PS 17?9 G8 S "SITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO 3 1822 01066 3615 LIBRARY f I UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 1 SAN DIEGO wifiiiiiiiii 3 1822 01066 3615 / /^ f Stolen Waters BY CELIA E. GARDNER. "Stoleu waters are sweet." PROVERBS, IX. 17. M& NEW YORK: G. W. Carleton &? Co. y Publishers. LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO. M.DCCC.LXXI. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by G. W. CARLETON & CO., In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Stereotyped at the WOMEN'S rillMTING nODSE, Corner Avenue A and Eighth Street, New York. 1871. TO- ONE "WHO HAS PROVED AT ALL TIMES THAT HE IS THE DEAREST, TnE NOBLEST, THE TRUEST, | ibis Jltbirate, with the gratitude, love, and esteem of a iieart that has yet never known sweeter dreams than those he has filled, and whose frayer is, when death shall have stilled ocr hearts' current with his icy breath, we may stand with each other before the white throne, of him unto whom all heart-secrets are known, who, tempted in all points as we are, looks down with compassion divine, as he studs our bright crowns with a gem for each cross we endure, while we wait for tne summons that cometh to all, soon or late, thus grateful, and nopeful, i tnis work to thee consecrate i proud to sign myself THINE, C. E. G. PRELUDE. « ♦ »' You who never have loved — you who never were tried, Lay this volume, without a perusal, aside ! Should you read it, you'd find much to shock preconceived Ideas of what should and what should not be. You would find no perfection of character here ; Only weak human nature — the hopes and the fears Of a heart, if undisciplined, loving and true ; Temptations resisted, and yielded unto ; And the tale of a love far beyond estimation, All potent, in doubt or in realization. I claim for my heroine, nothing ! except Her humanity. Yet from the reader expect The remembrance that this is a Journal, wherein She confides all her secrets ; some which would have been Most carefully, jealously guarded, 'tis plain, From the world. For my hero, your honor, I claim. For my woi'k, ask that your criticism be mild, Recollecting, in authorship, I'm but a child. Sev'ral similar cases to this having come Under my observation, when there has been done By the world much injustice to those who have proved In the end, although human, both earnest and true, Three things it has been my endeavor to show ; • • • viii PRELUDE. And lest I have failed in portraying them so That they may be discerned, — like an artist I know, Who writes o'er the landscape he paints, " These are trees," So I o'er my work write the points, which are these : — First ! That no one can tell what they'll do 'till they're tried, Must in like circumstances be placed to decide. That those the most strong in asserting their own Immaculateness are most often the ones, Not alone to be tried in that special respect, But to yield to the offered temptation when met. Second! That it is possible, for e'en a love That's forbidden — impassioned and earnest above All expression, to be not alone true but pure. And that love without marriage not always ensures Criminality for those who to it succumb. And that a true love can but act upon one Beneficially, and a refiner become. And third ! That though conscience and principle may For a time be crushed down, in the end their full sway They'll resume, and accomplish what naught else could do. And with this prelude brief, I my work leave with you. STOLEN WATERS. PART FIRST. • Sweet are stolen waters ! pleasant is the bread In secret eaten." Pollock. " Anil thus, unnoticed and apart, And more by accident than choice, I listened to that single voice, Until the chambers of my heart Were filled with it by night and day." Longfellow. Stolen "Waters art Jirst. NEW YORK. November 2d, 1862. SUNDAY. My dear little Journal ! so fresh, white, and new, I have seated myself for a short chat with you, And to tell you where I have been passing the eve, If you will but listen, and give me the leave. Annie called here to-night, and desired me to go To the new church but just dedicated ; and so I donned cloak and furs, hat and boots and went forth. 'Twas cold, too ! the wind blew direct from the north, 'Twas but a short distance, we soon i-eached the place, And passed in with devout hearts and reverent pace. 'Twas lovely ! but I am too weary, to-night, To describe in detail all the music and light, Soft carpets, rich carving, the Organ so grand, 12 STOLEN WATERS. The tablets containing our Lord's ten commands, And all that. But perhaps I may some other time Describe all to you, even to the bell's chime. To tell you the truth, my dear Journal, my thoughts In vain sought to rise above earth, as they ought. I seemed to be dreaming, or under a spell, And which one it was I can yet hardly tell ; For a mouth wreathed with smiles I could see but too near, And a voice full of melody burst on my ear ; For he sang as he smiled, and his dark, lustrous eyes, Seemed reading my soul ; and I found with surprise That my cheeks burned with blushes, my eyes sought the ground, The blood rushed through my veins with tumultuous bound, Ev'ry thing was foi'gotten — time also, and place; I heard but one voice, and I saw but one face. This strange fascination continued complete Till the service was over, and I in the street, When the cool, bracing wind fanned my feverish cheek, Subdued its deep flush, and unnatural heat, And calmly the blood coursed once more thro' my veins, And I my own stoical self soon became. What was it affected me thus, there to-night ? I have heard people talking of " Love at first sight." Was it love for a stranger that sent such a thrill Through my frame, 'till my very heart seemed to stand still ? Was it love for a stranger ? No ! that cannot be ; We oft hear of such things, but who'd think it of me ? I, who have so many known — flirted so long, To yield now, to a voice I've heard only in song? Think of my proud, high spirit subdued by a smile, A glance from soft eyes. Call it consummate guile, STOLEN WATERS. 