained permission to
No, I warrant me! I came home and slept; soundly, I make her promise known to him, but was to forbid
too, and did not even dream. Is it so wonderful? Il reply or any communication. She resolved, let it cost
Why, Elthorpe, I thought you knew me! Am I a child what it would to her happiness, to adhere strictly to ber
to be maddened at the poor reptile, whose instinct of plighted faith. Her explanation to Howard was full of
self-defence prompts it to turn and bite me, when, per- love, but he was at no loss to interpret the spirit in
chance, I tread upon it ? Am I to fume and rage because which she laid her injunctions upon him to make no
a madman frowns at me? No, no! The Count, poor effort to see her or in any manner to commune with ber,
fellow, is irresponsible. I have been angry as far as and he acquiesced in silence; though his love burned
becomes me. Now I pity. Anger is too unhealthful a the more fiercely, from the resistance to its progress.
potion to be swallowed when it may as well be dispensed Estelle and Isabelle were in the meantime, often
with. Why look you, my amazement-stricken son of together. Their chief topic of conversation was tbe
Mars, so much do I pity, that I would allay this tow- being most interesting to both. Their minds and
ering frenzy which racks the Count, if it may be done. thoughts were freely opened to each other, and each was
Look there, on my escrutoire, behold, read, and stand to the other a friend and comforter. But while Isabelle
the more agape!”
was supported by the consciousness that it was ber
Colonel Elthorpe turned to the place designated, precious boon to enjoy the affections of the beloved of
where an unfolded letter was lying. It was addressed both, and hope that lingers is long beckoned smilingly
to Count Rebierra, deprecating his unceasing opposi-forward, Estelle, shut out from every hope, faded day
tion, and demanding in the most generous and respect-il by day. Her mother could not induce her to mingle in
:1, and yet not servile language, what sacrifice could the slightest degree in society, Neither commands por


A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
223
entreaties, favors and frowns could avail. She sat || The place would be favorable. There was not a dwel-
through the entire day alone in her chamber, except ling within a mile of a spot in the cross road, which the
when she was with Isabelle, often weeping hour by hour Count must needs pass over to arrive at the Earl's
in her solitude. Pains began to prey upon her, but she country-seat; and more than all, Fletcher, the emissary
made no complaint. And then a hectic flush grew bright referred to, a fellow who had been a follower of the
upon her cheek, and a ceaseless cough foretold the rav-camp-wis steeped to the very hair in derravity, was
ages of disease upon her frame. Her mother became familiar with scenes of carnage, had gazed on thousands
alarmed for the results of her own stony-hearted pro of prostrate bodies, weltering in their blood, and would
jects; she sent her into the country; Lady Fordyce never quail at the sight of one. He might be boughs
chaperoned her to Brighton, and Tunbridge, but in with gold-yes had been bought, in advance, to execute
vain. The country had lost its power to delight, or whatever Howard might dictate, was to be his com-
rather its beauty added keener woe by recalling hal-panion. But then the time to plan and to execute the
lowed associations that could not charm again; and she deed was as nothing, a few short hours. Howard paced
was re-conveyed to the city a drooping invalid, sinking the room, without a word to Mathew in reply, now paus-
into an early grave, the victim of a mother's ambition ling to gaze from the window, now fixing his eyes upon
and guile.
the floor in the intensest thought. “Oh, that the time
We must retrace our steps to follow the course of our were but longer !" he said to himself, again and again
hero. The regiment to which he was attached had been biting his lip in vexation. But if to some minda, antici-
ordered home, and being stationed in London, he was pation of pleasure, equals if it do not excel, the reality,
at full liberty to pursue the career he had marked out. to all minds, the suspense previous to the commission
His first object was to obtain a situation for one bribed of an unholy deed, that the mind has determined to
to his interests in Count Rebierra's dwelling, as a ser-execute, inficts agony cumulated on agony, as though
vant, that he might be master of all the acts and intents each moment of it were the witness of the very deed.
of the father and daughter. That accomplished, he next | Howard, with the unwavering determination within
proceeded to train Mathew Leggetson for the part he him, to make life the forfeiture of injury, shrank from
was to act. He supplied him liberally with money ; |longer endurance of this fell intent, since its fruition
spread before him every temptation to indulge in the was extended to him under such favorable chances. A
sensualities in which he delighted; benumbing still stamp of his foot and a snap of his fingers, announced
more his already torpid conscience. He, himself, the climax of his cogitations, and his conclusion to
meanwhile, collected about him a wide circle of high-| make the "be all and the end all" then.
born society, to which he triumphed in having elevated Recalling Mathew's request for money at this junc-
himself. His former difficulties with the Count seemed ture, he resolved to make it the prelude to a call upon
forgotten by him, as they were by the world around. || his servant for services of a darker nature than any he
Summer was advancing, the season of fashion was had yet performed.
over, and its votaries scattered themselves through the “Sit down, sit down, Mathew," said he to the unconth
country, at their own or the seats of noble friends, or at and abhorrent creature that stood, striking one foot
watering places, to while away the interregnum. It against the other, by the door. Whereupon Mathew
was one morning announced to Howard by means of sidled into a chair.
his emissary, that the Count and his daughter had “You asked for money, Mathew. Is all gone that I
accepted an invitation to spend a few weeks with Earl gave you on Friday?".
Fordyce at Hampstead; and that the Count would pro- “Deil tak it, not a ba'pence is left. What wi' the
ceed thither that very afternoon, preceding his daughter cheat o' a black bearded Jew, curses light on his pow,
to be present at a dinner-party on the next day; that that played wi' me Saturday night, and-ha, ha! a
he would go in his own coach, and that the informant, |skin full of Mac Birnie's gin ilka night; it's gane, the
who served in the capacity of footman, was to accom- || deil kens where ?"
pany him. The information was given by Mathewl “Mathew, do you love me?" asked Howard, turning
Leggetson, who concluded its delivery by a demand for short round and eying his astonished servitor with a
money, professing himself in his rough manner, to be fixed glance. Mathew's obtuse intellect could not
much in need of that valuable adjunct. Howard paid fathom any object in this abrupt inquiry, although he
no attention to the closing fraction of his communica- | instinctively gathered that it had relation to something
tion, for the tenor of the previous portion had set every | more than ordinary matters. He drew up his lank
faculty of his mind into the intensest action. Every limbs and thrust them out again repeatedly, and repeat-
circumstance was favorable to the execution of the ter-edly scratched behind his protuberant ear, before he
rible deed that he had been brooding over and maturing | answered with a grin-
from that fatal period-long, long ago-when the Countil “ Ye may think sae, an' be nae more, at maist, than
barred the gates of reconciliation and forgetfulness, and a stane's throw off. It was nae for no' that I stickit
wove for himself a web, to be died in blood alone. The till ye like a plaster sin' ye cam' frae hame, and if it
day was propitious. It was a hazy, sullen atmosphere, I werena sae, I'm nae sic a doiled gomeril as to tell of it,
which portends one of those dense and almost embodied | wi sic an errand as mine."
fogs, which often render it necessary in the metropolis Mathew winked at his master with the familiarity to
to employ lamps when the sun is in the very zenith. I which he was accustomed, at this stroke of humor,


224
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
and broke into a slight laugh. Howard proceeded | ments were completed. When all was ready, Howard
without attention.
laid a well-filled purse before each of his fell ministers,
“How can you show that you love me?".
as an earnest of the future; and they departed to pre-
“Aweel, aweel, Maister Howard, try me. Here's a pare for the fiendish deed they were soon to achieve.
lang leg to rin, and a stalwart arm to grip, and say ye In the meantime, Howard, with a recklessness of all
wherefore to rin and what to grip, and Mathew's the disguise which he never indulged in when mortal eyes
man for ye.”
were present to take note, gave a loose to the dark
So far, so good. Howard now changed his method, exultation of passion, anticipating the gratification of
and silting down, said with a smile
its most hellish machinations, and unchecked by one
“We have had many a frolic together, Mathew." | wavering of fear, or one shrinking of the soul.
“ Troth have we, Maister Howard," answered Ma-
thew, his eyes kindling with the recollection. Howard
CHAPTER XIV.
continued
As the day wore on, the presages of the morning
“You remember the old bridge ?"
were gradually fulfilled. The haziness deepened into a
"Weel eneugh, weel eneugh!" was the Scotchman's fog, and the shades rolled forward, growing deeper and
reply, in a subdued tone of exultation.
deeper, until night seemed to have usurped the empire
“And Mike Alsted, the beggar ?".
of day. In many of the shops, the gas-lights were
“Weel eneugh, weel eneugh!" repeated Mathew, | lighted, and link-boys were seen with their flaring links,
rubbing his hands in the very exstasy of recollection. | dancing here and there in search of employment.
“The gyte gaberlunzie, wi' what a grewsome graw he | Howard gazed upon the dismal scene in gratification,
rowed frae the bink, and grat and rowt; skirling for for he would have cursed the sunlight. Hour after
help, as he doukit i’ the deil's linn. 'Twas a braw hour passed. He endeavored to compose himself, to
reek!"
read, to write ; but every few minutes he drew out his
“There was old Margery, too ?”
watch with an oath, at the laggard step of time.
"I ken weel! A routing skellock she set up, deil Fletcher had promised to delay the carriage by some
tak her; an' how we loupit the dyke, rinning for gude excuse or other, until between four or five. It was
life through the loan, wi' the gyre carling at our heels. | now near to four, and Howard's nervous impatience
I've aye cursed mysel that I didna' ding her ower, and had become scarcely endurable. He could fix his mind
thraw her thrapple, the rudas !".
upon nothing. An agonizing fear took possession of
This exhibition of ferocity was certainly a fair foun- |him, that by some mischance, his assassins might but
dation for Howard, on which to build the hope of an half complete their purpose. Guided by an irresistible
easy conquest over Mathew's tenderness of conscience, impulse, he seized his hat and descended to the street.
if indeed it were not in every respect callous to emotion. | A drizzling rain fell lazily through the fog, rendering
He resolved, at least, to suspend further preliminaries, the aspect of nature yet more desolate. Howard
and enter at once, upon the avowal of his wishes. walked rapidly through Pall Mall to the Haymarket,
“Mathew," said he, "you remember well my several running an imminent risk of coming in contact with
conflicts with Count Rebierra. One was the result of those whom he met, for he looked not to the right nor
interference for your protection. I hate him. He has to the left, and his thoughts were elsewhere. Pausine
injured, insulted and wronged me; he has spit upon a moment at the corner, in utter vacancy of purpose,
me-yes, by heaven-that I should live to say it-spithe dashed down Cockspur Street to Charing Cross.
upon me! and I have had no revenge! That revenge In the mean time, the rain began to fall faster than
I pant for, and must have! You say you love me. before, and at intervals, the cartain of the fog lifted
Tell me then, what shall I do for revenge ?"
itself from the face of nature, only to shroud all things
"Gin it were mysel he had noited and misca'ad in sic again, in a deeper mantle. Our hero, half drenched
a fashion, forgie me, Maister Howard, but I wud hae with the rain, made a second pause at Charing Cross ;
grivpit his hause or knockit out his harns, and no and there, for the first time, collecting his wandering
Teri him till I had seen the dead-thraw and heard the senses, and framing a definite purpose, he proceeded at
ruckle, and that lang syne."
the same impetuous rate, towards the King's News or
This was decisive of Mathew's disposition, and stables, and from thence making his way into St.
availableness for Howard's purposes. Disguising and Martin's Lane, he pursued a straight course to Toutes.
tampering no longer, the latter signified plainly his in-ham Court Road, hastening onward without a pause.
tentions and his wishes that Mathew, in conjunction He was now on the highway to Hampstead; and at
with Fletcher, should execute them. Mathew heard the hour when the Count started from Portland Street,
without any evidence of emotion, and his only objections he was two miles in advance, and still hurrying on,
were in relation to the danger of discovery; for he with the sweat standing in big drops on his brow, and
suggested that he woudna relish owermuch to be his garments saturated with the rain. In the unusual
traiking frae a tow.” But the liberal promises of events of the day, and the terrific sensations tbat had
money made by Howard, prevailed in a short time over occupied his mind, he had forgotten the wants of nature,
these fears; and he professed his readiness to receive and not a mouthful of food had passed his lips since the
instructions. The trio were shortly closeted together early morning. The exertion of his walk, combined
with locked doors, and in low whispers the arrange with the lack of sustenance, finally checked his ardor,


A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
225
and with a dizziness in his brain, and faintness through then the carriage was heard whirling along furiously
all his frame, he sat down by the road side, to recover | toward him. The horses were evidently ungoverned,
himself. Two or three stage-coaches passed him as he for now the wheels rattled on the trodden path, now
sat, shrouding his face with his hand, and a 'drunken rolled with muffled sound over the grass upon the road-
sailor halooed to him from the dickey of one, with some side, and at times, too, crashed against the bounder's
salt-water slang, presuming that no one but a madman, fences. Fearful of personal danger, Howard jumped
a fool, or some homeless, houseless wanderer, would be over a gate near him, and awaited its coming. The
found in such a spot at such a time. He was not far frightened, panting horses soon clattered by, and dash-
from the truth. It was a madman whom he passed by ; led against a projecting post as they swerved again
for when is man more desperately, mournfully mad, from the road. For an instant, the carriage reeled with
than when passion laughs reason to scorn, and urges a crash upon its side, dragging the horses with it, to
the heart to dare and the hand to do deeds at which the earth. There was stillness; then was heard a snap-
sane humanity stands agape in horror.
ping of wood, and again the clatter of the horses' hoofs
A private carriage now approached from cityward. became fearfully audible, as, freed from their burden,
The frenzied Howard lifted his eyes, eagerly peering | they sprang madly away.
through the misty darkness to ascertain if it were the The rush of liberated horses at their full speed, has
object of his thoughts, and when the Count's coal-black in it much of excitement to every mind; but the career
horses, and Pedro Montenegro, the diminutive coach of these, presage as it was, to Howard, of the attain-
man, were descried with certainty, a thrill coursed ment of a long cherished end, the performance of a
through every fibre, and he crouched down, slouching deed, black, startling and terrible, operated with tre-
his hat as much as possible over his forehead. The mendous effect. He could scarce repress a sudden cry
carriage rumbled by, no sound breaking in upon the of emotion. He bent down and listened again with
monotonous roll of the wheels, and the patter of the agonizing intensity, but heard only the fainter and
rain, save now and then a drowsy ejaculation from fainter sound from the retreating horses. The anxiety
Pedro, to encourage the well-conditioned steeds who of this crisis was scarce endurable. He ran violently
jogged along in stately dignity, never altering their forward over the field-for Mathew, after gagging his
pace, but receiving Pedro's exclamations as much a victim, was to drag him to a clump of trees at some dis-
matter of course, as the harness, or the coach, or Pedro, tance from the road before he struck the fatal blow-
himself. Howard watched it from the moment it had and stopped and stooped, hearkening as before ; cursing
left him in its rear, and when it had attained such a the audible beating of his own heart. The horses were
distance in advance, as to be dimly visible, he sprang beyond the reach of hearing-the
beyond the reach of hearing—the rain ceased and
up and followed it at so quick a pace, as almost to plainly, plainly he now recognised the sounds of a
equal the trot of the horses. The reflection that the scuffle, the trampling of feet; and the smothered outcry
object of his hatred was so near to him, removed the of a muffled voice! He could endure no longer,' and
feebleness that had detained him, and inspired, indeed, I rushed toward the scene. It evidently was retreating
unnatural vigor. Occasionally, as he fell to a wider from the road, but he changed his course as the noise
distance into the rear, he ran forward until he regained directed, and soon the dim outlines of human figures
the space he had lost. Thus he proceeded for several moved in the misty atmosphere. A moment more, and
miles, when suddenly, the carriage shortened into a he was in distinct view of the party. Mathew and
walk, and turning almost a right angle to the left, Fletcher were on either side of the Count, grasping him
entered the cross road that conducted to Seymour tightly by the throat, and forcing him on despite his
Lodge.
strong resistance. Howard was close upon the three,
Howard halted a moment at the corner. He doubted before his footsteps startled his earnest subordinates.
not but that Mathew was at his post, awaiting the Alarmed, both released their prisoner at once, and
coming of the carriage; and with such definite instruc- sprang aside, but his hoarse whisper, “It is T,” recalled
tions as he had received, and Fletcher's assistance, he them, and before the Count could avail himself of his
surely was sufficient for his work. But expectation liberation, they regained their hold, and materially
ever induces anxiety ; Pedro might be guilty of greater assisted by Howard, who pushed his victim forward
courage than they had imputed to him; and be got rid from the rear, the designated clump of trees was soon
of with more difficulty than they had anticipated. attained. Howard then threw off his associates, and
Mathew might be a moment too late-any thing, every at the same time fastened the fingers of his right hand
thing might happen to prevent the consummation upon the Count's throat, half strangling him in the iron
altogether, or, what were the worse event in Howard's grasp, and effectually preventing any outcry, except a
estimation, it might but partially succeed, to the cer- choaking groan. He then disengaged the handker-
tain detection and ignominy of all concerned. Despe-chief that had been bound across the Count's mouth,
ration seized upon him. He ran violently down the road, and had screened his whole face; and stood before him
stopping every moment, and almost holding his breath, to drink the rich draught of revenge, in proclaiming him.
to catch the first sound of action. But all was still. I self to his enemy as his murderer; and to convulse his
He ran on-and yet farther. The fog had become departing soul with the keenest pang that his tiendish
yet denser than ever, and the rain fell in big plashing and merciless spirit could devise.
drops. Suddenly, distinct cries came to his ears; and “Count Rebierta," said he, in a low but impassioned


226
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
tone, "mine is the advantage now! You have wreaked is upon me now, and I have been dreaming waking
upon me all the insult that one man can endure from dreams of the future. Something whispers that the
another! Did you think to do it and live? You did black cloud which has been overhanging the horizon
not know me then! Memory has not slumbered over of my destiny, threatening to burst above me in storm
that insult, but has treasured it up; and now, when you and devastation, has broken away, and the blessed sun
and the world have deemed me a forgiving sufferer, is the of peace and happiness is beaming in its place. In all
revenge to come !"
these dreams, he is woven-shall I see him, speak to
As he paused, the Count took advantage of a slight him, pour out my soul to him again, and listen to his
relaxation in his hold, and jerking back, disengaged rapturing words! Hope whispers, “Yes,' and I will
himself; with wonderful self-possession in that fearful cherish its kind and encouraging whispers, and filled
moment, pealing forth a loud and far-reaching cry for with its buoyant spirit, be cheered and encouraged and
help, and at the same instant throwing himself upon happy again!"
Howard. But overpowered by superior numbers, he She was interrupted while her pen yet lingered on the
was hurled to the ground and the brutal Fletcher raised last word, by a loud and eager knock at the street door.
the glittering knife, sharpened for the purpose, to plungeA knoek was certainly no unusual occurrence, but there
it into his bosom. But Howard was not yet done ; and was a peculiarity to this knock which awakened her
arresting the action, and obtaining possession of the attention. But a few minutes elapsed, before her maid
knife himself, he bent above the prostrate Count, who placed a note in her hand. It was from her cousin, Lady
lay pinioned to the ground by Mathew and Fletcher, to Fordyce, and read as follows:
whisper but one sentence more. Mathew, however,
“Seymour Lodge.
manifested strong signs of impatience, and muttered
“Dearest Isabelle :
“The deil's in ye, Maister Howard, that ye dinna Mu first injunction is that you be not in the slight-
diug him! Wi' his unchancy dirduin, we'll hae a les de
est degree alarmed by the object of this message. Your
kittle offcome. Ding! ding !".
father, my love, met with an accident while on his way
But revenge had not been complete without that one
to us, and as he will feel more comfortable with you
sentence more!
beside him, and you would be sadly vexed with me if
“The steel is in my hand, Count Rebierra, and I
I did not instantly apprise you of any misfortune to him,
strike! but hear-hear, and let the thought be madh
however slight, I send the carriage for you. Come as
ness! I love your daughter, and she has given me
soon as possible, love, but mind me, don't be alarmed.
every affection of her heart; and now, when you are
Mr. Brandon has kindly accompanied the carriage, and
gone, I will seek her, and her kisses shall be on my will be
be on my will be your escort. Truly and afectionately,
cheek, and she shall rest on my bosom the wife of the
“Your Cousin."
low-born murderer of her father!"
The harrowing shriek that burst from the Count, was Isabelle was alarmed, for there was every thing in
a chilling witness that the accursed thought had struck the circumstances to alarm her. It was impossible
deep as the murderer could wish. Ceasing all effort, that she should have been sent for expressly from such
he closed his eyes, awaiting the stroke that was to a distance, and on such a night, for any slight misfor
sever the bond of life, paralyzed to the very soul by his lune. A stranger too, was to be her companion-bat
thought of Isabelle's fate. Once, as Howard, secure careful preparation for a mere and slight accident! But
in his full revenge, yet bent above him, gazing upon with all her dread foreboding, she obeyed her cousios
his countenance with a grimly triumphant smile, he injunction to hasten, and in a few moments joined Mr.
murmured, “Oh God, my Isabelle !" They were the Brandon at the door, who handed her in silence into
last words he spoke. Steps were heard of comers the carriage. He seated himself beside her, and they
aroused by his outcries. Howard struck the fatal knife whirled rapidly away, while the wind howled moult-
once-twice-thrice into his bosom, then turned and fully through the streets—for the storm had increased
fled away.
its violence—and the rain pattered against the windows
of the vehicle.
CHAPTER IV.
“What is it, sir-what is i: ?" she asked as soon as
Isabelle passed the evening after her father's depar-lher feelings permitted.
ture, in contemplation and lonely musings; and the il “I am unable to answer definitely. Your father was
tenor of her thoughts may be gathered from the follow-l injured at some distance from the Lodge, and I have
ing extract from her journal:
not seen him, Miss Isabelle-so will not attempt to
July 17.-"This afternoon my dear father has gone describe his situation, I cannot with any accuracy."
to visit Earl Fordyce at Seymour Lodge, whither I am “But what do you think, sir? What was said?
to follow to-morrow. He smiled on me, kindly when How was he injured? Pray, pray tell me! Oh, my
he parted from me, and kissed me affectionately, what | poor father! What is it, sir, what is it?"
he has not done for months. The tears started into my “My dear young lady, do not discompose yourself!
eyes, and I was almost delirious awhile, for joy; for The surgeon bad not arrived when I left the Lodge:
nothing has so hung like a millstone about the neck of indeed we are to take him up from Great Marlboro
my spiri:, as my father's estrangement from me. He Street; ah, here we are at his door."
loves me, and has forgiven me! There is a sweet calm Mr. Brandon saluted the surgeon, who did not delay


