HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. CXV.DECEII113E~, 1859.VOL. XX. WASHINGTON ~ 1859. tion which records the work of its days in the completion of stately marble palaces and lofty referring to the number of Harpers llfag- domes; it is also a very inspiring thing to feel azine published in December, 1852, our that every grand building, every noble avenue, readers will find an accurate portrayal of the and the constantly repeated demands for a broad- Federal Capital as it then appeared. We know er area of beauty, are but faint symbols of the of no fact which can supply so much reason for working of that mighty providential fiat which, the patriotic pride of every citizen as the im- from the chaos of a continent overbrooded by mense changes which, even in tbe short period the still darkness of barbarism, has in two short that has since elapsed, our political metropolis centuries called forth villages, towns, cities, has undergone. Seven years of American pro- statesa whole nationfull of restless enter- gress might furnish material for an epic. We prise, and led continually forward by the prompt- count our cycles not by centuries but by months. ing of some yet unrecognized purpose. During It is a wonderful thing, and instructive, to be per- the last five years Washington has made amaz- mitted to witness the process of that new crea. ing strides toward permanent grandeur; and al- Kntered according to Act of Congrece, in the year 1859, by Harper and Brothers, in the Clerks Office of ~he Dis- trict Court for the Southern District of New York. VOL. XX.No. 115.A VIEW FROM TUE UPPER TERRAcE, OAPITOL GROUNDS. 9 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ready the City of Magnificent Distances has to the House, this important amendment was hecome more remarkable for its magnificence agreed to. But an amendment being added, than for its distances. No longer are our legis- that the laws of Pennsylvania were to remain in lators compelled to wade through a morass in force nntil repealed by Congress, hy preventing order to pass from the Capitol to the White the immediate consummation of the plan, spoil- House, and the sportsman must find his quarry ed Germantown of its destiny. The Senate, in regions more remote than the Centre Market, availing itself of this trifling amendment, post- although malice asserts that some incipient Nim- poned the whole subject until the next session rods still find that the surest place to obtain of Congress. their game. In the mean time, before the meeting of the Before entering npon a description of the beau- next Congress, the Legislature of Virginia adopt- tiful public buildings which have recently lent ed a resolution offering ten miles square of its such a marked improvement to the capital, per- territory on the Potomac to the Federal Govern- haps it may be well to rescue from dusty ar- meat for the location of the capital. It also of- chives, and to place on record where they will fered one hundred and twenty thousand dollars be forever accessible to the people, some of the for the erection of public buildings on condition facts which attended the selection of Washing- that the offer of territory, or a portion of it, should ton for the seat of the Federal Government. be accepted. At the suggestion of the Virginia During the Revolution the Continental Con- authorities, Maryland made a similar offer of gress sat for the most part at Philadelphia, al- territory with seventy-two thousand dollars. The though it was compelled by the movements of Southern people were deeply aroused and agi- the British army to vacate that city, and to pass tated about the subject; and Mr. Madison said through a migratory career at Baltimore, Lan- that Virginia would not have ratified the Con- caster, York, Princeton, Annapolis, Trenton, stitution except with the understanding that the and New York. The Federal Government, an- seat of Government was to be located south of der the present Constitution, was inaugurated Pennsylvania. at New York in 1789. At the first session, A compromise was at length agreed upon. which commenced immediately, petitions came. The capital was to be permanently located at in from various town and state governments in some point on the Potomac between the East regard to the permanent location of the seat of Branch and some point on the Conecogeagne ; Government. The Eastern States and New and until suitable buildings could be erected, the York were opposed to the premature agitation Government was to reside at Philadelphia. By of the question when there were other measures an amendment, the ten miles square might ex- which their representatives considered of greater tend below the mouth of the East Branch, so as national importance demanding immediate at- to include Alexandria on the Virginia side of tention. Among these important matters was the main Western Branch, but the public build- the proposition to assume the debts of the States ings were to he on the Maryland side. The an- by the Federal Governmenta measure in which pr6nounceable Conecogeague, which is named the New England States were doubly interested: in the bill, was forgotten in the execution of its first, because, as they alleged, they had made provisions, and is practically as far from the seat the greatest pecuniary sacrifices in support of of govern~nent as the jilted Germantown; and, the war; and, secondly, because their citizens we believe, it has never ceased to murmur its dis- were in possession of an undue share of state se- cordant complaints to the hills and gorges of curities. They were also averse to the removal Washington County, Maryland, beyond the Blue of the capital to any point south of New York; Ridge. and the latter State, as a matter of course, con- Immediately after the settlement of this ques- curred with them in this policy. Pennsylvania tion the Funding Act, with an amendment pro- was divided between Philadelphia and a point viding for the assumption of the State debts to the on the Susquehanna called Wrights Ferry, not amount of twenty-one millions, was taken up in far from Havre de Grace. New Jersey was for the House and passed, two members represent- Philadelphia; Delaware would perhaps have pre- ing Potomac districts changing their votes and ferred a point lower down the river; Maryland coming to its support. Others, says Judge was divided in its preferences between Baltimore Marshall, would have done likewise if neces- and some point on the Potomac. The Southern sary to carry the bill. He subjoins, by way of States, including Virginia, North Carolina, South apology, that the gentlemen who changed their Carolina, and Georgia, were unanimous for the votes were understood to have been all the while Potomac. favorable to the policy of assumption; but if In the first session the House passed a resoin- the capital was to be located north of Maryland, tion for the permanent establishment of the seat they were opposed to any measure calculated to of Government at Wrights Ferry, on the Sus- strengthen the Federal Government. quehanna, as soon as suitable buildings could be Mr. Jefferson, whose writings were not pub- erected; and in the mean time the Government lished until long after Judge Marshall wrote, was to remain at New York. This resolution gives a full explanation of the transaction in his was matured into a bill and was sent to the Sen- Anas, substantially agreeing with the above, ate, where it was amended by the substitution except as to the feelings which governed the of Germantown for Wrights Ferry. Going back Potomac members in changing their votes. WASHINGTON IN 1859. 3 tie states that never, in his day, was the Union so near its dissolution as at the date of the above transactions. The most serious grounds of sec- tional discord were the questions of assuming the State debts and the location of the capital. The North laid great stress upon the former, the South upon the latter. The President and Cabinet were at their wits ends for sonic plan of ad justment. He (Mr. Jefferson), then Secretary of State, met Mr. Hamilton, the Secretary of the Treasury, opposite the Presidents mansion. The latter, with an air of grave solicitude, took Mr. J. s arm, and walked him back and forth for half an hour in earnest conversation upon the perplexing state of affairs. Hamil- ton thought that an accommodation or compro- mise might be effected by connecting the two vexed questions with each other. Jefferson, who had just returned home after a long resi- dence in Europe, was wholly unacquainted with the financial affairs of the country, and complains that General Hamilton tricked him into the sup- port of his plans. At any rate he invited General Hamilton to dine with him the next day, and prom- ised to have other parties present who could join in the friendly conference. He only listened, or exhorted to moderation. Hamilton thought if the South would concede the assumption of the State debts, the North would consent to the lo- cation of the capital on the banks of the Potomac. So, says Mr. Jefferson, two of the Potomac members (White and Lee; but White with a revulsion of stomach almost convulsive) agreed to change their votes, and Iiamiltoa~ undertook to carry the other point. Hildreth connects the name of Robert Morris with that of Hamilton in the negotiation of this compromise, and concedes to the former the mer- it of its suggestion. We may observe, in pass- ing, that, according to Mr. Jeffersons own statement of the case, it is difficult to under- stand how he was cheated by Hamilton into the office of candle-holder to his plans of stock jobbing. The matters seem to have been ar- ranged in the most business-like manner, with no other disagreeable incident than the con- vulsive revulsion of stomach of one of the Po- tomac members; whose travail, considering that he was giving birth to a great capital, will excite but little wonder. Washington is situated at the head of tide- water and of navigationor, more accurately, these points are included within the District of Columbia, but extend a short distance above the city. The ebb of the tide is arrested at the Lit- tle Falls, about three miles above the corporate limits, and navigation ceases at Georgetown, which is separated from Washington by Rock Creek, the streets of the two places being con- nected by the bridges which cross the stream. On the east the city is bounded by the East Branch, a small tributary from the northeast, which, penetrated by the tides, was formerly navigable for sloops as far as Bladensburg, six miles from the Capitol. Seventy-five years ago this town shipped tobacco to London; but for many years past all navigation, except by canal boats, propelled by poles, has ceased, in conse- quence of the filling of the channel with the ac- cumulated washings of the neighboring fields. The town, however, notwithstanding its tradi- tional glories as a sen-port engaged in the foreign trade, probably never had more population than at the present momentviz., about five hundred. Georgetown was, and still is, a place of much higher pretensions. Like Bladeusburg, its coni- mercial glories have departed. It no longer boasts of its commerce with London and Liver- pool; although the harbor is good, and it still carries on a languid West India and coasting trade in coal and flour; with return cargoes of groceries, furniture, etc. rrhe population in- creases slowly, and is now two or three times greater than when the town had a brisk and prosperous foreign trade. As a suburb of Wash- ington it is destined to become famed for its princely private residences, the abodes of foreign ministers and wealthy citizens. Alexandria, town and couiity, which were in- cluded within the original limits of the District, were, in 1846, retroceded to Virginia. It is difficult to understand why they were made a part of it, in the first instance, coupled with the condition that no public buildings were to be erected on that side of the river. Since its re- annexation to Virginia its prospects have great- ly improved. The State has granted charters to .railroads terminating at this point, which were refused so long as it remained a foreign territo- ry; and these works have been prosecuted with vigor. The improvement in trade has been marked; and the town has now a population of about fifteen thousand. It has a high and healthy location, with a fine grain-growing region back of it, which is rapidly improving under the spur of railroad facilities as well as of Northern im- migration. The situation of Washington itself is one of great beauty. From the top of the Capitol, or of the unfinished Washington Monument, the city is seen to be situated in an amphitheatre surrounded by graceful hills on the east, north, and west; while on the south the broad and beautiful Potomac opens out a magnificent vista, where placid waters mirror the hills and tree-tops of Virginia and Maryland for many miles. The view down the river, of a fine summer morning or afternoon, from any elevated point in Washing- ton or Georgetown, is one of surpassing loveli- ness. But the most essential advantage of position possessed by Washington is the salubrity of its climate. No city in America of equal age and population, perhaps, has suffered so little from pestilence. The cholera~ that terrible plague. which has repeatedly scourged other cities, North as well as South, has paid only one visit to the National Capital; yellow fever, we believe, has never made its appearance. Small-pox has nev- er produced a panic; and notwithstanding the many swamps, marshes, and standing pools by which the sparsely-peopled city is surrounded, 4 IL~RPEWS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 9 0 0 0 0 0 0 z WASHINGTON IN 1859. 5 the whole family of febrile diseases barely gives which now forms the centre of the new edifice, is wholesome exercise to the physicians. 352 feet 4 inches; in width, the wings are each It was argued by those who favored the loca- 121 feet; and the centre, including the portico tion of the capital on the Potomac that it was and steps, is 290 feet deep. The west front has important for the Legislature and Government a receding loggia 100 feet in length, aud contain- to be beyond the control of large commercial ing ten columns. This recessed portico is ap- cities. It was insisted that at Philadelphia or proached through the lihrary, and affords a meg- New York the ruling powers would he liable to nificent view of the city and its environs; south- intimidation by mobs, and to be biased in their ward, the vision is carried to Alexandria, Fort acts by the proximity of wealthy merchants and Washington, old Arlington (the seat of the late bankers. How keen must have been the strife Mr. Custis), and along miles of the beautiful slop- for the settlement of this question we may learn ing banks of the Potomac. In the city, right under from the contemporary newspapers and corre- the spectators gaze, are the Smithsonian Instite- spondence, as well as from the various maguifi- tion, the Washington Monument, the Patent-Of- cent plans for laying out the city and for build- flee, the Observatory, the Treasury Department, ing the public edifices; showing that the prize and various beautiful edifices, while in Penusyl- must have been regarded by all interested in the vania Avenue, from the Capitol to the White location as of incalculable pecuniary value. It house, he sees the panorama of life reduced to a may serve to allay any alarm that may have been mimic scale. The rotunda is 96 feet in diameter, created in rural districts by the large sums re- and was surmounted by a dome, shown in the cently expended on the improvement of the cap- engraving of the Capitol, in Harpers Month~q ital to remind the reader that, even to this hour, for December, 1852, but now demolished to make great as have been the expenditures of the last way for the noble construction which is to replace five or six years, many of the plans submitted by it. The new dome will rise 241 feet above the General Washington have not yet been attempt- building, which is itself 69 feet in height, rank- ed; although perhaps the size of the huildings, ing 310 feet above the level of the ground, which the unparalleled and unexpected growth which must be added the terracing, which in- of the country has forced the nation to construct creases the height above the ordinary level 86 for the public service, far exceeds the wildest feet, making a total elevation of 396 feet, being 4 speculations of the projectors of the city. feet less then the height of St. Pauls Cathedral Our engraving is a faithful representation of in London, and 36 feet less than St. Peters at the new Capitol. The corner-stone of the old Rome. Capitol was laid on the 18th of September, 1793, The original building was constructed of a very by George Washington, in the presence of a large poor yellow sandstone, obtained in the neighbor- concourse of citizens, public officers, the Masonic hood, and it was found necessary to paint it, fraternity, and many military coiiipanies. The both to preserve it and, if possible, to beautify building was designed by Dr. William Thornton, it. The extensions are of white marble, which who, although not a professional architect, was is proeured from the State of Connecticut, and ~vell versed in architectural matters. His plan it is a matter of great importance that as soon had been submitted to the President the previous as possible the sandstone in the old walls may veer, and was approved, but referred to Mr. S. he replaced by the same stone that the new Ilallet, who, after some slight changes in the de- portion of the buildin6 is constructed of, and sign, commenced the construction of the edifice. that here and at the Patent-Office the really He was soon removed, and his place supplied hy grand design may not be marred by a want Mr. Hadfield; who, in tuva, was superseded by of uniformity in the materials. The extensions Mr. James Hobson, the architect by whom the are connected with the old building by very fine Presidents mansion had been erected. Under corridors, each 44 feet in length, and 26 feet Mr. Hobsons direction the north end of the wide, with outside colonnades, consisting of four building was completed. Again the designs columns, making a total width of 56 feet. Th~ were modified, but this time to a much greater new wings, which constitute the extension, are extent, by Mr. Latrobe, who, in 1803, was ap- each 324 feet in length from east to west, and pointed by President Jefferson architect of the 152 feet wide from north to south, making the Capitol. total length of the new building, comprising tIle In 1811 the south wing was completed; but old edifice, the corridors, and the width of the the breaking out of hostilities between En- extension, 745 feet 5 inches. The corner stone gland and the United States caused a suspen- of the south wing was laid with very imposing sion of the work. It was in this unfinished ceremonies by President Fillmore, on the 4th of condition when those ever-to-be-deplored acts of July, 1851, and the occasion was made memor- spoliage took place which were more disgrace- able by the delivery of an eloquent oration by ful to the British arms than injurious to this Daniel Webster. country. The whole building has a rustic basement, When peace was restored, Mr. Latrobe having supporting an ordonnance of Corinthian pilasters. resigned his position, President Monroe appoint- A noble portico, 160 feet in length, supported by a ed Mr. Bulfiuch to fill the vacancy, and under double row of columns, each 30 feet high, adorns his faithful oversight the work was at last com- the centre on the east front, and furnishes a fit- pleted in 1825. The length of the old Capitol, ting Forum for the inauguration of the Presidents C HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 0 Q WASHINGTON IN 1859. 7 of the Republic. This is really the main entrance to the Capitol, although from its relation toward the city it is generally supposed by strangers to form the rear of the building. A grand flight of steps leads us up to the porch, which contains two singularly inappropriate representations of Peace and War (by Persico); War being represented by an individual in ancient armor wbo, despite bis Roman garb, seems to have violated the military law by falling asleep at his post; while Peace, though clad like a lady, has a more masculine and forbidding countenance than we usually as- sign to the gentle goddess. The Discovery of America is fitly symbolized by the figure of Co- lumbus with a miniature globe in his hand, while an Indian maiden crouches at his feet; the latter work is by the same artist, and does more justice to his fame. On the other side, the early strug- gles of our Pioneers are symbolized by a group representing the rescue of a mother and an in- fant from the scalping-knife of an Indian; exe- cuted by Greenough. Overhead is a pediment 80 feet in length, ornamented with a group of statuary, representing Liberty, attended by Hope and Justice, while in the beautiful garden which lies before the portico is Greenoughs colossal statue of Washington. On the eastern or main side of the new wings are porticoes in the centre of the fa9ade, support- ed by twenty-two Corinthian columns; the pedi- ment of the north wing (which contains the Senate chamber) is one of the triumphs of Amer- ican art; it contains twelve exquisite figures, designed by the lamented Crawford, and executed in American mnrble by Italian artists resident in Washington. In the centre of this beautiful work of art is the genius of America, behind whom the rising sun typifies youth and prosperi- ty, and on either side are figures emblematic of the mechanic, the pioneer, the soldier, youth, education, commerce, the hunter, the Indian chief and his family (whose posture near a grave, with the abandoned tomahawk by his side, sadly pictures the passing away of the aborigines). On the western front of both wings are porti- coes, 105 feet in width, with Corinthian columns. On the south side of the south wing, and also on the north side of the north wing, there are porticoes 121 feet in width, and having ten Co- rinthian columns. The exterior of the edifice is one of the finest achievements of architectural science in modern times. Without the preten- sion of the British Houses of Parliament, it stands grand, solitary, overlooking the city, while on the highest point, a landmark visible far down the river, is to be, unmoved by storm and sunshine, the last and best work of Crawford, the colossal figure of America, crowned with stars, bear- ing the arms of the warrior and the wreath of victory, and forming a fitting apex for the ma- jestic fabric! The present inclosure around the Capitol con- tains only thirty-five acres, a space quite too con- tracted to permit the censtruction of the orna- mental grounds necessary to do justice to a build- ing which itself covers 62,000 square feet. The necessity for purchasing several squares of land adjoining the present grounds is so manifest and has been so frequently admitted by the successive administrations, that persons owning the property necessary for the enlargement, have from year to year delayed the erection of buildings, so that at this time the houses immediately surrounding the Capitol are of the commonest sort, with a few exceptions. During the thirty-fifth Congress an attempt was made to bring the negotiations to a close, but although well advanced when the ad- journment occurred, the all-absorbing Kansas discussion occupied so much time that this im- portant matter was again deferred. It is to be hoped that the new Congress about to assem- ble may determine to purchase the required land; for as the matter lies, it commits a double injustice. The demand for land for the erection of first-class dwellings has been forced to seek the west end of the city, from the prospect that Congress will condemn the larger part of Cap- itol Hill ; while, on the other hand, the value of the property is annually increasing, and public policy would seem to dictate an early purchase, because the public necessity should be supplied with the least expense. The interior decorations would require more space for their description than we can afford in a single article; the corridors and committee rooms are richly ornamented, the visitor walks upon the finest encaustic tiles, carved marble columns are on either side of him, and beautifully frescoed and gilded ceilings are over his bead. The Representatives 1-lall, in the south wing, is 139 feet long, and 93 feet wide, and although at first regarded as too ornate, in a few years, when time shall have toned the colors, it will be found as nearly faultless in its ornamentation as can be expected from so vast an undertaking. The criticisms upon its acoustic properties we believe to be exceedingly unjust; standing in the clerks desk we have found no difficulty in being dis- tinctly heard, with a very moderate exercise of our vocal powers, in any part of the vast chain- rzuinau~ or THE NORTH WINO. 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ber. The true reason of the imaginary acoustic their attention, members will find the new defects will be found, we fancy, in the absurd arrangement for giving each member a desk. On the opening of the n& xt Congress a very sal- utary and long-desired refonn is to be inaugu- rated by the removal of all reading and writing facilities from the floor of the House. For- merly, instead of watching the debates, cach mem- ber was engaged in franking, writing, or read- ing his correspondence. The business of the country will be expedited, and the comfort of the members vastly enbanced, by the adoption of the English system. Moreover, being brought into near contact, less space will be required; and having no unnecessary noises to distract hail a very easy place to speak and hear in. A new plan of lighting the ball from above has been introduced, and is found to work ad- mirably, except that the heat generated by the burning gas is sometimes very oppressive. The arrangements for heating and ventilating are ex- cellent, and reflect great credit upon the archi- tects. The new Senate Chamber is even richer in its appearance than the Hall of Represent- atives. It was occupied last winter, and gave entire satisfaction; the Senators, however, va- cated their cheerful hall in the old building with great reluctance, and still regret the loss of their old-fashioned fire-places and the pleasant out- look from the windows. The approaches to these two halls are worthy of the great nation whose strength the Capitol so well symbolizes. The display of marbles, all from American quarries, could hardly be surpassed by any of the older countries. But, delightful as we find the theme, we must leave the description of the interior, with a single word of thanks to the architect, Mr. Walter, and the superinter~f1ent, Captain Meigs, for the excellent service they have done the State. The Congressional Library, which was destroy- ed in 1851, has been replaced by a perfectly fire- proof building of great beauty, in which a su- I)erb collection of books is already classified and arranged. Immediately after the destruction of the former Library, Congress made an appropri- ation of $75,000 for the purchase of books; the judicious expenditure of this sum, and the an- nual appropriation of $7500, places at the dis- posal of Congress a very large and excellent li- brary, to which access is, by courtesy, granted to literary men and others. The necessity for such an arrangement was foreseen by Mr. Jefferson, who succeeded in obtaining about 2500 volumes, which were all consumed in the British raid upon Washington in 1814. Under the management of the very efficient Joint Committee of Con- gress the present Library bids fair to become all that could be desired in a national collection of books. In the article to which we have twice referred the hope is expressed that in five or six years what is known as the Mall would be improved so as to furnish a park worthy of the capital of the great republic; but, alas! even while the anticipation was being penned the master-spirit of that noble enterprise was passing through a painful exit from the beautiful, which always surrounded him below, to the beautiful above. In the melancholy death of Downing, America lost a man who had the wide vision to perceive, and the genius to execute, a work such as would have done honor to the nation. Since his de- cease but little has been done toward beautify- ing the space between the Capitol and the Poto- mac which is set apart for the peoples park. It is only justice, however, to except the Congres- sional green-house, which has been vigorously and untiringly advocated and fostered by the Hon. James A. Pearce, Senator from Maryland, AME2ucA, TIlE APEX OF THE DOME. 9 WASHINGTON IN 1859. whose refined taste and true gentlemanly in- stincts make him the unwaverin,, friend of all that appertains to literature, art, or beauty. Under his judicious management the Congres- sional green-house, instead of being a mere flow- er-shop, has become, in floriculture, a central in- fluence felt to the remotest verge of the country, wherever people love flowers, and wish to in- crease the number or virtne of these gentle min- isters of the good and loving in nature. Midway of the Mall stands the Smithsonian Institution, which has undergone little change, except that the various objects of curiosity, in- cluding articles brought home by the Japan and other exploring expeditions, have been removed from the Patent-Office, and placed here. In front of the building is the monument erected to the memory of the lamented Downing. Just beyond the Smithsonian Institution, go- ing toward the Presidents mansion, is the un- finished shaft which was originally intended to be a monument to Washington; but the spa- cious gallery which was to furnish us an Amer- ican Waihalla exists only on paper, and the shaft seems to grow no higher. Ilowever, as the direction of this commendable enterprise has been recently returned to its original man- agers, we hope for more active measures. It would be a relief to those who have seen this unfortunate affair day, after day, for seven years, to witness some energy expended upon it, even if it were only to pull down what has been erected. In point of magnitude the extension of the Treasury Department, so as to form a suitable building for the Department of State, is, per- liaps, the greatest undertaking at present in pro- gress. The following engraving shows the south and west fronts of the new edifice. The work has been going on about three years, and is rap- idly approaching completion. The original build- ing is 342 feet long, fronting on Fifteenth Street, immediately east of the Presidents mansion. It presented an unbroken colonnade, the ends hav- ing been purposely left unfinished with the ex- pectation that the present extension would ulti- mately be built. It produced a very unsatisfac- tory impression on the mind of the spectator, the imposing nature of the attempt not being fulfilled in the execution. The style of archi- tecture is that known as Grecian Ionica peril- ous selection, for the attempts made in this coun- try and in Europe to apply the Grecian style of architecture, either to puhlic or private edifices of the present day, have generally been fail- ures, so far as harmony, appropriateness, sim- plicity, and gracefulness are involved. Neither the taste nor the invention of the architects have usually been able to retain the spirit of the orig- inal when applied to buildings constructed for modern use. Perhaps in no case is this more strikingly ex- emplified than in the old part of the Treasury building, as it stood when the extension com- menced. The east front was a portico or colon- nade, consisting of a long, uninterrupted line of Grecian Ionic columns, adopted for this work from the most elaborately ornamented examples of that order, but deprived of their entases, and mostly denuded of their proper ornamentation both of which are essential to give to the col- umns their true dignity, grace, and character. Those columns are placed upon a perfectly plain hase or podium, forming the basement story of the building, to light the rooms in which its face is pierced between the columns with plain rectangular openings for windows. This po- dium has neither base, die, nor cornice, but rises smooth from the foundation, and is terminated at the top by the square arris or edge of the por- tico floors; nor have the windows in it any cas- ings whatever. To add to its uncouthness, when an entrance to the building through the colon- nade was required, it was found necessary to bring forward the podium some seven feet, as a screen to the stairs and platform required for the use of the public; thus making an unfortunate adjunct to the architecture of its fa9ade. The wall under the portico (in Grecian architecture known as the wall of the cell) has a series of autme, or pilasters, which correspond with, and are immediately in rear of, the columns. These antmu should have had a close correspondence, in style and character, with the columns; but by depriving their capitals, in a great measure, of their ornamentation, they detract from the beau- ty and harmony of other parts, to which they ought to add relief and support. In each of the spaces between the antie are three openings, one above the other, for windows and doors, the upper tier being but one half the size of the two below. The three openings for doors are characterized by a very meagre architecture, not at all in keeping with the style of the building. The entablature of the columns exhibits the fewest faults of any part of the arrangement, and the balustrade is tasteful and appropriate. The ordonnance of the rear of the old building con- sists of a Grecian Ionic anta or pilaster of the same intercolumnation, derived from the same example of the order as the east front. But the capitals, though composed of the same moulding, lack the necessary embellishment to give them distinctive character, and to harmonize them with other architectural parts of the building. The design for the extension, as prepared by T. U. Walter, Esq., upon the plan suggested by the Hon. H. M. T. Hunter, Senator from Virginia, and approved by committees of both branches of Congress, gave the general outline, in most respects corresponding with the old part; but the details varied so much that it was not pos- sible to harmonize them, or latelligently carry them out. This led to the decision not to con- fine the details of the extension strictly to the details of the old building, but to make them such as would give the best effect to the style of architecture. It then became a question how far deviations could safely be made from the original work without departing from the prin- ciples of good taste. By reference to various buildings, ancient and modern, it was found that 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. great latitude has al- ways been used in archi- tectural details. And if authority is wanted, sufficient is found in the single example of the Erectheum (the temple of Minerva Polias, and the Pandrosium heing but parts of it), to war- rant far greater devia- tions than it has been found necessary to make in this case. The gen- eral design of the ex- terior was to flank the eastern front of the old building by pavilion ter- minations of the south and north wings, pro- jecting some seven feet in front of the face of ~ its columns. By this ~ means it was to a great s.~ extent isolated from the ~ extension, and all neces- ~ sity for following its de- ~ tails avoided. Thus be- ~ ing left at liberty to ~ make any judicious ~ changes, the first point ~ was to arrange the base ment story so that it ~ would not be liable to ~ the objections of damp- ~ ness, want of light and 0 ~ ventilation, incident to ~ the old part. To effect ~ this the floor was low- ~ ered two feet, which the ~ gradual slope of the ~ ground renders appro- ~ priate, and thereby the ~ story is increased to 13 feet in height, and the windows, instead of be- ing square and unsight- ly holes, are enlarged to proportions suggestive of comfort and elegance. Beneath this basement there is a cellar 12 feet in height. By this ar- rangement there is an extra wall of hammered gneiss extending from one foot above the cellar bottom to the grade of the surrounding ground. The walls of the exten- sion, from the bottom of the cellar to the top of the building, viz. cel- lar, basement, second and third stories, with the attic above, are of WASHINGTON IN 1859. 11 hammered granite. For the cellar wall the coarse granite, or gneiss, from the quarry at Port Deposit, Maryland, was originally select- ed, on account of its strong and durable char- acter; but, after innumerable delays, it was found that sufficient quantities from that quarry could not be delivered with a rapidity consistent with economy in the prosecution of the work. Attempts were then made to obtain it from other points in the vicinity, and also from Rich- mond, Virginia, hut without success; and the superintendents were compelled to procure much of the large stone for this purpose from the same quarries from which the material for the super- structure is delivered. The entire granite for the superstructure, and milost of that for the foun- inlations, is obtained from a quarry at Dix Island, near Rockland, off the coast of Maine. This is n barren island of granite, cresting out of the ocean, about five miles from the main land. The large blocks of gm:anite taken fro~n that quarry have a beauty, compactness, and uni- formity nowhere else equaled in the world. So steep and sheer are the sides of the island that vessels drawing thirty feet of water come in di- rect contact with it, and the large masses of rock are quarried out and swung aboard without inter- mediate hauling. Vessels of peculiar construc- tion and of great strength are made for the special purpose of shipping the immense pilasters, columns, and other large stones to Washington. The absence of all necessity for land-carriabe renders this stone cheaper than that from Quincy and other places, much nearer the seat of Gov- ernment than Dix Island. The walls of the Treasury Extension above the cellar, are: a basement story forming a stylo- bate, and, resting on it, an ordom~uance of autte of the Grecian Ionic order, 45 feet in height. The stylobate is intended to be decidedly of a Grecian character, its base, die, and cor- nice, are beautiful in themselves, but as here brought together they have an effect peculiarly appropriate and pleasing. The window open- ings in the die are managed so ns to give them all the character needed, without loading them with ornament; and the whole arrangement ot sills and piers, and the continued cornice, which serves as a window cap, is entirely novel. The antte, and the filling of the spaces between them, are so arranged as to accomplish the very diffi- cult combination of the adaptation of Grecian architecture to modern uses, without spoiling its inherent beauties. The style of architecture is more fully preserved, and its design carried Out by the use of single blocks for the yolumns and autte. These enormous masses are raised by means of machinery, designed by the superin- tending architect of this we k, and used in rais- ing the pillars of the Boston Custom-house, which was also built under his superintendency. The arrangement of the interior of the new build- ing varies essentially from that of the old, and from public offices generally, in being divided into larger and more commodious rooms. In- stead of the narro~v, cell-like apartments, with one or at most two windows, into which the pub- lic departments in Washington are subdivided, the Treasury Extension will present the health- promoting novelty of spacious and airy saloons, capable of accommodating the clerical force of n bureau. The superintending architect has made a laudable and success- ful attempt to national- ize the interior embel- lishments, without in any degree impairing the general architec- tural effect. Indeed, in many cases, the ele- gance and symmetry of the details are improved by his national adapta- tions; for instance, the moulding, known as the egg and dart, is substituted by an acorn and Indians arrow- head; and while the transformation is too slight to alter the gen- eral effect, the symbols to the close ohserver are more satisfactory because more signifi- cant. This attempt to characterize by some well-known American emblem the leading points of the ornament- ation, has also been successfully applied to AMERICALN CAPITAL IN TH~ INTEEIOII OF TREASURY DEPARTMENT. 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. z 0 z 0 z Q 0 0 z 13 WASHINGTON IN 1S59. the elaborate capitals of the interior columns. In Street front there is an open vestibule, the ceil- these, while the general character of Grecian ing of which is composed of richly ornamented architecture is followed, in the composition the marbles, supported by four marble columns in national eagle is made to perch proudly under the Done order; the walls, niches, and floors, are each of the graceful volutes, surrounded by other also of marble, all hem, finely polished except characteristic emblems, adroitly blended, so as to the floor, which is richly tesselated in white produce an effect similar to other composite capi- and black. This is the grand entrance for the General Post-Office department, and harmonizes tals adapted to this style. In this way, through the whole interior, the with the entrance to the Patent-Office which is common error has been avoided of adopting for on the next block north in the same street. the ornamentation the stereotyped scroll work, The entrance for the mail~ wagons on Eighth which, though graceful in itself, has no special Street consists of a grand archway, the spandrils significance, and has, besides, been degraded by its of which are ornamented with sculpture repre- uniform application to the decoration of eating senting Steam on one side, and on the other saloons and barbers shops. In its place elegant Electricity, while a mask representing Fidelity designs of fruits, flowers, and other products of forms the key-stone. The F Street front is ar- the American soil have been substituted. These ranged for the accommodation of the City Post- details were designed by A. B. Young, Esq., the Office; it has a deeply-recessed portico in the supervising architect. The old unfinished edi- centre, consisting of eight columns grouped in fice was 342 feet in length, from north to south, pairs, and flanked by coupled pilasters, support- the building as enlarged is 465 feet long, exclu- ing an entablature which girts the entire work. sive of the porticoes, by 266 in width; when The portico is supported by an arcade, which completed it will present four fronts upon as furnishes the most ample convenience for the de- many streets; and the long rectangular space livery of letters to the public. Mr. T. U. Wal- between these four fronts is subdivided by a cen- ter, the architect of the Capitol, who designed tre building, extending from east to west, into this extension of the Post-Office7 has given the two courts, each about 130 feet square. These best evidence of his ability to discharge fitly his large interior courts, which are essential to the important obligations to the people, in the excel- occupants of the range of interior apartments for lent arrangements he has here devised to com- ~)nrposes of light and air, will be adorned by bine simplicity, convenience, and beauty. We grass, flowers, and the play of fountains of pure doubt if there is a building in the world more water. chaste and architecturally perfect than the Gen- The material of the old building is a very in- cml Post-Office as now completed. Without ferior, as well as unsightly sandstone, similar to the imposing grandeur of its neighbor the Patent- that of which the old portions of the Capitol and Office, it is so symmetrical, and the details so Patent-Office and the Presidents House are con- faithfully executed, that it carries us back to the structed. Paint and putty, or mortar, have palmy days of Italian Art. been resorted to for the double purpose of pre- The immense building which is devoted to the venting disintegration, and of disguising the de- Department of the Interior, including the Bureau formities of the walls; and in all the cases, ex- of Patents, Indian Affairs, and General Land cept that of the Treasury, with decided success. Office, has been enlarged, and its capacity more Numerous, or, more properly, innumerable holes, than doubled, the extension being demanded by from the size of a pea to that of an apple, have the incredible amount of business transacted in been plugged, and the sickly yellow of the stone the Department. We have not at hand the in the other buildings has been covered by pure statistics of the patents issued in America since white. But less taste has been displayed on the establishment of the Government; but we the Treasury. The columns and the pilasters venture to say that, startling as is the following are a pale or whitish yellow, and the walls be- statement, which we extract from a work pub- tween the pilasters are a dark yellow, or brown lished under the authority of the British Gov- color. The gray granite basement has also been eminent, of the increase of the mechanical de- desecrated with paint, whether for the sake of velopment in that country, the same period in uniformity or variety it is difficult to saythe American history would exhibit a more remark- result a very pale blue, being near enough to able evidence of the wonderful impetus which that of the colonnade above to leave the matter the last century has given to material progress. in doubt. In Great Britain, The General Post-Office has been enlarged by From 1010 to 1~0O there were patented ~6T inventions extending the building around the entire square, iioo to 1800 2,0~7 leaving a court-yard in the centre of 95 feet by 1800 to 1851 ibOOO 194 feet for light and air. The architectural ~ 1851 to iSOS (only four years) 10,000 style is palatial, and the order a modified Co- Admitting only a similar increase in the pa- rinthian. The columns of the new portico each tent business of our country, bearing in mind consist of a single block of Italian marble very the constant and rapid opening of the West- beautifully chiseled, the capitals are of the same em wilderness to civilization, and the majestic material, the design and the execution of these Patent-Office, as now completed, will not seem columns affording the most cheering evidence of unduly magnificent. It stands indeed as a very the advance of American Art. On the Seventh hopeful and significant sign of the growth, en- HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Q Q z H WASHINGTON IN 1839. 15 terprise, and keen intellect of the nation. On do so generally for want of reflection. They a clear moonlight night there is nothing more ask, Why should the citizens of Wnshington henutifud than this immense edifice of pure mar- he favored ahove those of all other cities in the l)le, glistening with the moonheams, and almost Union? Why should the Government huild speaking to the heholder of the vastness of his streets, and parks, and aqueducts for Washing- countrys power and theworth of its Union. The ton, and give not a cent for such purposes to order of architecture in which this grand edifice Philadelphia, New York, New Orleans, or St. is huilt is Grecian Doric; there are porticoes on Louis ? The answer is easy. Nothing is giv- the south, east, and west sidesthe south porti- en for the people of Washington. They may co heing copied from the Pantheon. The total reap incidental advantages greater than the citi- height is 74 feet 11 inches; it is 275 wide by zeus of other places, because they have chosen 406 feet 6 inches long. In the third story are Washington for their abode; but all such ex- saloons for the exhibition and preservation of penditures are made in order to render the seat models, although until recently the space was of Government worthy of the nation. occupied by an immense collection of curiosities Washington was founded in the wilderness. which is now more properly deposited in the The President and Cabinet and members of Smithsonian Institution. Congress found it difficult to traverse the mag- We have been thus particular in describing nificent distances, either in carriages or on foot. these new buildings, because the architecture for many years after the Government resided and taste of the nation ought to be represented here. The population was small and poor, and by its public edifices. If it is true that the utterly incapable of paving any one of the im- architecture of a people records their mental and mense streets, which the accommodation of the moral condition, then certainly the contrast be- public officers demanded. What was to be done? tween the new and the old public buildings in Whose duty was it to provide for the public ac- Washington must be gratifying to every patriot. commodation? Was it not, and is it not, as And we say this, not only as regards the greater clearly the duty of the Federal Government to size, but the marked regard for truthfulness in incur these expenses as to build a Capitol? To the designs, and the employment of material, this day there is but one street in Washington We regret that at the Capitol, Treasury, and paved by the Government for more than a few Patent-Office, the granite and marble should still squares. Pennsylvania Avenue, from the Cap- he obliged to endure the company of the wretch- itol to Georgetown, a distance of about two miles ed sandstone used in the older portions of those and a half, is the exception. The other paving, buildIngs, and we are not without hope that the save that around the public bnildings, has been day is not far distant when this decaying stuff done by the citizens, and that without the priv- will be removed to make room for stone that ilege of taxing public property. needs neither paint nor putty to make it endur- It is due to the national dignity that Wash- able. Unfortunately the General Post-Office, ington should be, if not a great city, a great ecu- though built of marble, e~ibits two very distinct tre of whatever is noble and beautiful in archi- kinds in the old and in the new portions of the tecture and the fine arts. The President could edifice. live in a log cabin, and Congress might meet There is one other public work, which has ,just under a tent, in good weather, or perhaps your 1)een completed, to which we beg briefly to call rigid economist would grant a large square brick the readers attention. The idea of supplying building, such as is used for cotton factories. the City of Washington with water by an aque- But the public intelligence and taste demand duct extending to the Great Falls of the Poto- that the halls of legislation and the departments mac, is an enterprise which dates back to the of Government shall be noble in construction beginning of the Federal Capital. It was a part and of the best materials; combining the great- of the original plan, approved and submitted to est degree of comfort with the highest style of Congress by President Washington, and was beauty. Any thing short of this would be de- then considered necessary as a safe-guard against rogatory to the national character, and for that fires, as well as for the purposes of health, con- reason we might almost say nuconstitutional! venience, and ornament. In that plan large Hence the Capitol, the Presidents House, and and beautiful parks were to be laid off around the Departments must be marble palaces, adorn- the public buildings, to be ornamented with trees ed with statuary and painting, and surrounded and shrubbery, and to be refreshed with fount- by parks, and trees, and flowers, and fountains. ains. It was probably Mr. Jefferson who pro- There should be libraries, and picture-galleries, posed the Great Falls as the most proper source and museums, and whatever illustrates civiliza- of the supply. His residence in France had tion in its highest walks. This is what people given him large and liberal ideas as to the scale expect to find when they visit Washington, and upon which such works should be planned, and they never fail to complain when they are in any satisfied him, economist and strict construction- respect disappointed. ist as he was, that any thing small or contracted The aqueduct now being constructed was pro- in the display of national taste would be ten-fold jected during the latter part of Mr. Fillmores worse than actual barbarism. Those who object administration. The President, in a letter dated to the expenditure of public money npon works September 13, 1852, committed to the Engineer of art and ornament about the national capital Department the duty of making a survey and IIAKPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. estimates of the best manner of introducing into rally be selected for our conduit; and that in- Washington and Georgetown an unfailing and stead of demonstrating tbe extravagance of the abundant supply of good and wholesome water. proposal, it became my duty to devise a work Captain Frederick A. Smith, of the corps, was presenting no considerable difficulties, and af- assigned by Colonel Totton, its chief, to the per- fording no opportunities for the exhibition of formance of this duty, from which he was re- any triumphs of science or skill. moved within a few weeks thereafter by sudden The obstacles enconntered in the construction death. lie was succeeded on the 3d November of the aqueduct may have been less serious than of the same year by the present Superintendent an engineer would have anticipated upon a cas~ of the work, Captain, then Lieutenant, Mont- nal inspection of the ground; but they can nol gomery C. Meigs, of the same corps. The Re- fail to astonish the unscientific spectator; and port of this officer, dated February 12, 1853 pre- it is not impossible that Captain Meigss decided sents an elaborate statement of the advanta~es preference for the Great Falls as a source of sup- of three available sources of supply: Rock Creek, ply may have caused him, in his report of sur- a small tributary of the Potomac, which divides veys, from which we quote, to underrate obsta- Washington from Georgetown; the Little Falls des of which he had in the first instance formed of the Potomac, at a distance of four miles above an exaggerated estimate. The original plan was the city; and the Great Falls, sixteen miles to make the conduit, which was to be tubular in above. The latter was adopted. To bring the form, seven feet in diameter; but at the same water from this place it was necessary to con- time one of nine feet in diameter was suggested struct a conduit fourteen miles ia length. But as preferable, and was adopted. The difference the elevation is such as to render pumping unnec-. of only two feet in the width of the conduit essary. The height of the water above the dam makes the immense difference of nearly two to which turns it into the aqueduct is 150 feet above one in its capacity. One of seven feet will dis- high tide at the city wharves; and the inclina- charge but thirty-six millions of gallons in twen- tion of the conduit is only about nine inches to ty-four hours, while a nine-foot conduit will sup- the mile~ so that the he~ d of water in the dis- ply above sixty-seven and a half millions. The tributing reservoir is nearly 140 feet above tide- larger dimensions adopted of course adds some- water, and 14 feet above the upper floors of the thing to the expense of the work, but not in any Capitol. The dam across the Potomac is 2100 proportion to the additional supply of water. feet in length and 5 feet in height. The water There are in all eleven tunnels, some of them thus diverted from the river passes by a tunnel or several hundred feet in length, and six bridges. culvert under the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal The largest of the bridges is one of the most stu- into a receptacle known as the Gate-House. It pendous achievements of the kind in this coun- is excavated out of the solid rock, and will be try. It spans a small tributary of the Potomac. surmounted by a structure of beautiful sandstone called the Cabin John Creek, by a single arch from the Seneca Quarry, a few miles above. This 220 feet in span, and 100 feet high. The Gate-House will exclude drift-wood and other receiving reservoir is ~rmed by throwing a dam foreign substances from the conduit. across a small stream known as the Powder- The river, from the falls to Georgetown, pass- Mill, or Little Falls Branch. The damn is of es between high ranges of hills, often rugged and pounded earth and floods above fifty acres, mak- precipitous in outline, but always picturesque. ing a reservoir of irregular shape, containing, at The traveler, says Captain Meigs, ascend- a level of 140 feet above high tide, 82,521,500 ing the banks of the Potomac from Georgetown gallons. The water leaves it at a distance of to the Great Falls, would conclude that a more 3000 feet from the point where it enters, and, in unpromising region for the construction of an slowly passing across this pool, wlmich deepens aqueduct could not be found. Supported by to 30 or 40 feet near the exit, it will deposit high walls against the face of jagged and verti- most of its sediment. The Powder-Mill itself cal precipices, in continual danger of being un- supplies two to three millions of gallons of pure dermined by the foaming torrent which boils be- water daily to the reservoir. The estimated low, the Canal (the Chesapeake and Ohio) it a cost of the Washington Aqueduct is ~2,500,000, monument of the energy and daring of our engi- and the daily supply 67,596,400 gallons; the neers. The route appears to be occupied, and Croton Aqueduct cost $10,375,000, and furnishes no mode of bringing in the water, except by iron New York with a minimum supply of 27,000,000; pipes secured to the rocks, or laid in the hed of Philadelphia is provided with a daily supply of the canal, seems practicable. Such were my 15,000,000; and Boston with 10,176,570 gallons. own impmssions; and though I knew that in These comparisons give the best illustration of tlmis age, with money, any achievement of engi- the magnitudeof the work undertaken and nearly neering was possible, I thought the survey would brought to a successful completion at Washing- be needed only to demonstrate by~ figures and ton. measures the extravagance of such a work. In the midst of all the magnificence of the But, he continues, when the levels were ap- public buildings, it is a little surprising that, plied to the ground, I found, to my surprise and with a populatiomm of sixty-five or seventy thou- gratification, that the rocky precipices and difil- sand, there should not be a single church whose cult passages were nearly all below the line architecture justifies ever so brief a notice; with- whiclm, allowing a uniform grade, would natu- out exception, the church edifices present an ap WASHINGTON IN 1859. 17 pearance that would be considered a disgrace to fallsbut they can not vote! They can have no a Western city of twenty thousand inhabitants. Senators, no Representativesno voice in the Among the ancients the capital city, or seat election of President. This anomalous condi- of empire, was the State. The denizens of the tion of the national capital, so different from country, even in the reyublics, had no political the capitals of the ancient republics, illustrates rights except such as the city to which they owed the complete revolution which has taken place allegiance chose to concede to them. We read in the affairs of mankind and the policy of na- of the republic of Athens, not of Attica, of Sparta, tions in the course of two thousand years. not of Laconin, of Carthage, of Rome, and so We have endeavored to confine our article on, not of the subject provinces. The Roman to a review of existing things, and yet, in ex- empire, in the first centuries of the Christian amining it, we perceive that we have slightly era, embraced nearly the whole of the then civil- drawn upon our anticipations; but we are corn- ized world, with a large portion of that which forted with the reflection that America is en- was recognized as barbarous, and all the immense titled to a large use of the future tense. Foreign countries from the Pillars of Hercules, or Straits criticism properly wonders at our constant em- of Gibraltar, on the west, and the frontiers of ployment of the phrases, going to be and Caledonia on the north, to the confines of Persia, going to do, but it is also true that abroad acknowledged the sway, and bore the name of the except in Russia they can only use the past imperial city of Rome. Under the more ancient tense; for their noblest monuments and most despotisms we discover the same pre-eminence beautiful surroundings are only the heir-looms of the cities over the country, in the histories of and old clothes of departed generations. Their Babylon, Nineveb, Tyre, and the Egyptian capi- noblest mission is preservation, ours is creation. tals. In the modern nations of Europe, which For a long period Washington expectancy was a have risen upon the ruins of the Roman empire, laughing-stock for every wandering Englishman, new elements of power have come into playnew who chose to dish up our national peculiarities elements of race, of language, of religion, and in a hash of guide-books, private journals, Mun- of political principlessociety, in fact, resting chausen stories collected in cars and stage-coach- upon a stronger foundation of ideas. The most es, and confused recollections of three months powerful and extensive of modern empires is not devoted to diligent examination into the prop- the London empire, but the British; the power erties of sherry-cobblers, large oysters, and Ca- and importance of a whole people are thus recog- tawba wine. And yet, at this hour, London is nized in the style of the empire, and London, paying a fearful penalty for its neglect of that though perhaps more wealthy and populous than planning for the future which foreigners thought Rome in her palmiest days, has less political so ridiculous in the wide avenues and green power than any half-dozen representative bor- spaces of Washington. Spacious pleasure- oughs. The city has not made the kingdom, grounds are the best friends of law and order; but has grown up with it, and been fostered by it is well for the people to play, and the instinct its trade. It has been the seat of government of childhood points to the open air as the best immemorially, though not uninterruptedly, sim- place for recreation. A grass-plot has a magical ply as a matter of public convenience, and by the virtue for clearing the breast of perilous stuff. choice of the rulers of England. The same may During the fierce heat of summer, it is pleasant be said of Paris; the proverbial saying that Paris to see the large concourse of people which pours is France, is a scarcely warrantable exag~era- into the Capitol grounds, or those around the tion. Whatever liberties are enjoyed in France, Presidents mansion, sitting under the shade of are enjoyed equally by the whole population with- the trees, while the Marine Band fnrnishes the out regard to locality. The representation is choicest music; and it requires no poetic enthu- apportioned with reference to population, and siasm to picture the coming day when the Mall, we believe that Paris, like London, is not par- stretching from the Capitol to the margin of the ticularly favored in this respect. The American noble Potomac, shall be one continuous shade, capital, although voted into being by a free covered with glorious foliage, and vocal with the people, occupies the anomalous position of being rippling of fountains and the song of birds. Then the only one in history which is denied the priv- hard-handed toil and weary brains shall find in ileges that are accorded to the meanest hamlet every sight and sound of beauty not only rest, in the remotest department of the empire. For but hopehope for the perpetuity of that strong even our Territories may each send a delegate to Union which, having created this costly capital, the National Legislature; and being incipient may find it a centre of attraction sufficiently States, sovereignties in embryo, may look forward strong to marshal around it the orderly States, to the time when they are to participate in all and to control even the wildest comets that seek the privileges of the proudest of the Old Thirteen. to fly off into new orbits. Then the seat of Gov- Not so the capital. She may rival - Rome in eminent, adorned as becomes the representative populousness, wealth, and magnificence; her city of Americanot claiming to be the fount- citizens may live under the shadow of marble am of powershall be a beautiful lake, formed palaces, or promenade on avenues paved with by the rills that flow into it from north and mosaic work, or stroll through gardens shaded south, from east and west, and shall forever with evergreens and exotics, perfumed with flow- mirror, on its placid bosom, the great forms of ers, and cooledwith fountains and sparklingwater- the mountains from whose sides it is fed. VOL.XX No 115B 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. HOLIDAYS IN COSTA IIICA. BY THOMAS FRANCIS MEAGHER. / /f,, ~ / /, iI 7 IORRST, WITh COFFEE-CARTS. 1.PUNTA ARENAS TO SAN JOSX ~HE principal entrance at present into Costa ~ I Rica is from the Pacific, at Punta Arenas, in the Gulf of Nicoya. The Golembus, a de- liberate old barque through which a screw has been thrust, brought us, early in March, 1858, from Panama to Punta Arenas in less than three days. The trip was delightful. The coast-range