13 Call it music's enchantment, the pressure of light — Call it sorcery, witchcraft, or aught that you like, That so deeply impressed me at service to-night, But don't say I'm in love with a man at first sight ; I hope I am not so susceptible, quite ! February 15th, 1863. SUNDAY. Well, my father at length has engaged a nice pew In the handsome new church which is almost in view, And henceforth, I suppose, we shall worship within Those walls that were never polluted by sin. That beautiful temple, so rich, yet so plain, With large, Gothic windows through whose di'mond panes The softened light streams with subdued, mellow ray, O'er the worshippers therein assembled to pray ; The walls faintly tinted, but unadorned still By the chisel of sculptor or artist's fine skill ; The seats softly cushioned with green, and the floor With carpets like Nature's own verdure laid o'er, The pulpit of chestnut, green-carpeted stairs, Rich books, velvet cushions, and sofa, and chairs, Just below it the table, on which there is spread, On the first of each month the wine holy and bread, On service of silver ; and in the background Stands their beautiful organ, from which such sweet sounds Of melody float, you might fancy, almost, That yo\i were surrounded by Heav'n's shining host, 14 STOLEN WATERS. And think you were listening to harps of the blest, Whose strings by the hands of bright angels are pressed, So rich, so sublime, so mellifluous, sweet, Now far off, low and faint, and then nearer and deep, 'Till its thunders arouse from its lethargic sleep My ravished, entranced soul. Then, at the right hand, Gothic tablets, engraved with our Lord's ten commands ; At the left is the choir ; a small, Gothic alcove, Its darkness dispelled by dim lights from above, While in the background, 'graved in letters of gold, Are extracts from the Psalms of King David of old. Our seat's near the choir — O ! I must not forget To tell you, my Journal, the choir's a quartette. Well ! in that lovely place we have worshipped to-day, Arose when they sang, bowed the head when they prayed. There I saw, too, a face I had seen once before, Heard the same voice, with melody sweet gushing o'er, Saw the lips, too, enwreathed with the same witching smile, The eyes, merry glances thrown downward the while. But his glances and smiles were all powerless, to-day, I looked at him coldly, turned calmly away, My heart beat no faster, no flush dyed my cheek, But his voice ! — oh, it was, indeed, wondrously sweet, And I eagerly listened, as under a spell . As each note on my ravished ear then rose and fell. The singers were all good, but he was sublime. But 'twas the soft witch'ry of music, this time : The charm which e'er dwells in harmonious sound, Not love for the man which now held me spell -bound. Indeed ! as to-day I looked into his eyes, I could not but think with a wondering surprise Of the spell he cast over me, when our eyes met STOLEN WATERS. 15 • A few weeks ago, for the first time ; and yet, It loas passing strange what o'ercame me that night, Unless 'twas the heat and the strong press of light. Whatever it was, I am firmly convinced lie had nothing at all to do with it ! And, since It was not what I feared that it might be, that night, I will have no more faith in this " love at first sight." March 1st, 1863. SUNDAY. When I drew up the blind, somewhat early this morn, I found there had been quite a heavy snow-storm, And when it was church time, I hardly could tell If 'twas best to go out or to stay at home. Well ! Did not much like remaining within doors, all day, So I donned rubber-boots, and we started away ; And when we soon after arrived at the church Mr. Tenor was standing right there in the porch. His glances at me were quite earnest, and I Looked closely at him, too, while passing him by. So you see, my dear Journal, I had a fair view Of this wonderful (?) man, and tins fine singer, too. I suppose you would like a description of him, I have told you so much of him. Well ! to begin, He was not very formidable after all ! He is neither quite short, nor is he very tall. His shoulders are wide, and you'd feel you could rest Safe sheltered from harm on his broad, manly breast. 16 STOLEN WATERS. Dark hair, soft, dark eyes, and a mouth passing sweet, Soft mustaches and whiskers shade both lip and cheek. Hands white and well -shaped, moderately small feet, You have now, my Journal, his picture complete. Now if this noble gentleman only just knew What a flatt'ring description I've given to you, Of his exquisite singing, his fine manly grace, His smiles and his glances, his form and his face, What would he say to it ? But that ne'er will be ! I can say what I please, my dear Journal, to " thee," Tell you all of my secrets, and ne'er have a fear That you'll ever disclose aught that I whisper here But, dear me ! what a soft little goosey I am, To be thinking so much of a quite unknown man ! But I told you about him, upon that first night When I " fell in love (?)" with him, you know, at first sight ; I mean, therefore, to tell you henceforth all I know Of him who's of late interested me so. But to tell you the truth, perhaps I've over-drawn My fair pictm-e of him ; for a calm looker-on Might not, perhaps, call strictly handsome his face ; But his smile, and his grand, indescribable grace, Which once made me forgetful of both time and place, Are more charming by far than mere beauty of face. STOLEN WATERS. 17 March 22 J, 18G3. SUNDAY. Well ! another brief week lias passed swiftly along, And another sweet Sabbath is now nearly gone. And to service of course I again went to-day — 'Twould take strong inducements to keep me away, For a Sunday at home I can never endure — A stormy one even — and so I am sure There's nothing that scarcely could tempt me to stay From church upon such a magnificent day As this one has been. It toas lovely as one Could desire to behold ; for the glorious sun, In unrivalled splendor, shone all the day through ; The sky was one vast arch of unclouded blue ; Each twig, bush, and tree were a-glitter with ice, And the pavement as well, which was not quite so nice, For many unlucky pedestrians met A fall on the sidewalk so slipp'ry and wet. The new-fallen snow, with a pure, dazzling sheet Of white, covered tree-top, and house-top, and street ; And sleigh after sleigh-load dashed swiftly along, And before one could fairly behold them, were gone ; And the tinkle of bells on the listening ear, Fell with musical murmur so merry and clear. * The whole scene was charming ! but soon we passed in From the splendor without to the beauty within. Already, the organ's deep, exquisite notes, All through the vast edifice solemnly floats. 18 STOLEN WATERS. The whole congregation is silent as death, And I listen entranced, and almost catch my breath, As the tones of the singers, so thrillingly sweet, Join the organ's, and render the charm quite complete. What, think you, cared I then that a bright smiling face Was beaming on me from the usual place, And a pair of soft eyes looking into my own ? I saw nothing, heard naught but the musical tones Of the voices I've learned to, of late, love so well, And that ever bewitch me more than I can tell. But when next they arose the enchantment was o'er, And. I then could look into his fine face once more ; But he so intently gazed into my eyes, That, in spite of myself, I could feel the blood rise To my face, and I knew he had found he could call A warm flush to my cheek, notwithstanding, too, all My cold looks, and his glances indiff'rently met, And the smiles that are haunting me, too, even yet. July hth, 1863. SUNDAY. Well ! yesterday was the grand " Fourth of July," Our national holiday. Gertrude and I Went out to my brother's, and spent the whole day In the cool, verdant country, so quiet ; away From the heat of the city, the dust and the din Which prevails from the time that the " Fourth's " ushered in, By the booming salute in the sweet early morn, 'Till the hour of midnight proclaims the day gone. STOLEN WATERS. 