A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
227
the carriage a moment, and they were soon again on || A faint smile played round his mouth and his lips
their way. Isabelle saw from Mr. Brandon's hesita- | moved; but suddenly, an appalling change passed over
tion that he was unable or unwilling to enter into his features. The little of the vital current that had
particulars, or apprise her of the exact truth. She not ebbed away through gaping wounds, spread itself
Therefore said no more ; and no words were addressed i over his face, and slightly suffused his cheek. There
to her. A trite remark now and then was exchanged was a wild, intense meaning in the glance that he fixed
between the gentlemen, with long intervals of complete upon Isabelle; and with sudden power he waved his
silence. Isabelle felt that their motion was unusually band to and fro. It was interpreted by Lady Fordyce
rapid; and that the panting horses were exerting them- and the surgeon, who had accompanied Isabelle, to be a
selves to their utmost to keep pace with her sickening signal that she should be left alone with him, and they
impatience; and, in a comparatively short period, the left the chamber. But that did not compose the agi-
coachman reined up his jaded beasts before the door of tated man. His hand yet waved, that dread expression
Seymour Lodge.
retained its place, and bis lips moved more violently,
Earl Fordyce himself handed Isabelle from the car-| but he did not speak !
riage, whispering his salutations, and conducting with He could not speak! One thrust of the assassin's
an energy so unusual to him, that Isabelle instinctively knife had passed through his neck and hushed his
felt that a momentous occasion alone, could have i voice for ever. Oh, what mind can estimate the agony
awakened him. She bad scarce strength to mount the l of that parent, extended on the bed of death, with his
steps of the portico, and enter the door. There Lady murderer's words yet ringing in his ear, his beloved
Fordyce met her and kissed her without a word. The daughter beside him, and the fiend of silence chaining
formalities of intercourse seemed to be overlooked, and his voice!
every thing was indicative of the worst.
| “Father, father! wont you speak to me? Speak to
“Come, love, directly to my chamber. Harriet sup- me, father, speak to me!” cried Isabelle.
port Miss Isabelle on the other side. I beg of you nut He made a gesture for her to put her ear to his lips.
to be so alarmed. How you tremble! There, sit down She understood it instantly and obeyed; but alas! only
in this cushioned 'chair and rest yourself. Harriet, my la monotonous gurgle reached her ear, and lifting her
drops."
head, she said,
So Lady Fordyce, with an indifference evidently con- “I cannot hear! I cannot hear!
strained, addressed the pallid girl. Isabelle's sus. In almost a convulsion of agony at her reply, he
picions were excited to a degree beyond the mournful beckoned again to her to repeat the effort. It was vain
reality, and nerving herself to ask the dreadful question, i again!
she took Lady Fordyce's hand, as she leaned over one “Father,” said she, “I cannot hear. What shall I
arm of the chair, holding the drops, and gently bathing I do!"
her forehead, she said with difficulty-
The Count then exerted himself to raise himself up-
“I am dying with anxiety. Your faces, your actions, right. The emotion displaced the bandages on his
your words, all terrify me. I feel assured that my neck, and the blood oozed through them. At the sight
father is killed-is dead!"
of it, and of her father's misery, Isabelle's power of en-
"Oh, no-no, love! How could you suffer yourself durance deserted her, and she sank down upon the floor.
to think so? He is badly hurt, but we hope, not The Count redoubled his exertion. His soul would not
dangerously."
pass down to the comb with his mighty secret unre-
You have taken a load from my heart. Tell me vealed. The father could not leave his child to be the
again, he is not dead!"
prey of his murderer! The fierceness of his inward
“ He is not, dear cousin-indeed he is not."
tumult, triumphed for the moment over wounds and
“Let me lie down a moment. I will go to him exhaustion and coming death; and started in every
presently. I must regain-com-" The word died on vein the eurdling blood, and fired his dimming eye and
her lips and she had fainted ; but the efforts of the nerved anew his waning strength. He felt that he was
surgeon soon restored her, and so soon as she requested dying, and could not call for aid. His eye lighted upon
it, she was conducted to her father. When she entered a pen and paper that were on a near table. Could he
with tottering steps and suspended breath, the chamber but reach it, his hand could trace what his tongue
where he lay, a single lamp shed a dim light around, I refused to utter-and he could save his child! He
for the eyes of the wounded man could bear no more threw off the bed-clothes ; and as his foot sought the
and cast a shade over his countenance, that rendered floor, it encountered the cold face of the inanimate
its ghastliness more terrible to look upon; and at the Isabelle. Seeking another footing, he stood up--stag-
first glance-at the first evidence of what a few short gered to the table-feebly grasped the pen and wrote;
hours had wrought-tears gushed from the eyes of the but the fountains of life were broken up; the torch of
heart-broken Isabelle, and she sank on her knees by the existence flickered in its socket; he shivered a shade
bedside, burying her face in the clothes. He languidly came over his sight-the pen dropped from his nerve-
opened his closed eyes at the sound, and slowly and less grasphe fearful rattle was in his throat-he
feebly extending his hand laid it upon hers. At the gasped-his jaw fell-he staggered-he was dead!
couch, she sprang up and pressing it fondly, she kissed. When Lady Fordyce and the surgeon, alarmed at the
it repeatedly, and then with a shudder kissed his cheek. long silence, ventured to enter, the Count was standing
28


228
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
CHAFTER XVI.
supported in an upright position by the wall and the world, as the best, the wisest, the highest and the low-
table; and Isabelle was extended on the floor at his est are forgotten, so soon as they cease to walk and act
feet. Death had palsied her hand before it had done lamong men; and Isabelle was left to weep alone.
its work; and when Isabelle revived to the bitterness of Howard was in the power of the wretches whom be
her sorrow, the paper was put into her hand on which had employed; but their own safety required silence;
her father had sought to trace his last direction. It only and his liberal supplies of money to them removed any
said-
probability of a confession from either.
“My murderer is—"
!! So soon as the question of the murder was set at rest,
Howard's first object was to obtain a reinstatement in
Isabelle's companionship. He had his fears of the
The murder of Count Rebierra excited, as might be possibility. He doubted whether filial affection, and
expected, the extreme of wonder and horror. It was
reverence for the opinions, wishes, and prejudices of
executed under circumstances which imparted to it a her deceased parent would not prevail over the love
peculiar atrociousness; for the unhappy sufferer could which he was convinced she yet entertained toward
not have been a mark for the assaults of the common him. Success was dependant, in a measure, on the
highwayman, having been pursuing his way merely to skill with which he presented and pressed his suit.
execute a purpose of pleasure, and therefore, nullifying, He postponed all endeavor until the first freshness of
the supposition that he carried with him any considera- grief had wept itself away-until the powerful reminis-
ble sum of money. Again, it was executed at so shortcences of the dead had become softened in memory-
a distance from the city, and so near to a great i until reproaches at neglect of duty to the departed, and
thoroughfare, that its boldnesswas a second remarkable vows of respect and fulfilment to every known desire-
feature. The magistrates obeyed the public demand, as a peace offering to his manes-should have lost that
in employing every means to ferret out the assassins; excess, which would prompt to the extreme of severity;
and the first step was to examine the servants who and then, without a warning, he burst upon her, to plead
accompanied him. Pedro testified with an incoherency his cause in person. What could she do? Repel him?
which bore no flattering witness to his courage on the Can the doating heart repel the cherished object of its
occasion. He could only remember with distinctness affections? She wept-bitterly wept, but it was in his
that the horses were stopped suddenly by a man grasp-arms. Could she resist his arguments, his entreaties,
ing the reins at their heads, and that he was pulled enforced by the earnest counsellor in her own bosom!
from his seat; further, he could not particularize. Could the voice of the dead and the vanished prevail
Indeed, in respect to the last fact-his being pulled over the accents of the living and the present, the
from his seat-he was guilty of so many contradictions present loved, in a measure, more than the dead, at least,
and vagaries of speech, that it might well be doubted with a more yearning, pervading, engrossing love?
whether he did not rather fall of his own accord. He | No; Howard was Isabelle's comforter through her
would have inspired in the magistrates a question of his griefs-her nearest friend, her oſtenest consulied coun-
own concern in the tragic deed, if his known attach-sellor. Howard dried up her tears, and excited ber
ment to his master, his simple-mindedness, and the first smile; and in a month, he appeared with her as
character of his purturbation--for it had no symptoms her accredited lover.
of wariness, or that hesitation which is indicative of The announcement of their betrothment was the last
cautious deceit-had not pleaded strongly in his favor. wound the heart of Estelle was lo suffer. She rejoiced
Fletcher, a thorough villain, and careless and blunt, so in what she deemed to be the happinesss of her cousin,
long as he had confidence that there was not a remote but she had nursed the waning spark of life withia ber,
suspicion of himself, delivered himself of the story that by dwelling devotedly and unceasingly upon her love
Howard had put into his mouth, with a promptness and for Howard. It had been a medicine more potent to
apparent openness, which, notwithstanding an unpre- her weakness than the prescriptions of her physicians,
possessing countenance and contour of cranium, obtained a nurse more genial than the solicitude of a mother.
his speedy dismission. It was natural that some few | Now this solace seemed to be criminal. A barrier was
suggestions should be made in relation to Howard's suddenly thrust before her sight to cut off the last ray
by-gone disagreements with the murdered man, less, of consolation. She felt herself to be encroaching on
however, in the light of suspicion, than of inquiry; for the treasures of another's heart-lo be wronging Isabelle,
there had been from the beginning, a seeming generosity in longer feeding the flame of her own love. It was for
in his bearing towards the Count, the very reverse of one alone to think of him as she had thought-to dream
the malicious revenge which alone could instigate him of him as she had dreamed-to pray for him as sbe bad
to such a fearful satisfaction. These remarks were prayed-to weep for him as she had wept-and, alas!
communicated to Howard by Elthorpe, and his reception that one was Isabelle !
of them apparently " more in sorrow than in anger,"| On a beautiful evening in midsummer, when the sun
was sufficient to engage Elthorpe's warmest sympathies, had gone down in brightness, and Howard was watcb-
and excite him to the strongest exertions to counteracting with Isabelle the stars as they sprang lo life, steal.
any lingering doubt in connection with his friend. The ing into lustre, as though they had fled from day ss
matter, therefore, after having been the nine days won- from an enemy, and now that he was vanishing in the
der, died away. Count Rebierra was forgotten by the West, came peeping slyly forth, to see if the foe had


GLIMPSES AT GOTHAM.
229
really gone, before they should let their lamps glow |
Original.
steadily and truly, Estelle took her leave of earth. | GLIMPSES AT GOTHA M.-NOIII.
Then, when he who had beguiled her heart to its ruin,
was basking in the fruition of hope then, when he
BY PROFESSOR INGRAHAM.
looked in love into eyes that returned that look in love
again--the wretched victim of his heartlessness was ; " Simon. Wert ever in a great city, Licol ?
casting one glance at the world which had, through
Licol. Once, good Simon, when a boy in breeks."
him, so cruelly deceived her, that one, the mournfullesti The facility with which mobs and vast concourses of
and the last—and at the moment when, warmed into people may be assembled in Gotham, is one of its most
sympathy by kindred emotions, the lips of the lovers remarkable characteristics. An omnibus is locked for
met in a kiss of glowing affection, her soul winged its a moment in the wheels of a hack, and a hundred per-
way to Heaven!
sons gather around it at once. A man slips and falls
Howard was not a deep mourner at her departure; into the gutter! One or two pick him out-four or
his callous treatment of her did not excite emotions of five run to see if he is hurt-iwenty more collect to
poignant regret and sorrow. He had passed the dread know what is the matter, and a hundred crowd around
Rubicon of moral depravity, and what had his moral to see what the others are doing; and the side-walk
sense, weighed down, as it was, with the extreme of and street becomes blockaded with a curious, inquiring,
guilt, to do with inferior burdens? In a measure, a wondering throng.
change had come over him since his concernment in A day or two ago, a little dirty-faced brat of a boy
Count Rebierra's death. “Murder will out!" says the dropped a penny into the gutter where the filthy water
quaint old proverb; it will to light, if not in the was two or three inches deep. He began to blubber,
present, by the aid of evidence, in the future, by the and at the same time to paddle for it with his tattered
voluntary confession of a pricked and wounded con- ! sleeve drawn up to his shoulder. Two or three other
science. Man can steal and rob and lie, and run little urchins collected around him, and also began to
through all the catalogue of guilt-save to shed blood search. A loafer, with tattered wardrobe and margin-
and mingle with his fellows, and his hand tremble not, | less hat, hearing the loss, also poked his long, brawny
and his cheek pale not—but when once he has laid in arm into the puddle, whether in charity to the boy or
the grave, by foul assault, the image of God, a ban is on himself, we leave the benevolent reader to determine.
his soul-it frets and chafes in its bloody though secret Passers-by, attracted, delayed to inquire_others stop-
cell, and will not sink to rest.
ped to see what the host were interested in, and in less
To be concluded next month.
than two minutes after the loss of the penny, the side-
walk was completely obstructed by a mass of curious
Original.
gapers, all stretching their necks, all a-tip-toe, and
THE MYSTERY OF MAN.
eagerly inquiring what was the matter—while a few
lighi-fingered gentry, no doubt, took the occasion 10
BY GRENVILLE MELLEN.
be equally inquisitive as to the contents of their respec-
tive coat-pockets.
Well may we say 'tis mystery! Can it be
Indeed, there seems to be an immense population
That we, who feel our heirship to the stars, here, that has nothing under the sun to do but to run
And the eternal passport to the realms
hither and thither to see what is going on. Hundreds
To which they but stand sentinel-that we are always idly wandering about the streets, thronging
Who feel our charter written on the skies
the public walks, and on the qui vive for every exciting
In characters that have not from their first scene. This class of population is more apparent to
And awful glory faded with the years,
the stranger when the tocsin in the City Hall tolls out
That we turn still to earth, with faith or fear its deep-mouthed alarm of fire. Then there is a general
That the black coffin and the unsightly worm rush from every lane, alley, groggery, and vile sink of
Have yet the victory! that things which know filth and infamy; and the pavements are thronged with
Naught of the high hope which the epitaph crowds of ill-dressed men, boys, and even slatternly
Written above them trumpets to the world, females, hastening to the scene of conflagration ; and
Shall yet outlive the creature they enclose
for no earthly object! for it is well understood that
And banquet on! Is man the heritor
there are regular corps of well-organized firemen, who
Of what he holds great record in the Book alone are allowed to combat with the daily occurring
Whose promises are changeless as the sun-
fires. From one fire the mob rush to another-always
And in his bosom, that will not keep back
on the move-a restless, mischievous, dangerous multi-
What was a revelation on its page
tude. And this class of citizens—if they may be so
When it first open'd that white page to Time dignified-is increasing. Within a few days, fifteen
Does he hold this inheritance-and yet
hundred homeless and, for the most part, penniless emi-
Turn to the turf that blackens all the sky
grants have been landed at the wharves. Wretched
When it falls on us—and degrade the God groups are constantly encountered about the docks, that
That made him, and is in him, by a prayer have just landed, exhibiting the extreme of human
For silence and oblivion ?-
1 misery, and often, of depravity. Not long since, I met


230
GLIMPSES AT GOTHAM.
a troop of sixty or seventy beings in Broadway, near || variety of moving objects, and clear, salubrious air, the
the Battery. They were Irish. A half-naked babe Battery has decidedly the advantage. Yet it is too far
clung to the breast of its drunken and staggering mother. to the southern and now business extremity of the city
Three or four of the women had been fighting: their ever to become a convenient resort. It must be a
hair was dishevelled; their caps torn (for what Irish Sunday-mall almost exclusively, and for those orders
woman so poor that she has not a cap ?) and their dres. of people who can only visit it on Sunday. And what
ses in disorder. They were still continuing their dis- other object, prythee, have public malls, parks or
pute with the volubility of Irish tongues and Irish squares in view than the amusement, comfort and
clamor. Some of the men had battered faces, black health of those very classes, who cannot, for the want
eyes, and bore marks of having a full appreciation of of means and time, go to the country in pursuit of these?
their being in the land of liberty. Let any one picture The wealthy—the unemployed—the higher ranks, gene-
the most wretched congregation of mortals that ever rally have a thousand other means and modes of enjoy-
met his eyes, and only a faint idea will be obtained of ment; while those appertaining to this class are few and
this miserable, houseless horde. They wandered a short limited. Let not the opulent, then, complain that the
distance up Broadway, and then seated themselves on malls and green places of the metropolis are monopo-
the steps of two or three of the most fashionable board. lized by the laboring classes for they are only making
ing-houses there. They had just come on shore, with the legitimate use of them, which, centuries ago, the
out bag or baggage (how they paid their passage over originators of public squares in cities had in view in
being best known to themselves and the ship's captain!) | their construction. If it is unfashionable, solely for the
and were about to add their number to the worthless reason above given, to frequent the Battery, Washing-
and dangerous population of this city.
ton Square, and other similar places, then let it continue
On another street I passed in a walk of three or four to be unfashionablemfor it is almost the only one of the
squares, some hundred that had just landed from a ship many tonish whims that is based, though unconsciously,
that lay at anchor in the stream. They were, however, unintentionally, on just principles.
of a better class-mostly Germans and Swiss, arrayed When I entered the Battery, it must have contained
in their national, Sabbath-day finery. They were cheer- || from two to three thousand promenaders and loungers
ful and well dressed, and promised to be an acceptable | on sellees. There, a group of Germans with their fan-
addition to the farming population of the country. I tastically carved and twisted pipes, velvet coats and
learned it was their intention to go West. Herein, 1 caps, not much bigger than a lady's purse—the females
what a contrast the characters of the German, or Swissin red and blue short petticoats, and starched caps,
and the Irish exhibit! The former, on their arrival occupied a bench under the shade of a tree. Their
here, at once seek for rich lands, and have money to children neat and rosy, were playing about them; and
purchase them; in a year or two they become attached one or two young blue-eyed mothers were nursing their
to the soil— lose their national character in that of their infants without being chary of displaying their snowy
adopted country, and by industry and frugality acquire bosoms to the passers by. Men and female servants,
an independence. The latter haunt the cities, and float English and Americans, were billing and cooing on the
upon the surface of our permanent population, "hewers next seltee; and smiling Darbies and Joans, with flocks
of wood and drawers of water.” They, too often, like of nestlings, were moving along, hand in hand, occupying
the lazzaroni of Naples, are satisfied to toil from day to nearly the whole breadth of the avenue. Boys without
day for pitiful wages which is spent as fast as it is number, notwithstanding the prohibition, "keep off the
earned-living miserable, inebriate lives, and frequently grass!" stuck up on divers high places, were at their
coming to some violent and unpatural end.
gambols on the greensward, and chasing each other
The Battery should never be forgotten by a chroni- through the grounds and walks with noisy minb.
cler of Gotham. Its beautiful green crescent rounding | Against the railing that enclosed the seaward prome-
out into the bay, studded with trees--a forest in a city nade, leaned long lines of men, women and children,
-and surrounded by a panorama of unrivalled beauty, gazing on the shipping, or following with their eyes,
is the pride of the Manhattanese-and justly so. After some boat darting swiftly by. Sloops and schooners,
dinner it is pleasant to fall into the current that sets brigs and ships, covered the bay, sailing in all direc-
towards it down Broadway. A few afternoons since, I tions, while stately riding at anchor in their midst, was
mingled with the living tide that ſowed towards Castle the ship of line, Ohio, lofty, dark and warlike in her
Garden. The Battery was thronged with foreigners, vast proportions-looking the master spirit and king of
and the lower and middle classes, all in best bib and the watery empire. The cliffs of Brooklyn, with their
tucker'—for the day was the Sabbath—but by no means coronet of villas ; the islands with their citadels and
a day of rest for a more restless population of bipeds castles ; Staten Island, its swelling sides dotted with
was never claimed by one city than are Gothamites on | villages ; Jersey, with its meadows and forests and
a Sunday. I took a turn through the Battery. This slender spires afar off, all, by turns, attract the eye, and
mall is only second to the Boston promenade; yet there all were beautiful in the rich light of the setting sun.
can be, properly, no comparison drawn between them. Il Turning again, within the Battery, to the walks, a
Both enjoying peculiar advantages—both are remarka- now and equally varied scene is presented in the variety
bly beautiful and ornamental as well as useful to their of costumes, visages, pursuits and habits of the prome-
respective cities. In point of prospect to the eye, | vaders--and to one of a speculative turn, affording no


SAL TONSTALL’s L A KE.
231
screeches
res and cak
little amusement. Here a nurse trundles past a little !| At silent midnight in the forest shade,
wicker-carriage containing an infant aristocrat, and I That Alings its mantle o'er thy pebbly strand,
after it, its brother, a curly-pated, black-eyed boy, not The night-wind trills its lonely serenade
long out of petticoats, rolls a hoop. Here a woman For those who sleep beneath thy welt'ring sand.
s in your ears, while another | Bosom of tears ! wave of the wood-farewell !
bellows,
Ye echoing wilds, yo silent shades adieu!
“Stra-b'ries ! nice stra-b'ries, till the tympana ring | Full oft I'll seek the silence of thy spell,
again. And then follow in every key,
And thy bright bosom, lake of placid blue.
“Here's the · Vig and Transcript !'”
“Here they is! Sun, 'Erald and New Ery!"
For on thy breast, so fair, and smooth, and wide,
“Sund'y Mornin' News for sixpence !
Fair woodland child, I e'er would wish to be.
“ 'Ere's the Veekli 'Erald !”.
From glowing morn, till blushing eventide,
This last, in a deep, hoarse voice, as if the urchin
I'd sail, and sing, and be a child for thee. H. B.
had taken lessons of a man-o'-war's boatswain.
Original.
MY CHILD.
Original.
“He gives me eyes, he gives me ears;.
SALTONSTALL’S LAKE. *
And bumble cares, and delicate fears ;
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears,
. And love, and thought, and joy."-WORDSWORTH.
Bosom of tears! child of the mountain'd West-
Like something formed in visions wild,
Wave of the forest dim; thy azure tide
Thy matchless beauty, happy child !
Bears the wild echo on its dimpled breast-
To all my feelings' secret springs,
Born in the green-woods, mantling at thy side.
A strange and nameless pleasure brings-
Far up thy stream, where twilight shadows fling
Most beautiful of earthly things!
Their stilly mantle o'er thy waveless home,
I never saw a fairer sight-
The wild swan bathes, and steeps her snow-white wing, Methinks thou only wantest wings,
Or pours her song upon thy bursting foam.
To be a cherub quite !
With feelings that may ne'er grow cold,
Above thy wave the eagle spreads his wing,
And tearful eyes do I behold
And gentler birds on airy pinions glide
Thine innocence, and joy, and truth.
O'er thy lone bysom when the sunbeams fling
God shield thee! sinless, gentle spirit!
Their golden sheen upon thy placid tide.
And may'st thou through thy life inherit,
In elder time when o'er thy listening flood
The blessedness of youth.
Glanced the dark eye of Nature's wand'ring child,
I cannot tell thee what I feel,
The war-whoop roused the stillness of thy wood,
Nor name to thee the sweetest part,
And thy pure bosom nursed the echo wild.
For idle words might ne'er reveal
The emotion of a parent's heart.
The antlered deer here from his covert sprang,
Dear child! methinks I see thee now
With quiv'ring limbs, wild eye, and nostril wide,
In the dim light of future years,
Breathless, as still the war-cry thrilling rang,
With lines of grief upon thy brow,
Then rushed to lave his bosom in thy tide.
A thing of sorrow, sighs, and tears !
The timid fawn, as o'er thy breast he hung,
The vision is a needless one,
For why should ills be framed upon
Perchance the coolness of thy wave to sip,
Thy voiceless void, futurity!
Hath felt the shaft a red man's bow hath flung,
And died, thy dew still quiv'ring at his lip.
Where all is doubt and mystery ?
Away! the thought is but a cloud
How changed since then! The wild-stag never more
To dim the sunshine of my heart;
Bounds o'er the leaves by golden Autumn shed;
Let silent fate its purpose shroud,
The dusky maid's wild song is past and o'er;
I'll view thee, spirit! as thou art
No forest tells the warrior's measured tread.
And thou shalt ever be enshrined,
A Delos in thy father's mind!
Nor o'er thy bosom in the moon's pale beam
A single star thou art to me,
Glides the light barge-the dipping paddle's blade
A spring of joy for ever new-
Flashing no more within thy silv'ry stream-
A beam upon a stormy sea!
Nor dashes wildly in the hanging shade.
Black clouds and darkness peering through!
Yet o'er thy woods and wind-kissed sparkling waves,
A thousard joys which seem'd a part
A spell of stillness now so lovely plays,
Of being, in my youthful heart,
It seems a spirit from thy hollow caves,
I've lived to see decay;
Whisp’ring the listener of its happier days.
But thou who art so wholly fair,
Hast caused a ray of gladness there,
* Situated not far from the city of New Haven,
Which shall not pass away.