18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. HOLIDAYS IN COSTA IIICA. BY THOMAS FRANCIS MEAGHER. / /f,, ~ / /, iI 7 IORRST, WITh COFFEE-CARTS. 1.PUNTA ARENAS TO SAN JOSX ~HE principal entrance at present into Costa ~ I Rica is from the Pacific, at Punta Arenas, in the Gulf of Nicoya. The Golembus, a de- liberate old barque through which a screw has been thrust, brought us, early in March, 1858, from Panama to Punta Arenas in less than three days. The trip was delightful. The coast-range HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 19 of Veragun, the northernmost province of New Granada, was within sightoften within stones- throwthe whole of the way. There were the mountains of the promontory of Azuero, glow-. ing through the blue haze all day long. There were the rocks of Los Frailesgray rocks helted with sparkling breakers, in and out, and wide over the spray of which thousands of sea-hirds sportedflashing in the sunset. There were the stars when the sun was gonethe white heach gleaming beyond the line of purpled watersand nere and there the fire of some lone hut in the forest high above the coast. At all times the sea was smoothsmooth as a lake in summer in the midst of warm wooded hills and at noon it was wondrously beautiful and luminous; so lu- ininous that, looking down into its depths, one might have been wooed to fancy it had a floor of diamonds, and that the pink and yellow sea-flow- ers, loosened and floating upward from it, bub- bling as they rose, were made of the finest gold. As for the company on board, ever so many nationalities, professions, phases of life and des- tinies, were comprehended in it. St. George had his champion in Mr. Perryan affable, intelli- sent, high-spirited young Englishman, who had just been gazetted to the British Vice-Consulate at Realejo, Nicaragua, and was on his way to Guatemala to receive his instructions from Mr. Wyke, the Consul-General. The Eagles of Na- poleon were sentineled by a vehement French- mana short, hardy, wiry, flexible, swarthy tbllow, in nankeen trowsers, glazed pumps and Panama hatwho kept perpetually gliding up and down the deck, emphasizing his opinions on music, politics, and commerce to a lanky German with a pale mustache, who, as though he were condemned to it, limped the planks be- side him. This Frenchman was singularly active, ad- venturous, daring. He began life as a fisher- man. From his cradle on one of the terraces of Brest, he was cast adrift into the fogs of New- foundland, and there blossomed into manhood on grog and cod-fish. Slipping away from the Banks, he took to the world at large. He had been every wherebeen to the Antipodesbeen to the Poles. With frogs and crocodiles, snake- charmers and ballet-girls, icebergs and palm- groves, he was equally familiar. Five years ago he found himself in the town of David, in the province of Veragun, two hundred miles above Panama; and there, falling in love with a ra- diant Indian girl, whom he married at sight, concluded to settle. Since then it has fared well with him. His was, in truth, a golden wedding. It brought him herds, plantations, ships, vast plains and forests. Some will have it that he is in secret possession of certain gold minesa veritable El Doradoin the mountains of the Isthmus. The day previous to our leaving it he arrived in Panama, fresh and lithe, after a ride from David of eighteen days through the wildest region. Raging rivers, too deep to ford, oftentimes broke his path. Into these, his clothes bundled up in a turban on his head, he had to plunge, and, battling across them, take his mule in tow. He was bound for San J05~, the capital of Costa Rica, as we ourselves were. Venezuela was somewhat disparagingly repre- sented by a tough andsqualid merchant doingbus- mess in Panama. Importing silk-stuffs and wines, sardines and prunes, he is largely concerned in the pearl-fisheries of the Isla del Rey, and the other islands off the coast. His heart is as close as an oyster, and his face as expressionless and coarse as the shell. Guatemala was more fortunate. Seilor Larraonda appeared for her. His figure and complexion do injustice to his liberality and aos EnALars. 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. graciousness. He is a tall, parched, sallow- faced gentleman, with a patch of gray whisker under each ear, and the fingers of a skeleton; but those fingers have clutched many a broad doubloon. A sugar planter on the princeliest scale, his estate has yield- ed him $200,000 every season for the last four years. Close to the wheel-house, immediately after breakfast every morning, two priests invariably took their seats. Both were from Spain. The one was a Catalonian, the oth- er an Arragonese. The Catalonian was a Capuchin. The Arragonese was a Jesuit. The Jesuit was the more remarkable of the two. He had a freckled face, a blood-shot eye, red beard and whiskers, a faded velvet skull cap, thread-bare soutaine, and plain steel buckles in his sprawling shoes. But under- neath that threadbare gown we were told there throbbed a zealous heart. Under- neath that faded velvet skull- cap there glowed a fertile brain. The Jesuit was learned, eloquent, and pious. A profound Divine, a commanding Orator, an adven- turous Soldier of the Cross, he, too, had o seen most of the world. He had been to China, the Philippine Islands, Paraguay, Brazil. There was more than one~on board whom his history had reached. His Ia- hors, his sacred rhetoric, his heroism in all those lands, had made him famous. The morning of the third day out from a o Panama, the Gulf of Nicoya opened to ad- mit us. Away to the left, Cape Blanco, the eastern pier of this great gate-way glim- mered through the mist. Away to the right, the volcano of Herradura, with the brown island of Cano sleeping in its shadow, stood as a watch-tower at the entrance. Farther up the Gulf, as the mist thinned off, the loftier mountains came forth and shone above the waters. There was the dame of San Pablo, with masses of white cloud rest- ing on it. There was the peak of the Agna- cate quivering in the sun. Beyond, and high above them all, were the mountains of Dota, blendingas though they were vapors onlywith the deepening glory of the sky. All along the opposite shore, clusters of little islandsthe Nigrites, San Lucas, and Pan Sucre scrubby,. barren islands, the roots of which are rich in pearlsone by one peeped out and twinkled. In the mean while the breeze freshened and grew warm; and the sea, broken into little hillocks, lisped and throbbed around us. At noon it was thronged and bustling. We were at our destination. Straggling up and down a long low bank of sand which gleamed across the Gulf, there was Punta Arenas, with its red-tiled roofs, whitewashed frame-houses, church-towers, flag-staffs, and dusky huts thatched with plantain leaves. Dotting HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 21 the glaring picture at different points, and shad- ing it a little, there was the indigo-tree, the poisonous ,nanzanilla, and the palm. Right before us on the beach was a wooden light-house, built and daubed in the fashion of a pagoda. Off there, in the roadstead, was the French flag drooping at the mizen-peak of a brig, from tbe quarter-deck of which a shining telescope had been leveled at us. Nearer to us a Dutch barque, with an awn- ing stretched from stem to stern, and her broad- side hung with matting to keep the timbers from the sun, lay dead upon the tide. All about us were swarms of smaller craftboats, piraguas, scows, bongos taking freight to the ships, or taking it away. All round us were the mount- ains and the forest, girdling the eager and glow- ing scene with solid grandeur and overlooking it in silence; while the church bells suddenly rang out, announcing that the good Jesuit had ar- iived and was hastening to the pulpit of San Rafael. Beautiful as Punta Arenas looks from the glowing Gulf of Nicoya, it is somewhat behind the age. It has no pier, no wharf, no new or old slipnothing of the kind. You go ashore in a boat, a bongo or a scow, just as the fancy strikes you or your purse permits. A boat will cost a dollar. Should the tide be out, the last fifty yards or so of the journey to town, being through the slimiest mud, have to be got over on the back of a native, whose knees, as I can vouch, are none of the steadiest when put to the test of 200 pounds of Irish flesh and blood, a double-barreled fowl- ing-piece and riding-boots included. There is an inner and an outer harbor. The latteradmitting vessels of considerable draught is safe, capacious, and easy of access. Ves- sels, however, drawing more than seven feet of water, have to anchor a league from the land- ing-place, where their cargoes are broken, and thence are brought ashore in scows or lighters. This, of course, is a tedious and wasteful opera- tion, entails expense, and incurs no inconsid- erable risk. The inner harborformed by the main land and the sandy promontory or spit over which the town is scatteredis accessible to coasting-sloops, piraguas, and small schooners only. PUNTA ARENASTHE INNER HARBOR. 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Half an hour ashore familiarizes the stranger with all that is to be seen in Punta Arenas. Close by the landing, ten to one, he comes upon a team of unyoked oxen, munching the green tops of the sugar-cane and cooling themselves in the shade of the geanecaste, the roots of which lie deep in the blistering sand. Trudg- ing with aching ankles through this sand he reaches the Plaza, in the centre of which stands a wooden obeliska sentry-hox of raw work- manship and gaunt proportionscommemorative of the services of General J05~ Maria Caaas, who fought so bravely, and with such magnanimity demeaned himself in the war against the Fili- busters. General Cafias is a native of Punta Arenas, and to his generous encouragement and public spirit the prosperity it enjoys is chiefly owing. There is nothingnothing whatever of the militaire about the General. His features, manner, walk and style of conversation, are those of a very ordinary civilian. This, however, is owing to his extreme modesty and reserve. These verge on an awkward timidity. But after a lit- tlewhen one has been a few minutes in con- versation with himhis countenance lights up, and you see through his clear calm eye, his firm thin lip, and the opinions he concisely enunciates, that he is a man of inflexible purpose, judgment, and bravery. He is most courteous too, kind, chivalrous, and gentle. TESTIMONIAL TO GENFUAL CANAS. The market -place lies a little off the main street, a short distance from the Plaza. It was a bustling place the eveniub we visited it. The coffee was coming down from the interiorsev- eral carts laden with it had already reached the Portand all the booths and stores were crowd- ed. So were the cob-webbed verandas and ar- cades, shading three sides of the buzzing scene. Pyramids of cocoa-nuts and oranges, rags and garters of dried beef; snowy skirts and rainbow- colored shawls, straw hats and sandals of raw leather, ?aaehetes and clanking spurs, the green- est vegetables, parrots, prepared fruits, musical instruments, cheese and pickles, salt-fish and gaudily-printed cotton-goods, black pigs, stewed beans and monkeys, the choicest and the stran- gest novelties were piled up, spread out, and jumbled there. Here, in the coolest corner of the square, was a galaxy of mules, radiating from a post~ to which they had been brought up short and teth- ered by the nose. All about lying down or patiently hearing their ponderous yokes erect were the ox-teams that bad supplied the mark- et with its choicest goods. At every point wherever it seemed a stake could be driven home a fighting-cock was held to bail, and, spite of it, kept the public peace disturbed. The bells of San Rafael, where the good Jesuit was to preach at sundown, rattled their shrill tongues all the while. Every now and then the trumpet at the gate of the cuartel flourished in and swell- ed the riot, while, at steady intervals, the thun- ders of the Dutch barque in the roadstead opened, for the Consul-General of the Hanseatic Towns was paying her an official visit, and in his hon- or fire-works and bunting were the order of the day. In the midst of all this dust, glare and uproar, in the back-room of a posada, close to the mark- et-place, a blind man sat, and, with his dark eyes vaguely following his busy hands, played on the marimba, to the delight of a breathless circle that had deepened round him. Shrouded in the ,aeatilla, there was in that quiet circle more than one bright face bent on Miguel Cruz, of Nicaragua, as he touched the keys of his rude instrument, and made them vocal with his memories of Indian and Spanish song. He was accompanied on the guitar by a speckled native of Massaya. The performance over, the sun gone down, the market-place deserted, we retired to the Americaa Hotela dismal dusty barn kept by a Galician dwarf with a broken nosewhere we lay awake on leather-bottomed stretchers in the supper- room, sweltering and writhing in the midst of the sauciest cock-crowing all night long, and in the morning washed ourselves out of a yellow pie-dish in a back piazza, on the steps of the kitchen. Punta Arenas is the principal port of Costa Rica. For the present indeed, it may be said to be the only one. It is the only one, at all events, of any commercial consequence. The Bay of Salinas is unfrequentedso is the Gulf of HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 23 Costa Rica concedes the Boca in a treaty, bear- ing date the 11th of June, 1856, to New Grana- da, who, by virtue of a chart, published at Ma- drid in 1805, demands it as a portion of ber an- cient jurisdiction. It is useless to both of them. For any practical advantage it promises to eitber, it might as well be a mirage of Sahara. The new road, contemplated to the Serapiqui, will render the port of San Juan del Korte supreme- ly serviceable to Costa Rica. But as it is, Punta Arenas monopolizes the commerce of the coun- try. It is a free port, moreover, having been priv- ileged as such in 1847 by an Act of the Costa Rican Congress, seven years after the deadly port of Caldera, three miles lower down the coast, had been abandoned. All articles of merchan- dise, with the exception of brandy and other dis- tilled liquors, tobacco and gunpowder, are ex- ~mpt from every kind of restriction. The ex- cepted articles, being Government monopolies, are deposited in the Public Stores, and can not be sent into nor out of the country without a special permit. Munitions of war and fire-arms are snbject to a like restraint. Otherwise the fullest liberty is guaranteed to commerce. Ships too may pass in and out, and remain as long as they MARKETING IN PUNTA ARENAS. like, without the slightest annoyance. There is neither tonnage norpilotage, nor souvenirs to Cus- tom-house Inspectors, nor anchorage, nor per- quisites to Health Officers, nor any other leech- ing incurred. Lighterage is the only expense. A wharf or causeway to the anchorage in the outer harbor, would do away with this. The Custom-honse stands sixty miles off in the interior, at the Garita del Rio Grande, low down on the slope of a black ravine. It is there the duties on foreign goods are levied, as it is from that point alone such goods find their way to the towns and villages and the other inhabited portions of the country. Between that point and Punta Arenas a vast wilderness intervenes. The villages of Esparza, San Mateo, and Atenas do not disturb the solitude. They are lost in it. At all events, it is not untilthe Custom-house at the Garita disappears behind him, in the gorge of the Rio Grande, that the importer finds any market worth talking of. There is Alajuela for hint then, and Heredia further on,, and~ San Jos5 beyond that again, and Cartago, with her aris Dolce. Both of them await in their soli- tary grandeur the invasion of the wilderness which for miles and miles surround them. On the Atlantic, tile port of Matina affords an~ chorage for craft of the lightest draught only, and is too shallow and exposed to admit of an improvement. Between the Boca del Toro and the interior there is no road whatever. A no- Ille harborone of the noblest in the world 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tocracy and ruins, the inveterate rival of San Jos6, away behind the Cordilleras. In addition to its being a free port, Pnnta Arenas is a bathing-place of fashionable resort. It is the Newport of Costa Rica. The season opens in January and closes in March. The first families of the country have their bathing- boxes, oyster stews, private cottages, picnics and faedangos there. The Gulf of Nicoya abounds in oysters of a delicious flavor, abounds in shrimps and lobsters, abounds in fish of several varieties, all of the best description. The pearl oyster of the Gulf is famous for its size and beauty. It was strikingly referred to by General Morazan in the splendid defiance he launched in 1839 against the serviles of GuatemalaNi las per- /as del Golfo de Nicoya, ni eloro dell/jo Gnayape, volverdn d adornar la corona del Marques de Aice- nina, este simbolo korroroso de la Aristocrasia.* Punta Arenas is also noted for its excellent water, wbich bubbles up from the bottom of wells a few feet deep. The climate too is wholesome notwithstanding tbe heat, the prevailing intensi- ty of which may be inferred from the fact, that the day we arrived the thermometer stood 9& in the shade. Mr. Squier, in his sketch of Costa Rica, quoting the opinion of Captain Lapelin, of thn French navy, seems unwilling to concede to Punta Arenas any higher degree of salubrity than that which prevents its being positively fatal to human life. Sefior Felipe Molina, how- ever, maintains that Punta Arenas is distinguish- ed for its healthfulness, the purity of its atmos- phere and its perfect exemption from miasmatic influences, circumstances arising, as he justly insists, from its peninsular position and the na- ture of its soil. The general opinion of the country confirms the more favorable impression, and in this opinion the foreign residents of Costa Rica unhesitatingly oncur. But this is not all. Punta Arenas boasts of something else. There is a railroad running through it to the left bank of the Barranca. It is a railroad nine miles long. Built by a party of English speculators, at an expense of 80,000, under the delusion that it would take, to and from the Barranca, all the merchandise pass- ing to and from the interior and capital, they awoke, the day it was finished, to the fact that, for the speculation to pay, a quintal of coffee would have to be charged for the nine miles by railroad, about as much as it cost, or would cost, the whole of the journey, seventy-five miles and upward, by ox-cart or mule-back. Hence it is a losing, if it be not by this time an irretrievably lost, concern. No one uses it save the lame, the lazy, the sick and the blind. The locomo- tive is an abject mule; and it is mournful in- deed to behold the meek creature hauling a bleak house, with two dozen windows in it, after his hoofs, for nine miles through the sand, at the rate of two miles an hour. The evening of the day following our arrival from Panama we set out for the mountains. An hour of brisk galloping, along the beach which connects the town of Punta Arenas with tbe main land, brought us to Chacarita, an outpost of the Custom-house at the Garita. It is here that all foreign ~ods, destined for any point be- tween the port and the Garita, are subjected to inspection, are weighed, and paid for. The out- post consists of a spacious hut, built of bamboo and wild sugar-cane, a banana-patch, and a poul- try-yard. In the smoky interior of the hut, as we rode up to it, an Inspector of Customs, with the stump of a pure between his placid lips, se- renely oscillated in his shirt-sleeves in his ham- mock of aqave straw. Having satisfied him that the blue California blankets strapped to our sad- dles contained a change of linen only, the calm Inspector, without rising from his hammock, with a gentle wave of his discolored band, signified that we were at liberty to proceed. A moment after we were in the heart of the forest. Here, in all its varieties, we had the palm the prince of the vegetable kingdom as Linnuns has called it ever waving those plume-like branches which recall so many scenes of Scrip- tural beauty, festivity and triumphso many scenes of hopefulness and succor in the desert, and of life in the midst of deathand which, as many a carving and vivid painting on sacred walls attest, grew to be, in the red epochs of Christianity, the emblem of Martyrdom for the Faith. Here was the ceiba, or the silk-cotton tree, the shaft of which swells to such a girth that the largest canoes are hewn out of it, while Sir Amyas Leigh, the romantic buccaneer, lik- ens it to a light-house, so smooth and round and towering is it. Myriads of singing-birds build their nests in it, while from the topmost branches, to which tbey have climbed in search of light and air, the rose and yellow and red big- nonias in luxuriant tresses and festoons uncoil themselves. Here was the ?natapalo, or wild fig- tree, spreading out its long, tender, flexible stems over the surrounding trees in quest of some tem- porary support, and having found it, and grown strong enough to sustain itself, turning upon and killing its protector in its serpent-like embraces. Here, too, were several species of the acacia, such as the guanacaste and sasnan, the delicate feath- ery foliage of which was interwoven and blended with the orange blossoms and the large lanceola- ted leaves of the cincona. And then we had the parasitical cactuses in endless varieties, with their pink and violet and cream-colored flowers, clus- tering the moss-covered columns of the forest, and flooding the golden air with the richest fra- grance. A deep, solemn, beauteous, yet majes- tic, forestone of the vast cathedrals of Nature one fashioned of materials, living, effiorescent, fruitful, imperishableimperishable since they perpetually renew themselvesto which the gold of the Sacramento is but as the dust of the road, and the marbles of Carrara are but the types of deathone down through the complex aisles of which, as through no stained window however * Neither the pearls of the Gulf of Nicoya, nor the geld of the niver Guayape, shall ever again adorn that hated symbol of Aristocracy, the coronet of the Marquis of Aice- nina. HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 25 wonderful its magic, the light of Heaven, colored with a thousand intermediate hues, by day and by night, and for all time, with an ever-varying infinitude of splendor, playsone studded with pillars, spanned with arches, such as neither Zwir- ner of Cologne nor Angelo of Rome, with all their genius, with all their power, with all the resources of which, with the patronage of kings and p~ntiffs, they were the masters, could rear, elaborate, nor so much as in their divinest dreams devise! In the midst of all thiswinding through the mazes of this superb labyrinthhundreds of carts, in the months of February and March, move down. The noble oxen have their foreheads shaded with the broad shining leaves of the pa- vel. They come from Cartago, from San Jos6, from the great plantation of Pacifica, in the val- ley of the Tiribi, in the shadow of the mountains of San Miguelfrom the plateaux beyond the ru- ins of Ujarras, and overlooking the cataracts of the wild Berbisdescend four thousand feet into this forest, and so wend their way to Punta Are- nas, at which portwith the exception of a few bags which find their way to the Serapiqui, and thence to the Atlanticthe entire coffee-crop of Costa Rica is shipped to Europe and the United States. The carts are clumsy structures. A pole pro- jects from an oblong frame, to which an axle is bolted underneath. The ends of the axle pro- trude through discs or solid wheels of cedar, the latter being four inches across the tire, and from four to five feet in diameter. Within the wheels we have some open cane-work, and this supports an awning of untanned ox-hide. A cart got up in this style costs from $25 to $30. The team itself generally costs from $75 to $80. The cof- fee lies upon the platform or bottom of the cart sown up in bags of coarse white cotton. One of these carts will carry from 800 to 1000 pounds of coffee. The freight is a trifle less than 75 cents for every 100 pounds. Over the bags anoth- er hide is fastened with leather thongs, while an iron pot, a calabash for holding water, and other utensils of use along the road, dangle on the out- side. Peering out from underneath the ox-hide covering, one may oftentimes surprise the black lustrous eyes and ruby lips of some bronzed (laughter of the mountains. For the wives and children of the carreteros, ta most instances, attend the coffee to the port. In the long journeyit is a yrurney of six days at leastthey are companionable and most use- ful. They grind the corn for the tortillas, boil the fr~joles, slice and fry the plantains, ply the thread and needle, tend the oxen with water and sacdte, and in various other ways prove them- selves the kindliest handmaids and ministers of comfort to the honest fellows who trudge along on foot, and with the ckuzotheir slender steel- spiked wanddirect the docile teams. These carreteros, with a wonderful endurance, flexibility of limb and spirit, go through the hard- est work. From the start to the close of their journeybarefooted, in their draggled linen, at the mercy of the shifting weatherat one time sweltering and bending in the full blaze of the sun, at another soaking in the rain, or shudder- ing with the dense dampness which, be it night, or be it noontide, or be it sunset, the lowlands and deep forests gather round themlight-limb- ed, patient, sinewy, active, fearless, gracious in manner, faithful to their trustin every vicissi- tude of the Heavens, against all odds, they reso- lutely pursue their way. Behold the industry of freedom! Of honest industry behold the in- offensive heroism! No trumpets to proclaim it no triumphal arches to mark its progress, save those with which the hand of God has spanned the pathways of the forestthe consciousness of doing what is right, of rendering to the home- stead and the nation the service that is due to them, vivifies and suffuses it with lustre, and the Angels, who watched over the shepherds tending their flocks in the green solitudes of Bethlehem, are the invisible witnesses and the chroniclers of its glory I Night closed upon this scene. The rain fell heavily. Through the deep murmuring of the Barranca, as we forded it, following in the wake of three carts on their way up the mountains through the pattering and splashing of the rain, and the doleful music of the branches, swaying to and fro, and the quivering of their leaves there came the chorus of the howling monkeys, the araguatos, whose deep guttural tones, echo- ing for miles through the forest, predict the in- evitable storm, and, when it comes, swell the vo- cal tribulations of the hour. The extraordinary development of the larynx in this monkey imparts to its voice a depth and volume equal to that of the largest quadruped, that of the lion, perhaps, alone excepted. Every morning and evening, and whenever it threatens rain, crowds of these araguatos assemble in the tops of the highest trees, in the loneliest and wild- est forests, and, enthroned there, rend the air with their dismal utterances. One of them in- variably assumes the leadership of the choir, chanting out in an undertone the first notes of the chorus as it were, after which all the rest follow in a crescendo movement, and with voices of a higher pitch, until the monstrous music seems to subside from sheer exhaustion. On a clear bright morning the howling of the aragea- tos can be heard very distinctly two miles off, and Humboldt is of opinion it can be heard fully a third of this distance further during the night, especially when the weather is cloudy, hot, and humid. Nor night, however, nor wild rivers which we had to ford in the wake of returning carts, nor splashing rain, nor monkeys with unearthly howl- lags, nor mules, economically fed by their shrewd owners, giving out, breaking down, and forcing us finally to lead them, knee-deep in mudno- thing of the sortand there was enough to vex the tamest saintprevented us reaching, at a reasonable hour, the city or village of Esparza. The yelping of dogsthe crowing of cocks small panes of glass glimmering through the 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. blackness of the night the tinkling of a guitar at an open door-way, and a row of green- ish bottles shining along a shelf against the whitewashed wall opposite the door-way the coarse round pavement, full of holes and hillocks, all dry and hard, over which, smartly strik- ing it as though they felt their footing sure, the mules went nimbly, though with an occa- sional jerk and slidewomen, with bare heads, bare necks and arms, seated on door-steps, mildly fumigating the narrow street with their cigarillos, and ejaculating their surprise and surmises as we rode by them a belfry, for all the world like a water-tank on a double pair of gawky stilts, flanking a ca- pacious church, the face of which, whitewashed as all the houses were, looked corpse-like in the sickly smiling of the moonand then a shelterless broad space, fringed with or- ange-trees, which our guide, Anselmo, told us was the Plaza these were the sounds and sights which plens- antly assured us we had reached our encamp- ment for the night. Riding across the Plaza, we dismounted at the gate-way of a yard in which there was a crowd of mules, coffee-carts, oxen, curs and carreteros. All the sweet voices with which our approach to Esparza had been greeted, and which accom- panied us thrbugh the town, seemed to have concentrated in this yard. It was the caballe- riza of the best tavern in the place. Anselmo knocked with a stone against the gate, and call- ed out, lnstilyAbra la puerta, somos amigos, Se~ior! The proprietor of the establishment appeared. A tranquil gentleman, noiseless and leisurely in his movements, he welcomed us with a drawl, and invited us to enter. Following him in the darkleaving Anselmo to take care of the muleswe found ourselves in a lofty room without a ceiling, in which, in the middle of a cedar table, in the socket of a tin candlestick, in a morsel of fat, a wick smothered in snuff was burning. The yellow light seemed to be wandering dismally over the room in search of something it could play upon. The walls were whitewashedin Costa Rica every wall has this attention paid itand the light might have amused itself with them, but it was too feeble to reach so far. There was a slim book- case, painted red, with glass doors, standing in one corner. A ray from the tin candlestick would have improved its appearance. As it was, it stood there as though it were a coffin panel- ed with crystal, and the light appeared to shrink from it, lest, by touching it, extinction might en- sue. In the opposite corner there was a prickly sofa, the stuffing of which protruded at the el- bows, and the crimson moreen covering of which, blotched and torn, was peeling off. The lofty room, thus lighted and embellished, was the re- ception-room, ladies parlor, gambling-saloon, supper and dining hall of the principal posada of Esparza. A glass of excellent aqeardiente, the assurance of a warm supper, and the cheerful advent of another candle, reconciled us in a few seconds to it. In less than twenty minutes we felt perfectly at home. Within an hour, under the brightening influences of the feast, the blank walls grew florid, the book-case glittered as though it were full of jewels, the sofa became plump and clothed with velvet, and from the caballeriza, instead of a racking discord, there flowed in the most soothing harmonies, with the sweetest perfumes. The host joined us at the supper-table. He was a native of Rivas, Nicaragua, and held the commission of a Lieutenant-Colonel in the army of that Republic during the Filibuster war. De- mure as he at first appeared to be, Lieutenant- Colonel J056 Guerrero grew communicative enough before long. His information and viewL respecting Esparza were freely though quietly given. There was no garrison; all the military and civil functions of the pueblo were vested in one man, and that one man was the Alcalde; the Alcalde was active, progressive, honest; the people of Esparza, however, were sinfully lazy; they were peaceable and harmless, to be sure, but that was owing to their being so dull; there was hardly life enough in them to go to Mass, mix a cup of tisti, or smoke a puro. There was but one citizen from Esparza, [lIE ~ELLE5 05 ESPARZA. HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 27 he added, who volunteered to the war in Nic- araguaone onlyand he came back without having had a fight, or seen one even. Midnight came before we moved to bed. Midnight waned before the golden tapestry of the supper-room, the velvet-mantled sofa, the crystal case of jewelry, and all the enchantment vanished. Midnight was a full hour buried when we found ourselves in the dormitory of Jos6 Guer- reros inn, in the middle of the room, laid out on stretchers made of ox-hide, our eyes fixed intent- ly on the bare black rafters, the tiles, the holes, and cobwebs of the roof. From the time we laid down, until we got np, four hours of aches and agonies elapsed. A double chastisement befell us. Underneath us was the gridiron of St. Law- renceall about ns were the vexatious, without the temptations, of St. Anthony. It seemed as though all the plagues of the Tropics had been summoned, by some witch as viperous as Alecto, to Esparza on that night. Clouds of mosquitoes, fleas by the million, mange-smitten curs galled with hunger, fight- ing-cocks on tiptoe every where, and for miles round challenging the world to put them down, carreteros with their uncouth carts rumbling into town, or rumbling out, shouting as though there was a fire on hand, or the Filibusters had broken inthese were some few of the tortnres which, stretched on the ox-hide, we had with the keenest sensibility to endure. But Esparza, after all, deserves to be more reverently mentioned. It is one of the oldest cities of Spanish America. Christopher Colum.- bus entered the Boca del Toro in the month of October, 1502. Twelve years after, the founda- tions of this city, dedicated to the Iloly Spirit of Hope, were laid in the midst of the orange-groves and the wine-yielding palms shadowing the first plateau we come to in our ascent to the valley of San Jos6. In 1670 it was seized and sack- ed by a band of French maranders. In 1685 it was dealt a deadlier blow by a gang of English robbers, who, under the command of a cut-throat named Sharpe, pounced upon the beautiful little city, set fire to it, plundered it right and left, and then decamped, taking with them several prison- ers, men and women, whom they subsequently released on a ransom of a thousand pesos. From this it appears never to have recovered. Many of its inhabitants fled to the plains of Bagaces, in the province of Guanacaste, while others, it is conjectured, crossed the mountains to the North, and descended into the mysterious valley of the Frio. It has, indeed, the look of a deserted vil- lage. Not, however, of a village that had been violently depopulated, but of one that had qui- etly died out. No ruins tell the story of its misfortune. No footprint is discovered, stamped in blood, upon its pavement. Nature, in these climes, soon heals the wounds which the sword and torch inflict. The scarred waste to-day will be the blooming garden of the morrow. Thus it has been with Esparza, and thus it is. She is beautiful at this moment, despite of all that she has suffered, and of all that she has lost. She has her fragrant orange-groves; herpotreros stocked with cattle; her rows of neat white houses; within her walls, kuertas full of various fruits and flowers and shrubs; heyond them, the richest lands conceivable, open as well as wooded, all capable of yielding cacao, sugar, indigo, and cotton in lavish quantities. These lands, how- ever, are far from being cultivated as they should be. The sugar-cane raised upon them., in a few PLEASANT NIGHT AT ESPAIIZA. 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. patches here and there, is used for sacdte or fod- der only, while the other productions named are neglected altogether. On the whole, appear- ances justify the statement which Jos6 Guerrero, the Nicaraguan soldier, made us at the supper- table concerning the inertness of the people of Esparza. If this be true, they differ widely from the rest of the Costa Rican population. Industry, activity, prompt intelligence, the de- sire to be in independent circumstances, and the honest arts through which the consummation of this desire is reached these, at every point, struck us as the grand characteristics of the country. An hour after dawn we were in our saddles, on the high road to San Jos6 once more. having passed the Puente de las Damasa bridge of massive masonry, spanning with a sin- gle arch, at an aching height, the black waters of the Jesus Maria, which here reel on through a chasm, from the crevices in the mighty walls of which the glossiest laurels and other shrubs spring forth in sparkling clustersand having ambled or galloped all the morning through the forest, we came at last to the yenta, or road-side inn, of San Mateo. Anselmo, our guide, was there before us, for we had loitered at the farm of Las Ramadas to have a chat with a gipsy group at breakfast under a magnificent guapa- nol, the thickly-leaved limbs of which on every side extended full forty feet above the camping- ground. Anselmo was a silent boy of Indian blood. His broad face, deeply punctuated with the small- pox, was the color of a ripe walnut, while the expression of it was meditative and morose. lie wore white check trowsers, a brown scapular, and a pink check shirt. His bare heels display- ed a pair of spurs, the rowels of which were the size and shape of star-fish. Sauntering along equally insensible to the dust, the beauty, the red mud, or the straining steepness of the road with one of our fowling-pieces slung behind him, and some few necessary articles of toilet tied up in a coffee-bag before himAnselmo, dispensing with stockings, held on with his toes to the stirrups. The most of the way he kept in the rear. The pilot of the party, he sat in tho stern and steered from behind. It is the custom of the country. The guide is seldom in advance often out of sightnever within hail. Under the dome-like mangosunder the cool- est and darkest of themAnselmo relieved the mulcs of their girths and cruppers, and gave HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 29 them water, corn, and saccite. The room in which we breakfasted, floored with baked clay clay done to a brittle crustwas wainscoted with cedar. This sounds fine. But cednr is cheap in Costa Rica, and in such houses as the yenta of San Mateo displays no polish. The breakfast consisted of fresh eggs, fresh bullocks tongue, a cup of sour coffee, a saucerful of ja- cotes or hog-plums, and the usual amount of tortillas, the ubiquitous slap-jacks of South and Central America. We were joined at table by nn officer of the Costa Rican army. He was on his way from Nicaragua to San Josi with dis- patches to his Government, the San Carlos one of the steamboats taken from the Filibus- ters, and flying the Costa Rican flag on Lake Nicaraguahaving thumped ashore and there stuck fast. He had come by the Guanacaste road, and to this point had been eight days in the saddle. He was a modest, intelligent, deli- cately-whiskered, mild, fair-faced gentleman. Eminently gallant, too, for he had fought at Rivas, at Masaya, at San Jorg6all through the war in Nicaragua and at its close had been honored with the command of the troops on board the steamboat which had just been wrecked. Over his right shoulder was slung a broad green worsted belt. To this a tin canteen was hooked. Underneath the belt was his blue frock-coat. The coat stood in need of a good scouring. His sword, jingling in a steel scab- bard at his heels, would have been all the bright- er for a little sweet oil and brick-dust. Having hastened with his breakfast and lit his puro, he mounted his white mule with the gay grandeur of a cavalier, gracefully lifted his drab sombrero, dashed through the gate-way, and disappeared up the mountain. Up the mountain! For the shadow of the Aguacate was upon us. High as we were amidst the mangos on the ridge of San Mateo, this noble mountain stood, four thousand feet erect, between us and the sun. Haughty, opulent, superbravines and val- leys, two thousand feet in depth, are, to its glow- ing, but dim crevices at its foot, while the forest we have spoken ofthat between Chacarita and the Barrancaseems no more tban a quiet shrub- bery, blossoming and sleeping in a silvered mist! Haughty, opulent, superbit is an enormous mass of gold and silver the very dust which our horses spurned with their hoofs, so John L. Stephens writes, contains that treasure for which manforsakes kindred, home, and country. It has made the fortune of more than one bold speculator; has made millionaires of such men as Espinac of Cartago, and Montealegre of San Josti; still, still invites the capitalists of this and other countries; and to the invincible hand of science knocking at its portals, and with the in- fallible torch, that has already divulged so many of the mysteries of nature, penetrating its re- cesses, promises an exhaustless issue of incal- culable worth! Haughty, opulent, superb from base to summit it is an aggregation of most of the riches, the wonders, the terrors, the sweet- ness and the glory of the earth! The tropical summer and the spring of the temperate zone equally divide the imperial mount- ain, and reign there perpetuallythe one below, the other above. Each has its attendant flow- ers, trees, birds, reptiles; each its own wild ofl. spring; each its appropriate harmonies and treas- ures. The white eagle makes it his borne; tbe wild coffee fills it with its soft exquisite perfume; the cedars crowning it vibrate with the merry peal of the bell-bird; monkeys in legions swing themselves down upon the wild cacao to which its warmer slopes give birth; serpents, such as the sabanera twenty and thirty feet in length, glisten through the gloom of its thickets; the sleek tiger enjoys the dumb security its vine- woven fastnesses afford; humming-birds in mill- ions those fragments of the rainbow as Au- dubon has called themflash and whirr through the foliage; while the King of the Vultures, with his gorgeous black and orange-colored crestan acknowledged chief among the greediest pirates of the deadowns his oaken palace there, and soars above them all! Midway up this mountain, at a point called Desmonte, looking suddenly back over the road we bad come, there broke upon us a vision of indescribable peacefulness and grandeur. The Gulf of Nicovaa silver cord stretched along the horizonseemed to pulsate with an unheard melody; while the ships we had left at Funta Arenas looked as though they were sea-birds clinging to it. Between the Gulf and the prom- ontory of Nicoya, a white unbroken range of clouds extended. Beyond this range were the dark purple mountains of the promontory. It was the funeral procession overlooking the bridal train. To the left, the mountains, which up to this had walled-in the road, suddenly gave way, and a vast ravine abruptly opened. Across the head of this ravine rose a ~vali of yellowish- brown barren hills; and beyond and far above them again, flinging off the white clouds which floated between it and the sunthe crown of glory it aspired toat a height of 11,500 feet above the sea, towered the volcano of San Pablo! This noble feature was never absent from the scene. As we entered the Gulf of Nicoya at the dawn of day, there it was, hailing us in tones of thunder, a Cyclopean warder at the gate. All day long, ankle-deep in blistering sand, or gasp- ing in some rude veranda, we looked up to it from Punta Arenasthat stifled city of a burn- ing plainand we sighed for the winds and the rain that have long since cooled its fiery bead, for it is an extinct volcano. Hardly had we left the red-tiled rooth, the little orange-groves, the palm-trees and sweet hsiertas of Esparza a mile behind, when, out of the mist of the morning, there came forth that ever-wakeful sentinel of the night, beautiful and mighty as when the darkness closed around him. All along the road to San Mateo, and far beyond it, we turned from the fences of eritliryna, interlaced with cactus and wild pine-apple, and the sugar-fields and pasture grounds they inclose, and from the sev- ~ral incidents and varying features of the road; 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. from ox-teams burden- ed with coffee, as we had seen them in the forest the evening pre- vious; from spacious farm - houses with whitewashed walls and broad piazzas; from loving couples snugly seated on the one tough saddle, the cc- hallero holding the Se- 7orita before him on the pommel, afarpleas- anter arrangement than that prevailing in older countries wheu the pillion was in fash- ion; from droves of drowsy mules, laden with cacao in ox-hide bags, coming up from Nicaragua, whisking their tails and jingling their hells as they plodded before their masters, whose salute, as we rode past them, was gracious and most winning; from black- eyed groups at break- fast under some lofty carob, the black iron pot sending up its fragrant steam of boiling beans, the unyoked oxen munching the tops of sugar- canes outside the domestic circle, and scurvy dogs, at detached posts beyond the camp, show- ing their teeth, and snarling at tlie foreigners as they rode by; from the tall rustic cross, plant- ed on the spot where some deed of blood had been done, some criminal had been shot, or some one had suddenly dropped dead; from these, the several incidents, and these, the varying features of the road, many and many a time, all along to San Mateo and far beyond it, we turned to gaze upon San Pablo. And here at this point called Desmontefrom this commanding height with this vast ravine below us, in which the Catskill might be buried, and with the inter- mediate range of lowlier mountains opening wide, so as to disclose it in its magnitnde and the absolutism of its glory, San Pablothe eter- nal sentinel of the Republicoverwhelmed all rivalry, and with a supreme sublimity usurped the conquered scene! We had left iDesmonte little more than two leagues behind, when a black, heavy shower broke full upon us. Luckily there was a house close at handone of those erected by the Gov- crument, at different points between Punta Are- nas and San Josd, for the accommodation of the men employed in keeping the road in orderand in this we took shelter, if one can be said to take shelter under an umbrella which has nothing but the stick and a few bare ribs left it to keep off the rain. An old, wan, grizzly man, his naked feet sinking in the soft clay with which the house was floored, was shaping a tortilla as we enter- ed; while a sprightly, handsome little boythe Itilus of this woe-begone ~neasstood defi- antly between the corn and the predatory fowl with which the staff of life was menaced. All along the road we were greatly struck with the quick intelligence, activity, hardihood, bright looks, and gracefulness of the Costa Rican boys. Many of them were guiding the coffee- carts, tripping gayly beside the burly oxen, it mattered not how rough or slippery the road might be, and with the dexterity of practiced carreteros working the team through the ugliest straits, down the steepest pinches, round the sharpest elbows, conquering with an expert and brave sagacity all the difficulties of the journey. They gallantly relieved the old men at times, the latter leisurely following the carts on foot or mule-back, or lying asleep upon the coffee-bags inside, while the little fellows held the cbezo the sceptre of the road! Nor was it along this road, nor at this exacting work alone, they shone out so brightly. Every where throughout the country, in the field, at market, in the forest, in the busiest crowd, in the bleakest solitude, every where they were still the same bright boys, prompt, fearless, indefatigable. They are a fountain of health -giving waters and a crown of priceless jewels to the land. Still toiling up the Aguacateevery turn of the winding road deceiving us into the belief, as we approached it, that it would be the last, and N N K _ I CABALU2EO AND SENORITA. hOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 31 then, as we gained it, showing us a new one fur- ther on, and this tantalizing game lasting an hour and more, and at every turn becoming more and more vexatious, until at last we grew almost giddy with the torturestill toiling up the Aguacate, having oftentimes to draw in close to the impending rock to let a train of coffee- carts roll by, the night came on. From that out we traveled through the clouds. Emerging from the clouds, we found ourselves in the city of Athens, or Atenas, away beyond the Aguacate. It is a city of the strictest repub- lican simplicitya thin sprinkling of modest huts wherein, if the diviner attributes of Minerva be not perceptible, it is evident that the grave tran- quillity of her favoritebird prevails. In Athens we stopped at a posada, to which, with a due appreciation of its resources and re- linemeut, we gave the name of Pericles. The House of Pericles had an amazingly high-peaked roof thatched with plantain-leaves and corn- husks, the interior being furnished with three canvas-back stretchers to sleep on, a flame- colored wood-cut of St. Francis of Assisium, a spendthrift candle. stuck in the neck of a bottle, three naked children, and fleas by the million. Pericles himself, the proprietor of the posada, was the smoothest of rogues. Not in appear- ance, indeed, for his face was dappled all over with something like mustard, his head was shaped like a cocoa-nut, and his teeth, deficient in number, had lost their enamel. But in voice, in walk, in sentiment, in every thing that dis- tinguishes the scholar, the hotel-keeper, the citi- zen and the gentleman, no one could have been smoother. He was the Pericles of Plutarch. Nay, by the golden grasshoppers of sweet Attica, he was more than this! For, at the very outset, he urged so considerate an argument against giving his guests a hottle of brandy, alleging it was altogether too dear, an objection seldom, if ever, advanced by one of his trade in New York or any where elsehe was so frank in acknowl- edging we might be troubled with fleas during the night, and that the pigs, who had the run of the bedroom as well as the kitchen, encour- aged jiggers and bugs to the houseand then, when we had stretched ourselves the full length of the stretchers, and had pulled the green and 5 voacsno OF SAN PABLO. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. red blankets about us, he let down the skimpy dimity curtains so tenderly, and so sweetly wished us good-night, that he seemed to unite and Don Ramon said so next morningthe gracefulness of Alcibiades, and the goodness of Socrates, with the princely resources of Pericles. But it was a night of ineffable torture. It was worse, infinitely worse, than the one we spent in Esparza. The fleas carried the house with a stinging majority. The minority of two, Don Ramon and Don Francisco, had to give in, give up, and go out. Stretchers, chairs, the family hammock of blue-and-white stripped cot- ton swinging across the room, the supper-table to which we retreated with our blankets for a time, the house itself had to be abandoned. An overwhelming siege, it was an unconditional sur- render. Nisus and Euryalus, smoking cigars, spent the rest of the night in their ponchos and boots in the yard. There, in the silver light of the stars, with his rugged face sparkling like granite, lay An- selmo, our guide, with his toes sticking out and straight up, as stiff and compressed as a mummy. Over there, against a cart-wheel, two stumpy black pigs lay all-of-a-heap, and snored as though the world were at an end, or no one was in it but themselves. Behind a pile of musty ox- hides, three raw-boned swarthy arrieros, fast asleep, with a profound emphasis responded to this resounding couple; while an uneasy dog with a sneaking tail, very tawny, very scrofulous and very thin, kept prowling about the yard, darting out at times under the creaking gate, as a cart rumbled past, or some traveler astride of a mule, keeping late hours, went dismally by. This nights entertainment at Athens cost us five dollars. Pericles was the sharpest, as well as the smoothest, of rogues. We were off be- fore he had time to afflict u~ with breakfast. A league beyond Athens we came to the brink of the quebreda, which at this point strikes the Rio Grande. Three hundred feet belowfilling the chasm with its wild and broken voice, fierce- ly striking and leaping the black rocks which rose against itthe river rushed, tumbled, and with a swollen tide swept on. The opposite wall of the chasm stood several feet higher than that down which, along a zigzag road, solidly constructed, though utterly unprotected on the THE HOUSE or rsaica ~5. HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 33 side which overlooked the precipice, we leisurely walked our mules. Clusters of beautiful pink bignonias, clinging to the face of this stupendous wall, gave it the appearance of a cliff of granite colored with a rosy sunset. Masses of geajini- qeil and wild grape-vine, also, darkening the upper line of the walls, and entangled here and there with the biqaoaias, overhung the waters. On a broad ledge, further down the chasm, stood a gorgeous grove of cacao-trees, upward of a hundred years old, so one of the guardas of the Garita told us; and in the shadow~f this grove, the waters, and the steep black channel through which they rushed, seemed to deepen before our very eyes and grow darker still. In a straight line, right under us, a stone bridge of one bold arch, with a gate and covered causeway, linked the roads descending to it on both sides of the ravine. It was the bridge of the Garitathe bridge of the Custom-houseand across that bridge all wayfarers bound for the interior are compelled to pass. Any attempt to cross the river, above or below that bridge, is punishable with ten years imprisonment. This has been already mentioned. But where so grievous a penalty is attached to so venial an offense, it is no harm to renew the warning which the inforina- tion conveys. Beyond the bridge there is a wooden building, very long and low, and rough- ly put together, with a roof of red tiles project- ing five or six feet beyond the front wall to a row of half a dozen discolored square posts of cedar; and this is the Custom-house. It is here that barrels are tapped, and boxes have their nails drawn, and bales are ripped rnz GAlUTA ON THE RIO GRANDE. Voa. XX.No. 115.C open, and trunks are turned inside out, and the revenue of the Republic is for the most part col- lected. The letters of introduction we brought to the President, the Bishop of San Josd, the Minister of State, and other notable citizens of Costa Rica, obtained an unmolested passage for our luggage. It was on the road, miles behind us, jolting and smashing along in the rear of two ponderous bullocks; but whenever it arrived, the Commandant at the Garita in the pleasantest accents assured us the formality of an inspection would be dispensed with. It was due to litera- ture and science, be said, that the luggage of gentlemen devoted to the pursuit of knowledge should be exempt from the formalities to which Westphalian hams and such gross articles were subject. Moreover it was due to the son of the illustrious General Paez. This he added with the most gallant courtesy, lifting his hat and bowing, his cavalry sword sliding away in the dust behind him as he did so. He did more. He was hospitable as he was gallant. Stepping into the Custom-house he brought out a bottle of cogniac, a tumbler, and a cork-screw. With- out dismounting, we drank his health and pros- perity to Costa Rica. Then it was his turn, and he drank ours, ejaculating a sentiment in honor of Venezuela. Two or three minutes more of pleasant gossip with him; about the game in the neighborhood of the Garita, forhe was a sporting character; about the Filibusters, for he fought in Rivas, the 11th of April, 1856, and thought it glorious fun; about his fighting-cocks, for he had an army of them; two or three minutes 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. more of this t~te-5-t~te, a warm shake-hands and the final adios, and np the road we started, leav- ing the Rio Grande hoarsely roaring in its jagged bed. The deep chasmthe sunset-6olored walls overtopping the black waters, the long proces- sion of carts, and mules, and oxen, descending and winding up the opposing cliffs, the groups of soldiers and carreteros at the bridge, the bridge itself, the masses of foliage and blossoms relieving the cold hard face of rock, and soft- ening with their shadows the staring wildness of the abyssall this was forgotten, when, strik- ing the level ground above the river, a vast am- phitheatre opened suddenly, boldly, magnificent- ly before us. Before us were the Plains of Carmen. To the right were the Cordilleras and the volcanic heights of Barba and Irazu. To the left were the mountains of Santa Anna and San Miguel. Breadth, loftiness, infinitude; no paltry sign of human life to blot the scene; the sun in its full- ness; the pulsation through the warm earth of distant waters; the rumblings of the thunder in a sky where not an angry speck was visible; woit- der, homage, ecstasies; it seemed, indeed, as if we had been disenthralled from the Old World by some glorious magic, and were on the thresh- old, within sight, in the enjoyment of a new existence! But what of that vast amphitheatre, over- shadowed, and with these immutable sublimities environed? It was once the bed of an immense lake. Suddenly set free by some violent volcanic shock, the waters of the lake exhausted them- selves through a rent which now forms the chan- nel and outlet of the Rio Grande. Enormous rocks of calcined porphyry, protruding through the soil and blackening it far and wide, are the testimonies of this convulsion. The Plains of Carmen, the lower portion of the amphithea- tre, exhibit a loose dark loam intermixed with (luantities of volcanic detritus. To this day they have been used as grazing grounds only. With a proper system of irrigationand such a system, fed by the pleiAons rains which fall during the months of June, July, August, September and October, could be easily, cheaply, and extensive- ly carried outand with, of course, the necessary cultivation, they would yield the sugar-cane, In- dian corn, tapioca, and other tropical productions in extraordinary abundance. Thus where we have, for the most part, an idle and inanimate wilderness at present, a population of 100,000 in addition to the actual population of the coun- try, computedat somethingover 130,000might, in this one section alone, be prosperously sus- tained. Elsewhereall over the country, from Lake Nicaragua to the frontier of New Granada whole nations, such as Portugal and Holland, would find the amplest room and the best of liv- ing. The public unappropriated lands, in the northern part of the Republic alone, according to Seilor Astaburiaga, amount to millions of acres. The inducements, held out to emigrants by the Government of Costa Rica, are liberal enough. The public lands are sold at public auction. These vary in price according to their distance from the principal centres of population. Two acres, for instance, in the neighborhood of San Jos6, the capital, will realize from $100 to $150; while in the forest to the North or South, beyond the mountains, 120 acres may be had for $64. The cost for clearing and preparing an acre of forest-land is estimated by the natives at $10; but, as Mr. Squier observes, an American back. woodsman would doubtless do it for one half the sum. The buyer of public land becomes the debtor of the National Treasury. Having paid a certain amount of the purchase-money in most instances a mere triflehe takes possession of the land and retains it, paying a yearly interest of 4 per cent. on the balance. In a conversation we had with him, President Mora cordially ex- pressed himself in favor of the largest possible immigration. As an evidence of the sincere good wishes of the Government in this respect, he stated that, three years ago, a loan of ~3,000,000 had been negotiated with a mercantile house in Hamburg. The monetary crisis of 1857, how- ever, in which so many lofty houses toppled throughout the United States and Europe, had its evil effect on Costa Rica. The house, with which this loan had been negotiated, broke down just as the negotiation successfully closed. Had the loan been forthcoming, $300,000 would have been devoted to the introduction of skilled labor, mechanic as well as agricultural. Besides the inducements offered by the Gov- ernment, the climate as well as the soil of Costa Rica is most inviting and favorable to the emi- grant. Of all tropical countries, Costa Rica is the best adapted for the North American and European emigrant. It is the only country, per- haps, in which tropical productions can be raised with perfect impunity and profit by free white la- bor. Down along the coast, the Pacific as well as the Atlantic, the climate, of course, is griev- ously injurious, and in some placesMatina for example, situated between the Boca dcl Toro and San Juan dcl Nort~it is absolutely fatal. But hereup here in the great valley of San Jos6, four thousand feet above the seano cli- mate could be more healthful, genial, and de- lightful. A worthy friend of minea native of Ohio, who has resided the last ten years in San Jos6, and whose scientific proclivities may be in- ferred from the fact that he is a daguerreotypist as well as an importer of bootsgave me a copy of the tables of the weather and temperature he had constructed during that decade. From these it appears, that, in and about San Jos~, the ther- mometer ranges between 650 and 750 the year round, seldom below, seldom above either. Ste- phens, Molina, and Astaburiaga verify this state- ment. Nbr is the soil of this and the neighboring valleys capable of producing only the tropical fruits, grains, and vegetables. English wheat and clover, the Irish potato, the American pump- kin, peaches, apples, plums, quinces and straw- berries, find in these valleys, and up the slopes HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 35 of the surrounding mountains, the most encour- tionably the coffee-crop. From 1819, when the aging nurture. The valley of Orosi alone, Mr. Padre Valverde planted the first tree, the culti- Young Anderson informed me, had ample room vation of the plant has steadily increased. Hay- tor 200,000 farmers, and was capable of yielding ing passed the plains of Carmen, eleven miles two full crops of wheat in the year. At present, from San Jos6, we come upon the first of the owing to imperfect cultivation, it yields only plantations. From that out they occupy the en one. tire of the valleythe entire upper portion of the But the staple crop of Costa Ricathat which bed of the ancient lake. They extend, too, right constitutes the principal source of its wealth and left all along the road from San Josd to that which has been the means of evoking it from Cartagoa distance of twelve milesand are to indigence and obscurity, and rendering it, in a be met with at the base of the Candelaria, and commercial point of view, one of the most solid, in the valleys of the mountains, and on the as in the social it is one of the happiest, while in plateaux, twenty, thirty, forty miles beyond them the political it is, perhaps, the most influential again. In 1850 the yield was 14,000,000 pounds. f the Central American Republicsis unques- The average crop is 12,000,000 pounds. The crop this yearthey gather it in January L exceeded the average by 5,000,000 pounds. But to me the most gratifying fact educed from the agricultural statistics of the country, is this paramount onetwo- thirds of the population constitute a land- ed-proprietory. Almost every man has his farm, his mules, his oxen, his poultry, his pigs, his sugar or his coffee planta- tion. The very men we had seen, bare- footed and in draggled linen, descending the Aguacate, winding through the forest beyond the Barranca, carting the coffee to the port, were landlords as well as car- reteros. Thismore than the purity of their Spanish blood, an advantage which, speaking of ninety cases out of every hun- dred, has not been impaired by any inter- mixture with the Negro or the Indian this is the secret of their industry. This the secret of their manhood. This the secret of their promptitude, their l)luck, their success in war. This the secret of the perfect tranquillity, the absence of crime, the substantial progress, the polit- ical unity, the national spirit, and, to sum up all, the dauntless independence of the country. Every man is at home, and feels at home. Every man has a fireside to fight for, and well he knows that the in- violability of that fireside depends upon the inviolability of the laws, and the liber- ty of the country. In a Republic there is nothing like having every inhabitant a citizen, every citizen a magistrate, every magistrate a soldier. Where the inhabit- ant has a vital and indestructible stake in the countryin other words, where he is a landlord, be his fee-simple estate large or smallhe will be a citizen, though you give him no suffrage; he will be a magis- trate, though you give him no commis- sion; he will be a soldier, though you give him no pay. Political privileges, with- out such property, are little more than flattering illusions; or, growing to be more, may be instruments of disorder, subjection for the multitude, and tyranny with the few. Accompanied by property that is subject neither to invasion nor dis- T~fl PAi~ENT 00FF -Taza OF COSTA IUCA. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. pute, the political privileges of the individual are sure to be the inflexible instruments of good order, unpurchasable safeguards against corrup- tion, and the gratuitous defenses of the nation. Two leagues and a half from San Josi we stopped to breakfast at the posada of La Asun- cion. With its broad white face shining through the clouds of yellow dust which the coffee-carts still continued to roll up, we found this posada a sweet retreat. The windows, the walls, the floor were clean and bright as those of a York- shire dairy. The atmosphere was fresh and richly scented. The furniturequaintly shaped, curiously and lavishly carved, all of black ma- hoganylooked as though it were assiduously polished. And so it was. The three plump black-diamond-eyed, sprightly girlsdaughters of the healthy widowed lady of the house whose likeness we have herewere living assurances of that, as they glided round the table with over- flowing cups of delicious chocolate, the milkiest eggs conceivable, and oranges from the trees which shaded and perfumed the house. In ev- ery respect the breakfast at La Asuncion had the advantage of the breakfast at San Mateo, though the garlic, with which the stewed beef was stuffed to suffocation, might have been dis- pensed with. The Chili peppers more than suf- ficed to heighten the flavor of the feast. They drew tears even from the eyes of Don Ramon, who, from infancy, had been accustomed to them. One of the Superintendents of the road entered before we had quite got through, took a cup of chocolate from the most luxuriant of the attendant Graces, and delicately intima- ting that he did so with our permission, rolled up a cigarillo, and lit it with his mecha. The mecha is a long round skein of prepared cotton, ignited by a flint and steel, whenever its re- quired, and being drawn through an extinguish- er attached to it by a hook and chain, is just as easily put out. Almost every one in Costa Rica carries a mecha, and the extinguisher, hook and chain, in many instances, are made of silver, and sometimes of gold. From La Asuncion into San J055 the road was in the best condition. It was broad, com- pact, and level. There was a deep trench on either side, an embankment, and a bristling fence. The fence was shady too, for the green stakes of yuca with which it is constructed take root, throwing out limbs and leaves in such pro- fusion that the machetes have at times to be brought against them, so as to keep them within bounds, and preserve that prim civilized appear- ance which the circumstance of their being on the high-road to San Josfi, and close up to it, requires. Gangs of laborers, moreover, were busy at different points, filling up ruts, breaking stones, clearing out the trenches, strewing gravel, or over some fresh patch of rubbish, grit and mortar, hauling a monstrous roller after them. Then came the coffee-plantations, laid out in squares and avenues with the strictest regulari- ty, the delicate dark-green foliage glistening with the sunshineglistening as though it were suf- fused with goldand the fragrance of the blos- soms, white and soft as snow-flakes, exhaling in the hazy heatblending the mildest sweet- ness of the earth with the fiercest glory of the sky. Then came the Bridge of Ibirilla El Puente de Arco de Ibjrilla, as it is set forth on ta- bles of stone inserted in the battlementswith the Rio Grande sweeping over a sunken bed of lay rocksweeping over it with the thoughtless brilb iancy of youth, with musical whisperings and laughter as it were, ignorant of its prescribed career, for it has yet a desperate race to run has yet the chasm of the Garita to battle through has yet three thousand feet to fall. Over a sunken bed of lava-rock it sweeps. Crossing th& bridge a huge mass of this same rock overhung the road on our left. Below the bridgebreak- ing through the thick clusterings of rexia and couvolvulus which cling to itten thousand tons of it, smelted into one steep cliff, overhung the rushing waters. Of the tremendous shock which tore asunder th~ walls of the sea once occupyine this vast plateau, and which gave liberty to the imprisoned waves, the evidences, as we have al- ready said, multiply themselves on every side. In gentle contrast with them were the long lines of neat white cottages which extend both sides of the road, from the Bridge of Ibirilli to the municipal limits of San Josd. These lines are broken by farm-yards, huertas and plantations only, all of which exhibit signs of the most careful industry, confirming the favor- able impression of Costa Rica which the more striking incidents and features of the road, the grand procession of the coffee-carts, the quietude and propriety of the little towns, the comfortable look of the haciendas, the aspect and bearing of the people themselves, produced. Sun-burned, coated with dust, sweltering a lit- tle and somewhat chafed, in our red flannel shirts oun wmnowEn nos~rzss AT LA ASUNCLON. HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 37 and overall boots, both the one and the other rumpled and wrinkled, decidedly the worse for he wear, but nevertheless in the brightest good iumorreturning with smiles, and sometimes with winks, the inquisitive glances which from door-ways and iron-barred windows signaled our comingbetween two and three oclock in the afternoon, we rode into San Jos~, tbe capital of the Republic of Costa Rica. Jogging past the Artillery Barracksat the rickety gate of which there stood a sentinel in soiled linen, with sandals of untanned ox-hide strapped to his heels and toestben past the Pal- ace of the Government, concerning whicb, and the other notable buildings and institutions of San Josd, we shall say a word or two in another chapter of our Holidayswe dismounted at the door of the Hotel de Costa Rica. Ascending the staircase as leisurely and gracefully as our big boots and spurs would permit, we leaned over the banister at the first landing, and wished good-by to Anselmo. At sundown that mys- terious creature set out for Punta Arenas, back the road which Nisus and Euryalus had come, with the three mules straggling behind him, the last being tied by the nose to the tail of the next one, and that one again being made fast in the same way to the other before him. Viewing it from the pretty balcony of the room into which we were shown by an amiable fat boy from Heidelberg, whose name was Charlemagne, the capital of Costa Rica appeared to be a com- pact little city, cross-barred with narrow streets, roofed with red tiles. There were flag-staffs and belfries too, and tufts of shining green fol- iage breaking through those red tilesbreakin~ through them here and there, and every where and beyond and above them, but quite close to us it seemed, were the mountains of San Miguel brown steeps cloven into valleys, and throwing out other heights, abrupt and black, in the deep shadow of which the smoke of the burning forest roiled up slowly and with a fleecy whiteness, and all over the slopes of which the fields of sugar- cane fairly glittered, their verdure was so vivid. May Heaveu be with itthe bright, young, brave city of the Central Andesthe silent but industrious, the modest but prosperous, the in- offensive but undismayed metropolis of the Swit- zerland of the Tropics! Radiantly reposing there, with the palm-trees fanning it the maaagos shadowing its little court-yardsthe snow-white and snow-like blos- soms of the coffee-tree, the glossy, smooth, rich foliageofthegeayaba and sweet lemon, the orange and banana breaking thro h the waste of red tiles, and filling the serene air with perfume herds of cattle, the finest in the world, grazing in the paddocks or potreros without the suburbs, or with a grand docility toiling through its streets, carrying to the market-place the produce of the peasant, or to his home conveying back such accessories to his comfort as the ships from England, Hamburg, Guatemala, and Fraiwe import, or such as the Panama railroad from more ingenious work-shops, for some time past, has hurried upeach one at his business, none idle, none too conceited to trade or workan independent spirit, aiming at an independent livelihood, animating allthe machinery of the Government working steadily, and for its or- dained ends, with a commensurate success, though not, perhaps, with the high pressure and expaission which Democrats of infinite views, as some of us are, might with an impetuous rhetoric advisea growing desire for a closer intercourse with the world, dissipating its fears and prejudices, quickening its intelligence, en- nobling its counsels, and opening out, as the proposed new road to the Serapiqui will do, evemm 51)105 ro ANszLMo. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. through the wilderness where no white foot until this day has been, new channels for the enter- prise, the resources, and the credit of the coun- trythe National Flag, which through the van- ishing ranks of no despicable adversaries has been victoriously borne, flying from the Barracks and the Palace of the Government, kindling in every native heart a just pride and a fearless pa- triotismwith all this before us, how could we do otherwise than invoke for that brave little city of the Central Andesas I do now and ever shallthe sympathies of the American people and the shield of Providence? Oh! may that Providence typified by the vast mountain of Irazu which overshadows it, and which has long since quenched its fires and become a glory instead of a terror to the scene protect it to the end of time; and safe amidst the everlasting hillsprosperous and inviolable throogh manyan improving epoch may it teach the lesson, that nations may be greatgreat in honest industry, great in the goodness of domes- tic life, great in the less ostentatious arts of peace, great in patriotism, great in heroism, great in being the living illustration of this in- spiring lessonthough no navy rides the sea for them, and their territory be small! INSECTS DESTRUCTIVE TO WHEAT. IATHEAT and cows milk are intimately con- cerned with the physical and intellectual progress of our species. Not only have the small- eared grasses (kordeacea and avenacea) followed I 7, civilized and progressive man all over the world, making their home wherever nature welcomed him, their master, but all experience and history tells that the more highly cultivated any nation has become, the more attention has it given to the culture of these grains. Thns, we conclude that that people whose chief food is wheaten flour, and whose chief stimulant is the juiceof stall-fed beef, is in the high-road of progress. It seems hard; but not only the body but the soul grows on that wheat-bread and juicy beef which has made the Anglo-Saxon race the fore- most of the world. If such is the importance of a single grain to the civilized world, any thing conducing to the improving of this food, increas- ing it in quality and quantity, becomes a para- mount question with those who govern and those who are governed. Every hint, every suggestion will be snatched at eagerly by those who have studied the momentous question of raising up a rzec~z 1.WHEAT MIDG.. ~. Natural size b. Last joint o~ antene rzecaz 2.cocoo~s OF WHEAT MIDGE.

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. through the wilderness where no white foot until this day has been, new channels for the enter- prise, the resources, and the credit of the coun- trythe National Flag, which through the van- ishing ranks of no despicable adversaries has been victoriously borne, flying from the Barracks and the Palace of the Government, kindling in every native heart a just pride and a fearless pa- triotismwith all this before us, how could we do otherwise than invoke for that brave little city of the Central Andesas I do now and ever shallthe sympathies of the American people and the shield of Providence? Oh! may that Providence typified by the vast mountain of Irazu which overshadows it, and which has long since quenched its fires and become a glory instead of a terror to the scene protect it to the end of time; and safe amidst the everlasting hillsprosperous and inviolable throogh manyan improving epoch may it teach the lesson, that nations may be greatgreat in honest industry, great in the goodness of domes- tic life, great in the less ostentatious arts of peace, great in patriotism, great in heroism, great in being the living illustration of this in- spiring lessonthough no navy rides the sea for them, and their territory be small! INSECTS DESTRUCTIVE TO WHEAT. IATHEAT and cows milk are intimately con- cerned with the physical and intellectual progress of our species. Not only have the small- eared grasses (kordeacea and avenacea) followed I 7, civilized and progressive man all over the world, making their home wherever nature welcomed him, their master, but all experience and history tells that the more highly cultivated any nation has become, the more attention has it given to the culture of these grains. Thns, we conclude that that people whose chief food is wheaten flour, and whose chief stimulant is the juiceof stall-fed beef, is in the high-road of progress. It seems hard; but not only the body but the soul grows on that wheat-bread and juicy beef which has made the Anglo-Saxon race the fore- most of the world. If such is the importance of a single grain to the civilized world, any thing conducing to the improving of this food, increas- ing it in quality and quantity, becomes a para- mount question with those who govern and those who are governed. Every hint, every suggestion will be snatched at eagerly by those who have studied the momentous question of raising up a rzec~z 1.WHEAT MIDG.. ~. Natural size b. Last joint o~ antene rzecaz 2.cocoo~s OF WHEAT MIDGE. INSECTS DESTRUCTIVE TO WHEAT. 39 nation to the high- est standard of man- hood by good feed- ing and good school- ing. These are in- separable; train-oil, clay - balls, mans flesh, and shell-fish are the antipodes of the schoolmaster and his ferule. Wheat is said to grow wild upon the steppes of Tarta- ry. Ehrenberg and Humboldt found it growing on the banks of the Sa- mara as they jour- neyed toward the Caspian. Rye, bar- ley, and oats are to be found through- out all these regions growing spontane- ously, although the first seldom, if ever, thus propagates it- self. Michaux found wheat in its uncul- tivated state at Ha- madan, in Persia. Diodorus Siculus mentions that it grew wild in the Leontine fields and other parts wheat-crowned goddess, is metaphorically only of Sicily. In the Bible it is alluded to very a loaf of bread, as Bacchus signifies a flask of often. It was embalmed a living compan- wine. Sprengel, the best authority on this sub- ion with the ancient mummies of Egypt, ject, asserts that the greater part of these Euro- and some of us moderns are perchance eating pean grains were found wild in the northern bread from seed garnered in Josephs granaries parts of Persia and India, summer wheat partic- or in the mightier pyramids. Homer, Virgil, ularly in the country of the Musicanes, a prov- all the old poets, sing its praises. Ceres, the ince in Northern India. Now the question arises how it reached us; who can tell us? There are several legendsone is, that the honor must be divided between the Vir-. gin Mary and the wife ~ of a Spanish nobleman who followed her hus-- band to the country of the Incas; but we can not designate where she planted her first crop. Another is, that a negro slave, belonging to Cor- tez, found three grains among rice brought from Spain as provision for his army, planted them, and from these it spread far and near. At Quito, in the Franciscan con- - vent, is preserved with holy awe, as a relic, the b. Feedtsg. earthen jug from whick ~,- r~ FICURE 13.OEaMONATION OF A WHEAT CHAIN. a. core, or kernel. 5. Receptacle for seed. c. Root,. d. Fibres conveying nourielsosont. 5. Larv~ feeding, to their early stage. FiCURE 4.aAavA OF WHEAT muex. a. After laut suoulting. 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a. Natural size. a monk, a native of Flanders, Fra Jodoco Rixi some mystic relation to the wheat it once con- (write his name in letters of gold), sowed the tamed. It is in the old German dialect, and first wheat known on this continent, cutting reads: Whoso drinks from me let him not down the forest for this purpose where now forget his God. stands the famous Plazuela de San Francisco. Notice how the results of the wheat crops are Humholdt mentions that the monks of this con- watched, chronicled, summed up from year to vent solicited him to explain the motto encir- year, to tell of increase or decrease. This shows cling this valuahle vessel; they supposed it had the value man places on a grass once wild as the a. Natural stro. e. Log. / / FISSURE 5.Tssmrs TEITICI AMBULATTJM. b. Last joint of sntsssa. zs Z7~ZI7 FIOU~E 6.Mow FLY (AoaoL~sYzA T. CAP TIfi. 5. Last joist of antooO~. INSECTS DESTRUCTIVE TO WHEAT. 41 harebell, on which now depends the stability of governments, the very existence of thrones. How these magic words, the fly, the bug, the worm, the weevil, carry terror with them as they are softly whispered from farm - door to farm-door, until they reach official places, mak- ing hearts hot and lips tremble at even their names. The great importance of this grass to us is most distinctly exhibited by the astonishing number of insects besetting it. If all years were alike in crops man would be- come positively idle. He does uot naturally like work; and if not made to plow the earth for positive sustenance, he would bask in noontide joys and ask the ravens to feed him. Be- sides, it adds stimulant to his exertions to plant, and watch who shall reaphe or the in- sectsthe little winged atoms always busy fulfilling their du- ties and whispering in his ear, It is in vain you rise early and eat the bread of carefulness, unless you ask Him who giveth all things to stay our progress. It is said thirty thousand are known to exist on this plant alone. Does this not proclaim FlamE 7.LARvA oF ralurs. an Omnicient eye and an Gm- ~. Natural size. nipotent hand protecting and feeding us? There few centuries ago, would have been paid for by is not a fibre, a nerve of a leaf a hair of the great monarchs in its weight of gold. beard, a rootlet, a fleck of the pollen, an atom For your amusement and, I hope, instruction of stalk, straw, grain, or stubble but has its thou- let us examine some of these wheat destroyers. sand consumers; and yet what crops are made! The most important of them at this time is the And a man must be poor indeed in this country wheat midge (Gecidornyia triticiFigure 1). who has not his daily wheaten loaf, such as, a It is, says Harris, a small orange-colored FIGuRE 8.aaraoe~~us OBANELLA. 5. Larva. a. Moth. ~. corooa~. ) 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. FIGUnE 9.THE TIPIJLA DESTEUGYOR, OR WHEAT CRANE FLY. gnat, with long slender legs, and two transpar- is favorable, in six or eight days, and hasten ent wings, which reflect the tints of the rainbow. down to the heart or core of the grainthe only In Figure 3 is given the germination of a grain part they destroy. As they grow they procecd of wheat. You can there perceive the habitat to inhabit the entire flower (Figure 4), the g~airi of her larvat. With a retractile ovipositor, four of course becoming shriveled and useless. Han- times the length of her body, and as fine as a dreds may be found on a stalk at a time, and hair, she deposits her eggs in the glumes of the after a shower of rain the field, covered with florets of the grain. They hatch, if the weather I these little yellow wrigglers, looks as if tipped f FIGURE 1O.rAaTs OF THE TINE! HO nnx, on CHAIN MOTH. e. I~eg f. Feeler, recorved. g. Feelers, bent down. d. wheat grain, showing e.ivsosen. Is. Driatle. .4 .4, .4 -I It - 0 INSECTS DESTRUCTIVE TO WHEAT. 43 ) FIGtTTtfl 11.TIlE AWN MOTIL a. Antenna. b. Leg. e. The Awn Math. d. La,t jeint nf antenna. e. Palpi. f. Face. g. Feather en palpi. with gold. As the milk ceases they reach ma- turity. After the first moulting the worm is torpid for a while, and appears to have elongated itself by one more segment than could he per- ceived at first, having now twelve, including the line around the head. It likewise obtains a very minute spine on each line of the body, and two or three coarse ones, marking where the feet should be. It is much yellower than at first. A day or two more and it becomes less active. August has now arrived, and it rests for a while, for the grain has hardened, and it can feed no more. It now hastens to the end of the leaf, and, dropping to the gronnd, burrows down about two inches deep, closes up the rings of the body in the manner this family of Tipula adopts, and in the pupa case remains securely until the fol- lowing June or July, when you may perceive them soaring up from the ground in clouds to commence the same routine of destruction. 1 ~v FIOTIME 12.u .B5IAN FaT. e. Lnua. 5. Paparinni. c. Papa in the care. d. Dried parench ra at a leaf. ( a e f ii 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a FIGURE 13.PARTS OF THE HESSIAN FLY. a. Leg. 5. Ovipoeilor of female. a. Laet jamb of anbenna. d. Falpi. e, f. Abdomen of lila male. You can scarcely examine an ear of wheat any in Figure 5. Tlerips belongs to the Hemip- where throughout this country without coming tera order. This family, Thripidicla, is beyond across three or more varieties of the insect shown computation. A few days ago I saw in a rose, ~l b FIGURE 14.PARTS OF THE MOW FLY. a. Papa 5. Under aide of papariam. a. Larva. d. Larvm feediog. e. Life eiae of papa. Cr -y i U; C INSECTS DESTRUCTIVE TO WHEAT. 45 1) by the aid of a glass, more than four varieties, darker reddish hue than its confr~res; its wings This one before you I have always found solely are clearer than others of this family, and deeply oa the wheat. It may, after the plant is too old fringed. The legs are lighter than the body. I to afford it food, take to another; but I have have named it Tlirips tritici embulatum, for it met it nowhere but on this plant during the does sometimes walk, while the rest of this fain- summer mouths. It is very small, and of a ily literally pitch into every thing, leaping, FIGUIIIE 16. e. wing of Daddy-long-legs. f. Body of female Tipola. p Papariam. A. whoat.roo with di -halls attached. FIGURE 15.PARTS OF TIPULA DESTILUCTOE. a. Italtiore. S. Eye. c. Ab& omen of male. d. Ovipositor. 46 HARPE1~S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. /f7ff/~X FIGURE 17.PARTS OF TIPULA DESTIIUCTOII. a, a. First and last joists of antasnee. 5. Fast. a. Face. d. Palpi. tumbling, skipping, with all the activity of fleas. numerous than others. They are exceedingly I met this insect many years ago in Canada, and destructive in every stage of their growth. The have found her yearly on hand, some years more eggs (Figure 19) are deposited by the mother on C 4 FIGURE 18. a STealthy wheat-kernal. a. Unhealthy wheat-kernel. 5. The earns, three days after planting. d. The same, five days altar plant ing, a, Healthy grain, five days after planting. INSECTS DESTRUCTIVE TO WHEAT. 47 the outside of the flower leaves, and are not per- ceptible without a glass. They are of a dark rnsty color, hung to a foot- stalk, twisted and crink- led up like a cork-screw. As soon as the larvat are hatched they run about puncturing all around them with their small beaks, and the pun- gled and shrunken grains mark their prog- ress. The larva illus- trated in Figure 7 re- sembles the perfect in- sect, and its habits are similar; but it can not flyits wings are scarce- ly now perceptible. As they grow older they change their skins and come forth with wings. They are literally the Aphidii of the wheat plant. Linnatus classed them in this family; but Mr. Halliday has with- drawn them in his able memoir, raising them to a distinct order, under the name of Thysanopte- ra. But, under whatever name, they are very troublesome, and commit great havoc, small and insignificant as they are. The short line be- tween the long lines (Figure 7) will give you the dimensions of a giant of this family of torments. Next comes a very pretty little Mow flythe Agrornyza tritici capetis (Figure 6) I call it because its head is so much out of proportion to the rest of its body. It bears a strong resem- blance to the Agromyza tritici of Dr. Fitch, but is more of a black and buff color, smooth and glossy, and has abundance of hair on its brow. There is a decided difference in the nervnres of the wings. In Figure 21 you see first the wing of the Doctors fly; the second is the wing of the celebrated Marwich fly, which FIOUltE 19.OaAIN MOTH. a. Eggs of Thrips on wheat grains. S. Larva. created so much alarm in England, having been mistaken for the Hessian fly; the third is the wing of a larger specimen I have met in the Eastern States. You might easily mistake this insect for the young of a house fly. You will find her oftenest depositing her eggs near the joints, hut she does not seem to have any particular place. The worm resembles that of the wheat midge so closely you would easily mistake one for the other; but as they grow older they have a black line down their backs. They feed in the same manner as the midges larvte; for let them be placed where they may, they will find their way to the grain; and long after the larva of the midge has disappeared, you will find these finishing the de%ris of the formers 3 Focuag 21. 1. wing of nc. Fitchn Mow Fly. C. Wing of Macwich Fly. 3. Wing of Eastern Staten Fly. a c. Larva in ito cocoon. I (7 Foeua~ 20. d. Larva of Tinen granella commencing her habitation. 0. ~ hung in a crack. 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. repast. It undergoes its transformation (Figure 14) in the same manner as the house fly, de- scending into the earth and contracting itself into a pupa, and remaining snugly within until its food is prepared in the next season. They are more nmnerous than people are aware of; and when their habits and numbers have heen ascertained, great will be the astonishment to perceive what mischief these pretty little things can accomplish. Fortunately for us, they are closely pursued by a large family of parasites quite capable of subduing them, so as to preserve Natures great lawa balance of power. Now let me introduce yon to a member of lancieune regime (Fi~,ure 19). She has a num- ber of titles, first of which is Anacamapsis cerca- lellathe former the genus she belongs to Anacampsis meaning, in Greek, recurved ; their long slender feelers being, in this family of Yponomentians, always curved backward over their heads. In 1789 she was called by Olivier .4lucita cerealella; Latrielle writes her down (?iEcopliora granella; then again she is hailed as Ypsolophus granellus; and another cognomen is Tiuei hordei, from hordium barley. An American writer has converted her into a fig- ?Leevil. She is in reality, although performing under so many masks, the celebrated and an- cient Augoumois grain-moththe Tinei hordei of later days, though her substitnte in this coun- try is wheat. Now yon will ask, Where is An- goumois? Alas! if it was not for this little moth even the name would be forgotten of this once rich, gay, wheat-growing department of la belle France. It wants now only a few months of completing the century when her depredations were so very overwhelming in the wheat-fields of this province that learned men were sent from Paris, Heaumur at their head, to study her hab- its and stay her proceedings. Heaumur has given us, in his Memoires, particulars which as- sure us of her identity. She has forgotten no- thing of her antecedents, and is as bustling and busy in our Yankee granaries as ever she was at home in her own sunny province. She looks a very modest, retiring dame in her Quaker dreess. She is smallabout three-eighths of an inch in length. Her upper wings are of a very delicate brown, as smooth as satin, and without a dark dot dimming their lustre; the nuder pair and her body are marbled ash color and white, softly penciled and slightly fringed. Her antenun are bristles, with a few fine hairs on them; and her feelers or palpi, as I have already re- marked, are curved back. She deposits her eggs on grain sometimes while in the field, but often- est after it has been housed. They are placed in clusters of thirty, fifty, and a hundred some- times. The worm is white with a brown head, .quite small but active, with six jointed legs and ten pro-legs, like very minute warts. As soon as they are hatched each makes choice of a grain, and in its interior domiciles itself, the mealy sub- stance being its food. Here it luxuriates until ready to go into a cocoon. It is a singular fact that all grains of wheat in which these insects have lived have a piece of the husk bitten off (as shown at d, Fig. 10)as a mark, I presume, IL FICTJRE 22.nassnAN Fay. wing of Lebanon wheat-fly. 5. wing of Hessian Fly INSECTS DESTRUCTIVE TO WHEAT. 49 of property claimed. One grain suffices for all its demands. When entirely sacked it spins a partition down the interior of the grain; the smallest division receives all the debris of the es- tablishment, the other is converted into a silken chamber, where the little worm remains nntil ready to come forth a moth. There are two broods a year. The eggs laid on the grain while in the granary lie over all winter as well as the chrysalis in the grain, and when your spring wheat is sown they are as secnrely planted as the cereal, and come forth in time as healthy and active as if horn in marble halls. You can easily observe this hy soaking yonr seed in water a few days; the lightened grain will float while the sound grains sink. Chaucer asks the question, Why should I sowen chaf out of my fist When I may sowen wheat, if that me list? It is yonr own fault if you do. This insect is pertinaciously pursued hy several parasite flies, hoth of the egg and worm. Figure 22 represents a very decided celebrity the Hessian fly, called hy Mr. Say the Lecidornyja destractor. No animal, bird, reptile, or insect has ever had so much said, written, surmised, and suggested concerning it as this little fly. The Privy Council of England sat in consterna- tion, day after day, with the same fear and trem- bling of its invading her fields as they did of the great Napoleon invading her shores. It will he difficult for history to decide which was to her the greatest bughear. Messages were sent to VOL. XX.No. 115.D the different ports for the examination of cargoes of wheat reaching their docks. Fancy the science exhihited in such orders! Official letters to all the British embassadors at foreign courts solicit- ed information concerning this little fly. rrhe documents and minutes thus collected would compose many hundred pages. Thea consider what has heen said and written about it in this country. This fly, like all things else, has had its day, and if it did not now and then exhibit itself we would place it with the things that have heen. But the fear of a fresh invasion keeps us on the alert. It has its name from the fact that the Hessian soldiers and this insect made their dibut simul- taneously in America. It is doubtful whether the Hessians conferred immortality on the fly, or the fly on the Hessians. Both were equally dis- tasteful to the country. Mr. Dana sent Mr. Herrick (who, with Dr. Asa Fitch, have treated this subject most scientiflcally*), from Mahon, Toulon, and Naples, hoth eggs and pupa as far hack as 1834. It is therefore not a native, hut an unwillingly adopted citizen. In fact, it has heen ascertained that it is found in Germany, France, Switzerland, and Italy. Please to un- derstand it is really a fly, and not a bug or weevil, midge or bee. It is a small two-winged fly, resembling a mosquito, but fly- ing differently; the mosquito takes a long sweep with its wings, while the fly jerks and stops fre * Silhimans Journal, vol. xli., and the Report of 1846 of the New York Agricultural Society. Fiouza 23.aAamv~a OF hESSIAN FLY IN THEIR PUPA OASES, AND FzzDINe. 50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. quently before alighting; and you may see them often in numbers lying on the air as if asleep, or in a dreamy ecstasy, with not a movement of their wings. Its head and thorax are blacker than the common mosquito; its body is tawny in hue and covered with gray hairs. Its antennm are strangely constructed, and give a positive proof of its anomalous position. At Figure 22 you will perceive a wing of a Tipula, which I have named, for want of a better, the Lebanon heat-fly. I met it at the Shakers establishment of Lebanon many years ago, doing terrible mischief with the grain. This fly has often been sent abroad monographed and classed for the true Hessian fly, and is considered as such in many a cabinet in Europe at this day. But she deposits her eggs on the stalk; her larvm are worms resembling those of the wheat midge, only white, and there can be little doubt her larvm form the very small cocoons often found in straw. The Hessian fly, on the contrary, de- posits her eggs longitudinally on the leaf; they are reddish at first and become darker with age. The larva is a maggot, and as soon as hatched aims for the joints, where it buries itself and sucks the sap of the plant. It has been a dis- cussed point whether it gnaws or sucks; but if you choose to examine for yourselg you can easily see that it has a short firm beak. It is impossible to get the parts of this mouth. Dr. Fitch says he has tried it in vain. If you place the maggot upon water in a good light, with a piece of broken mirror at the bottom of the glass, you will perceive in its struggles that it has a beak or tube, but of how many pieces composed it is useless to attempt to ascertain. The larva absolutely dissolves under you- dissect- ing needle. The part of the plant they destroy is the Parenchymaren, the soft silky substance wrapping the stalk and covering the nervures of the leaves. Take a hair, and split up a leaf of wheat where they have been, and you will see it as shown at d, Figure 12. Dry it carefully between porous paper, and place it under the glass, and you will find it perforated as if with very, very small pin points. This decides the manner in which the maggot lives, namely, suck- ing or imbibing the juices of the plantneither gnawing nor obtaining its nourishment by the pores of the skin, as some persons have imagined. They undergo their transformations in pupariums buried in the stalk at the root, where they re- main until ready to come forth in fly-form in the latter part of August, remaining until October. They have been seen as late as November, if the weather is mild and dry, hovering over the old stubble in fields. Mr. Say discovered a parasite fly, the Ueraphron destructor. Mr. Herrick men- tions two more parasites of the fly, and an egg parasite, a species of Platygaster; and. there are several others. Thus we may perceive why it is that the Hessian fly no longer holds its position as the greatest scourge of man, more to be dread- ed than any other calamity. Let us thank God, among all His mercies, for these little parasites who oppose the progress and keep down the nuin hers of the dreaded Hessian fly. Without their aid, mans labors would be vain. Now we will turn to a very active little busy- body, the Enplocamus granella, or Tinea granella (Figure 5), another grain moth. She is very small; her wings are long and tapering, soft and glossy, and are dappled with white, gray, light and dark brown, and several dark spots, one black, near the exterior edge. The under wings and body nre black and white. She has a state- ly tuft of white hairs on her brow, which she is not ashamed to exhibit waving between her bristly antennm. There are two broods a year. She places her eggs on the grain. The worms are soft and naked; a buff color, with a reddish head and sixteen feet, the first six small and jointed, the others the usual wart-like protuber- ances. They do not burrow into the grain but gnaw off the husk, with which they construct their first habitations, using only so much of the kernel of the grain as satisfies their appetite, but sufficient to destroy its future fecundity. The small cocoon is placed in the midst of them; you perceive at b (Fig. 5) a worpi commencing opera- tions. She gnaws the end of the grain, passing the thread over it to give it a purchase, and then commences tying up the others. The little cocoon at c had thirty-three grains tied around it. Soon these quarters are too confining; they start off on a grand tour, leaving their trails as they go in strings of fine silk, selecting at last cracks in floors, window-sills, and holes in the walls, where they suspend their pretty snowy cocoons, and take their rest until spring arrives and they rush forth to see the world and examine the farmers crop. Can a granary be found in the length and breadth of this beautiful land where her presence can not be detected? If so, let that bin be photographed and exhibited at the next Universal Fair, for the owner has dis- covered what seems yet a great secretthat a broom is the most potent and effectual instru- ment in a barn, and should be kept moving. At Figure 9 is shown the true Tipula de- structor, or Wheat crane fly, commonly called Daddy-long-legs of the meadow, but it is not this ancient personage. Very few people can conceive how much injury is done the grain, grass, and herbage by these long-legged gentry. If you perceive a spot of grass or grain dying away, loosen the roots, and you will find that the maggots of these flies have devoured all the tender rootlets and fibres which, running through the earth, carry nourishment to the plant. It is difficult to obtain the larvm; for when the grain exhibits by its hue of death that they are there, you will find them in a pupa state. The larvm of all this family, with one or two exceptions, are furnished with very destructible mandibles, cla~v-shaped and transverse not acting as is usual with other insects, but working against two other pieces which do not move, and are convexed and toothed. This insect is always found in wheat-fields early in the morning, when the ground is moist. She prefers rich loamy soil. She will stand on her fore legs, stretching INSECTS DESTRUCTIVE TO WHEAT. 51 out her very long hindmost pair, and with her ovipositorshaped (d, Figure 15) like the bill of a cranemakes a hole in the ground, and de- posits two or three coal-black eggs, like small grains; then she draw it up, proceeds a short distance, and repeats the operation. In a very short time out come the maggots, and to work they go. When satisfied, they attach themselves to a root, and commence rolling and working round their bodies until a cell for each is made, as smooth as glass within and a simple pellet of mud without. Here they undergo their trans- formations, and early in June they come forth. Take up a stalk of wheat when it is in a withered state, and nine times out of ten you will find it hung with little dirt balls (Figure 16); from these, in time, will issue these long-legged, un- graceful creatures. How they can double up their long legs and long body in such a space is indeed a mystery. They have most extraordi- nary faces; eyes whose facets are almost as nu- merous as those of a bee, but reflect no light, and appear as if carved in ebony; palpi and an- tennai eccentric in the extreme; and a cushion between the claws of the foot. The haltiere (Figure 15) is an illustration for all others; and I have given it here expressly as a proof of my view of their use. In plucking one out, after re- moving the outside scales, I drew with it the whole apparatus. The horny line around it is hollow; you perceive the white partit re- sembles the parchment of a battledore doubled. A net-work communicates to this parchment, which, when the haltieres move, which they do unceasingly, fflls the stem with air, which pass- es on to the air-sacs, and is conveyed into the nervures of the wings. Can any thing be more complete, more wonderful in construction? There are numerous varieties of this insect, not easily distiu~uished. They are more numerous in the Middle States and out West than toward Northeast. It was members of this same family that devastated the fields of grain near Edin- burgh, and other parts of Scotland, in the be- ginning of this century, and that almost ruined the crops in England in 1813. They are rapid- ly on the increase in this country; and if the stubble of the fields is not plowed up and con- sumed with fire they will leave their impress of this age as distinctly as other insects have done on theirs. They are more to be dreaded than many others, because the evil is so insidiously accomplished. They work under ground, and when first perceived it is too late to try reme- dies. Strange that farmers can not be taught that fire is their greatest auxiliary in the field! If they would only burn up all that is now plowed under or placed in the compost bed, they would be wiser men, and find their pockets heavier. This is the only remedy for more than a half of these depredators. The last insect I shall figure for you in this paper is in appearance a charming little moth Figure 11). I can not find mention made of her in any authority I have at hand; and until I can find that she has already been christened, I shall call her Tinea Aristati, or Awn snot/i; both words signifying beard, awn being the old Saxon word for this appendage. She is very small; her fore wings are of ~ brilliant glossy brown dotted with black; her under wings and body of a soft gray penciled with black; both pair of wings being deeply fringed. Her an- teunte have sixty-two vcry minute joints, each with a long hair and two smaller attached on each side. Her palpi are broad, and have heavy feathers lying like scales on top of each other. She has a number of these around her head and sucker. She deposits her eggs at the root of the beard of the grain, and as this thread-like append- age performs important functions in the economy of the plant, you may conceive of course that the grain will suffer if it is injured. The worm is very similar to many others, but has two spines on the tail and some strong ones about the head. When they have finished feeding they crawl up the thread or beard and spin their pretty little cocoons, attaching them as I have (Figure 20) represented. But out of five of these cocoons three will yield each a pretty lit- tle ichneumon belonging to the subgenera Opliion a destructive parasite, which thus keeps them in strict subjection, and protects the crops from their ravages. There is a variety of this same Tinca much lighter and more silvery in appear- auce. She is very common West; but I have seen both often in the Eastern States and Can- ada. How marvelous it is that crops are made at all with such a host of enemies to contend with! and when men, from indifference or sheer idleness, assist their enemies, the insects, by planting diseased seed, n~ shown in Figure 18. Can you expect healthy progeny from diseased parents? How then can you expect full clean grain from diseased seed? If one sheaf of wheat nay, even if one leaf in a whole field shows rust, it should all be discarded as seed, for the disease is there although not exhibited. He who digests a hiut realizes in time a fact. They say it is an ill mason that refuseth any stone, and there is no knowledge but in a skillful hand serves either positively as it is, or else to illustrate some other knowledge.* I have a letter before me now asking a few questions which I suppose have been suggesting themselves to the readers mind as he has fol- lowed me through this article. First: Wheth- er and how such insects are imported from abroad ? No insect belonging to a pTh~nt will be found where that plant does, not exist, or some one of the same family which can serve as a sub- stitute. But how the insect follows the plant is one of those mysteries which He who directs all things keeps as yet fiom us. Those who watch Nature most closely know only that the plant and its enemy always appear together. Not long ago a friend, possessing a large garden and hot houses, wished me to see a new flower just blooming. He had received it in November from very far West, some thousand of miles away. He had planted it, and now in March it was in * Huberts Remains. 52 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. flower. It was the very beautiful, chaste, but fragile Prairie croL s. Well, there it was, a charming sight; and hovering over it in the mild evening air was a very minute dark moth of the Agrotididce familya species very numer- ous, and some varieties of which belong alone to the flowers of the prairie. It was in vain I tried to catch this daughter of the winds and flowers. Said I, in sorrow, Look out for an addition to your usual supply of cut-worms. He has told me since that the bed where this flower grows is useless so far this season; every thing is cut down. Now where did the insect come from? Who can tell! There was no soil sent with the plant, for it had been hung up, as bulbs are, from the past season, and was so dry my friend despaired of its living at all. Yet here is a new insect for the East, and many varieties of the plant for it to propagate upon. Such grain- moths and insects as the Tinea which I have illustrated must be brought from abroad. It can not be avoided, and no greater disseminator of foreign insects exists among us than the Patent-office. But where you obtain the good you must likewise accept the evil, if any there is. Providence, however, protects the plant, for when the insect comes its ichneumon or parasite is not far away, and the balance will be kept even. Now some hints for prevention as well as cure of the evils. More than twenty years ago a scientific man, in his very valuable essay on the Hessian fly (Mr. E. C. Herrick), pointed out that the remedy for this fly was to plow up all the stubble and burn the field out. Show me the man from Maine to Florida who has followed this advice, and I will go a thousand miles to take him by the hand! But had it been to spend the day like a school-boy syringing his fields with soap-suds, he would have hastened to try the cx- periment. It is enough to make one laugh and cry both, to go through the country and see the poor for- lorn whitewashed, swathed and bandaged, lime- trodden, ashes-heaped, soap-sudded, train-oiled, bottle-hung trees and fields. When moths and beetles areflying it is too late to remedy the evil. You must overtake them before they fly. In autumn, before winter sets in, is the time to remedy these evils in field and orchard. Plow the former, and burn every thing like stubble upon them; remove the earth from the roots of trees. let it be sifted and mixed with lime, rock-salt, or ashes, leaving all lumps and large grains to be thrown on a heap of blazing brush. Thus the evil will be stayed, if not removed. There will be great benefits resulting to the crops, fruits, and vegetables from this process. Thousands of insects are quite indifferent where they de- posit their eggs if a plenty of analogous food is near at hand. Fire is the only sure cure for all such. I trust this advice will not be lost upon our intelligent farmers in all parts of the coun- try, and that there will be some to credit my words and faithfully try the experiment for their own sakes. THE ENCHANTED TITAN. CURSE you! 0, a hundred thousand curses Weigh upon your soul, you black enchanter! Could I pour them like the coins from purses, I would utter such a pile instanter As would eru~h you to a bloody pulp. But my rage I fain am forced to gulp; Anathemas are vain against cold iron, Nor can I swear this magic box asunder, Where Ive been stifling since the days of Chiron, Fretting on tempered bolts, and hurling muffled thunder l Through the chinks I see the dim green waters Filled with sunshine, or with moonlight hazy; Through them swim the oceanic daughters, Beautiful enough to drive me crazy. The fishes gaze at me with sphery eyes, And seem to say, with cold-blooded surprise, What Titan is it, thats so barred and bolted, Caged like a rat in some infernal cellar? Why even Enceladus, when the dog revolted, Was not so hardly treated by the Cloud Compeller!