19 We passed the day quietly, pleasantly, then At evening came back to the city again. I felt this a.m. just a little fatigued, But to church went as usual, my " Unknown" to see. I saw him, and the smiles, too, that brightened his face, As I my seat took in the usual place. Oh, dear ! I would much like to know what's his name, But yet, what is the use ? 'Tis of course all the same, The gentleman nothing at all is to me, And what is more still, never will, or can be. I presume, did I know him quite intimately, I'd think no more of him than of others I see ; 'Tis the myst'ry that charms me, and if that was o'er I'm convinced I should think of the man never more, I know 'tis a mere passing fancy, and yet It seems to be one I'm not like to forget, At least very soon, — while I sit in the seat Which I now do in church. 'Twould be gladness complete, It sometimes seems to me, if I only could rest For one single moment upon his broad breast, Could but around me have the clasp of his arm, And know that he'd shield me from every harm. But what am I thinking of? How could I write Such words as these Tve written herein to-night ? Yet I read in a fine modern author, to-day, " There is not a true tooman but what longs to lay Her head on the fond loving breast of a man, And see in his eyes the one look that he can Give to no one else in the whole world." And so, why, If the man truth was speaking, oh ! then, why should I, 20 STOLEN WATMiS: As I sit here this evening, in silence, alone? Hesitate to write what not an eye but my own Does now or will ever behold ? Why, I say, If that be the case,; should I blush to obey The wise laws of nature, which prove me to be A true woman according to his theory ? But I'm weary, and sleepy as well ; and the light Flickers so that I scarcely can see now to write. The gas must be poor t — Well ! I'm thro' for to-night. August Wi, 2863„ StTNDAY. How swiftly, indeed, time does hasten along I Two whole months of summer are already gone, The middle of August is now very near, And ere we're aware of it, winter'll be here. But yet, notwithstanding time passes away So exceedingly fast, and that day follows day In such rapid succession that one hardly leaves Their bed in the morn ere it comes dewy eve, Yet the same old story 'tis over and o'er, The same weary routine gone through with once more, The same dull monotony day after day ; Now a trifle of work, then a small bit of play, A book that's absorbing, a brilliant day-dream, Or a bright, flashing ray from hope's glittering beam, A walk now and then on a clear moonlight night, A letter received, or perchance one to write ; STOLEN WATERS. 21 A call from a friend, or a brief visit paid, An engagement fulfilled, or some promises made, Sometimes a fine drive, an occasional song, And thus, tlie long, warm, summer days pass along. I am heartily tired of these trivial things i I would like a change, now, whatever it "brings ; Something wonderful, startling, or thrillingly strange, Something new, something grand, anything for a change I I almost had said I would rather it be Even grief than this sameness so irksome to me. It is true we receive startling news every day From the army, but that's such a distance away, And no one is out there for whom aught I care, With exception, it may be, of Colonel Allair. Nor do I know why I should care for him much, Though I think him a friend, and I like him as such ; But then my acquaintance with him was but slight, And yet I did think he would certainly write. He did not, 'tis true, say he would, but I thought He intended to do so, but that matters not; I was thinking, perhaps, that it possibly might Have been some variation, although it were slight, To the usual round that of late marks each day. But there, let him pass ! I have something to say About the events of the day nearly gone. I went out to service as usual this morn, But not as in general saw I the face Of my charming " unknown " in his usual place; For a stranger, to-day, occupied his old seat In the choir, and thus rendered their number complete. 22 STOLEN WATER8. Mr. S. gave to us a war-sermon this morn, Which I of course listened to only with scorn. I cannot at any time hardly submit Under one of his ultra war-sermons to sit, But think I was annoyed and disgusted still more This morning than ever I have been before. The discourse provoked me, was tediously long ; The music was harsh, and there seemed something wrong, Something wanting, in all of the service to-day, But what it might be I pretend not to say, And I only can tell that, as over and o'er I turned toward the choir, that I missed indeed more Than I like to acknowledge, I think, e'en, to you, My dear Journal, a face that I've been wont to view, A voice I have listened to gushing in song, And smiles that have beamed on me now for so long. I wonder where he could have been all to-day, And what could have kept him from service away. By the way, my dear Journal, I'll say in this place, That I heard a few days since his last name was " Chase,'* And that 'tis his intent to be married soon, too, And then I should like to know what I'm to do ! For she will get all of his smiles if she's there, And he will for me, then, have not one to spare. Such a fate would be terrible (?). And, by the way, Perhaps that is why he was absent to-day, And when next I see him, perchance by his side I shall then see a beautiful, sweet, " blushing bride." But there ! I should really like to know who The " fair ladye " may be if the story is true. And I wonder if he will then give up his place In the choir, if that should be the state of the case. STOLEN WATERS. 23 I hope not ; I do not believe they will find His peer very soon, not, at least, to my mind. Perhaps, though, that I may be partial somewhat; But then, who that ever has heard him is not ! By all I believe he's acknowledged to be " Ne plus ultra " in singing, at least ! But, dear me ! I am too tired to think, and I'm too tired to write, And presume I have said quite enough for to-night. August 23d, 1863. SUNDAY. I have not been to church since the last time I wrote, But have had of the service each day a report, And each Sabbath they've politics had o'er and o'er ; And I thought I would not go to church any more Until there's a change, for I cannot endure Politics in the pulpit, and think, I am sure, We hear quite enough of them during the week, Without going to church and there hear a man speak Of nothing at all beside slavery and war. Now, I do not believe but that JTdo abhor The system of slavery as much as does he, Am just as desirous the slaves should be free. But I own I don't think that the end justifies The means ; nor to me does it seem hardly wise Our country to plunge into this civil war — Which every nation should always abhor — And our fair land to cover with unnumbered graves. For the possible issue of freeing the slaves. 