232
DESTRUCTION.
Original.
1Ah, no! It washes many a new-made shore-
DESTRUCTION.
Earthquakes have cut for it new passages,
And fruitful lands receive abundant store,
BY ISAAC C. PRAY.
While nations rise to richer happiness,
For mighty Ocean, dreadful, yet delights to bless.
The pomp and pageantry—the pride and power-
The glory and the beggary of life-
Where are the regions once Man's paradise ?
The scenic contrasts of each little hour-
Where are the kingdoms of the earliest time?
All firm affections and all maniac strife-
Where is the Babel reaching to the skies?
Ay! Every thing with which the world is rife,
Where are the glories of the Eastern clime ?
The name of glory, countryman, or friend,
And where, oh, where, are Egypt's works sublime-
Of sister, brother, husband, or of wife,
Her noble structures rising in their bloom ?
Of father, mother, offspring-all shall bend
Where are the cities of unfardoned crime-
Unto the common destiny to which we lend.
What is their history-what their common doom?
Faint Echo truly answers from their sunless tomb.
No kind and no degree shall one great doom
Escape! We all shall pass full soon away: What though from their decay they do revive
Or in the “sere and yellow leaf,” or bloom
In other shapes of beauty, high and grand ?
Of Life-our transitory holiday!
What though new regions bloomingly may thrive!
Time shall cut down the fair, the young, the gay, What though new kingdoms proudly now command-
The weak and old, “without remorse or dread"-
And cloud-encircled towers in glory stand!
He knows no mercy-never knew delay-
What though, to rival Egypt, some domain
Yet by no passions are his footsteps led,
Build up its marble cities o'er the land-
He blasts alike the silver and the golden head. And cities ape the Cities of the Plain?
All-all shall sink beneath Destruction's reign.
The earth on which we dwell shall surely fade,
And all that is below, above, within,
The Past is all a dream; and so shall be
All that which has been made shall be unmade,
The earthly Future with its motley crowd!
And speedily the ruin shall begin.
There are no bounds to dark Oblivion's sea,
Begin? It has begun! When first Man's sin
Which swells in grandeur silently and proud.
Arose, Decay in all his strength arose,
Ah! There the Universe shall find its shroud,
Unto his grasp the Universe to win.
For, "wrapped together as a scroll," 't will fall,
Ah! Each created thing for ruin grows-
Unto its destined ruin humbly bowed!
Sin caused-Destruction adds his poison to our woes.
Its grave unmourned, unmarked-the Dark its pall-
Circling its greatness and its nothingness-its all!
How this great truth is made apparent, Man!
But, Man, thou art immortal. Thou shalt go,
At once look through the Universe, and mark
If there be naught within Creation's span,
Freed from thy fleshy manile, in the race
Once full of light and beauty, now all dark-
Of spiritual life-no more, shalt know
The thoughts and acts which now thy soul debase;
Ay, all unlighted by a single spark.
Look forth upon the boundless firmament,
For meeting there thy Maker, face to face,
Thy spirit's pinions constantly shall gleam,
And bow thy willing ear to listen. Hark!
The music of the spheres! Is it now blent
And in the glories of thy dwelling-place,
With joy, as on that morn when first through heaven it!
To thee no Past nor Future shall there seem-
For in Eternity there is no sleep nor dream.
went ?
Original.
CONTRASTS.
BY THE REV. J. H. CLINCH.
Has no bright pleiad vanished from the sky?
No world? Is all the self-same scene that rose,
In vast magnificence, upon the eye
Of Adam when he saw that sky disclose
The starry hosts that only Godhead knows ?
Yea, stars have come and gone-we know not how
Mortality their progress may suppose,
But Man can only gaze on heaven's high brow-
In strange amazement wonder-and, adoring, bow.
Morn to the watching eye-slumber to pain-
Light to the wanderer lost-Hope to Despair;
Home to the exile-release from the chain
Worn by the captive in torment and care ;
Sweet are they all, but their sweetness they bring
From the sorrow they quench, or the darkness they
hide ;
We know not that Joy has the sweetness of Spring
Till the Winter of Pain hath that knowledge supplied.
Boston,
Look on the Ocean! Do its waves now roll
O'er the same channels as it did of yore?
Do the same lands its limits now control,
As when, at first, its fountains it did pour ?


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
235
vah hath given ye up to destruction, and your false mighty, will draw to the river Kishon, Sisera, the cap-
gods cannot save you! Let Israel remember the days tain of Jabin's army with his chariots and multitude, and
of old,' saith Muses, and forget not their God, or he I will deliver him into thy hands."
will consume them! For he says: 'I will spend my | Barak had felt great fear of the Canaanites, and knew
arrows among them: they shall be burnt with hunger, ll the people had been thoroughly terrified and subdued.
and devoured with heat, and with bitter destruction ! He, therefore, doubted his power to assemble them, and
Sword without and terror within, shall destroy both the said to Deborah, “If thou wilt go with me, then I will
old man and the virgin!'".
Ilgo, for the people will believe the Lord hath sent thee;
While Deborah spoke the mists of error seemed to but if thou wilt not go, then wilt not I.”
fall from the people's eyes; and when, as one inspired, “I will go with thee, oh, faint of heart !” said the
she thundered in their ears the denunciations of Jehovah heroic Deborah, “but know, for this thy want of trust in
against idolatry, and the words of holy Moses, the fear of the Lord, he will take the victory from thee and give it
God, and remorse for their sin, smole upon their hearts. i to another ; for the Lord hath revealed to me he will sell
“We are guilty before the Lord!" they cried, in ter- Sisera into the hand of a woman, and I, Deborah, will
ror. “We will indeed serve the Lord our God, and his reap the honor."
voice we will obey !"
! Deborah arose immediately to prepare for her jour-
“Away then!” cried Deborah. “Prove your sinceri- | ney. Her sandals of leather, embroidered with gold
ty! Cut down your groves,--throw down your images and jewels were laced upon her feet, a turban guarded
-that the anger of the Lord be no longer hurled against her head from the sun, and a large mantle was folded
you. If ye truly obey him, I will pray him to raise up around her. At the gate, her favorite animal awaited
an army and destroy your enemies from off the land.” her; a white ass, which in those days being rare and
The words of Deborah, whom they all reverenced as a beautiful, was reserved for princes and nobles alone.
Prophetess, so excited the people, that they ran hither This genıle creature possessed a body of graceful pro-
and thither, and stopped not until all their temples were portion, long and slender legs, and was covered with a
destroyed, the groves hewn down and idols demol-coat of silvery hair. Accompanied by Barak and fol-
ished, and the gods they had worshipped in the morn-| lowed by a train of attendants, Deborah made a tour of
ing were broken to fragments and reviled in the evening. | the country, exhorting the people to arise and go to bat-
Deborah, like a wise Governor, resolved to take ad- | tle against Jabin. Her words and appearance pro-
vantage of the newly awakened spirit and zeal of her duced such effect that she returned in a short time with
people, by assembling them together and leading them ten thousand men whom she placed on Mount Tabor to
against Jabin, the king of Hazor. She sent for Barak, ll lie in wait for the enemy.
the son of Abinoam, a valiant and faithful soldier who According to her promises, Deborah drew Sisera and
had always distinguished himself in fight. He came his troops to the point of Mount Tabor. She caused the
at her bidding and found her on her usual seat at the news of the assembling of Israel to be carried to Jabin,
foot of the palm-tree. “ I have had a revelation from and as Deborah had predicted, he sent Sisera with a
the Lord God of Israel,” Deborah said to Barak.large body of men toward the river Kishon. Deborah,
“ The people have turned from the error of their way, in the meanwhile, bad ascended Mount Tabor and
they have left their gods and will worship Jehovah- || placed her men in the fort, and in the caves which
the Lord hath accepted them, and will chastise those penetrated its bosom, where they were hid from the
who afflicted his chosen people. He commands thee to enemy's view.
assemble an army and invade Jabin, the Canaanite."| Mount Tabor arose in an abrupt, cone-shaped figure
Barak looked irresolute. “ I will array my best in this many hundred feet above the plain of Esdraelon--its
matter," he said, “ but I fear it will be no light thing sides are clothed with oaks and sycamores, while the
to lead the people against the Canaanites. How think-ll plain of its top is crowned by a large fortress. On the
est we can attack Hazor, when the enemy bath not left walls of this fort, Deborah stationed herself to look for
a shield or spear among us, and Jabin hath nine the enemy. Here the whole land of Israel seemed
hundred chariots of iron ?"
spread out before her. Here she looked down upon the
“What, Barak! knowest thou not we have the Lordverdant plains of Israel and Galilee watered by the
on our side? What are spears and chariots to Jehovah ? | Kishon, the Jordan and other rivers, and surrounded by
Thou art as the spies who feared the Amalekites|| a band of mountains, while on one side glistened the
• we are not able to go up against the people ; for they are sea of Galilee, and on the other stretched the bright
stronger than we'--they said--and what replied Joshua waters of the great Mediterranean. The sun was de-
and Caleb ? Fear ye not the people of the land,' they || clining on the day when the Canaanites' approach was
said, their defence hath departed from, them and the predicted by the Prophetess, when she descried their
Lord is with us-fear them not!' Thus saith Deborah. advanced guard, appear on the hills which bordered the
Fear not-take the people with thee and go up to Hazor, || Galilean sea. The plain was soon covered with their
and the Lord will deliver Jabin and Sisera, his general, I numerous host. Onward they came, band after band, the
into thy hand-collect ten thousand men of the children | rumbling of their iron chariots as the roaring of the
of Napthali and of Zebulon. If thou fearest to go up toll great deep in a storm. At their head came Sisera. His
Hazor-ascend to the fort on Mount Tabor and I, Debo- chariot was overlaid with gold and was richly carved
rah, to whom the Lord hath given dominion over the and painted, while from each side projected a glittering
29


236
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
scythe. Three white horses bore him swiftly on ; their the assembled band, “that is fearful and faint-hearted ?
backs covered with steel armor, and their heads deco- Let him return to his house lest he infect his brethren
rated with a high ornament of feathers and painted and their heart be as faint as his." With one voice they
leather. Sisera a tall and powerful man, was standing vowed to face the foe manfully, and were led down the
in his chariot leaning upon a spear-his body com- hill. As their arms were few, Deborah resorted to
pletely covered with a closely filling suit of mail formed stratagem. To every one she gave a pitcher, in which
of golden scales—a bow and quiver hung at his back, a was hid a small earthen lamp lighted, and a trumpet.
dagger, in its brazen sheath, was suspended by chains in the dead hour of the night the Canaanites were awa.
from his crimson girdle, while his head was protected kened by tremendous shouts. They arose in aflright.
by a helmet of leather wrought with gold. An armor- A terrible clamor of trumpets was in their ears; and in
bearer sat at his feet beside his charioteer, bearing his looking up, the innumerable lights of the Israelites met
sword and shield of leather bound and studded with their eyes, as coming down from heaven, and seemed, to
brass. Sisera encamped his band for the night on the heir alarmed imaginations, as if the stars were descend-
bank of the Kishon, intending to attack the Israelites in ing upon them. A panic prevailed. “The stars are fight-
the morning.
ing against us !" they cried—"and hear the thundering
That night Deborah spent alone in the battlements, of their angry Gods—let us fly!" Sisera and some of
buried in meditation and in prayer. Pious as she was, the officers rallied their men and led them against the
Deborah was mortal, and as she reflected on all she had Israelites. The little band were sorely oppressed, but
done for the Israelites, and looked around on the army God, who was fighting for them, now brought anew a
she had collected, and on the ruined idol-fanes distinctly terrible enemy against the Canaanites.
seen in the moonbeams, which at her command fell to : While engaged in the combat, they suddenly became
the ground, and thought on the glorious victory pro aware they were standing in water. They looked
inised her, a feeling of triumph swelled he rheart and she around-it had risen to their knees,-the chariots were
forgot she was but an instrument in the hands of the filled and their ranks could scarcely keep their feet.
Lord. “Oh, my soul, thou hast trodden down strength!" || At once arose a terrible cry. “ The river ! the river is
she said. “Now while our enemies are buried in sleep
rising! Fly ere ye perish !" The Israelites had been
is the propitious time to attack them. Sisera! thy hours
early warned by the Propheless and had retreated up
are numbered—thou art mighty in men of war and in
their mount, but the unhappy Canaanites after strog-
chariots and horsemen, but our God hath spoken! and
gling with the waves were with all their mighty host
the horse and the rider will be overthrown. To-night
swept away and drowned.
shalt thou fall by the hand of a woman, and Deborah's
Sisera fed in his chariot, but finding the waters
name shall resound o'er the land !" Deborah sought out
rising so fast, he abandoned it and ran up a neighboring
Barak. "Awake! arise! Burak," she cried. Up! eminence. For many hours he wandered about, and when
for this is the day when the Lord shall deliver Sisera the day dawned found himself at some distance from
into my hands."
the scene of action. He was in the plain of Zaananim.
The Israelites were soon in motion and assembled to-
Before him he beheld an encampment of tents, which,
gether before the fort. The priests then came out before
from their peculiar construction, he knew belonged to
them to address them according to the commands of the Kenites, with whose tribe bis was at peace, and he
Moses.
felt assured of safety. At the door of one stood a wo-
“When thou goest out to battle against thy enemies, man towards whom he ran for protection. Pursued by
oh, Israel!” they said, “and seest horses, and chariots, an avenging God, Sisera had been sent to the tent of his
and a people more than thou, be not afraid of them ! for foe. It was the encampment of Heber, the Kenite,
the Lord thy God is with thee which brought thee up whose family had separated from the rest of the tribe to
out of the land of Egypt.”
join the Israelites, and she to whom the marauder flew
“Hear, oh Israel!" said another, “ye approach this for safety was his bitter enemy, Jael. Jael recognised
day into battle against your enemiesmlet not your heart him at once as the ravisher of her daughter and op-
faint-fear not! and do not tremble, nor be ye terrified pressor of Israel, and rejoiced to see him approach.
because of them; for the Lord your God is he that “ Turn in my Lord ! turn in to me and fear not," she
goeth with you, to fight for you against your enemies to said. He gladly entered and threw himself exhausted
save you."
on the pile of mats she had spread for him.
“Is there a man here," cried Barak, advancing “Give me, I pray thee, a little water to drink,” he
" that hath built a new house and hath not dedi. said, " for I am very thirsty,"
cated it? Let him return to his house lest he die in Jael opened a bottle of skin and poured him out some
battle and another dedicate it! Is there here a man milk, and gave him, also, bread with butter in a dish of
who hath planted a vineyard and hath not eaten of it? carved gold which her husband had taken in warmand
Let him, also, return to his house lest he die in battle and at his request threw over him a pile of clothes to conceal
another man eat of it! Is there here a man who hath him from view.
betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him return li “Stand in the door of the tent, good woman," said
to his house lest he die in the battle and another man Sisera, “and if any man doth come and inquire of thee,
take her!"
1. Is any man here ?' thou shalt say, 'No.' If I am saved
“ Is there a man here," cried Deborah, looking on this day, it will go well with thee, for Jabin shall reward


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
237
thee and give thee a place in his palace. There thou | Deborah when she thus saw the glory given to another,
mayest rule the Israelite women, for there are many but she was a woman of too lofty a spirit and devoted
in our houses whom we have carried away captive." piety, to envy another. “ I am punished," she said,
Jael, repressing the various emotions with which her“ for my proud thoughts of yesternight.”
bosom was bursting when she saw her enemy in her | Throwing off all feeling except joy for the death of
power, now in a voice of affected indifference asked, Sisera, she approached and greeted Jael as a saviour in
“Saw ye any thing, my Lord, of Miriam, a young girl Israel, and then taking her timbrel, burst out in the
who was taken from the temple of Baal when the sacred following triumphant song:-
oxen were carried away?"
DEBORAH's song.
“Aye, indeed-she is in my house, and is goodly to | Praise ye the Lord, he was Israel's avenger.
look upon. When I left home I vowed a vow to Moloch When the people came up in the face of the foe.
to sacrifice her and several others at his altar, if he Hear, oh, ye Kings! and give ear, oh, ye Princes,
brought me safe at home again."
While my song to the praise of Jehovah shall flow.
Jael rushed from the tent. “Now God I thank thee !" Lord, when thou wentest out of Seir and of Edom,
she said—"that my enemy and Israel's oppressor is in my
Earth trembled, the clouds and the heavens dropped dew;
Mountains before thee were shaken and melted;
power. Miriam thou art saved! for Sisera shall not re-
And veiled in her mists, Sinai shrank from thy view!
turn-in thy place he shall be sacrificed to the Gods.
In the days of Shamgar, the bold son of Anak,
Moloch! I devote him to thee. Astaroth! give strength
The highways were filled with our Canaanite foes :
to my arm! Oh, Jehovah pardon me! thou art the The villages ceased, and the people were scattered;
only true God, and now that thou hast given me my When I, as a mother, in Israel arose.
in my hand I will put away all other gods and || They chose new gods, and our Lord sent them wars,
serve thee alone."
And Israel was rifled of spear, and of shield;
Jael returned to the tent and lifted up the curtain-
But the rulers came forward, and opened their stores,
her enemy was plunged in a deep slumber. She tore out
And the riders of white assez entered the field.
the large nail with which one of the tent ropes was
Ye whom the enemy's archers have stricken,
The acts of our righteous Jehovah rehearse;
fastened to the ground and with a hammer smote the
He to our succor hath swiftly arisen,
invader on the head. In triumph Jael rushed from the
And hurled at the foemen his withering curse.
tent--Barak was riding rapidly past.
Awake, awake, Deborah! wake thee and sing !
“Ho! Barak!" she cried, “come, and I will show thee
Arise, Barak ! son of Abinoam, rise!
the man thou seekest."
To us hath dominion o'er Israel been given,
Barak followed her into the tent, and beheld dead, And I am the guide of the mighty and wise.
before him, Sisera, the redoubtable aggressor of Israel. The children of Ephraim came to our aid,
“Praise be to God!” he cried, “ who hath this day || And Machir and Benjamin also arose;
subdued Jabin, King of the Canaanites, before the chil-
| The Princes of Issachar stayed not away,
dren of Israel! Truly did Deborah say he would die
And Barak and Zebulon fought with the foes.
by the hands of a woman. I thought the prophecy
The children of Reuben came not to the fight;
alluded to Deborah, but to Jael is this honor due.
Why did ye remain with your flocks and your herds?
For Reuben's divisions were searching of heart;
Come with me that I may show the Princes this thine
And Asher and Dan were deaf to our words.
worthy act."
The Kings came and fought the bold King of Canaan;
The next morning saw Deborah at the height of her
The stars were against them, and Heaven their foe,
glory and popularity. She was again seated under her And Kishon, the river, that ancient of rivers,
palm-tree, and now surrounded by the princes and Hath bidden his waves over their armies to flow.
nobles of Israel, who gave to her the glory of freeing | Curse ye, Meroz! saith the angel of Heaven,
Israel from their cruel oppression. Deborah's heart | Who came not to Israel's help in his straight:
bounded, but checking all earthly feelings, she said,
But blessed be Jael, the wife of the Kenite ;
“ Not to me--not to Deborah be the glory, my lords ;
Let her praises resound through the tent and the gate!
let us ascribe it all to our merciful Jehovah, of whom I He asked her for water; she gave him some milk;
am the humble instrument. But where is our good
And brought in a lordly dish--butter and bread;
general, Barak? Is he still in pursuit of Sisera ?”
But the nail and the hammer were both in her band-
She struck the oppressor and smote off his head !
“Behold where he comes, followed by a train of peo-
Lo! on the ground he bowed down-he fell!
ple," said the Prince of Issachar. Deborah looked up
At her feet he bowed down, and lifeless he lieg-
and beheld Barak approach, leading Jael, both crowned While his mother at home gazes out for her son ;
with garlands, followed by men bearing a corpse upon a "Why tarry his chariots ?" she mournfully cries.
bier, and women dancing and singing triumphant songs. “ Yea, have they not sped ?” her ladies reply;
“Behold the saviour of Israel!" cried Barak. “Sing “ Soon will they come, and each man for his spoil,
praises to Jael, for she hath slain Sisera, ihe enemy of|
Will bring home a damsel, or broidered robes,
Israel. Blessed above women be Jael, the wife of
Wrought with rich colors-reward for his toil."
Heber!"
So let thy enemies perish, Jehovah!
Jael was hailed as the saviour of Israel, by all the peo-
But thy people shine out as the sun in his might,
When he riseth and spreadeth bis banner in heaven,
ple, when the death of Sisera, by her hand, became And the children of Israel rejoice in his light!
known. For one moment a pang smote the heart of
E. R. S.