52 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. flower. It was the very beautiful, chaste, but fragile Prairie croL s. Well, there it was, a charming sight; and hovering over it in the mild evening air was a very minute dark moth of the Agrotididce familya species very numer- ous, and some varieties of which belong alone to the flowers of the prairie. It was in vain I tried to catch this daughter of the winds and flowers. Said I, in sorrow, Look out for an addition to your usual supply of cut-worms. He has told me since that the bed where this flower grows is useless so far this season; every thing is cut down. Now where did the insect come from? Who can tell! There was no soil sent with the plant, for it had been hung up, as bulbs are, from the past season, and was so dry my friend despaired of its living at all. Yet here is a new insect for the East, and many varieties of the plant for it to propagate upon. Such grain- moths and insects as the Tinea which I have illustrated must be brought from abroad. It can not be avoided, and no greater disseminator of foreign insects exists among us than the Patent-office. But where you obtain the good you must likewise accept the evil, if any there is. Providence, however, protects the plant, for when the insect comes its ichneumon or parasite is not far away, and the balance will be kept even. Now some hints for prevention as well as cure of the evils. More than twenty years ago a scientific man, in his very valuable essay on the Hessian fly (Mr. E. C. Herrick), pointed out that the remedy for this fly was to plow up all the stubble and burn the field out. Show me the man from Maine to Florida who has followed this advice, and I will go a thousand miles to take him by the hand! But had it been to spend the day like a school-boy syringing his fields with soap-suds, he would have hastened to try the cx- periment. It is enough to make one laugh and cry both, to go through the country and see the poor for- lorn whitewashed, swathed and bandaged, lime- trodden, ashes-heaped, soap-sudded, train-oiled, bottle-hung trees and fields. When moths and beetles areflying it is too late to remedy the evil. You must overtake them before they fly. In autumn, before winter sets in, is the time to remedy these evils in field and orchard. Plow the former, and burn every thing like stubble upon them; remove the earth from the roots of trees. let it be sifted and mixed with lime, rock-salt, or ashes, leaving all lumps and large grains to be thrown on a heap of blazing brush. Thus the evil will be stayed, if not removed. There will be great benefits resulting to the crops, fruits, and vegetables from this process. Thousands of insects are quite indifferent where they de- posit their eggs if a plenty of analogous food is near at hand. Fire is the only sure cure for all such. I trust this advice will not be lost upon our intelligent farmers in all parts of the coun- try, and that there will be some to credit my words and faithfully try the experiment for their own sakes. THE ENCHANTED TITAN. CURSE you! 0, a hundred thousand curses Weigh upon your soul, you black enchanter! Could I pour them like the coins from purses, I would utter such a pile instanter As would eru~h you to a bloody pulp. But my rage I fain am forced to gulp; Anathemas are vain against cold iron, Nor can I swear this magic box asunder, Where Ive been stifling since the days of Chiron, Fretting on tempered bolts, and hurling muffled thunder l Through the chinks I see the dim green waters Filled with sunshine, or with moonlight hazy; Through them swim the oceanic daughters, Beautiful enough to drive me crazy. The fishes gaze at me with sphery eyes, And seem to say, with cold-blooded surprise, What Titan is it, thats so barred and bolted, Caged like a rat in some infernal cellar? Why even Enceladus, when the dog revolted, Was not so hardly treated by the Cloud Compeller! AN ARMISTICE. 53 And all, forsooth, because I loved his daughter! Loved that child of spells and incantation Love her now beneath this dreary water Love her through eternal tribulation! I wonder if her lips lament me still, In her enchanted castle on the hill? Or has she yielded to that damned magician, And with my pigmy rival weakly wedded? O Jove! the torment of this bare suspicion Preying forever on my heart, and like the hydra headed! O bitter day, when spells, like snakes uprearing, Enwrapped my limbs, and muscular as pliant, Pinioned my struggling arms, until despairing I lay upon the earth a captive giant! Then came the horror of this iron box The closing of its huge enchanted locks Then the cursed wizard to the windy summit Of the tall cape a coffered prisoner bore me, And flung me off, until, like seamans plummet, I sank, and the drear ocean closed forever oer me! AN ARMISTICE. It is safest to begin with a little aversion. Mas. MALAFEOP. (~UEER now, isnt it? Somehow I never think of marrying any body. Very queer. Why, its always in my mind, more or less. Whenever you see me rather still, and puffing away at the wall, or when I dont talk much going down Broadway of a morning, thats what it is. The two friends walked on a little way in si- lence; the one who had spoken last looking about him, late as it was, for the face that he al- ways expected to encounter in a crowd, but nev- er had seen thus far. It must be full and round, with blue eyes, and a gentle mouth. That was Willard Goodmans beau-ideal; and when one knew his home and his mother, there was no longer a doubt as to what had foreshadowed it. His friend was much taller than himself, much more quiet, with a far less sympathetic nature. He came as uatu~ally by his reserve as Willard did by his loving and affectionate heart. He was English born, and had known no home but a boarding-house since he had been old enouuh to comprehend the tender watchfulness of a mo- thers love, or the hearty friendship of a sister. Poor fellow! No wonder that he never thought of marrying; he had no lost Eden to regain. Theres a great deal in a name, said Wil- lard, slowly taking his eyes from a tantalizing vail that half hid just such a face as he had been thinking of. Oh, you dont agree with Miss Julia Capu- let, ha? In a wife, I meana wifes name. Iwasnt thinking about the play last night, though that little witch of a woman was worth looking at. Im tired of the theatre, though. I dont be- lieve, if I was married, Id ever go again. Yes, you would dancing after madam. Women always want to be showing themselves off in public. Thats all they live for. How do you like Marina, now Maid Marian? English, and so I like it, of course. Where are you going to-night, Will ? To see that cousin of mine. Do come wont you? Ive told her about you. No, I thank you. And Edward Chauncy shrugged his broad shoulders. Im going let me see; I dont exactly know where I am going down to the Astor House a while, I guess. Come along. Not to-night. I promised Helen to look round. I wish you would go! I know so few fellows; and its mighty dull for her hereshes been accustomed to such stacks of em at home. Pity she hadnt staid there! lAThat keeps her North in the winter, any way? Hanged if Id stay in this climate a day if I could help it! Business, said Will, abstractedly; law- yers, and all that kind of thing. Hasnt got her husbands affairs settled up yet; so this year its been hanging on three or four nowshes going to have things wound up. Indeed! There it is again ! And the shoulders were shrugged evidently in contempt this time. If there is any thing I do hate, its a widow. Women of all kinds are bad enough dont amount to any thingbut a widow 1 Well, she goes a little beyond anything. No, I

AN ARMISTICE. 53 And all, forsooth, because I loved his daughter! Loved that child of spells and incantation Love her now beneath this dreary water Love her through eternal tribulation! I wonder if her lips lament me still, In her enchanted castle on the hill? Or has she yielded to that damned magician, And with my pigmy rival weakly wedded? O Jove! the torment of this bare suspicion Preying forever on my heart, and like the hydra headed! O bitter day, when spells, like snakes uprearing, Enwrapped my limbs, and muscular as pliant, Pinioned my struggling arms, until despairing I lay upon the earth a captive giant! Then came the horror of this iron box The closing of its huge enchanted locks Then the cursed wizard to the windy summit Of the tall cape a coffered prisoner bore me, And flung me off, until, like seamans plummet, I sank, and the drear ocean closed forever oer me! AN ARMISTICE. It is safest to begin with a little aversion. Mas. MALAFEOP. (~UEER now, isnt it? Somehow I never think of marrying any body. Very queer. Why, its always in my mind, more or less. Whenever you see me rather still, and puffing away at the wall, or when I dont talk much going down Broadway of a morning, thats what it is. The two friends walked on a little way in si- lence; the one who had spoken last looking about him, late as it was, for the face that he al- ways expected to encounter in a crowd, but nev- er had seen thus far. It must be full and round, with blue eyes, and a gentle mouth. That was Willard Goodmans beau-ideal; and when one knew his home and his mother, there was no longer a doubt as to what had foreshadowed it. His friend was much taller than himself, much more quiet, with a far less sympathetic nature. He came as uatu~ally by his reserve as Willard did by his loving and affectionate heart. He was English born, and had known no home but a boarding-house since he had been old enouuh to comprehend the tender watchfulness of a mo- thers love, or the hearty friendship of a sister. Poor fellow! No wonder that he never thought of marrying; he had no lost Eden to regain. Theres a great deal in a name, said Wil- lard, slowly taking his eyes from a tantalizing vail that half hid just such a face as he had been thinking of. Oh, you dont agree with Miss Julia Capu- let, ha? In a wife, I meana wifes name. Iwasnt thinking about the play last night, though that little witch of a woman was worth looking at. Im tired of the theatre, though. I dont be- lieve, if I was married, Id ever go again. Yes, you would dancing after madam. Women always want to be showing themselves off in public. Thats all they live for. How do you like Marina, now Maid Marian? English, and so I like it, of course. Where are you going to-night, Will ? To see that cousin of mine. Do come wont you? Ive told her about you. No, I thank you. And Edward Chauncy shrugged his broad shoulders. Im going let me see; I dont exactly know where I am going down to the Astor House a while, I guess. Come along. Not to-night. I promised Helen to look round. I wish you would go! I know so few fellows; and its mighty dull for her hereshes been accustomed to such stacks of em at home. Pity she hadnt staid there! lAThat keeps her North in the winter, any way? Hanged if Id stay in this climate a day if I could help it! Business, said Will, abstractedly; law- yers, and all that kind of thing. Hasnt got her husbands affairs settled up yet; so this year its been hanging on three or four nowshes going to have things wound up. Indeed! There it is again ! And the shoulders were shrugged evidently in contempt this time. If there is any thing I do hate, its a widow. Women of all kinds are bad enough dont amount to any thingbut a widow 1 Well, she goes a little beyond anything. No, I 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. thank you. And Mr. Chauncy walked on, as his friend ascended the steps of a fashionable boarding-house and rung the bell. Mrs. Balsell? Oh, certainly, Mrs. Balsell was in her own parlor. Would the gentleman walk up ? She was not only in the parlor, but in the dumps, as she assured her cousin, when she had kissed him, as she always did. Whatever faults Helen Balsell might have had prudery was not one of them. Such a horrid cold as she had it was enough to give any one the blues; such a hor- rid wind, and so cold. Ugh ! And she shiv- ered for all the sea-coal fire, and wound a crim- son scarf about her neck. Find her North another year! Im glad Ned didnt come in, theel, said the sympathizing cousin, wishing he knew what it was mother always prescribed for such colds. NedNed who? No, a visitor was the last thing she wanted to see. Hes a good fellow though, let me tell you, Nell; but queervery queer. I think all En- glishmen are, somehow. Englishmen I retorted the lady, from be- hind the little embroidered handkerchief held between the fire and her flushed face. If theres any thing I do hate, its an English- man! Now thats odd ! and Will Goodmans face lighted up with the singular coincidence thats just exactly what he said when I asked him to come and see you! Did he? Cool, certainly. What does he know about me ? Why, I told him you were a widow, you see, not a day over two-and-twenty; and most men would have jumped at the chance of an in- troduction. I know plenty; but, you see, thats the kind I wouldnt bring here. Ned hates wid- ows as he doeswell, a landlady, say. Does lee! Well, hes ~velcome to keep his distance. And it was plain, from the proud way the ladys head rose up, that her wrath was genuine. What if she was a widow! Dear knows she couldnt help it. Hadnt she cried her eyes out on black-bordered pocket-handker- chiefs for two yearswhich was a great deal to do, considering the difference in age between herself and the late lamented, and that he had left her quite comfortable, and independent of all mankind, English or otherwise? There were plenty of men that did not hate widows, but admired them and edored them. And then she looked at the card-basket and letter-rack, and felt consoled at the slight this stranger had put upon her when she saw how full both were. About this Thanksgiving business, Will ? she said, presently. Your mother insists upon my coming, and Ive got this horrid cold. How in the world can I go! Its bone-set ! cried out this kind young fellow just at that moment. Bone-set, Coz; it would cure you right up. If we were only out home now, mother always has it on hand; and he paused in perplexity, forgetting that most apothecaries followed his mothers example in that respect. Oh, I hate herb-tea! Maum Cressy has dosed me ever since I was so high. I dont think I can go at all, for my eyes are all swollen out of my head, and my voice is as thickwell, I dont know it when I hear it. Im sorry to disappoint Aunt Grace, or to lose her Thanks- giving dinner, tell her; but youd better write that I cant come. I dont feel like stirring away from the fire. But you must, Helen! Thats just what I came to see about. Im going up Wednesday, and they all expect you. Mothers set her heart upon it, and you know shes just as fond of you as if you were her own child. Why, theres no- thing she wouldnt do for you. What was there that she had not done already for her brothers only child! Helen thought of the long journey undertaken past middle-age and Aunt Grace had ever been a home body to comfort her in her heavy trouble three years beforethe trouble that had left her orphaned and widowed within one year. No wonder that when she thought of the independence which many envied she only sighed. Well, Willie, if Aunty has set her heart on it, I must gothats all; but you dont know how I dread it. This cold goes through and through me, and how I am to live when sno~v comes I dont see. I dont think youll mind it so much then. It never seems half as cold when theres snow on the ground. I hope we shall have snow while we re up at Edgehill; we do sometimes when Thanksgiving comes so late. Do you th5rek we will? Oh, that would be famous! Think I never have had a sleigh-ride! What train on Wednesday? And there was far more anilnation in the inquiry than the lan- guid invalid had shown before. But then we all know what a cold is. A cold in the head; What need be said Uglier, stupider, more ill-bred ? Mr. Chauncy had not found the Astor House quite as pleasant as usual, apparently. He had reached home before his room-mate, and was lux- uriating in a tumbler of somethingthe covered pitcher and lemon skins said whatand a fresh London Times. It was a bachelors apartment, large enough to accommodate a book-case, a music-standthe flute lay on the rack at that moment. He had indulged his next-door neigh- bor with Nannie, wilt thou gang wi me? on his return home. There was a large engraving of the gracious Queen over his bed, holding the place occupied by a pencil drawing of a pleasant matronly faceAunt Grace, you may be sure over her sons pillow, at the other end of the room. Edward Chauncy had tastes, and his books and easel and flute had saved him from not a little wickedness in his day. Saw Jones down at the Astor, and he cant AN ARMISTICE. 55 take that run on Long Island with me, old boy! What dye say? Suppose I go home with you, and try a Connecticut Thanksgiving after all? Was ever good-will so taxed! Will Good- mans ingenuity never had been before. He had given his friend a general invitation to his fathers house for the last two years; he had urged him to spend this very holiday there, be- fore he knew of the previous enga~ement with young Jones. But now Helen had concluded to go, and they would never get along at all. They could both say such cutting things, and it would keep the house in hot water. As it happened, his room-mate did not notice his rueful visage at the moment, or the hesitat- ing voice in which the Oh yes, certainly, was uttered. He was too busily occupied in replen- ishing the slender pitcher before mentioned; oth- erwise his ever-ready pride would have taken fire. As it was, he flung the lemon skins into the grate and considered it a settled thing. Having evaded an explanation on the start, Will Goodman deferred it from time to time; and finally concluded to take the chances. It was a little cowardly, of course; but he de- lighted in his friend, and. he loved his cousin. He did not want to offend either. You would have done just the same. I should, at all events. What takes you down town, though I in- quired Mr. Chauncy the morning of their de- parture. He was in a great state of preparation, having overlooked his guns and fishing-tackle, and selected a choice assortment, late as the sea- son was, in the hope of some sport. There was also a tin can for botanizingfine opportunity, the last of November, in Connecticut woods ! md the flute (but that was Wills idea) slipped into its morocco traveling-case, and was depos- ited in one of the innumerable pockets of a rough overcoat, showing great originality of construc- tion, and an evident collusion of the owner and his tailor. Down town ?oh, a little business engage- ment 1 and his companions face, all unused to diplomacy, flushed guiltily. Ill meet you at the upper ddp6t in good time. Off with you, then ! said the blufl hearty tones of the unsuspicious woman- hater, who polished his stocks and oiled his locks with great enthusiasm and a few musical interludes, in high good-humor with himself and all the world. For he did not often take holiday; the warehouse of Trenholm, Robertson, and Co., in which he was junior partner, seldom closed its great gates, and his desk was never empty. Will Goodman looked about for his cornpc- goon de voyage as the cars came slowly toward the upper d~p6t. By his side was a muffled, and in consequence a rather ungraceful figure, consist- ing, as far as could be seen, of a cloak, blanket- shawl, fur tippet, and a huge muff, crowned by a close velvet traveling hat and an expansive green barege vail, really intended for use, and not in the least picturesque, like the brown and blue semicircies that leave the tips of pretty little noses to freeze in the cold wind. What in the world makes you so uneasy, Will? Youllhave your foot right into mybasket. There, I told you so, and all those merangues from Malliards will be in a pretty condition! There you go again, bobbing up and down; I declare youll have my vail off, and I wouldnt have any body but you see me such a figure for the world ! Poor Will! A guilty conscience is proverbially a goad; and just then he had caught sight of a tall figure ladened with sportsmans equipments, and beckoning to him to come forward and take half of an appropriated seat. One minute, Nell. I want to speak to a friend of mine; and the wondering lady watched her escort as he joined the new arrival and went through an interesting little pantomime. Evidently she was pointed outboth gentle- men looked toward her, and Will certainly pointed that way. The tall stranger shook his head, clear enough to decline the introduction her cousin had evidently proffered; and if he had not been a gentleman she would have said that the lowering look that came over his face as he stretched himself out over the seat was ill-tem- per. It was very decided annoyance at finding him- self soldthat was his expressionand if the cars had not been in motion he would have beat a precipitate retreat. But much as he disliked the idea of being shut up in a country house with a woman that would be expecting all sorts of attentions, confdund it! and a widow into the bargain; he loved his precious limbs too well to attempt a flying leap, so he sat still and sulked, Englishman as he was. Whos that, pray? asked the lady, pettishly, as her rather crest-fallen cavalier returned. Only my English friend youve often heard me speak of. Declines the pleasure of my acquaintance, does he? Oh you neednt say a word, I saw it all for myself! He neednt have distressed himself! No ones going to carry him off! How far is he going? she added, abruptly. As farwell, about forty miles you know. Its forty tuiles to Edge Hill, isnt it? ~Vill Helen! That man isnt going to your fathers! I believe he is. Well I shall not, thats all. You may jhst stop at the next station. Yes you may, and Ill go hack to New York by myself. Im not going to have my Thanksgiving and my Aunt Grace spoiled by that sulky, wretched-looking English- man. I declare, Will, if it wasnt in the cars, I could box your ears. And she looked at the moment as if the exer- cise would have relieved her; but when she found that they were on an express train, which did not stop for more than two-thirds of the way, she gradually quieted down, as her cousin knew she would, and made other arrangements; not the less hostile to the intruder, however. Three oclock of a dark, gloomy November 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. afternoon when they neared the station. Will Goodman began to recognize landmarks, and dreaded the first collision between his forces. There was a long ride before them still, seven miles to Eyefield, and very likely only a covered wagon sent for them. How in the world was he to stow Helens two trunks, those awkward look- ing fowling-pieces, their respective carpet bags, and the two belligerents? Rather coldish, he said, in an indifferent kind of way, as he came forward and stood clink- ing the brass checks on the back of the seat his friend still continued to occupy. I say, Will, all that her baggage! How are we going to the farm? I dont relish being jammed into close quarters. Oh, therell be a wagon or something; they dont know youre coming, you see, or they would have sent the big one. As it is we shall have to be amiable, and you must put your feet in your pocket. How far from the farm is the next station? Just about as far as this. We sometimes go that way. Ryefield lies at the point of an angle so, between the twobut this is the best road. Well, Ill try the other anyhow. Its likely I can get a vehicle of some kind, and I want to see the country. Obstinate to the last, even Will Goodman felt provoked at his pertinacity, and suffered him to go his own way with very faint remonstrance. Besides, it helped him out of the present diffi- culty, though he said nothing to Helen ns he assisted her to the platform, and went to hunt up his fathers man Jacob. Theyve sent plenty of buffalo robes, you see, Helen, and Ill get a hot brick for you before we start. Here, let me tuck this down a little. Ill sit on the front seat with Jacob. Where is your friend ? inquired Helen, as the preparations for their drive were made with- out reference to him. With feminine daring! she was eager now for the encounter ; and it needed none of Wills explanations or apologies to help her to understand that she was most open- ly and ungallantly avoided. She had thought before to wound the self-love of the individual in questionthe exposure of the ride was scarce- ly noticed in planning a complete subjugation. Her benumbed faculties were wonderfully quick- ened. She had not felt so like herself since the cold began. The hospitable doors of the wide brown farm- house were thrown open to receive them, and! Aunt Grace herself almost lifted Helen from the vehicle, shawls and all. You poor child you, out in such a day! Aint you most frozen? Do come right in. Here, let me take your basket for you: you run right in by the fire; and down sick with a cold to start with. Father, heres Helen after all. Your un- cle would have come for you himself, but he strained his wrist somehow last week, and aint been fit to drive since. Never mind, well nurse you up and make you all right again. Ive got plenty of bone-set in the garret chamber. You never saw any such weather as this I reckon, Helen. B eats Georgia, dont it? and Uncle Goodman kissed her on both cheeks. Fresh as a rose. La, mother, site aint going to die yet a while! No indeed, laughed the new-coiner, gayly; Ive lost my cold in the cars, and dont intend to find it again. Hadnt you better come right up stairs now, and lay off your things, said Aunt Grace, work- ing away at the strings of the deep velvet bonnet. Come now. I had a fire made up in the spare room, for I knew how youd feel the cold. You run right up, and Ill step into the kitchen and bring you a cup of tea; supper aint just ready, and a cup of tea is wonderful comforting after a journey. Why, Willard, how do you do, my boy? and Helen, half-way up the stairs, looked over the hamsters to see the hearty greeting be- tween mother and son: it did her good. So did the cup of tea which Aunt Grace pre- pared just as she liked it, and brought up with her own hands; and when she had brushed out her curls, and shaken the creases from her black silk traveling dress, and smoothed her neat linen collar with its crimson boxyshe had a Southern- ers taste for all warm, bright coloringthe heavy- eyed, pettish invalid had quite disappeared in the gay and elegant woman that took up her station to the right of the cheerful fire in the parlor below. Chatting so fast and so brightly with her dear Northern friends, whose heartiness and affectionateness always made her so at home among them, she had not forgotten the dreary traveler approaching. He came at last, just as Aunt Grace began to get uneasy about her sup- perchilled and forlorn enough after his solitary ride; so benumbed outwardly and inwardly that he scarcely heard the introductions Will accom- plished laboriously, and was glad to find himself alone with his room-mate in an upper chamber. By George, Willand his face emerged from behind one of Aunt Graces snowy towels I felt like a fool! Why didnt you tell me there was a young lady staying here ? Young lady, who ? Why the one by the fire. I just took one look; but shes a stunner. Handsome eyes, hasnt she? look a man right through. Lots of fun in her. Who is she ? Oh, Helen! Well, thats clever ; and the preliminary flourish of the descending hair-brush was arrested half-way by such a shout of laugh- ter that Helen heard it in the parlor, and Aunt Grace, busied with her biscuits and chickens, in the kitchen. Such a supper it was, too, as only IRyefield Farm could furnish. Thanksgiving wasnt I the time to stint in any thing, was the doctrine that governed the household; and Helen found that she had recovered her appetite as well as her good looks, and being perfectly conscious of the latter, gave herself up to her uncles pleasant though not particularly novel jokes, and her aunts fond petting. As for Mr. Chauncy, he tried to keep up his wonted reserve at first, but AN ARMISTICE. 57 the frost melted in the fire of so much kindliness, and he niched himself into the family circle in a manner that was remarkable to Willard Good- man, who had dreaded the impression that the stiff, rather formal, manner habitual to him when embarrassed might create. The evening slipped away, and eleven oclock came before the circle formed around the parlor fire after tea had been broken. There were nuts and apples. Nuts are such sociable things, re- marked Aunt Grace, and sweet cider sparkling and creaming like Champagne in the old-fash- ioned cut-glass tumblers. You might as well bring the big Bible, Will, said his mother, as he took his cousins empty glass. We must be up bright and early in the morning to get to church in season. It was the first thing that had jarred on the stranger since he entered the household. He had been so long away from all parental restraint that he had shaken off the recollection of its bet- ter influences also; and had lost sight og if not wholly broken, the tie that biads every soul to its Father. But courtesy forbade that he should show how irksome the proposition seemed, and he began, with his artists eye, to note the grouping of the picture before him. The open Bible spread out upon the stand, the two lights burning before it, and the venerable head bowing down to the sa- cred page; Aunt Grace straightening her figure unconsciously, and folding her plump hands be- fore her; Willard listening with habitual atten- tion, his fine face deepening into thoughtful- ness; and Helen gazing at the fire light, her eyes shaded by her slender white hand. He began to think he would go to church after all the next day, though lie had not been before in many years. He was glad 6f it afterward whefi he found himself seated close to the lady he had so churl- ishly avoided only the day before. She looked very radiant in the pink hat and plumes that emerged from one of the trunks, and the ample Cashmere shawl that swept in such admirable folds about her tall figure. The russet-colored gloves were just the shade he preferred, and fitted exactly; and there was the faintest breath of he- liotrope whenever she moved the handkerchief held so lightly between them. Radiant I was the word that came most naturally to his mind when he first encountered her in the hall, dressed for church, and he repeated it to himself when- ever he turned that way. It was not so much the sermon that impressed him, though that was an earnest, grateful appeal to those who listened to number the blessings of the year, and of their whole lives, and be thank- ful for them, but the Psalm, with its exulting chorus No change of time shall ever shock My firm affection, Lord, to thee; For thou hast always been my rock, A fortress and defense to me and the clear voice of the singer nearest to him, whose hand rested on the time-worn hymn-book which she held out with a gesture that signified her expectation that he would join. And he did so, moved by the choral harmony that rose and swelled around him, wondering at hiniself all the while, and at the deep earnestness that impressed them. There must be something real, after all, in a belief and a worship. that took such deep root in the heart. He found himself wondering over it many times that day. There was no contradiction in the merriment of the evening; all was cheerfulness, as became those whose hearts and lives were purely thank- ful. The gathering in the parlor included Wills two married brothers and their families, cousins and friends, all of whom were sufficiently at home to say Aunt Grace, and to banish every parti- cle of formality. They sang, they jested, and though the shade of Puritanism was the only shadow there and forbade a dance, they played rustic games that were still more mirthful and quite new to the two guests. They were not afraid of linked hands, and even a kiss, these hon- est folk; and the blushes and pretty confusion caused by forfeits and pawns were no cover for perverted hearts and sullied imaginations. The merriment went on, and the only two who had been spectators were drawn into it. What is it? what is it ? called out Helen, brightly, as she came flying out into the hall to redeem a forfeit from the wretched English- man. There was no light there, but that which came through the half-opened parlor door, behind which he stood. It revealed her rose-red cheeks and tangled curls, her eyes dancing with fun and frolic. She put out ker hand in the dusky shad- ow to find him. How am I to pay the porter? she said again, merrily. It is all new to me. And to me too, he said; but he took pay as he had been bidden. He had not intended to, but he could not help the irresistible impulse. They were alone in the shadow, dangerously near, and she held out her hand to him. He took ittook them bothand held them so tight- ly that she almost screamed, and then he kissed her full on those red lips! And Helen stood still for one moment, blush- ing, frightened, but most of all at her own trai- torous heart, that did not resent it, and then went flying up the stairs, to stand alone in the darkness of her own room, and wonder how it had all come about. Its most time the young folks were home, said Aunt Grace, walking to the window with her knitting. Dont you think so, father ? Dont hurry em, though talking wont do it for that matter; and Mr. Goodman yawned and stretched out his feet to the glowing coals on the hearth. But I dont mean to sit up. They can look after themselves, I reckon. Hel- ens able to any day. How that young English- man has come round, though! Willard told me the first night they came that he was so very topping he didnt know how Helen and he 58 I1A11PER~S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. would get along. I havent seen any thing of it, I must say. He seems to me very much like other folks. Guess theyll do, said Aunt Grace, quietly, leaning against the sash and looking out upon the shadow of the barns on the new-fallen snow. Such moonlight, and such snow! And the weather had moderated so that one might say, Such sleighing! Helen was having her first sleigh-ride. Theyll want something to eat when they do get here, she added, presently, ever on hospita- ble thought intent. So dont wait for me. Ill just step to the pantry and see what I can find. Mr. Goodman bad already deposited himself on the billowy feather-bed that displayed its in- viting outline and snowy counterpane in the down-stairs bedroom, when the quick jangle of bells announced the return of the first of the party. Aunt Grace looked out of the pantry window, but went quietly on with her prepara- tions, and a significant nod as she held com- munion with herself over the pie-dish. She had left a light in the parlor, and they could wait till she came; the front door never was locked half the time, and wasnt now, any way. She forgot that Mr. Goodman had taken his departure since, and the lamp had vanished with him; but there was a cheerful red light from the fire, and Helen made her way toward it and leaned her head down upon the mantle. She stood there without turning round, when a heav- ier shadow fell out into the room. You have forgiven me ? and an arm was passed lightly around her, the hand resting on the mantle very near her face. You! Yes, its myself I have to forgive now ; and the thoughtful look passed away, and the old defiance lighted up her eyes again. Children, said Aunt Grace, coming toward them with her loaded tray, there, Ive brought you something to eat; but theres only one plate, I find. However, I guess you wouldnt mind much if there was only one fork too; for pears to me youve about made up your minds to eat out of one dish for the rest of your lives. JIJARK, my maiden, and Ill tell you LI By the power of my art, All the things that eer befell you, And the secret of your heart. TUE FORTUNE-TELLER. How that you love some onedont you? Love him better than you say; Wont you hear, my maiden, wont you? Whats to be your wedding-day?

58 I1A11PER~S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. would get along. I havent seen any thing of it, I must say. He seems to me very much like other folks. Guess theyll do, said Aunt Grace, quietly, leaning against the sash and looking out upon the shadow of the barns on the new-fallen snow. Such moonlight, and such snow! And the weather had moderated so that one might say, Such sleighing! Helen was having her first sleigh-ride. Theyll want something to eat when they do get here, she added, presently, ever on hospita- ble thought intent. So dont wait for me. Ill just step to the pantry and see what I can find. Mr. Goodman bad already deposited himself on the billowy feather-bed that displayed its in- viting outline and snowy counterpane in the down-stairs bedroom, when the quick jangle of bells announced the return of the first of the party. Aunt Grace looked out of the pantry window, but went quietly on with her prepara- tions, and a significant nod as she held com- munion with herself over the pie-dish. She had left a light in the parlor, and they could wait till she came; the front door never was locked half the time, and wasnt now, any way. She forgot that Mr. Goodman had taken his departure since, and the lamp had vanished with him; but there was a cheerful red light from the fire, and Helen made her way toward it and leaned her head down upon the mantle. She stood there without turning round, when a heav- ier shadow fell out into the room. You have forgiven me ? and an arm was passed lightly around her, the hand resting on the mantle very near her face. You! Yes, its myself I have to forgive now ; and the thoughtful look passed away, and the old defiance lighted up her eyes again. Children, said Aunt Grace, coming toward them with her loaded tray, there, Ive brought you something to eat; but theres only one plate, I find. However, I guess you wouldnt mind much if there was only one fork too; for pears to me youve about made up your minds to eat out of one dish for the rest of your lives. JIJARK, my maiden, and Ill tell you LI By the power of my art, All the things that eer befell you, And the secret of your heart. TUE FORTUNE-TELLER. How that you love some onedont you? Love him better than you say; Wont you hear, my maiden, wont you? Whats to be your wedding-day? THE GREAT LIBRARY OF STONEBURGH. 59 Ah, you cheat, with words of honey, You tell stories, that you know! Wheres the husband for my money That I gave you long ago? Neither silver, gold, or copper Shall you get this time from me; Wheres the husband, tall and proper, That you told me I should see? Coming still, m~ maiden, coming, With two eyes as black as sloes; Marching soldierly, and humming Gallant lovesongs as he goes. Get along, you stupid gipsy! I wont have your barrack-beau; Strutting up to me half tipsy, Saucywith his chin upso! Come, Ill tell you the first letter Of your handsome sailors name I know every one, thats better, Thank you, gipsy, all the same. Ha, my maiden, runs your text so? Now I see the die is cast; And the day isMonday next. No, Gipsy, it wasMonday last! THE GREAT LIBRARY OF STONEBURGH. A THOUGHT FOR CHRISTMAS-DAY. WEarewonttolookwithsuspiciononthe. manifestations of so-called Spiritualists. Tbe nature of the medium is generally vulgar, the communication worthless and disgraceful to all intelligence save that of the communicator. Rappings, however originated, whether by im- posture, or a lawless, because ignorant, use of law, will never universally persuade of nearness, presence, willingness. Yet to us the story of Job is authentic. And still justice and judgment are the habi- tation of His throne. Not a sparrow falls to the ground without your Father. The hairs of your head are numbered. Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord; I will repay. The Omnipo- tence of Heaven comprehends the dust of the earth in a measure. The inhabitants are as grasshoppers; yet to bring life to light for these the Redeemer endured the shadow of death. To consider how a man had power to forgive sins, and whether that forgiveness involved the remission, or was potent to the revocation of a curse, is the purpose of this paper. On the 25th of December, while in all Chris- tian homes there was rejoicing over truth and joys, an event occurred that was of infinite im- portance to one man in the worldthat man gave up the ghost. Old, hoary, wrinkled, placid, smiling, dead, he lay under the moss-grown roof that sheltered him in days and nights when the smoke that curled up from his chimney and the light that burned in his window were tokens hailed by travelers in the wilderness with thankful ex- pectation. This log-cabin was the very oldest tenement in Hapworth town. A ruiu in reality, it seem- ed merely waiting to make the fact apparent till the old occupant should stand from under. It would not have been considered habitable by any other man than Sardius Stone; he used to answer all warning when the shattered con- dition of the house was spoken of, It will out- last me. And I suppose it would have done so had he lived on ten years further. Close by this cabin stood a willow-tree that was still in its glory when all traces of the an- cient beauty and picturesqueness had disappear- ed from the house and its locality. The mighty branches of this willow held the house in shadow all day long, the fair drapery of its hangings fell around the grisly place with the generous grace of nature. Eighty years ago the young pioneea planted the twig he had used for a riding-whip on his long journey, the spray of willow broken from the tree that grew by his fathers door. Heaven and earth gave of themselves to the wil- low, and the twig became a giant. A thousand birds might reckon it their home. Fourscore years had Sardius Stone dwelt in this town of Hapworth, once called Stoneburgh, after him, its oldest inhabitant. How must the old mans memory have been stored with facts of wild wood life, and of ad- venture, feats of daring and of desperation! and how must he have treasured the slow, rich fruits of patience! Sometimes a judicious listener could draw from out this store-house things old and precious; but Sardius was not a garrulous man in his weakest days, and no amount of per- suasion could prevail on him to unlock the treas- ures of his memory, unless he perceived in the listener such evidence of worthiness to hear as acted upon him like magic or like an inspira- tion. He had now avoided the world for a score of years and more. His tales had become tradi- tional. It was long since he had been seen in the porch of the ancient public house in the out- skirts of the town, once the head-quarters of all travelers. He could not be persuaded out by any solicitation to vote for his countrys good in his latter years. Long before his exit he re- fused to figure among veterans on the fourth day of July. No more telegraphs from heart to brain could thrill the old mans life to any show of action. He was dead, the careless said, ten years be- fore he made his silent appeal for burial. Nev- ertheless, when Death officially indorsed that saying, the town seemed struck with wonder. Scarcely any person had perceived, during the autumn and in early winter, that Sardius was roughly shakenthat he felt the cold more keen- ly than ever before. And scarcely any body was aware of his reviving intelligence, the spirit with which he had taken up the experiences of his early youth again, and the interest with which

THE GREAT LIBRARY OF STONEBURGH. 59 Ah, you cheat, with words of honey, You tell stories, that you know! Wheres the husband for my money That I gave you long ago? Neither silver, gold, or copper Shall you get this time from me; Wheres the husband, tall and proper, That you told me I should see? Coming still, m~ maiden, coming, With two eyes as black as sloes; Marching soldierly, and humming Gallant lovesongs as he goes. Get along, you stupid gipsy! I wont have your barrack-beau; Strutting up to me half tipsy, Saucywith his chin upso! Come, Ill tell you the first letter Of your handsome sailors name I know every one, thats better, Thank you, gipsy, all the same. Ha, my maiden, runs your text so? Now I see the die is cast; And the day isMonday next. No, Gipsy, it wasMonday last! THE GREAT LIBRARY OF STONEBURGH. A THOUGHT FOR CHRISTMAS-DAY. WEarewonttolookwithsuspiciononthe. manifestations of so-called Spiritualists. Tbe nature of the medium is generally vulgar, the communication worthless and disgraceful to all intelligence save that of the communicator. Rappings, however originated, whether by im- posture, or a lawless, because ignorant, use of law, will never universally persuade of nearness, presence, willingness. Yet to us the story of Job is authentic. And still justice and judgment are the habi- tation of His throne. Not a sparrow falls to the ground without your Father. The hairs of your head are numbered. Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord; I will repay. The Omnipo- tence of Heaven comprehends the dust of the earth in a measure. The inhabitants are as grasshoppers; yet to bring life to light for these the Redeemer endured the shadow of death. To consider how a man had power to forgive sins, and whether that forgiveness involved the remission, or was potent to the revocation of a curse, is the purpose of this paper. On the 25th of December, while in all Chris- tian homes there was rejoicing over truth and joys, an event occurred that was of infinite im- portance to one man in the worldthat man gave up the ghost. Old, hoary, wrinkled, placid, smiling, dead, he lay under the moss-grown roof that sheltered him in days and nights when the smoke that curled up from his chimney and the light that burned in his window were tokens hailed by travelers in the wilderness with thankful ex- pectation. This log-cabin was the very oldest tenement in Hapworth town. A ruiu in reality, it seem- ed merely waiting to make the fact apparent till the old occupant should stand from under. It would not have been considered habitable by any other man than Sardius Stone; he used to answer all warning when the shattered con- dition of the house was spoken of, It will out- last me. And I suppose it would have done so had he lived on ten years further. Close by this cabin stood a willow-tree that was still in its glory when all traces of the an- cient beauty and picturesqueness had disappear- ed from the house and its locality. The mighty branches of this willow held the house in shadow all day long, the fair drapery of its hangings fell around the grisly place with the generous grace of nature. Eighty years ago the young pioneea planted the twig he had used for a riding-whip on his long journey, the spray of willow broken from the tree that grew by his fathers door. Heaven and earth gave of themselves to the wil- low, and the twig became a giant. A thousand birds might reckon it their home. Fourscore years had Sardius Stone dwelt in this town of Hapworth, once called Stoneburgh, after him, its oldest inhabitant. How must the old mans memory have been stored with facts of wild wood life, and of ad- venture, feats of daring and of desperation! and how must he have treasured the slow, rich fruits of patience! Sometimes a judicious listener could draw from out this store-house things old and precious; but Sardius was not a garrulous man in his weakest days, and no amount of per- suasion could prevail on him to unlock the treas- ures of his memory, unless he perceived in the listener such evidence of worthiness to hear as acted upon him like magic or like an inspira- tion. He had now avoided the world for a score of years and more. His tales had become tradi- tional. It was long since he had been seen in the porch of the ancient public house in the out- skirts of the town, once the head-quarters of all travelers. He could not be persuaded out by any solicitation to vote for his countrys good in his latter years. Long before his exit he re- fused to figure among veterans on the fourth day of July. No more telegraphs from heart to brain could thrill the old mans life to any show of action. He was dead, the careless said, ten years be- fore he made his silent appeal for burial. Nev- ertheless, when Death officially indorsed that saying, the town seemed struck with wonder. Scarcely any person had perceived, during the autumn and in early winter, that Sardius was roughly shakenthat he felt the cold more keen- ly than ever before. And scarcely any body was aware of his reviving intelligence, the spirit with which he had taken up the experiences of his early youth again, and the interest with which 60 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. he dwelt upon them, as if restored once more to friends and neighbors. Those who cared for him most reverently were nil gone before him. Apparently he was setting out without one God-speed on his journey; for he had outlived every creature on whom he could rely. Yet the watchfulness of woman was for himthe gentle care, the tender speech, the unfailing reverence for what had been and what was. It pleased him to call this girl his child hy his own daughters namehis daughter Juliet, who has the fine monument in the old cemetery that Juliet who died sixty years ago, to the as- tonishment of the world, which has never yet learned, and never will or can learn, that the death of youth and beauty, goodness and purity, is an event to he anticipated in the course of nature. The young person who made a sudden claim on his gratitude, and was answered by the last flashing of the fire of human feelingthis young girl who carried for him, month after month, his daughters name, was an inmate of the luna- tic asylum, and the set-vice she rendered the old man was merely such as any good heart might have prompted without thought of result except of the moment. She was walking in the cemetery one day, the pale-faced, sad-hearted daughter of misfortune, whom griefs and losses had conspired to banish from the glorious paths of youth, and love, and beauty. Sardius found her by his daughters grave reading that elaborate epitaph which failed so utterly to tell her virtues and his sorrow. The sight of the youthful figure and the lovely face, so mild and sad, her interest in the fine moan- meat, and, he thought, her curiosity, moved the old mans heart. Weeping, he began to tell of Juliet, and, weeping, the stranger listened. So they were friends thenceforth; friends by misfortunefriends for the sake of the dead, the dying old man, and the young girl who was dead unto the world. Sardius called her Juliet, and seemed at times persuaded that she was his daughter, and she did never argue with him or say he was deceived, but was really angelic in her involuntary per- sonation of an angel. The physician under whose charge she was placed rejoiced that any thing could excite and retain her interest, smiled on this friendship, and allowed it to strengthen as it would. She made his last days happier than he or any for him could have anticipated, and the town, which had almost forgotten and was quite regardless of him, was not disgraced by the circumstances of the death of Sardius Stone. It must have pleased the young girl as often as she saw the smile that struggled through his wrinkles when he recognized her. She made the lonely house seem like a new place to him with the order and the cleanliness she caused to abound there. Her life began to have some in- terest, her days some connection, when one idea, his comfort, was established in her mind. There was no mistaking her satisfaction when he would greet her coming by the repetition of some curious dream of the past night. He dated all his comfort and enjoyment from the time he found her in the grave-yard; and grotesque as was the fortune he fashioned from past fact and present fancy, he was certain never to be con- fused or bewildered by Juliets attempt to set him right. They loved each other with a sort of tender pity that gave large indulgence for the wildest vagaries of fancy. She wearied of no repetition. How often do you suppose the old man told her of his riding-whip, the willow spray, which he planted at his journeys end? How many times did he repeat the Hapworth sale or swindle? I could not begin to tell, but she never tired of hearing; ever fresh, her sympathy sprang up to soothe his trouble, or his wrongs, or indig- nation; and so many times he averred, in answer to such sympathy, you are my daughteryou are Juliet, that it should seem no wonder if at length she almost believed it. So on Christmas morning Lydia Hertzthat was her namewent to carry the old man a token of the birth of THE CHILD. Children they both were, both remembering this great worlds fes- tival, and waiting for it day by day. Old Sardius had not risen when his guest ar- rived, and at a glance she might have seen that he would never rise. And yet the compassionate creature knew it not. He looked up at her when he saw her standing by his bedside, for he did not hear her approach. He had evidently desired and expected her to come; she did not need that he should say what she so well perceived. He was eager to speak, and did speak, audibly, clearly, without a strug- gle, when she came close to himwords which he knew were to be his last I was waiting for you, Juliet. Tell Hap- worth I forgive him. So clear an utterance he had not for years been able to command. It startled Lydia; old experiences in chambers of despair, by the bed- side of death, began sorrowfully to enlighten her; yet, though she feared, she did control herself to smile serenely, and to answer, I shall tell him this morning. Look! I have brought you a Christmas present, father. He took it in his hands. He thanked her with a lookthat was the last of him: the old man, a hundred years old, was dead. We might linger here a moment to remember that, eighty years ago, Sardius Stone stood in this very chamber, which Lydia did not darken when she softly closed the door and left him alone, a youth full of spirit and of courage that disdained the luxuries he left behind himstood and surveyed his quarters, anticipating for the present not much more than his supply of daily wants, a roof over his head, plain fare, and mod- erate success in disposing of his lands. Does he lie there a hundred years with even these modest hopes ungratified, the old moss- grown roof ready to fall upon him, a neglected, forgotten m~aan? THE GREAT LIBRARY OF STONEBURGH. 61 This is not all. The history is somewhat more complicated; the runner can not read it. Those antlers above the door belong to the trophies of his first year in the forest. The rifle, suspended from the next rafter, is rusty from disuse, and indeed long since incapable of serv- ice; he brought it with him from the settle- ments; he was proud of it when a ladthat fact in the connection is worthy of a thought. The rough furniture, so old and worn, is the same that met his smiling approval us he looked about him in those ancient days, when he was glad to think of all he had renounced of luxury and bondage for the freedom of the woods, the rough fare of independence. The earth had grown old rapidly during his last half century. How shall we choose to omit the recognition? According to prophecy fire was fast destroy- ing the world. The old earth and heavens were passing away. Behold all things were being created new. Tmxx should soon be no longer. The inheritance of all things to them thnt over- came! Even His paths in the great waters even the ends of the earth for possession. While the steadfast Redeemer waited for His enemies, reigning till they should come. Old Sardius might have seen them, had his eyes not been so dim, coming from the north, east, south, and west, as we still see them, and as our children shall; for under His feet the Enemy must lie, and our great city be not Paris, New York, Lon- don, but Salem, the centre of the world, the cen- tralized splendor of nationscentralized by a celestial policythe City of PeaceGod of LovE in the midst of her that she shall not be neoved. Yesterday this old man was almost the only link that bound the conquering present with the toiling past. Dead, past praying for, were the heart of youth that could look on his white hairs, and, reviewing the pioneers experiences, fail to apprehend the splendor of his fortune who was born to the last half of the nineteenth century. That this link should be broken on Christmas- Day seemed to some minds significant. But by the one man whom it really concerned the news was not received as ~n event of import. Lydia Hertz went quietly out from the cham- ber of death, leaving on the bed the slippers she had made for Sardius. Even under her light step the old boards creaked. The room would have looked most dismal to any other eyes than hers, and to her it was not the same place it was a few moments ago, before he breathed his last. She would not light the fire now that he did not need its warmth. The day was mild and sunny: any person who should busy himself there in needful service could do so without dis- comfort from the cold. The first business of the young girl was to find Justice Hapworth and deliver the message. She had seen the gentleman walking sometimes in his garden, or in the church, or driving about in his carriage; every body knew the great man VOL. XX.No. 115.E of the town; he had a person worth a glance; he always could command that. Lydia passed through the great gate, and en- tered the carriage-way, following its windings through the handsome evergreens until she came ne~ r the house. She saw Justice Hap- worth descending the steps. The serious errand on which she came pos- sessed her entirely. She thought of nothing but Sardius Stone and his last words as she approach- ed the master of this place. No misgiving, no vain self-consciousness disturbed her. Calm and steady as a fate she went to meet him. Justice Hapworth recognized the lady. He had before now observed her in the asylum and elsewhere, and any request she had to make in her own behalf, or in that of any other person, he would be almost certain to heed. He ap- proached her with a smile, but there was no re- sponse to it in her serious face. She had come from a presence too dreadful; she could not turn from the friendly dead with tears and greet the careless living with a smile; so, in all the grave integrity of her own spirit, she said, He is deadold Mr. Stone. He lies down there in the old house. I just left him. He told me to find you and say, Tell. Hnpworth I forgive him. For a moment Justice Hapworth regarded the messenger with silent wonder; then he frowned, but afterward he laughed. He was so proud, and could afford to be so contemptuous; the message impressed him much the same as though a worm had crawled out of the path he walked in, giving him all the way. The face of the messenger flushed. Her voice betrayed her, yet she managed to say, with dig- nity, Those were the very words. You may not he the person intended; but I did not know there was another of your name, Sir. He cer- tainly knew what he was saying; and he said it in such a way that I thought, and I think, the words must he of worth to somebody. He died at nine oclock, you say, said Mr. I-Iapworth, looking at his watch. While the bell was ringing, answered Lyd- ia; and it was a matter of small moment to her that Justice Hapworth was so courteous as to follow her to the gate of his grounds, and with his own hands open it that she might pass, or that he should say kindly, Even if you made a mistake, and of course you have not, I have to thank you for a good intent. I shall see to it that the town gives Mr. Stone a burial becoming the first settler of Hap- worth. A promise any citizen might have presumed to make. But when he said, If you were not in such haste I would ask permission to bring you some flowers from the gresn-house. You might put them in his room, or perhaps carry them home, she answered quickly, I am in too groat haste, Sir ; and did not even thank him for the court- esy declined. 