24: STOLEN WATERS. I think that if there had been made a decree That every child henceforth bom should be free That it better, far better would been in the end, For all would, of course, educated been, then, For freedom ; been qualified thereby to do Their share in this life's hard, stem battle. And, too, In a few fleeting years slavery would have been o'er, And the " cry of the oppressed " would be heard never more — All chains would be broken, all slaves would be free. And then, too, how many fond hearts there will be . Left sad, and how desolate ! I don't pretend To be so patriotic. I never would send Any dear friend of mine, to lose limb, perhaps life, In this fratricide war, in this unholy strife. I am not patriotic enough, yet, to bind The sword to the side of a loved friend of mine, And to bid him " God speed," with a clear, tearless eye ; Bid him go forth to battle, perchance, too, to die, All alone and forlorn, with not one dear friend nigh To catch the last word, or last, tremulous sigh ; Or, in a rude hospital, sick and unfriended, To lie moaning with pain, yet unwatched and untended j Or what would be worse still, in prison to be, Unfed and unclothed, sick for sweet liberty. Had this cruel war been with some other nation, We could have endured our fair land's desolation — Our broken home-circles, our firesides so drear, The hush of the voices that once were so dear. So fearfully hard it would not be to see Our loved ones torn from us. Yes, it would, indeed, v s STOLEN WATERS. 25 Be different far if 'twas strife with another Land or power ; but brothers against their own brothers ! 'Tis too horrid to think of, or speak of, or write ! And I think, too, that I have already said quite Enough on the subject ; I did not intend To do the same thing which I just now condemned, And preach a " war-sermon," my Journal, to you. And perhaps, j ust as ultra this one has been, too, As those Mr. S. writes, which I can't endure. But I'm not in the pulpit, and I am assured That my congregation is not a mixed one, So I think there is not any great mischief done. It has been pretty stormy the whole day, and so I did not this morn go to church ; and although I expected, as usual, they'd have war to-day, And that our Mr. Tenor remained yet away, I was somewhat mistaken on both points, I find, For the sermon this morn was exceedingly fine — Father told me (he went out this morning alone), And the music of course was, because " my Unknown" His usual seat in the choir filled this morn ; And of course I regretted that I had not gone. I would like to see him, and find out if I can, If of him I must think as a lost, married man. And I might have been able to tell if I'd gone To church. But, it's being so stormy this morn, She would not have been out very probably, so I presume it's as well now that I did not go. But I would like to know if he's married or not — I, indeed, scarcely think that he is. I forgot 2 26 STOLEN WATERS. That I had the gentleman's name ascertained j I should call him by it. Yet it's all the same f To me he's the " Unknown," beside, I'm not quite Assured that the name to me given was right. As father thought he would go down town to-night, And as it was stormy, and dark, too, about Half-past seven, to service none of us went out. But next Sunday morning, I think I shall go. And try to find out if he's married or no ; And then, my dear Journal, I'll let you know, too, And until then I think I must bid you adieu. September 9tfi, 18G3. WEDNESDAY. Again over two weeks have flown swiftly past, And two Sabbaths have flitted by since I wrote last. I service attended two Sundays ago, And saw Mr. Tenor, but still do not know Any better, in fact, than I did the last time I wrote of him here in this journal of mine, If he's married or not; I indeed only know That as usual he sat in the choir ; know, also, That no lady was with him that morning, and, too, He looked and appeared just as he used to do. I might, therefore, as well still believe him to be, Until I know better, " heart-whole, fancy-free ! " STOLEN WATERS. 27 * I went out to Tarrytown last Saturday, Remaining 'till Monday, and so was away From service on last Sunday morn. Nothing new Has occurred since that time. Yes, indeed ! there has, too ! The carrier called yesterday afternoon, My Journal, and brought me a letter ; from whom I could not imagine at first, as the hand Was quite unfamiliar ; but when I began A perusal of ifc, and had looked to see where It was dated, inferred 'twas from Colonel Allair ; And, on turning to look for the name at the close, I found it to be just as. I had supposed. 'Twas indeed a nice letter, but only just such As I knew he would write, and it did please me much. 'Twas dated at Vicksburg, the twentieth day Of last month ; and informed me that he'd been away On service detached, for some little time past ; But had now been sent back to the army, at last. That at the surrender of V. he was there ; But on the day following, Colonel Allair Was detailed to convey to his far Western home The mortal remains of a friend of his own, His regiment's Major. And that was why he Had postponed for so long, this, his letter to me. But hoped I'd excuse his unwilling delay, And very soon write him a few lines to say He still might regard me a friend. That 'twas not Because for a moment that me he fonrot. But feared that ere this I'd ceased thinking of him. But hoped not, and trusted, though that might have been The case before now, this would serve to remind Me sufficiently of him to send him a line. 28 STOLEN WATERS. I said to him once, I was fearful that we On certain points possibly might disagree. So he writes : " My dear friend, why suppose that we do ? I do not imagine we'd quarrel, do you ? I believe, certainly, every one has a right Their own free opinions to hold. Though they might Differ widely from others, I never should thiuk That they much moral courage possessed, should they shrink From freely expressing the same. And although I am likely to say what I think, am also Willing others should do just the same. So think we Shall not, my dear friend, very much disagree." Then in speaking soon after of what he well knew To be my opinions on war and peace, too, He says : " I imagine, from what you have said, That your ' love of union ' is too limited. I think that, if I understand you aright, That your love of union must ever be quite In abeyance unto your wishes for peace, To your earnest desire that the war should soon cease. Now my love of ' union with peace ' is strong, too, But when it is necessary to subdue Rebellions like this, I say, ' union with war.' But there are more unions that I've a love for. * A union of States, and a union of lands, A union of hearts, and a union of hands.' And a union of man to the woman he loves, Providing, of course, that both parties approve." Then he adds farther down, STOLEN WATERS. 