240
MA LA ESKA.
Foll...
smile broke over his pale lips when he felt with what a would punish it. To meet me in another world, Mala-
cool and spirit-like touch it visited him. Just then a eska, you must learn to love the white man's God, and
human shadow mingled with that of the tree, and the wait patiently till he shall send you to me. Go not
wail of a child broke on the still night air. The dying back to your tribe when I am dead. Down at the
hunter struggled and strove to cry out—"Malaeska, mouth of the great river are many whites ; among them
Ma-Ma-Mala-"
are my father and my mother. Find your way to them,
The poor Indian-girl heard the voice, and with a cry, i tell them how their son died, and beseech them to cher.
half of frenzied joy and half of fear, sprang to his side. i ish you and the boy for his sake. Tell them how much
She flung her child on the grass and lifted her dying he loved you, my poor girl. Tell them I cannot talk
husband to her heart and kissed his damp forehead in more. There is a girl at the settlement, one Martha
a wild, eager agony of sorrow. .
Fellows; go to her. She knows of you, and has papers
“Malaeska," said the young man, striving to wind -a letter to my father. I did not expect this, but had
his arms about her, “my poor girl, what will become of prepared for it. Go to her-you will do this promise,
you? Oh, God, who will take care of my boy?" while I can understand.”
The Indian-girl pushed back the damp hair from his Malaeska had not wept till now, but her voice was
forehead and looked wildly down into his face. A choaked, and tears fell like rain over the dying man's
shiver ran through her frame when she saw the cold face as she made the promise.
grey shadows of death gathering there; then her black He tried to thank her, but the effort died away in a
eyes kindled, her beautiful lip curved to an expression faint smile and a tremulous motion of the white lips-
more lofty than a smile, her small hand pointed to the '“ Kiss me, Malaeska.”
West, and the wild religion of her race gushed up The request was faint as a breath of air, but Malaeska
from her heart, a stream of living poetry.
heard it. She flung herself on his bosom with a pas-
“The hunting ground of the Indian is yonder, among sionate burst of grief, and her lips clung to his as if
the purple clouds of the evening. The stars are very | they would have drawn him back from the very grare.
thick there, and the red light is heaped together like , She felt the cold lips moving beneath the despairing
mountains in the heart of a forest. The sugar maple pressure of hers, and liſted her head.
gives its waters all the year round, and the breath of “The boy, Malaeska; let me look on my son."
the deer is sweet, for it feeds on the golden spire-bush The child had crept to his mother's side, and crouch-
and the ripe berries. A lake of bright waters is there. Iing on his hands and knees, sat with his large black
The Indian's canoe flies over it like a bird high up in eyes filled with a strange awe, gazing on the white face
the morning. The West has rolled back its clouds, and of his father. Malaeska drew him closer, and with
a great chief has passed through. He will hold back the instinctive feelings he wound his arms round the neck,
clouds that his white son may go up to the face of the and nestled his face close to the ashy cheek of the dying
Great Spirit. Malaeska and her boy will follow. The man. There was a faint motion of the hands as if the
blood of the red man is high in her heart, and the way father would have embraced his child, and then all was
is open. The lake is deep, and the arrow sharp; death still. After a time, the child felt the cheek beneath
will come when Malaeska calls bim. Love will make his, waxing hard and cold. He lifted his head and
her voice sweet in the land of the Great Spirit; the pored with breathless wonder over the face of his
white man will hear it, and call her to his bosom again!" | father's corpse. He looked up at his mother. Sbe,
A faint, sad smile flitted over the dying hunter's face, too, was bending intently over the face of the dead,
and his voice was choaked with a pain which was not and her eyes were full of a wild, melancholy light. The
death. “My poor girl," he said, feebly drawing her child was bewildered. He passed his tiny hand once
kindling face to his lips, “ there is no great hunting more over the cold face, and then crept away, buried
ground as you dream. The wbites have another faith, his head in the folds of his mother's dress, and began
and-oh, God, I have taken away her trust, and have to cry.
none to give in return!"
y Morning dawned upon the liule lake, quietly and
The Indian's face drooped forward, the light of her still, as if nothing but the dews of heaven and the
wild, poetic faith had deserted with the hunter's last flowers of earth had ever tasted its freshness; yet all
words, and a feeling of cold desolation settled on her under the trees, the tender grass and the white blos-
heart. He was dying on her bosom, and she knew not soms, were crushed to the ground, stained and tram
where he was going, nor that their parting might not in human blood. The delicious light broke, li
be eternal.
smile from heaven, over the still bosom of the w
The dying man's lips moved as if in prayer. “For and flickered cheeringly through the dewy bram
give me, oh, Father of mercies, forgive me that I have the hemlock which shadowed the prostrat
left this poor girl in her heathen ignorance," he mur- Bright dew-drops lay thickly on his dress, an
mured, faintly, and his lips continued to move though like a shower of seed pearls, in his rich
there was no perceptible sound. After a few moments' The green moss on either side was soaked
of exhaustion, he fixed his eyes on the Indian-girl's face son stain, and the pale, leaden hue of d
with a look of solemn and touching earnestness. seuled on his features. He was not alo
“Malaeska," he said, “talk not of putting yourself same mossy couch lay the body of
and the boy to death. That would be a sin, and God chief; the limbs were composed, as if


MAL A ESKA.
243
string of wampum, and after arranging her own attire, | announce his strange guests, but, fearful of losing sight
shot the canoe out of the cove and urged it slowly across of him, Malaeska followed close upon his footsteps, and
the mouth of the river. Her eyes were full of tears all before he was aware of it, stood within the room, hold-
the way, and when the child murmured, and strove to ing her child by the hand.
comfort her with his infant caress, she sobbed aloud, “A woman, sir-an Indian woman, with a letter,"
but rowed steadily forward.
said the embarrassed servant, motioning his charge to
It was a strange sight to the phlegmatic inhabitants draw back. But Malaeska had stepped close to the
of Manhattan, when Malaeska passed through their merchant, and was looking earnestly in his face when
streets in full costume, and with the proud, free tread he raised his eyes from the papers. There was some-
of her race. Her hair hung in long braids down her thing cold in his severe gaze as he fixed it on her
back, each braid fastened at the end with a tuft of scarlet through his spectacles. The Indian felt chilled and
feathers. A coronet of the same bright plumage circled repulsed; her heart was full, and she turned with a
her small head, and her robe was gorgeous with beads, look of touching appeal to the lady. That face was
and fringed with porcupine quills. A bow of exqui-lone to which a child would have fled for comfort ; it
site workmanship was in her hand, and a scarf of scarlet was tranquil and full of kindness. Malaeska's face
cloth bound the boy to her back. Nothing could be brightened as she went up to her and placed the letter
more strikingly beautiful than the child. His spirited in her hands without speaking a word; but the palpita-
head was continually turning from one strange ohject to tion of her heart was visible through her heavy gar-
another, and his bright black eyes were brim full of ments, and her hands shook as she relinquished the
childish wonder. One little arm was Aung around his precious paper.
young mother's neck, and its fellow rested on the feath-
“The seal is black," said the lady turning very pale
ered arrow-shafts which crowded the quiver slung as she gave the letter to her husband, “but it is his
against her left shoulder. The timid, anxious look of writing," she added, with a forced smile. “He could
the mother, was in strong contrast with the eager gaze not have sent word himself, were he-ill." She hesita-
of the boy. She had caught much of the delicacy and red at the last word, for spite of herself, the thoughts of
refinement of civilized life from her husband, and her death lay heavily at her heart.
manner became startled and fawn-like beneath the rude
The merchant composed himself in his chair, settled
gaze of the passers-by. The modest blood burned in
his spectacles, and after another glance at the bearer,
her brown cheek, and the sweet, broken English trem-
opened the letter. His wife kept her eyes fixed
bled on her lips, when several persons to whom she
anxiously on his face as he read. She saw that his
showed the letter, passed by without answering her.
face grew pale, that his high, narrow forehead con-
She did not know that they were of another nation than
tracted, and that the stern mouth became still more
her husband, and spoke another language than that
rigid in its expression. She knew that some evil had
which love had taught her. At length she accosted an'
befallen her son-her only son, and she grasped a chair
aged man who could comprehend her imperfect lan-11
for support; her lips were bloodless, and her eyes
guage. He read the name on the letter, and saw that
became keen with agonizing suspense. When her hus-
it was addressed to his master, John Danforth, the
band had read the letter through, she went close to
richest fur trader in Manhattan. The old serving-man
him, but looked another way as she spoke.
led the way to a large, irregular building, in the vicinity
of what is now Hanover Square. Malaeska followed
"Tell me; has any harm befallen my son ?” Her
with a lighter tread, and a heart relieved of its fear. voice was low and gentle, but husky with suspense.
She felt that she had found a friend in the kind old
Her husband did not answer, but his hand fell heavily
man who was conducting her to the home of her hus-
upon his knee, and the letter rattled in his unsteady
band's father.
grasp, his eyes were fixed on his trembling wife with a
The servant entered this dwelling and led the way to
look that chilled her to the heart. She attempted to
withdraw the letter from his hand, but he clenched it
a low parlor, paneled with oak and lighted with small
the firmer.
panes of thick, greenish glass. A series of Dutch tiles
-some of them most exquisite in finish and design,
“Let it alone-he is dead-murdered by the savages
surrounded the fire-place, and a coat-of-arms elabo-
-why should you know more ?"
rately carved in oak stood out in strong relief from the
The poor woman staggered back, and the fire of
paneling above. A carpet-at that time an uncommon
| anxiety went out from her eyes.
luxury, covered a greater portion of the floor, and the
"Can there be any thing worse than death the death
furniture was rich in its material, and ponderous with
of the first-born of our youth-cut off in his proud man-
heavy, carved work. A tall, and rather hard-featured
hood ?" she murmured, in a low, broken voice.
man sat in an arm-chair, by one of the narrow win-
“Yes, woman!" said the husband, almost fiercely,
dows, reading a file of papers which had just arrived in “there is a thing worse than death-disgrace !"
the last merchant-ship from London. A little distance “Disgrace coupled with my son? You are his father,
from him, a slight and very thin lady of about fifty was | John. Do not slander him now that he is dead-before
occupied with household sewing; her work-box stood || his mother, too." There was a faint red spot then
on a small table before her, and a book of common-upon that mild woman's face, and her mouth curved
prayer lay beside it. The servant had intended to proudly as she spoke. All that was stern in her naturs
30


TENDER RECOLLECTIONS.
245
And, Mary, I remember, too,
When we were older grown,
How well I loved to breathe your name,
And call you all my own-
How in your willing, eager ear,
Soft, gentle words I sighed,
And how, with looks all tenderness,
You blushingly replied.
When from each other's sight debarred,
How weary seemed the day!
Existence had no charms for me
When Mary was away.
Love was the air we breathed; the world
Seemed made for love alone;
And fondly deemed we that on earth
No love was like our own.
bidden to lavish tenderness on her son, or to call forth ||
bis in return, lest it might create suspicion of the rela-
tionship. While he remained in his infancy, she could
steal to his chamber at night and give free indulgence
to the wild tenderness of her nature ; but as his boy-
hood advanced, even the privilege of watching him in
his sleep was denied to her. Once, when she broke
the sleepy boy's rest by her caresses, he became petu-
lent, and chided her for her obtrusiveness. The repulse
went to her heart like iron. She dared not inform him
that the yearning fondness of a mother drew her to his
bed-side, for that would be revealing that the blood of
a proscribed and hated race was beating in his veins.
She saw that he was imbibing the prejudices and the
aristocratic habits of the Europeans, by whom he was
cherished, andt hat her connection with him was held as
a reproach. Poor Malaeska! Hers was a sad life,
and yet they were all kind to her. She was like a half-
tamed eagle, thirsting for ever for a flight to the clouds.
Young Danforth was named William, after his father,
and was in all things treated as the heir to the wealthy
fur merchant. At the age of eighteen, his grandfather
decided on sending him to a European college, and
Malaeska was left alone among her adopted people.
After his departure, she pined continually, and her
heart yearned for the solitude of her wigwam, and for
a sight of her husband's grave. When the old lady
saw how unappeasable had become this wish, she made
no opposition to her departure, and the merchant felt
her absence as a relief. She was a perpetual evidence
of his son's disgrace, and of the taint in his idolized
grandson's blood. He had endured, but never loved |
her. We never love that which we have wronged, and
he could not but feel that he had sacrificed the rights
of that unfortunate being to his own baughty prejudices
—that he had embittered her life, and robbed her of the
affections of her only child by a cowardly system of
concealment-a system which even his high-princi-
pled wife could not dissuade him from.
Malaeska left Manhattan. In five years her son was
to return. It was a sad, weary time to wait. She
promised to return then.
To be concluded next month.
But soon a dark and dreary day
Wrought anguish in the heart,
And Fate assumed her sternest frown-
For we were doomed to part !
Ah, then the world a desert seemed,
And naught was left for life ;
The barren future promised naught
But agony and strife.
You madly hung upon my breast-
Hot tears bedimmed your eyes;
And mutual vows of constant love,
Struggled amid our sighs.
Grief tore our hearts; in vain we strove
Our burning thoughts to tell
Our faltering lips could scarcely speak
The last, sad word-Farewell!
Beneath a burning Southern sun,
Two long, long years I pined,
And to my cruel fate, became
By sad degrees resigned.
At length, with glad and joyous step,
I sought my native town,
But you, my first and faithless love,
Had married Colonel Brown!
Original.
TENDER RECOLLECTIONS.
And yet I burned with love as warm
As when I left your side;
Only I'd changed my views, and sought
Another for my bride.
My grief at your inconstancy,
Could scarce have been assuaged,
If to Miss Ann Cordelia Smith,
I had not been engaged !
BY H. E. DENNIS.
Ah, Mary, I remember well,
Those "early, sunny hours,"
When, children both, we laughed among,
And culled earth's fairest flowers.
Our two young hearts were then as one,
And life seemed full of glee ;
You loved me fondly; and your love
Was all the world to me.
Dear Mrs. B., if you are not
Too busy, Monday week,
I'll dine with you quite en famille,
And of these matters speak.
And then the Colonel, you and I,
In merriment extreme,
Will talk of trifles long gone by,
And laugh at “ Love's young dream."


246
THE ADVENTURES OF A CLOUD.
EMMA
Original.
have explored the hidden treasures of the ocean, and
THE ADVENTURES OF A CLOUD. revelled in scenes of beauty unknown to mortal eyes.
I have fallen into the fragrant cups of the honeysuckle
When first the radiant morn of Creation dawned,
d, and the jessamine, and dressed the fields in glittering
and the new-born world with its inhabitants awoke
pearls like a fairy land. Nay, more, I have been placed
beneath the benignant smile of its Creator, I, with a in the sacred baptismal font, and have laved hands-
number of my fellows, joyously hung over it in fantastic the princely brows of those who, in after years, were
drapery, gently gliding before the zephyr's breath, or kings and emperors. The stern frost-king for a long
revelling in splendor in the azure vault of heaven, while I time enchained me in his icy fetters, but at last the
the morning stars poured forth in strains of sweetest genial sunbeams liberated me, and I triumphantly arose
melody, the praises of their Creator, far above me. I to the sky again. I am still hovering about the earth,
While in this lofty station, 1 viewed with transport the
changing and for ever changing, yet, loosing no portion
happy condition of all created beings. I saw the first
of my ethereal nature-robed in beauty on one day, and
parents of the human race as they breathed the delight-
shrouded in darkness on another. I am a creature of
ful gales of Eden, and tasted the rich fruits which their
the elements, so light and delicate, that a breath of air
beneficent Creator had provided for their use. But mich
eir use. But might seem strong enough to annihilate me, and yet I
alas! I was doomed to see them driven from Paradise; i feel that, in some form, I shall live on to the end of
and as I saw the entrance to Eden barred for ever from
Creation, imperishable, and full of beauty and life.
them by the flaming sword, I dissolved myself in tears,
and fell mingling with the waters of the ocean. Year | Female Seminary, Yonkers, 1939.
after year I rolled among its waves ere I again assumed
my fairy form. One delightful summer morn, I felt
Original,
myself rapidly ascending to the lofty station which I
MY NATAL BOWERS.
before occupied. In vain I sought the happy pair
whom I last saw wandering about Eden. They were
BY ANN S. STEPHENS.
with the dead, and had suffered the penalty annexed to
Away with your gold, your gems, and your flowers,
the holy law which they had violated. Their descend-
Such trifles are useless to me;
ants had spread over the earth, and though they toiled Oh, carry me back to my own natal bowers,
for their daily sustenance, they were cheerful and even | Where my childhood was spent pure and free,
happy. But they were doomed not long to continue Could you scatter these robes with snow-speaking pearls,
thus. Sin had entered the world and laid his blighting i Or with glittering diamonds deck
traces upou all that was beautiful and lovely. All man- | This grief-stricken brow, these wild waving curls,
kind had fallen into such depths of sin and iniquity, that I These fingers, these arms, ears and neck-
their Maker saw fit to destroy them by a universal flood, Yet still should I sigh for the home of my sire,
and I again fell from heaven to assist in forming the || For the smiles of my sisters and mother,
deluge. Day after day my fellows dropped by myriads For the polished work-table that stood by the fire,
into the deep; yet faithful to our charge, we bore the | And the soft sighing flute of my brother.
holy ark upon our bosoms until it safely rested on Ararat. My soul would still cling to the peach-arbor shade
When the waters were abated from the earth, I tri- ! Where my mother her infant was hushing;
umphantly arose at the bidding of my Creator, to form the || Where the tea-table stood with its cloth ready laid,
radiant bow of promise, the covenant between God and And the mellow fruit over us blushing.
man. This was the most sublime and brilliant standing I once more would stand by my clear silver spring,
that I had ever occupied, and it was with pleasure that || Where the dasies and peppermint bloom ;
I saw the pious Noah and his family, and the living | And the sweet blue-eyed violets modestly fling
creatures they had preserved, descend to the green O'er the bright gushing stream their perfume.
earth again. I have been a creature of change—now | 'Twas a beautiful spot when the even tide sun
floating in the azure vault of heaven, and again rolling Threw its mantle of gold o'er the mountain,
among the waves of the sea. In my airy flight I have When the herb drank the dew and the bird-song was done,
seen the rise and fall of empires. I have watched over | And the flowers laved themselves in the fountain.
heroes from their infancy-through all the vicissitudes I'd fain breathe my last in my own natal bowers;
of war to their sad or glorious end. I have hovered i My pillow the breast of my mother;
over the tomb of Washington, and of that fearful man My brother should place in one hand drooping flowers,
who, after having finished his high destiny, and filled. And the lips of my sire press the other.
the measure of his glory, was doomed to die an exile in My white-handed sister should carefully spread
a desert island. Long and sadly did I keep my silent | My grass-springing couch with young clover;
vigils over the tomb of him who was once the conqueror Their tears of regret should fall cool on my head,
of nations, and bathe in evening dew the willows which And the blue sky the scene should arch over.
hang over his peaceful grave. I have glided over the I'd gladly meet death if such sweetness as this,
watery couch of the Adriatic bride, and borne the swift To my last dying moments were given;
gondola on my bosom while the flames of Vesuvius My death-bed would be but a pillow of bliss,
reflected their lurid glare upon my polished surface. Il And my last sigh a foretaste of Heaven,


MY OWN ONE! MY OWN ONE!
249
world to us Mid
such
a fate
as
ours ?
shad - ow
on
life's
sun - ny path,
A
blight on
fan
·
· ·
·
· ·
· ·
· cy's flowers.
My own one! my own one!
When I wooed with song and vow,
Though thy beauty woke my spirit's pride,
Thou wast not dear as now;
I loved thee then that others praised
The charms which I had won;
But now, when they forget to gaze,
'Tis for thyself alone.
3
My own one! my own one!
Though thy beauty may decay,
Still the flowery fetters round my heart
Can ne'er be torn away.
Thine eye may lose its look and light,
Less lure the world may see;
But thou wilt still be fair and dear,
My own one, unto me.