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The courtesies of Justice Hapworth were not usually rejected, and never, it may safely be said, with so poor an appreciatiou of their value. That any one should decline a flower from his hot- house was a matter of no great moment, yet he would have been better satisfied if the lady had manifested less indifference to the service he would cheerfully have rendered. He was vexed when he wished her good-morning, and did not smile at himself eveu when he recollected that she was a patient in the Asyluma person by no means responsible for want of courtesy or plain speaking. He went into the green-house at once, after he closed the gate upon the girl; thinking that, though she refused them, the flowers should be gathered, and he would himself take them. Take them! The absurdity of the sentiment he would indulge struck him the instant he crossed the threshold of the dainty crystal palace. This per- fume and this beauty; how should he transfer it, or any portion of it, to the hovel where Sardius Stone was lying dead? Love might have borne these flowersor any, the richest, the fairest that ever blossomedto any place of death, however low and squalid; and placed by loving hands on any bier the gift were well, were decent. But he must make no such offering; mock no sense by such a tribute. He would, however, go and see poor Sardius in his last state. Accord- ingly he walked down to the old log tenement, as became the descendant of Squire Hapworth. He was the first person that opened the door Lydia Hertz had closed behind her when she left the old man to convey his message. No man of reflection associated as he, by his progenitors, with this figure of clay, not long since animated by a spirit that had dealt with the dead from whose life he sprungno man of any feeling, situated as he wascould have looked unmoved on what I-Iapworth there be- held: such a figure, such a setting! Some traces of the, manly beauty for which Sardius Stone was renowned in his prime were still to be discerned in the face that was no lon- ger controlled by the spirit that had been in bonds so long. Lydia had closed the eyelids; and the eyes which had looked with pain on vanity for weary years that seemed to have no end for him, gave not now their painful emphasis to the num- berless wrinkles with which brow and cheeks were furrowed. And the wrinkles themselves seemed, half of them, to have disappeared. Any fond gaze could have seen something to rejoice over in the now placid countenance, so full of satisfied composure. This man had done with sense and time; the show, so poor to him, was over; he stood among the final verities. Justice Hapworth, reckoning his age, was astonished at the peaceful tokens of the face. During the past years he had come to regard this man as a model of unworthinessa gloomy, mis- anthropic, slanderous old dotard, whose pride had destroyed him, when those who started in the race with him outstripped him, prospering to the ~end. Long ago, when the destitute condition of Stone was represented to him, Hapworth had made a provision for him that should keep him in comfort, year by year, so long as he should live. This supply of the ordinary human needs had been made without the old mans knowledge; he had never heard his benefactors name. Jus- tice Hapworth had pursued this course in the veterans behalf with special reference to his feel- ings, fearing that he would, with childish ob- stinacy, refuse the gratuity when he knew the source; for the hostility of old Sardius Stone toward old Squire Hapworth and his descendants was no secret: there was a time when all its facts were notorious in the town. Justice Hapworth was a man of action; but some reflection by this dead body he could not well avoid. He did not smile here when he looked on death, and remembered that the last words spoken in that room were words of for- giveness in which he was concerned. When he went away and closed the door and left the body, it was not with the sorrow of the girl who preceded him, but with a deeper solemnity, and some strange questionings. An electric thrill seemed to pass through Hap- worth town when it was told, from street to street, that Sardius Stone was dead. Even those who had most lightly appreciated the pioneer, who lost his wits when he lost his property fifty sixty years ago; for to that cause people gen- erally assigned the clouds and darkness which gathered over his mindeven such evinced con- siderable emotion, more than could have been anticipated by any one who knew the neglect he had lived to experience. The fall of the land- mark was an event. It gave the pens of editors employment; town records were looked over; general information sought; sounding sentences developed with the fine occasion. The Council, as one man, voted the deceased a public funeral. Mr. Hapworth understood that his motion would secure the vote; and every body echoed what he said in his brief speech, that so much homage as this was due to the departed century. More attention than had been bestowed on the log tenement for a score of years was its share when people and their children perceived that the moss-grown roof covered the dead body of one who had lived a hundred years, once the owner of a hundred thousand acres hereabouts, whose axe felled the first tree, whose hand plant- ed the first wheat-field of a settlement that had grown to be a city of repute, whose forty pros- perous years had been lost in sixty of disaster and helplessness. There was a proposition made in the early stage of proceedings that he should be buried from the church he had helped to build, and which he long attended, but this was overruled; and accordingly the funeral was held in the old cabin. Not from the fine stone mansion on the hill, long the great house of a hundred miles the home from whence his wife and daughter were buried. Even from the little, tottering, moss-grown cabin which in his prosperous days THE GREAT LIBRARY OF STONEBURGH. 63 he had reverently protected from decayfrom this poor, willow-shaded lodge, to which he had retired when his old eyes had seen all this world can give taken away. The preacher, who was an orator, ascended the platform in front of the house, and from thence addressed the immense throng gathered from far and near, in deference to that whose present best representative was to be fonnd in the white hairs, and wrinkled visage, and the name of Sardius Stone. The country had come to town in crowds. Long would both sown and country remember the days wintry beauty, its quiet and its bright- ness, the little house, and the exceeding great company; the generous eloquence, and the lofty themetime, death, eternity; the gravity of the aged, and the attention of children. The last century seemed indeed to wait interment at the hands of this people. Country folks cat twigs from the venerable willow-tree to plant around their homes, or on the road-side, or in the grave-yard where they had buried their dead. One became a thousand. All in memory of Sardius Stone, who, many a conscience said, had been allowed to pass too far from sight, to live too much alone. Even with the oft-repeated He would have it so, they could not satisfy themselves. There was just one mourner for the dead, the poorgirlwhom sorrows hadhenightedshe whom the old man called Daughter and Juliet. Conspicuous among the dignitaries appointed to follow the hearse on foot was Justice Hap- worth, whose grandsire the preacher named with honor, and dwelt upon with fervor, as he recalled the early history of the Western District. Had it been possible Justice Hapworth would gladly have resigned his place in the procession to another. Not because averse to display of this kind. No business, and no celebration of honorable public character, could be transacted in the town without his recognition and assist- ance. He was needed not merely as the repre- sentative of past dignity, but of present power and influence. But something as weak as mis- giving disturbed his mind on this occasion. He was not fearful of violating good taste, to which he was a patient slave, in thus allowing himself to appear in cruel contrast with that which must have burial. The name of Hap- worth had superseded that of Stone, as had also the Hapworth deeds and titles. Success was with the living, and ruin with the deadeven the preacher seemed aware of the fact. The misgiving was excited by nothing Hap- worth heard or saw. He did not even recognize that he had any cause for the disturbance he felt. He was not mindful of the fact that the men were dead who used to talk much of the advant- age, legal and illegal, taken by Squire Hap- worth, agent, in his dealings with Sardius Stone, proprietor of the great land estate. They were dead who would have talked, and found their listeners while they talked, of the processes by which Hapworths fortune grew, and Stones diminished, as the settlement passed through village, town, and city experiences. The man also had long since departed who was witness to the final separation between Stone and Hapworth, when both uttered words neither would ever forget, ending with Stones Never mind, Hapworth. Youve got it all in your hands at last, but it will be cursed to youmind that. Years ago, exaggerated rumors of this quarrel and its causes were rife among the people. Here and there, in out of the way places, some moulder- ing fragment of the report might be found, but where the current of life ran swift and strong it was unknown, and most people would have felt the shame and the risk of bringing to mind a prophecy proved so false. For what curse had ever fallen on any Hapworth? The Squires son, and his sons son, went on prospering and to prosper, and year by year their riches in- creased. No blight of any kind for them strength and health, and a sound mind; posi- tion, power, and the grace to use it, distinguished Squire, and Judge, and Justice. Here stood the youngest representative in his beauty and his pride; there lay the prophet dumb, with thun- der-bolt withdrawnforgiveness on his lipsthe last clear token of him a forgiving man. Ay, and a little further let us look into the brightness of this picture. You might search far in vain for a nobler specimen of manly dig- nity and grace than this heir presented. The idea of his inheriting a curse was the last that could occur to a right-minded person, aware of his blameless life, his manifest fair fortune. lie lived in becoming style though without display. He was not vain; he could not afford the time, and would not afford the money, to gratify vul- garity in his way of living. He never hunted heraldry in search of a crest and coat of arms to paint upon his panels or grave upon his seal. The house and grounds were kept in style with- out abatement of the splendor in which his fa- ther had indulged. But the worlds notions had grown since then, and many a dashing specula- tor, who made his fortune last year and would lose it in the next, eclipsed the house of hap- worth in display. He disdained to rival such, and none that knew him called him niggard. Indeed, to the mind of respectable conservatism Justice Hapworth was a model man; and if the young men of the neighborhood ran off into wild courses of dissipation and extravagance, they were at least indebted to others besides him for example. Yet the man was cursed. He might give away half his fortune, but was not a liberal man. He was selfish in his aims, even though they concerned entirely the public good. He was narrow in view, not lofty in sentiment, cautious, suspicious. A person need not be exalted to the dignity of an angel in order to be able greatly to pity such a man, though the mob of people round. about will magnify his virtues, glorify his deeds, regard him as the model man, spitting on the prophets, stoning martyrs so to prove their brave dexterity, and their most keen perceptions. 64 HAIIPEES NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. When he caine into possession of his estate he informed himself of every item of intelligence that concerned him before he would rest. His expenditure he early determined to regulate by his income; yet half that income remained on his hands at the end of every year. He missed all the profit of his charities except that of pub- lic praise; for in his heart was no charity, and in his life no beneficence. He missed the satis- faction of a nature whose sympathies are allowed their natural free action; he missed gratitude and love, except that of lying lips and careless tongues, and that nauseous gossip of the news- papers, the free and unbought press. He missed, in fact, the blessedness of every blessing. The curse had fallen on his spirit, and if any where he had apprehended it, it would have been in the destruction of his property. He laughed at the word of Juliet, the ti- dings from the death-bed FORGIVENESS a curse revoked by him who uttered it, hut he had good need of a deliverance. How could he ever be made to understand? I know of but one power that works the unques- tionable miracles. Hapworths serenity of countenance and gen- eral composure testified to the absence of excite- meat in the circumstances of his lot. He seem- ed to control those circumstances with a strong hand; in politics, in business, he had the cool- ness of a commander: no advantage was to be taken by the wary of his loss of self-possession. 1-us sleep was unbroken by distracting thoughts. He was methodical and exact to a belittling cx- tome, for there is a point beyond which honesty can not go and hope to miss of actual degrada- tion. If any body doubts it, let him trade with three-penny bits a while! Eat the time was come when even habit should be weak in controlling the man. Of all faces of beauty, of all forms of grace, of all sweet voices, of all lovely eye~, was there none that could haunt him but the face, the form, the voice, the glance, of the young maid in the lunatic asylum, who had tenderly watched the dying days of Sardius Stone; who had indig- nantly resented Hapworths thoughtless ingrat- itude? For so it seemed. Of all women she alone ever f6r one moment disturbed the bachelors peace, interfered with his ease, accused him in absence, reasoned with him in silence, followed him unseen, compelled him away from his close calculations, shamed his exactness, reasoned with him, persuaded him, proved to him that his self- sufficience was not all-sufficient. Eat in his walks and drives he saw her not; and let no one suppose that the purpose of seeking her ever even flashed across his mind as possible. Among his designs you would never find one opposed to his immaculate good sense. He did not seek her then; but in those wintry days he left undone two things of which he would not need to make account when he should sum up his sins of omission. iroiu harvest time till January it had been his purpose to cut short, make an end of a cer- tain style of correspondence which had prevailed during these months between him and the agent of the largest portion of his estate. The year had been disastrous to all agriculturists; crops generally had failed, and the small farmers who rented land of him, paying him yearly iater~t from the profits of their labor, had, to a man almost, failed to act according to agreement. Since the fact of their impossibility to meet their obligations had come to the agents knowledge, he had been performing the unusual duties of a mediatorstating facts, and leaving them to make their own appeal to the proprietor, who would not be impoverished by the impoverish- ment and withholding of his tenants. This state of things interfered with the land- holders habits of business, and greatly displeased him. He had thought the matter over, and re- frained from expressing his opinion to the agent because he intended that the business should be settled according to his own mind, and lie could not clearly see how that was to be done if what the agent said was true. Somewhere in the bus- iness he believed he should be defrauded. To secure himself he supposed he must insist upon the usual settlement between the agent and him- self. He had come to this conclusion before the death of Sardius Stone, but he did not act upon it. Early in the new year he sat down to make a finish of the business much more exactly than he had contemplated. That the grace might be made manifest to every man concerned as pro- ceeding from his own royal hand, he released each tenant from payment whose name appeared upon the agents list. Last year he would have been incapable of such an act. On impulse he never acted. This deed was the result of deliberation, not honora- ble, not high-minded; but men are men, and all their best deeds are not such as would be worthy of the just gods. If I say this act of clemency and generous jus- tice was a proof that a curse was being removed, I must also say it was a testimony of other influ- ence of which Mr. Hapworth was as little aware. Gentle, liberating influence, that was giving him other honor, other excellence, other beauty, dig- nity, and joy, than his own to think of. He was put to another trying test before the spring. Party expedients acts for which no single man would choose to be responsiblehad been discussed in more than one assembly for de- liberation of ~vavs and means. Hapworths in- fluence and money were both wanting, he knew how much. He was to be paid rare wages for himselfof course the reader understands the consideration of his distinguished service to the cause was not to be put in the form of wages, but rendered in grateful testimony. Defend us from the recklessness of people who call things by their names! There was a time when Justice Hapworth would not have hesitated as to the course he should pursue. Such an emergency as the pres THE GREAT LIBRARY OF STONEBURGH. 65 ent would have found him prepared, and he would have gone on conquering and to conquer, as here- tofore. But in these days he seemed to be not his own man. He was interfering with himself. The rigid will was disturbed. Something fairer even than expediencysomething truer and more honorablewas busy with persuasion, argument, reproach. There seemed to be two sides to all these arguments, and an absolute nay ready for all the affirmations. And was it not an evil hour? Rabid politicians called it so. Was it not defeat, disgrace, when Justice Hapworth washed his hands of an of- fense against right, in defiance of party regula- tions? Let them call him sordid, traitor, isa- becile! As if directed by an unseen willit is a spir- itual facthe threw away his prudence in busi- ness, renounced political advantage, and retired from his office when his party, according to threat, dropped him and substituted in his place another. And he looked and lived thereafter like a living man, though his detractors general- ly said that he was dead. Verily it seemed as if Stones forgiveness had a work to do; as if a little leaven were leaven- in~ the lump; as if communication were estab- lished somehow between two opposing forces. Where was Lydia? Gathering flowers in the spring from the grove in the midst of which stood the asylum. She carried the first she found to lay on the grave of Sardius. Often she was walking to the ceme- tery with such offerings; and if any person think- ing much or rarely of her cared to find her, he might have felt assured that in one place he should see her, any bright dayby the grave next the mound that covered Juliet. Justice Hnpworth went one afternoon to the cemetery, contemplating by the way a secret purpose which he intended to communicate to no one. The willow-trees were bare of leaves as yet, but the t~vigs were turning to a deeper yellow; the last years grass lay brown or green upon the graves, but the roots were springing freshly un- (lerneath, and sending up the shoots as yet invis- ible; the sky was blue as the splendid prophetic knowledge of the sun could make it; the air like balm; the monuments glittering with whiteness; the dead at rest; the birds at work. By the grave of Sardius Stone sat Lydia Hertz; her hand was full of wild-flowers, and resting on the sod. Justice Hapworth was standing straight before her before either was aware. They had not met since Christmas morning on the Hapworth lawn, and both remembered that occasion and the in- terview. Did the recollection so prevail as to take from this meeting all pleasureeven all satisfaction? He smiled when he recognized her; she did not frown, nor look with wonder, nor think, since he had come, this was no place for her. Was there no pleasure in this meeting? Yea, to the loves that ordained it; to the care that never wearies; to the patience that never de- spairs. He came there with his secret purpose, which he intended should remain a secret always, but the first words he spoke to this young girl re- vealed it. Of millions of women fate could not have substituted another in her place of whom this same thing might be said. But for Lydia, his secret had been his own forever. I camesaid he, lifting his hat, bowing low to the sad-faced girl I came to sea about a monument for Mr. Stone. Have you ever thought of a style that would be most appropri- ate for him ? Though she merely answered in the negative, she looked up with an interest and pleased sur- prise that constrained Hapworth to say further: Let us talk about it, then. Maybe you can help me. It must not be ostentatious or much ornamented. That would not be appropriate. It would not, certainly, she answered; and, rising from the mound, she came out from the inclosure of the family burial-place and stood before the monument of Juliet. You must say nothing of my intention, said he; it is my secretand yours, too, it seems. You will help me keep it as well as ful- fill it, therefore. She boweddid not speakwas evidently taken up with some thought which she desired to express, and yet doubted either her ability to make it clear or his to hear it with satisfaction. You will help me, I hope, persisted the Justice, perceiving her perplexity, and strangely desirous of the aid he was soliciting. He told me once she answered; I wonder if I shall tell you ! Certainly, he said, with an assurance that seemed able to settle the doubt in her mind. He spoke out as the ruler of a world. But, do you deem, without emotion? Did the Lord of Life weep by a grave indeed? But you laughed when I brought a message from him; so that I have never been satisfied whether it was for you, she answered. Be satisfied, said Hapworth, with a solemn convictiona sudden, a wonderful illumination, which he was honest enough to declare outright. It was for me. It could have been for no oth- er manfor I have surely been forgiven! You are right to remind me. But be kind; and tell me what it was he said! While he spoke her face brightened; when he ceased she said: You make me happy. I will tell you what he said. Before he lost his property he meant to give the town a library. He said he meant that it should be his monument. After he lost his daughter he intended to turn his handsome house into a library building, and fill it with books Juliet was very fond of books. But pretty soon every thing was gone, and he could do nothing. Justice Hapworths eyes were on the child for so she seemed to him. His serious, mild gaze did not trouble her, and it was not once 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. removed while she spoke; hut he looked away when he asked, in a low voice, Do you suppose that this design would have pleased him greatly if he could have fulfilled it? And if I should carry out the project, do you think that would he hetter than to erect a mon- ument down here ? Oh yes ! she exclaimed, with an eagerness that expressed well her l)leasure. When I am betterand the doctor says I shall he Here she paused. What will you do ? asked a tender voice that seemed to care. We have a library in our old houseit be- longed to my grandfatherand my father and brother were great students. There are hun- dreds of volumes and nobody to use them. You may have them to put with yours for his monu- ment. Ab, said Hapworth, we must think of that! Some day, perhaps, we shall select the books together. You would really advise me to let the monument alone, and turn the old house into a library ? Is it yours ? No, but the owner wants to sell it. Can you buy it ? If you think it would be best. I want to please you, for then I know I should please him. All that you did satisfied him. ~ said she; he often said so. Then you will help me when it comes to ar- ranging the books ? For his monument? Yesif I couldif I am herebut I would stay for that. Will it be long ? If von would walk with me a few steps from this place, said Hapworth, I could show you the house. I have often seen it, she replied. We used to walk there; and be has told me many times about his daughterhow she diedand the very roomI know it. We should call the library after his name,,~ said Hapworthand he was leading the way out of the cemetery, Lydia following him. Simple talk for record; but while it beguiled him Hapworth seemed to be treading on ever- lasting foundations; and oh! I shall not strive to prove what divine beauty was in the truth that bloomed aloft. They walked from the cemetery a few paces till they came near the bill on whose summit stood the mansion, built like some old-time cas- tle. Hapworth did not ask her to ascend the hill with himindeed seemed hardly to know why he had guided to that place. A solemn fear possessed him. What was in store for him he could not rightly see; but he knew that his des- tiny was here. As for Lydia, in her sadness was the tremulous prescience of some triumph- ant joy; and it was manifest, as is the shin- ing of the moon through breaking clouds, fair clouds, that are dispelling to leave clear a fairer sky! Unfinished as this page might seem, I am tempted to leave it hereto leave this man and woman to the influence of each others sacred presence. As no imagination of old time ever, on any page, for any eye, rivaled the marvels of science in our dayas truth is always better and more marvelous than fiction, more wonderful in operation, more beautiful in result, I dare not stain this canvas with any ~audy coloring that it may arrest for one moment longer any ill-dis- cerning eye. Let not my work here be thought of, but the transcendent work, the perfect work of Nature. Here was a man conditioned almost as a god, delivered from the curse of his own bands, look- ing down on a young girl whom Providence had left alive on earth when grief had tormented be- yond reason. She was looking back to him with brightening eyes, brightening intelligence. They were thinking, as well as speaking, of the old man whom Ilnpworths forefathers had wronged. They were consulting together with intent to carry out the proudest wish that old man ever cherished. They were trusting each other as out of ten thousand you shall find one man and one woman. By the immortal, invin- cible strength of love he should bring her free at last of every cloud of darkness; by the eter- nal verity of love, she should be strong to leave her life with him. It was the work of a day, of an houi~, ques- tions some reader, with a smiling doubt. Oh profanest skeptic! that might well be; but it was not in this instance. Foa the first time in his life Hapworth had seen Truth when she rebuked him. For the first time she in him had recog- nized Destinyshe whom fortune and friends and the world had fooled, and whom God had graciously taken into His own charge when these had proved unworthy, soothing her reason to sleep until a day of strength and the light of joy should come. Truth and Strength! When Love unites these who shall put asunder? How often is the im- probable and the impossible of man to be proved the YEA AND AxEN of a diviner spirit? It might be one day or many that Justice Hapworth waited for his bride. Deem the high- est aspiration of old Sardius Stone fulfilled. Sur- vey his noble monument. Look not for Hap- worth on the mapthe citys name is Stone- burgh. Consider that no poison could destroy this Juliet. OUR OLD PEW. WE are quite well aware that there is no- thing especially attractive to this fast and not very reverential generation in the title of this article; and while the merits of The Old Arm-chair and The Old Oaken Bucket, The Old Mill, The Old School-house, and almost every ancient thing on earth, have been said or sung to not indifferent ears, so far as our observation goes, we are the first to say a word for the Old Pew. If our saying may turn out to be as much a sermon as a song, we hope to

66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. removed while she spoke; hut he looked away when he asked, in a low voice, Do you suppose that this design would have pleased him greatly if he could have fulfilled it? And if I should carry out the project, do you think that would he hetter than to erect a mon- ument down here ? Oh yes ! she exclaimed, with an eagerness that expressed well her l)leasure. When I am betterand the doctor says I shall he Here she paused. What will you do ? asked a tender voice that seemed to care. We have a library in our old houseit be- longed to my grandfatherand my father and brother were great students. There are hun- dreds of volumes and nobody to use them. You may have them to put with yours for his monu- ment. Ab, said Hapworth, we must think of that! Some day, perhaps, we shall select the books together. You would really advise me to let the monument alone, and turn the old house into a library ? Is it yours ? No, but the owner wants to sell it. Can you buy it ? If you think it would be best. I want to please you, for then I know I should please him. All that you did satisfied him. ~ said she; he often said so. Then you will help me when it comes to ar- ranging the books ? For his monument? Yesif I couldif I am herebut I would stay for that. Will it be long ? If von would walk with me a few steps from this place, said Hapworth, I could show you the house. I have often seen it, she replied. We used to walk there; and be has told me many times about his daughterhow she diedand the very roomI know it. We should call the library after his name,,~ said Hapworthand he was leading the way out of the cemetery, Lydia following him. Simple talk for record; but while it beguiled him Hapworth seemed to be treading on ever- lasting foundations; and oh! I shall not strive to prove what divine beauty was in the truth that bloomed aloft. They walked from the cemetery a few paces till they came near the bill on whose summit stood the mansion, built like some old-time cas- tle. Hapworth did not ask her to ascend the hill with himindeed seemed hardly to know why he had guided to that place. A solemn fear possessed him. What was in store for him he could not rightly see; but he knew that his des- tiny was here. As for Lydia, in her sadness was the tremulous prescience of some triumph- ant joy; and it was manifest, as is the shin- ing of the moon through breaking clouds, fair clouds, that are dispelling to leave clear a fairer sky! Unfinished as this page might seem, I am tempted to leave it hereto leave this man and woman to the influence of each others sacred presence. As no imagination of old time ever, on any page, for any eye, rivaled the marvels of science in our dayas truth is always better and more marvelous than fiction, more wonderful in operation, more beautiful in result, I dare not stain this canvas with any ~audy coloring that it may arrest for one moment longer any ill-dis- cerning eye. Let not my work here be thought of, but the transcendent work, the perfect work of Nature. Here was a man conditioned almost as a god, delivered from the curse of his own bands, look- ing down on a young girl whom Providence had left alive on earth when grief had tormented be- yond reason. She was looking back to him with brightening eyes, brightening intelligence. They were thinking, as well as speaking, of the old man whom Ilnpworths forefathers had wronged. They were consulting together with intent to carry out the proudest wish that old man ever cherished. They were trusting each other as out of ten thousand you shall find one man and one woman. By the immortal, invin- cible strength of love he should bring her free at last of every cloud of darkness; by the eter- nal verity of love, she should be strong to leave her life with him. It was the work of a day, of an houi~, ques- tions some reader, with a smiling doubt. Oh profanest skeptic! that might well be; but it was not in this instance. Foa the first time in his life Hapworth had seen Truth when she rebuked him. For the first time she in him had recog- nized Destinyshe whom fortune and friends and the world had fooled, and whom God had graciously taken into His own charge when these had proved unworthy, soothing her reason to sleep until a day of strength and the light of joy should come. Truth and Strength! When Love unites these who shall put asunder? How often is the im- probable and the impossible of man to be proved the YEA AND AxEN of a diviner spirit? It might be one day or many that Justice Hapworth waited for his bride. Deem the high- est aspiration of old Sardius Stone fulfilled. Sur- vey his noble monument. Look not for Hap- worth on the mapthe citys name is Stone- burgh. Consider that no poison could destroy this Juliet. OUR OLD PEW. WE are quite well aware that there is no- thing especially attractive to this fast and not very reverential generation in the title of this article; and while the merits of The Old Arm-chair and The Old Oaken Bucket, The Old Mill, The Old School-house, and almost every ancient thing on earth, have been said or sung to not indifferent ears, so far as our observation goes, we are the first to say a word for the Old Pew. If our saying may turn out to be as much a sermon as a song, we hope to OUR OLD PEW. 67 win a friendly ear from the large and growing class of our readers who cherish time-hallowed remembrances sacredly, and believe that home- life gains in geniality as well as in elevation by coming under wholesome church influences. I have had it (here a while we use the first person) in mind for some time to write an essay upon the Church view of the Family, and my thoughts take the present shape from a visit to my native home and the old church of our child- hood. I always go home in mid-summer, and it is pleasant to make a double use of the college holidays by taking the old homestead on the ~vay to the Cambridge Commencement. I have just returned from that annual visit, and I found the workmen busy with dismantling the interior of our church, or meeting-house, as the people there usually style their places of worship. I was glad to be in time to see the building before the work of destruction had gone far, and sit a moment in the old pew before its homely pine and mahogany were torn away to make room for more modera accommodations. The mo- ment spoke for a whole lifetime, and recalled vividly the forty years that have passed since I first took my seat there, and looked up with child- ish reverence to the lofty ceiling and the solemn preacher. The ceiling does not, indeed, seem to mc very lofty now, yet it lifts my thoughts higher than any vaulted cathedral; and the preacher, although he now wears the square cap of an academic president and rules over the old- est university in the land, is not as awful as he was then; and it was very pleasant as I sat, last week, at his table, and enjoyed his sparkling Wit and sententious wisdom, to be assured that the familiarity which abates awe need not bring con- tempt, and that true reverence may grow with friendly fellowship. I can honestly say that the best influence over my boyish days came from that pulpit; and although the preacher was a deep thinker, and I could not understand all of his sermons, there was something in every ser- n~on that came home to me, and even when I could not understand the thought I understood the manner, being perfectly convinced by the tone and gesture that he meant to do us good, and the spirit and the trust were with him. Like other men, I, of course, have had my tempta- tions, and I can truly say that, whenever enticed to venture upon any wrong course, no power has been stron~er with me for the right than the re- membrance of those wholesome counsels of our old minister, and that searching question, how shall I look him in the face if I waste my time and opportunities and make a fool or reprobate of myself? lIe is now no longer in that pul- pit, except on some occasional visit, and the forty years that have gone over his head since I first saw him there have changed him from a somewhat fiery young polemic to a calm and almost judicial sage, yet no man has better kept the promise of his prime, and his ripe autumn fruit is the fitting harvest of his green and vig- orous spring-time. One thing it is very cheerful to note in him as the sear and yellow leaf comes on: he is merrier as well as wiser, and perhaps his genial temper is as good a moral now as was his close and vehement preaching forty years ago. The aspect of the empty pews, as they waited the blow of the hammer (not the auctioneers), was not as cheering as that of the pulpit; for forty years make sad havoc in a congregation, and as memory called the roll of the old familiar faces no answer came, in many cases, except from the tombstones that record their names. Death had made especial ravages among the solid men who sat in the middle alley, or what in New En- gland is called the Broad Aisle. I used to look at them with wonder not unmixed with rev- erence, for they were mostly the rich men of the town, whose stately houses stood in decided con- trast with our simpler homes. They have pass- ed away, and for the most part their wealth has gone with them, and strangers live in their houses and occupy their pews. An instructive essay might be written upon the lives and fortunes of some twenty of those solid men, and the lesson might throw some light upon the nature and permanence of our American prosperity. Other faces, however, than theirs dwell most pleasantly in my remembrance, and our old church had its notable persons who have made their mark upon the thought and business of our day. The navy officers worshiped usually with us, and many a weather-beaten head bowed down there in rever- ence that bad braved the battle and t~he breeze in perils that have become part of our national history. There, too, for years, sat the noted or- ator and statesman of our vicinity, now mor than ever a national name, probably the most re0ular worshiper in the whole congregation, present morning and afternoon, and at the usual services and at communion, the most successful man of his time, yet always bearing the mark of care upon his brow, and apparently needing no grave warnings of the altar to convince him that no crown is without its cross, and he who wins fame and fortune can not have them wit~e- out paying a high price. Other men sat there, too, who have won a good nam.e of the public in literature, science, and the learned professions. I will confess, however, that there are some associa- tions with the worshipers that impressed me quite as much as the view of captains and senators and their peers. The scheol-boy and collegian, as he sat in the family pew, joined none the less fervently in the worship from being aware that gentler eyes than his were turned toward the pul- pit, although sometimes, perhaps, an occasional glance toward this or that fair school-mate might have mingled with the love that is divine som.e little alloy of earthly feeling. He remembers to this day two faces that strongly impressed his boyhood, and gave a tinge of romance to the old sanctuary. Not far in front of his pew sat a child, a little girl with a rivulet of brown ring- lets falling down her shoulders, and as she grew in stature, she became, even before he made her acquaintance, a kind of fairy of the boys day- dreams. Another lassie, of smaller stature and 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. more merry laugh, and with a hand small and dimpled enough to win a sculptors eye, some- times entered into his Sunday thoughts and made it pleasanter to go to church. Those two chil- dren, the picturesque Laura and the statuesque Hebe, are matrons now, each with her due share of offspring. Was it a merciful Providence that their various attractions so kept the student os- cillatiub between them as to save him from so falling in love as to spoil his studies, or from venturing upon some juvenile declaration that might have brought a disheartening refusal from grave parents, and made him a laughing- stock among the young people? These, per- haps, may seem to be frivolous associations with a sacred place; yet there is a spirit of chivalry natural to boyhood which readily connects wo- manly grace with religion, and does not prevent a romantic nature from saying the prayers heart- ily with a little lovely companionship in the sanc- tuary. Our Puritan churches are so barren in ornament, without a picture or inscription to vary their blank walls, that the human heart is compelled to be its own artist,and set upaMa- donna or two of its own from pictured fancies if not upon glass or canvas. After all these somewhat playful reminis- cences, we confess that the old edifice abounds in serious suggestions; and before we surrender- ed the old pew to destruction, we were compelled to note a few thoughts upon the welfare of the family as connected with the church and its ministry. The first thought that forces itself upon us comes from the importance of duly con- sidering the individual characteristics of the mem- bers of the family in religious education, and of not forgetting, in our wholesale methods of train- ing the young, that each girl or boy is an orig- inal from the hand of God, and, as such, de- mands, in some respects, a peculiar nurture. rhe whole family, indeed, is fenced up within that boarded inclosure, as within the partitions of a sheep-pen, in a way that tends to hide all marked characteristics in a prosaic uniformity. Yet even the Sunday seat with the Sunday face in the gravest sanctuary does not wholly tone down to one dead level every salient point of character. The soberest members of the family, who are intent upon prayer and Bible and ser- mon with all their hearts and eyes, will, by their way of sitting or holding their head or book, or their cast of countenance, betray their idiosyn- crasy; and the imperious shake of the solemn fathers head, or the anxious glance of the careful mothers eye, will be, to a shrewd observer, a great revelation of character. Then the children, with their volatile spirits, can not fail to show what is in them, and any man who has a keen eye for human nature need not take his Shakspeare or Lord Bacon to church with him to open to him the secrets of the human breast and prove the force of nature over circumstances. A half doz- en girls and boys are a compend of the worlds history, and in the hints of pride or vanity, sens- itiveness or resolution, quietude or restlessness, listlessness or anxiety, a sagacious looker-on may detect qualities that have made the earths lead- ing characters and their subjects or disciples. We must confess that this fact of individuali- ty of nature and experience is not sufficiently considered in our churches, and too often the whole congregation is preached to as if all were exactly alike, and were to be turned to religion upon a kind of turning-lathe very much after the same pattern. Not only in the tone and direc- tion of the services, but in the very order of the services, there is too little regard to individual dispositions and faculties. As a general rule, we are convinced that young people are surfeited with mere preaching, and that the ear and un- derstanding are tasked to an extent wholly out of proportion with the eye, the fancy, and the affections. Our churches run too much to ser- mons, and to prayers that are often but sermons aimed toward heaven. There is too little to see and feeltoo little cheering music, social fellow- ship, and ritual symbol. We remember what a godsend it was to us in our boyhood when a baby was baptized, and the minister, after the singing of a hymn, came down from the pulpit, and, in the gaze of the great company who stood on tip- toe to be spectators as well as listeners, named the child, after the Divine commission, in a way that made us feel, better than we could then ex- plain, that a little baby is a sacred and mysteri- ous gift, and under that frail mantle of clay rests that royal humanity which the Father made, and the Son redeemed, and the Spirit sanctified. There was very little else in our church to vary the usual tenor of worship. Never a marriage, with its festive sanctity, nor a funeral, with its solemn shadownever a Christmas wreath nor an Easter flower, to bring into the sanctuary some sacred sense of the rich fullness of human life and the wide range of Gods providence. What poetry we had in connection with religion came to us in spite of the church, and even our noble minister, with all his gifts of wisdom, his iron logic and pointed moral and often eloquent appeal, seldom dealt in pathos or ideality, seldom presented church principles and seasons in a way to attract young hearts. We needed some di- rect appeal from him to bring us to ourselves and to God. The old catechising in a manner filled the want, and a few words from his revered lips to each of us as we met in the church on Wednesday afternoons were treasured up for years, and are riches to us now. Yet there was generally little contact between the pastor and the children of the flocklittle of that personal counsel which, in our Protestant faith, may have all the unction and point of the old confessional without its tyranny. Many a youth suffers sad- ly from not having his own religious difficulties fitly met, and his own religious sensibilities and powers brought out. He finds himself sternly questioned byhis own reason, and strongly tempt- ed by his own heart and the world. He finds himself unable to think and feel as others seem to do, and often is in danger of giving over his soul to despair as an utter reprobate, simply be- cause he is made in a peculiar mould, and must OUR OLD PEW. 69 take to religion, if at all, as to every thing else, in his own way, and not in another persons way. He is, perhaps, of a soher, ethical disposition like St. James, and wonders that he has not Peters fiery zeal or Pauls impassioned faith. A true and timely word might set him right, and instead of vainly trying to make of him somebody else, It might help him he himself among the other dhildren of God. There is no end to the illus- trations of the principle in question, and a new day will come to our churches when it is duly remembered that in the same pew vast diversity of gifts exists, and we show reverence for the Cre- ator by giving fair play and full nurture to every soul that He has called into heing. Perhaps every thoughtful reader can remember cases of promising youths who have heen allowed to drift loose from all serious convictions, if not from good morals, in the absence of such personal care for their welfare. Surely it is a somewhat startling ~ought, as we look upon the tenants of a church- pew, to reflect how many various dispositions nrc there represented, and what care is needed to give each nature its true development. Study any family group, moreover, not only as made up of separate persons, but as forming one household. Generally, a looker-on may discern a family likeness in the whole company of chil- dren; and even the father and mother, without any unity of blood, assimilate somewhat in ap- pearance hy constant association. The inten- tion of Providence evidently is that the family shall he one, not only hy living under the same roof, hut hy breathing the same spirit and fur- thering the same plans of life. It is equally evident that mere blood is not enough to make them one, and many of the most terrible quarrels that stain history and convulse society have heen between blood relations. Mere unity of hlood may sometimes create discord; for where, for ex- ample, a certain high temper runs in the veins, the inmates of a household may he tempted to quarrel even because they are so much alike. ~ut without such high tempers, and in a family with good average dispositions, there is sure to be sufficient variety of traits to excite uncomfort- able feelings, if all are not induced to agree upon some principle of harmony above personal notions and caprices. Hence the blessing of a strong and wholesome religious influence over the house- hold, and the need of enlarging and elevating liome life by church devotion and fellowship. It is by no means easy for relatives, even for brothers and sisters, to agree when they wish to do so by mere good-nature, much less by a de- cent etiquette that disguises chagrin, or by a compromise of manner that tolerates failings for the sake of havinb its own failings tolerated in turn. It is a great art to solder different metals together; and without the proper amalgam, the more they are brought together the more they datter and chafe. The higher the materials to be united, the higher must be the element of union; and human souls can come together only in the atmosphere of love, that is the souls true life and Heavens best gift. Hence the blessing of a sound, hearty religion in drawing the family together; ~nd the pew, whose door opens to welcome themfrom the household, should dismiss them to their homes all the warmer in domestic affection from being more fervent as children of God. It would be well, it seems to us, if preaching had an eye more to this end, and our clergy would remember that every Sun- day, in the hundred or two families present in the pews, there must be not a few cases where the first principles of brotherly and filial and parental love need to be inculcated. Sometimes the tenderest appeals to home feeling touch the very natures that seem least open to gentle emo- tions; and we believe that generally, whenever the preacher says a cordial and unaffected word, especially for good mothers, the sternest looking men in the audience, with not a few of the inure refractory boys, will be found inclining to the melting ~iood. It may startle sentimental ears to be told that respectable families are not always by mere force of nature harmonious, and need the benefit of church and clergy to bring them into tune. But we are ready to go even further, and to main- tain that the very families that have within themselves the largest elements of happiness are very apt to disagree unless they are harmonized by a spirit above their own self-wills. True harmony is the agreement of differences, and where the differences ~eesn at first to be the greatest, as in a concert of various voices and in- struments, the harmony may be the most coni- plete. What a fearful din arises when first the drum and trumpet, the flute and fife, the harp and horn lift up their miscellaneous voices; and the novice might well think that Bedlam had broke loose or Babel had come again. But list- en again, and the performers no longer following a chance caprice follow the notes of the great master, and the full burst of harmony speaks the triumphant reconciliation of that host of differ- ences, the very best passages in the whole piece harmonizing the most opposite instruments, and perhaps making the silver flute keep friendly company with the brazen drum, or the quivering harp give grateful relief to the sonorous trumpet. Human characters are more various than metal or strings or reed, and require a finer touch and higher mastery to bring them into tune. We are not, of course, speaking now of positive quar- rels in a family; for hard words imply low breed- ing, and rude blows degrade households below the level of those for whom we write. Yet there may be a whole world of discomfort without sinking into such degradation, and family jars may rob life of its best charm, even when they do not break the visible order of the family, or go beyond hard thoughts and moody tempers. The trouble may come from the over-sensitive, who feel acutely every cold look or harsh word, or from the strong will that resents every re- straint as an imposition; and often these two traits of character are found to organize a stand- ing disagreement in afamily, when delicate nerves on one side, and hot blood on the other, live in a 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. state of chronic warfare, like the tearful rain and gracious and a grace that is authoritative. If a flashing lightning of a thunder-shower. We do good share of solid sense and clear logic is united not believe, indeed, that temperaments can be with such a ministry, all the better for its power changed; hut we do know that they can be regu- over the masculine part of the family in bringing lated, and at the very point where disagreement them to true reverence for sacred things, and most readily commences there the true harmony into wholesome harmony with the generally de- should begin; for just at that point the necessity vont temper of the women of the household. of self-control and self-sacrifice most clearly ap- There is a great deal of undeveloped talent in pears, and when these set up their cross of self- the family; and it is a startling question to ask consecration the crown of peace will not long on Sunday, as we look about upon the congrega- be withheld. XYe suppose that the happiest tion, what would be the career of these girls and couple need in some way to find out this secret boys if their destinies were to chime exactly with for themselves and their children, ud that no their powers, and they were to become the most families have so deep and enduring eujoyment and the best that they can become? But talent as those who learn in due season that human is not by any means confined to the taste, intel- tempers and impulses are very mutable and err- lect, or imagination, but embraces every capaci- ing, and must be brought under the influence ty and faculty of usefulness and enjoyment, or of a superior authority and spirit. We believe of receiving and imparting good. How much that the simplest lessons of the Gospel, if heeded more startling becomes the question when ex- in due time, might prevent many a family quar- tended to all those varieties of sensibility and af- rel; and that, instead of an angry divorce, a fection and conscience and thought and purpose deeper harmony would unite many a sensitive in which life has its highest worth and peace! wife and irritable husband, if the sease of in- Every Sunday how various and many are the firmity or wrong had only brought humility be- keys touched by the preachers word, and what fore Gods mercy-seat iustead of multiplying power has a true master in bringing out the true scandal in the worlds mischievous ear, tones from that many-voiced humanity! Hence Generally the feminiue part of the household the needwhich we urge as our final leading is more under the influence of the pew than the thoughtthe need of cherishing a true catholici- masculine part, and is especially better for the ty in church, and of thus making the family feel influence, when true wisdom guides the pulpit not only that they are individuals and also one and good sense goes with the sentiusent of the household, but that they belong to a universal ministrations. Sometimes this very subject di- empire, a spiritual kingdom, and are to cherish vides the household, and the husband and wife its divine citizenship in the due use of their pow- differ decidedly as to the merits of the preacher or ers and capacities. They will be all the more a the worth of the sanctuary. Most frequently the family by recognizing their true union with the skeptical clement in the family is on the masen- universal family; just as each city is more a city line side; and where actual skepticism does not by knowing its due relation to the State and na- exist, a certain reserve, or indifference, almost tion. Without going into any ambitious discus- as much nullifies the influence of the Church. sions of the true breadth of human culture, and How to interest the men and boys is a great ques- the value of a cosmopolitan spirit in society and tion of our time, and one which is answered in va- the world, we are content now with maintaining rious ways, and most conspicuously hy two classes that each household needs a personal sense of of preachersthe sensation orators, who thin the place of each member under the Divine gov- the seats of the theatre and caucus by their more eminent to give to each character its just chatro inebriatin~ appeals, and the rough-and-ready and power. The round of a single Snnday~s school of divines, who seem to carry the boxing- service, more than any week-days schooling oi gloves and foils into the pulpit, and preach bodi- any ball-rooms elegances, should tcach a true ly exercise as well as godliness, and recommend humanity and test a true grace and dignity. 1mm a very literal style of knock-down arguments. fact, what great aspect of History, Providence, These may do well in their place; and it takes or Human Life is there which is not, in some all sorts of people to make up a church as a way, presented or suggested by the Scriptures, world. But, for ourselves, we have far more hymns, prayers, and meditations of a well-con- hope of interesting indifferent men, and even re- ducted season of worship? The good old Bihie claiming refractory boys, by a consistent, calm, itself is the great text-book of humanity as well and resolute ministry, that urges a Divine an- as of God, and gathers within its lids the thoughts thority with devout grace, and aims to nurture and experiences not only of famous saints and the people within Gods kingdom in the atmos- sages but of nations and ages. It unites with phere of love, and upon the living bread and wa- the acts of worship and instruction to win the ters of the Fathers household, than by any sea- assembly to a sense of citizenship beyond that of sation rhetoric or rough-and-ready pugnacity. any one caste or family, and to ennoble daily The great question to be settled is, whether life life by the dignity of a divine birthright. The is to be under a divine law or not; and if under household needs this influence; for when left to a divine law, whether under the divine love also. itself it tends to a narrow clannishness, or belit- Now, surely the ministry that mingles true dig- tling familism, that impoverishes the home, by nity with sympathy and unction is most likely to making it the all-in-all, as much as he impover- secure this end, and urge an authority that is ishes his estate who persists in shutting himself WISDOM AND GOODNESS. 71 up within its bounds by walls that shut out the steps of men, and the range of mountain and riv- er, and the light of heaven itself. The true in- fluence, when fitly used, not only enlarges the views of the family, by due knowledge of the broad sweep of the Divine plans and the rich di- versity of Providential characters, but it brings each mind to its true bearings by presenting the essential ideas and motives which every human soul must accept if it would be loyal to its birth- right. Thus comes that sacred filial sense and purpose which give the true aim and power, and gnide and stren,,then all human relations by the master-spirit of a truly filial heart. The human father is a better father from looking to the Di- vine Parent; and the son is a better son by lean- ing upon that infinite love; and the friend and the brother can give a richer sympathy by exalt- ing personal affection into a spiritual fellowship, and ennobling private feelings by universal char- ity. So great is the grace and power of such a high standard over the family that camps and courts imitate its loftiness, and in a certain way imperfect, indeedthe tone of military honor and social gentility is always bearing witness of the claims of the higher worth over the lower inter- est, and measuring life more by the quality of its spirit than by the quantity of its goods. The high- est quality attaches to the family that is most loyal to the highest good, or has the clearest sense and the bravest service of the divine kingdom. Ev- ery true home must have something of this qual- ity; and the lowliest cottage need ask no honors from courts or camps, fame or fashion, when its sons and daughters know and serve the Supreme Power and the Eternal Love. That family may fill a humble seat in the visible church, but it is higher than any dome or spire that pierces the sky; for Gods true children are as high as his own mercy-seat, and their Sunday faces, in their reverence and joy, show forth something of the glory and blessedness there euthroned. It may seem to some that we are dealing in overstrained phrases, and that we have mounted from the old pew to the pulpit, and caught a lit- tle of the cant and exaggeration sometimes found there. But we are, we trust, quite in a common- sense vein, and can say in all soberness that ev- ery man who can remember a single true Sundays devotion in church will verify what has been said, and allow that, in our best hours there, we have a certain sense of belonging to the great spiritual family, and being cheered by the Universal Light and animated by the Universal Will. It is most touching and impressive to look upon the assem- bly where all feel this experience, and men and women of all callings, conditions, and culture are drawn together not only by the common rev- erence for the sanctuary shown in their common carefulness of garb and manner, but by the great and blessed conviction that they meet together in one Father, and hear His voice and feel His breath in the One Word and Spirit. We have written in a somewhat old-fashioned strain, although by no means belonging to the dass of croakers and fogies. We believe in the old Gospel as the best news, and hold to every good institution that dispenses its living waters. By this time we suppose that our old pew has been made into fire-wood, and thus returned some of the light and warmth which it has been re- ceiving for forty years from the altar. We doubt not that the new and more graceful structure that is taking its place will, in due time, have a story of its own to tell, and we trust that it may have a better story-teller than we. What forty years to come will bring to pass in that or in any sanctuary no sober man will venture to predict; and nothing would better illustrate the mutability of human life and fortune than an exact picture of the old church, with its people, when first opened for worship, in 1818, and now, in the year 1859, when it is to be transformed. In many of those pews then sat young couples just beginning the world together, more than one fair wife bringing a brides garment and hopes to the sanctuary. Those intervening years have brought new carcs as well as new blessings to those seats, and the space between the young husband and wife has been occupied by new faces, with eyes brighten- ing and opening with growing intelligence; and sometimes saddened by vacant spaces that speak of eyes that have been closed in death. How in- structive and impressive would be a series of photographs of the family groups in any of those pews at intervals of every five or ten years, and showing the occupants in their various stages of life and culture! A keen eye must see in the boy of forty years ago the features and character of the man now of fifty yet the keenest eye must allow its inability to play the prophet of the next forty years, and turn with grateful heart from the old pew to the old pulpit and the old Bible, hap- py to be assured that we are in better hands than our own, and we are governed by One whose ways are not as our ways, and whose thoughts not as our thoughts. Farewell, old church! We can not forget your seats and walls without forgetting the best gifts that we have ever had from God and man. WISDOM AND GOODNESS. J WOULD be good, I would be wise, For all men should. The wise an saith, Folly is sin, and sin is death. But Fate denies What I demand for boons like these, If not a life, yet days of ease. Not in this world of noise and care Is Wisdom won, however wooed: She must he sought in solitude, With thought and prayer! She will not hear my hasty cries; I have no leisure to be wise! Who can be wise that can not fly These empty habblers, loud and vain; To whom there is no God but Gain? Alas! not I. But this dark thought will still intrude, There needs no leisure to be good!