29 " But I yet do not know, Of the passion of love, anything at all ! So, If any peculiar sensations are felt, I own I am ignorant of their effect ; Nor do I intend, now, to make any such Proposals to you, unless I very much Change my mind on the subject. But hope now and then, For some flashes of wit from your bright, lively pen, That, for sweet friendship's sake, you'll sometimes send to me A few Hues, the monotony thus to relieve Of my dreary war-path ; and as far, too, as lies In my power to do so, I ever shall try To render it pleasant to you." That's about All he wrote ! But my light is so fast going out, I must shut up my book, I suppose, for this time, And go down-stairs. But, hark ! the bell's ringing for nine, So the gas in my dressing-room think I will light, Bead an hour or two, and not go down to-night. September 27th, 1863. SUNDAY. My dear little Journal ! I come here once more, To have a nice chat, as so often before "We've chatted together in this tiny room, At sunrise, at sunset, at midnight, and noon. Under all circumstances as well as all times, Bight here, in this little dear " Sanctum " of mine, 30 STOLEN WATERS. This place all so quiet, where no one intrudes, The spot where I always may find solitude, 1 sit here when the morning sun's glorious beams Through the deep, arching window so dazzlingly streams, And gilds with a radiance almost sublime Every, object in this dear apartment of mine — The easy-chair here in this curtained recess, The table beside it with wide-open desk, The papers, engravings, and late magazines, And touches again with its radiant beams Every favorite book in the cases, and all The familiar dear pictures which hang on the wall. I love the spot, then. When the deep glowing noon Makes oppressive the heat, then I come to this room, And I draw clown the curtains to soften the light, If a book I've to read, or have letters to write. Then I love to sit here when the gathering twilight Proclaims day is rapidly yielding to night, Watch the swift-fading hues of the far sunset sky, The stars glimmer out in the blue vault on high, And trying to count them, as fast, one by one, They dot the wide circle of Heaven's arching dome. Then I love to come here in the night's silent noon, When from high, spangled throne the fair, pale " lady Moon" Serenely looks down on the still, sleeping world, With its armies at rest, and its banners all furled, Its doors barred, windows blinded, and storehouses closed, And everything sleeping in perfect repose. But though on the world she looks coldly, and me, She floods with pure silver each leaf, bud, and tree, And my " Sanctum " she fills with a weird, mystic light. Oh, who can help loving a clear, moonlight night ? ■STOLEN WATERS. 31 Then I sit in the window and rear in the air Castles gorgeously grand, and surpassingly Mr ! And give myself up for the time to bright dreams, And imagine that all things are just what they seem ; That all that doth glitter is pure, unalloyed gold, That the world is not heartless, and cruel, and cold, That friends never are false, nor our loved ones untrue, No lost hopes to mourn, and no errors to rue, That all is sweet harmony, purity, love, No sorrow below, and no dark clouds above. But when wishing to sleep, give me then a dark room, No gas-light, no star-light, no light of the moon, Let the curtain droop low, and draw down the blind tight, And bid to things earthly a silent good-night. Well ! my brother each Saturday's been up for me To go for the Sabbath with him up to T. Since the last time I wrote, and of course, too, I went — I had no excuse, there was naught to prevent, And so I have not been to church 'till to-day, Although I disliked much remaining away. And it did seem so pleasant to be there once more, And to hear the grand organ's exquisite notes pour All through the vast temple, and hear once again The tones of the choir with the organ's notes blend. 'Twas nice, just to sit in my usual place, And see there above me the same smiling face. I went out to service this eve, too, again, It is so pleasant there in the evening ; and then I like my " Unknown " to observe best at night, Though he looks quite as well by day as by gas-light. 32 STOLEN WATERS. He's splendid in all places, and at all times ; And I do like him ever so much, too, in fine J By the way, I believe I at last have found out His name ; and this time, too, without any doubt. I never, in fact, believed really yet My former intelligence very correct In regard to the matter ; nor could I have called Him by that ; but his name is not pretty at all, The first or the last ; but T think I'll not tell You, my Journal, what 'tis — think 'twill be just as well That you should not know it. Suffice it to say That his first name is " John," and a name, by the way. That I never did like ; although 'tis, it is true, Quite a family name with us. Then I have, too, More friends by that name than by any beside, Its Colonel Allair's, too ! My Journal, good-night. November M, 1863. TUESDAY. To-day is my birth-day ! I'm nineteen to-day, Can another whole year have so soon slipped away ? And can it be possible that I have seen Of girlhood's sweet birthdays the last in my teens ? It seems, when I look back,, almost like a dream, The years that have passed since I entered my teens, And thought it would seem such a very long time Before I was out of them ! But, Journal mine, The long years have flown very quickly away, And my nineteenth birthday I welcome to-day. STOLEN WATERS. 33 The weather to-day rather stormy has heen, But cleared off quite pleasant before evening; The sun sank to rest in the beautiful west, In his rich-tinted robes just as gorgeously dressed, As if he'd not hidden almost the whole day His glorious head behind dark clouds of gray, And only emerged for a parting good-night Ere leaving our world with his life-giving light. Well ! as it had cleared off so wondrously fair, I thought I'd go out for a breath of fresh air. And so, dressing, I went down to Ed Vamey's store, For some pond-lily, pens, one or two trifles more. He seemed, as in general, glad to see me. What a singular man he to me seems to be ! Like Lord Byron's " bird with cerulean wings," ■ Whose song ever " seemed saying a thousand sweet things," So his eyes and his tones do speak volumes sometimes, As he touches my hand, or his glances meet mine. His every word is almost a caress, And his manner, in truth, seems at times scarcely less. He's a rather fine-looking man, and — let me see ! His age I should think is about thirty-three. I wonder sometimes if he seems just the same To all lady friends, or e'en some I could name ; I presume that he does, though, but such looks and tones I could give to no one I've as yet ever known, And though I'm disposed very often to flirt He seems too much in earnest, and fear I might hurt His feelings far more than I'd gratify mine, And for such a flirtation I now have no time. With letters so often from Colonel Allair, And my " Unknown " to think about, too, do not caro 2* 34 STOLEN WATERS, Another flirtation just now to begin, At least with Ed Vauiey. Enough, though, of him ! Let him pass for the present. And, oh, by the way, I learned the address of " my Unknown " to-day, His residence, his place of business, and all ! Next time I go down town I think I will call At the store ; and if he should then chance to be in, And I am so fortunate as to see him, I shall know I am right ; then I'll send him a note. Just the sweetest one also that I ever wrote. And now, as the hours are fast taking their flight, My birth-day I'll bid a regretful good-night ! November 9th, 1863. MONDAY. I of course went to church morn and eve, yesterday, It has been quite a time now, since I've staid away. Saw my charming " Unknown," and I heard once again His exquisite voice in the solemn refrain, And met the soft glance of his splendid dark eye, And saw the same smile, as in days now gone by, Such " perilous glances," " bewildering smiles," I very much fear this poor heart will beguile, 'Till I yield me a captive to love's rosy hand, While he binds me qiiite fast with his glittering band, And unlike " Ellen Douglass " and " Malcolm Graeme," Sis hand '11 hold the clasp, while my neck wears the chain ! STOLEN WATERS. 