250
LITERARY REVIEW.
I.
LITERARY REVIEW.
I NEAL MALONE, and other Tales of Ireland, by W. H. Carlton :
E. L. Carey & A. Hart.-These stories are particularly inte.
CAPTAIN KYD; or, the Wizard of the Sea, by the author of resting from the fact that they present us with traits iu the
“ Burton," “ Lafitte," etc.: Harper & Brothers. This is not a Irish character at once amusing and instructive.
very elaborate work, yet it will, doubtless, prove popular; for New-YORK MIRROR.-This work is without a rival in the
the hero is one around whose name there is a mystery and a
country. We have seen and perused every number for four-
charm not easily eradicated from the mind. It seems to us that I teen years, and have always found matter in it worthy of atten.
the work is not very original in some of its most graphic chap tion. It is conducted to suit the tastes of all classes of readers,
ters; and that the subject is one, so often has it been written
and the great circulation which it enjoys in every part of the
upon, scarcely recommending itself to such a novelist as Pro- i country is a sure evidence of its general appreciation. Among
fessor Ingraham. It cannot add to his reputation. The hand
its contributors it arrays many of the most entertaining writers
of a master-spirit, alone, could throw any charm over the sub in the country; and the selections from the miscellaneous lite-
ject.
rature of the day are made with much taste and with no small
share of that kind of tact which is very rarely to be discovered
THE HARMONY OF THE CHRISTIAN FAITH: Harper & Brothers.
The author of this work, John Abercrombie, is so well known
in our literary periodicals.
by his excellent works on the Intellectual Powers and Moral
Feelings, that the mere announcement of the publication of this
EDITORS'TABLE.
volume will create a demand. Although the work is small, it
contains many valuable hints to those who are disposed to stu-
To Our SUBSCRIBERS.-We have the happiness of announc.
dy the mind.
ing our gratification for the many additions to our list of sub-
scribers during the last year. It is a sign that we have been
DEMONSTRATION OF THE TRUTH OF THE CHRISTIAN RELI-
somewhat successful in catering for the public taste, and will
GION: Harper & Brothers.-This work is by the author of"The lead us to continue our exertions to improve the magazine in
Evidence of Prophecy.” It is a very elaborate work, and full every department.
of interest to the general reader, as well as to those who are We shall find an evidence of similar appreciation of our en-
anxious to accumulate materials for the defence and illustration
deavors, from old subscribers, if they take an early opportunity
of our holy religion. The author has exhibited much originali-l to remit the several amounts charged against them spor our
ty, and a studious application to his subject, which will be gra- books. We need not say to many of them that by so doing they
tifying to those who take up the volume for perusal. There possess us of the means to contribute much more essentially
are, nevertheless, very many remarks which might have been to their amusement.
dispensed with. The passages, from modern travellers, to
MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION.-We have read with
prove the prophecies, are frequently ridiculous. The letter-
pleasure the Report of the Committee of this Association, and
press is illustrated by plates.
are happy to bear testimony to the enterprise and usefulness of
Poems, by Rufus Dawes : Samuel Colman.-This is the first of
the institution. The committee, in this report, recommend
a series of volumes which is to embrace the productions of the
the raising of a fund to procure four suitable professors to
lecture on the principle branches of letters which will conduce
popular poets of the country; and although a person may pur-
chase one and not another of the volumes, yet they are bound
most to the profit of the mercantile classes-a suggestion whicb,
if carried out as recommended, will render the Association one
and printed to match. The principal efforts of Mr. Dawes, in
this volume, are “ Geraldine," a humorous and sentimental
of the most important and useful in the country,
poem, and "Athenia of Damascus," a tragedy. The former is PLATE OF THE Spring Fashions.-With the greatest care,
a work which one is not expected to criticise, the latter is a
and from the very best information in fact, derived from the
production which invites remark. The tragedy contains some
only source that can be trusted, we have had the plate drawn.
beautiful scenes, and may be, as a whole, fit for representation ; Our readers may be assured that this is the only magazine
but there is much in it which is foreign to the purpose of the which can have the New York Fashions previous to their
drama, and affectation is frequently sprinkled through it. Such
adoption. The European Fashions are never adopted here in
expressions as dove-eyed-dew-eyed luxury-dark-eyed-con-
their season, and cannot be. Our illustrations, therefore, of
tinually occur, while repetitions of figures display a poverty of what really is to be, we hope will prove more useful than those
expression not easily forgiven. On the whole, however, it has which can only be adopted abroad-and which from their tech-
given us a better idea of the author's merits than we have
merits than we have nical descriptions in French can seldom be of much benefit in
hitherto possessed. Some of the minor poems in the volume
inor poems in the volume this country. The following descriptions will guide to the
have enjoyed an extensive popularity, and there are many per- prominent features of the Fashions for dresses this Spring:
sons who will be pleased to find them in this collected form.
Walking Dress.--Fancy silk robe, its border with a single
Willy's STORIES For Young Children: Samuel Colman.-
flounce. Satin mantle, made in the pelisse style, lined and
faced with silk suited to the color of the robe, edged with a
This little work is calculated for the very youthful mind, and
small satin fold, the bottom trimmed with fringe; collar egoare,
the writer of it has shown her ability to interest children. The
and Turkish sleeves. Hat, of color to correspond, or to suit the
book is neatly printed, and forms one of a series, called “A
complexion ; roses in full bloom, and ribbons--size small, and
Mother's Library for Little Folks."
setting back. Cord and tassels of light color. Gold color will
OLIVER Twist: Lea & Blanchard.-We gave, in a former
be much worn.
number, our opinion of this work, and we need now only men-
Evening and Morning Dresses.-Gold and fancy colored
tion that it has been bound by the publishers and forms a very
satin robe, trimmed with point lace, full sleeves, confined at the
beautiful octavo volume. The illustrations are very well exe-
wrist, and, also, intermediately to the shoulder, with small ro-
cuted, and those who wish to amuse themselves cannot find a
settes; plain waist, with blond trimmings. Morning dress, the
better book for the purpose.-G.4 0. Carvill.
same, with a salib shawl-cape, edged throughout with full lace,
or broad satin folds, lined with white satin to form rich facings
THE BENCH AND THE BAR, by the author of the “Great Me Cord and tassels.
tropolis:" E. L. Carey & A. Hart.-We have read a portion of Promenade Dress.-Plain muslin robe, rich satin under-dress,
this work, and have been more pleased with it than with any waist made half high, tight to the form, with a lappel bordered
other work by the same author. The sketches are, probably, al with velvet; lace or wrought muslin chemisette. Hat, white
little colored, but to the discerving reader they will prove in- rep silk, with ostrich plumes.
structive, giving the best history extant of the talents of those The plate of Summer Fashions will appear in the Jäse
who adorn the English bench and bar.
number.



09
WA
internet
be
CA
AN
VES
AW
isse
S
Ah
DRA
EN
G
SA
DAN
SOU
ul
TUR
IKUPEANALLARIZA TLAKA
Evening & Morning Dress
TANDAO
AN
CM
BAKáli
THE
Promenade Dress
.
SEN
SOM
NA
B








THE LADIES' COMPANION...

... ...wond in ugner ground; but, on both sides, the il
rock is cut perpendicularly down, and most probably
it was the quarry from which the greater part of the
stones were taken for building the city. The precipi.||
VOL. X.-31
But death can only prove us pure,
And may the truth come home to man,
Of things divine no crowd is sure
Till blasts inhume the caravan.


THE LADIES' COMPANION.
NEW-YORK, APRIL, 18 3 9.
JERUSALEM.
|| tous edge of the ravine is more covered with earth on
the side of Mount Zion than on the other side, which
MOUNT ZION-THE MOSQUE OF DAVID.
is probably owing to the barbarous custom of razing
The present design was drawn by F. Catherwood, from a sketch cities from their foundation, and tumbling both earth
made on the spot by George Bulmer, and engraved by A. Dick and stone into the ditch below. The loose stones have
of this city.
all been removed from it, for building the present city.
Mount Zion, or Sion, is one of the inountains on which When Dr. Richardson visited this mountain in 1818,
the southern quarter of ancient Jerusalem was built, | one part of it supported a crop of barley: another
(though the greater part of it is now without the walls
the walls was undergoing the labor of the plough, and the soil
of the city,) and on which the citadel of the Jebusites
turned up consisted of stone and lime mixed with earth,
stood, when David took possession of it, and transferred
and transferred such as is usually met with in the foundations of ruined
his court thither from Hebron; hence it is frequently
cities. It is nearly a mile in circumference, is highest
called the city of David, who was interred there. Over
on the west side, and towards the east falls down in
his tomb and on the middle of this mount is erected
broad terraces on the upper part of the mountain, and
the long, dingy-looking Turkish mosque delineated in narrow ones on the side as it slopes down towards the
our engraving, which appears to be of considerable
brook Kedron. Each terrace is divided from the one
antiquity. It is called the mosque of the prophet
above it by a low wall of dry stone, built of the ruins of
David, whose reputed tomb is still exhibited in the
this celebrated spot. The terraces near the bottom of
interior, and is held in the greatest possible veneration the hill are still used as gardens, and are watered from
by the Mussulmans, by whom it is guarded with the the pool of Siloam. They belong chiefly to the inhabi-
greatest vigilance. The santones belonging to this tants of the small village of Siloa, immediately oppo-
mosque are the most powerful in Jerusalem. Part of site. We have here another remarkable instance of
the building is said to have been the church of the cæ- | the special fulfilment of prophecy :— Therefore shall
naculum, where our Saviour ate the last supper with Zion, for your sakes, be ploughed as a field, and Jeru-
his disciples. Dr. Richardson was shown into an upper salem shall become heaps.'”
room in the front of the building, which, it was affirmed,
was the identical room in which the Lord's Supper was
Original.
instituted. Unhappily for this tradition, thirty-nine
years after, not only the wall but every house in Jeru-
OPEN WORSHIP.
salem was razed from their foundations, and the ground
BY ISAAC C. PRAY.
ploughed up by the Roman soldiers.
“ Mount Zion is considerably higher than the ground We tread a desert strange and vast,
on the north, on which the ancient city stood, or that In crowds to search for things divine,
on the east, leading on to the Valley of Jehoshaphat; Poor pilgrims toiling to the last,
but as it has very little relative height above the ground Hoping to reach a sacred shrine.
on the south and on the west, it must have owed its In vain for purity on earth
boasted strength principally to a deep ravine by which We strive to pass the desert-sand-
it is encompassed on the easi, south and west, and the For purity of Heavenly birth,
strong, high walls and towers, by which it was enclosed Remains in Heaven by God's command.
and flanked completely round. This ravine or valley If to be pure, we congregate
(more correctly, trench or ditch) seems to have been To search for Heavenly gifts,
formed by art on the south and west, the surface of the We find them not, till changed in state
ground on each side being of nearly equal height, The hand of Death the Future lifts.
though Mount Zion is certainly the highest; yet so little For Heaven alone should man desire,
that it could not have derived much strength from the Nor think hy pageantry and plans
elevation.” The breadth of the ditch is nearly one To gain the true and holy fire
hundred and fifty feet, and its depth, or the height of Which, in the soul alone, is man's.
Mount Zion above the bottom of the ravine, about sixty We tread a desert. Little grains
feet. The bottom of it is rock, covered with a thin
Of dust and lightest particles
sprinkling of earth; and in the winter season is the
The vast abundantly contains,
natural channel for conveying off the water that falls And swift the blast their power swells.
into it from the higher ground; but, on both sides, the But death can only prove us pure,
rock is cut perpendicularly down, and most probably And may the truth come home to man,
it was the quarry from which the greater part of the Of things divine no crowd is sure
stones were taken for building the city. The precipi Till blasts inhume the caravan,
vol. X.-31


A GRIPPINA.
255
takze
;
el
192
power, I will bow to it for the sake of the honor she ance which at that period had constantly existed be-
studies to preserve for thee untarnished. I can return tween himself and Agrippina, maturing now into hatred,
to the husband I have left for thee ; and in retirement made the work of death an act of pleasure.
hear of the disgrace my love would not let me wit- ll “Thou hast not then forgotten the quarrels of my
ness.”
infancy?" said Nero, with assumed pleasantry, anxious
The Emperor stamped with impatience as he heard to press into his service the private feelings of his
her reproaches for submission to his mother, embittered | minion.
by the assurance of her love. To secure her triumph | “She ever thwarted me,” replied Anicetus, “nor
she excited his fears as to the result of their connexion, that alone, but threats of vengeance often followed dis-
and threatened separation at the moment she was re-lobedience to her command."
solved to wear the crown.
“Ha! was't thou her slave, then ?" inquired Nero,
“Nay, Sabina, thou wilt not leave me?”
quickly.
“My lord,” replied the ambitious woman, “I leave
li “Not her slave," replied Anicetus with an air of
thee not alone,—those who share thy throne, share also
are are offended pride, “but thy tutor."
thy love."
“None-none but thou,” replied Nero, passionately ;
Nero, by that epithet, had dexterously touched the
“thou art even now my queen in all, save name, and
chord which vibrated to his purpose. “From what I
that thou shalt have ere long. The control thou speak-
told thee yesterday,” he said, “thou can'st have thy
est of,” he continued, while a dark frown contracted
revenge, and I my freedom. Her power is imperial in
all but name; she has given me the crown, only to wear
his brow, “shall be thrown off, and Cæsar alone shall
sway the sceptre his people have given him.”
the sceptre herself. By this act will both our ends be
Sabina had attained her desire. By appealing to his an
answered.”
pride, she roused resistance; and by reproaching him
“Poison is easiest,” said the man with an air of
for participating his power, had disguisedly transferred coldness, which spoke as well his indifference to crime,
it to herself, and ensured the removal of those who op- as his resolve to perpetrate it.
posed her ambition.
“Not that– I dare not,” rejoined Nero, nervously ;
“Britannicus is remembered yet, suspicion is rife, and
“From this time,” continues Tacitus, “ Nero shun-
her rumours busy. Hast thou not plied invention since
last we met ?”
ned the presence of his mother. Whenever she went
to her gardens, or to either of her seats at Tusculum or
“I have bethought me of a plan,” said Anicetus,
Antium, he commended her taste for the pleasures of
“ but it will require more than the aid of one to effect
retirement; al length, deresting her wherever she was,
it."
he determined to despatch her at once."
“What is it?" said Nero, regarding him attentively.
“Thy mother,” replied Anicetus, “is fond of sailing-
CHAPTER 11. -THE DESIGN.
1 parties--we must bend her pleasure to our purpose; on
one of these occasions, our design must be accomplish-
Nero's repeated visits to Sabina, her sincere declara led
declara- ed; the elements are treacherous and uncertain, and
tions of passion, and artful allusions to the obstacles .
leven malignity itself can but ascribe the event to
which the power of Agrippina presented, at length con- rhonce »
firmed the doom of the latter. Resolved upon her
“But how?" inquired the Tyrant eagerly, the plea-
death, he was yet uncertain as to its means; poison and
sure of a novel design counterbalanced by fears for its
the poignard were expedients too frequently adopted to
success.
pass with impunity, or without suspicion ; the murder
“A galley," rejoined Anicetus, “could be easily
of Britannicus had been too recent, to be erased from
constructed in such a manner, as that a portion of it
the public mind : and should he seek to effect his pre-
should be detached from the rest and sink.”
sent object by similar means, popular indignation might
“If this succeed,” said Nero, “thou shalt have thy
not be confined merely to expressions. Considering
reward."
also the character of his mother, a woman inured to " It cannot fail,” replied Anicetus, coldly, “if its
crime, the administration of poison would be unsuc-
management be confided to me."
cessful, as they who tampered with such arts were
“Thou shalt command not only there," rejoined
generally provided with antidotes. Assassination would
Nero, “but be advanced from the dignity thou holdest
be impracticable, as concealment would be impossible. now at Misenum. About it, then, and quickly-the sea-
He was equally perplexed regarding the manner of her son and opportunity favor us; the Court is about to
death, as the means of its execution.
move to Baiæ, to celebrate the Quinquatrua; our design
But the Court of a Despot is seldom deficient in pan- | can be easily concealed; she is now at Antium ; we
ders to his pleasure, or instruments of his guilt ; some will invite her thence to the ceremonies, and attend her
invited by hope of reward, and others by the desire of ourself to the Villa Bauli, where this vessel must be at
gratifying enmity. In this emergency Anicetus pre- anchor to carry her to Baiæ.”
sented himself, who had risen from the condition of an “All shall be prepared,” replied Anicetus.
enfranchised slave to the dignity of naval command. “Fail me not,” rejoined Nero, "and thy services
He had been Nero's tutor in his infancy, and the vari- shall command Cæsar.”
pisode
*?


258
MA LA ESKA.
more convinced was she of the fatal intentions of her ||
Original.
son. Each moment told her of the precariousness of a
MAL A ESKA. *
life, which chance had saved, but design had doomer.
In black array rose before her the calamities she had
BY ANN S. STEPHENS.
entailed upon the house of Cæsar, and the crimes of
which she had been guilty for the promotion of her! YEARS before the scene of our story returns to Cats-
own interests, or that of her unnatural son. The manes kill, Arthur Jones and the pretty Martha Fellows bad
of Claudius rose before her in the distant gloom of the married and settled down in life. The kind-hearted
chamber, denouncing the crime by which he fell, and old man died soon after the union, and left the pair ia-
launting her for the reward she had met, the ingrati- heritors of his lilile shop and of a respectable land pro-
tude of Nero. She started with anxiety at every sound perty. Arthur made an indulgent, good husband, and
that passed, expecting the arrival of Ageronius, and Martha soon became too much confined by the cares of
expressed sorrow and impatience, as she found herself a rising family, for any practice of the teasing coquetry
deceived by the distant murmur of the water, or the which had characterized her girlhood. She seconded
sighing of the night wind.
her husband in all his money-making projects ; was an
In the meanwhile Anicetus disposed a guard around economical and thrifty housekeeper; never allowed her
her Villa, and seized the slaves, that there might be no children to go barefooled, except in the very warmest
communication with their mistress. All method of weather; and, to use her own words, made a point of
egress or escape being thus prevented, he proceeded to holding her head as high as any woman in the settle-
her apartment.
ment. If an uninterrupted course of prosperity could
6. 'Tis he! 'tis he !" she exclaimed with delight, and
entiile a person to this privilege, Mrs. Jones certainly
made no false claim to it. Every year added some-
rushing forward, she met the forbidding aspect of her
thing to her husband's possessions. Several hundred
murderer instead of her expected messenger. She
| acres of cleared land were purchased beside that which
trembled for a moment, as, in the determined visages
he inherited from his father-in-law ; the humble shop
of Anicetus and his two followers, she read the cer.
gradually increased to a respectable variety store, and
tainty of her doom. Her female servant hastened to
the door. “And do you too, leave me?" exclaimed
a handsome frame-house occupied the site of the old log
cabin.
the wretched woman, in that terror of solitude which
Besides all this, Mr. Jones was a Justice of
haunts the last moments of the guilty.
the Peace and a dignitary in the village; and his wife,
though a great deal stouter than when a girl, and the
She extended her hands in silent supplication ; but
mother of six children, had lost none of her healthy
the men stood unmoved, even by the tears which choked
good looks, and at the age of thirty-eight continued to
her speech. At length, with an evident effort, she
be a very handsome woman.
said, “If you come from the Prince, tell him I am
Thus was the family situated at the period when our
well. If your intents be murderous, you are not seni
story returns to them. A warm afternoon in the depth
by my son; the guilt of matricide is foreign to his
of summer, Mrs. Jones was sitting in the porch of her
heart."
dwelling occupied in mending a garment of home-made
On the instant she was surrounded. Oloaritus, a linen, which, from its size, evidently belonged to some
Centurion of Marines, unsheathed his sword. At the one of her youngest children. A cheese-press, with a
sight-roused, as it were, by a latent sense of pride, rich heavy mass of curd compressed between the screws,
which would not permit her to fall under the influence occupied one side of the porch; and against it stood a
of fear-she uttered those nemorable words, in which small double flax wheel, unbanded, and with a day's
she reproached herself for having given birth to such a work yet unreeled from the spools. A batchel and a
monster. She presented her person full to the sword pair of hand cards, with a bunch of spools tied togetber
of the Centurion, exclaiming*—"Strike!” Herculeus, by a tow string, lay in a corner, and high above, on
his comrade, at that moment gave her the first blow on rude wooden pegs, hung several enormous bunches of
the head with his club. She expired at length under tow and linen yarn, the products of many weeks' hard
repeated wounds.
labor. Her children had gone into the woods after
whortleberries, and the mother now and then laid down
her work and stepped out to the greensward beyond the
Her self-reproach might have been even stronger,
porch to watch their coming, not anxiously, but as one
could she have thought that her unnatural son would who feels restless and lost without her usual comps.
admire her when dead for the elegance of her form.
nions. After standing on the grass for awhile, sbading
Some years before she had had warning of her fate, her eyes with her hand and looking toward the woods,
when informed by some Chaldeans whom she consulted
she consulted she at last returned to the porch, laid down ber work,
as to the future fortune of her son : “ That he would
and entering the kitchen, filled the tea-kettle and began
reign at Rome, and kill his mother.”
to make preparations for supper. She had drawn a
"Let him kill me," exclaimed the ambitious woman, llong,
long pine lable to the middle of the floor and was pro-
" but let him reign !"
ceeding to spread it, when her eldest daughter came
The original expression is “ Ventrem feri."
* Concluded from page 245.


MALA ESKA.
259
through the porch, with a basket of whortleberries on || full of turf, huddled together and staring at the poor
her arm. Her pretty face was flushed with walking, woman as if they had never seen a person cry before.
and a profusion of fair tresses flowed in some disorder She did not seem to mind them, but went into the wig-
from beneath her pink sun-bonnet, which was falling wam again without speaking a word.
partly back from her head.
" And was that the last you saw of her ?" inquired
“Oh, mother, I have something so strange to tell Mrs. Jones, who had become interested in her daugh-
you," she said, setting down the basket teeming with ter's narration.
ripe, blue fruit, and fanning herself with a bunch of “Oh, no; she came out again just as we were going
chestnut leaves gathered from the woods. “You know away from the spring. Her voice was more sweet and
che old wigwam by the Sıraka? Well, when we went by mournful than it had been, and her eyes looked heavy
it, the brush, which used to choke up the door, and dim. She thanked me for the story I had told her,
was all cleared off; the crevices were filled with and gave me this pair of beautiful moccasing."
green moss and leaves, and a cloud of smoke was curl Mrs. Jones took the moccasins from her daughter's
ing beautifully up from the roof among the trees. We hand. They were of neatly dressed deer-skin, covered
could not tell what to make of it, and were afraid to with beads and delicate needlework in silk.
look in at first ; but finally I peeped through an open- “ It is strange!" muttered Mrs, Jones: "one might
ing in the logs, and as true as you are here, mother, almost think it possible. But nonsense ; did not the
there sat an Indian woman reading-reading, mother; old merchant send us word, that the poor creature and
did you know that Indians could read? The inside of her child were lost in the highlands—that they died of
the wigwam was bung with straw matting, and there hunger? Well, Sarah,” she added, turning to her
was a chest in it, and some stools, with a little shelf of daughter, “is this all? What did the woman say when
books, and another with some earthen dishes and a she gave you the moccasins? I don't wonder that you
china cup and saucer sprigged with gold, standing upon are pleased with them."
it. I did not see any bed, but there was a pile of fresh ' “She only told me to come again, and—”.
sweet fern in one corner, with a pair of clean sheets Here Sarah was interrupted by a troop of noisy boys,
spread on it, which I suppose she sleeps on, and there who came in a body through the porch, flourishing their
certainly was a feather pillow lying at the top. Well, straw hats and swinging their whortleberry baskets,
the Indian woman looked kind and harmless; eo I made heavy with fruit, back and forth at each step.
an excuse to go in, and ask for a cup to drink out of. “Hurra! hurra! Sarah's fallen in love with an old
As I went round to the other side of the wigwam, I saw squaw. How do you do, Miss Jones? Oh, mother, I
that the smoke came up from a tire on the outside; a wish you could a-seen her hugging and kissing the cop-
kettle was hanging in the flame, and several other pots per-skin-oh, it was beautiful!" Here the boisterous
and kettles stood on a little bench by the trunk of an rogues set up a laugh that rang through the house, like
oak tree, close by. I must have made some noise, for the breaking up of a military muster.
the Indian woman was looking toward the door when I! “Mother, do make them be still they have done
opened it, as if she were a little afraid, but when she nothing but tease and make fun of me all the way
saw who it was, I never saw any one smile so pretlily; home," said the annoyed girl, half crying.
she gave me the china cup, and went with me out to the “How did the old squaw's lips taste, ha ?" persisted
spring where the boys were playing. As I was drink- the eldest boy, pulling his sister's sleeve and looking
ing, my sleeve fell back, and she saw the little wampum with eyes full of saucy mischief up into her face.
bracelet which you gave me, you know, mother. She “ Sweet as maple sugar, wasn't it? Come, tell."
started and took hold of my arm, and stared in my face “Arthur, Arthur, you had better be quiet, if you
as if she would have looked me through; at last she know when you're well off!” exclaimed the mother,
sat down on the grass by the spring, and asked me to with a slight motion of the band, which had a great
sit down by her and tell her my name. When I told deal of significant meaning to the mischievous group.
her, she seemed ready to cry with joy; tears came into “Oh, don't-please, don't!" exclaimed the spoiled
her eyes, and she kissed my hand two or three times, urchin, clapping his hands to his ears and running off
as if I had been the best friend she ever had on earth. to a corner, where he stood laughing in his mother's
I told her that a poor Indian girl had given the brace-face. “I say, Sarah, was it sweet ?"
let to you, before you were married to my father. She “ Arthur, don't let me speak to you again, I say,"
asked a great many questions about it, and you. cried Mrs. Jones, making a step forward and doing her
When I began to describe the Indian fight, and the utmost to get up a frown, while her hand gave de-
chief's grave down by the lake, she sat perfectly still monstration of its hostile intent.
till I had done; then I looked in her face: great tears “Well, then, make her tell me ; you ought to cuff
were rolling one by one down her cheeks, her hands her ears for not answering a civil question, hadn't she,
were locked in her lap, and her eyes were fixed upon boys?"
my face with a strange look, as if she did not know There was something altogether too ludicrous in this
what she was gazing so hard at. She looked in my | impudent appeal, and in the look of demure mischief
face in this way, more than a minute after I had done put on by the culprit. Mrs. Jones bit her lips and turn-
speaking. The boys stopped their play, for they haded away, leaving the boy, as usual, victor of the field.
begun to dam up the spring, and stood with their hands | “He isn't worth minding, Sarah,” she said, evident-