WISDOM AND GOODNESS. 71 up within its bounds by walls that shut out the steps of men, and the range of mountain and riv- er, and the light of heaven itself. The true in- fluence, when fitly used, not only enlarges the views of the family, by due knowledge of the broad sweep of the Divine plans and the rich di- versity of Providential characters, but it brings each mind to its true bearings by presenting the essential ideas and motives which every human soul must accept if it would be loyal to its birth- right. Thus comes that sacred filial sense and purpose which give the true aim and power, and gnide and stren,,then all human relations by the master-spirit of a truly filial heart. The human father is a better father from looking to the Di- vine Parent; and the son is a better son by lean- ing upon that infinite love; and the friend and the brother can give a richer sympathy by exalt- ing personal affection into a spiritual fellowship, and ennobling private feelings by universal char- ity. So great is the grace and power of such a high standard over the family that camps and courts imitate its loftiness, and in a certain way imperfect, indeedthe tone of military honor and social gentility is always bearing witness of the claims of the higher worth over the lower inter- est, and measuring life more by the quality of its spirit than by the quantity of its goods. The high- est quality attaches to the family that is most loyal to the highest good, or has the clearest sense and the bravest service of the divine kingdom. Ev- ery true home must have something of this qual- ity; and the lowliest cottage need ask no honors from courts or camps, fame or fashion, when its sons and daughters know and serve the Supreme Power and the Eternal Love. That family may fill a humble seat in the visible church, but it is higher than any dome or spire that pierces the sky; for Gods true children are as high as his own mercy-seat, and their Sunday faces, in their reverence and joy, show forth something of the glory and blessedness there euthroned. It may seem to some that we are dealing in overstrained phrases, and that we have mounted from the old pew to the pulpit, and caught a lit- tle of the cant and exaggeration sometimes found there. But we are, we trust, quite in a common- sense vein, and can say in all soberness that ev- ery man who can remember a single true Sundays devotion in church will verify what has been said, and allow that, in our best hours there, we have a certain sense of belonging to the great spiritual family, and being cheered by the Universal Light and animated by the Universal Will. It is most touching and impressive to look upon the assem- bly where all feel this experience, and men and women of all callings, conditions, and culture are drawn together not only by the common rev- erence for the sanctuary shown in their common carefulness of garb and manner, but by the great and blessed conviction that they meet together in one Father, and hear His voice and feel His breath in the One Word and Spirit. We have written in a somewhat old-fashioned strain, although by no means belonging to the dass of croakers and fogies. We believe in the old Gospel as the best news, and hold to every good institution that dispenses its living waters. By this time we suppose that our old pew has been made into fire-wood, and thus returned some of the light and warmth which it has been re- ceiving for forty years from the altar. We doubt not that the new and more graceful structure that is taking its place will, in due time, have a story of its own to tell, and we trust that it may have a better story-teller than we. What forty years to come will bring to pass in that or in any sanctuary no sober man will venture to predict; and nothing would better illustrate the mutability of human life and fortune than an exact picture of the old church, with its people, when first opened for worship, in 1818, and now, in the year 1859, when it is to be transformed. In many of those pews then sat young couples just beginning the world together, more than one fair wife bringing a brides garment and hopes to the sanctuary. Those intervening years have brought new carcs as well as new blessings to those seats, and the space between the young husband and wife has been occupied by new faces, with eyes brighten- ing and opening with growing intelligence; and sometimes saddened by vacant spaces that speak of eyes that have been closed in death. How in- structive and impressive would be a series of photographs of the family groups in any of those pews at intervals of every five or ten years, and showing the occupants in their various stages of life and culture! A keen eye must see in the boy of forty years ago the features and character of the man now of fifty yet the keenest eye must allow its inability to play the prophet of the next forty years, and turn with grateful heart from the old pew to the old pulpit and the old Bible, hap- py to be assured that we are in better hands than our own, and we are governed by One whose ways are not as our ways, and whose thoughts not as our thoughts. Farewell, old church! We can not forget your seats and walls without forgetting the best gifts that we have ever had from God and man. WISDOM AND GOODNESS. J WOULD be good, I would be wise, For all men should. The wise an saith, Folly is sin, and sin is death. But Fate denies What I demand for boons like these, If not a life, yet days of ease. Not in this world of noise and care Is Wisdom won, however wooed: She must he sought in solitude, With thought and prayer! She will not hear my hasty cries; I have no leisure to be wise! Who can be wise that can not fly These empty habblers, loud and vain; To whom there is no God but Gain? Alas! not I. But this dark thought will still intrude, There needs no leisure to be good! 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. REGULAR HABITS. BY FITZ HUGH LUDLOW. I. A MAN who has married a lovely blonde, and sees himself reflected in two blue eyes, has thereby made himself sure of heaven, having pre-empted two quarter-sections of it and settled on the same. I have no doubt that a great many sweet things may be thought and said of wives who look out of black, brown, hazel, or even green soul-windows. But blue is my specialty. I speak particularly of blue, because my own lit- tle woman keeps my heart up by looking tender- ly at me with that color, driving away the blues with blue, homeopathicallysimilia similibus, you know. I think that you would like to hear how I got her. It is a pretty story, and has lost none of its romance because it was published in the shape of bans a dozen years ago or more. How Lulu and I pity people whose marriage-daythat vail- er of heads and unvailer of heartsshows no- thing under the thin crust of lover-reserve re- moved but facts, business, convenience! How we rejoice in being and in seeing married lovers! God bless thembe they rich or poor! If they nre the latter, it is because for a little while they are in uncomfortable rooms in this worlds big boarding-house, until the, home they are hav- ing fitted up in the far amaranth gardens where the River of Life runs at the porch is all ready for them. But allons! For the story! The family of old Dr. Benjamin Brightyse awoke every morning of ~ummer at half past fourevery morning of winter at half past five, precisely, at the sound of a gong. Awoke, but with the exception of Dr. Benjamin himself turned over, made an unpleasant remark regard- ing the machine, and were asleep again simul- taneously with its last vibration. As for Dr. Benjaminthat was a different affair. At the foot of his bed stood a chair, whereon his day vestments had taken their stated six hours of re- pose once in the twenty-four during the last third of a century. I might have said thirty-three and a third years, but the dignity of the pendu- lum and Dr. Benjamin seems to indicate the state- ly word century as more befitting an account of either of them. On the seat of the chair men- tioned lay Dr. Benjamins black pantaloons, fold- ed without a single superfluous crease. Above those his vest, from whose pocket the massive ,old repeater had been taken, wound up, and placed in a selected hollow beneath his pillow. His glossy strait-bodied coat hung speckless on the topmost projections of,the chair-back, cover- ed with a napkin. Over this lay smoothly his immacnlate frilled shirt. His merino wrapper, with its nether continuations, occupied severally an arm. On the lowest bar between the legs his blue knit stockings were suspended; and outside of the door his mirror-bright half-boots awaited him, their toes at a calculated right-an- gle to the threshold. A black stockfashioned with internal springs whose stiffness made it re semble some curious throat-trap stopping just short of the point where compression of the lar- ynx proves fatalcurled all up into itself, set to catch him the moment that the highest button of his shirt-bosom became fastened. All these preparations gave promise of prompt- ness in rising and dressing, which Dr. Benjamin took care amply to fulfill. By the time that the other members of his family had taken up the raveling end of those dreams which the blare of the gong had snapped asunder he was equipped to meet the exigencies of the day. It befell upon a certain morningsufficiently long ago to have permitted room for the occur- rence of a great many dressings sincethat Dr. Benjamin set forth upon the early walk which formed the next thing on his invariable pro- gramme after getting ready to walk. It was in the month of Novemberit was a quarter to six oclock, for winter hours were inaugurated by the gong, as an unwilling concession to the frail- ties of the laggard sun, with the last month of fall. As the Doctor shoved back the two bolts and turned the great key of the front door he felt a very singular and reprehensible tendency toward the irregular action of shivering, but checked himself in time, and converted the move- snent into ~ne of enthusiasm, brandishing his arms declamatorily and saying, as to an audi- ence, Hah! what a glorious hour is the morn- ing! An observer, however inclined to grant his abstract proposition, might have withheld as- sent in the special ease without laying himself open to the charge of contumacy. As the Doe- tor opened his door and passed out, Hazeithorpe, his place, did not become visible. So deqse a fog vailed all creation that beyond the twin Nor- way spruces that sentineled the path to the gate at a rods distance from the porch, whatever the Doctor possessed in the way of real estate, for purposes of ocular enjoyment, might just as well have belonged to some other man. He stood on his door-step as on an islandlike an early Cru- soe whose man Friday was sleeping over. The withered grass just around his feet seemed a pat- tern of badly chased silverthere hadbeen plen- ty of moisture during the night, but not enough decidedness in it to make frost, and now it hung weakly dropping from every thingleaves, win- dow-sills, step-rails even the Doctors nose. Nevertheless this latter the Doctor wiped, and ejaculated again, with the same air of irrepressi- ble enthusiasm, Hab! what a glorious hour is the morning! The quail from amidst the stubble of a corn- field two or three fences off piped Bob White in a disconsolate manner, as if that member of the White family had a stove, and the bird would have given a great deal to get near it. The sparrows kept np a melancholy show of flying fitfully about to dry their wings in a fog which was too wet and heavy to dry itself and get out of the way of the sunshine; and the Doctor in- wardly debated why it was that when early ris- ing and walking abroad were exercises so ex- ceedingly beneficial and delectable, nature could

72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. REGULAR HABITS. BY FITZ HUGH LUDLOW. I. A MAN who has married a lovely blonde, and sees himself reflected in two blue eyes, has thereby made himself sure of heaven, having pre-empted two quarter-sections of it and settled on the same. I have no doubt that a great many sweet things may be thought and said of wives who look out of black, brown, hazel, or even green soul-windows. But blue is my specialty. I speak particularly of blue, because my own lit- tle woman keeps my heart up by looking tender- ly at me with that color, driving away the blues with blue, homeopathicallysimilia similibus, you know. I think that you would like to hear how I got her. It is a pretty story, and has lost none of its romance because it was published in the shape of bans a dozen years ago or more. How Lulu and I pity people whose marriage-daythat vail- er of heads and unvailer of heartsshows no- thing under the thin crust of lover-reserve re- moved but facts, business, convenience! How we rejoice in being and in seeing married lovers! God bless thembe they rich or poor! If they nre the latter, it is because for a little while they are in uncomfortable rooms in this worlds big boarding-house, until the, home they are hav- ing fitted up in the far amaranth gardens where the River of Life runs at the porch is all ready for them. But allons! For the story! The family of old Dr. Benjamin Brightyse awoke every morning of ~ummer at half past fourevery morning of winter at half past five, precisely, at the sound of a gong. Awoke, but with the exception of Dr. Benjamin himself turned over, made an unpleasant remark regard- ing the machine, and were asleep again simul- taneously with its last vibration. As for Dr. Benjaminthat was a different affair. At the foot of his bed stood a chair, whereon his day vestments had taken their stated six hours of re- pose once in the twenty-four during the last third of a century. I might have said thirty-three and a third years, but the dignity of the pendu- lum and Dr. Benjamin seems to indicate the state- ly word century as more befitting an account of either of them. On the seat of the chair men- tioned lay Dr. Benjamins black pantaloons, fold- ed without a single superfluous crease. Above those his vest, from whose pocket the massive ,old repeater had been taken, wound up, and placed in a selected hollow beneath his pillow. His glossy strait-bodied coat hung speckless on the topmost projections of,the chair-back, cover- ed with a napkin. Over this lay smoothly his immacnlate frilled shirt. His merino wrapper, with its nether continuations, occupied severally an arm. On the lowest bar between the legs his blue knit stockings were suspended; and outside of the door his mirror-bright half-boots awaited him, their toes at a calculated right-an- gle to the threshold. A black stockfashioned with internal springs whose stiffness made it re semble some curious throat-trap stopping just short of the point where compression of the lar- ynx proves fatalcurled all up into itself, set to catch him the moment that the highest button of his shirt-bosom became fastened. All these preparations gave promise of prompt- ness in rising and dressing, which Dr. Benjamin took care amply to fulfill. By the time that the other members of his family had taken up the raveling end of those dreams which the blare of the gong had snapped asunder he was equipped to meet the exigencies of the day. It befell upon a certain morningsufficiently long ago to have permitted room for the occur- rence of a great many dressings sincethat Dr. Benjamin set forth upon the early walk which formed the next thing on his invariable pro- gramme after getting ready to walk. It was in the month of Novemberit was a quarter to six oclock, for winter hours were inaugurated by the gong, as an unwilling concession to the frail- ties of the laggard sun, with the last month of fall. As the Doctor shoved back the two bolts and turned the great key of the front door he felt a very singular and reprehensible tendency toward the irregular action of shivering, but checked himself in time, and converted the move- snent into ~ne of enthusiasm, brandishing his arms declamatorily and saying, as to an audi- ence, Hah! what a glorious hour is the morn- ing! An observer, however inclined to grant his abstract proposition, might have withheld as- sent in the special ease without laying himself open to the charge of contumacy. As the Doe- tor opened his door and passed out, Hazeithorpe, his place, did not become visible. So deqse a fog vailed all creation that beyond the twin Nor- way spruces that sentineled the path to the gate at a rods distance from the porch, whatever the Doctor possessed in the way of real estate, for purposes of ocular enjoyment, might just as well have belonged to some other man. He stood on his door-step as on an islandlike an early Cru- soe whose man Friday was sleeping over. The withered grass just around his feet seemed a pat- tern of badly chased silverthere hadbeen plen- ty of moisture during the night, but not enough decidedness in it to make frost, and now it hung weakly dropping from every thingleaves, win- dow-sills, step-rails even the Doctors nose. Nevertheless this latter the Doctor wiped, and ejaculated again, with the same air of irrepressi- ble enthusiasm, Hab! what a glorious hour is the morning! The quail from amidst the stubble of a corn- field two or three fences off piped Bob White in a disconsolate manner, as if that member of the White family had a stove, and the bird would have given a great deal to get near it. The sparrows kept np a melancholy show of flying fitfully about to dry their wings in a fog which was too wet and heavy to dry itself and get out of the way of the sunshine; and the Doctor in- wardly debated why it was that when early ris- ing and walking abroad were exercises so ex- ceedingly beneficial and delectable, nature could REGULAR HABITS. 73 throw so many obstacles in the way of them. This thought, however, was almost unconscious to himself, and for the world he would not have acknowled~ed it to any body, as he strode fierce- ly thron~h the mist, his nose graced with con- stantly-recurring drops, and his frill languid with overmuch imbibition. He turned his thoughts to all pastoral images of the morningthe low- ing kine driven afield through dewy uplands heavy with clover-sweet and galingaleand came near stumbling over a miserable cow, who, eccen- trically straying from the shed before breakfast, stood with an imbecile look toward the spots where grass had been, and dripped audibly. He fancied the lark taking up the song which the retiring nightingale had dropped, and climbing into heaven on the bars of red and golden light, bearing praise as fit finale to his sisters sad com- plaint. Neither were there larks nor nightin- gales in the United States of Yankeedom so far as heard from; but place is an inconsiderable fact in reference to spirits, and we had nightin- gale souls, likewise lark souls, in America hopeless p~plc coming first, with their songs of despair, a~ finally after them the men and.wo- men who are the true prophets, who catch the first gleanis, and mounting, peal forth, Hope! hope! unquenchable hope ! the true and right succession for those who are not bilious, and who know, maugre all creeds, that there is no such thing as despair in the universe. The Doctor thought of this, and began to feel less as if he were in an ice-house with a wet towel on his spine. He warmed up, clapped his hands, and cried, Hurrah for the lark ! without regard to the drop on his nose. A draggled bantam cock, who, like himself, had risen early from force of habit, mistook this action for a challenge, and oa a tall litter-heap looked over the fence of the Doctors barn-yard to answer it with a crow, but got as far as Cock-a-doo, and dejectedly left the dle-doo-oo-oo to be added on at some period when the fog had got out of his throat. In vain the Doctor sought to lift his enthusi- asm. Some special contretemps was sure to oc- cur, or, that failing, the great general centre- tenps of six oclock of a muggy November morn- ing dished him in all attempts to forget Natures temporary accidents of time and place. He strode faster and faster, down gravel-walks made to saunter in, past flower-beds widowed of all color but dun, all perfume but mildew, and final- ly came to a rustic arbor in his garden, with a wealth of bottled vexation in his interior which principle forbade him to spend on its obvious causethe morning walk, but which chance af- forded no other scape-goat to wreak it on. Had he seen a cat go up one of his autumn-stripped apple-trees he would have felt like shying a stone at her for the intent to steal pippins. Dr. Benjamin entered the arbor with a jerk, and threw himself down on his bandana hand- kerchief, which principle, even in the heat of the most excited moments, always impelled him to interpose between the black pantaloons and any seat whatever. The caution was well taken in the present instance, as the rustic seat was mouldy and dripping like all else. Here his eye fell on the proper objects for ingathered wrath. Leaning against the central trunk of the arbor was a guitarmildewed and rusty as to its low- er, snapped as to its higher strings. A capacious meersehaum, smoked half out, lay on the ground by its side, in a little desert of its own ashes. On the seat beside theDoctor Rob Roy was sprawl- ing open at the place where the gauger is drown- ed by Helen Macgregor; and that unfortunate victim, the Bailie, Helen, and all the clan, were additionally drowned in the last nights mist, which had soaked from cover to cover. Evi- dently the book had been abandoned at that place for some other occupation, whose nature was indicated still fnrther on by a tumbler con- taining slices of lemon, which citlier had been bottled in whisky to make them keep, or had at- tained contact with that fluid in some way suill directer. Further on around the circular seat was a knifeopen and rusty. It lay in a little bed of chips; and beside it was a futile attempt at a wooden chain, broken at the second link. And on the ground, at the Doctors feet, was a ladys reticule. Over the Doctors benevolent face there came a look of intense sarcasm. Such an honest, good-hearted, charitably-believing face that was of his, that he seemed like a dear satirical gentle lamb, who was playing goat for fun. I-lah! said the Doctor, with the audience voice, gesture, and expression; hab! a pretty, pretty set of young people I have lived to see, to be sure! A little Rob Roy; a little whit- tling; a little whiskywhisky-skin I think they call it. Skin! hah! A little more Rob Roy; a little playing on the tum-te-iddle-ty for the girls; a little fine sewing on the little border of a little cobweb collar; a little smoking of Dutch abominable pipes! A little more sle~p, and a little more slumber, and a little more folding of the hands to sleep. Hah! a little !especially a great deal of that. A little flumadiddle! So they livethe pretty oneshah! When I was young, mused the Doctor, in continuation, we began Sir Charles Grandi- son, and had to finish itall the volumesif it took us a year. When we got through with it, it was done. Likewise the best of volumes, from Genesis to Revelation; no stopping to fill Dutch abominable pipes, and drink skins, and play a few meet-me-by-moonlight-alones! No; we read at our mothers knees in those days.~~ So thinking, Dr. Benjamin Brightyse took up the abused guitar, and giving its rusty bass- strings a tug to express his feelings, laid it on the seat beside him. On the top of that he placed carefully the well-soaked novel, lie then tied the reticule around the pipe, and placed that with the pen-knife and the broken wooden chain above all. Then shouldering time guitar as if it were a novel species of lied, he took the tum- 1~ler in his hand and stalked out of the arbor. The fog had not lifted a particle, and a souwester comin~ up increa~ed the mugginess of all out- 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. doors. But with the air of a man on the eve of making and promulgating some grand resolution, he tramped through the bad weather toward that Castle of Indolencehomewhich his bright ex- ample shamed. As he reached the door it was half past six, but not a sign of life was audible or visible within. Entering his studya scrupu- lously neat apartmeat on the first floor, at the right-hand side of the doorhe set the guitar and tumbler on the table; and, with a determ- ined expression, opening his port-folio and un- screwing his patent inkstaad, sat down to write. Having finished one side of a sheet of foolscap in a hold large hand with contents which we tempo- rarilyreserve, hefolded and indorsed it; said Hah! again in a manner which put some interior con- clusion of his utterly beyond doubt forever, and passed out into the ball. On a nail by the study door hung the gongits knobby-headed, prize- fighting bruiser of a plectrum, in a state of sus- pended animation, resting over it till time should be called for the next round. That event the Doctor brought to pass immediately, seizing the stick and inflicting a course of the most cruel punishment upon the Chinese sufferer as well as upon the several American ones who, taken nap- ping, were smitten by it indirectly. Bungbungbungbungbung! continu- ously and relentlessly went the Doctor. Never stopping to breathe, he hammered away until Mrs. Benjaminwhose connubial side he had deserted to woo the morning zephyrs, as he called that out-door composition of one part of debili- tated sunlight to ten of fogtill Mrs. Dr. Ben- jamin Brightyse arose in terror and rushed to the head of the stairs to see who it was that had gone mad. In her night-cap and gown she shiv- ered aloft, half with surprise and half with the chill the Doctor had brought in with him, while that indefatigable man pounded away below, only measurh~g his intervals on the gong so as to in- terpolat~ sundry addresses of the following brief and emphatic character: Up at last? Hah! [Bong!] Not bed- ridden[bung, hung] though so unmind- fal[bung] of Heavens[bung] great- est blessing of[bung, bang, hung] morn- ing hours. Great mercy [bung~ to ingrat- itude[bnng] and inappreciation[bung] my dear! Hah! Shall continue to[bung] play upon this[bung] instrument till every body is[bung] up ! [Bungbung hung, hung, hung!] Mrs. Dr. Brightyse, knowing that womans influence is most potent when gongs and men have tired themselves out, wisely and silently retreated and commenced dressing. Meanwhile two other rooms, occupied by Mr. Rufus and Miss Lula Brightyse, turned out their terror- stricken inhabitants, and received them again with a like result. The Doctors bungs became gradually more and more languid and farther apart; but as he was not a man to stop till he was through, they were not wholly intermitted until, in various stages of incomplete dressing, the three members of the familyshamed, as aforesaid, by his bright examplepresented themselves at the foot of the stairs. Hah! said the Doctor, vouchsafing no other salutation for the present; after which he returned the patent for early-rising-made-easy to its nail on the wall, and signifying by a magis- terial wave of the hand that he pleased to have the family follow him, he entered his study and sat down. Mrs. Dr. Benjamina dear little soul, with a baby eye all running over with good-humor, and queneblessly comfortable in spite of the sudden inroad upon her late occupationstook a chair right by the side of the Doctor, laid her soft fat hand on his, and tried to twinkle all the solemni- ty out of him. The Doctors mouth worked, and for a moment it was doubtful whether he would preserve his gravity; especially as Mr. Rufus was wondering what the dl, and Miss Lulu was expressing the same idea in a succession of yawns just opposite him; but he drew himself up, said, Dignity, mother, dignity ! and then, casting an austere look on his offending vis-d-vis, began to shove the guitar with its load upon it an~ the tumbler toward them. 4 Guitar! hahin its case overnight, wasn~t it? Brought tumbler in, too? Rob Roy wasnt soaking from four r.~. yesterday till six AM, to- day? Didnt find any young womans huswife rolling around in the gravel? Young gentle- manson of pious parentssupposed to have im- mortal soulnineteen years old next birthday doesnt spend his precious time whittling wooden nothingsoh, no! Fits himself for future use- fulnesshonor to societymake something in the world huh But, father No but fathers about it. Dont hear any thing else but but fathers from the time you get npnoontill you go to bednext day. This has got to have a stop put to it. I have called you down to read a little document to you that I prepared this morning after my walk when you were like the door on its hinges, so you on your bed turned yourself over and turned your heavy head may not be accurate about the words, quoting from memory, but thats the idea. Now listen, every body. Hah! The Doctor drew the paper from his pocket, wiped his glasses, and began reading. Advertisement for the New York Evening ]Ilirror ten insertions. A gentleman desires a tutor for his two children one, a lad of eight- eenthe other, a young woman of sixteen. Must be a graduate of one of our Northern col- legesof agebringing the best testimonials as to morals, knowledge of the ancient and modern classics and good constitution. It is also es- sential that he be cleanly in his personrefined in his manners religious in his tendency an early riserand above all, a man of REGULAR HABITS Regular Habits, dye see, repeat- ed the Doctor, with extreme emphasis Regular Habits! Hah ! And the Doctor smiled a tri- umphant smile at his family, and rubbed his hands as if the individual described bad already REGULAR HABITS. 75 arrived, and that family were catching it. He resumed: It is peremptory that none others need apply. For others there is not the slightest prospect of an engagement. But any young man who is confident of being able to give satisfaction in the above respects may learn of a situation much to his advantage, where a generous salary will be given, and he will be regarded as one of the family. Lula Brightyse looked at her recreant brother twinkled out of the corner of her two blue eyes at him and at her mother, who twinkled back, and they all broke out into the merriest of laughs. Whats the matter with thathah ? said the Doctor, putting himself into a position of de- fense before his last clause. Where may the laugh be? I was only thinking, spoke Master Rufus, composedly, what high esteem hed be held in, if he was regarded as one of the family. Let me seelet me seesaid the Doctor, hurriedly running over the sentence Generous salary given, regarded as one of family. No! Ill be hanged if he shallthe family 11 have to be an almighty sight better before that would be an honor to any young man of regular habits! Scratch that outtherethis is the way it shall read and shall be treated with profoundest consideration by all the familythats it! No laughing at him, I can tell you! Ilab! Ill go on. May apply for three weeks from date, by letter, to Regular Habits, Hazeithorpe, Columbia County, N. Y. There, Sir! you, Rufus, mail this by the next postheres the moneyinclose it. Ill make one more effort for my family be- fore I diethey shall be something yet, if I aint sadly mistakenHah! And now, concluded the Doctor, let us go to the only breakfast that we have had at a de- cent hour in the morningsince the last time our pretty ones had to make an early start to a fashionable waterrug-placeHak ! II. I sat at the New York Hotel in the gentle- mens parlor, reading the last number of Braith- waites Retrospect, and wondering whether I would be a physician. Exchanging that for a stray copy of Pollocks Perennial Popular Preach- er, I read the exordium of a fine sermon, and won- dered whether I wouldnt be a clergyman. Then I read an article in the Law Magazine, with the dulcet title of, The Inchoate Equities of Minor Cestui-que-trust, when the Malversation of the Ancestor has worked Estoppel of the plea of Nul- tiel record in Law-read it as far as the sen- tence beginning, For as the astute Grotius hath it, the Animus Revertendi of those animals fern naturn but dompti loco mutando et cura homi- num is to be considered evidence of prior seizin as to the usufructuary who holds a title equiva- lent to that of entail after possibility of issue ex- tinct, and wondered how the dl any body could ever be an attorney. I took up the newspapers, one after another, thought how it would seem to be an editor of either of them, and then, not see- ing any way open to that elevation, had resort to the advertisements. The hopeful advertise- mentsthe plausible, the sanguine advertise- ments always unbarring such rare Golcondas of chances to any one who wanted to buy an un- exampled churn, or an inexpressible brick-mak- ing machinealways so full of situations sought but so mighty barren of help wanted. The ad- vertisements, which would seem to indicate, that in the United States of America, the power lying idle is to the power demanded for any given work as ten to one. Unless perchance we might re- treat to the perilous and impudent assumption that some of the people who have got places already, and are keepiug out the poor devils who would like to. get in (some mind ye, for success is not an utterly worthless proof of worth by a great deal), ought, in decency, to shove along down and take the axe of the pioneer, or the hod of the building material elevator, and let the seek- ers do the preaching, the teaching, and the doc- toring for a little while just long enough to see what a fist they would make of it, and whether they ought or ought not to clear timber and lift bricks likewise! The said retreat to this perilous assumption was barred in my case by my eye fall- ing upon that paragraph in the Help Wanted column of the Evening Mirror inserted by Dr. Benjamin Brightyse. I sprung to my feet. I was a graduate of one of our Northern colleges. I was the series of other verynice things that the Doctorwantedup totbe margin of regular habitsand there I stopped to think. Yes, on the whole, I was that too. I took my regular three meals a day, without a remembered violation of the practice since early childhood, when I had been guilty of one or two infractions of the rule from outward pressure, in the shape of a schoolmaster, who differed with me on the relations of a stomach full of bread and butter to a head full of r rv/j~tevd~ ei~v, eo~g, e~. I also took a lunch of oysters on the half shell at eleven oclock AM., and a presomnial re- past of deviled bones whenever providential in- terference, beyond my control, did not render those regularities impossible. And after these several invariable facts my smokes occurred in the same infallible ratio to them of three to one. I had occasionally indulged in beverages com- pounded, after my own recipe, of Jamaica, one half pint; water, at 1900 Fahrenheit, t~vo gills; the juice and half the peel of one orange, and one ounce of sacch. alb. I would now make a solemn resolution to take that prescription once a day, namely, one hour before retiring to rest; and behold me all that was desireda young man of regular habits. I immediately sat down at the writing-table of the hotel and answered the advertisement. I might gain a home and something to do for the present, till my uncle, Ptolemnus Tompkins, corresponded with me upon the subject of a cap- ital for the West India tradeneither of which had I rejoiced in definitely for a number of years. I might have a great deal of fun from interviews 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. with old Regular Habits, who seemed a very jol- ly vein to open, anyhow. Put the case as I might, in that advertisement there was some chance for the employment of an active mind. I had not taken many sets of deviled bones imbibed more than a very few orange-punches before I received a quiescent to the wondering dreams indulged thereafter, in the shape of an answer from Dr. Benjamin Brightyse, signed in his own name. It professed satisfaction with my representations, so far as they had gone, and desired a personal interview at Ilazelthorpe, mentioning five P.M. of the following Tuesday as a desirable time for me to arrive there. I put into decent English the very shameful equiv- alent thereof which I had in my mindto wit, Count me in, old hess (such terrible habits of thinking in slang are begotten by intercourse long as mine with young gentlemen in good so- ciety!), and then began practicing an appropri- ate demeanor before the glassan hour every day. There was no Hudson River Railroad at that period of the world, and I was therefore restrict- ed to the use of a day boat. All the way up from the foot of Jay Street to that lauding in Columbia County where I was to debark and take a carriage for Hazelthorpe I did not smoke a cigar. I wished to get to the windward side of the venerable Regular habits. Had I smell- ed of the abominable, it might have been neces- sary to keep to leeward in more senses than one. I had landed, and was about negotiating with n person in corduroys and undecided cotton col- lar for the use of a square box known paradoxi- cally as a rockaway, probably because all the rock there had been in it a quarter of a century ago was now as far away as possible, when the venerable beasts whom its pole prevented from sinking into immediate collapse and exhaustion were spared further spasm by an unexpected good fortune. A young man, verging on the further limit of teenhood, with a very large cigar in his mouth, and wearing the very tight panta- loons which at that time were understood to cx- hihit great recklessness of character, as the op- posite extreme symbolizes that fact now, rushed up to me in high excitement, winked with an earnestness that made 1)0th his eyes palpitate in company, and ejaculated, Are you Mr. Lyle? Horace Lyleheh? Answered advertisementRegular Habits, you know? Im Rufus Regular Habitsno, I dont meanthat is to say, Rufus Brightyse. If you are, got the buggy here for youtake a cigar are you the one? All right, heh? Come along! Now! I accepted the introduction, politely acknowl- edged and declined the cigar, and permitted my- self to be led away to the pretty light wagon mentioned, which stood behind its team of chaf- ing bays, fastened to the land extremity of the wharf; whereat the gentleman who had pro- posed to do my transportation made sundry ges- tares of an uncivil character, radiating from his nose outwardly, and expressive, as I suppose, of these several spread-eagles which departed in my pocket with my lost custom. I elevated myself to the side of young Rufus, and we began to as- cend the hill which leads to the high river-border plateau of that part of Columbia County. The young man drove almost in entire silence until we reached the summit and turned north- ward on the great mail road. He was a very careful driver, and looked first to this side, then to that, exploring the stone walls as if they might at any time take an eccentric notion to run against the wheels, and not suspecting in the least that I knew he was studying me out of the tail of his eye. Pretty soon he gave the nigh bay a light touch on the flank; the team sprung ahead as if the currents of their horse- thought were suddenly changed; and simul~ taneously young Rufus Brightyse turned on me a searching glance, and said, severely, Are you really regular? I answered the look with another, and then broke forth into a hearty laugh. Well, that is a funny question, seeing you have known me five minutes! Suppose you wait ten, and find out for yourself by studying the stone walls. Young Rufus blushed to his temples at heing caught in that innocent piece of Machiavellerie; but replied, undauntedly, I dont believe you are a bit! You dont look like a man who ever got up at the sound of a gong. I do. Nor as if you were used to be- ing at dinner at plump three, or going without. I am. And Ill bet you smoke. I do that, too, but dont I get rakedwell, rather! Now speak outdo, theres a fellow! I wont let on to the governorno, indeed! Does it look like me ? I had to confess that it didnt in the least; but not knowing how cunning the old Regular Habits might be, and whether he were not set- ting the young one, as a skillfully-constructed trap, to catch me after I had bitten at the ad- vertisement, I chose to ~vithhold my confidence until further developments better assured my safety. This reserve of mine, however, produced no similar behavior on the part of the young man. He waxed more and more communicativeas I believe he would have been to the horses, had not I been there; so full was he of grievances which needed unbosoming. Now I am not regular, continued Rufus, lugubriously; far from it! I have moments indeed I dowhen I wish I were a great deal more so. But if I get thinking for a moment, and try to collect my senses, and cast about for something to occupy me and make me bettor, its Come along, Rufus! No moping! Activ- ity, manactivity! Or else the governor says, in such a compassionate tone, and so devilish patronizing, Thats right! contrition is good for you. Reflect, repent, do better. And then ends up every thing with a hah! as if he were triumphing over you; so that a fellow gets quite REGULAR HABITS. 77 asoamed of himself, and goes off and smokes more pipes than are good for an5r bodythough a pipe isnt bad for a man if be dont do it too much. Oh! how would you like it ? But perhaps, my young friend, you dont understand your excellent father? No more I dont. Id like to know who doesunless, perhaps, its mother, and she gets it too, sometimes, from the old gentleman, right over the head, when she isnt up by the last stroke of that nasty gon~. Thats a figure of speech, you know, for of course the governor dont hit her; but Id rather be hit, for y part, and be done with it. Mother knows how to manage him about as well as any body; she smiles at him, and is always good-natured, and only says, Now, Benjamin dear, be a little patient. But fellows like Lula or me, who cant say, Now, Benjamin, why, we catch it. And he dont un- derstand us any better than we do him. If it hadnt been for my mother and sister, Im suie Id have done something awful a long time ago. Id have gone to the Mexican war, or taken Eben Smiths advice and shipped before the mast along with him on board a Mediterranean lemon and fig brig; or, when I felt the worst, I might have left a note for the evening papers, saying that I committed my soul to God, my body to the briny wave, and my name to obliv- ion, and dressed myself in thin clothes, and gone and taken something, or jumped in some- where! But I didnt. And if youll only help me, and be kind, and not blow me up, and show me the way, why Ill be glad I never did; and so will mother and Lu. I want to make some- thing of myselfso does Lu; but it dont stand to reason that we can either of us be sixty years old, and go by clock-work at a bounce, without growing into itdoes it now No, it doesnt. Well, as I said, I want to reform; Ive been running to seed long enough, and I feel it ev- ery day. I know Latin as far as Ars Poetica; Ive read Thucydides in Greek; but I havent any heart for any thing. What does it amount to, any way? When I read an English book I want to feel itto feel as if the man who wrote it was talking to me. If I dont, I pitch it out of the window. Now when a man reads Cicero about Cataline, who doesnt know that he w~ snt saying at all what he felt? The old chap was just coming a pious indignation dodge to a lot of other old chaps, and they all knew it was no- thing but a stump speech after all. So I keep feeling more and more disgusted with the people that are called regular, classic, and modern; and the only fellows of those ancients that I take a bit of comfort in are just the ones that I suppose really do make me lazier, and more care- less, and less like doing the first decent stroke of work in this world. I like Horace, and Ca- tullus, and Anacreon, and every body that isnt regular; and I get worse and worse. Dear me! Dont you know any body who is smart and a real fine fellowwho writes as if he were a real, live manand who is regular without being a Voa. XX.No. 115.F bore? I tell you I want to be a man. Cant you help me? I say, cant youwont you? If you can, do! Yes, for I-Iea~ens sake, do! And Ill be your friend, and mother and Lu; so that wed go to the end of the world for you. But if you pitch into us, and go on like the governor well, I dont mean to threaten, but my last chance of ever being any thing is gone! As Rufus said this he waxed more and more ii passioned; hi~ handsome hazel eyes grew brighter and brighter; he threw his long brown curly hair back on his neck with a proud toss; and when he finished lie took my hand in one of his, ak ost letting the reins drop from the other, pressing it with a childlike in~enuous- ness. that completely dismissed all my misgivings and disarmed my reserve. My dear boy! I exclaimed, I will help you to the utmost extent of my abilities. If your father concludes to be suited in me, and I stay, I will try to bring you togetherto make you understand each other. I will aid you in making a man of yourself, and we shall all be friendsheh? Yes, indeed, with my whole heart. I knew from the first minute I set eyes on you you were going to be a real true friend to me. I a sort o felt it in my bones when you got off the old Santa Claus. But we mustnt show it at first before the governor. Oh no! lie mustnt know I like you, or hell set you down for another black sheep like me. Be distant at first, and talk natural history thats one of the governor greatest hobbies. Geology thats another only be in favor of the real six days, no meta- phor about a million years, you know; and nev- er put any grease on your head. There are fif- ty thousand other things that you must agree with him in, or be set down as a noodle or an infidel; but keep wide awake for them, and Ill give you hints now and then. If you steer clear of all his rocks, and seem regular for about two hours, I know hell be crazy to keep you. By this time we had reached the gate of Hazel- thorpe, evidently a very pretty place in summer, and not unhandsome now in November, although the very high park paling of pickets, painted pure white, that surrounded it, gave it the look of staring over a very stiff shirt collar at the irregular habits of the world without, and the trees had been planted by a painfully precise eye. A very smooth and neat gravel road brought us up to the porch, and I found myself gazing on Hazeithorpe House with a most peculiar in- terest, heightened by the fact that just as our bays opened the view of the house a very grac~ ful girl of sixteen had jumped up like a startled deer, gathered up the rosy-checked apples she had been playing with in the whitest possible of aprons, and scampered out of sight, but not out of hearing; for as I alighted the blinds of a front window in the second story rustled audi- bly, and I became thoroughly conscious of a pair of very bright eyes scrutinizing me from head to foot. 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A wholesome, gladsome little woman of fifty, who remained on the porch, greeted me very pleasantly upon Rufuss introduction of me as the Tutor. The Doctor was expected shortly, she said, from a horsehack ride, which he always took at four oclock; and till then I might find all necessary arrangements for refreshment after my travel in the room she had made ready for me up stairs, and return when I liked to the par- lor. Rufus showed me my apartment, and add- ed that his mother had not put any thing to drink or smoke in my bed-chamber, because she was aware that I could obtain those luxuries next door of that sad dob himself. I thanked. him for the hint, hut did not avail myself of it, not having yet seen and sounded the elder Reg- ular Habits. I arrayed myself with scrupulous neatness, gave my hair a business-like hrush, and then returned down stairs, just as the Doc- tors strong, sinewy gray trotted up to the post, the Doctor firmly seated on him, and finding a stern, hygienic joy in the exercise, although the trots were of three-feet stroke perpendicular. He dismounted, tied his heast, and then whist- ling between his fingers for the stable-boy, as- cended the steps, hung his whip heside the gong, exchanged his Hessians for a pair of slippers at the parlor door, drew off the black dog-skin glove from his right hand, and hefore I had be- come seated in the room myself, advanced to meet me with a military stride, gave me a stately De Coverley salute, and said: Mr. Iforace Lyle, we are punctualexact- ly 5 r.x.it does us credit. The celehrated John Scott, hanker, of Chester, says a distin- guished collator of anecdotes, was so remarkable for punctuality that on one occasion a gentleman entering an inn in the town of Bala, Wales, and seeing a fine duck roasting on the spit at the landladys fire, said, Let me have that duck for my dinner. No, says the landlady, it is en- gaged for the dinner of John Scott. Esq., of Chester. Impossible! says the traveler, I met him at Paris in the Hotel duI fbrget his nametwo weeks since. Never mind, re- plies the landlady, he ordered duck for his dinner at six oclock of this day just a twelve- month ago, and John Scott, Esq., never fails, not even a minute. So the traveler had to order something else; and sure enough, at six oclock precisely, John Scott walked in, said, How are you? Is the duck ready? I am, and sat down. You will rememher also the ex- ample of our own Washingtongreat man, very! Follow such examples, Sir; they are the secret of all success. Be seated, Mr. Lyle. All this was said without once stopping for hreath, hut not by any means incoherently. Rather as if the Doctor had taught his lungs that it was an ignominious thing to run down his clock and watch never did; and that if he could make himself interesting for tea unhroken minutes, why, they must supply the air or hurst up at once and acknowledge their frailty. I am always for taking time hy the forelock. The Doctor might get on to some perilous subject whose hearings in his mind I didnt know. Young Rufus had not yet come down; Miss Brightyse I had not seen; Mrs. Benjamin had run out for an instant to see ahout my dinner. I was thus left without any hody to give me my cue, and must, therefore, take ground known to he sure. A great deal of mica on your place, Dr. Brightysequite a mica-schist formation, I no- tice. I should think it might even be worked advanta~eously. I have not seen any develop- ment like this between the New York Island specimens and those of Vermont and New Hamp- shire. I noticed some rocks where I should think the layers were six inches square. Ah! hah! you delight me. have you ob- served that? Well, its so. We have plenty of it about here. But theres too much ignorance ever to make it profitable. Too much brutality too, I may say. I havent the time or inclina- tion to make it a financial experiment, but I brought over Gilson, the mason, to see it some time agofrom Hudson; told him it was dilu- vial. What is it? says he. Diluvial, I re- peated; the Noachian flood was full of fibrous insect wings and fish scales that perished in it, and as the waters settled they were deposited in the form of isinglass. More likely, said the brute, Noah got on a tight, as his after-habits showed he liked to, knocked out some of the cab- in windows for a row, and they ~ettled and made it. Mica, is it? said he; well, it may be mica, but you wont make it Micah the profit to nobody. Then he gave a great haw! haw! as if hed been getting off one of his nasty puns to a bar-room, and said, Oh, yes! your gee-haw- ology is very fine, but Im not a young fowl to be caught with that chaff! Then he went away; hanged if I wouldnt have kicked him out if he didntinfidel! But its an honor to you that you like science; I respect you for it. Oh, ex- cuse me, Mr. Lyle, but theres a bug crawling up your coat: let me brush it off for you. Please dontIm very much obliged to you; but if you have a pin handy, just stick it through him into my back. I keep all those thingsIm making a collection ; and looking over my shoulder, I continued, rapidly, Yes! Scerebw- as meqalotkorox G~olcoptere Mandibles four male silentfemale makes buzzing noise palpitation of internal vibratory apparatusto attract malefine specimenvery. Nearly al- lied to Pillelaries of the same genusoblige me. And I stooped to allow the little Doctor to insert a very large tin spike, which he had found on the lower edge of his waistcoat, through the beast and part of the way into my spine. He was per- fectly delightednot Scarabnus, but the Doc- tor. He had encountered no such participant in his scientific enthusiasm for a long time evi- dently. I-how delightful, said I, again taking by the foretop the grandpa of gods and men; how de- lightful is the pursuit of science in the country! We students, whose means compel us to stay, even during the great part of the hot months, REGULAR HABITS. 