35 "Went down town this p.m. my friend Annie, and I. So I stopped in the store as I chanced to pass by ; I purchased a magazine, at the same time Looking 'round for the owner, that " Unknown " of mine. And I looked not in vain ! for, apart from the rest, He sat, calm, serene, at a low private desk Swiftly writing — oh, would that it had been to me He was tracing those lines, graceful, careless, and free, Intent on his task, never once raised his head, Nor while I was in there a single word said. He did look so handsome, so splendid, so grand, Sublimely unconscious, that so near at hand Was a girl just sufficiently foolish to let His mild, handsome face haunt her thoughts even yet. But enough ! let him pass ! I have seen him, and when I get ready a note I will send him, and then Perhaps he will sit in the very same place, And over my letter bend his handsome face. November 15th, 18G3. SUNDAY. The last week passed quietly, calmly away, With nothing important to mark its brief stay. My sister came home from the East, Thursday morn, And the next day a note from my friend, " Colonel John." That is all, I believe, that is worthy of note, Except that one evening a few lines I wrote, 36 STOLEN WATERS, Intending to send it off to my " Unknown," But my heart having failed me, I left it alone, And its in my writing desk, still incomplete, But I think I will finish it during this week. It rained this A.M., so we all staid at home, And father and I went this evening alone. "We were rather late, also, and when we went in, The choir were just taking their places to sing. My " Unknown " was there in his usual place, Smiles adding their charm to his fine, manly face ; And as the rich light with its radiance warm, Beautifying and brilliant, streamed over his form, To his strange fascinations quite captive once more, I thought him more pleasing than ever before. What is there about him bewitches me so ? I am sure that I would very much like to know. It is not his face, for although it is fine, And I've praised it so highly, too, time after time, Yet I've seen a great many far handsomer men. There's Colonel Allair, to begin with, and then Charlie Darling, and Morrill, and Gus, and — oh dear ! A great many more that I can't mention here. It must be his manner, if 'tis not his face, His sweet smiles, witching glances, his fine, manly grace, His exquisite voice ever charming me so ; And I think, more than all else, the fact that I know So little of him, and not like to know more, And am sure if I did that the spell would be o'er. Acquaintance would break the enchantment, I'm sure, And of my girlish folly effect a full cure. STOLEN WATERS. 37 Well ! the service soon endecTas all things must do, And here I sit talking, my Journal, to yon, And showing, you see, just how foolish I am, To waste so many thoughts on a quite unknown man. But there ! not a single word more will I write ! So I bid you, my Journal, once more a good-night. November 18th, 1863. WEDNESDAY. Well ! the deed is accomplished, the die has been cast, And I've sent to my " Unknown " a letter, at last ! I wrote it last evening, despatched it to-day, He'll receive it to-morrow, if there's no delay. I'm impatient to know what its destiny '11 be ; If he'll deign to send a nice answer to me, In " charity " written, with kindly words fraught, Or cast it aside as unworthy a thought — Misconstruing the motive with which it was sent, Alone on its author bestow his contempt. My letter ran nearly as follows, I guess, First, the usual form of the date and address : Date— " New York, November 18th, '63. Address — " My dear Sir : " I trust you'll pardon me, And not deem me bold if I send you a line, You a stranger ! Thus laying aside, for a time, All etiquette rules ; hoping you'll not refuse To freely forgive me ; and for my excuse, 38 STOLEN WATE11S. Pleading int'rest in you, and my hopes you will send A few lines in answer to your unknown friend. I saw you at first, if I recollect right, Over one year ago, and in church, Sabbath night. What drew my attention at once, by the by, I know not, unless 'twas the glance of your eye, The smile on your lips, merry, careless, and free, And your exquisite voice ever charming to me. Since that time I've seen you again and again, And each time I have liked you more, even, than then ; And although it is possible I have no skill In reading correctly one's character, still I think I may say you're not one to object To a little flirtation, if innocent — yet If I am mistaken I wonder if I Could not reach your vanity if I should try. Is it nothing to win an emotion from one Who yields to the charm of yoxir presence alone ? A passing emotion to win from the heart Of one who has never been ' pierced by love's dart ' ? Whose pulse other men have no power to thrill, Who is queen of herself — and intends to be still ? You will think this is strange — so do I ! — but you know There are many strange things in this poor world of woe ; And I must repeat my sole motive to be, My desire from your hand a few lines to receive — There ! I might have delayed a month longer, or so, And then for my reason had ' Leap Year ' you know ; Why did I forget it ? But 'tis all the same. Now 'tis not my intention to tell you my name, STOLEN WATERS. 39 Or aught of myself, and am sure 'twill be vain For you to attempt any knowledge to gain Of your correspondent, and it is alone A future acquaintance to you'll make me known. But here let me tell you, en passant, my friend, That though to a stranger this letter I send, That though < to thee only e'er turns my fond heart, And life is all lonely except where thou art,' Though I sometimes < long for a glimpse of your face, With hopeless heart-achings for one dear embrace,' Yet your wife — if you have one — is not, by the by, Notwithstanding all this, any purer than I, And the friendship I now entertain for you, too, Is as disinterested, as sincere, and true, As the most nice, fastidious person could wish. I presume that I need not ask you to keep this Strictly private ; a man of your age can but know That it is for your own interest to do so, Even more than for mine. And, indeed, I may say, That it matters but little to me, either way, For you are acquainted with no one that knows The hand which I write. So you see, I suppose, You can know naught of me, except what I propose This time or in future to you to disclose. " Now in closing my note, I ask — will you not send A few lines in answer to your unknown friend ? And if, in the mean time, you should regard this With