260
MALA ESKA.
ly ashamed of her want of resolution, “come into the preferring to sell her merchandize in the open air, and
* out room,' I've something to tell you."
using as few words as possible in the transaction. She
When the mother and daughter were alone, Mrs. was never seen to be angry, and a sweet patient smile
Jones sat down and drew the young girl into her lap. always hovered about her lips when she spoke. In her
“Well, Sarah,” she said, smoothing down the rich face there was more than the remains of beauty ; the
hair that lay against her bosom, “your father and I poetry of intellect and of warm, deep feeling, shed a
have been talking about you to-day. You are almost loveliness over it seldom witnessed on the brow of a
sixteen, and can spin your day's work with any girl in savage. In truth she was a strange and incom pre-
the settlement. Your father says that after you have hensible being to the sellers. But she was so quiet,
learned to weave and make cheese, he will send you so timid and gentle, that they all loved her, bought her
down to Manhattan to school.”'
little wares, and supplied her wants as if she had been
“Oh, mother, did he say so ?” cried the delighted one of themselves. There was something beautiful in
girl, flinging her arms round her mother's neck and the companionship which sprang up between the strange
kissing her yet handsome mouth with joy at the infor-woman and Sarah Jones. The young girl was bene-
mation it had just conveyed. “When will he let me fitted by it in a manner which was little to be expected
go? I can learn to weave and make cheese in a week.” from an intercourse so singular, and seemingly, so
“ If you learn all that he thinks best for you to know, | unnatural. The mother was a kind hearted worldly
in two years, it will be as much as we expect. Eighteen woman, strongly attached to her family, but utterly de-
is quite young enough. If you are very smart at home, ll void of those fine susceptibilities which make at once
you shall go when you are eighteen."
the happiness and the misery of 80 many human
“Two years is a long-long time," said the girl in a beings. All the elements of an intellectual, delicate,
tone of disappointment, “but then father is kind to let and high-souled woman slumbered in the bosom of her
me go at all. I will run down to the store and thank child. They beamed in the depihs of her large blue
him. But, mother," she added, turning back from the eyes-broke over her pure white forehead, like perfume
door, “ was there really any harm in talking with the from the leaves of a lily, and made her small mouth
Indian woman ? There was nothing about her that eloquent with smiles and the beauty of unpolish-
did not seem like the whites but her skin, and that wased thoughts. At sixteen her character had scarcely
not so very dark."
begun to develope itself ; but when the time arrived on
„Harm-no, child; how silly you are to let the boys which she was to be sent away to school, there was lit-
teuse you so.”
tle except mere accomplishments for her to learn. Her
“ I will go and see her again, then-may I ?" mind had become vigorous by a constant intercourse
“Certainly—but see ; your father is coming to sup with the beautiful things of nature. All the latent
per; run out and cut the bread. You must be very || properties of a warm, youthful heart, and of a superior
smart, now; remember the school ?".
intellect, had been gently called into action by the
During the time which intervened between Sarah strange being who had gained such an ascendancy over
Jones' sixteenth and eighteenth vear, she was almost a her feelings. The Indian woman, who in herself com-
daily visitor at the wigwam. The little footpath whichbined all that was strong, picturesque, and imaginative
led from the village to the “Straka,” though scarcely | in savage life, with the delicacy, sweetness, and refine-
definable to others, became as familiar to her as the ment which follows in the train of civilization, had trod
grounds about her father's house. If a day or two with her the wild beautiful scenery of the neighbor-
passed in which illness or some other cause prevented hood. They had breathed the pure air of the moun-
her usual visit, she was sure to receive some token oftains together, and watched the crimson and amber
remembrance from the lone Indian woman. Now, it clouds of sunset melt into evening, when pure sweet
reached her in the form of a basket of ripe fruit, or a thoughts came to their hearts as naturally as light
bunch of wild-flowers, tied together with the taste of an shines from the bosom of a star. It is strange that the
artist; again, it was a cluster of grapes, with the purple | pure and simple religion which liſts the soul up to God,
bloom lying fresh upon them, or a young mocking-bird, || should have been first taught to the beautiful young
with notes as sweet as the voice of a fountain, would white from the lips of a savage, when inspired by the
reach her by the hands of some village boy. But these dying glory of a sunset sky. Yet so it was: she had
affectionate gifts could always be traced to the inhabi sat under preaching all her life, had imbibed creeds
tant of the wigwam, even though she did not, as was and shackled her spirit down with the opinions of
sometimes the case, present them in person. There others, nor dreamed that the love of God may some
was something strange in the appearance of the woman | times kindle in the human heart, like fire flashing up
which at first excited the wonder, and at length secured | from an altar stone ; and again, may expand gradually
the respect of the settlers. Her language was pure to the influence of the divine spirit, like a germ to the
and elegant, sometimes even poetical beyond their com dew and the sunshine, unfolding so gently that the
prehension, and her sentiments were correct in principle, soul itself scarcely knows at what time it burst into
and full of simplicity. When she appeared in the village flower--that e very effort we make, for the culture of
with moccasins or pretty painted baskets for sale, her the heart and the expanding of the intellect, is a step
manner was apprehensive and timid as that of a child. toward the attainment of religion, if nothing more.
She never sat down, and seldom entered any dwelling, | When the pure simple faith of the Indian was revealed


MAL AESKA.
261
to her; when she saw how beautifully high energies || son came hurrying up from the point, to inform her that
and lofty feelings were mingled with Christian meeko | a sloop had just hove in sight and was making full sail
ness and enduring faith in her character, she began to up the river.
love goodness from its own exceeding beauty, and to “Oh, dear, I sha'n't be half ready," exclaimed the
cultivate those qualities which she could feel to be so alarmed housekeeper, snatching up a handful of mea-
excellent. Thus she attained a refinement which no dow lilies, mottled so heavily with dark crimson spots
school could have given, and which no superficial gloss that the golden bells seemed drooping beneath a weight
could conceal: a refinement of the principles and of rubies and small garnet stones, and crowding them
feelings.
lidown into the pitcher amid the rosy spray of wild
The Indian woman was lone and solitary indeed, I honeysuckle-blossoms, and branches of flowering dog-
for many months after her young friend departed for wood. “Here, Ned, give me the broom, quick! and
Manhattan. She had been so long accustomed to sym- don't shuffle over the sand so. There, now," she con-
pathy and social intercourse, that her heart drooped in tinued, gathering up the fragments of leaves and
the entire solitude to which it was left. She never went dowers from the hearth, and glancing hastily around
into the village, except to inquire if Arthur Jones had the room, “ I wonder if any thing else is wanting ?”.
heard from his daughter; and then it was a subject of Every thing seemed in order, even to her critical eye:
remark that she was becoming thin and melancholy, || The tea-table stood in one corner, its round top turned
and that her step was languid, as she returned to the down and its polished surface reflecting the herring-
forest.
bones drawn in the sand, with the distinctness of a mir:
Sarah Jones had been absent several months, when a ror. The chairs were in their exact places, and the
rumor got abroad in the village, that the school-girl had new crimsón moreen cushions and valance decorated
made a proud conquest in Manhattan. It was said that the settee, in all the brilliancy of the first gloss. Mrs.
Squire Jones had received letters from a wealthy mer. Jones closed the door, and hurried up to the spare bed-
chant of that place, and that he was going down the room, to be certain that all was right there also. A
river to conduct his daughter home, when a wedding patch-work quilt, proud in what old ladies call “ a
would soon follow, and Sarah Jones be made a lady. rising sun,” radiated in tints of red, green, and yellow,
This report gained much of its probability from the from the centre of the bed down to the snow-white
demeanor of Mrs. Jones. Her port became more lofty valances. A portion of the spotless homespun sheet
when she appeared in the street, and she was con- | was carefully turned over the apper edge of the quilt,
tinually throwing out insinuations ard half-uttered hints, and the whole was surmounted by a pair of pillows,
as if her heart were panting to unburthen itself of some white as a pile of newly drifted snow-flakes. A pot of
proud secret, which she was not yet at liberty to reveal. | roses on the window sill, shed a delicate reflection, like
When Jones actually started for Manhattan, and when the tints of a shell, over the muslin curtains looped up
it was whispered about that his wife had taken a dress on either side the sash; and the fresh wind, as it swept
pattern of rich chintz from the store, for herself, and through, scattered their fragrant breath deliciously
had bought each of the boys a new wool hat, conjecture through the litile room. Mrs. Jones gave å satisfied
became almost certainty; and it was asserted boldly, look and then hurried to the chamber prepared for her
that Sarah Jones was coming home to be married to a daughter, and began to array her comely person in the
man as rich as a nabob, and that her mother was begin-chintz dress, which had created such a sensation in the
ing to hold her head above common folks on the strength village. She had just encased her arms in the sleeves,
of it. About three weeks after this report was known, when the door partly opened, and the old woman, who
Mrs. Jones, whose motions were watched with true had been hired for a few days as “help," put her head
village scrutiny, gave demonstrations of a thorough through the opening.
house cleaning. An old woman, who went out to days' “ I say, Miss Jones, I can't find nothing to make tho
work, was called in to help, and there were symptoms stuffin' out on.".
of slaughter observable in the barn yard, one night after “My goodness! isn't that turkey in the oven yet?
the curkeys and chickens had gone to roost; all of I do believe, if I could be cut into a hundred pieces,
which kept the public mind in a state of pleasant ex- it wouldn't be enough for this house. What do you
citement.
come to me for, don't you know enough to make a little
Early the next morning after the barn yard massacre, stuffing, without my help ?”
Mrs. Jones was certainly a very busy woman. All the “Only give me enough to do with, and if I don't,
morning was occupied in sprinkling white sand on the why, there don't nobody, that's all; but I've been a
nicely scoured floor of the out-room, or parlor, which looking all over for some sausengers, and can't find
she swept very expertly into a series of angular figures none, nowhere."
called herring-bones, with a new splint broom. After “Sausages! Why, Mrs. Bates, you don't think that
this, she filled the fire-place with branches of hemlock I would allow that fine turkey to be stuffed with sausa-
and white pine, wreathed a garland of asparagus, crim- ges?"
son with berries, around the little looking-glass, and, li “I don't know nothing about it, but I tell you just
dropping on one knee, was filling a large pitcher on the what it is, Miss Jones, if you are a-growing so mighty
hearth from an arm-full of wild flowers, which the boys particular about your victuals, just cause your darrer's
had brought her from the woods, when her youngest a-coming home with a rich beau, you'd better cook'em
32


262
MA LA ESKA.
and
"
yourself; nobody craves the job," retorted the old with the warmth of their own welcome. The next
woman in her shrillest voice, shutting the door with a moment her child was clinging about her, lavishing
jar that shook the whole apartment.
kisses on her yet handsome mouth, and checking ber
“Now the cross old thing will go off just to spile caresses to gaze up through the mist of tears and smiles
me,” muttered Mrs. Jones, trying to smother her vexa- , which deluged her own sweet face, to the glad eyes
tion, and opening the door she called to the angry that looked down so fondly upon her.
" help :" “ Why, Mrs. Bates, do come back, you did “Oh, mother! dear, dear mother, how glad I am to
not stay to hear me out. Save the chickens' livers and get home! Where are the boys ? where is liue Ned?"
chop them up with bread and butter, season it well, inquired the harry girl, rising from her mother's arms
and I dare say you will be as well pleased with it as and looking eagerly round for other objects of affec-
can be."
tionate regard.
“ Well, and if I du, what shall I season with, sage ! “Surah, don't you intend to let me speak to your
or summer-savory? I'm sure I'm willing to du my mother ?" inquired the father, in a voice which told
best;" answered the partially molified old woman. how truly his heart was in the scene.
“A little of both, Mrs. Bates-oh, dear! wont you! Sarah withdrew from her mother's arms, blushing
come back and see if you can make my gown meet? and smiling through her tears; the husband and wife
There-do I look fit to be seen ?"
shook hands half-a-dozen times over: Mrs. Jones asked
“Now, what do you ask that for, Miss Jones : you him how he had been, what kind of a voyage he had
know you look as neat as a new pin. This is a mighty made, how he liked Manhattan, and a dozen ober
purty calerco, ain't it though ?"
questions, all in a breath: and then the stranger was
The squire's lady had not forgotten all the feelings introduced. She forgot the dignified courtesy which she
of her younger days, and the old woman's compliment had intended to perpetrate on the entrance of her guest,
had its effect.
and shook him heartily by the hand, as if she had been
“I will send down to the store for some tea and acquainted with him from his cradle. When the happy
molasses for you to take home to-night, Mrs. Bates, group entered the parlor they found Arthur, who had
been raised to the dignity of shopkeeper in the faiber's
"Mother-mother,” shouted young Ned, bolting absence, ready to greet his parent and sister; and the
into the room, “the sloop has tacked, and is making younger children huddled together at the door which
for the creek. I see three people on the deck, and I'm led to the kitchen, brim full of eager joy at the father's
almost sure father was one of them—they will be here return, and yet too much afraid of the stranger to enter
in no time."
the room. Altogether, it was as cordial, warm-hearted
“Gracious me !" muttered the old woman, hurry- a reception as a man could reasonably wish, og his re-
ing away to the kitchen.
turn home; and, fortunately for Mrs. Jones, the warmth
Mrs. Jones smoothed down the folds of her new of her own natural feeling saved her the ridicule of
dress with both hands, as she ran down to the “out trying to get up a genteel scene, for the edification of
room." She took her station in a stiff, high-backed her future son-in-law.
chair by the window, with a look of consequential gen- | About half an hour after the arrival of her friends,
tility, as if she had done nothing but sit still and re- Mrs. Jones was passing from the kitchen, where she
ceive company all her life. After a few minutes' had seen the turkey placed in the oven, with his portly
anxious watching she saw her husband and daughter bosom rising above the rim of a dripping pan, his legs
coming up from the creek, accompanied by a slight, tied together and his wings tucked snugly over his back,
dark, and remarkably graceful young man, elaborately, when she met her husband in the passage.
but not gaily dressed, for the fashion of the time, and “Well," said the wife, in a cautious voice, “ has
betraying even in his air and walk the peculiar traits of every thing turned out well-is he so terrible rich as
high-breeding and refinement. His head was slightly I his letter said ?"
bent, and he seemed to be addressing the young lady i “There is no doubt about that; be is rich as a Jew,
who leaned on his arm. The mother's heart beat high and as proud as a lord. I can tell you what, Sarah's
with mingled pride and affection, as she gazed on her made the best match in America, let the other be what
beautiful daughter thus proudly escorted home. There it will," replied the squire, imitating the low tone of
was triumph in the thought, that almost every person his questioner.
in the village might witness the air of gallantry and “What an eye he's got, hasn't he? I never saw any
homage with which she was regarded, by the hand- thing so black and piercing in my life. He's very
somest and richest merchant of Manhattan. She saw handsome, too, only a little darkish–I don't wonder
that her child looked eagerly toward the house as they the girl took a fancy to him. I say, has any thing been
approached, and that her step was rapid, as if impa- | said about the wedding?”
tient of the quiet progress of her companions. Pride! “Ju must be next week, at any rate, for he wants to
was lost in the sweet thrill of maternal affection which go back to Manhattan in a few days; he and Sarah will
shot through the mother's heart. She forgot all her manage it without our help, I dare say." Here Mr.
plans, in the dear wish to hold her first-born once more and Mrs. Jones looked at each other and smiled.
to her bosom; and ran to the door, her face beaming “I say, squire, I want to ask you one question," in-
with joy, her arms outstretched and her lips trembling terrupted Mrs. Bates, coming through the kitchen door


MALA ESKA.
263
and sidling up to the couple, “is that watch which the ''terested; while his affianced wife, and her family, were
gentleman carries rale genuine gold, or on'y pinchback? convinced that nothing could be more noble than his
I'd give any thing on arth to find out.”'
conduct, in thus selecting a humble and comparatively
“ I believe it's gold, Mrs. Bates."
portionless girl for the sharer of his brilliant fortune.
"Now, du tell! What, rale Guinea gold ? Now if that On the afternoon of the second day after her return
don't beat all natur. I ruther guess Miss Sarah's fea- home, Sarah entered the parlor with her bonnet on and
thered her nest this time, any how. Now, squire, du a shawl flung over her arm, prepared for a walk. Her
tell a body, when is the wedding to be ? I won't tell lover was lying on the crimson cushions of the settee,
a single arthly critter, if you'll on'y jest give me a with his fine eyes half closed, and a book nearly falling
hint."
from his listless hand.
“You must ask Sarah," replied Mr. Jones, following “Come,” said Sarah, taking the volume playfully
bis wife into the parlor, “I never meddle with young from his hand, “I have come to persuade you to a long
folks' affairs."
walk. Mother has introduced all her friends, now you
“Now did you ever ?” muttered the old woman, must go and see mine—the dearest and best."
when she found herself alone in the passage. “Never! “Spare me," said the young man balf-rising, and
mind; if I don't find out afore I go home to-night, I brushing the raven hair from his forehead with a grace-
lose my guess, that's all. I should just like to know ful motion of the hand, “I will go with you anywhere,
what they're a talking about this minute.” Here the but do excuse me these horrid introductions-1 am
old woman crouched down and put her ear to the crevice overwhelmed by the hospitality of your neighborhood."
under the parlor door ; after a few moments she He smiled, and attempted to regain the book as he
scrambled up and hurried off into the kitchen again, spoke.
just in time to save herself from being pushed over by | “Oh, but this is quite another kind of person, you
the opening door.
never saw any thing at all like her-there is something
Sarah Jones returned home the same warm-hearted picturesque and romantic about her. You like romance?"
intelligent girl as ever. She was a little more delicate “What is she, Dutch or English? I can't speak
in person, more quiet and graceful in her movements; Dutch, and your own sweet English is enough for me.
and love had given a depth of expression to her large Come, take off that bonnet and let me read to you."
blue eyes, a richer tone to her low sweet voice, and had | “No, no, I must visit the wigwam, if you will not."
mellowed down the buoyant spirit of the girl to the “The wigwain, Miss Jones ?”' exclaimed the youth
softness and grace of womanhood. Thoroughly and starting up, his face changing its expression, and his
trustfully had she given her young affections, and her large black eyes flashing on her with the glance of an
person seemed embued with gentleness from the fount eagle. “Am I to understand that your friend is an
of love, that gushed up so purely in her heart. She Indian ?"
knew that she was loved in return-not as she loved, l: “Certainly, she is an Indian, but not a common one,
fervently, and in silence, but with ihe fire of a passionate I assure you."
nature with the keen, intense feeling which mingles “She is an Indian. Enough, madam, I will not go,
pain even with happiness, and makes sorrow sharp as and I can only express my surprise at a request so
the tooth of a serpent. Proud, fastidious and pas extraordinary, I have never held equal communion with
sionate was the object of her regard ; his prejudices , a colored race."
had been strengthened and his faults matured, in the il The fine cut lip of the speaker curved with a smile
lap of luxury and indulgence. He was high-spirited of baughty contempi, and his manner was disturbed
and generous to a fault, a true friend and a bitter enemy and irritable, beyond any thing the young girl had ever
-one of those men who have lofty virtues and strong i witnessed in him before. She turned pale at this vio-
counterbalancing faults. His ancestral line could be lent burst of feeling, and it was more than a minute
traced back to the noble blood of old England, and, before she addressed him again.
though an American by birth, and a merchant by pro- “This violence seems unreasonable-why should my
fession, his education had been that of an aristocrat. I, wish to visit a harmless, solitary fellow being create
The prejudices of birth and station had been instilled so much opposition ?" she said at last.
into his nature, till they had become a part of it; yet! “Forgive me, if I have spoken harshly, dear Sarah,'
he had unhesitatingly offered hand and fortune to the he answereri, evidently striving to subdue his irritation,
daughter of a plain country farmer. In truth, his pre. I but spile of his effort it blazed out again the next in-
dominating pride might be seen in this, mingled with stant. “It is useless to strive against the feeling," he
the powerful love which urged him to the proposal. said, “I hate the whole race; if there is a thing I
He preferred bestowing wealth and station on the ob- abhor on earth, it is a sarage-a fierce, blood-thirsty,
ject of his choice, rather than receiving any worldly wild beast in human form !"
advantage from her. It gratified him that his love would There was something in the stern expression of his
be looked up to by its object, as the source from which face, which pained and startled the pure young girl,
all benefits must be derived. It was a feeling of refined who gazed on it: a brilliancy of the eye, and an expan-
selfishness; he would have been startled had any one sion of the thin nostrils, which bespoke terrible passions
told him so; and yet, overweening pride was at the bot- |when once excited to the full.
tom of all. He believed himself generous and disin- | “ This is a strange prejudice," she murmured, un-