79 cooped up within the narrow walls of a boarding- house in town, may ~vell envy men who have al- ready purchased by long and regular indefatiga- ble effort their right to an elegant yet scholastic leisure. While yet the dew crystals gem the grass, shedding a morning glory around the feet of the sun, and all those worshipers of virgin day who are worthy to behold them and him, what more delightful pastime exists than to answer the rousing carols of the earliest birds, and hie- ing forth, a hammer in one pocket, a box of con- venient size of binders boards in the other, and a tin case, painted green, and to be obtained at any hardware store, slung upon your shoulders, to gather specimens from all those kingdoms over which man is vicegerent path-master game- keeperarchuologistking! The lark is there the glittering pyrites shines in the very stone, it maybe, by which he has made his nestthe early beetle creeps forth to roll his accustomed ballfit symbol of us all, who on this earth are always rollin~ our globes, either of ambition, pelf, or hobby; the woodchuckthe chipmunk, Sciens striatusthe morning mole, will none of them stay in their earthy prisons till they have paid their sweet respects to the god of day; but I am talkativepardon a young mans enthusi- asm. The ingenuous blush of youth mantled my face. (The recipe for it is to squeeze very hard all over, as if you had filled yourself with air, which you were trying to expel through your eyes.) Not at allnot at all ! exclaimed the Doc- tor. Your sentiments do you great justice, and I am happy to meet you, Sir. You are worthy of yourself. Hah! yes, Sir. Excuse me a moment. The Doctor strode out of the room, and re- turned presently, bringin~ Mrs. Benjamin on his arm, and followed by Rufus, holding by the hand a young lady, apparently verging on seven- teen, in a most becoming blue silk dress, whose short sleeves disclosed her beautiful plump white arms right daintily. Dark and bright blue eyes had she also, which gave me the impression of the laughing surface over a great depth; soft brown hair, waving, pliant, and abundant; a rose-suffused blonde complexion; and, in fine, a tout-ensemble, which brought me instantly to the following resolutions: I. I would save the Brightyse family even at the sacrifice of myself. II. I would harmonize the Brightyse family, though I had to introduce another note to com- plete the chord. After which I felt myself fully justified in ac- knowledging to the polite questions of the ladies that I found myself very wellvery well indeed, I thanked them. I have the greatest happiness, said Dr. Benjamin Brightyse, in presenting to my fam- ily its tutorhah! and he will permit me to add, my friend. I feel the most unbounded con- fidence that at last all my hopo~ will be gratified, and that at length we shall indeed become a family united in aim, spirit, manners, and hab! in fine, every thing! Mrs. Brightyse in- forms me that tea awaits us, and that a some- what more solid meal than usual has been pre- pared for the occasion, as Mr. Lyle may feel the necessity of condensed nutriment, having trav- eled to-day one hundred and twenty miles and one-sixteenth of a mile our exact distance, by State survey, from the City Hall of New York. So speaking he bowed Mrs. Brightyse to my arm and followed us, gazing victoriously upon the two wanderers who were now to be regained. III. After tea Dr. Benjamin Brightyse desired my presence in his study. There I signed a con- tract with him to the effect that I was to stay in his employ for one full calendar year, death or other Providential interposition alone invalidat- ing the compact; to interest myself in the men- tal progress of his children four hours in the day Saturday and Sunday excepted; their physical development four more, and their ethical growth at all times. I was to rise at the sound of the gong, was to be at all the meals punctually, and lastly and inclusive, to show myself in every respect, before himself, Mrs. Brightyse, Master Rufus, and Miss Lulu Brightysea man of REG- ULAR HABITS. In return for these qualifications and services I was to receive the sum of eight hundred dol- lars, my board, lodging, lights, and washing, during the year; and if my pupils traveled with- in that period, I was to go with them, have my expenses paid, and be treated e~eactly as they were. The Doctor and I having affixed our au- tographs to these articles of alliance, offensive and defensive, against the works of darkness, sloth, and irregularity generallywe each of us took a copy of them for private referencethe Doctor said Hah ! and commenced a short in- augural discourse. You will occupy, Mr. Lyle, the middle room on the second floor. Mrs. Brightyse and my- self will be on one side of you; Master Rufus on the other. hub! There is something sym- bolical in this arrangement which never struck me till now. You are a sort of connecting link between my sad wanderer and myself. You will unite usbring us, as your influence increases with acquaintance, to something like a unitya harmony of purpose, design, feeling. Rufus has great parts naturally, but is utterly unmanaged, unconcentratednot in the least like me. Huh! But we shall come together; so shall Lulu and I and Mrs. Benjamin. Yes, yes, we hope great things from you. Let me know your every wantit shall be met immediately. I place my means at your disposal, and will give you every opportunity to accomplish reformation thor- ough conversion to regularity of habits. Huh! And now go to the parlor, if you are not too tiredgo and get acquainted with your field of labor. May the bright star of fortune shinG upon your browthe star Aldeburan, the eye of 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the advancing bulland lead you on to victory! Hah! the Regular, the fixed star, Aldebaran, whose courses change not! With this magnificent peroration the Doctor waved me toward the parlor, and promised to follow me shortly. I went in, and took my seat between the blue-eyed Lulu and the hazel Ru- fus; while Mrs. Benjamin sat twinkling benign- ly at us hy the astral lamp, knitting a tidy for the Doctors study chair. Rufus had prepared the way for me with his sister, and that sweet little girl smiled on me with a modest frankness as a welcome comer; and we three young peo- ple fell into a cosy conversation. I soon per- ceived that Lula was as little understood by her papa as the more demonstratively erratic Rufus, and seemed, in her girl nature, suffering still more deeply from the sense of unappreciation. I commenced making resolves, at the rate of three a minute, that I would restore harmony to that sweet family. The Doctor came in presently, and we kept up a very pleasant conversation until the clock struck nine. I found myself at that moment engaged in a description of a visit I had recent- ly paid to Howes Cave. One grand stalac- tite, half a mile from the Devils Kitchen, fell a hundred and fifty feet from the sparkling roof overhead, divided into sixty-seven separate arch- es, composed of feldspar and carbonate of lime. One of these arches is so narrow that a very thin person can just get through by squeezing, and the passage of this arch was attempted by a large person of our partyMajor Highjinks, of the Troy Arsenal. He had accomplished the intro- duction of his head and neck as far as the sec- ond cervical vertehra, when Dingding ding, etc., went the ormolu clock on the mantle- piece behind Dr. Benjamin. I must now bid you good-night, I exclaimed, hurriedly rising; it being my invariable custom to retire at nine precisely. Good-night, Dr. Brightyse. Good- night, Mrs. BrightyseMr. RufusMiss Lain. And taking up my candle, I strode from the par- lor. A charming, an unusual young man that, hah! I could hear the Doctor ejaculate, as I passed up the stairs. Very, my dear, answered Mrs. Benjamin; but I should much like to know what became of that poor Major Highjinks. So should I. And I, responded severally the children of the family. He will probably continue the recitn.l at a quarter to six to-morrow morning, said the Doctor, loftily. But Rufus was not so easily satisfied. Hallo there, Lyle! shouted the youth, com- ing to the hottom of the stairs. What be- came of that Highjinks ? He drew out his head, and concluded he wouldnt go in, said I, calmly, from my room- door; then shut it behind me as I passed in, hearing a peculiar, prolonged whistle from the young gentleman below. Iv. I had resolved upon my course of action. It was rather a perilous one, to he surewas pret- ty certain to be a game of lose all or win all yet the first step in the reformation of the Brightyse family was to te~ ch the dogmatic sire thereof that there were other regular habits in the world besides his own. Accordingly, at three oclock of the cold No- vember morning, I arose with my teeth chatter- ing, and animation so far suspended in my toes that it required logical deduction to warrant me in the belief that they were my own. I dressed myself for the day, and then proceeded to give a series of emphatic, measured knocks on the par- tition which separated my room from Dr. Ben- jamins. The Doctor slept lightly as a cat, and my efforts jiad been continued but a very short time when I heard him leap from his bed, come quickly to the partition, and inquire, in a trem- ulous voice, Well, Mr. Lyle! Are you sick, Sirare you sick? Shall I bring the paregoricshall I shall I Well, what is the matter with you? I replied, in distinct and sonorous tones, that I had never been better in my life. Further- more, that it would much gratify me to have an immediate audience with Dr. Benjamin outside of our several rooms, in the entry. Upon which I went out, and was speedily joined by my pa- tr~n, in night-gown and slippers. I regret exceedingly, began I, speaking with the utmost rapidity, lest Dr. Benjamins astonishment should permit him to regain breath and interrupt me, to have disturbed so early in the morning the slumbers of Mrs. B. and yourself; but the fact is that I have not be- come su ~ciently at home in the ways of the family to know exactly where the provision safe stands, and it has been my invariable habit since childhood to take a slight repast at exactly three A.M.; in fact, a habit whose regularity I have never permitted any thing but providential in- terposition to infringe upon. On the sea-shore I take two dozen clams, a soft-shell crab, fried, or a blue fish steak, with a few onions, fried h la Magonaise. I have not lived inland a great deal for a long time past, but I dare say these things will be difficult to get here; and on considera- tion, I do not object to take a few slices of cold boiled ham, with bread and butter and mustard, or half the roast fowl that was left from dinner, or one or two rare cuts of the roast beef we liad, with a little mushroom catchup, some Worcester sauce, and a pickle or so. If you will, for this occasion only, show me the way to the safe. A little boiled ham, some beef, or some chicken and pickles, mused the Doctor, vacant- ly, repeating the words as if he did not know but it was some horrid dream, caused by over- indulgence in those articles, in which they, in- stead of the grandmother traditionally appearing on such occasions, had come to haunt his dark- ness. REGULAR HABITS. St And I will give you my word, I continued, without the slightest quiver iu voice or face, that I will hereafter help myself to what I want without disturbing your repose. Ab, per- mit me to carry the candle. I took the luminary mentioned with a polite measure of force from the Doctors hand, waved airily the way down stairs, and followed him, as he went down in a state of somnambulism, mur- inuring, without an exact idea of the import of the words, And hereafter you will help your- self. Oh, npon my soul, I assure you! You need not give yourself the slightest uneasi- ness I had calculated rightly that the Doctor was one of those men whose life is so arranged upon a certain system that if any one got him out of it by a dextrous movement he would become so confused as to be at the mercy of the enemy. Had he played chess all his life with a man who opened with a pawn, the first man who opposed him, leading with the knight, would have done for him. Had he always eaten soup and fish at dinner ? fish and soup would have given him the most horrible attack of dyspepsia. On his own ground he was impregnable; off of it, dumb- founded. He could not collect himself suffi- ciently, therefore, to do otherwise than obey me once taken at a disadvantage, and at an hour of the morning when he had not been awake for the last twenty years. So he led the way, meek and stupefied, to the larder. Ah! delightful I I ejaculated. I need not make so serious a change in my diet as I had expected. Here is a large jar of pickled oysters, I perceiveand a very good substitute they are for fresh clams,too! I will take the jar, not to detain you while I remove sufficient for my pur- poses. Now pardon me a moment while I spread a few slices of bread and butterone, two, three yes, here will be enough; and now let me light you back to your bedehamber. You are very kind; really, I thank you a thousand times! I shall now be quite at home without troubling you. Good-morning. Yes, really you must per- mit me to carry up the candle, not the least trouble I assure you. Thus I escorted the Doctor up stairs rgain, and left him at his chamber-door. He entered with the same expression of sleepy mystery on his face, but I thought best to retreat before he could speak and break the spell in a manner irri- tating to sensitive feelings, and accordingly took my way hastily down the stairs again into the parlor. There I kindled a cheerful fire in the grate, lit two or three candles, and addressed myself to the edibles. Really, I did not wonder that Dr. Benjamin loved to rise so early of cold mornings if it gave him such a fine appetite. The bread and butter and a number o~ oysters having disappeared simultaneously with the ap- petite, I lighted my short walnut-colored pipea true, well dyed cuttyand began diffusing the fumes of fragrant Oronoka prodigally through the apartment. Up they floated, and made rich, satiny festoons around the Doctors picture, by Sullyamong the geraniums on the deep win- dow-seat they hung and waved till the bright im- perial scarlet of those flowers seemed to grow out of a cloudland, like a little garden of transplant- ed sunsets, gliding about, unsupported in mid- ether. I sat in the pleasant elysium of this soli- tary, early morning naughtiness, and felt glad to think, from the absence of all sound overhead, that Doctor Brightyse had by this time fallen in with the young woman who attends to the sleeve of care, and got the place I raveled thoroughly knit up again. All was so dreamy, cosy, home- like about me, and the sense of having transact- ed all my duty with the oysters, and done it well, made my conscience so light, that I was fain to sleep in the deep embowerment of the Doctors lusciously squabbed leather chair, with the cutty end between my teeth, and the aim of my early rising forgotten, when the Doctors door banged above me, and I heard a stout, in- dignant outcry from the top of the stairs, Rufus! Rufus! Sir, do you hear me! Wretched boy, how dare you smoke your abom- inable pipes in the parlor? Can you rise early for nothing but sin? Sinhab! Yes, Sir crime guilty, irreclaimable crime! Stop in- stantly, Sir, or Ill. What the Doctor would have done never be- came apparent, for just at that moment I emerged from the parlor, and, bowing respectfully, said: Excuse me, my dear Sir, but I imagine that Master Rufus has not yet risen. It is I who am below. For many years I have made it my in- variable habit to take a few pipes after my little repast; but if it is disagreeable to you here, I will go into the conservatory, or the cellar, or any place you may name.~~ Dr. Benjamin leaned upon the rail of the balusters as if it would take only a little more to floor him. And, do you smoke pipes ? asked he in a gasping manner. It has been my regular habit since early youth. May I ask, do you ? Never! never, Sir! That is exactly as it should he, if you will accept praise from one so much your junior. Either always or never; perfect regularity is the rule in those things. But I will go into the con- servatory. You may, if you pleasehah! And the Doctor turned away to his bedehamber. I took the remainder of my smoke among the cactuses and the abutilons, but found the smouldering little stove that made it warm enough for them hardly sufficient for me, and the air was too heavy, laden with the spirit of one vast bouquet, formed of all the flowers that had ever lived and died there to be pleasant to breathe. So I fin- ished my last pipe with short, fierce whiffs, and returned to the parlor. I opened the piano, and began practicing the gamut, accompanying my voice in unison. I never was much of a singer, being, perhaps, not unjustly described by one of my friends, who objected to my making a little 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tenor, on a certain occasion, to one of his baritone solos from Don Giovanni as a man who could sing straight ahead very well, but when it came to turning a tune, Oh my Do-re-mi -fa - sol-la- si - do-si-la-sol-fa-mi-re- do ! I did not commit this outrage in an un- dertone. I was offensive loudly. I sangif singing it could he calledat the top of my voice, and in a bravura style, which had, however, the boldness of perfect unsuspecting innocence as its manner rather than impertinent wantonness. I sang as if it were the most ordinary, the nat- uralest, and the properest thing to be done, under the given circumstances of half past four A. ill., and more or less somnolency existing among other inmates of the house. There came a pounding on the floor above me as of excited heels, an insane clattering to and fro, and then an animated conversation arose be- tween Mrs. and Dr. Benjamin Brightyse, whose import, the thickness of the ceiling and my own singing, prevented me from learning. I fancied too that I perceived symptoms of a frenzied rush to the door with malevolent intent on the part of the Doctor; an expostulation, perhaps assist- ed by slight manual traction on the part of Mrs. Doctor, and a return to the edge of the bed with more animated conversation. But before these impressions could resolve themselves into certainty, the parlor door open- ed, and I was agreeably surprised hy the entrance of Master Rufus, accompanied by his sister. They wore an aspect of far more ordinary mata- tinal cheerfulness, and were neatly dressed in simple, yet very pretty attire. I felt wide awake, Mr. Lyle, said Rufus, and upon knocking at Lulus door found she was already up, for a wonder, so we concluded to get dressed and come down and join you at the piano. That is a very pretty thing you are singing, added Luin, archly. how would it do as a trio? Suppose we see. With all my heart, I replied. It is an old chant, supposed to have been composed by Pythagoras. Others, however, ascribe it to a Bolognese monk of the eleventh century. I con- fess that I lean myself to the former opinion. It is almost all the music of a grand and simple order that I know. Miss Brightyse, will you take the soprano; the bass, Rufus, if you please; and I will try to assist you with my little tenor. So, in high glee, we sang the scale until Lulu had laughed herself hoarse. Then we essayed the three unfortunate mice whose blind frenzy led them in an insane dance after the wife of the agriculturist, and had cut off their tails in the most inhuman manner a dozen times, when, like a spectre, the solemn form of Dr. Benjamin, ar- rayed for bed but evidently not quite recent from it, stalked into the room, accompanied by Mrs. Brightyse, completely dressed, shiny-headed and smiling, but with a lingering cloud of apprehen- sion on her gentle face as she plucked the Doctor by the sleeve of his night-gown, whispering ever and anon, Dont he violent, husband dear; be kind to thembe kind! She asked me to dress Mrs. Brightyse did ! burst forth the Doctor, as if in that fact lay his irreparable injury. Dresshuh! at four oclock of a bitter cold morningthe ther- mometer, as I honestly believe, but a little above zero! No; I had rather catch my death of cold! Huh! I shall die a victim to this shameless im- position! I will come down in my stocking-feet I ill leave my legs exposed to the inclemency of the weatherI will not put on even a simple dressing-gown! Hab! you shall see what you have brought me to, Mr. Horace Lyle . Yes, Dr. Brightyse ? When I engaged you, at seven oclock of last evening, as a tutor to my children, I did not realize that, like Ho Georges, in Fabula Alpha of sop, as given in Gruca Minora, I was taking a deadly animal of the genus Coluber to my bosom! You did not, Dr. Brightyse. I was not aware of that fact myself, having always sup- posed that I occupied a defined though bumble position in Bimuna, sub-genus Caucasus. I regarded the Doctor with a fixed and yet mild aspect of disarming innocence as I said this, which did not change at all before his stern, dramatic gaze. Sir, I need not say that I speak metaphor- ically. Ilab! very true, the genus Coluber does not demand baked meats during the hours di- vinely instituted for repose; abominable pipes do not stimulate him afterward; and, being dumb huh! Sir, dumb ! he does not emit sounds to which, though a warden of St. Jubilate for the last twelve years, I am justified in apply- ing the epithet damnable! Coluberhab! Cob uber literal would perhaps have done better than Coluber metaphoriculbab 1 And the Doctor smiled a bitter smile. I returned, with perfect suavity: Dr. Brightyse, said I, if you will do me the favor to be calm for a few moments, I shall endeavor to discover in what I have deserved the comparison you have just instituted. Under those circumstances I shall be desirous, perhaps able, to make explanationreparation, if neces- sary. At present, however, the only impression that occupies my mind is, that you are taking out of my hands the physical and mental education of those children whom you commended to them with a cheerful confidence (perhaps, however, not wholly justified), as you observed, last evening at seven oclock. That you are interrupting a trio attempted for the especial purpose of cultivating voices admirably adapted by nature to great feats in harmony, susceptible of ir~finite improvement by cultivation. That you are thus defeating the end I aimed at in the strengthening of. the ha. gual and pectoral muscles, which is a branch of the physical education I have solemnly assumed the responsibility of giving your offspring; and inasmuch as symphony of voices (I quote from no less an authority than the sublime Luther) is a most potent preparation for and assistant of REGULAR HABITS. 83 the symphony of soulstheir spiritual develop- I resumed: And the practice of singing an meat also, for which I am holdeu to you by a hour iu the early morningfrom three and three- compact of equal solemnity. And, in fine, that quarters to the same time after fouris invaria- you are thus obstructing the progress of that ble with me. It gives health to body, tone to reformation which is already as dear an object to soul; it has been from early childhood oneof my heart as yoursthe reformation of those who myRegelarHabits. have hitherto passed the divine hours of early Dr. Benjamin Brightyse arose from his chair, morning in inglorious inactivity. spoke never a word, but wandered reflectively Rufus sighed, as if the whole sin of past sloth out of the room. Master Rufus, his sister, and lay on his conscience like a mountain; and Miss I were about to commence the gamut again; Brightyse cast down her long brown lashes as if but looking around saw dear little Mrs. Benja- the tear of contrition were just stealing from its mm fast asleep, curled in the corner of the set- fountain. Mrs. Dr. Benjamin gazed reproach- tee, like a sweet baby who has no part in the fully at the Doctor, but smiled, as if any expres- guile of men. Rufus and I made an arm-chair sion on her sweet face could be sarcastic, and f~r her, lifted her on to it gently, carried her up needed to have its edge taken off. The Doctor stairs and laid her on her bed, covering her up himself, with a perplexed air, leaned on the back daintily with the blankets. Where was the Doc- of a chair, like a criminal convicted on his own tor? Oh! that slothful person, unawakened by plea, who had been hurried into court without our entrance, emitted sounds embraced within, time to put on his clothes. He was ashamed of but not comprehensive of the gamut, from a his violence, ashamed of his night-gown, ashamed large wicker chair, where he had seated himself to see all that family whose severe tribunal he to muse on regularity of habits on his return had hitherto been turning the tables upon bun, from the parlor. We slid a warm rug gently and becoming his silent jury upon the very of- under his feet, threw a luxurious double carriage fense which had hitherto been his gravest charge shawl around him, so that he should not catch against them. All the air of indignant declama- cold, and went quietly down stairs. tion was departed from him; but making one Shall we wrap up warmly and go out for a flual, desperate stand, he uttered mildly, walk? said I to Lula and Rufus. But, Sir, it is four oclock in the morning, Oh, delightful ! cried Lulu. It will be Sirfour oclockhah! such fun! I never walked when it was dark as A month ago and you would have been up pitch; and it will seem just as if we were flee- half an hour later. Are we to be the creatures ing from a ruined castle, and going to consult a of mere chronolojservile sun-~vorshipers, like witch and every thing like that. the heathen of a Heliopolis gone by? Does the Im with you, said Rufus, as soon as I coming of winter days lift from us the responsi- light a cigar. bility of dutyshall we be less industrious than So we three wandered forth into the gloom in we were in summershall we yield to mere in- high glee. The ground was hard, the air crisp, clination? Is it praiseworthy that we are earn- the fog not yet risen but kept for such slothful est, laborious, faithful when it is easy, and the persons as the Doctor, who wooed a less virgin luxurious June mornings woo us to bask in their morning. We found fox-fire on the low ground fragrant breath; but as soon as cold, darkness, by the old fences we gathered pocketfuls of and fog become obstacles, we ignominiously sue- walnuts and chestnuts in the darkwe had all cumh to them? As for myself, Dr. Brightyse, sorts of plays and songs; in fine, we had such I arise at the same hour all the year round. And a good time that we did not return till six if I did not, I could not blame my pupils for ly- oclock. lug in bed till any hour, however late! At seven, breakfast was ready; the gong There was a mild severity in my manner. Dr. sounded for it; we sat down, but no Doctor Benjamin sat down in his chair, morally con- Benjamin was there. When I had half finished quered. my second cup of coffee the sluggard appeared. But, I continued, I will not he so arro- He took his seat at the head of the table with a gant as to rely upon my own example. Sum- condemned look on his countenance; and Mas- mer and winter the great Cornaro rose at four. ter Rufus observed: The still greater Buffon invariably at three. Please forgive us, father, for the irregular- While the Emperor Severus, as history informs ity; but though we knew it was the rule of the us, slept with a brazen basin at his bed-sidea family that any one who comes late loses his brazen ball in his hand; when the latter fell breakfast, we have put a plate of steak and into the former its sound aroused him, and he warmed-up potatoes to keep hot for you, and I did not sleep again. The gong of modern days do not think the coffee is quite cold yet. has not been an improvement on that great mans To divert attention from the mortifying sub- reveille system. ject, as her sweet woman-heart impelled her to No, Ill he hanged if it has! The ball only do, Lula began a most animated description of fell once, and then it didut wake up all the our walk, illustrated by jumping up every minute young Severuses too, feeling as if the dl were to bring some rare specimen of fox-fire or some after them! larger nut. And by degrees the Doctor waxed Dont say dl, Rufus dear ! said Mrs. cheerful, warmed into the conversation, ate his fleejanein and Luin a once. steak, poI~tocs, and buckwheat cakes with a 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. relish as immense as if he had prepared a basis for it of the very densest morning fog, and for- got how naughty he had been. As for your humble servant, Horace Lyle, he preserved an attitude of dignified yet affable sweetness, becoming one who has undertaken the reformation of a family, in which there are several young people with unformed ideas, and an old gentleman with one fixed one. V. Day by day I was more and more delighted to perceive that my pupils were not quick learners. If there is any pitiable, hopeless order of mind, for which nothing great or useful can ever be foretold, it is the order which my friend the German Professor used to call by that horrible word of his own coining which I hope no one will ever venture to introduce into a diction- ary of the English language without an injunc- tion from the Supreme Court of the United States Strut hiokamelopsychi ets. When, as he was wont to continue, the phrase is from the Dutch-Greek overset, it is, in Anglo- Saxon, The ostrich-souls. Yes, the ostrich- souls, who go about gobbling up this mans rag of rhymethis ones clenching-nail of argument so-and-sos crackling fragment of tin-eloquence such anothers pine-splinter of theologythen stick their silly heads into the laurel bush from which ought not only the garlands of the truly great to be outplucked? and flapping their wings, cry hoarsely, Am I not verily accom- plished? But is not their tail the mean while evident to the observing? I agree with my friend the Deutsch Professor. From ostrich-souls nothing worthy can ever be expected. Rufus and Lulu were in nowise of these. The desire to be accomplished never en- tered their minds. They had never been able to see the use of it, they said; and I, being equally dull of optics, forebore trying to persuade them that there was any. What they wanted was to know, to fee4 to appreciate; and when they had known, felt, appreciated any thing rightly, to originate, moved and stimulated by the suggestions they had gained. Their ques- tions poured forth on me endlesslyquestions which seemed to have been held in by ever-grow- ing embankments of rule, precedent, and reserve, during those centuries of inquisitiveness through which young minds pass in a few years. Happily I had passed through the same phase of life be- fore them; my training had been miscellaneous, but at the same time thoroughfor I had thought about every thing that came up, and never left it before arriving at my solution of it, at least and I was thus able to set them on the right track for an answer to many of their questions. I never dismissed them with the answer that any author said a certain thing because the verb agreed with its noun in number and person, or that coal was found in Pennsylvania and marble in Vermont, because the one abounded in carbon- iferous and the other in shell deposits. In fine, I tried to give them an idea of the old-world life of the Greeks and Romansthe older-world life of the fossil nations of mollusk, saurian, and tree-fern, and the modern life of Frenchmen, Germans, Englishmen, rather than names or rules for them. For as Luin expressed it, it isnt to be supposed that that big funny bug with three lumps on him knew he was going to be called a Trilobite and wiggled into his place ac- cordingly to die there, just like a gentleman go- ing to take dinner at the Astor House who sees his card at a particular plate and sits down there for that reason. No, Trilobites Longifrons must have had personal motives of his own and his Creators for going into the stone where he was found a million of years afterand what were they? This gives a little idea of the course of instruc- tion we pursued during those hours given to the mental development of Dr. Benjamins children. And, indeed, during all hours, for our very walks were protracted into talks by these in- satiable young people, in which the lessons of the day were reviewed, discussed, fixed. And when Dr. Brightyse met us on our romps through the dead leaves; or, as the season grew later, over the snow crusthis astonishment at behold- ing his children with cabinet specimens in their handsor at hearin0 the names of old dead Greeks mentioned in warm conversation as if they had been next-door neighborsor of places across the sea talked about like New York or Bostonhis astonishment grew so great that when his business did not permit him to join s (as we always asked him to), he would stand lean- ing against a post and regard us silently for a moment, and then utter a sonorous Hah! which seemed to mean, Well! thats all I am ade- quate to! Never had he seen his library so much in re- quest. Never had he known before what it was to be asked for a sight of his largest hooks and engravings. Never had he experienced the fa- thers dear delight of having his children come to him with questions with modest and at first timid requests for sympathy. As all these changes took placehe regarded the world as more and more susceptible of being made over againdoubts be~an to creep over him as to whether his regular habits might, by some chance, be after all those which the universe observed in its periodical mutations. The first symptom of this was the abolishment of the gongthere was now no need for it, as I continued to do from preference what I had done at first for strategys sake, and rose at three always. (I have dropped the habit of late years, finding it interfered with the regular habits of other people.) At five the young people were up also; but Dr. Benjamin could not be converted from lazy habits at his age, and now slept till six, which prolongation of rest improved his spirits and temper amazing ly. Mrs. Benjamin went about beaming on every body as usual, but every cloud gone from her gentle brow. Master Rufus, having some- thing to interest him beyond his former scientific yet somewhat monotonous amusement of watch- REGULAR HABITS. 85 ing the grass grow, smoked fewer Dutch abom- inable pipes and abjured skins altogether. The winter passed away, the spring followed it like a dream, and the full bride-beauty of the queen summer blushed on parterres, vailed it- self in quince and chestnut blooms, breathed wide through the land into homes, hearts, and merry-makings, and made every living thing glad with its coming. With it came the full conviction of a truth which had been growing truer within me for a long timeI was very much in love with Lula Brightyse. Could I be sure that she loved me? That I had been of great benefit to her I knew; that her reticule no longer lay on the floor of arbors; that her guitar was always well kept and con- stantly practiced; that she had found nn aim for her active, thoughtful nature; and that she was very yretefssl to me for the change in her life. But I had such a horror of any love which might be only at bottom gratitude under a disguise which it is hard for the untaught young heart to penetrate, that I kept my own feeling dumb, showing it only, as I could not help doing, in action. Perhaps that was just as wrong; but who is willing to acknowled~e it to himself when the dear little hand lingers saying good-night, and it is so easy to press it tighter than the mere friend would be likely to; or the peerless little rosy mouth is made up into a kiss for its father, and the impassioned eyes c~n not help glancing on the deed as if they wished the mouth under them belonged, for the time being, to that old gentleman, though the glance brings back a blush that says, I know what you mean I On the 12th of July came the Doctors birth- day. He was then sixty years old, and we had all agreed to give him a favorable surprise. The preparations for it had been so gradualrun- ning, in fact, through all the months of my tu- torshipthat I will not burden this simple re- cital with them, but will give only the result. On the evening of the 11th a neatly-printed card, adorned with emblematic devices from the pencil of Miss Brightyse, a poetical motto from the pen of i\Iaster Rufus, and old English text from the eec bined pen and pencil of the tutor, was laid, in a neat envelope, on the Doctors plate at teaas follows: a cherub at the top feedin~ an altar flame from a can labeled Ac- tivity ; Saturn, with his scythe slung over his shoulder, vainly endeavoring to blow the fire out, but deterred by a youn man with a gong per- sistently stunning the foe of longevity, while he guarded the fire with his instrument as a shield. Meanwhile the goddess of morning dropped a very pretty garland of amaranths, with the let- ters LX. in the middle of it, over a capital por- trait of the Doctor, as arrayed for his early walk. Immediately under this symbol the subjoined stanzas: The three black sisters all combine To cut thy thread in two, But filial hearts shell knit the twine And spin its strands anew. Ruleless the great destroyer comes That calculus of Babbitts lie hath no mind forhut succumbs To one of lieglar Habits. We hail thee to tisy sixtieth year, And see no reason why Thy thsus~ndth may not see thee here Beneath thy morning sky. All blessings on thy hoary head Light softly, much loved cisc! Oh, never than thy feather bed Thy turf one more desire! And then followed: The company of Mr. end Mrs. Dr. Benjamin Bright- yse is moot respectfully end affectionately solicited to a entertainment given by their children, nuder the auspices in general of their tutor, Horace Lyle, AM., K.A., Soc. CoiL Concordise, end in particular of the present festive occasion. Most interesting exercises may be expected of a musical and declamatory character. An examina- tion wal take place of the pupils of Mr. Horace Lyle, All ., KA., etc., during the progress of the services, upon the studies in which they have become proficient since his in- auguration. Performances to commence at ii rn. An elegant repast will be rn dy for the distinguished visitors at 6 rise, precisely. Punctual attendance is particularly desired. By order of the Committee of Arrangements, Luau B eouvvsa, Secreterp. ~IIhe Doctor read the card with udisguised delight; Mrs. Benjamin meanwhile leanihg over his shoulder and beaming sympathy. TJah! said the Doctor; most happy! llah! ILula, I dcci to I didnt know you could drawlike that! And that poetrypon my word, Milton never did that at his age! Delighted! Hah! At the hour appointed we all assembled in the parlor, to the number of five. It was a warm afternoon, but breezy, and, according to country custom, we had all the doors and win- dows open. Dr. and Mrs. Benjamin sat on two large cane arm-chairs, wheeled together in the form of a parquet, and the young lady and gen- tleman, with me, vis-& -vis behind the piano. I arose, and with a wave of the hand solicited attention. The exercises of the day will open with a performance by Mr. Rufus Brightyse upon a Dutch pipe, of a description which I am safe in saying you have never seen him use before. Though Dutch, I trust you will not find it abominable. Mr. Rufus, if you please, Sir! The young man drew from his pocket a hand- some morocco case, containingit migist have contained a very large and elegant meersehaum. Instead of that, he drew from it a beautiful Bochan flute; he put it to his lips, and Lain at down at the piano to accompany him, while. without hesitation, he played the overture to the Caliph of Bagdad from beginning to end. his father and mother laughed with ecstasy till they had to wipe their eyes. Where in the world did you learn to do that ? cried Dr. Benjamin. That, answered Master Rufus, is one of the results of early rising. Since a period as distant as three months ago it has been an in- variable habit of mine, which I have allowed no- HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 86 thing but providential interposition to interfere four. I retired to a little distance, and confided with, to practice this Dutch abominable pipe in my feelings to a hem-stitch pocket handkerchief the old cider-mill, from four until five A.M. of being alone in the world. the days divinely instituted for secular labor. Like flowers after rain, all the Brightyses The classes in Greek, History, Geology, lifted up their heads presently, and lanuhed With French, German, Latin and English Literature a wide-beaming joyfulness which drew me from were then called in succession, with an interim my seclusion. They ran up to me and shook of music between each, and did themselves in- what hands I bad so ardently and so simultane- finite credit, not only by the amount which they ously tix t I would have been more adequately had learned, but the amount which they knew. provided for the occasion had I been the idol Miss Brightyse then read a composition. It Vishnu, who rejoices in a dozen of those mem- did not begin, The gentle flowers of the forest hers. and the soft murmur of the peaceful rills seem 1mb! cried the Doctor hah! Mr. Lyle, to say to us various things of a moral and in- this is the happiest day that I ever passed in my structive tendency, the young lady not having life. Heaven bless you, bless you! Hah! I enjoyed the advantages of our first female board- cant speak a word or I shall break down, my ing-schools; for the same reason it was not read dear boy. And be fell upon my neck also, with a sound so soft that nothing comes twixt it and Mrs. Benjamin kissed my forehead over his and silence; but it was a most delicate texture, shoulder. woofed of the freshest woman-sense, warped with Having disengaged ourselves o cc more, the imagery bright and original as sunbeams, whose Doctor held me out at arms-length, and con- subject was, What there is for girls to do in this templated me. Huh! I wouldnt have be- world. And it made one feel that it was not lieved it! I really wouldnt! If youd come and such a bad. thing to be a girl after all which, told me a year ago that we should all do, and be, perhaps, is not the prevailing impression left by and feel as we do now, I should have said you effusions of that origin at Commencements of were crazyI should! Now, what I want you the Mount Maria Abode of Industry. to do is to tell me what we shall do for you! Master Rufus then closed the exercises with Whatever it is let us know it, and if its in hu- one of the wittiest and most playfully philosoph- man power it shall be done! It shall be done! ical orations I ever listened to, having for its When is your birthday coming? theme The Regular Habits of People in Gener- My expression of sympathetic joy changed to al. The regular habits of cannibals and of busi- one of deep pensiveness. My birthday, Dr. ness men, of literati and of clowns, of ordinary Brightyse, occurred just after I came to this and. of extraordinary persons, and finally of the pleasant house. I fear I shall not spend another Brightvse family, which were described as being in this scene of my so amply rewarded labors. the most unique, consistent with all the grand And I sighed, returaia~ to my cambric only laws of Universal Being, and worthy of be- friend on earth. ing imitated by even the celestial luminaries Why, what does he mean? Youre not going themselves, of all which had ever become ap- to leace us ! burst from all the Brightyse family parent in any a~e or nation. To adopt a pbr~ se at once. from Jenkins, his good hits elicited frequent up- I fear I must, was my sad reply; I have planse. passed among you, my friends, the happiest And now, worthy patrons of the Brightyse hours of my life, but an imperative necessity bids Institute, said I, bowing modestly, I might me shortly to depart, perhaps never to return. make a little speech of glorification over our I noticed that Lula did not cry, nor turn progressit would be customary, but it is not away, but stood looking up into my face, her appropriate; our results speak for themselves, own full of a wonderin6 fearfulness, and snowy It remains for me, therefore, only to present the pale as she grasped my band like one who would prizes. In my manner of doing this I shall never let it go. The others stood likewise, in also be eccentric, for I give them not to the pu- the respect of mute wonderment, waiting for me pils who have to-day so distinguished themselves, to continue. but to those whose pride it is to witness that dis- I have been unspeakably happy here; but if tinction; I held out a hand apiece to Lula and I should continue here, in the relation which I Rufus, and led them from behind the piano up have occupied, it would be only to grow more to their parents chairs, and more miserable. My trouble is this: liege- As a present, on the occasion of Dr. Ben- larity of habits is the very soul of my existence, jamins 60th birthday, to himself and his beloved and there is one regular habit which, though wife, I have been able to think of nothing more obsoletely necessary to my living, I have not yet precious and lasting than two loving children, been able to practice. of Begelar Habits. Dumb-bells? gasped the Doctor. There Lain kissed her father, Rufus his mother; are three pair in the wood-shed then they all fell into a heap upon each others Mrs. Brightyse suggested Hot flip, just be- necks, and there was a silence for some time, fore going to bed. Rufus, A horse and, only broken by the sounds of a very gentle weep- buggy, all to yourself. Lain alone said no- ing in which that once inharmonious family ran thing. together, like one big drop of dew made up of No, none of these, my friends; the Regular REGULAR HABITS. 87 Habit is one for which money, labor, favor, in- terest, can not purchase the opportunities. Name it! Oh, name it! cried father, mo- ther, and son in chorus. It is the regular habit of being the husband of Lube Brightyse. The Doctor sat down utterly overcome. Rufus took both his mothers hands and gazed silently into her face. And Luin hid her eyes in the lap of the same dear refuge, and for the first time gave way to her heart. As for me, accompanied by the hem-stitch friend of my desolation, I walked out of the front door and strayed down the gravel-walk, with n indistinct idea that this was the road to a lodge in some vast wilderness where boundless con- tiguity of shade might hide the fact that I was done for. The suspicion proved erroneous, the path led to the rustic arbor, and I wandered into it, sat down in it, ere I was aware. Yes, the place where I had so often taught her! The very seat where she had sat beside me asking question on question about the flowers she was too loving to pull to pieces an call hard names! The mica slate we had brought to- gether from all the nooks and corners of Hazel- thorpe made a pretty shining pavement under foot! It was her pet clematis that climbed and swayed around the rough posts behind my head. She had been my friend thenperhaps she was not even that nowand all because I could not contain myself, and wait for Heaven or Uncle Ptolemnus Tompkins to make me a rich enough son-in-law for the Doctor! I bowed my head and thought bitterly for what seemed to me a long time. In the midst of the bitterest of the bitter a little soft hand stole trustfully into my own, a gentle trembling voice whispered at my ear, They say I am young, but so was mamma, and you may stay, dear. I caught Luin Brightyse in my arms, and of what happened then let the old arbor keep the secret. This episode, not down on the card of invita- tion, retarded the splendid repast prepared for the Doctors birthday festival; but we were all willing to wave the lesseff for the sake of the greater Re~ular Habit, and have ten at ha~fpast six. Right in the middle of our quiet joy, while Rufus was toasting his father in a cup of English breakfast-tea, and the Doctor, afrer a neat and ap- propriate response, varied by numerous Habs! on which he leaned as an impregnable bulwark to breaking down, had given the sentiment, Our three children ! to be eaten in apple-jelly of Luins own making, and Mrs. Dr. Benjamin had said, with tears and smiles fighting amicably for the enviable occupation of her loving eyes, that there never was such a husband as the Doctor, and if Lulu were only as happy as she had been in her married life the gold of the Indies couldnt do any more for her; and I had accepted so many offers to take something to eat, out of sheer affection and relationship, that my plate assumed a pyramidal form, and looked like a receiving warehouse for several firms of provision-dealers; and the very waiter had caught the cheerful contagion and performed the circuit of the table, bearing muffins, with such a delicious rapidity that fears were enter- tained for the stability of his mind, and we were compelled to stop him and let him lean against the mantle-piece till he could control his ecstasy; right in the midst of all this, there came a ring at the front door, and presently the servant de- scended, bearing a card, on which, in the largest kind of responsible-to-any-amount looking busi- ness hand, was written, Ptolem us Tompkins, Shipping and Com- mission. I handed it to the Doctor. Strangely enough my maternal uncle ; said I, please excuse me for a moment. No! no! bring the gentleman down, Sarah. Ptolemnus Tompkins? Tompkins? Ptol Tomp- kins? Bless my soul! was he ever at Union Col- lege ? Yes, Sir; graduated in 1809. My class! My chum! I-Jah! by the Lord harry, Ptol Tompkins Just at that moment my venerable nncle en- tered, was about bowing gravely to the company and extending a hand to me, when the Doctor caught him in an ungoverned manner by the shoulders, crying, Old Ptol! Dont you know me, Ben Brightyse? and the two chums were hugging each other like little boys. The introduction to Mrs. Benjamin and Rufus accomplished, the Doctor waved his hand de- clamatorily toward Luin and me sitting side by side. Do you know who those are, Old Ptol ? One of ems my nephew And my son-ia-law, that is to be, Provi- dence and the weather permitting. The pretty young lady that blushes so there, and hides her head, is my daughter, and, hah! going to be your niece, if you please. Yes, Sir! Hah, thats my son-in-law, Old Ptol And my partner, added Uncle Ptolemnus, in his business-like unprefaced way, at the same time producing another, an enormous, card from his pocket, on which was printed, Tompkins and Co., No. Beaver Street. lies Co. since yesterday; I thought Id kinder wander up this way and tell him out. Shipping and Com- mission. Patronage respectfully solicited; that is, Ill be glad to see you all, if youll only put on something that lie wont spile, and be keerful o brushin against the baris. And now lets have a little tea, Ptol, said the Doctor. Lulu and I have been in the Commission busi- ness, as I said when I began, for a matter of a dozen years. Our commissions are to make each other just as good and happy as we can; ten per cent. is paid, in smiles and kisses. If you think the sugar in our business is sickish, why stay away; but if you like that and the oil (of human kindness), in which also we do a thriving 88 HARPEWS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. trade, holding it on tap in our own cheerful hearts, just give us a call, and you neednt he afraid to rub against the barrels. There you may he introduced to the Doctor and Mrs. Benjamin, in a hale old age, not trou- bled by too much early rising, hut for the last dozen years making harmony, comfort, jollity, and every household virtue, their invariable Regular Habits!, NOTES OF CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP. BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. ASI look over this collection of CharlesLambs unpublished notes to his friend Thomas Alisopas I hold them in my hand and remark the fair, smooth, legible, half-prim, clerkly writ- ingthe heavy mercantile paper of the old India House, with the edges rough where he tore them into little note-shapes, and the gray and yellow- ish hue which has stolen over them with time I place my hand where his hand must have rest- ed, I think of that genial genius, that true and charitable heart, that long life of silent heroism, I and I find how truly Talfourd says in the preface to the Final Memorials, that there is in- deed scarcely a note (a notelet, as he nsed to call his very little letters) Lamb ever wrote which has not some tinge of that quaint sweetness, some hint of that peculiar union of kindness and whim, which distinguish him from all other po- ets and humorists. And therefore, with very few and slight exceptions, Talfourd printed every thing that came into his possession. I feel disposed to do likewise with these notes, because the lovers of Charles Lamb love entire- ly, and wish nobody to select or discriminate for them, but would have every word that he said or wrote in all its completeness. For none of our authors, not even Shakespeare, is more a passion with all who feel his genius than Charles Lamb; while perhaps no English author of equal rank is so entirely out of the sympathy of those who are not in his key. Thus, in that extraor- dinary diary of the dinings out of a fashionable bard of Erin, which Lord John Russell has edit- ed for a hungry posterity in eight volumes, we read April 4, 1823. Dined at Mr. Monkhouses (a gentleman I had never seen before) on Words- worths invitation, who lives there whenever he comes to town. A singular party: Colerid~e, Rogers, Wordsworth and wife, Charles Lamb (the hero, at present, of the London Magazine) and his sister (the poor woman who went mad with him in the diligence on the way to Paris), and a Mr. Robinson, one of the minora sidera of this constellation of the lakesthe host him- self, a Mecenas of the old school, contributing nothing but good dinners and silence. Charles Lamb, a clever fellow certainly, but full of vil- lainous and abortive puns, which he miscarries of every minute. Some excellent things, how- ever, have come from him, and his friend Rob- inson mentioned to me not a bad one. On Rob- insons receiving his first brief he called upon Lamb to tell him of it. I suppose, said Lamb, you addressed that line of Milton to it, Thou first best cause, least understood. (MooREs Diary, IV. 50.) Charles Lamb himself also wrote of this din- ner to Bernard Barton (Works, I. 264): I wished for you yesterday. I dined in Par- nassus with Wordsworth, Coleridge, Rogers, and Tom Moorehalf the poetry of England constel- lated and clustered in Gloucester Place. It was a delightful evening. Coleridge was in his finest vein of talkhad all the talk: and let em talk as evilly as they do of the envy of poets, I am sure not one there hut was content to be nothing but a listener. The Muses were dumb, while Apollo lectured, on his and their fine art. It is a lie that poets are envious: I have known the best of them, and can speak to it, that they give each other their merits, and are the kindest crit- ics as well as best authors. I am scribbling a muddy epistle with an aching head, for we did not quaff Hippocrene last night; marry, it was hippocrass rather. The meeting of Charles Lamb and Tommy Moore was that of an utterly honest with an ut- terly factitious man. It charmed the bard to hear Lady Jersey say that she was about taking his Loves of the Angels into the country, to read for the third or fourth time; hut in com- pany with Lamb he could only discover a bad punster. It is therefore by those only who already pos- sess the key to Lambs peculiar genius that the following notes will he enjoyed. They are in themselves mostly unimportant, but they fit in well, with their details of daily life, among the letters which Talfourd has pub- lished. The manuscripts, the foldin,~, the gen- eral character of all of them fully illustrate the truth of what Lamb often says of his letters and notes. Writing to Bernard Barton, March 11, 1823, Lamb says (Works, I. 264): I am ashamed of the shabby letters I send, but I am by nature any thing but neat. Therein my mother bore me no Quaker. I never could seal a letter without dropping the wax on one side, besides scalding my fingers My letters are generally charged as double at the Post-office from their inveterate clumsiness of foldure. So you must not take it disrespectful to yourself if I send you such ungainly scraps. I think I lose 100 a year at the India~ House, owing solely to my want of neatness in making up accounts. Talfourd says of Lamb in the year 1824 (I. 307): Lamb himself at this time wrote a singular- ly neat hand, having greatly improved in the India House, where he also learned to flourish a facility he took a pride in, and sometimes in- dulged; but his flourishes (wherefore, it would be too curious to inquire) almost always shaped themselves into a visionary cork-screw, never made to draw. So Lamb himself, writing to Miss Hutchinson

88 HARPEWS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. trade, holding it on tap in our own cheerful hearts, just give us a call, and you neednt he afraid to rub against the barrels. There you may he introduced to the Doctor and Mrs. Benjamin, in a hale old age, not trou- bled by too much early rising, hut for the last dozen years making harmony, comfort, jollity, and every household virtue, their invariable Regular Habits!, NOTES OF CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP. BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. ASI look over this collection of CharlesLambs unpublished notes to his friend Thomas Alisopas I hold them in my hand and remark the fair, smooth, legible, half-prim, clerkly writ- ingthe heavy mercantile paper of the old India House, with the edges rough where he tore them into little note-shapes, and the gray and yellow- ish hue which has stolen over them with time I place my hand where his hand must have rest- ed, I think of that genial genius, that true and charitable heart, that long life of silent heroism, I and I find how truly Talfourd says in the preface to the Final Memorials, that there is in- deed scarcely a note (a notelet, as he nsed to call his very little letters) Lamb ever wrote which has not some tinge of that quaint sweetness, some hint of that peculiar union of kindness and whim, which distinguish him from all other po- ets and humorists. And therefore, with very few and slight exceptions, Talfourd printed every thing that came into his possession. I feel disposed to do likewise with these notes, because the lovers of Charles Lamb love entire- ly, and wish nobody to select or discriminate for them, but would have every word that he said or wrote in all its completeness. For none of our authors, not even Shakespeare, is more a passion with all who feel his genius than Charles Lamb; while perhaps no English author of equal rank is so entirely out of the sympathy of those who are not in his key. Thus, in that extraor- dinary diary of the dinings out of a fashionable bard of Erin, which Lord John Russell has edit- ed for a hungry posterity in eight volumes, we read April 4, 1823. Dined at Mr. Monkhouses (a gentleman I had never seen before) on Words- worths invitation, who lives there whenever he comes to town. A singular party: Colerid~e, Rogers, Wordsworth and wife, Charles Lamb (the hero, at present, of the London Magazine) and his sister (the poor woman who went mad with him in the diligence on the way to Paris), and a Mr. Robinson, one of the minora sidera of this constellation of the lakesthe host him- self, a Mecenas of the old school, contributing nothing but good dinners and silence. Charles Lamb, a clever fellow certainly, but full of vil- lainous and abortive puns, which he miscarries of every minute. Some excellent things, how- ever, have come from him, and his friend Rob- inson mentioned to me not a bad one. On Rob- insons receiving his first brief he called upon Lamb to tell him of it. I suppose, said Lamb, you addressed that line of Milton to it, Thou first best cause, least understood. (MooREs Diary, IV. 50.) Charles Lamb himself also wrote of this din- ner to Bernard Barton (Works, I. 264): I wished for you yesterday. I dined in Par- nassus with Wordsworth, Coleridge, Rogers, and Tom Moorehalf the poetry of England constel- lated and clustered in Gloucester Place. It was a delightful evening. Coleridge was in his finest vein of talkhad all the talk: and let em talk as evilly as they do of the envy of poets, I am sure not one there hut was content to be nothing but a listener. The Muses were dumb, while Apollo lectured, on his and their fine art. It is a lie that poets are envious: I have known the best of them, and can speak to it, that they give each other their merits, and are the kindest crit- ics as well as best authors. I am scribbling a muddy epistle with an aching head, for we did not quaff Hippocrene last night; marry, it was hippocrass rather. The meeting of Charles Lamb and Tommy Moore was that of an utterly honest with an ut- terly factitious man. It charmed the bard to hear Lady Jersey say that she was about taking his Loves of the Angels into the country, to read for the third or fourth time; hut in com- pany with Lamb he could only discover a bad punster. It is therefore by those only who already pos- sess the key to Lambs peculiar genius that the following notes will he enjoyed. They are in themselves mostly unimportant, but they fit in well, with their details of daily life, among the letters which Talfourd has pub- lished. The manuscripts, the foldin,~, the gen- eral character of all of them fully illustrate the truth of what Lamb often says of his letters and notes. Writing to Bernard Barton, March 11, 1823, Lamb says (Works, I. 264): I am ashamed of the shabby letters I send, but I am by nature any thing but neat. Therein my mother bore me no Quaker. I never could seal a letter without dropping the wax on one side, besides scalding my fingers My letters are generally charged as double at the Post-office from their inveterate clumsiness of foldure. So you must not take it disrespectful to yourself if I send you such ungainly scraps. I think I lose 100 a year at the India~ House, owing solely to my want of neatness in making up accounts. Talfourd says of Lamb in the year 1824 (I. 307): Lamb himself at this time wrote a singular- ly neat hand, having greatly improved in the India House, where he also learned to flourish a facility he took a pride in, and sometimes in- dulged; but his flourishes (wherefore, it would be too curious to inquire) almost always shaped themselves into a visionary cork-screw, never made to draw. So Lamb himself, writing to Miss Hutchinson NOTES OF CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP. 89 (I. 308): I dont think she (Mary) can make a cork-screw if she tried, which has such a fine effect at the end or middle of an epistle, and fills up. There is a cork-screw! One of the hest I ever drew. These little notes have many such. When he signs C. L. simply, it is often in the most lux- uriant cork-screw manner. But after the round- ed accuracy and almost formality of the writing in the body of the note, the flourishing signature strikes the eye like a deacon cutting a caper as he goes out of church. To Southey he writes, 19th August, 1825 (I. ~21): Youll know who this letter comes from by opening slap-dash upon the text, as in the good old times. I never could come into the custom of envelopes: tis a modern foppery: the Plinian correspondence gives no hint of such. To Bernard Barton, 20th March, 1826 (I. 328): You may know my letters hy the pa- per and the folding. For the former, I live on ~raps obtained in ch~rity from an old friend, whose stationary is a permanent perquisite; for folding I shall do it neatly when I learn to tie my neckeloths. I surprise most of my friends hy writing to them on ruled paper, as if I had not got past pot-hooks and hangers When I write to a great man at the Court end, he opens with surprise upon a naked note, such as Whitechapel people interchange, with no sweet de~rees of envelope. I never enclosed one hit of paper in another, nor understood the rationale of it. To Miss Williams, April 2, 1830 (II. 233): P.S. I am the worst folder-up of a letter in the world, except certain Hottentots in the land of Caifre, who never fold up their letters at all, writing very hadly upon skins, etc. All these humorous criticisms are verified hy this collection of notes. They are written on all sizes and sorts of scraps of paper, generally undated, so that I have heen obliged to rely upon the post-mark to determine the precise date, and that is often enough gone. Talfourd says of the letter Lamb wrote to Mr. Gilman after the funeral of Coleridge (I. 394): Like- most of Lambs letters, it is undated. These little notes, also, are all folded and directed without envelopes. I am brought very near to him as I look at them. It is like passing him in the Strand, or seeing him look up to a friend from his desk at the India House, and heariug him say, with a smile and a stammer, Good-morning! For almost each one of them has some word, or express~on, which gives the flavor of his genius. Mr. Alisops acquaintance with Lamb hegan apparently about the year 1819. Talfourd speaks of him as one whom Lamb held in the highest esteem for himself, and for his devotion to Cole- ridge (I. 402). In his Recollections of Cole- ridge, Alisop says: The first night I ever spent with Lamb was after a day with Cole- ridge, when we returned by the same stage; and from something I had said or done of an unu- sual kind, I was asked to pass the night with him and his sister. Thus commenced an inti macy which never knew an hours interruption to the day of his death. A few months before, Lamb had removed from No. 4 Inner Temple Lane, which, with the house he next occupied, was the scene of the fa- mous Wednesday evenings, of which Talfourd has given so delightful a descriptionof the lit- tle suppers with which no feasts of famous men any where or at any time are to be compared, where Lamb, who was growing celebrated, and Coleridge sometimes, and Wordsworth, Hazlitt, Leigh Hunt, William Godwin, Charles Lloyd, Basil Montagu, George Dyer, Martin Burney; Kenney the dramatist, Liston, Miss Kelly,Charles Kemble, Baron Field, John Lamb, and Mary, all met together, and the splendors of Holland House do not obscure the picture. From Temple Lane Lamb had gone to Rus. sell Street, Covent Garden, the corner house, says Talfourd, delightfully situated between the two great theatres. Here we are, says Mary Lamb, writing to Miss Wordsworth, liv- ing at a braziers shop, No. 20, in Russell Street, Covent Garden, a place all alive with noise and hustle. It was about this time, also, in the year 1820, that Lamb began the Essays of Elia in the London Megeziae, in that society of wits and genius which makes that period of that Ma~azine so unique and brilliant in Eu0lish lit- erary history. He made now, also, the acquaint- ance of Barry Cornwall and Macready, so that these little notes cover the most famous period of his life. The earliest date