favor sufficient to grant me my wish, Will you not oblige me by wearing your ring On your left hand, the next Sabbath morn, when you sing ? Not so ignorant am I of what we all call The ' world,' not to fancy with readiness all 40 STOLEN WATERS. You may think of the one who this note sends to you. But judge me with charity, as is my due, And some time you may have occasion to change Your opinion of me ! — 'twould be naiight very strange ! Now, hoping to hear from you during the week, I am, " With sincerity, " Yours. " < Bitter-Sweet.' " That, except my address, is the whole, I believe. I may have an answer by Saturday eve, But probably not 'till the following week. I am glad I have finished — I'm almost asleep. November 22d, 1863. SUNDAY. One more holy Sabbath has vanished among The things that have been ! And once more I am come For a few moments' chat, my dear Journal, with you ; As there's now nothing else I'm desirous to do, And as I don't care to retire either, yet, Though I ought to before very long, I expect, For it's nearly eleven now, I must admit. I don't like to go to bed early one bit 1 I meant, as I said the last time that I wrote, To have gone yesterday, to find out if a note At the office was waiting, in answer to mine I despatched to my unknown friend " once on a time." STOLEN WATERS. 41 But when I was dressed, and had stepped out the door, I perceived what I'd quite failed to notice before, That 'twas then raining fast ; so I thought I'd delay My walk to another and pleasanter day. I did not, in fact, care about getting wet, And 'twas doubtful, beside, if he'd written me yet. Well ! I've been out to church morn and evening again. As a matter of course, my dear Journal ! and when The choir were come forward the first time to sing, Of course my first glance was for his diamond ring. And my first thought for him ! And as then from my book I raised my eyes slowly, my first quiet look Was rewarded by seeing him standing up there, And looking as merry, as gay, free from care, As handsome, as smiling, as splendidly grand, As ever before. And there on his left hand, And taking especial pains to have it seen, Was, as I expected, his elegant ring. To-morrow some time I'll be certain to go To see if he's sent me a letter or no. Or if he was playing when carrying out The request I in mine made his fine ring about. My brother and sister were in town to-night, And went to church with us. My " Unknown " was quite Amused about something, but Zdo not know, Of course, what it was. But — I think that, although With the same laughing glance he looked into my eyes, Betraying therein no unusual surprise, No curious wonder, yet he does not dream That I'm his unknown correspondent, 1 ween. 42 8T0LEN WATERS. His ring still remained on his left hand to-night, And I saw it, of course ! but he did not make quite So much effort to hold it in such a way, then, That it might be observed — as he did this A.M. Sometimes 'twas behind him, as often he stands, And sometimes his hymn-book was held in that hand. But here I've sat dreaming and writing of him And events of the day 'till my eyes are quite dim, So my book I will shut \ip this instant, and write Not one other line in my journal to-night. November 2Qt7i, 1863. THURSDAY. To-day is "Thanksgiving! " But first let me write What has happened to me since the last Sunday night — That is, the result of my venture last week, The kind of reception my letter did meet, With all that pertains to the same ! You must know The morning hours, Monday, dragged tediously slow, While the tasks which employed both my hands and my time, Helped but little to quell such impatience as mine — Provoking impatience ! my most common sin ! Which makes in my heart such perpetual din, Which ruffles my temper, and oft clouds my brow, Unstrings every nerve, 'till I'm ready to vow That life is a burden I fain would lay down, And yield with the cross all my hopes of the crown ; STOLEN WATERS: 43 That life is a battle the strongest must win, Be they powers of good, he they powers of sin. So much for impatience ! which, last Monday morn, An unwelcome guest, which refused to be gone, With hand on my heart-strings, kept close at my side, And made the slow hours e'en more tardily glide. Well ! the afternoon really did come at last, And about two o'clock, or a few minutes past, I was dressed, and had started for Brooklyn, to see If there was at the office a letter for me. (I directed, my Journal, his answer should be Sent to Brooklyn Bost Office, in order that he Might the less reason have for suspicions of me ; For I, of course, do not intend he shall know Who I am, either now or hereafter, and so I must take all precautions lest he should find out, As he would be glad to do, I've not a doubt!) Well ! when the detestable clerk there had eyed Both me and my letter till quite satisfied, And quizzed me 'till patience was vanishing fast, The much wished for letter he gave me at last. With it safe in my hand I left there in great haste, And for New York I started at once with quick pace, And once more to impatience succumbing, you see, And regardless of what etiquette's rules might be On the point, I at once broke the seal of my note, And in the street read what my unknown friend wrote ; But glanced through it so swiftly, I really knew Little more of my letter when I had got through Than when I began ; but I hastened back homo, As fast as I could, and when once more alono 44 STOLEN WATERS. I read the nice note to my heart's full content Which he to his new friend so kindly had sent. He writes an uncommonly nice, handsome hand, Especially so for a true business man, Full and round, smoothly flowing as well as quite plain, And the well-expressed sentiments, pleasing, the same ; On " Carson's Congress " it was written, enclosed In a plain buff envelope ; the same, I suppose, Which he keeps in his office for use when he writes To his business friends. That, too, is just what I like ! Whenever a man sends a letter to me I like that the note should a manly one be, In paper, envelopes, and handwriting, too, As well as its contents both honest and true. But whenever a lady a note sends to me, I don't care how dainty the billet may be. To return to his letter again ! Journal, dear, I suppose you would like me to give to you here A copy of it, as I have done of mine, And I think I will, too, though I hardly have time ; It was not very long, or at least the one sheet Was not nearly filled. It commenced — " < Bitter Sweet ! ' " Your note of the 18th to me came to-day, And I truly can do nothing less than to say, That, as well as surprised, I of course could but be Somewhat pleased at its contents ! But you must per- ceive * That you have indeed the advantage of me, And I am of course very curious to see STOLEN WATERS. 