MAL A ESKA.
267
me ?"
the strength of her attachment made him, for a mo- to witness it. He stood perfectly still, with his pale
meni, forgetful of her race. He was affected almost to face bent to bers, listening to her quick gasping speech
tears.
till she had done. Then she could see that his face
“ Malaeska,” he said kindly, “I did not know till was convulsed in the moonlight, and that he trembled
now how much you loved me. Yet it is not strange- and grasped a sapling which stood near for support.
you were always good : I can remember when you were :, His voice was that of one utterly overwhelmed and
almost a mother to me."
| broken-hearted.
“ Almost!" she exclaimed, throwing back her head "Malaeska,” he said, “unsay all this if you would
till the moonlight revealed her face. "Almost! William not see me die at your feet. I am young, and a world
Danforth, as surely as there is a God to witness my of happiness was before me. I was about to be mar.
words, you are my own son."
ried to one so gentle-80 pure-I, an Indian-was
The youth started, as if a dagger had been thrust to about to give my stained hand to a lovely being of un.
his heart. He forced the agitated woman from his tainted blood. I, who was so proud of lifting her to
bosom, and bending forward, gazed sternly into her my lofty station. Malaesha!” he exclaimed, as ve-
eyes.
hemently grasping her hand with a clutch of iron,
“ Woman, are you mad? Dare you assert this to say that this was a story, a sad, pitiful story got up to
punish my pride ; say but this, and I will give you all I
He grasped her arm almost fiercely as he spoke, and have on earth, every farthing. I will be your slave,
seemed as if tempted to offer her some violence, for the and love you, ay, better than a thousand sons. Oh, if
insult her words had conveyed; but she lifted her eyes you have mercy, contradict the wretched falsehood ?"
to his with a look of tenderness, in painful contrast with His frame shook with agitation, and he gazed upon her
his almost insane gaze.
as one pleading for his life.
• Mad, my son ?” she said, in a voice that thrilled When the wretched mother saw the hopeless misery
with a sweet and brohen earnestness on the still air. I which she had heaped upon her proud and sensitive
“ It was a blessed madness, the madness of two warm child, she would have laid down her life could she have
young hearts that forgot every thing in the sweet im- unsaid the tale which had wrought such agony, without
pulse with which they clung together; which led your bringing a stain of falsehood on her soul. But words
father to take the wild Indian girl to his bosom, when are fearful weapons, never to be checked when once
in the bloom of early girlhood. Mad! oh, I could go 'put in motion. Like barbed arrows they enter the heart,
mad with very tenderness, when I think of the time and cannot be withdrawn again, even by the hand that
when your little form was first placed in my arms; has shot them. Poisoned they are at times, with a
when my heart gushed with its wealth of maternal love venom that clings to the memory for ever. Words are
to feel your little hand upon my bosom, and your low | indeed fearful things! The poor Indian mother could
murmur fill my ear. Oh, it was a sweet madness. Il not recall hers, but she tried to soothe the proud feel.
would die to know it again, but for a moment." ings which had been so lerribly aroused.
The youth bad gradually relaxed his hold on her arm. 1 “Why should my son scorn the race of his mother?
and stood looking upon her as one in a dream, his arms The blood which she gave him from her heart was that
dropping helplessly as if they had been suddenly para of a brave and kingly line, warriors and chieftains,
lyzed ; but when she again drew toward him, he was
aroused nearly to phrenzy. “Great God!” he almost The youth interrupted her with a low bitter laugh.
shrieked, dashing his hand against his forehead; “No, The deep prejudices which had been instilled into his
no! it cannot-I, an Indian ? a half-blood ? the grand- | nature, pride, despair, every feeling which urges to
son of my futher's murderer? Woman, speak the madness and evil, was a fire in his heart.
truth, tell me all; word for word, give me the accursed | “So I have a patent of nobility to gild my sable birth-
history of my disgrace. If I am your son, give me right, an ancestral line of dusky chiefs to boast of. I
proof-proof, I say ?”.
should have known this, when I offered my hand to that
When the poor woman saw the furious passion she lovely girl. She little knew the dignity which awaited
had raised, she sunk back in silent terror, and it was her union. Father of heaven! my heart will break-I
several minutes before she could answer his wild ap- am going mad!" He looked wildly around is he
peal. When she did speak, it was gaspingly and in spoke, and his eyes settled on the dark waters, flowing
terror. She told him all of his birth; his father's so tranquilly a few feet beneath bim. Instantly he be.
death; of her voyage to Manhattan; and of the cruel came calm, as one who had found an unexpected re-
promise that had been wrung from her, to conceal the source in his affliction. His face was perfectly color-
relationship between herself and her child. She spoke less and gleamed like marble as he turned to his mother,
of her solitary life in the wigwam, of the yearning! who stood in a posture of deep humility and supplica-
power which urged her mother's heart to claim the love lion a few paces off, for she dared not approach him
of her only child, when that child appeared in her again either with words of comfort or tenderness. All
neighborhood. She asked not to be acknowledged as the sweet hopes which had of late been so warm in her
his parent, but only to live with him, even as a bond heart, were utlerly crushed. She was a heart-broken
servant, if he willed it, so as to look upon his face and wretched woman, without a hope on this side the grave.
to claim his love in private, when none should be near The young man drew close to her, and taking both her
all
"


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
271
nated; some one will be saved to go to the promised 'course, or lodged in the rushes which lined the river
land, and why not our boy? Remember the words of side. Heat and fatigue unheeded, her eyes and thoughts
our noble Joseph, on his death-bed: ‘God will surely were fixed upon her charge alone, or lifted in prayer to
visit you, and bring you out of this land, and unto the God for its safety. At mid-day the tiny barge had been
land which he swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to wafted near the city, where it was whirled among
Jacob, and in my calculation the time is not far off. I some rushes and remained stationary. Miriam con-
rely on his promises, and believe the days of our bondcealed herself behind a pile of bricks, and sat do
age are coming to an end.":
watch it. Frequently she drew it to the shore and fed
Jochebed only answered by her sighs.
it, or drove away with her stick alldogs, crocodiles and
serpents; or pulled it under the shade of the palm-trees,
“How know we not," said the young Miriam, “ that
which grew on the bank.
our darling boy is destined to be our leader and De-
How did her heart beat at every approaching step?
liverer ? Shake root your head thus sadly, mother. Hath
dreading lest her charge should be observed ere it pass-
he not been wonderfully preserved while our neighbors'
ed the city. But the hours passed on, and no eye fell
children have perished? And if he yet be suffered to live,
' upon it. The Nile flowed slowly past at her feet, its
I shall believe it is a miraculous manifestation of Jeho-
banks adorned by a fringe of Papyrus, whose tall and
vah in his favor."
slender stalks bent to the summer breeze, or raised aloft
“Alas! how may he escape ?" said her mother, sor- lehe plume-like blossoms which crowned their heads.
rowfully. “If the waves do not engulf him, he will
No sound disturbed the silence, except as the brilliant
starve, or be devoured by a crocodile ?"
Flamingo passed, flashing his scarlet and orange plumage
“Nay, dearest mother, I shall watch hi.n too well.
in the sun, or the stately Ibis pursued its chase of the
As this little ark floats down the stream, I will follow
water serpents.
it and guard it, even if it float for days or months; and
A strong wind arose and the waves were cast upon
perhaps it may be wafled beyond the dominions of this the shore. Miriam started in horror, as she be held a
wicked king, and then I will take it up and nourish it." Idrowned infant thrown upon the sand. An instant pass-
“ Thou, Miriam? How can so slight a girl as thou, lled, and rushing through the blue lotus flowers which
do this? How wilt thou subsist? Thy father is the
floated on the stream, an enormous crocodile pounced
proper person."
upon the child ; opening its dreadful jaws, the innocent
“ Not so, mother, for if father is missed from his was soon engulfed in its horrid chasm, and the creature
work his task-master will pursue him, discover the child, disappeared. Aroused by footsteps, Miriam raised her
and, perhaps, murder us all. See this long pole,” said head : a party of miserable Hebrews passed, half-naked
the heroic girl, “on the end is a hook, and with it I and surrounded by overseers, they were bending beneath
will drive away all that may impede the course of our their heavy loads of brick and straw. The sound of
barge ; and when unseen, will draw my little brother to music arrested her attention: a religious procession was
the shore, and feed him. Trust the boy to me, mother, 1 passing, and she gazed with disgust, as she observed the
I will even risk my life to save him.”
priests were leading in golden chains the sacred croco-
“ Blessings on my noble girl !" cried her father. dile! The back of this hideous monster was richly
“Thou hast inspired me, also, to hope our God will painted and gilded, while bracelets of gold and jewels
save the boy, for his faithful sister's sake, if not for adorned his shapeless legs. She watched him, as with
ours."
his train he entered the temple. This superb edifice
The ark was finished, and Miriam, plaeing within it was surrounded by four noble porticoes, and was raised
a soft bed, approached Jochebed to take the child. Sad upon an elevated platform of steps. A long avenue of
was the parting scene between the mother and her dar- Sphinxes led to it, and before the edifice stoud two
ling Loy; unable to see him go, she fled into an inner obelisks of rose-colored granite, whose slender shafts
room lo vent her anguish in sobs and bitter groans. seemed to reach the heavens, and whose sides were
After a last, long kiss, Miriam and her father and carved in raised hieroglyphics. The ceiling of this tem-
brother Aaron, launched the frail bark upon the Nile. ple was painted blue, and studded with golden stars,
“Farewell, father,” said young Miriam fondly; its sides richly carved, gilded and painted; while in
“cheer up my mother and tell her to trust in Jehovah, the centre stood a tank, for the service of the sacred
whom, I feel assured, will yet rescue the boy from the crocodile, and on one side a room, where, lying on a
hands of his enemies. Depend on me. All that a ten- costly carpet, the monstrous reptile was waited on and
der, devoted sister can do to save him, shall be done.” adorned by people of the first rank in the city. The
“Farewell, Miriam," said her father, while the tears sun was now sinking behind the hills of Rameses, when
fell down upon his beard. “I trust in Jehovah, and in the sound of female voices met the ear of Miriam. She
thee! May the God of Abraham protect thee and arose with delight, and looked forth. “ Now is my
strengthen thee!"
sweet brother safe,” she said, “ for surely no female
Hour after hour the vessel floated on, its little occu- bosom could devise aught evil against so lovely a babe."
pant smiling as he played with his fingers, or devouring The females approached, and by the richness of their
the food which lay around it. Hour aſter hour his firm. lapparel and by their numerous attendants, she knew
hearted sister walked on, under the blazing sun of Egypt, they were ladies of rank. Above the rest was one dis-
or sat upon the bank when it became obstructed in its tinguished for her graceful and majestic form. She was


HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
273
13
OK
required the great atoning sacrifice of our merciful || mighty crash the mass of waters fell, and the armies of
Saviour.
|| Egypt were whelmed beneath the waves!
Ambition seemed the form in which the tempter camel Filled with gratitude and triumph Moses broke forth
to Miriam. We have seen her constant prediction to in the following song, accompanied by the exulting
her mother, that Moses would be a great man, which Miriam, and other women striking their timbrels :
prophecy displays the tenor of her thoughts and hopes.
By this overweening ambition, she fell from her high
MOSES AND MIRIAM's song.
estate. Let her fall warn us to look into our own bo-
To Jehovah I will sing,
soms, and remember. The heart is deceitful above
Who hath triumphed gloriously;
all things, and desperately wicked : who can know it?" Horse and rider conquering,
When the nurse of Moses was no longer needed, he
He hath cast them in the sea.
was taken to the Princess, and soon raised to power.
My salvation is my song,
But he always clung to his nation, and refused to be
By Jehovah rendered strong.
called an Egyptian, or the son of Pharoah's daughter.
He is my God,
I will praise him ;
It is unnecessary to say any thing more of the pre-
My fathers' God,
ceding events of the life of Moses; or of the wondrous
I will exalt him.
miracles wrought by him before Pharoah, to induce him
to let his people go; as my readers are, or I hope they God is a man of war,
are, sufficiently acquainted with them. Pharoah was Jehovah is his name;
dead, and a new king arose, who fully appreciated the Pharoah's chariots and his hosts
worth of the Hebrews as hewers of wood and drawers of He bath brought to fear and shame.
water. It seemed for a time as if these miracles only ir His captains over ten
ritated the king, and induced him to render the Hebrews'
In the Red Sea found a grave;
bondage more bitter. Then was Miriam ot' great ser. To the depths his chosen men,
vice to her countrymen, for, confident in the promise of
Like stones sank through the wave.
God, she inspired courage into their hearts by her un-
Thy right hand, oh, Jehovah!
swerving faith. As a reward for her trust in him, God
Is glorious in its power;
bestowed upon her the gift of Prophecy, and placed her
Thy right hand, oh, Jehovah !
beside her brothers, Moses and Aaron, as leaders, in.
Made the sons of Egypt cower.
structors, and judges of the children of Israel.
In thy excellency, Lord,
The Hebrews departed, but were soon followed by
Thou hast sent ihy wrath abroad :
the Egyptian army. Few were the hearts which then
And as stubble burned chose,
failed noi, when they beheld themselves hemmed in
Who 'gainst thy glory rose.
between a raging foe, and a vast ocean! A seditious
Thy nostrils breath,
murmur arose. “Were there no graves in Egype!"
The waters heap;
they cried, “that we are brought hither to die? It
And fraught with death,
were belter to serve the Egyptians, than perish in the
U prose the deep!
wilderness."
“ Fear ve not!" said Moses. “Stand still; see the
The eneniy said :
salvation which God will now bring you. The Egyp-
Their path I'll pursue,
tians whom ye see this day, ye shall never see again!
And the Israelite dead,
The Lord will fight for you! Hold your peace.” Awed
The desert shall strew.
into silence, the people gazed up at Moses, who was
I will draw forth my sword !
standing upon a ledge of rocks above them. Moses
On the Hebrew abborred
streiched out his miraculous rod over the sea-there
My wrath shall be poured.
came rushing a wind- with a mighty roar the waters fell
back on each side, and the Israelites beheld a dry path
The east wind sped-
through the midst of the deep, rolling sea! Directed
Through the waves, their dead
Fell sinking as lead.
by Moses the people passed over this wondrous path-
way, looking fearfully up at the lorty wall of living
Who is like unto thee
emerald which arose on each side ; while far above was
Among Gods, oh, our Lord !
a fringe of white foam, as if the waves were strug.
Who is like unto thee ?
gling and chafing to dash themselves down to their
Thy name be adored.
natural depths, and overwhelm the intruders into their
Glorious in holiness;
secret haunt.
Radiant in splendors ;
The eastern shore was attained in safety, and the
We, in our fearfulness,
Israelites turned to look upon the sea, when lo! like a
Gaze on thy wonders.
crimson cord spanning the great ocean, the scarlet-clad
At thy stretched out right hand,
hosts of Pharoah were already on their track. The
And thy mighty command,
foot of the foremost touched the shore, when, with a
The earih swallowed their band!


274
HEROINES OF SACRED HISTORY.
Forth, by thy mercy, the ransomed are led; standards erected. Judah bearing upon his banner a
And under thy wing for refuge have fled.
Lion, while the other three bore the figures of the Ox,
The people shall hear,
Eagle, and Man. In the centre stood the wondrous
And tremble with fear,
Tabernacle, glowing in purple, and blue, and scarlet,
And Philistia sorrow that Israel is near.
and gold embroidery. It stood within a large space,
enclosed by a fence of linen curtains, suspended upon
The great dukes of Edom will shrink at the tale ;
pillars of brass. Within this enclosure stood the bra-
The mighty of Moab before us will quail;
zen sea and great altar of brass, and tables of marble.
And the Canaanite race from the country shall fail.
Miriam was sitting at the door of her tent, uttering
Fear and dread shall on them fall-
complaints of Moses, in the ear of Aaron, and within
Still as stones then stand they all,
hearing of many witnesses.
While thy people shall pass over
“Moses hath transgressed, seeing he hath marned
Thy purchased people, oh, Jehovah !
this Midian woman," said Miriai. “Who is she that
By them led on, we shall attain
all honor her thus as if there were no other women in
Our promised heritance--and gain
the camp? And who is her father that he deviseth
The Holy Mount where thou wilt reign.
mischief against me ?"
“I am sorry for thee, my sister, and will speak to
Jehovah shall rule and worshipped shall be,
Moses regarding thee; for didst thou not save his life ?"
As surely as Pharoah was cast in the sea
“Yea, what were Moses, were it not for me? He
With his horses and chariots and warrior band,
taketh too much upon him. Hath the Lord only re-
While the children of Irael pass through on dry land.
vealed his will ty him ? Hath he not also given thee
and me the spirit of prophecy?”.
Then shook Miriam her timbrel, and sang the chorus :
“ Yea, indeed he hath,” said Aaron.
To Jehovah I will sing,
Suddenly a cloud came down and rested at the door
Who hath triumphed gloriously;
of the Tabernacle, and the people knew the Lord was
Horse and rider conquering,
among them. Then every one stood still in his place,
He hath cast them in the sea!
and listened as the Lord commanded Moses and Aaron
and Miriam to come into the court of the Taberoacle.
Sadly turn we now to relate the fall of Miriam. We Tremblingly they obeyed the mandate, and walked up
have said she was ambitious—this ambition was fully in silence undisturbed except by the tinkling of the
gratified when she saw herself associated with her golden bells upon the robe of Aaron. They stood be-
brothers, Aaron and Moses, as leaders and judges of 'fore the Tabernacle in the face of the whole congrega-
the Israelites. She was reverenced by all, as a pro- tion. The tall and stately figure of Moses was envel-
pheless; and enjoyed especial honor as the sister of loped in a large manile of white linen, fringed with
Moses. Zipporah, the wife of Moses, whom he had , blue; while Aaron was arrayed in the gorgeous resto
left in the land of Cush, with her father, Jethro, had ments of the High Priest-the breast of his blue upper
lately arrived and joined her husband, and of course, 'dress dazzling with the emblematic jewels, wbile ibe
obtained much of the people's good will as wife of their bottom was hung with pomegranates and golden bells
leader; and Miriam stood not alone in their regard or his white linen miire circled by a golden band, and
in that of Moses. She, however, reigned without a rival his girdle and linen under-dress richly embroidered with
when Moses judged the people; for he needed help, scarlet, and blue, and purple. Miriam glorying in her
and Aaron was engaged with his priestly duties. When situation, and expecting new honors, stood between
the father of Zipporah arrived, he advised Moses to them, with her head elevated so that the golden hora
lighten his toil by dividing his people in tens, fifties, which ornamented her forehead, was erected on high.
hundreds and thousands, and appointing rulers overi “ Hear now my words,” said the Lord. "If there
each band. Miriam then no longer saw herself a distin-be a prophet among you, I, the Lord, will make myself
guished associate of her brothers, as her office was known unto him in visions and dreams only; but my
divided, and she became merely one of the many rulers. servant, Moses, who is faithful to me, shall be spoken to,
Forgetful she owed all to God, and that he might take mouth to mouth-not in dark speeches as to you, but
back again all his gifts, Miriam looked upon Jethro is honored above you by beholding the similitude of the
and Zipporah as usurpers and rivals. Day and night Lord. Knowing this, were ye not afraid to speak
she devised plans to overthrow their counsels. She against my servant, Moses ?" Then trembled Aaron
endeavored to interest Aaron in her cause; and, much and Miriam, for they saw the anger of the Lord was
attached to his sister, and of a gentle nature, he listened kindled against them.
to her, and pitied her, when, perhaps, he would have The cloud departed from the sanctuary ; they turned
done better to have reproved her harshly.
to gaze upon each other, when lo! they saw that Miriam
The Israelites were now in the wilderness of Zin, a was a leper! The color was gone from her blooming
large, level plain, surrounded by eminences which shot cheek, and her skin was turned to the livid hue of the
up their bare granite peaks to the Heavens. The dead! Aaron threw himself at the feet of Moses.
twelve tribes were encamped by threes on each side " Alas, my lord,” he said, “I beseech thee forgive
of this immense plain, having at each corner the lus our sin, for indeed we have spoken foolishly agains:


THE WIFE'S REVENGE.
277
JEET
29235
tbagai
streerd
st i ca,9 1.
his err.
bul
Ceritakan
marie
CE30 130.24
pooley
07
na med
is mayores
De hooded and
i dobi
An unbroken pause ensued; at last, the miller raising !! “Now, base adulteress, behold the death of your
his head, glanced at the spot where he had seen the babe,” he said, and at arm's length held aloft the un.
misty spirit; it had vanished. For one moment he did conscious boy. It was where the cataract dashed
not seem to realize what he had seen and heard ; the down into the foaming abyss, he cast his only child! A
next, as the assertion of his wife's infidelity occurred to wild laugh burst from his lips. His revenge was com-
him, he rushed toward the house; the door yielded to plete!
his might, but no wife greeted him; he seated himself, ! Then, for the first time, reason threw one bright
the sense of fear left him, but the determination of gleam to illume his tumultuous bosom. He gazed
revenge had taken possession of his mind, for jealousy upon the fair being who lay insensible at his feet-yet
had siung bim deeply; he believed his wife guilty, and no pily evinced itself for her; he seemed indeed con-
then a thought atruck him ; with the fury of a maniac scious of his act, for seeing her revive a litile he ex-
he knocked at bis bed-room door until it flew off the claimed, “ Go now and seek your paramour; your hus-
hinges. She was not there! His worst suspicions band follows his child !" then giving one high leap into
seemed confirmed, and in his bosom reigned that species the air, ſell deep into the wild, watery cataract.
of phrenzy, the person affected with which, often says i Poor ill-used wife! innocent, yet believed guilty,
and does things of which he is unconscious. The noise what was then your state? Morning dawned and beheld
he had made awoke his little babe, whose wail now met the widowed wife, the childless mother, gazing vacantly
l into the grave of her husband and son. But two
“Ha! ha! ha!" he shrieked, "art thou there, child others, the stranger, the former rival of the miller,
of a guilty mother.” He snatched the infant from its and the villanous host, were there.
pillow, and for a moment gazed fixedly upon it; but noti “Behold, woman," exclaimed the former. “I am
one spark of parental fondness was in that gaze, for if he, who in the guise of the spirit of Vengeance, fed thy
any hail ever existed, his passion smothered its influ- husband's ear with stories of thy infidelity. 1, once his
ence. Unmindful of his screams, he shook the boy as rival, now the enemy of thee, base woman!"
he exclaimed, “ Death were better for thee, boy, than il He had approached so near lo her as he spoke, that
life, embittered by the knowledge of a mother's crime !", she leant her head as if to whisper to him; he bent
Madly he flew from the house ; a little beyond the low; with one bound she placed him between herself
threshold he beheld his wife approaching him. and the fatal brink, and, quick as lightning, pushed him
" Ah, husband," said she. sweetly." I have waited toward it with all her force--for in one moment,
very, very long for you, beneath the rocks."
although the morning had found her a raving maniac,
“Woman, it is fulse! You have been to see your
she saw the cause of her husband's conduct. In vain
paramour. Away!"
he endeavored to regain his balance. He slipperl, and
then rolled over into the yawning chasm, to meet in
She saw her child, who cried as he heard his mother's
death the victims of his wrath.
voice, and discovering upon her husband's countenance,
The country-people still point out the fatal spot to
as she approached him, the fiendish marks of rage, she
the traveller, and strange tales are told of a woman's
altempled to snatch her child, fearing for its safety.
spirit that still flies about the Miller's Cliff-and even
He pushed her from him.
now, though fifty years have passed since the occur-
“ Husband-Frans, what would you do? Give me rence of the events mentioned in this narrative, none
my child." But with one arm he held aloft his weep. dare venture near the rock of The Wife's Revenge.
ing boy, and with the other, clasped his wife.
J. T. M.
“Come on-on with me, base woman! Upon yon-
der precipice's edge, you shall gaze upon his destruc
Original.
tion! It will be 30 sweet to see thy sorrow!"
SONNET,
“My child! my child! Give me my child! Oh,
Frans! by all you hold sacred, I pray you give me back
BY THE REV. J. . CLINCH,
my boy!”
She prayed, she screamed, she clung to his knees to Not to a single erring mortal hand
deter him from his evident intention. In vain! Who,' Be curbless swav entrusted. On the sent,
with one spark of humanity glowing in his frame, or Whence despot Power sees nations at its feet
who, with even the outward attributes of man, could Bowing obedient to its high command,
have resisted that fuir being's prayers for the safety of The head grows giddy, and the proud heart, fanned
her child ? Who could have disbelieved her protesta-, By breath of adulation false, but sweet,
tions of innocence ?
Dreams itself God-like, and disdains to beat
He gained the precipice's slippery edge, dragging Freely with baser pulses : till the brand
after him his shrieking wife, who clung to him with of justified Rebellion rudely wakes
more than woman's strength, striving to detain him. The madman from his wild, delirious dreams;
“Spare him, Frans! spare our sweet child !” Such ever be bis fate who rashly takes
But, uninoved as the firm rock he stood upon, he The functions of Omnipotence, yet seems
threw his left hand upon her shoulder and pressed her Forgelful that in Power's bright diadem
to the ground.
The light of Mercy is the fairest gem.
*
i fer
fotels
B
LOS
ceased
lely be
ut
to be
ss, 200
a ce permanente
SAR MCP :
pero e sta manera
34