that I find is November, 1819. Deer SirMany thanks for your offer. I have desired the youth to wait upon you, if you will give him leave, tbat ha may give his own answer to your kind proposal of trying to find sometbin for him. My sister begs you will accept her thanks with mine. We shall be at home at all times most hap- py to see you when you are in town. We are most- ly to be found in an Evening. Your obliged C. LA~an. Saturday, 29. Key. 19. Some kind friend had evidently told Ailsop of Lambs doctrine of presents, which he him- self lays down in a letter to Wordsworth (I. 208): There is something inexpressibly pleas- ant to me in these presents, be it fruit, or fowl, or brawn, or wlievaot. Books are a legitimate cause of acceptance. If presents be not the soul of friendship, undoubtedly they are the most spir itual part of the body of that intercourse. There is too much narrowness of thinking in this point. The punctilio of acceptance, methinks, is too con- fined and strait-laced. I could be content to re- ceive money, or clothes, or a joint of meat from a friend. Why should he not send me a dinner as well as a dessert? I would taste him in the beasts of the field and throu,~h all creation. Or shall we forget the very last Essay of Elia, in the At1iene~ern of the 30th November, 1834, Thoughts on Presents of Game, etc. But a hare roasted hard and brown, with gravy and melted butter !old Mr. Chambers, the sensible clergyman in Warwickshire, whose son s ac 90 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. quaintance has made many hours happy in the life of Elia, used to allow a pound of Epping to every hare. Perhaps that was overdoing it ? Who does not envy Mr. Thomas Ailsop his sending hares and pheasants to such a recipient, and his getting these sparkling autographs in re- turn: Deer SirWe are most sorry to have missed von twice. We are at home to-night, to-morrow & Thursday & should he happy to see you any of these nights. Thanks for the shining bird. Yours truly, C. L. Deer SirThe hairs of our head are numbered, hut those which emanate from your heart defy arith- metic. I would send longer thanks hut your youn~ man is blowing his fingers in the Passage. Yours gratefully, C. L. Dr SirYour hare arrived in excellent order Last night, and I hope will prove the precursor of yourself on Sunday. Why you should think it necessary to appease us with so many pleasant presents, I know not. More acknowlegement~ when we ~eet, we dine at 3 Yours truly, C. LAMe. Thurad And here are invitations more alluring than even those to the Empress Eugdaies balls, to Queen Victorias drawing-rooms, or even to a state dinner at the White house: M~s deer SirWe shall hope to see you to-mor- row evening to a rubber. Thank for your very kind letter, & intentions respecting a bird. Yours very truly, C. L~asn. Tuesday D~ SirWe expected you here to-ni~ht, hut as von have invited us to-morrow even~, we shall dis- pose of this evening as we intended to have done of to-morrow. We shall he with you by 8, and shall have taken Tea. Your (not o~~ng hut obliged) C. & M. LAMe. Monday, 10th Dear SirI have brot yots Bosamund Bp of Lands a dau~hters novel. We shall have a small party, on Thursday even- ing, if you will do us the favor to join it. Yours truly, C. LAMe. Tuesday evg., 15 Feb., 20. Dear SirWe expect Wordsth to-morrow Even ing. Will you look in? C. L. Russell House, Thursday. D~ Sir~Wordswth is with us this Even. Can you come? We leave Coy. Card. on Thursday for some time. - C. L. Talfourd describes Lamhs introducing him to Wordsworth, two or three years before this. They were neighhors in the Temple. Talfourd was a youth of twenty, attending at the chain- hers of Chitty, the special pleader, which were on the next staircase to Lamhs. When Tel- fourd was made Sergeant, Lamb, in his raciest humor, refers to the Temple days: Now can not I call him Serjeeat? What is there in a coit? Those canvas-sleeves protective from ink, when he was a law chita Glsitty-ling (let the leathern-apron be apocryphal) do more specially plead to the Jury Court of old memory. The costume (will he agnize it?) was as of a desk- fellow, or Seems Plutei. Methought I spied a brother! (II. 249.) The second time Talfourd saw Lamb, he came almost breathless into the office and pro- posed to give me what I should have chosen as the grc~ test of all possible honors and delights an introduction to Wordsworth, who, I learned with a palpitating heart, was actually at the next door. I hurried out with my kind conductor, and a minute after was presented by Lamb to the person whom in all the world I venerated most, with this preface: Wordsworth, give me leave to introduce to you my only admirer. Still 1820. Dr SirWe had arranged to be in country Sat- urday & Sunday, having made an engagmt to that effect. Pray let us see you on Thurad. at Russell I-louse. With regrets & all proper feel~, Yours truly, C. L. Dr SirYou shall see us on Thursday, with M. B. if possible about 8. We shall have TEAED. Yours truly, C. L. NI. B.s direction is 26 James Streat Westminster. James not S~ Jaoses St. The M. B. of this note is Martin Burney, son of the Admiral who sailed round the world with Captain Cook, and nephew of the author of Evelina. lie was one of the oldest and most faithful of Lambs friends. He writes to Barry Cornwall, in 1829: M. B. is richly worth your knowing. He is on the top scale of my friendship ladder. (I. 351.) One even- ing, at a game of whist, when Burney was deal- ing, Lamb said to him, Martin, if dirt was trumps, what hands you would hold I But he dedicated to him Isis first volume of prose: Free from self-seeking, envy, low design, I have not found a whiter soul than thine. And when, in the month of May, 1847, the body of Mary Lamb was laid in the same grave where her brothers had been placed eleven years be- fore, it was the life-long friend of both of them, the M. B. of this note, who refused to be com- forted. In the year 18212 Lamb, who was over- whelmed by visitors (many of whom he loved too dearly to refuse either themselves or the con- sequences of their comm), and by the deaths of several friends, among the rest the father of M. B. Theres Captain Burney gone! What fun has whist now ?took lodgings ~t Dalaton, near London, whither Talfourd tells us he retired whenever he wished for repose. My dear SirIf you can come next Sunday we shall be equally glad to se von, but do not trust to any of Martins appointments, except on business, in future. He is notoriously faithless in that point, and we did wrong not to have warned you. Le~ of NOTES OF CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP. 91 Lamb, as before; hot at 4. And the heart of Lamb my regards for you when I tell you my head ran ever. Yours truly, C. L. on you in my madness, as much almost as on 30 March, 21. another person who, I am inclined to think, was Dr SirThanks for the Birds and your kindness, the more immediate cause of my temporary It was but yesterdY I was coutriving with Talf~ to frenzy. (II. 4.) During one of his lucid inter- meet you ~ way at his chamber. But night dont vals he wrote a sonnet: do so well at present. I shall want to be home at Ia , to thee, my sister and my friend. Dalston by Eight. He wrote afterward: I look back upon it at I will pay an afternoon visit to you when you times with a gloomy kind of envy; for, while it please. I dine at a chop-house at ONE always, but lasted, I had many, many hours of pure happi- I can spend an hour with you after that. Yours truly,C. L. ness. Dream not, Coleridge, of having tasted Would SaturdY serve? all the grandeur and wildness of fancy till you have gone mad. (II. 21.) EcceIterum. On Thursday, the 22d of September, 1796, Dr SirI fear I was obscure. I was plaguily Mary Lamb, worn down to a state of extreme busy when those tempting birds came. I mean to nervous misery by attention to needle-work all say I could not come this evening, but any other if I can know a day before, I can come for 2 or 3 after- day, and to her mother at night, broke into nil- noon hours, for 1 four to ~ past six. At present ~ controllable insanity, and seizing a knife from can not command more furlough. I have namd the table spread for dinner stabbed her mother Saturd. I will come, if you dont countermand. ~ to the heart. The coroners jury brought in a sh ii have dined. I have been wantin~ not ssot to see verdict of lunacy. Charles writes to Cole- you. C. L. ridge: With me, the former things are passed away, and I have something more to do than to Deer SirI do not know whose fault it is we feel. Go4 Almighty have us well in Ilis keep- have not met so long. We are almost always ing. (II. 40.) Mary Lamb was placed in an out of town. You must come & beat up our quar- ters there, when we return from Cambridge. It is asylum, but was soon restored to sanity. Her not in our power to accept your invitation. To-day brother Charles instantly contrives how she may we dine out; and set out for Cambridge on Saturday be freed from the necessity of living for her life at morning. Friday of course will be past in packing, an asylum. I know John will make speeches moreover we go from Daiston. We return about it, but she shall not go into an hospital. from Cam, in 4 weeks, & will contrive an early If my father, an old maid-servant and meeting. Meantime believe us, I, cant live, and live comfortably, on 130 or Sincerely yours, C. L., & c. 120 a year, we ought to burn by slow fires; and Thursday. I almost would, that Mary might not go into an Dr SirI hear that you have called in Russell hospital. (II. 45.) I very much fear she S~. I can not say when I shall be in town. When must not think of coming home in my fathers I am, I must see you; I had hoped to have seen you lifetime. (II. 61.) Ilis father was rapidly de- at Dalston, but my Sister is taken ill, & I am afraid caying. When Charles expostulated about play- will not be able to see any of her friends for a bun inn cribbage with him, to tlse entire loss of his time. Believe use, yours truly, India House. C. LAMB. correspondence and other private duties, the old man said, If you wont play with me, you My sister is taken ill. In those few words might as well not come home at all. The ar- how much tragedy lies hidden! What a life of gument was unanswerable, ~nd I set to afresh. patient heroism do they suggest, in comparison (I. 54.) At the same time a poor old aunt, with which the career of Lambs huge contempo- who never recovered from the shock of our rary, Bonaparte, shrinks into the merest mob- evil day, comes to that melancholy home to drama; while the misanthropic mouthings of dieand all the time the young man is getting Lord Byron become maudlin when we recall ready a joint volume of verse with Coleridge and the sweet, life-long, heroic silence of Charles Lloyd. Lamb. In 1797 his father died; the aunt still bin- In the year 1796 Charles Lamb was twenty- gored, and his sister was in confinement. There one years old, and was living in lodgings with was a dreadful doubt whether she could be re- his father, who was sinking into dotage; his leased at allwhether legal proceedings must mother, whose limbs were paralyzed; and his not be instituted to place her for life at the dis- sister Mary, whose needle worked with his pen position of the crown. But Charles came to to support the family. Their rosonrees were a her deliverance: he satisfied all the parties who little annuity which Mr. Salt, an old Bencher, had power to oppose her release, by his solemn had given to his servant, the father of Charles engagement that he would take her under his Lamb; Charless salary, as a clerk of three years care for life; and he kept his word. standing at the India House; and the board of For her sake, at the same time, he abandoned an old maiden aunt, who lived with them. The all thoughts of love and marriage; and with an young man was in love with a fair-haired maid income of scarcely more titan 100 a year, de- near Ishington, to whom he wrote simple, pa- rived from his clerkship, aided for a little while thetic, pastoral sonnets. The beginning of the by the old aunts small annuity, set out on the year he had passed in a mad-house, and he writes journey of life, at twenty-two years of age, to his friend Coleridge: It may convince you of cheerfully, with his beloved companion, endear- 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ed to him the more by her strange calamity, and a constant apprehension of a recurrence of the malady which had caused it. (II. 65.) From this time he considered his sister Mary perpetually on the brink of madness. We can he nowhere private except in the midst of London. (II. 87.) To the end of both their lix es she xx ~s const tly subject to these attacks. Any peculiar excitement occasioned them; and they came xvithout apparent reason. What sad large pieces it cuts out of life (he ites, in 1809): out of her life, who is getting rather old; and we may not have many years to live togeth- er. (II. 133.) Her illness lasted at this time sometimes as much as eight or nine weeks, with often scarce a six months interval. It cuts sad great slices out of the time, he says anain, in 1815; the little time we shall have to live together. But I wont hlk of death. I will imagine us immortal, or forget that we are otherwise. By Gods blessing, in a few xveeks we may be making our meal together, or sitting in the front roxv of the pit at Drury Lane, or tak- in~ our evening walk past the theatres, to look nt the outside of them, at least, if not to be tempted in. Then we forg~t xve are assaila- ble; we are strong for the time as rocks the xvind is tempered to the shorn Lambs. (II. 158.) His intimate friends knew of the great shadow that always lay upon their paths. It grew larger and larger as the yerrs passed on. In May, 1833, be x Lites to Wordsworth: Mary is ill again. Her illnesses encroach yearly. The last was three months, followed by two of depression a ost dreadful. I lock b~ ck upon her earlier at- tacks with longing. Nice little durations of six weeks or so, followed by complete restoration shocking as they xvere to me then. (II. 252.) When they xveut upon a little journey, a strait waistcoat, carefully packed by Miss Lamb her- self, was their constant companion. On one occasion Mr. Charles Lloyd met them slowly pacing together a little foot-path in Hoxton fields, both weeping bitterly; and found, on joining them, that they were taking their solemn way to the accusto xed asylum. (II. 341.) In the last year of their united lives they lived constantly to- gether. It is no new thing for me to be left to my sister. When she is not violent, her ram- bling chat is better to me than the sense and san- ity of this xvorld. Her heart is obscured, not buried: it breaks out occasionally; and one can discern a strong mind struggling with the billows that have gone over it. (II. 265.) In Bridget Ella Charles Lamb describes his sister, who xvas a xvoman entirely worthy even this life-long devotion. She was his thoughtful friend, his most sympathetic and affectionate companion, and together with him xvrote those charming books for children, The Poetry for Children, Tales from Shakespeare, and Mrs. Leicesters School. The records of hu- man affection have nothing more melancholy, more heroic, or more tonching, than the story of Gharles and Mary Lamb. At this time (1822) Lamb drops the Sir in his address to Alisop: Dear A lsopWe are going to Dalston on Wed- nesday. Will you come see tbe last of us to-mor- row night, you and Mrs. Alsop? Yours truly, C. LAsun. Monday Eveng. Dear AlsopYour pheasant is glittering, but your company will be more acceptable this Evening. Wordsxvorth is not with us, but the next things to him are. C. LAsun. Monday Evening. In July, 1823, Lamb writes: D. A .I expect Proctor and Wainwright (Janus W.) this evening; will you come? I suppose it is but a comp. to ask Mrs. Alsop; but it is none to say that we should be most glad to see her. Yours ever. how vexed I am at your Dalaton expedita. Tuesday. C. L. The Proctor here is Barry Cornwall, whose acquaintance Lamb made in 1820. The Wain- wright is Thomas Griffiths Wainxvright, of whom Talfourd gives the following account: He xvas then a young man, on the bright side of thirty, with a sort of undress military air, and the con- versation of a smart, lively, clever, heartless, voluptuous coxcomb. It was xvhispered that he had been an officer in the dragoons; had spent more than one fortune; and he now condescend- ed to take a part in periodical litesature, xvith the careless grace of an amateur who felt himself above it. He was an artist also, sketched bold- ly and graphically; exhibited a port-folio of his o drawings of female beauty, in which the voluptuous trembled on the borders of the indel- icate, and seized on the department of the Fine Arts. He composed for the Magazine, under the signature of Janus Weathercock, arti- cles of flashy assumption, in xvhich disdainful no- tices of living artists were set off by fascinating references to the personal appearance, accom- plishments, and luxurious appliances of the writer, ever the first hero of his essay. He created a nexv sensation in the sedate circle, not only by his braided surtouts, jeweled fingers, and various neck-handkerchiefs, but ostentatious con- tempt for every thing in the world but elegant enjoyment. Lamb, who delighted to find sym- pathy in dissimilitude, fancied that he really liked him. We lost sight of him when the career of the Londo Magazine ended; and Lamb did not live to learn the sequel of his his- tory. That sequel is written in the calendar of crime. It is also vaguely hinted in Bulxvers preface to his novel of Lucretia, the most revolting of all his stories. I became acquainted xvith th~ histories of txvo criminals existing in our own age; so remarkable, whether from the extent and darkness of the guilt committedwhether from the glittering accomplishments and lively temper of the one, the profound knowledge and intellectual capacities of the other, etc. The one is Wainwright. His crime was compass- ing the death of persons, in whose life-insurance NOTES OF CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP. 93 he was interested, by poison most insidiously and adroitly administered. The stories, also, that are told of his relation to women are monstrous and incredible. His whole career recalls the darkest days of license and murder of the ancien rtiiyisoe days of which the spirit is so finely touched in Brownings poem of The Laboratory Soon, at the Kings, a mere lozenge to give, And Panline should have just thirty minutes to live: But to light a pastile, and Elioe, with her head, And her breast, and her arms, and her hands, should drop dead. So little suspicions was Lamb of the latent character of this man that, in writing to Bernard Barton, 2d September, 1823, he says: The London I fear falls off They have pnlled down three (supports). Hazlitt, Proctor, and their best stay, kind, light-hearted Wainwright, their Janns. In Angust, 1823, Lamb writes nnder date of August 9, but the note is post-marked Septem- ber 9: 2l/~y dear A .I am going to ask you to do me the greatest favor which a man can do to another. I want to make my will, and to leave my property in trust for my sister. N. B. I am not thereftre going to die.Would it be unpleasant for you to be named for one? The other two I shall beg the same favor of are Talfourd and Proctor. If you feel reluctant tell me, and it shant abate one jot of my friendly feeling toward you. Yours ever, C. L~sin. E. I. House, 9 Aug., 23. The reply must have been immediate, for the following is post-marked September 10, 1823: My or A.Yo~r kindness in accepting my re- quest no words of mine can repay. It has made you overflow into some romance, which I should have checkd at another time. I hope it may be in the scheme of Providence that my sister may go first (if ever so little a precedence), myself next, and my good Exrs survive to remembr us with kindness many years. God bless you. I will set Proctor about the will forthwith. C. LAlun. In the summer of 1823 Lamb found himself involved in his first and last literary difficulty. It arose from Southeys article upon the Pro- gress of Infidelity, in which he spoke of the Essays of Elia as wanting only a sounder re- ligious feeling to be as delightful as it is orig- inal. The hard feeling did not last long, al- though Lamb wrote Southey a long letter about it, and in August of this year he hired a neat cottage at Islington, in which he was for the first time a householder. I have a cottage in Colebrook Row, Isling- ton; a cottage, for it is detached; a white house, with six good rooms. (1. 271.) This was sacred ground to Lamb. In the neighborhood of Islington lived the fair-haired maid of his boyish love. To me tis classical ground, he wrote to Coleridge in 1796. The following ex- tract from the Recollections, by GeorgeDaniel, in the London Literary Gazette, during the last year, will be pleasant reading to thelovers of Ella: VOL. XX.No. 115.G He took much interest in the antiquities of Merrie Islington. Queen Elizabeths Walk became his favorite promenade in summer time, for its historical associations, its seclusion, and its shade. He would watch the setting sun from the top of Old Canonbury Tower, and sit silently contemplating the spangled heavens (for he was a disciple of Plato, the great Apostle of the beautiful!) until the cold night air warned him to retire. He was intimate with Goodman Symes, the then tenant of this venerable tower, and a brother antiquary in a small way, who took pleasure in entertaining him in the antique pan- eled chamber where Goldsmith wrote his Trav- eler, and supped frugally on butter-milk, and in pointing to a small portrait of Shakespeare in a curiously carved gilt frame, which Lamb would look at longingly, and which has since become mine. He was never weary of toiling up and down the winding and narrow stairs of this sub- urban pile, and peeping into its quaint corners and cupboards, as if he expected to discover there some hitherto hidden clew to its mysterious or- igin! The ancient hostelries were also visited, and he smoked his pipe, and quaffed his nut- brown ale at the Old Queens Head from the festivous tankard presented by one Master Cranch (a choice spirit!) to a former host, and in the Old Oak Parlor too, where, according to tradition, the gallant Raleigh received full souse in his face the humming contents of a jolly Black Jack from an affrighted clown, who, seeing clouds of tobacco smoke curling from the Knights nose and mouth, thought he was all on fire! Though now, as he called himself, a country gentle- man, he occasionally shared in the amusements of the town; he had formerly been a great sight- seer, and the ruling passion still followed him to his Islingtonian Tusculum. September 6, 1823, he writes: Deer,. AlsopI am snugly seated at the cottage; Mary is well but weak, and comes home on Monday, she will soon be strong enough to see her friends here. in the mean time will you dine with me at ~ past four to-morrow? Ayrton and Mr. Burney are coming. Colebrook Cottage left hand side, end of Colebrook Row on the western brink of the New River, a de- tachd whitish house. No answer is required but come if you can. C. LAMB. Saturday 6th Sep. I calld on you on Sunday. Respcts to Mrs. A. & boy. Mr. Ayrton was one of the frequent guests at the Wednesday evening parties. He was direct- or of music at the Italian Opera, whither Lamb rarely went, and never with any satisfaction. It was to Ayrton that he wrote the amusing rhyming letter, applying for orders to see Don Giovan- ni for some friends. I go to the play In a very economical sort of a way, Rather to see Than be seen: Though Im no ill sight Neither, 94 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. By candle-light And in some kinds of weather. You might pit me For height Against Kean; But in a grand tragic-scene Im nothing; It would create a kind of loathing To see me act Hamlet; Thered be many a damn let Fly At my presumption, If I should try, Being a fellow of no gumption. The following letterets, as Lamb called such performances, have various dates in the autumn of 1823: ilfy dear A llsopI thank you for thinking of my recreation. But I am best here, I feel I am. I have tried town lately, but came hack worse. Here I must wait till my loneliness has its natural cure. Besides that, though I am not very sanguine, yet I live in hopes of better news from Fuiham, and can not be out of the way. Tis ten weeks to-morrow. I saw Mary a week since, she was in excellent hod- ily health, but otherwise far from well. But a week or so may give a turn. Love to Mrs. A. & children, and fair weather accompY you. C. L. Tuesday. In the next one how fondly he links his initials with Marys, whose heart was still obscured! Dear A .Your cheese is the best I ever tasted. Mary will tell you so hereafter. She is at home, but has disappointed me. She has gone back rather than improved. However she has sense enough to value the present, fo~ she is greatly fond of Stilton. Yonrs is the delicatest, rain-bow-hued melting piece I over flavored. Believe me. I took it the more kindly, following so great a kindness. Depend upont yours shall be one of the first houses we shall present ourselves at, when we have got our Bill of Health. Being both yours and Mrs Alsops truly, C. L. & M. L. lift SirWill Mrs. A. & you dine with us to- morrow at ~ past 3? Do not think of troubling yourself to send (if you can not come) as we shall provide only a goose (which is in the House) and your not coming will make no differce in our ar rangemts. Your obligd, C. LAMB. Saturday, 4 Oct. Dear SirMary has got a cold, and the nights are dreadful; but at the first indication of Spring (alias the first dry weather in Novr early) it is our intention to surprise you early some even5. Believe me, most truly yours, C. L. The Cottage, Saturday night. Mary regrets very much Mrs. Allsops fruitless visit. It made her swear! She was gone to visit 1825: Miss Hutchinsa whom she found ouw. Deer AlsopOur dinner hour on Sundays is 4, at which we shall be most happy to see Mrs. A. & your- selfI mean aext Sunday; but I also mean any Sunday. Pray come. I am up to my very ears in business, but pray come. Yours most sincerely, C. L. B. I. H., 7th Nov. It was while Lamb was living at Colebrook Cottage that the adventure of his friend George Dyer, who tumbled into the New River that flowed through the garden, was so whimsically described in the Elia Essay Amicus Redivi- vus. It was to Colebrook Cottage also, in this year, that Sonthey came to explain the mis- understanding between them. The cloud faded in a moment, and their affectionate intimacy, of already nearly twenty years, was never again disturbed. It was in this year that Lamb first knew Thomas Hood, Hone, and Ainsworth the novelist. In 1824 he writes to Mrs. Allsop: Dear Mrs. A .Mary begs me to say how muck she regrets we can not join you to Reigateour rea- sons areit I have but one holyday namely Good Friday, and it is not pleasant to solicit for another, hut that might have been got over. 2dIY Manning is with us, soon to go away and we should not he easy in leavi~ng him. 3d1Y Our school girl Emma comes to us for a few days on Thursday. 4thly and lastly, Wordsworth is returning home in about a week, and out of respect to them we should not like to absent ourselves just now. In summer I shall have a month, and if it shall suit, should like to go for a few days of it out with you both cay where. In the mean time, with many acknowledgements etc. etc., I remain yours (both) truly, C. LAMB. India Ho. 13 Apr. Remember Sundays. Manning was one of the oldest friends of the Lambs, next to Coleridge the dearest of them, Talfourd says, who in company seemed only a courteous gentleman, more disposed to listen than to talk. It was to Manning, at the anti- podes, that Lamb wrote the delightful letter, full of humorous misstatements as to the changes that must occur in their common circle by the time the letter reaches him. Our school girl Emma was the daughter of Charles Isola of Cambridge, who had been one of the esquire bedells of the University. Her grandfather, Agostino Isola, had fled from Italy because of an English book found in his room. The old man had had Gray the poet, Pitt, and Wordsworth among his pupils in Italian; and his grand- daughter had lost both her parents. So fond did Charles and Mary Lamb become of her that they finally adopted her as a daughter, and she lived with them until 1833, when she married Mr. Moxon the publisher. On the 10th of February, 1825, Lamb was fifty years old, and on the 6th of April he writes to Coleridge from Colebrook Cottage, I came home forever on Tuesday in last week (I. 316). The date of the following to Ailsop is May 29, Dear A.I am as mad as the devil, hut I had en- gaged myself and Mary to accompany Mrs. Kenny to Kentish-town to dinner at a common friends on friday, before I knew of Marys engaging you. Can Mrs. A. & you exchange the day for Sun- day, or what other? Tuesday. write Success to the Gnomes! C. LAMB. NOTES OF CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP. 95 In the summer Lamb and his sister made a long visit to Enfield, whence he writes to All- sop: Dear AlisopWe are bent upon coming here to- morrow for a few weeks. Dispatch a porter to me this evening, or by nine to-morrow morsz~ to say bow far it will interfere with your proposed coming down on Saturday. If the house will hold us, we can be together while you stay. Yours, C. LAaIn. Enfield, Thursday, after a hot walk. Apparently th3y occupied rooms which All- sop had already engaged for his own family. Dear A lsopIt is too hot to write. Here we are, having turned you out of your beds, but willing to resign in your favor, or make any shifts with you. Our best Loves to Mrs. Alsop. From Mrs. Leish- luaus this warm Saturday. Yours truly, C. LAMa. This damnd afternoon sun! Thanks for your note, which came in more than good time. On the 19th August he writes to Southey: We are on a half visit to his (Coleridges) friend, Allsop, at a Mrs. Leishmans, Enfield, but expect to be at Colebrook Cottage in a week or so. Again to Allsop: lily dear Alsop Mrs. Leishman gives us hopes of seeing you all on Sunday. We shall promise a bit of Beef or something on that day, so you need not market. We are very comfortable here. Our kind- est rememb to Mrs. Alsop and the chits. We lying in people go out on Saturday, Mrs. L. bids me say, and that you may come that evening and find beds, etc. Yours truly, C. LAMB. Thursday. Dear A.Mary is afraid lest the callico & Hand- kerc5 have miscarried, which you were to send. Have you sent em? Item a bill with em including the former silks, & halce struck in a Tradesman-like way. Enfield. Yours truly, C. L. Early in September he was back again in Isl- ington. My dear A ilsopWe are exceedingly grieved for your loss. When your note came, my sister went to Pall Mall, to find you, and saw Mrs. L. and was a little comforted to find Mrs. A. had returned to En- field before the distresful event. I am very feeble, can scarce move a pen; got home from Enfield on the Friday, and on Monday follows was laid up with a most violent nervous fever second this summer, have had Leeches to my Temples, have not had nor can not get a nights sleep. So you will excuse more from Yours truly, C. LAMB. Islingtsn, 9 Sept. Our most kind remembces to poor Mrs. AlIsop. A line to say how you both are will be most accepta- ble. Under post-mark of September 24, 1825: My dear AlsopCome not near this unfortunate roof yet a while. My disease is clearly but slowly going. Field is an excellent attendant. But Marys anxieties have overturned her. She has her old Miss James with her, without whom I should not feel a support in the world. We keep in separate apart- ments, and must weather it. Let me know all of your healths. Kindest love to Mrs. Ailsop. C. LAMB. Saturday. Can you call at Mrs. Burney 26 James Street, and tell her, & that I can see no one here in this state. If Martin return; if well enough, I will meet him some where, dont let him come. Dear A llsopYour kindness pursues us every where. That 81 . 4. 6 is a substantial proof. I think I never should have askd for it. Pray keep it, when you get it, till we see each other. I hava plenty of current cash, thank you over and over for your offer. We came down on Monday with Miss James. The 1st night I lay broad awake like an owl till S oclock, then got a poor doze. Have had something like sleep and a forgetting last night. We go on tolerably in this deserted house. It is melancholy, but I could not have gone into a quite stranbe one. Newspapers come to you here. Pray stop them. Shall I send what have come? Give mine and Marys kindest love to Mrs. Allsop, with every good wish to Elizabeth and Rob. This house is not what it was. May we all meet chear- ful some day soon. Yours gratefully and sincerely, C. LAMB. How long a letter have I written with my own hand! Jane says she sent a cradle yesterday morning. She does for us very welL Wednesdy, Sep. 25. (Oct. 5, 1825.) Dear A .Have read your drafts. We will talk that over SundY morning. I am strongish, but have not good nights, & can not settle my inside. Farewell till SundY. I have no possible use for the 1st draft, so shall keep them as above. Yours truly, C. L. Wednesday. I only trouble you now, because if the drafts had miscarried, any one might have cashd em. Re- member at home. Ludlow is charming. My dear AllsopThanks for the Birds. Your announcement puzzles me sadly as nothing came. I send you back a word in your letter, which I can positively make nothing and therefore return to you as useless. It means to refer to the birds, but gives me no information. They are at the fire, however. My sisters illness is the most obstinate she ever had. It will not go away, and I am afraid Miss James will not be able to stay above a day or two longer. I am desperate to think of it sometimes. Tis eleven weeks! The day is sad as my prospects. With kindest love to Mrs. A and the children, Yours, C. L. No Atlas this week. Poor Hones good boy Alfred has fractured his skull, another son is returned dead from the Navy office, & his Book is going to be given up, not having answered. What a world of troubles this is! Dear AllsopMy injunctions about not calling here had solely reference to your being unwell etc. at 96 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. home. I am most glad to see you on my own ac- count. I dine at 3 on either Sunday. Come THEN, or earlier, or later only before dinner I generally walk. Your dining here will be quite convenient. I of course have a joint that day. I owe you for newspapers, Cobbets, pheasants, what not? Your most obliged C. L. P.S. I am so well (except Rheumatism, which forbids my being out on evengs) that I forgot to men- tion my health in the above. Mary is very poorly yet. Love to Mrs. Ailsop. (Dec. 5, 1825.) Dear A .You will be glad to hear that we are at home to visitors; not too many or noisy. Some fine day shortly Mary will surprise Mrs. Ailsop. The weather is not seasonable for formal engagements. Yours most ever, C. LAMB. Satrd. Dear A llsojpMary will take her chance of an early lunch or dinner with you on Thursday: she cant come on Wednesday. If I can, I will fetch her home, but I am near killed with Christmasing, and if incompetent, your kindness will excuse me. I can scarce set foot to ground for a cramp that took rue last night. Tnesdy. Yours, C. LAMB. Dear AlsopI acknowledge with thanks the re- ceipt of a draft on Messrs. Wins for 81. 11. 3 which I baste to cash in the present alarming state of the money market. Hurst and Robinson gone! I have imagined a chorus of ill-used authors singing on the occasion: What should we do when Booksellers break? We should rejoice da Capo. We regret exceed1Y Mrs. Alsops being unwell. Mary or both will come and see her soon. The frost is cruel and we have both colds. I take Pills again which battle with your wine & victory hovers doubt- fuL By the bye tho not disinclined to presents, I remember our basgain to ke a dozen at sale price and must demur. With once again thanks and best loves to Mrs. A., Turn overYours, C. LAMB. Colebrook Cottage, Islington, 7 Jan. 25. (Post-marked 1826.) JanY 25. 1827. My dear A isopi can not forbear thanking you for your very kind interference with Taylor, whom I do not expect to see in haste at Islington. It is hardly weather to ask a dog up here, hut I need hardly say how happy we shall he to see you. I can not be out of evenings till John Frost be rout- ed. We came home from Newman 5t the other night late, and I was crampt all night. Loves to Mrs. Alsop. Yours truly, C. L. In the summer of this year (1827), still pressed by visitors whom he could not well deny, Lamb removed to Enfield. He wrote to Bernard Bar- ton, August 10, 1827: I am (Mo you ont understand it) at Enfleld Chase. We have been here near three months, and shall stay two more, if people will let us alone; but they persecute ns from village to village. So dont direct to Is- lington again until further notice. (I. 335.) So to Mr. Patmore: We are dawdling our time away very idly and pleasantly at a Mrs. Leishinans Chase Enfield, where, if you come a-hunting, we can give you cold meat & a tankard. Her husband is a tailor, but that, you know, does not make her one. I knew a jailor (which rhymes), but his wife was a fine lady. (I. 339.) On the 4th December of this year (1827) he is still at Enfold, despairing over Mary. But for long experience, I should fear her ever getting well. On the 20th he writes to Ailsop: My deer A iisopI have writ to say to you that I hope to have a comfortable Xmas-day with Mary, and I can not bring myself to go from home at pres- ent. Your kind offer, and the kind consent of the young Lady to come, we feel as we should do; pray accept all of you our kindest thanks. At present I think a visitor (good & excellent as we remember her to be) might a little put us out of our way. Emma is with us, and our small house just holds us, without obliging Mary to sleep with Becky, & c. We are going on extremely comfortably, & shall soon be in capacity of seeing our friends. Much weakness is left stilL With thanks and old re- membrs, yours, C. L. And on the 9th January, 1828: Dear All.oopI have been very poorly and nerv- ous lately, but am recovering sleep, & c. I do not write or make engagements for particular days; but I need not say how pleasant your dropping in any Sunday morn~ would be. Perhaps Jameson would accompany you. Pray beg him to keep an accurate record of the warning I sent by him to old Pan, for I dread lest he should at the 12 months end deny the warning. The house is his daughters, but we took it through him, and have paid the rent to his re- ceipts for his daughters. Consult J. if he thinks the warning sufficient. I am very nervous, or have been, about the house; lost my sleep, & expected to be ill; but slumbered gloriously last night golden slumbers. I shall not relapse. You fright me with your inserted slips in the most welcome Atlas. They begin to charge double for it, & call it two sheets. How can I confute them by opening it, when a note of yours might slip out, & we get in a hobble? When you write, write real letters. Marys best love & mine to Mrs. A. Yours ever, C. L~asa. In 1828 he was still at Enfield, and writes on the 1st of May: Dear A .I am better. Mary quite welL We expected to see you before. I cant write long let- ters. So a friendly love to you alL Enfield. Yours ever, C.L. This sunshine is healing. The warning of which Lamb speaks on the 9th of January took effect at the end of the twelve months. In 1829 he gave up Colebrook Cottage, and removed to an odd-looking, gem- bogish-colored house, sit Chase-side, Enfleld. The situation was far from picturesque; for the opposite side of the road presented some mid- dling tenements, ten dissenting chapels, and a public-house decorated with a swinging sign of a Rising Sun; but the neighboring field-works were pleasant, and the country, as he used to say, quite as good as Westmoreland. (I. 347.) VENI, VIDI, VICI. 97 In January, 1529, Lamb was in a very genial This is the last of the little notes. They are vein. On the 29th he sends to Barry Cornwall none of them remarkable, except that three or the Gipsys Malison : four are very characteristic, and that they all Suck, baby, suck; mothers love grows by giving. have the kind touch of his genius. They are And on the day previous, January 28, writes the sparkles that sail and glitter along that deep following humorous note to Allsop: stream of tender human sympathy and humor Dear AlisopOld Star is setting. Take him & which Talfourds book shows Lambs Life to have cut him into Little Stars. Nevertheless the extinc- been. They open brief glimpses, too, into that tion of the greater light is not by the lesser light realm of heroic silence which was so delicately (Stella, or Mrs. Star) apprehended so nigh, but that and thoughtfully treated by Talfourd in the first she will be thankful if you can let young Scintilla- bdok of the Life and Letters, that it was not sus- tion (Master Star) twinkle down by the coach on pected by the world. There is nothing to he Sunday, to catch the last glimmer of the decaying added to the majesty and dignity of that life, and parental light. No news is good news; so we con- there is nothing that cnn be taken away. Lamb elude Mrs. A. and little a are doing well. Our kind- est loves, C. L. was not a saint. He drank sometimes to excess. (with an extravagant flourish.) He, also, smoked tobacco. But if ever a good, Here is a glimpse of the tenderest beauty of great man walked the earthgood and great in the profoundest and noblest sensefull of that Charles Lambs character: simple human charity and utter renunciation of At midsummer or soon after (I will let you know self which is the fulfilling of the highest law and the previous day), I will take a day with you in the the holiest instinct, it was that man with a face purlious of my old haunts. No offense has been taken, any more than meant. My house is full at of quivering sweetness, nervous, tremulous, present, but empty of its chief pride. She is dead so slight of frame that he looked only fit to me for many months. But when I see you, then for the most placid fortune, but who conquered I will say, Come & see ma. With undiminished poverty and hereditary madness, and won an friendship to you both, imperishable name in English literature, and a Your faithful but queer C. L. sacred place in every generous heartall in si- How you frighted me. Never write again Cole- lence, and with a smile. ridge is dead _____________________________________________ at the end of a line, and lamely come in with VENI, VIDI, ~ to his friends at beginning of another. Love as quicker, & fear from Love, than the transition oc- x. ular from Line to Line. 11155 MADLAINE! you in dar ? In the autumn of 1829, to relieve his sister IYI. Yes, Lucinda. What do you want of the cares of housekeeping, Lamb took rooms now? in the house of an old couple near the cottage, What o I want? Oh, laws, honey, wants and there they boarded. In September he writes: a deal moren youre gwine to gimme! Its mis- Dear AllsopI will find out your Bijoux some tis whats arter you dis timenot Cindy. day. At present I am sorry to say we have neither Well, and what does s/se want ? asked the of us very good spirits, & I can not look to any young lady, with a little gesture of impatience. pleasant Expeditions. You speak of your trial as a known thing, but I Why cant you ever give a message at once am quite in the dark about it, but wish you a safe without so many roundabout speeches? issue most heartily. Laws, Miss Madlaine, I nebber said nothin Our loves to Mrs. AlIsop & children. C. L. bout no roundabouts! I was jest answerin your queshtuns, an whar I was brung up, day Early in July, 1833, Lamb writes the last note alays tole me dat was manners. of this collection. It alludes to the marriage of They told you a great deal too much where Miss Isola with Mr. Moxon, which took place on you were brought up. What does my aunt want the 30th of that month. On the 24th he sends with me, I say ? a beautiful, humorous, tender letter to Moxon Brest if I know, Miss Madlaine; Cindy about a watch he had given Miss Isola. The nebber axed nor quired to knew, so de conse- heart of the man, who never had a child, over- kense is, she dont knew. Mistis she says to dis flowed with exquisite feeling for the happiness chile, Lucindy, you go up stairs an see ef Miss of the young bride. In view of this marriage Madlaines in her room, an ef she is, ax her to Lamb and his sister removed to Edmonton, come down to me! Dats ebbry word I heard, where, in the autumn of the next year, he died: bress your heart, honey! My dear A llsopI think it will be impossible for Quite enough for you to hear, too; and you us to come to Highgate in the time you propose. might as well have told it in the first place. Go We have friends coming to-morrow, who may stay back, now, and say I am coming, returned Miss the week, & we are in a bustle about Emmas bay- Madelaine, laughing in spite of herself at the odd ing usso we will put off the hope of seeing Mrs Ailsop till we come to Town, after Emmas going~ little figure that stood in the door-way, bobbing which is in a fortnight & a half, when we meaA mock courtesies with its short cotton gown, wig- to spend a Time in Town, but shall be happy to see gling its woolly black head, twinkling its saucy you ~n Sunday or any day. black eyes, and looking altogether more like a In haste, hope our little Porter does, monkey than a child. Lucindy was a privileged Yours ever, C. L. character, and she knew it very well. She

VENI, VIDI, VICI. 97 In January, 1529, Lamb was in a very genial This is the last of the little notes. They are vein. On the 29th he sends to Barry Cornwall none of them remarkable, except that three or the Gipsys Malison : four are very characteristic, and that they all Suck, baby, suck; mothers love grows by giving. have the kind touch of his genius. They are And on the day previous, January 28, writes the sparkles that sail and glitter along that deep following humorous note to Allsop: stream of tender human sympathy and humor Dear AlisopOld Star is setting. Take him & which Talfourds book shows Lambs Life to have cut him into Little Stars. Nevertheless the extinc- been. They open brief glimpses, too, into that tion of the greater light is not by the lesser light realm of heroic silence which was so delicately (Stella, or Mrs. Star) apprehended so nigh, but that and thoughtfully treated by Talfourd in the first she will be thankful if you can let young Scintilla- bdok of the Life and Letters, that it was not sus- tion (Master Star) twinkle down by the coach on pected by the world. There is nothing to he Sunday, to catch the last glimmer of the decaying added to the majesty and dignity of that life, and parental light. No news is good news; so we con- there is nothing that cnn be taken away. Lamb elude Mrs. A. and little a are doing well. Our kind- est loves, C. L. was not a saint. He drank sometimes to excess. (with an extravagant flourish.) He, also, smoked tobacco. But if ever a good, Here is a glimpse of the tenderest beauty of great man walked the earthgood and great in the profoundest and noblest sensefull of that Charles Lambs character: simple human charity and utter renunciation of At midsummer or soon after (I will let you know self which is the fulfilling of the highest law and the previous day), I will take a day with you in the the holiest instinct, it was that man with a face purlious of my old haunts. No offense has been taken, any more than meant. My house is full at of quivering sweetness, nervous, tremulous, present, but empty of its chief pride. She is dead so slight of frame that he looked only fit to me for many months. But when I see you, then for the most placid fortune, but who conquered I will say, Come & see ma. With undiminished poverty and hereditary madness, and won an friendship to you both, imperishable name in English literature, and a Your faithful but queer C. L. sacred place in every generous heartall in si- How you frighted me. Never write again Cole- lence, and with a smile. ridge is dead _____________________________________________ at the end of a line, and lamely come in with VENI, VIDI, ~ to his friends at beginning of another. Love as quicker, & fear from Love, than the transition oc- x. ular from Line to Line. 11155 MADLAINE! you in dar ? In the autumn of 1829, to relieve his sister IYI. Yes, Lucinda. What do you want of the cares of housekeeping, Lamb took rooms now? in the house of an old couple near the cottage, What o I want? Oh, laws, honey, wants and there they boarded. In September he writes: a deal moren youre gwine to gimme! Its mis- Dear AllsopI will find out your Bijoux some tis whats arter you dis timenot Cindy. day. At present I am sorry to say we have neither Well, and what does s/se want ? asked the of us very good spirits, & I can not look to any young lady, with a little gesture of impatience. pleasant Expeditions. You speak of your trial as a known thing, but I Why cant you ever give a message at once am quite in the dark about it, but wish you a safe without so many roundabout speeches? issue most heartily. Laws, Miss Madlaine, I nebber said nothin Our loves to Mrs. AlIsop & children. C. L. bout no roundabouts! I was jest answerin your queshtuns, an whar I was brung up, day Early in July, 1833, Lamb writes the last note alays tole me dat was manners. of this collection. It alludes to the marriage of They told you a great deal too much where Miss Isola with Mr. Moxon, which took place on you were brought up. What does my aunt want the 30th of that month. On the 24th he sends with me, I say ? a beautiful, humorous, tender letter to Moxon Brest if I know, Miss Madlaine; Cindy about a watch he had given Miss Isola. The nebber axed nor quired to knew, so de conse- heart of the man, who never had a child, over- kense is, she dont knew. Mistis she says to dis flowed with exquisite feeling for the happiness chile, Lucindy, you go up stairs an see ef Miss of the young bride. In view of this marriage Madlaines in her room, an ef she is, ax her to Lamb and his sister removed to Edmonton, come down to me! Dats ebbry word I heard, where, in the autumn of the next year, he died: bress your heart, honey! My dear A llsopI think it will be impossible for Quite enough for you to hear, too; and you us to come to Highgate in the time you propose. might as well have told it in the first place. Go We have friends coming to-morrow, who may stay back, now, and say I am coming, returned Miss the week, & we are in a bustle about Emmas bay- Madelaine, laughing in spite of herself at the odd ing usso we will put off the hope of seeing Mrs Ailsop till we come to Town, after Emmas going~ little figure that stood in the door-way, bobbing which is in a fortnight & a half, when we meaA mock courtesies with its short cotton gown, wig- to spend a Time in Town, but shall be happy to see gling its woolly black head, twinkling its saucy you ~n Sunday or any day. black eyes, and looking altogether more like a In haste, hope our little Porter does, monkey than a child. Lucindy was a privileged Yours ever, C. L. character, and she knew it very well. She 98 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. bobbed another pert courtesy, then turned a som- erset, not exactly in the door-way, but in full view outside; and this done, scuttled down stairs iu a sort of leap-frog fashion peculiarly her own. Madelaine Hayward prepared in a more leis- urely way to obey her aunts summons. She knew, if Lucinda did not, what was wanted of her; and, resolute and high-spirited as the young lady was, she could not help some inward trepi- dations as she thought of the interview before her. Her hands had been busy with some bit of fancy- work or embroidery: she laid it down slowly, left the room with half-reluctant steps, and glided down the broad oaken stairway with far less alac- rity than was usual for her light, swift feet. There was a long matted hall to pass; at the end of it was a dark mahogany door, the en- trance, as Madelaine knew, to her aunts private sitting-room. She drew up her slight figure proudly as she reached this door, and her girlish features settled iuto a determined, almost defiant expression as she turned the handle and entered. It was a small room, quaintly fitted up with the oldest- fashioned furniture, and Madame Ravenel her- self, sitting erect in her high-backed, carved, and embroidered chair, looked admirably in keeping with her surroundings. She was a stately old lady, not far from seventy, if one might judge from the silvery hair drawn with such smooth l)recision over her temples, and the numerous lines and seams which had printed themselves upon her face. In spite of them, however, the face was fair and beautiful still in its old age; the brow refined and intellectual, the eyes blue and bright and keen yet; the mouth dignified and tender, but capable, too, of such sunny, brilliant smiles as one does not often see lighting up faces which have fronted the battle of life for seventy years. Lips and eyes brightened with one of these rare smiles as her niece entered the room. Well, dear, she said, half inquiringly. Lucinda told me you wanted me, Madelaine answered, a little curtly. Oh I Lucinda never can deliver a message properly. I told her to say that when you came down I wished to see you. But it was not ne- cessary to come for that special purpose. I was doing nothing of consequence; I could come as well as not, Madelaine returned. Very well, sit down, then, said Madame Ravenel, graciously. Since you are here, you can help me wind this silk, and we can continue the conversation which we began three days ago. Madelaine held out her hands for the skein of silk, and made no answer. Madame Ravenel adjusted it carefully upon the slender white wrists, took an ivory winder from the carved work-stand beside her, and continued placidly: I allude, of course, to Dr. Gilchrists letter, Madelaine. You did not understand it fairly when I first read it to you, and you were resent- ful and indignant without reason. I told you then, if you remember, that I would not men- tion the subject again until you had had time to think of the whole matter calmly and sensibly; after which I felt sure you would feel very differ- ently about it. I hope now that I shall not find myself mistaken ; and the keen blue eyes looked searchingly into the young girls face. But she was not abashed by them: I am afraid you will, Aunt Ravenel, she answered, steadily. I have seen no reason yet to change my first opinion of that letter, and still consider that its proposals are extremely ridiculous, if not actually insulting. In what respect ? asked Madame Ravenel, with a slightly sarcastic smile. I fail to see, but I am not unwilling to be enlightened by your superior wisdom, Madelaine. It is not a question of wisdom, Aunt Rave- nel, exclaimed Madelaine, impetuously. It is a question of delicacy, of common respect for a womans most sacred feelings. Dr. Gilchrist wants to make a piece of merchandise of me another of his son; we are mere instruments to effect his great final object, that of uniting the two estates, and causing his name to be published as that of the largest landed proprietor in Caro- lina! Whatever he may profess, that is all he cares for. It makes no difference to him that I have never even seen his sonthat we may be totally unfitted for each otherthat I might pos- sibly take a different view of the marriage from that which he and his son (who seems to be a most compliant son, worthy of such a high-mind- ed father I) take of it. Oh, it is all the same to him, but I assure you once more, Aunt Ravenel, that it is not the same to me. Her cheek was red, her eyes full of fire as she stopped; but Madame Ravenel remained as cool as before. My dear, you said very nearly the same things to me last Friday, she replied. I thought them more excusable then, because you had been taken by surprise, and in your usual hasty way had jumped to a wrong conclusion. But now, when you have had time to think of the plan, you certainly ought to be able to say something less silly. I am willing to be enlightened now, Aunt Ravenel, Madelaine said, proudly, byyour su- perior wisdom. I do not see the silliness; for the facts of the case are exactly as I stated them. Dr. Gilebrist, for the sake of making Hazelhurst and Gilebrist Park one great estate, wishes me to marry his son, whom I have never seenwho has never seen me. His son has dutifully con- sented to be disposed of according to his fathers arrangement; and I am expected to submit as meekly, and take the husband provided for me whether I like him or not. If it is silly to ob- ject in such a case, then I am sillymost de- cidedly and hopelesslyfor I never shall consent to it. You are not required or expected to consent to it, my dear, until you have proved whether you can like your proposed husband, Madame Ravenel answered, somewhat in the tone of one reasoning with an obstinate child whom one was VENT, VIDI, VICI. 09 willing to humor for a while. That was un- derstood from the beginning, only you will not choose to see it. It is not so easy to see it, Madelaine re- torted. Every thing seems to have been set- tled between Dr. Gilchrist and yourself, even to the wedding-day, long ago; which was rather premature, if my acquiescence was not expected as a matter of course. A tinge of color came into Madame Havenels cheek, and a flash of impatience leaped out from her eyes; but she controlled herself still, saying, pleasantly, It is no matter what we have settled, Made- lame. Dr. Gilchrist and I are old friends; this is a wish we have had in common for a long time, and it is not unnatural that we should make plots and plans about it. You must give us credit, however, for being perfectly open in them all; and believe me when I assure you that no one has desired to force the marriage upon you against your own will. It remains, after all said and done, for Sidney Gilebrist and yourself to come to your own conclusions. If you like each other, well; if not, there is an end to the whole matter. Then the whole matter is ended now, said the young lady, abruptly. I shall never like Mr. Sidney Gilchrist, so I hope you will let me hear no more about him. I am sick of his name ! she added, passionately, rising up from her seat as the last thread of silk slipped off from her hands. Madame Ravenel finished winding it, secured it carefully upon the ivory star, and laid this in its proper corner of the work-stand before she re- plied to the ungracious speech. Then she looked up with a smilehalf mirthful, half sarcastic lurking about her mouth: It is you who are premature now, my dear. You reject Mr. Gil- christ before he has offered himself to you; and leave out of consideration the possibility that be may be as little anxious for the union as your- self when he comes to see and know you. It is not really necessary for you to make such vehe- ment assertions, and assume so decided a posi- tionyet. She could not resist the temptation to give her niece this quiet cut; and it must be confessed that Madelaine deserved it. But her aunt did not count upon the effect it would produce. The blood overflowed the girls face for a moment; then it flowed back again, and left her white and determined. I am much obliged to you, Aunt iRavenel, she said, calmly; and I beg Mr. Gilchrists pardon for rejecting him prematurely. I shall not be generous enough, however, to give him any opportunity to retaliate. What do you mean ? exclaimed Madame Ravenel, wondering, and somewhat apprehen- sive; for the calm voice and glittering eyes were signs of a deeper anger than she had ever seen in the girl before. Simply that, if Mr. Gilchrist has any idea of visiting Hazelhurst with a view to make m~y acquaintance, he may save himself the trouble. I shall not see him when he comes. And leav