45 And know yon ; altho' you need have not a fear I will take any means not quite open and clear, And every way hon'rable, to ascertain What would give me much pleasure to have you explain, — That is, who is taking such int'rest in me, And who my unknown correspondent may be. " What a fine, pretty hand you are writing ! and so, Of course, young and fresh it must be. Do you know What Don Caesar Bazan exclaims to the veiled bride, As he takes her white hand upon reaching her side ? ' It's tol'rably soft, and I'm curious to know, With such a small hand, if a wrinkled face goes.' Now that is just what is the trouble with me, And I wonder if I could your hand just once see, I could of your face judge, as you seem to trace — Or affect to at least— by a glance at my face, My character social. But, let me ask ' who Hath made thee a judge ' as between me and you ? Who has said I objected to what you have called An ' innocent flirtation ? ' Oh, no ! not at all ! And as to the ' vanity,' I have my share. King Solomon seems to have had some to spare, If we judge by his words. " But there ! I cannot write. To you, except 'tis with some vagueness, to-night, As I do not know who you may be — man or woman, A spirit or goblin, Divine or quite human. And do you remember what ' Sam Weller ' says (Of course you read Dickens ; all do in these days), ' Weal pies wery good is, when one knows as what They are made of.' But who you may be I know not, 46 STOLEN WATERS. Though the writing does look quite familiar, 'tis true ; I never was good at conundrums ! Are you ? If your wish is to see me, why, you can do so ! I'll not eat you, no cannibal am I, you know. I think up to Carleton's I'll go, by the by, And a copy of ' Bitter Sweet ' purchase — shall I ? Do you mean to some fun have at my sole expense ? I've a poem that's better than what you have sent, Or quoted from, rather, but think it will keep Until I know more of my friend ' Bitter Sweet ! ' I shall think in the meantime, believe me, of you, With only the ' charity which is your due ' — All of my nature's charity, which I believe I may say, too, is much. " Now in closing, receive My kindest regards, and believe me to be, Now and ever, indeed, " Truly yours, " < Antony.' " " To ' Bitter Sweet ! ' (wormwood and sugar.)" And that Was the end and was all. Can it be 'tis in fact A note from my " Unknown " I hold in my hand ? Am I dreaming, or is it a truth, that the man Whose eyes have so often of late sought my own, And whose every motion familiar has grown, To whose voice I have listened again and again, In solo, or chorus, or solemn refrain, Has over this letter bent his handsome face, That his hand held the pen which these kind words have traced, STOLEN WATERS. 47 That his heart or his brain has dictated this note, A pleasing reply to the one which I wrote ? I cannot the fact realize. By the way ! I saw at an artist's rooms lately, one day, A picture exactly like my " Antony." (En passant, he seemed to adopt readily, The fanciful name which I signed to my note, And instead of his using his own when he wrote, He too took a fancy one ! mine ought to be " Cleopatra," to match well with his " Antony!' 1 ) To return to the picture ! And whose it might be, Or if it was his, I was anxious to see. The resemblance was striking, the painting, too, fine. I gazed at its details for quite a long time. I was sure it was him, or that if it was not, Whoever it was, he had certainly caught His smile and expression! and not only that, The poise and contour of the head were exact. The features were like, and the beard worn the same, And in all points the likeness was perfectly plain. His name of the artist I presently asked. What was it ? let's see! I believe it has passed Wholly out of my mind. But it matters not, though ; He resides up at Harlem is all that I know. It was not my " Antony." Oh, by the way, Had I gone to the office on last Saturday His note I should probably found, as the date Was November 19th. But it's getting quite late, I must haste with what else I'm intending to write. 48 STOLEN WATERS. The first thing I did, of course, last Monday night, Was to sit myself down at my desk, to indite A reply to my note. And I asked him to send His next though to Brooklyn, in care of a friend, My cousin Lorette. She was over to-day, And I told her about it ere going away. And charged her to keep it quite safely for me Did the letter arrive before Zwas there. She Thought it was romantic, yet hardly approved. She thinks that the world and its people should move In the one self-same channel forever and aye. But I tire of the same events, day after day, A change like sometimes, and the stranger the better. Oh dear, I will try and get back to my letter. I don't know what ails me ! somehow I can't keep To-night on one subject. I am not asleep, I believe. But then ! I've been so blue all the day, Though there is no reason for it, I must say ; I believe that I am not like other girls quite. A houseful of friends we have had here to-night, In fact, have all day, and all friends near and dear, But somehow the day has been lonely and drear. To to-day, though, I have not arrived yet ; my thoughts Seem to be anywhere else except where they ought. Once more to my letter ! The first thing I wrote Was but to acknowledge receiving his note, With thanks for the favor ; and as to the rest, 'Twas less sentimental than saucy, I guess. I began with affectionate warmth, it is true, And there was an undertone of it all through, But yet it could hardly be called sentiment. As the frail wood anemone's delicate scent STOLEN WATERS. 49 Is too fresh and too faint to be named a perfume, So this was too faint and too pure. To resume ! I thanked him, of course, for replying so soon, And fulfilling my wish in regard to the ring, "Was exceedingly glad to find, I assured him, By the letter which I that p.m. had received, That he in that point at least had not deceived His friend yet unknown, howe'er treacherous he Might in the dim future himself prove to be. I gave him in answer to what he would know Of me and my name the quotation below : " I know a girl with sunny curls, And shoulders white as snow ; She lives — ah, well ! I must not tell, But wouldnH you like to know ? She has a name, the sweetest name That mortal can bestow. 'Twould break the spell if I should tell, But wouldn't you like to know ? " Somewhat tantalizing he 1 !! think it, I fear, The best I can do for him now, though, howe'er Desirous he may be to know more of me. Then I said — " So you fancy that if you could see My hand you could judge of my face ! I will try And send you a photograph of it. Shall I ? Of course you can't guess who I am ! I did not Suppose that you could ! but I know all about You and yours ! and not only that, but I've been In your business place, and you were writing, too, then — But it was not to me. 3 50 STOLEN WATERS. " Don't you like, my dear friend, My nom-de-plume ? Why ! I am sure that the end Is sweet if the rest is not ; possibly, you Will find, if I'm sweet, I am bitter some, too. Its language is ' truth? I believe I am true ! J think the name pertinent all ways ! don't you?" I spoke of attending the service to-day, If nothing prevented, and went on to say That I never could see him at all, where I sit, Except during singing, and if he saw fit To sit farther forward, just so he could see The preacher, he at the same time would please me. And added,