282
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
Such was the tenor of Isabelle's relation; and while consciousness that any appearance of trepidation would
it was in progress, Howard played with the little fel- be the strongest evidence against him, emboldened him
low, who tottered up to him, allracted by the glitter of to an assumption of indifference to his wife's lender-
his watch-seals. Mrs. Broad soon signified to Isabelleness, as though his wonder equalled that of ihe two
that the invalid was ready to see her; and while females, gazing upon the group. “Her conduct is very
Howard was left by the females, he busied himself in strange," said he, as Mary clapped her hands again,
amusing the child, whose beauty and brightness were repeated the cry of joy which she had uttered when she
remarkable. After a few minutes, Mrs. Broad opened first saw her husband, and repeatedly kissed bis fore-
the door, and asked if he would not like to see the head, exclaiming: -
poor woman. As his curiosity had been much excited, “No cold nor hunger more. All together, all togeth-
he followed up the narrow and winding stairs. The ler, never 10 part again !" Then sinking again down
door of the chamber was open, and as he reached the upon her knees before Howard, and holding up ber
first landing, the voice of the sufferer fell upon his ear. hands in petition, the tears fell fast, while in a pleading
It was so like-so identical with a soft voice he had tone, she continued, “Don't scold poor Mary! Her
heard in years gone by, that he turned pale at the re- feet are sore with walking, and the cold ground bas
collections it recalled; but he still mounted, and passed been her bed, and all to find her love once more !" She
into the room, Mrs. Broad, with the child in her arms, then sank fully down, regardless of all around her, and
halting without, in respectful deference, while he should I wept bitterly.
enter. Isabelle was sitting by the invalid, who reclined Isabelle was by this time sobbing with a sympathetic
in a low arm chair, amused for the moment, by drawing grief she could not repress, and even Mrs. Broad
her fingers through the fringe of Isabelle's cape. She repeatedly drew her hand across her eyes. As for
carelessly turned her head toward Howard as he ap- Howard, he dared not speak of departure, or change
proached, but suddenly started up, gazed an instant his position, lest a second scene should ensue, though
steadfastly on him, then clapped her hands, and with a he could scarcely endure his agony longer. Once be
cry of joy, sprang towards bim and flung herself on his could have sustained the extreme of suffering without &
breast, clasping his neck. To Mrs. Broad and Isabelle, quiver or a change of feature; but his mind had now a
it was an incomprehensible action, but to Howard, it morbid action, and his diseased nerves were pot obedi.
was terribly lucid. There, on his bosom, clinging to ent to his unaltered will. Mrs. Broad relieved him by
him in enduring affection, was his own wiſe-robbed of taking Mary's arm and raising her up. Fortunately
the treasure of her sense by his cruelty and desertion. I' for Howard, her face was turned away from him as ste
His sensations were too acute for description. At one rose, and placing the child upon the floor, be stole away.
instant, a gleam of pity prompted to kindness; again, || Isabelle joined him below after a short time, and they
rage at the threatened overthrow of all his hopes and started on their return. Isabelle conversed freely
expectations, and at the presence of Isabelle, wbo tes- respecting the conduct of her protegé, but Howard was
sified in her looks her wonder and astonishment, im- almost wholly mute. He could not assume to any
pelled him to dash the maniac to the floor. But forc- extent, a careless air, at this overwhelming juncture,
ing a smile, he said, after a few moments, to break the with so uncertain a prospect before him. A remark
dreadful pause, “ The poor creature seems to mistake from him, however, that “ he never had been witness of
me for some friend. Perhaps I resemble her betrayer." || a scene which so oppressed him,” accounted to Isabelle
He then gently endeavored to disengage her from him. for his silence, and prevented any renewal of suspicion.
“No, no," she cried, bursting into tears ; “not again | After he had parted from her, he sought his lodgings
-we'll never part again!" and weaved her arms closer by the shortest course, proceeding at a furious rate, so
about him.
as to attract the stare of the passers-by. Arrived at
“Humor her fancy, Frederic,” said Isabelle, moved home, he locked bimself in his chamber, and gave a
to tears by the mourufulness of the scene.
loose in his feelings in extravagant gesture, and fearful
Relieved by this evidence that she entertained no words : cursing himself, his fate, and more than all, the
suspicions, Howard assented, and awaited the will of wife who had come up before him as from the tomb.
his wife. Her eye soon fell on her child, and drawing When he had become somewhat calm, he tried to reflect
Howard to a seat, she snatched the boy from Mrs. upon his situation, and fathom a way of escape. Bet
Broad, and placing it on its father's knee, kneeled down, thought revolted from the task ; and after repesied
glancing repeatedly from the child's to Howard's face, efforts to overleap the barrier of foreboding dismay, be
eager to catch the feeling written there. That feeling relinquished the endeavor, and sought oblivion in
was an agonizing one. Howard's eye had sought the repeated draughts of brandy, until he turned his brain
child, as she brought it toward him, with a quick, in- indeed, and raved like a very madman. He remained
quisitive look, while the conflict within him was more closeted until near midnight, and then, in disorderd
dreadful thin ever. There, indeed, was his own off- | dress, went abroad-dashing up one street and down
spring; there were his own dark eyes, and contour of another, until he had coursed balf the city over in his
forehead, and glossy hair. When it was on his knee, frenzy. It was nearly morning when he returned and
he turned its face towards himself in pretence to sport, Aung himself upon his bed, where the sleep of his
but in reality, to prevent Isabelle from tracing that exhaustion was disturbed and unrefreshing.
resemblance which he felt to be so manifest. But the When he arose, his first act was to fortify reflection


A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
285
CHAPTER XIX.
sued in relation to Howard ? How would his proud '' for which, nae doot, majster Fletcher here, wha kens
spirit endure, that the light should come to his mis. weel the use o' pen an' ink, wall gie his name."
doings ? The hope clung to Elthorpe's mind, that be 1 If it was an ill time to importune Howard, it was yet
might be reclaimed to virtue, and return to his deserted 'more ill-zined to jest with him; but Mathew, who had
wife and child; but fear was paramount.
no very nice discrimination as to what policy would best
The first step was to corroborate Mary's statements, secure his ends, but blundered on in callous reckless-
by an appeal to Mathew Leggetson; and Elthorpe de ness, would have his joke and laugh, although he must
termined to explore his haunts, and resolve as soon as have had in his memory the frequent defiance of them
might be, every doubt.
which Howard had exhibited, and his subdued passion,
'even when most disposed to purchase their silence.
Fletcher, grovelling and degraded as he was, was pos-
To return to Howard. Mary's sanity destroyed every sessed of a keener wit, and though he responded some-
plan that he had formed, and the announcement of it, what to Mathew's broad langh after the above speech,
as Mrs. Broad had described, excited him to wildness, he shook his head in rebuke at the same time. But
He had enough of reason left to perceive, that any com Howard did not seem to hear a syllable. His eye was
munication with Mary, to induce her to leave London, still fixed on Mathew, and his look was unchanged,
could not be effected without Mrs. Broad's knowledge, while he scarcely moved his position. Fuiling of a re-
or that concealment which would carry its own con- ply, or any acknowledgment of his presence, Mathew
demnation, and, more frenzied than ever, he rushed into stared back at his former master, and then cast wonder-
the street. With a vague feeling that he stood con- ing glances at Fletcher, whů exhibited equal amaze-
victed in the eyes of all the world, be avoided everyment.
thoroughfare, and hurried through the more desertedl “Its unco' strange," said Mathew, in an under tore;
streets to the northward of Covent Garden-deserted, while Fletcher muttered to himself, with an oath, we'll
at least, by those who would recognize him. When he bring 'im to, before long!”
issued into the Haymarket, through Suffolk Street, he “Maister Howard," said Mathew, inquirirgly, and
glanced around him with an anxious look, like that of yet hesitatingly, for he now took notice of Howard's
the pursued criminal, then crossed with a mure rapid appearance and was somewhat startled. “Do ye ken
pace to Pall Mall. Again be applied to his maddening | what I hae said ? Deil," he added, after a pause,
comforter, brandy; eager to postpone the workings of during which Howard remained as before ; “is he daft
an excited mind. But the acuteness of mental paiu | -or donner ? Maister Howard ?”.
was fast conquering the power of extraneous stimu- The more surly Fletcher was disposed to consider
lants, and draught after draught of the fiery fluid was this some species of deception, to prevent the success
swallowed, at short intervals, without effect.
of their errand. He was in a position where he did not
A new turn was given to his thoughts by the uncere- ' have a full view of Howard's face, and, therefore, was
monious entrance of Mathew and Fletcher, who care-nol influenced by its expression; so, slowly rising, he
lessly nodded to him, and sat composedly down. The moved a few steps toward Howard and gruffly said,
two were now hand and glove in degradation, rioting “Shall we ’ave the blunt, or not ?"
and gambling until their funds were exhausted, then Howard started slightly at the impudence of his tone.
applying in confidence to their unwilling banker. They | It appeared to arouse him from a kind of trance. He
had but a very short time before drawn largely upon passed his hand over his brow, and looked from Fletch-
him, and they could not have chosen a more unpropi- er to Mathew, as one, half-awakened, regards those
tious season ihan the present to renew their demands, who may be standing by his bedside. He then waved
for besides being in the depth of acute suffering, he was Fletcher back with his hand, and walking to the oppo-
almost pennilesz. His funds in London were absolute site side of the room, opened a small drawer in a cabi-
ly exhausted, and a direction he had sent for the sale net, and was for a few moments busied before it.
of some property at the north, had not yet been answer. Fletcher obeyed the motion, and returned to his chair,
ed. The reception he gave the two was no indication | fancying that his decided tone had accomplished the
of his moorl. He regarded them with a stare from object, for he winked at Mathew in a triumphant man-
bloodshot eyes, while his brow was tightly pursed, and ner; but he had not settled himself in his seat, beforo
his lips compressed together. His thoughts were mani-a repeated click as of the cocking of a pistol, made him
festly elsewhere; and those who had once the power start, and Howard at the same instant turned, and ex-
to inflict the severest pain, were rendered of little ac tended his arms, pointing the muzzle of one of these
count by some superior evil.
deadly instruments toward each of his persecutors,
“Servant," said Fletcher, nodding again. He then exclaiming at the same time, in a low and firm voice :
jerked his cap toward Mathew, who, it seems, was!! “Now, out with you; or, by G-, I'll make but one
this time to commence operations, as a signal to begin. I reckoning of it !"
“Well, maister Howard," said Mathew," nae doot “Deil !" cried Mathew.
ye're illsorted to see us twa’, sae sune again, baith “Damnation !" said Fletcher, both simultaneous-
jinking forbye ; but I ken weel ye winna' be unco'angry illy springing upright, and impassively dodging in
anent it, sin' we're a' siccan gude freends in luve. Ye'll the direction of the door. Both were courageous
mak' us muekle obleeged wi' gie'ing us twenty punds, and daring in an extreme degree, but few
35


286
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. .
will oppose the will of a resolute man, holding the and cons of an application to the police. There we,
means of certain destruction in his hand. As they with pleasure, leave them for a time.
moved, ihe pistols moved, and there was that in How-
ard's manner, that warned them he was not to be trifled i
CHAPTER xx.
with.
Elthorpe was somewhat at a loss, by what means to
" Drop that pistol-don't hact like a fool!" said get track of the wretch, whom it was so necessary to
Fletcher, still edging toward the door.
consult. He remembered having once stopped with
“If you dare to open your mouth again, I'll fire!" Howard in the days of their friendship, at the shop of
answered Howard, advancing a pace or two. The re- a Scotchwoman near Covent Garden, who was a distant
newed threat hurried the two, and they shuffled from relation to Mathew, and thitherward he bent bis steps.
the room; no sooner crossing the threshold, than How. He was lille delayed in recognizing the shop again,
ard hastily shut the door, and turned the lock. Fletcher but upon application to the snuff-tahing vender of goods
would not relinquish his errand, without parleying in a small way, who stood behind the counter, she sbook
through the door, to sooth Howard, and induce him to her head and anathemized Mathew in broad terms, as
admit him again without violence, but he could obtain a “ne'er do weel” from his infancy, and now espe-
no answer. He was in too public a place to threaten, cially given to evil ways. He rarely came to see her
and finally descended the stairs, muttering fierce oaths now, and she did not regret it, for alıhough a relation,
of revenge. Howard, after he had sprung the lock, he reflected no honor on her, who was a respectable
laid back the pistols in the drawer, exclaiming in dread woman and above reproach. Where he was she could
despair, “Go and do your worst! You cannot make a 'not tell, as his ways had been unsettled since his sppa-
hotter hell, than burns within me now!"
ration from Captain Howard ; a separation, for which
He did not close the drawer, and contemplated the she could by no means accourt. But he had, at one
pistols with grim satisfaction, as the thought crossed time, lodged at a widow woman's, No. —, Bow-lane,
him, that by their agency he could in an instant end all for the respectability of which lodging house she would
earthly sufferings. He did not shudder at the enormity by no means avouch. She had ceased to feel any in-
of self-destruction. To him there was no future, be- terest in her backsliding relation. Such was her infor-
yond the gloom of the grave. He knew little of Reve- mation.
lation and its momentous truths: for in the home of his Elthorpe could not do better than to post to Bow-
boyhood, the holy book was a stranger, and even in his lane, and prosecute further inquiries. Throwing bim-
manhood, he had never opened it. He looked to death self into a hackney-coach at the nearest stand, he was
as a chaotic blank-a refuge for the guilty, as well as speedily conveyed to his destination, in a neighborhood
the suffering and the miserable.
affording prima facie evidence that lodgers and lodgees
As Fletcher and Mathew walked away from Pall must be of very questionable character. We cannot
Mall, the following conversation ensued between them,
pause to describe the widow woman or her tenement;
with, however, the omission of many of Fletcher's suffice it, that the former was evidently given to the
oaths.
bouile, and the latter to uninterrupted decay. El horse
“If ibat 'ere haint comfortin', Mat, I'm d- d!
left her, apparently no nearer his mark than before, for
Curse me hif 'e sha'n'e be scragged for this 'ere! I'll
Mathew had vacated Mrs. Warner's premises some
'peach, by G-, and that afore sundown! What say,
weeks before, “and never had shown bimself there
since; but, perhaps, he could be found or heard of at
Mat?”
No. 10, Gerrard Street." Nothing daunted on so im-
“Winna' we be bested oursel's, and twist the gy about
portaut a mission, Elthorpe re-entered the hackney-
our ain hauses ? We arena' ower clear o' the matter.
coach, and directed the coachman to the more respect-
I'm nae sae sure anent it, but it wud be muckle better
able quurter in which Gerrard Street was situated. No.
to let that fee stick i' the wa'!"
10 proved to be a very good looking brick building with-
“ You be d-d!" answered the gentle Fletcher. “Not out, and a low hell within, where decayed gamblers
a bit of it. 'Cause vy? He vos chief cook o' that found a vent for the madness that had not vanished
dish, vile ve vos hunderstrappers. Ve'll turn States' || with the loss of their fortunes, and now played shillings
hevidence, Mat. They'll pui us in limbo, p'raps, to land pence, for the pounds and guineas that had departe
keep us snug for vitnesses, but vot ov it? They'll let ed at more fashionable establishments in St. James's
us hout agin; and I doesn'ı care for limbo, a month or Square. Here, indeed, no questions were asked, money
two, so I 'as wengeance on this covey! But ve'll talk | being the great “open sesame," and gentility at a dis-
it hover at the Pot,' Mat. I vant's summut to vash count. Elthorpe passed through the coffee-room,
my throat hout. I've a bob or two, left; but vot's ve wherein a motley company were indulging in their po-
to do, now our rum cove stands fire ? D-n 'im!" tations, and every description of language, in every
The precious pair ceased their conversation on the variety of cone and intonation, ſell upon the ear like the
topic for the present, and, hastening on, soon entered confusion of Babel, 10 a small counter in one corner,
“The Pot," a low gin shop, or ale house, in a narrow, from whence a deputy host dispensed liquors to the
dirty lane, leading out of Fleet Street toward the guests, and commands to the under servants. That
Thames. Fletcher called for drink, pipes, and tobac- dignitary bowed low 10 Elthorpe, for there was nothing
co, and the two sat seriously down to discuss the proes in his manner in common with the creatures he usually


292
NIAGARA.
hv
NIAGARA.
| Into that heaving, fathomless abyss,
Where nought of life has journey'd. Could your arm
BY GRENVILLE MELLEN.
Buffet that billow? Would the mad'ning sea
Sink at your voice-and the white rivers hold
It is seldom that we publish any thing that is not original, but Back at your mandate! Is it given you
the lines below are so very beautiful, that we cannot refrain i To feel like Atlas as you poise along
from giving them a place. When we find such poetry going to
ng Those towers that quiver o'er that charming flood ;
down 10 oblivion in the corner of a newspaper, we are in.
Volcano of great walers! Is it yours
clined to believe, with a talented friend, who asserts that the il
best poetry of the day is floating through the newspapers and if In terrible security to dream
magazines of our country, unclaimed and almost unnoticed ;' There is no rapid to another shore,
like leaves floating on the autumn wind: when, if carefully | That lifts beyond this mortal!-whose whirlpools
preserved, it might become a rich national treasure. It is to Go deeper than the vortex the Red Man
be regretted, that with the exception of three or four of our i Doridin bis dim cancel
earliest writers, Halleck, Sprague, and a few others, the best
poets connected with our literature are compelled to appear
before the public in the present desultory fashion, and from
Oh, ye, who tread
a want of proper appreciation, consequent to an imperfect Your bold way through the noises of this world,
medium of approach to the reader, are deprived of their just And deem they tell of wonder as they pass-
station among the leading poets of the land. It gives us
great pleasure to learn, that Mr. Samuel Colman has com-
That armor man puts on for his small strife
menced the publication of a library of American Poets,
which will comprise not only the pioneers in the more lofty! And tournament that mark his little years-
department of our literature, but such as have an equal claim Come here—and feel how inean his battling is
to a just representation before the public. A beautiful vol. Compar'd with Nature's in her solitude!
ume, containing a poem, rich with genins, and a trage
Rufus Dawes, has already appeared. This will be followed
by our poetical writers in succession, till the whole body of
native poets be presented before the public, in a manner
PROGRESS OF SOCIETY.
worthy of them and of our literature.
Whoever has attentively meditated on the progress
of the human race cannot fail to discern, that there is
Ou God! my prayer is to thee--amid sounds
now a spirit of inquiry amongst men which nothing
That rock the world! I've seen thy majesty
can stop, or even materially control. Reproach and
Within the veil! I've heard the anthem shout
obloquy, threats and persecution, will be in vain. They
Of a great ocean, as it leapt in mist
may embitier opposition and engender violence, bet
About thy thunder-shaken path! Thy voice
they cannot abate the keenness of research. There is
As centuries have heard it, in the rush
a silent march of thought which no power can arrest,
And roar of waters! I have heard thy step
and which it is not difficult to foresee, will be marked
Fall like a trampling bost, above, around,
by important events. Mankind were never hefore in
And under me. Thy call is to the worlds
the situation in which they now stand. The press bas
Thou hast created, for their reverence,
been operating upon them for several centuries, with an
From out this awful shrining of thy sway.
influence scarcely perceptible at its commencement, bet
Shall they not hear it!
by daily becoming more palpable, and acquiring acce-
lerated force, it is rousing the intellect of nations, ad
I have bent my brow
Within thy rainbow-and have lifted up
happy will it be for them, if there be no rash interfer
ence with the natural progress of knowledge; and i
My shriek 'mid these great cadences! I've seen
What is the glory of Eternity.
by a judicious and gradual adaptation of their jostile
li tions to the inevitable changes of opinion, they are
And what the vision'd nothingness of man.
saved from those convulsions which the pride, prejo
II
dices, and obstinacy of a few, may occasion to the
Where is the pilgrim who has walked the earth
whole.
Unmov'd and thinking nothing, yet can stand
l'pon these battlements, untouched by prayer!
Amid these clouds, when moonlight fills the air-
Original.
And the beams seem to tremble as you gaze !
Within these caves, where whirlwinds marshall them,
HATE.
And spirits, as from hell, seem centinel,
Nor feel his heart cower in him, as his eye
HATE is a little murmuring stream
And ear catch this stern language as it falls !
That smoothly glides at first,
But soon a torrent it will seem
Man! do you talk of majesty! Look up,
From deep, dark channels burst.
And see that ocean leaping from the cloud-
The weakest, ere it swelleth, may
Crowned with a rainbow on its foaming front!
With ease the stream pass o'er-
Talk you of strength! Gaze on that Tartarus
The strongest, when it hath its sway,
Where shadows wreathe and congregate, far down
Can seldom ford to sbore.



Widener Library
3 2044 092 664 325